Camber the Heretic (17 page)

After what had just occurred, they would not have thought of questioning him further. As Rhys carried the sleeping Alroy into the opening which reappeared in the chapel wall, Evaine leaned over to brush a kiss against her father's cheek, then picked up Rhys Michael and followed her husband.

Joram did not move until the others had gone, head bowed and eyes hooded in unreadable contemplation as he knelt by the dead king. Finally he lurched to his feet and went to pick up the remaining prince, muffling him in the last of the sleeping furs they had brought.

“I have just one question,” he murmured, only half-facing Camber as he paused, just outside the opening of the secret passage.

“Very well. One question.”

“Did he know, before the end, the truth of you and Alister?”

Slowly Camber let his gaze shift back to the face of the dead king, tears stinging his eyes.

“Aye, he knew.”

“And, did he accept that knowledge?” Joram insisted.

“You said one question,” Camber replied with a slight smile. “But, yes, son, he accepted it. I will swear that he did not know before tonight, but we made our peace, he and Alister and I. I wish you could have shared it.”

“That you and he shared it is sufficient,” Joram whispered, blinking back his own tears. “Somehow, it makes the lie vindicated, after all these years.” He swallowed, then shook his head. “I'd better go.”

Camber remained kneeling there for several seconds, staring after Joram. Then he recalled himself to the tasks at hand. With a sigh, he took up the ciborium and rose, starting to make a perfunctory bow of respect before putting it away. But then he winced and almost gasped aloud as the image of the shattered dome of energy flashed into his memory.

God! How had he endured? As he recalled again the massive energies which had been loosed at random as the circle crumbled, he marvelled at the miracle of his own survival.

A shudder of far more than cold shook his body then, and the cold, hammered metal of the ciborium seemed to sear his flesh for just an instant. Shocked, he stared at the small, jewelled cross projecting from the cover and took his hand away, at the same time realizing that his left hand, which held the sacred vessel, had felt no more than cold.

He sank back to his knees at that, carefully lifting the golden cover and setting it aside. In the glittering bowl of the chalice lay perhaps half a dozen of the precious, consecrated Hosts, exactly like the one he had given to Cinhil so short a time ago. Respectfully, he reached in with thumb and forefinger and extracted one at random, gazing at it attentively.

Unleavened bread, the uninitiated would call it. Flour and water. And yet, in this morsel of the plainest of foods resided the greatest Mystery of his faith, something which he could not begin to explain or understand with his mind, but which was nonetheless true for heart and soul.

And had that Mystery protected him tonight? Perhaps it had. Cinhil had shown him a half-forbidden thing, not realizing, even in his heightened awareness and grace, how broad was the sweep of the wings of the Angel of Death.

Or, was it simply not yet Camber's time? Did the Lord—that same Lord present, or so he believed, in the consecrated Host between his fingers—did the Lord have other plans for him, other work for him to do?

He doubted he would get any further answer tonight. With a short but fervent prayer for continued mercy, and a little shiver as if physically to shake off this line of speculation, Camber deposited the Host with its brothers and replaced the cover, took the ciborium and the box of holy oils back where they belonged.

After that, he collected the now-cold thurible and Evaine's silver dagger and locked them away in a cupboard in the north wall of the chapel, adding to them the earthen cup, which he elevated a little toward the altar before fishing Cinhil's ring from the dregs of ash at the bottom. He dried the ring carefully on the hem of his cassock before replacing it on Cinhil's hand, then sheathed Cinhil's sword and took it and Rhys's medical pouch into Cinhil's sleeping chamber, where he hung the sword on the bedpost at the head of the bed and laid the pouch on the carpet beside. Finally, he went to bring back Cinhil.

He was amazed at how light the body seemed, as he carried the dead king back into the room—like cobwebs or down or wildflowers, though none of these images truly satisfied him. With infinite tenderness, he laid Cinhil on the bed and arranged the bedclothes so that they covered him to the waist, then refolded the hands on the still breast. When he had finished, he moved wearily to the outer door and laid his hands on the latch, leaning his forehead against the cool, sleek oak for just a moment before opening the door.

