Camber the Heretic (46 page)

Tavis's jaw dropped, and he had all he could do to keep from laughing.

“The
little folk?
”

“Don't laugh at me, and don't look at me as if I'm mad!” Javan returned with tight-lipped solemnity. “I've heard the soldiers' talk. Do they or do they not dance at the turnings of the seasons and kindle the bonfires on the hilltops? Look out there.” He gestured toward the other side of the clearing, where the hillside dropped away sheer and spilled onto the plain. “It could have been seen for miles. Is it true, Tavis? Do the little folk come out and dance around the bonfires?”

To cover his amazement and confusion, Tavis moved closer to the fire ring and prodded the long-dead embers with a booted toe, crouched down to hold his hand above the cold ashes.

He was aware that strange customs were still practiced among the country folk. Bonfires were lit at the major turnings of the seasons, as was well known. With the equinox but a week past, it was quite possible that Javan had, indeed, stumbled on the remnants of one of those bonfires.

Furthermore, there
had
been power raised here, benevolent, but real. Tavis could sense the residuals of it in the ashes, faint but unmistakable. Anyone with Sight could hardly help noticing, but Javan did not have Sight. How could he have noticed? And,
little folk?

“What makes you think this is anything more than a shepherd's fire, Javan?” the Healer finally asked, raising his face squarely to the boy's.

Javan shook his head. “It's no shepherd's fire. The autumn equinox was last week. The common people build fires then, and they—they dance around the fire. I read about it. Why do they do that, Tavis?”

“Well, it's tied in with very old beliefs,” Tavis began uneasily, wondering where the boy had found such reading material in Valoret's or Rhemuth's austere libraries. “It's supposed to ensure the health of the people and their animals. It's said that sometimes they leap through the flames, and that they drive their cows and sheep through, too.”

“It's said—it's supposed—do they or don't they?” Javan wanted to know.

“Well, I really don't know about the animals,” Tavis replied, scratching his head sheepishly. “Those are old, superstitious customs. Only the peasants practice them anymore, so far as I know. I do recall something about the theory behind the dancing, though—something about generating a—why do you want to know, Javan? Why is it so important?”

Javan gave a perplexed shrug. “I don't know. It's just that this place felt—strange, somehow. Magical, maybe.”

“Magical?” Grinning, Tavis stood and knuckled the boy playfully under the chin. “And how would you know about that, my little human prince? Who's been filling your head with tales of magic?”

“It isn't funny, Tavis,” the boy muttered. “I
felt
something. I still do. I would have thought, after the times I've helped you, that you'd realize that!”

Angrily the boy turned on his heel and limped back down the hillside, slapping his gauntlets against a leather-clad thigh in annoyance. Tavis watched for a moment in shock, hardly knowing what to think, then scrambled down the hill after him. They reached the campsite together, and Javan put on a pleasant expression for the benefit of the guards and the squires, but Tavis could sense the turmoil still churning behind the polite facade. He thought about their conversation while they ate their lunch.

Everyone settled down for a rest when they had finished eating and cleaned up. The guards took themselves off near the horses, and Rhys Michael flopped down, bored, under a tree to nap when the squires wandered over to relax near the stream.

Javan plunked himself on a rock near but out of earshot of his brother and began flicking pebbles into the shallow water. Tavis, after a casual glance to locate the others, made his way slowly to Javan's side, where he crouched on his heels and studied the ripples the boy was making with his rocks.

“I'm sorry if I made light of your questions, my prince,” he said in a low voice. “I wasn't thinking. You know I would give my life for you.”

“Your life, yes. But you no longer give me your confidence.”

“I—
what?
”

“Did I or did I not help you the night of your injury?” Javan demanded, his voice not rising in volume, but all the more intense for that. “Did I or did I not help you remember what happened to you the night my father died? Did you or did you not promise to help me remember?”

