For MARGARET FRANCES CARTER: because every mother with an offspring who writes should have a book from her Author-Chili A Del Rey Book Published by Ballantine Books Copyright (c) 1973 by (Catherine Kurtz All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. ISBN 0-345-34766-8 Manufactured in the United States of America First Edition; September 1973 Eighteenth Printing: June 1991 Cover Art by Darrell K. Sweet four ••'/.V-'v;:;; tflheJgc6 •Ł/ '*;;^;-*;':vv** CONTENTS I Abroad the sword bereaveth, at home there is death. Lamentations 1:20 1 II Thy princes are rebellious, and com' panions of thieves. Isaiah 1:23 13 III He shall dwell on high: his place of de* fense shall be the munitions of rocks: bread shall be given him; his waters shall be sure. Isaiah 33:16 27 IV And I will give thee the treasure of darkness, and hidden riches of secret places. Isaiah 45:3 39 V Behold the great priest, who in his days pleased God. Ecclesiasticus 44:16, 20 5? VI The words of the wise and their dark sayings. 62 VII Many things beyond human under' standing have been revealed to thee. Ecclesiastes3:25 79 VIII Make thy shadow as the night in the midst of the noonday. Isaiah 16:3 94 IX Mine own conscience is more to me than what the world says. Cicero 108 X I form the light, and create darkness. Isaiah 45:7 116 XI The tents of robbers prosper, and they that provoke God are secure. Job 12:6 129 XII Be not far from me; for trouble is near; for there is none to help. Psalms 22:11 143 XIII And I will camp against thee round about, and will lay siege against thee. Isaiah 29:3 157 XIV Behold my servant, whom I uphold; my chosen, in whom my soul delight-eth. Isaiah 42:1 171 XV Curse not the king, no not even in thy thought. Ecclesiastes 10:20 188 XVI You have probed me, and you know me. Psalms 139:1 19? XVII And he will lift up an ensign to the na- tions from far. Isaiah 5:26 202 XVIII Yea, mine own familiar friend in whom I trusted, who did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me. Psalms 41:9 210 XIX They encourage themselves in an evil matter; they commune of laying snares privily; they say, Who shall see them? Psalms 64:5 231 XX The Lord hath delivered me into their hands, against whom I am not able to stand. Lamentations 1:14 245 XXI He hath called a solemn assembly against me to crush my young men. Lamentations 1:15 264 XXII They shall hold the bow and the lance; they are cruel, and will not show mercy; their voice shall roar like the sea, and they shall ride upon horses, everyone put in array, like a man to the battle, against thee. Jeremiah 50:42 277 XXIII And I will bind up that which was bro" ken, and I will strengthen that which was weak. Esekiel 34:16 296 XXIV Thus saith the Lord, Behold, I will bring evil into this place, and upon the inhabitants thereof. II Kings 22:16 305 XXV Thou art a priest forever. Psalms 110:4 317 XXVI It is he that sitteth above the circle of the earth. Isaiah 40:22 326 XXVII It is oftimes a bitter lesson, to be a Saint Camber of Culdi 336 Index of Characters 348 Index to Place Names 358 Time Line for History of the Eleven Kingdoms 364 The Genetic Basis for Deryni Inheritance 366 man. Appendix I Appendix II Appendix III Appendix IV HIGH DERYNI CHAPTER ONE the sword liereaveth, at home there is death. Lamentations 1:20 The name they had given the boy was Royston-Royston Richardson, after his father-and the dagger he clutched so fearfully in the deepening twflight was not his own. Around him in the fields of Jennan Vale, the bodies of the dead lay stiffening among the rows of newly ripening grain. Night-birds hooted in the deathly silence, and wolves yipped hi the hills away and to the north. Far across the fields, torches were being lit in the streets of the town, beckoning the living toward what slim comfort numbers might afford. Too many dead of either side lay cold at Jennan Vale tonight The battle had been brutal and bloody, even by peasant standards. It had begun in the middle of the day. The riders of Nigel Haldane, uncle to the boy-king Kelson, had approached the outskirts of the village just past noon, royal lion banners billowing crimson and gold in the noonday sun, the horses sweating lightly hi the early summer heat It was only an advance guard, the prince had said. He and his troop of thirty were merely to scout a route for the royal army's march toward Coroth to the east-no more. For Coroth, rebellious Duchy Corwyn's seat of local government, was in the hands of the insurgent archbishops, Loris