Jebediah had sensed his presence, and stared at Camber in apprehension as he slipped through the opening which Camber allowed.

“It is finished, then,” the grand master murmured, reading confirmation on Camber's drawn, weary face.

“Aye, his work is done and he has found his rest,” Camber said in a low voice.

Jebediah crossed himself with a heavy hand. “May God have mercy on his soul,” he breathed. “I had hoped that you and Rhys were wrong, that he would have more time.”

“So had we all,” Camber whispered. “God grant that the time he did have will bear good fruit. I do not envy any of us the next few years.”

“No.” Jebediah gave a heavy sigh, grey-winged head bowing momentarily in sorrow. “I suppose that I should inform the other regents,” he finally said, looking up. “Are the princes to be brought here right away, or do we wait until morning?”

“Bring them right away. And if Murdoch or any of the others try to delay, remember that you're still the earl marshal, at least until the first meeting of the regency council.” He shrugged resignedly. “After that, I suspect many of our folk will be out of jobs.”

“Don't worry,” Jebediah whispered, laying his hands on Camber's shoulders, while his mind echoed,
Don't worry, Camber
. “I'll keep your fellow regents in line, at least temporarily. Meanwhile, is there anything I can do to help you, before I go?”

Camber had no need to respond in words. He sensed Jebediah's presence, surrounding and permeating him, and he let a weary smile flicker across his face as he closed his eyes and basked in Jebediah's strength, pulling in the energy and comfort which the other man offered.

Finally, he took a deep breath and reached up to lay hands on Jebediah's.

“Enough, Jeb. You, too, have tasks to perform. We must delay no longer.”

With only a nod for answer, Jebediah withdrew mind and hands and went out, disappearing into the turnpike stair. When he had gone, Camber closed the door and returned to the chapel. Yet a few more tasks remained before he might abandon himself, at least temporarily, to further contemplation of what he had witnessed tonight.

And in another part of the castle, three equally weary Deryni, each carrying one of the hopes of the Haldane line, paused at the end of a chill and narrow passageway while the first of their number scanned through a peephole into the royal nursery. No one stirred. Even Deryni senses could detect no sign of waking consciousness.

As Rhys fingered the mechanism which would give them access to the closet, he glanced back over his shoulder at his wife and her brother.

“It's clear, but let's move quickly and quietly. There are three squires and Tavis who must be taken care of, before we leave.”

Rhys quenched the pale, verdant handfire which had lit their way thus far and eased open the outer door of the closet which disguised the entrance to the passageway. He could hear one of the squires snoring softly as he stepped into the room and headed toward the empty beds.

“Sleep yet a while longer, little king,” Rhys whispered softly, as he laid Alroy in his bed and smoothed the raven hair across the pale forehead.

The boy whimpered once in his sleep and curled up on his side; Rhys tucked the sleeping furs close around him. Quickly, then, he moved from one squire to the next, touching each one briefly and securing his memories while Evaine and Joram put their princes to bed and similarly ensured harmless recollections of this night's events.

Awhile longer Rhys lingered at the side of Tavis O'Neill, extending and then withdrawing his controls far more carefully than had been necessary for the three human children or the squires. A final survey of the room, to ensure that nothing was out of place; then Rhys was moving quietly to the outer door and listening, casting about with his senses for any sign of danger or watchfulness.

The way was clear, so with a quick gesture and a kiss, he sent Evaine out to make her way back to their quarters, but a scant few doors down and around the corner. Joram was waiting in the passageway when Rhys returned to the sleeping chamber, and conjured silver handfire as Rhys stepped through the closet and pulled the outer door carefully closed. A moment more to set the passage door itself in place, a final scan of the princes, and then they were on their way back to Cinhil's apartments.

The chapel had been restored to its customary arrangement when they came back through the last doorway and closed it, and they found Camber kneeling motionless beside Cinhil's body, which lay on the great state bed. Candles had been lit around the room, the fire built up in the fireplace, and Camber had laid a lavishly embroidered cloak of wine-dark velvet over the body to the waist.

