The Bastard Prince (20 page)

“Sire, it's Lord Albertus,” Fulk announced, though a pinched tone in his voice made Rhys Michael look around and then get slowly to his feet.

“My Lord Marshal,” he murmured, his blood running cold, for Albertus' torch-bearer was none other than Dimitri.

Albertus made him a curt bow, hands clasped behind his back, hidden in his scarlet-faced black mantle.

“Your Highness. I wished to inquire whether you had any questions regarding the maps you took away with you. From some of your comments at supper, I was not altogether certain you approved of our plans.”

The statement was a blatant lie. Rhys Michael knew it at once, without any benefit of Truth-Reading—which he dared not employ in Dimitri's presence, even though he knew the Deryni supposedly was neutralized. Affecting an expression of wide-eyed mystification, he gestured to one of the other chairs as he took his own seat.

“I can't imagine why you would think that,” he said easily. “But please, be seated. Perhaps you would care to go over the plans again and question me on my understanding. I am the first to admit that my knowledge of strategy, alas, is totally theoretical. Pray, be seated, my lord.”

“I prefer to stand, thank you,” Albertus said coolly. “And do not presume to patronize me. Don't think I am not aware how you mouth the platitudes you know are expected of you, while secretly you plot to overturn the established order. Did you have anything to do with Udaut's death?”

The sudden question stunned him. Carefully setting both hands on the arms of his chair, Rhys Michael sat back and slowly shook his head. He was too new to his powers to know whether Dimitri was Truth-Reading him, but there could be no other reason for the Deryni agent's presence. This question he could answer without danger of being caught in a lie, but what about the next, and the next? Dimitri supposedly had been “neutralized,” but what did that really mean? How far could he actually be trusted?

“Of course I had nothing to do with Udaut's death. Why would you even ask such a question?”

“Perhaps because there has always been rumor about the Haldanes,” Albertus murmured. “Your father was friendly with Deryni and was said to have borrowed their magic from time to time, in the early days of his reign. Your brother Alroy was free of the taint, but Javan—well, we were never able to prove anything, but I have always had my suspicions. I would like to believe that we intervened in time to spare you such contamination, but recent events make me wonder.”

“What recent events?” Rhys Michael said boldly. “Udaut's accident? Your own? I assure you, I had nothing to do with either. How could I? Ask
him
, if you don't believe
me
.”

He gestured toward the impassive Dimitri, taking a big risk if Dimitri had
not
been neutralized. The Deryni's dark eyes caught the light of the torch in his hand and almost seemed to glow. Rhys Michael all but held his breath as Albertus glanced at Dimitri, who shrugged and shook his head—but whether from knowledge confirmed by Truth-Reading or a shift in his loyalties, Rhys Michael could not tell.

“He speaks the truth, my lord,” Dimitri said quietly.

Albertus stared at him for a long moment, considering, glanced at the king, then took the torch from Dimitri's hand and turned partway toward the door, where Fulk was waiting nervously.

“Fulk, bar the door and then come and assist Master Dimitri. I should have had this done long ago.”

“Sir Cathan will be returning any moment, my lord,” Fulk said in a low voice, not moving. “If you intend what I think, and you wish to keep this private, you'd best wait until he's come back, or an alarm will be raised.”

Fulk's logic was inescapable and wholly in keeping with his original obligation of loyalty to the great lords, but it was also a welcome delaying tactic. Quite clearly, Albertus had not sought permission of his fellows to do what he obviously intended, which was to have Dimitri probe him at last; but just as clearly, Rhys Michael himself could not raise the alarm, protesting
too
much that he did not want to be probed, lest the ensuing commotion convince the other great lords that perhaps the king had good reasons of his own to avoid Dimitri's touch.

“Go and find Sir Cathan and bring him back here,” Albertus said, jamming his torch into an empty wall cresset. “And say nothing of this to anyone.”

Fulk gave a nod and turned to go, but before he could even get out the door, Cathan returned on his own, a dusty wine bottle tucked in the crook of one arm and several wooden cups balanced atop it. His cheery whistling ceased abruptly as Fulk drew him inside and he saw the king's visitors.

“Sir Cathan, you will remain there by the door and see that we are not interrupted,” Albertus said, as Fulk relieved Cathan of his bottle and cups and set them on the floor. “Bar the door. Fulk, come and be ready to assist Master Dimitri.”

“I won't be held!” Rhys Michael blurted, half coming to his feet as Fulk headed toward him.

Albertus whirled and stabbed a forefinger at the king. “Sit down!” Rhys Michael sat. “You will do what you are told. Whether or not you are physically restrained depends entirely upon your cooperation.”