and Corrigaru And the archbishops, aided and supported by the zealot rebel leader Warin and his followers, were urging a new persecution of the Deryni: a race of powerful sorcerers who had once ruled all the Eleven Kingdoms; the Deryni: long sup- 1 2 High Deryni pressed, long feared, and now personified by Corwyn's half-Deryni Duke Alaric Morgan, whom the archbishops had excommunicated for his Deryni heresy but three months before. Prince Nigel had tried to reassure the folk of Jennan Vale. He had reminded them that the king's men did not plunder and pillage in their own lands; young Kelson forbade it, as had his father and Nigel's brother, the late King Brion. Nor was Duke Alaric a threat to the peace of the Eleven Kingdoms-even if the archbishops had ruled otherwise. The belief that the Deryni as a race were evil was superstitious nonsense! Brion himself, though not Deryni, had trusted Morgan with his life time and again, had esteemed the Deryni lord so much that he had created him King's Champion, over the protests of his Royal Council. There was no shred of evidence that Morgan had ever betrayed that trust, then or now. But the Vale-folk would not listen. The revelation of Kelson's own half-Deryni ancestry at his coronation last fall, though unknown even to Kelson before that day, had opened the door of distrust for the royal Haldane line-a distrust which had not been eased by the young king's dogged support of the heretic Duke Alaric and his Deryni priest-cousin, Duncan McLain. Even now it was rumored that the king still protected Duke Alaric and McLain; that the king himself had been excommunicated as a result; that he and the hated Duke Alaric and a host of other Deryni warriors planned to march on Coroth and break the back of the anti-Deryni movement by destroying Loris and Corrigan and the beloved Warin. Why, Warin himself had predicted it So the local partisans had ted Nigel's troops the long way around Jennan Vale, luring them with the promise of ample water and grazing for the royal armies which would follow. In the fields green with half-ripe wheat and oats, the rebels had fallen on the troops in ambush, cutting a swath of death and destruction through the surprised royalist ranks. By the time the king's men could disengage and retreat with their wounded, more than a score of knights, rebels, and warhorses lay dead or dying, the lion banners stained and trampled amid the ripening grain. Royston froze with his hand on the hilt of his dagger for High Deryni 3 just an instant, then scuttled past a still body and continued along the narrow cartway toward home. He was only ten, and small for his age at that, but this fact had not prevented him from doing his share of the plundering this afternoon. The leather satchel slung over his shoulder bulged with food and bits of harness and such other light accoutrements as he had been able to gather from the fallen enemy. Even the finely etched dagger and sheath thrust through his rude rope belt had been taken from the saddle of a dead warhorse. Nor was he squeamish about picking over dead bodies-at least not in daylight. Scavenging was a way of life for peasant folk in time of war; and now that the peasants were in revolt against their duke-indeed, against even their king-it was an urgent necessity as welL The peasants' weapons were few and crude: mostly pikes and scythes and clubs, or an occasional dagger or sword gleaned from just such an activity as Roys-ton now pursued. Fallen soldiers of the enemy could provide more sophisticated weaponry, fighting harness, helmets, even gold and silver coinage on occasion. The possibilities were unlimited. And here, where the retreating enemy had picked up their wounded and the rebels had cared for their own, there were only dead men to worry about Even so young a boy as Royston was not afraid of dead men. Still, Royston kept a watchful eye as he walked, quickening his pace to make a wide detour around another stiffening corpse. He was not timid in the least; such was not the way of the country-bred folk of Corwyn. But there was always the very real possibility that he might come upon a dead enemy who was not really dead-and that he did not like to think about As though in answer to his growing mood, a wolf howled, much closer than before, and Royston shivered as he headed for the center of the cartway again, beginning to fancy he could see movement in every bush, every ghostly tree stump. Even if he need not fear the dead, there