The Bastard Prince (18 page)

He was rejoicing in his growing freedom as they approached the city gates, beginning to relax a little, refusing to think too much about what might lie ahead in Eastmarch—for that was nearly a week away. He had even begun tentatively casting about with his powers to start getting a feel for what he might perceive with them, somehow knowing that the crowd was large enough to hide him, if some other Deryni chanced to catch a psychic glimpse of a probe.

Afterward, he realized that the odd shimmer around Udaut's stallion should have warned him; he had thought it a fluke of errant sunbeam on raindrops at the time. But when it first began, he doubted anyone had considered the animal's behavior that surprising. The big roan had an evil reputation and had been acting up from the moment its groom led it into the yard.

Now, spooking at God knew what, the animal suddenly exploded in a screaming, spine-wrenching series of bucks that hurled the startled Udaut over its shoulder to slam into one of the gate pylons with bone-breaking force. Apparently not satisfied with merely ridding itself of its rider, the squealing beast then proceeded to trample the unfortunate Udaut and several screaming bystanders who could not retreat fast enough, biting and kicking in a killing frenzy, until a crusty guardsman with more courage than good sense managed to force his own mount close enough to fling himself across, wrench the stallion's head around by an ear, and cut its throat.

The animal screamed once more and collapsed. Blood sprayed wide in its death-throes, spattering onlookers and running red on the rain-slick cobblestones, and the guard sustained a bone-bruising kick before the thrashing subsided. The sharp smell of the blood sent several more horses into momentary fits of nervous jigging and snorting until their riders could regain control; but by the time anyone could get near the now motionless Udaut, nothing could be done.

Rhun and Cathan were the first to reach the constable's side besides the now limping guardsman, but Cathan's grim glance back told of the futility of it, even as Rhys Michael calmed his own wild-eyed steed. Around Udaut, his men were moving the crowd back with practiced ease, making room for Albertus to dismount and run to Udaut's side as Paulin and a grey-haired battle surgeon called Stevanus began pushing their way forward from behind the king.

“Let the surgeon through!” Paulin ordered, as Stevanus elbowed his way past several more riders and dashed ahead to crouch beside the victim.

But Stevanus' brisk examination could only confirm that death had been a mercy for Rhemuth's hapless constable, for Udaut's back was broken, one arm was mangled almost beyond recognition, and one leg lay twisted under him at a sickening angle. The head was mostly unmarked, other than for a small trickle of blood that ran from the gaping mouth. The staring eyes looked almost more surprised than pained. Paulin caught up with his surgeon as Stevanus was closing the dead man's eyes and crossed himself with every evidence of genuine sorrow as the battle surgeon gently straightened out the twisted leg, then moved on to see to the injured spectators.

“I've never seen a horse go berserk like that,” Paulin muttered, almost a little awed.

“I have,” Albertus said, going back to prod the stallion's steaming carcass with a booted toe. “Never quite like this, though.”

As he bent down to begin uncinching the animal's saddle, motioning one of the guardsmen to help him, Paulin remembered himself and crouched down beside the dead man's head to trace the sign of the Cross on his forehead. Cathan had come back to stand beside Rhys Michael's grey, catching hold of the reins and stroking the animal's neck to gentle it, and though they pretended attention to Paulin's prayers, both watched surreptitiously as Albertus pulled the saddle free.

“
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti
,” Paulin murmured. “
Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei.
”

“
Offerentes earn in conspectu Altissimi
,” came scattered responses from around him, though most everyone else within sight was watching Albertus curiously. The earl marshal was running his hands along the sheepskin lining of the saddle, sniffing at his fingers, his assistant removing the stallion's bridle to inspect the bit, shaking his head, mystified.

“
Kyrie, eleison
,” Paulin intoned.

“
Kyrie, eleison. Christe, eleison
,” the response came.

As Albertus finally ran his hands across the sweat-matted hide on the stallion's back, tight-lipped as he, too, shook his head, Paulin again signed Udaut's forehead with the sign of the Cross.