“Javan, you know I've been tr—”

“Don't give me your adult excuses! For weeks now, I've held my peace. I've kept my part of the bargain and I haven't nagged you. What good has it done me? Tavis, I have to know. What happened to me the night my father died?”

Forcing down a shudder, Tavis glanced around surreptitiously. Robear, who was musically inclined, had unstrapped his lute from one of the sumpter horses and was tuning it softly while Corund napped. Jason and Eidiard were playing at dice. The squires, Dorn and Tomais, had disappeared upstream; he could hear their voices occasionally, floating on the breeze. But Rhys Michael was lying just across the clearing, apparently watching clouds build up against the horizon. If they did not keep their voices down, the boy would hear.

“I'm sorry, Javan,” Tavis whispered. “You know I'm working on it. I think of little else. I thought you understood that. I'm not convinced I've identified all the ingredients Rhys used, though. I don't want to risk your safety more than once.”

“Well, what's it going to take to be convinced?” Javan asked haughtily. “I can't wait forever, you know.”

“I know,” Tavis breathed, bowing his head. “I was going to talk to you about it later. I—suppose I need to take you back to the early part of that night one more time and re-read your impression of the taste and smell. I need to be sure it tallies with mine. Perhaps we can do it tonight.”

“Why wait until tonight? Let's do it now.”

“
Now?
”

“Yes, now. The others are asleep or occupied. Reach into my mind and see. We've done this kind of thing often enough by now. It needn't make a sound.”

“But, your brother—”

“
Bother
my brother!” Javan snapped, though his voice was still low. “Put him to sleep, if his nearness bothers you. You can go get me some wine, and then stop to talk to him on the way back. The others won't think it amiss, and
he
won't know.”

“But, Javan—”

“Are you my friend, or aren't you? Now,
do it!
”

With a smile which he hoped did not appear too forced, Tavis nodded and got to his feet, moving back toward the sumpter horses. Rhys Michael glanced up at him as he started past.

“Are you and Javan fighting?”

Immediately Tavis stopped and dropped to a crouch beside the boy.

“Fighting? Certainly not. His foot is hurting him. I thought I'd bring him some wine to drink while I work on it. Why don't you take a nap?” Tavis suggested, clasping the boy's arm reassuringly and sending a strong compulsion to sleep as he did so. “You've had a busy morning. The afternoon will be a lot more fun if you're rested.”

“I suppose you're right.” Rhys Michael yawned, settling back against his tree. “Will Javan's foot be all right?”

“Of course.” Tavis smiled, brushing the boy's forehead with his fingertips and getting up. “The stirrup just needs a bit more padding, that's all.”

And across the clearing, a young soldier with curly blond hair watched out of the corner of his eye as the Healer picked up a wineskin and took it back toward the elder prince. With a part of his mind, Davin followed the dice his partner tossed. But he wondered what Tavis and the prince were talking about, as the Healer gave the wine to the boy and knelt at his feet, beginning to strip off the prince's special boot. He wished he dared extend his powers, but he knew better than that. Tavis might detect it, especially if he were preparing to go into a Healing mode.

The boot came off, and Javan gave a sigh of relief, smiling as he unstoppered the wineskin and took a perfunctory swallow. As Tavis peeled off his stocking, Javan put the skin down and shifted onto his left side, leaning his head against one hand propped on elbow.

“You're taking a big risk,” the Healer murmured, as he dipped a towel into the water and began bathing the misshapen foot. “Furthermore, you're making
me
take a big risk.”

“What are you doing that they haven't seen a dozen times?” Javan countered. “They're humans, Tavis. What do they know?”

“And you're not human?”

“Not like them. I have shields. You know I do.”

“That's true,” Tavis replied, drying the foot and beginning to massage it briskly. “And if you didn't have them, I would be sorely tempted at this moment to give you a psychic jolt you would not soon forget. You're acting like a spoiled child.”