would be more dangerous, four-legged predators prowling the fields once night fell. These he had no desire to meet. Suddenly a movement caught his eye ahead and to the left of the path. Hand tightening on his weapon, he dropped to a crouch and let his other hand fumble among the rocks in the roadway until it could close on a fist-sized stone. He had 4 High Deryni held his breath as he dropped to the ground, and his voice was hoarse and quavering as he craned his neck to peer into the bushes. "Who's there?" he croaked, "Say who ye be, or 1*11 come nae closer!" There was a second rustling in the bushes, a moan, and then a weak voice: "Water... please, someone..." Royston eased his satchel farther around his back and stood warily, slipping his dagger from its sheath. There was always a chance that the caller was a rebel soldier and therefore a friend-one could have been missed all afternoon. But what if he were a royalist? Inching his way closer, Royston approached until he was even with the bushes that had moved, rock and dagger poised, nerves taut. It was difficult to make out definite shapes in the failing light, but suddenly he knew that it was a rebel soldier lying in the brush. Yes, there was no mistaking the falcon badge sewn to the shoulder of the steel-grey cloak. The eyes were closed beneath the plain steel helm; the hands were still But as Royston leaned closer to look at the man's bearded face, he could not control a gasp. He knew the man! It was Malcolm Donalson, his brother's closest friend. "Mail" The boy crashed into the brush to drop frantically by the man's side. "God ha' mercy, Mal, what's happened to ye? Are ye hurt bad?" The man called Mal opened his eyes and managed to bring the boy's face into focus, then let his mouth contort in a strained smile. He closed his eyes tightly for several seconds, as though against excruciating pain, then coughed weakly and tried to look up again. **Well, me boyo, it's about time ye found me. I feared one o* them cutthroat rascals would get to me first an* finish me off t' get me sword." He patted a fold of his cloak beside him, and the hard outline of a cross-hilted broadsword could be seen through the bloodstained cloth. Young Royston's eyes went round as the shape registered, and then he lifted the edge of the cloak to run his fingers admiringly along the length of bloody blade. "Ah, Mal, tis a bonny sword. Did ye get it off one o" the king's men?" High Deryni 5 "Aye, the king's mark is on th* hilt, lad. But one o' his kinsmen left a piece o' steel in m'leg, curse him. Take a look an' see if it's, stopped bleedin' yet, will ye?** He raised himself up on his elbows as the boy bent to look. "I managed t' wrap me belt around it 'fore I passed out th' first time, but- aiiiie! Careful, lad! Ye'll start me bleedin' againl" The cloak wrapped across Mal's legs was stiff with dried blood, and as the boy lifted it away to look at the wound it was all he could do to keep from fainting. Mal had taken a deep swordthrust to his right thigh, beginning just above the knee and extending upward for nearly six inches. Somehow he had managed to improvise a bandage before applying the tourniquet which had saved his life thus far; but the bandage had long outlived its usefulness, and now glistened a brilliant red. Royston could not be sure in the failing light, but the ground beneath Mal's leg looked damp, stained a deeper, redder hue. Whatever its source, Mal had lost a lot of blood; there was no doubt about that. Nor could he afford to lose much more. Royston's vision began to blur as he looked up at his friend again, and he swallowed with difficulty. "Well, lad?" "It-it's still bleedin*, Mal. I don't think it's going to stop by itself. Ye've got to have help." Mal lay back and sighed. "Ah, 'tis nae good, laddie. I cannae travel like this, and I dinnae think ye can get anyone t' come out here wi* night fallin'. It's that bit o' steel that's causing the trouble, it is. Mayhap ye can get it out yerself." "Me?" Royston's eyes went round and he trembled at the thought. "Aie, Mal, I cannot! If I even loosen the tie, ye'll start bleediu* all over again. I cannae let ye spill out yer life because I dinnae know what I'm doin*." "Now, don't argue, lad. Ye-" Mal broke off in mid-sentence, his jaw dropping in amazement as he stared over Royston's shoulder, and the boy whirled on his haunches to see two riders silhouetted against the sunset not twenty feet away. He rose cautiously as the two men dismounted, gripping