“
Tibi, Domine, commendamus animam famuli tuae, Udauti, ut defunctus saeculo tibi vivat.
” To Thee, Lord, we commend the soul of this Thy servant, Udaut, that when he departs from this world he may live with Thee. By the grace of Thy merciful love, wash away the sins that in human frailty he has committed in the conduct of his life. “…
Per Christum, Dominum nostrum.
”

“
Amen
,” came the murmured reply.

Paulin sighed then, and gestured for one of the guardsmen to cover the body with his cloak as he and the others got to their feet. As the man obeyed, a slight commotion from farther back in the now stalled cavalcade heralded the agitated approach of Richard Murdoch, who was married to Udaut's daughter. Recognizing the big roan sprawled with legs akimbo at Albertus' feet, and not immediately seeing Udaut, Richard hastily dismounted and started forward, concern writ large on his handsome face. Albertus now was inspecting the roan's bloodied hooves, using one of the quillons of his dagger to pick out the mud from around each vulnerable frog.

“It's too late, Richard,” Rhun said, catching him by the shoulders to stay him. “His horse threw him and then he was trampled. He's there.” He indicated the cloak-shrouded form with his chin. “There's nothing you can do.”

Richard sagged against Rhun's hand for just an instant, catching up a moan, then pulled away, shaking his head slowly as he came to lift an edge of the cloak. Stevanus had seen him approaching and came to crouch beside him.

“I'm sorry, my lord,” Stevanus said quietly. “I—believe he felt very little after the first impact. And had he survived, any one of his injuries would have left him a hopeless cripple.”

Richard swallowed and let fall the edge of the cloak, then glanced back dully at Albertus, who was wiping his hands on the corner of his cloak.

“Do you know what caused it?” he said. “What were you looking for?”

Albertus shook his head and shrugged. “A burr, some trace of an irritant—I don't know. But there's nothing. It just—happened.”

He came to stand awkwardly beside the younger man as another guardsman joined the first and, together, they wrapped the cloak more closely around the body and picked it up. One of the
Custodes
clerics had brought up another horse, and the two laid the cloak-wrapped body across its saddle and began tying it in place.

“This, ah, does leave us with an awkward logistic problem,” Albertus said to Paulin in a low voice, almost as if he hated even to mention it. “Rhemuth now has no constable.”

“Well, we can't delay our departure, and we can't leave Rhemuth undefended,” Rhun said.

His gaze flicked appraisingly to the still dazed-looking Richard, then back at Albertus and Paulin, both of whom gave slight nods of assent. With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Rhys Michael realized what they were about to do.

“So I suppose it's fitting that we appoint a new constable and get on with things,” Rhun went on quietly, setting a hand on Richard's forearm, which made the younger man look up with a start. “Do you think you're ready for this, Richard? It isn't a hasty offer. We've been watching you for some time—since your own father's death, in fact. We need someone loyal and reliable to hold Rhemuth in our absence and to guard the safety of the queen and the king's heir. Also,” he added, in a milder tone, “your wife will need you to help bury her father. We could hardly ask you to come with us as planned, under the circumstances. If you wish, I'll take personal command of your archers.”

Richard swallowed, then nodded tentatively. “Yes, I—thank you. You do me great honor. I shall try to prove worthy of your trust. But—dear God, what am I going to say to Lirin?”

Gravely Paulin came to lay a sympathetic arm around Richard's shoulders. “I am so sorry, Richard. If it will give your dear wife comfort, remind her that her father will have gone straight to Heaven. He came from Holy Communion not an hour ago.”

As Richard gave a choked nod, turning to take the reins of his horse and remount, Rhys Michael thought the remark might have been one of the more hypocritical ones he had ever heard. Nor had he even been consulted about Udaut's replacement—not that they had ever consulted him before.

Cathan must have sensed his resentment, or at least shared it, for he cast the king a wry glance before catching up his bay and remounting. Watching him, Rhys Michael paid scant attention to the mounted
Custodes
man who was leading up Paulin's mount and the dun gelding that Master Stevanus rode. But as the two came back to claim their steeds, Rhys Michael could not miss recognizing the man. Dressed like Stevanus in the red and black tunic of a battle surgeon, the dark, slightly built man with downcast eyes looked like any of a number of others riding among the
Custodes Fidei
, but the king had no doubt that it was Dimitri. He had not expected that the Deryni would be riding so close.