“All's well,” Rhys announced in a low voice, moving to the opposite side of the bed to gaze across at Camber. “They'll not remember a thing of tonight, and any residual grogginess can be ascribed to shock, grief, and the lateness of the hour. You've sent Jeb?”

Silently Camber nodded. “He will return soon, with all of them. But God help us, Rhys, for now our test begins, in truth. I hope we've done the right thing, letting him give magical potential to children.”

“I hope so, too,” Joram breathed.

Nearly a quarter of an hour passed before anyone else came, and it seemed like twice that. As the three men knelt in silence, each alone with his own thoughts, the sounds of the night's quiet were gradually disturbed by increasing activity in the great hall below, men and horses moving in the snow-muffled fastness of the castleyard, and then by the tolling of the great cathedral bells outside the castle walls.

First to arrive was Cinhil's former squire, Sorle, newly knighted at Twelfth Night, followed shortly by Father Alfred, Cinhil's human confessor of many years, who cast Camber a wounded look for not calling him sooner, as he sank to his knees at the foot of the bed and began reciting prayers for his dead master's soul.

Many more of the royal household gathered outside the door and at the foot of the narrow turnpike stair, there to huddle together apprehensively and await the arrival of their new young king. The approach of the royal party was evident to those inside the royal bedchamber by the hush of the waiting household, even before the chamberlain's staff rapped the requisite three times on the closed door.

“The Lords Regent of Gwynedd, with His Royal Highness the Crown Prince Alroy and Their Highnesses the Princes Javan and Rhys Michael, request admittance to the royal presence,” the chamberlain's voice rasped, hoarse in the damp, late night cold.

Murdoch, looking sly and almost predatory in the candlelight, led the delegation, his hand resting possessively on the stooped shoulder of a haggard and sleepy Alroy. The boy seemed bewildered, and kept knuckling his eyes and yawning.

On the prince's other side, the usually unruffled and impassive Rhun of Horthness was somehow managing to look thoroughly dissipated in a long dressing gown of black wool and fur, and Earl Tammaron, oldest of the regents after Camber, was a stolid and expressionless shadow just behind Rhun, overtowered by a head by the younger man.

Bishop Hubert, the fourth regent, loomed behind Alroy with enough bulk to make up for several men, blue eyes and blond-fringed cherubic face belying the hypocrisy which Camber knew lurked beneath the wine-cassocked breast. By careful attention to the children's whims and pleasures, Hubert had managed to endear himself to all three of the young princes, and they liked him perhaps best of all five regents—which was unfortunate, because Hubert MacInnis was not a nice man.

Jebediah brought up the rear of the little party, one hand resting comfortably on the shoulder of each of the two younger princes. Rhys Michael appeared bright-eyed and curious, none the worse for his ordeal of an hour before, but Javan's face was tear-streaked, and he clung doggedly to the hand of a pale and stunned-looking Tavis O'Neill.

As Camber moved forward to greet the new king, Rhys sent him a lightning synopsis of what he had been forced to do to Tavis. That information filed away, Camber could turn his full attention to the matter at hand—the cementing of the new young king's status. He would not allow his fellow regents to usurp Alroy's position at this early date.

As the last of the party entered the room and the household pressed into the doorway, Camber moved a few steps closer to Alroy and sank deliberately to one knee.

“The king is dead. Long live King Alroy!” he said in a resounding voice, regretting the necessity for the boys' sake, but knowing it had to be established for the benefit of the other regents.

“Long live King Alroy!” Rhys and Joram and Jebediah and the others of the royal household echoed, also kneeling as the regents belatedly did the same.

Alroy stopped dead and looked all around him, his lower lip trembling as he forced his gaze to slip past the still form that was his father's body. As his eyes met Camber's, the bishop rose and bowed again, taking the boy's small, cold hand and warming it between his own as he drew him slowly toward the high state bed.

“Your Grace, I am sorry to have to tell you that your beloved father died peacefully a little while ago. He received the final sacraments, as you would have wished. But then, before he died, he asked that you accept a gift from him—a gift in addition to the crown and throne which now become yours by right of birth.”