his dagger just a bit more tightly. Who were the men? And where in the world had they come from? He could make out little detail as the two approached, for the setting sun was directly behind them, turning their steel helms to red-gold. They were young, though. As they 6 High Derynf drew closer and bared their heads, Royston could see that they were scarcely older than Mal-certainly no older than thirty or so-and one was dark and the other fair. Steel-grey falcon cloaks swung from the shoulders of both men, and each wore a longsword at his side in a worn leather scabbard. The fairer of the two tucked his helmet in the crook of his left arm as he stopped a few yards away and held his empty hands away from his weapons. The darker man stood back a pace, but there was a kindly smile on his face as he watched the boy's reaction. Royston almost forgot to be afraid. "It's all right, son. We wont hurt you. Is there anything we can do to help?" Royston studied the men carefully for an instant, noting the grey cloaks, the several weeks* growth of beard on both men, their apparent friendliness, and decided he liked them* He glanced at Mal for reassurance and found the wounded man nodding weakly. At Mal's signal he stepped back to watch as the two men stooped down across from him. After a second's hesitation, he too knelt at the side of the wounded man, his eyes dark with worry as he wondered what the two strangers could do. "Ye be Warin's men," Mal stated confidently, managing a trace of a smile as the darker of the two men put down his helmet and began stripping off his riding gloves. "I thank ye for stopping what with th* darkness so near and all. I'm Mal Donalson, and that's Royston. That steel's goin' t* have to come out, ain't it?" The darker man probed at Mal's wound gently, then got to his feet and returned to his horse. **There's steel in there, all right," he said, pulling a leather pouch from his saddlebag. "The sooner we get it out, the better. Royston, can you borrow a horse?" "We have nae horse," Royston whispered. He watched wide-eyed as the man slung a water skin over his shoulder and returned. "Could-could we nae carry him home on one o* yours? It's nae far to my mother's house, I promise." He glanced anxiously at both men as the darker one knelt across from him again, but this time it was the blond man who spoke. 'Tm sorry, but we haven't time. Can you get a donkey? A mule? A cart would be even better." High Derynl 7 Royston's eyes lit up. "Aye, a donkey. Smalf the Miller has one he'd let me borrow. I can be back before it's full dark." He scrambled to his feet and started to move off, then paused and turned to peer down at the two men once more, his eyes sweeping over the falcon cloaks with admiration. "Ye be the Lord Warin's men," he said softly. "Ill bet yer on a special mission for the Lord himself, and that*s why ye cannae tarry long. Have I guessed rightly?" The two men exchanged glances, the darker one freezing in his place. But then the blond man smiled and reached up to slap Royston's arm conspiratorily. "Yes, Tm afraid you have guessed rightly," he said in a low voice. "But don't tell anyone. Just go and get that donkey, and we'll take care of your friend." "Mal?" "Go, lad. I'll be all right These men be brothers. They be on the Lord Warin's business. Now, scat" "Aye, Mal." As the boy hurried out of sight down the road, the darker man opened his leather pouch and began removing bandages and instruments. Mal tried to raise his head slightly to see what he was doing, but the blond man pushed his head gently back to the ground and held it there before he could get a good look. He felt a cool, wet sensation as the other man began washing away the caked blood on his leg, and then a faint ache as the tourniquet was tightened ever so slightly. The blond man shifted on his haunches and glanced at the sky. "Do you want more light? I can make a torch." "Do," the second man nodded. "And I'll need your assistance in just a few minutes. It's going to take both of us to keep him from bleeding to death." "Fll see what I can do." The blond man nodded at Mal reassuringly, then got to his feet and began rummaging in the bushes near Mal's head. Mal twisted around and watched in silence for several seconds, wondering how the man planned to get a torch burning out here, then glanced back at the man who was working on his leg. He winced as the man prodded the wound and accidentally jarred the steel, then coughed weakly and