The little man apparently sensed the royal scrutiny, for when he had handed over his charges, he turned slightly in the saddle, made what might have been a slight bow in the king's direction, then turned deliberately to go back to his place.

In that instant, Rhys Michael knew that the first “thing” had happened through Dimitri's instigation. It had looked entirely like an accident, and he could not regret the death of Udaut, who had turned on him so traitorously the day of the coup. But to replace Udaut with Richard Murdoch, whose betrayal had been at least as treacherous—

Then he saw the logic of the move, which surely had been orchestrated by Joram. If anything, Richard was an even less acceptable constable than Udaut, but appointing him to that post just now would keep him from accompanying the army to Eastmarch. And that meant one less powerful enemy for Rhys Michael to worry about in his immediate vicinity.

“My condolences to your lady,” the king murmured, as a tight-jawed Richard took his leave of Albertus and Rhun and passed nearby, starting to lead the squires back toward the castle with their grim burden.

As the cavalcade began to move out again, Rhys Michael reflected that this was likely to prove an even more interesting journey than he had anticipated.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

Look to yourselves, that we lose not those things which we have wrought, but that we receive a full reward.

—II John 1:8

In the days immediately following the king's departure for Eastmarch, Joram and his colleagues in sanctuary began setting in place such measures as might give their fledgling Haldane additional support when he reached his destination. From Joram's own agents in Torenth and the Forcinn came repeated opinions that Marek himself was not capable of a serious incursion into Gwynedd this season and that Miklos had fewer than three hundred men backing him. If the taking of Culliecairn was but a feint to draw the king out of Rhemuth, as it appeared to be, it was not to test his military strength.

Logic and the agents' past reliability suggested that their assessments were correct. Though a full-scale armed encounter seemed increasingly unlikely, when viewed in light of the reports, it was Bishop Niallan who pointed out that Miklos could have offered few greater provocations than to have the Festillic Pretender's heir christened on Gwynedd soil. That he had informed Gwynedd's king of his intentions in advance only served to reinforce suspicions that the true object of the exercise was to lure the king onto ground of Miklos' choosing where, presumably, he would have no protection from more subtle testing that Deryni might employ against an enemy.

Against that possibility, as well as to augment the physical force available to the king when he confronted the intruders, Ansel and Jesse quickly gathered a troop of nearly forty former Michaelines and other loyal men, some of them Deryni. Though none dared flaunt that lineage these days, many of the men had built themselves admirable reputations in the last decade for helping keep the peace in the borders and were somewhat known in Eastmarch as men to be trusted. With these men in the forefront, and Ansel and Jesse disguised among them—and Tieg riding as squire, for they must have a Healer among them—the troop set out for Lochalyn to offer their services to Sudrey of Eastmarch, who was herself of Deryni lineage.

Not that shared blood was any guarantee of a warm reception. Though Sudrey might have been born Deryni, distant kin both to Miklos and Marek, she had never been known to evidence the slightest hint of possessing any powers—whether because they were minuscule or because she simply declined to use them, out of respect for the human sensibilities of her husband and his people, no one knew. But the killing of her husband by forces under a prince of her own Deryni kindred could have done nothing to revive her Torenthi connections in any positive way. It was hoped she would turn a blind eye to the fact that some of the benefactors come to help avenge her husband's death might be Deryni like herself.

In fact, the composition of Ansel's band never became an issue, for he and Jesse were able to present themselves and their men to one of Sudrey's captains, who was happy to accept the offer of an extra forty mounted men with no questions asked Casual inquiry around the camp that night disclosed that with the slain Earl Hrorik now in his grave, the Lady Sudrey had called her husband's captains to her and personally taken there vows of allegiance, never mind that Corban, her daughter's husband, now was technically Earl of Eastmarch.