“How dare you!” the boy whispered. “I ask for your help, and you—will you or will you not help me, Tavis? I need to know what happened the night my father died. Don't you understand that?
I need to know!
”

Tavis lowered his eyes. “Will you stop that?” he whispered, controlling the urge to glance around surreptitiously again. “You're echoing psychically all around the campsite! God help us both if there's anyone with latent talents around here. You—”

“You mean, I was sending my thoughts to you?” the boy interrupted, sitting up and grasping Tavis's hand, an amazed look on his face.

“I'm sorry, my prince,” Tavis said in a loud voice, bending over the foot and massaging it more attentively. “I didn't mean to hurt you.” And then, under his breath, “Do you want to have the whole camp over here? Lie back, and I'll see what I can do.”

Meekly, and much chastened, Javan lay back as he was ordered.

Tavis, with a glance at the guards, began to insinuate his consciousness around that of the boy. As he felt the oddly familiar meshing start to slip into place, he was relieved that the guards did not seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary.

But Davin had noticed. Further, he had caught the force of Javan's psychic echo, if not its sense or its precise source. As he continued dicing with Jason, he tried to open for a further reading—though he did not want to encounter Tavis's sensitive shields. Some humans had natural resistance to probing and Davin had worked carefully to cultivate that kind of facade. But he must not draw close attention to himself. The Healer was the one person who could betray him now, if he should become suspicious and try to read the soldier known as Eidiard.

Yet, something was happening between Healer and prince—something which seemed to be outside the usual interaction of Healer and patient. He had an impression now that the psychic echo he had caught had come from Javan, not Tavis.

Someone else besides himself definitely should know about that. It was the very sort of thing he had been sent to watch for. He quested outward with his mind to see who was on monitor duty in the Council chamber, but when he realized it was Bishop Alister, he hesitated. The potential link was there if he needed it, passive but reassuring for its mere presence, but the bishop's active attention was off on some other item of importance—some mouldy scroll he was trying to make sense of—and Davin did not want to disturb him. Davin had grown very fond of the bishop. The old man reminded him of the few very early memories he had of his grandfather.

So Davin passed over that link and scanned about the camp again. Jason was engrossed in winning the last of his partner's meager stake of copper coins—they rarely played for greater amounts than that—and over near the horses, Robear was now strumming a soft shepherd's song while Corund continued trying to doze against a tree.

Rhys Michael was asleep, with a sense about him which suggested that the nap had not been all his idea, and the squires were splashing in the water a little ways upstream. Just as Davin took the dice from Jason, one of the horses whuffled—an inquisitive wicker halfway between surprise and fright.

Davin froze with the dice poised on his open palm.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered to his companion.

“Hear what?”

Urgently, Davin quested outward with his mind, the while staring into the trees across the clearing and listening with all his regular faculties. His mind encountered the faint snap of shields reacting to his probe and being raised!

Deryni!

And the snap had not come from Tavis!

Even as he bent to unsheathe his sword, the first arrow slammed into the tree just behind him and the second drove feathered death into the dozing Corund. With a stifled oath, Jason dove for his own weapon, scattering dice and copper coins but avoiding yet a third arrow which narrowly missed his head.

“To the princes!” Robear shouted, scrambling to his feet as half a dozen well-armed men burst from the trees and began running toward them. Arrows continued to thud home all around.

Tavis was already yanking Javan to cover behind a nearby tree, but Rhys Michael sat bolt upright and then froze, transfixed with horror, as a swordsman seemed to materialize from the brush not four paces away. Davin sprinted toward them and engaged before the man's sword could sheathe itself in royal flesh, sparks clashing from their weapons as they exchanged a first flurry of blows. He took a superficial cut to his left forearm before he remembered, just in time, that he had no shield.

Fortunately, his opponent was not quite good enough to take full advantage of Davin's momentary lapse; and with the second engagement, when one of Davin's two-handed blows finally connected, he collapsed with his skull caved in. The man's place was immediately taken by another attacker who pressed Davin hard. But Davin would not be moved from his defensive stance astride the cowering Rhys Michael, whose face was set in a silent cry of terror.