tried to clear his throat. "By yer speech ye be strangers here," he began tentatively, 8 High Deryni trying to take his mind ofi what the man was doing and was about to do. "Have ye come from far to aid the Lord Warm?" "Not from too far," the darker man replied, bending over the wounded leg. "We've been on a special assignment for the past few weeks. We're on our way to Coroth." "Coroth?" Mal began. He saw that the blond man had found a length of branch which suited him, and was now wrapping the end with dry .grass. He wondered again how the man planned to light it "Then, ye'll be goin* directly to th' Lord Warin himself -aiie!" As Mal cried out, the second man murmured, "Sorry," and shook his head as he continued working. Light flared behind the injured man as the torch caught, but by the time Mal could look around again the torch was already burning brightly at his side. The blond man steadied it where he bad jammed it into the ground beside Mal's leg, then knelt down and began removing his gloves. Mal's face contorted in bewilderment, his eyes watering from the smoke of the torch. "How did ye do that? I saw nae flint an* steeL" 'Then, you missed it, my friend." The man smiled and patted a pouch at his belt. "What other way is there? Do you think I'm Deryni, that I can call down fire from heaven simply to light a torch?" The man flashed a disarming smile and chuckled, and Mal had to grin too. Of course the man couldn't be Deryni. No one who served the Lord Warin could be a member of that accursed race. Not when Warin was sworn to destroy all those who trafficked with sorcery. He must be delirious. Of course the man had used flint and steel. As the blond man turned his attention to what his colleague was doing, Mal chided himself for his foolishness and turned his head to look up at the sky. A strange lethargy was stealing over him as the men worked, an inexplicable, floating feeling, as though his very soul were hovering a little way outside his body. He could feel them probing in his leg, and it hurt, but the pain was a thing apart, a warm, disjointed sensation that was somehow alien. He wondered idly if he were dying. "I'm sorry if we hurt you," said the blond man. The low High Deryni 9 voice cut through MaTs wanderings like the steel hi his leg, and he was suddenly back in reality. "Try to tell us what happened. It might help to take your mind off the pain." Mal sighed and tried to blink the pain away. "Aye, I'll try. Ah, yes. Ye be on a mission for th1 Lord Warin, so ye could nae know what happened here." He winced as the blond man shook his head. "Well, we won for today." He laid his head back and stared up at the darkening sky. "We routed thirty o* the king's men led by Prince Nigel himself. Killed a score, an* wounded the prince, too. But it will nae last. Th' king will just send more men, an* we'll be punished for risin* against him. It's all the fault o* Duke Alaric, cursed be bis namel" "Oh?" The blond man's face, bearded though it was, was handsome and calm, and not at all threatening. Still, Mal felt a cold shudder pass through his stomach as he met the slate-grey eyes. He looked away uneasily, unable to decide just why he felt so uncomfortable talking about his liege lord this way to a total stranger, but he found his gaze returning to the man's face. What was there about the man's eyes that seemed so-compelling? "Does everyone hate him as much as you do?" the man asked softly. "Weel, t* be perfectly frank, none o* us here at Jennan Vale really wanted to rise against th* duke," Mal found himself saying. "He was a good enough sort before he started dabblin* in that accursed Deryni magic. There were even churchmen who called theyselves his friend." He paused for an instant, then slapped his palm against the ground for emphasis. "But th* archbishops say he's o*erstepped even the bounds a duke may go. He an* that Deryni cousin o* his desecrated th' Shrine o* Saint Torin last winter." He snorted contemptuously. "Now there's one who'll pay in th' Hereafter-that McLain: a priest 0* God an* Deryni aU the while. ' "Anyway, when they would nae surrender theyselves to the judgment o' the Curia for their sins, an* some o* the Corwyner folk said they'd stand by the duke an* his kinsman even if they was excommunicated, th* archbishops put th' Interdict on all o* Corwyn. Warin says the only way we can get it lifted is to capture th' duke and turn him over to th* 10 High Deryni archbishops in Coroth-an' help Warm rid the land o' every other Deryni, too. That's the only way to-aiiiel Careful o' me leg, man!" Mal sank back half-fainting against the ground, dimly aware through the haze of pain that the men were bent intently over his leg. He could feel hot blood streaming down his thigh, the pressure of the bandage one man applied, the surge of new blood as that bandage soaked through and had to be replaced by a fresh one. Consciousness was fading with the ebbing blood when he felt a cool hand on his forehead, heard a low voice saying, "Easy, Mal. Just relax. You're going to be fine, but well have to help you along a little. Relax and go to sleep . .. and forget all of this." As awareness slipped away, he heard the second man murmuring words he could not understand, felt a warmth creeping into his wound, a soothing calmness pervading every sense. Then he was opening his eyes, a bloodied sliver of metal clutched in his hand, and the two men were packing up their belongings in the brown leather pouch. The blond man smiled reassuringly as he saw Mal's eyes open, raising the wounded man's head to put a water flask to his lips. Mal swallowed automatically, his mind whirling as he tried to remember what had happened. The strange grey eyes of the blond man were only inches away. "I-I'm still alive," he whispered dazedly. "I thought Td died, I really did." He glanced at the sliver of metal in his hand. "It-it's almost like a miracle." "Nonsense. You fainted; that's all. Do you think you can sit up? Your ride is here.** As the man eased Mal's head back and stoppered the flask, Mal became aware of others standing nearby: the boy Roys-ton holding the tattered lead of a scruffy donkey; a thin, fragile looking woman with a rough-woven shawl over her head who could only be the boy's mother. Abruptly he was aware of the sliver of metal still clutched in his fist, and he glanced up at the blond man again, avoiding the grey eyes. "I-I dinnae know how to thank ye," he stammered. "Ye saved-" "There's no need," the man replied with a smile. He held out a hand and assisted Mal to his feet "Leave the bandages on for at least a week before you try to change them, and High Deryni 11 then be careful to keep the wound clean until it's healed. You're lucky that it wasn't as bad as it looked." "Aye," Mal whispered, moving dazedly toward the donkey and limping heavily. As Mal reached the side of the donkey, Royston threw his arms around his friend in a brief hug, then held the animal's head while the two men assisted Mal to mount. The woman stood back fearfully, not understanding what had happened, yet eyeing the falcon cloaks on the two men with awe. Mal steadied himself against the shoulders of the two until he could ease his leg to a comfortable position, then sat erect and held precariously to the animal's wispy mane. As the two men stepped back, Mal glanced at his benefactors and nodded, then raised his hand in farewell. The sliver of metal still glittered in his clenched fist "I thank ye again, gentlemen.** "Think you can make it now?" the darker man asked. "Aye, if th* beast does nae go wild an* throw me in a ditch. Godspeed ye, friends. An* tell th* Lord Warm we stand ready to do his biddin', next time ye see him." "I will that," the blond man replied. "That I certainly will," he repeated under his breath as man and donkey, boy and woman, headed back down the road and into the night When they were out of sight and hearing, the blond man crossed back into the brush where they had been working and retrieved the torch. He held it aloft until bis companion could recover the two dusty warhorses, then snuffed it out against the damp clay of the roadway. The grey eyes were again grim. "Well, would you say I Verstepped the bounds even a duke may go' by healing that man, Duncan?" he asked, pulling on worn leather gloves in an impatient gesture. Duncan shrugged as he handed over a pair of reins. "Who can say? We took a chance-but that*s nothing new. He shouldn't be able to remember anything he oughtn't But then, you can never tell with these country folk. Or need I bother telling you that? After all, they're your people, Alaric." Alaric Anthony Morgan, Duke of Corwyn, King's Champion, and now excommunicate Deryni sorcerer, smiled and gathered up his reins, swung up on his tall warhorse as Dun-can did the same. 12 High Derynl "My people. Yes, I suppose they are, God bless 'em. Tell me, Cousin. Is all of this really my fault? I never thought so before, but IVe heard it so often in the past few weeks, I'm almost beginning to believe it." Duncan shook his head, touching steel-shod heels to his horse's flanks and beginning to move off down the road. "It isn't your fault It isnt any one person's fault. We're simply a convenient excuse for the archbishops to do what they've been wanting to do for years. This thing has been building for generations." "You're right, of course," Morgan said. He urged his horse to a trot and fell in beside his kinsman, "But that isn't going to make it any easier to explain to Kelson." "He understands," Duncan replied. "What will be more interesting will be his reaction to the information we've been gathering for the past week or so. I dont think he's realized the extent of unrest hi this part of the kingdom." Morgan snorted. "Neither had L Any estimate on when well reach Do! Shaia?" "After noon," Duncan stated. *Td stake money on it." **You would, eh?" Morgan gave a sly grin. "Done. Now let's ride." And so the two continued along the road from Tennan Vale, riding ever faster as the moon rose to light their way. They need not have worried about revealing then- identities, these two young Deryni lords. For even had they been told, Malcolm Donalson and the boy Royston simply would not have believed that they had been in the presence of the infamous pair. Dukes and raonsignori, Deryni or not, did not ride in the guise of simple rebel soldiers in the service of Lord Warin, with falcon cloaks and badges and three weeks* growth of beard. It simply was not done. Nor would two heretic Deryni have stopped to help a wounded rebel soldier-especially one who, only hours before, had brought death and injury to a number of royalist knights. This, too, was unheard of. So the two rode on, ever faster, ever closer, to rendezvous next day at Dol Shaia with their young Deryni king. High Deryni 13 CHAPTER Two Thy princes are rebellious, and companions of thieves. Isaiah 1 ;23 The young man with the night-black hair sat at ease on the low camp stool, a kite-shaped shield balanced face-down across his knees and on the edge of the velvet-draped bed. His slim fingers worked slowly, painstakingly, as they wove a strip of leather round and round the hand grip. His grey eyes were hooded beneath long, dark lashes. But the young man's mind was not on the repairs he made. Nor was he concerned just now that the device on the reverse of the shield was rich and finely crafted, the Royal lion of Gwynedd gleaming gold on red beneath its canvas cover. He was equally oblivious to the priceless Kheldish carpeting beneath his dusty boots, the jewel-hilted broadsword hanging within easy reach in its plain leather scabbard. For the young man who worked alone in bis tent at Dol Shaia was Kelson Haldane, son of the late King Brion. And this same Kelson, but a few months past his fourteenth birthday, was now King of Gwynedd and ruler in his own right of a score of lesser duchies and baronies. At this moment, he was also a worried young man. Kelson glanced at the doorway of the tent and frowned. The flap was pulled over the entrance for privacy, but there was enough light seeping beneath the flap to tell him that tite afternoon was fast slipping away. Outside he could hear the measured tread of sentries patrolling beside his tent, the rustle of silk pennons snapping in the breeze, the stamping and snorting of the great warhorses as they tugged at their picket ropes beneath the trees not far away. He returned resignedly to his task, working on in silence for some minutes, then looked up expectantly as the tent flap was withdrawn 14 High Deryni and a mailed and blue-cloaked young man entered. The king's eyes lit with pleasure. "Derry!" Derry sketched a casual bow as Kelson spoke his name, then crossed to perch uneasily on the edge of the State bed. He was not much older than Kelson-in his mid-twenties, perhaps-but his blue eyes were grim beneath the shock of curly brown hair. A narrow length of leather dangled from his calloused fingertips, and he laid it on the shield with a slight nod as he glanced at Kelson's handiwork. "I could have done that for you, Sire. Mending armour is not a king's work." Kelson shrugged and pulled the last of the lacing taut, then began trimming at the ends of the leather with a silver-chased dagger. "I had nothing better to do this afternoon. If I were doing what a king should be doing, I'd be long into Corwyn by now, putting down Warin's revolt and forcing the archbishops to resolve their petty quarrel." He ran his fingers along the shield grip and sheathed his dagger with a sigh. "But Alaric tells me I must not do that- at least not yet And so I wait, and bide my time, and try to cultivate the patience I know he would want me to display." He shoved the shield back on the bed and rested his hands lightly on his knees. "I also try to refrain from asking the questions I know you are reluctant to answer. Except that now the time has come when I must ask. What was the price of Jennan Vale, Deny?" The price had been high. Of the thirty who had ridden out at NigeFs side two days before, less than a score had returned. The remnants of Nigel's patrol had limped into Dol Shaia at mid-morning, angry and footsore; and several of those who returned did not live past noon. In addition to the loss of life, Jennan Vale had taken a heavy toll in morale. As Kelson listened to Derry's report, his fourteen years weighed heavily upon him. "That's even worse than I feared," Kelson finally murmured, when the last grim details of the rout had been told. "First the archbishops and their hatred of the Deryni, then this fanatic Warin de Grey. . . . And the people support him, Derryl Even if I can stop Warin, reconcile with the archbishops, I can't defeat the entire duchy." High Deryni 15 Sean Lord Derry shook his head emphatically. "I think you misjudge Warin's influence, Sire. His appeal is powerful when he is nearby, and after a few miracles the people flock to his side. But the tradition of loyalty to kings is older and, I believe, stronger than the lure of a new prophet- especially one who proposes holy war. Once Warin is removed, and the peasants leaderless, their impetus is gone. Warin's fatal mistake was to take up residence in Coroth with the archbishops. Now he's practically counted as one of the archbishops' followers." *There's still the matter of the Interdict," Kelson said doubtfully. "Will the peasants forget that so quickly?" Derry flashed a reassuring smile, "Our reports indicate that the rebels in the outlying areas are poorly armed and only loosely organized, Sire. When they have to face the reality of your royal army marching through their midst, they'll scatter like mice!" "I didn't hear of them scattering like mice at Jennan Vale," Kelson snorted. "In fact, I still fail to understand how poorly armed peasants were able to take an entire patrol by surprise. Where is my Uncle Nigel? I'd like to hear his explanation of what happened yesterday." "Try to be patient with him, Sire," Derry said, lowering his eyes uncomfortably. "He's been with the surgeons and his wounded since he rode hi this morning. It was only an hour ago that I was able to persuade him to let the surgeons see to bis own injuries." "He's hurt?" The king's eyes were suddenly concerned. "How badly? Why didnt you tell me?" "He asked me not to, Sire. It isn't serious. His left shoulder Is badly wrenched, and he has a few superficial cuts and bruises. But he would rather have died than lose those men." Kelson's mouth twitched in sympathy and he forced a wan smile. "I know. The fault is not his." "Be sure to remind him of that, then, Sire," Derry said quietly. "He feels he has personally failed you." • "Not Nigel. Never him." The young king stood and flexed his shoulders wearily in his white linen tunic, stretching his neck backward to gaze at the ceiling of the tent a few feet above his bead. His straight black hair, cropped close above his ears for battle, 16 High Deryni was disheveled, and he ran a tanned hand through it once again as he turned, back to Derry. "What further news from the Three Annies in the north?" Deny stood attentively. "Little you haven't already heard. The Duke of Claibourae reports that he should be able to hold the Arranal Canyon approach indefinitely, so long as he isn't attacked from the south simultaneously. His Grace estimates that Wencit will make his main drive farther south, probably at the Cardosa Pass. There's only a token force readied at Arranal." Kelson nodded slowly and brushed bits of leather scrap from his tunic as he moved toward a low campaign table spread with maps. "No word from Duke Jared or Bran Coris?" "None, Sire." Kelson picked up a pair of calipers and sighed, chewing on one end of the instrument reflectively. "You don't suppose something has gone wrong, do you? Suppose the spring thaws finish earlier than we predicted-suppose they've already finished? For all we know, Wencit could already be on his way into Eastmarch."