Rhys Michael swallowed and made himself take a deep breath, trying not to shake. He had almost let pride and bund panic stampede him into open defiance of Albertus, which would never be tolerated. Cathan was standing taut and anxious by the door, poised to move on command, but Rhys Michael shot him a restraining glance. He was going to have to allow Dimitri's touch. Whether that would prove his betrayal remained to be seen. He could only pray that the information he had received about the Deryni was correct.

“I didn't say I wouldn't cooperate,” he murmured. He kept his eyes downcast as he clasped his hands in his lap, aware of Fulk moving in to stand behind his chair. “It wasn't my intention to defy you.”

“I am very glad to hear that,” Albertus said, raising a dark eyebrow. “May I take it, then, that you do not object to letting Master Dimitri resolve the question of your innocence, once and for all?”

“My objections obviously have no bearing,” Rhys Michael said quietly. “I think that what you're proposing is extremely ill-advised, but I'll do what's required of me, as I've always done. I know my place, and I know my vulnerability. I don't have to
like
some of the things I'm obliged to do, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to throw everything away in a childish show of pique.”

A smile quirked at a corner of the earl marshal's long, cruel mouth, and he signaled Fulk back from the king's chair with a negligent wave.

“Gracefully spoken—Sire,” he said, though disdain tinged the honorific title. “Sir Fulk, I doubt your services will be required. Master Dimitri, I would know whether our brash young king bears any traces of the kind of power you wield. You know the rumors concerning the Haldanes. I would have them confirmed or denied.”

Rhys Michael drew a deep breath, briefly closing his eyes.

“Albertus, I beg you not to do this,” he whispered, averting his gaze from the compulsion of Dimitri's dark eyes as the Deryni started to move toward him. “You know why he hasn't been permitted to touch me in all these years. What if he works his own mischief? Does Rhun know what you're doing?”

“That is not your concern,” Albertus said, and gestured with a curt nod for Dimitri to proceed.

With a slight bow, Dimitri came to perch casually on the right-hand arm of Rhys Michael's chair, flexing his fingers once as he lifted them toward the king's head.

“It will be easier for both of us if you do not resist this, Sire,” Dimitri murmured, as he laid his hands across Rhys Michael's eyes.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

Keep thee far from the man who hath power to kill … lest he take away thy life presently.

—Ecclesiasticus 9:13

“It will be easier for both of us if you do not resist this. Sire,” Dimitri murmured.

At the same instant that his hands covered his subject's eyes, curving around the temples, more specific instruction came slamming against the edges of Rhys Michael's rigid shields.

Give a human reaction, or I cannot help you, Haldane! Appear to lose consciousness. Read the truth of what I tell you. I am ordered to protect you, regardless of the cost to myself
.

Knowing it to be so, Rhys Michael did his best to convey the desired impression, eyes closing and taut limbs twitching as he made them relax, even allowing himself to slump forward so that the top of his head rested against Dimitri's chest—for it also shielded any telltale expressions from Albertus' view. He could feel the Deryni's hands slipping around to cradle the back of his head and the sly insinuation of the other's thoughts settling into a more stable link, and he focused his intent on a reply.

How can you help me?

That remains to be seen. Albertus has been gathering his suspicions for some time, but something has persuaded him to demand this confrontation just now. I shall know what it was before he leaves this room. We have not time for extensive alterations to his memories, but if his suspicions hang upon only a few points, I may be able to make adjustments that will spare his life for now. I am ordered to kill him, but his death must not be traceable to you
.

So saying, Dimitri pushed Rhys Michael back into an upright position, though he kept a hand set on one shoulder so that his fingers remained curled around the back of the king's neck.

Slowly begin to show signs of regaining consciousness
, he sent.
Pretend still to be lightly controlled.

“Well?” Albertus demanded, moving closer as the king stirred and softly moaned, and Dimitri turned his head to glance at the earl marshal.

“I do not know what you expected me to find, my lord, but he is simply—a Haldane. He does not wear the yoke of his submission lightly, but surely you did not expect that he would.”

“I know all that,” Albertus muttered. “What about Udaut?”

“He was as surprised and mystified as you, my lord.”

“Well, what about the bees?”

“Do you truly think he can command bees?”

“But the Haldanes
do
have—can he Truth-Read?”

“Can a
human
Truth-Read, my lord?” Dimitri asked, scorn touching his tone of voice.

“Don't provoke me, Deryni!” Albertus snapped. “His father knew how to do it, and so did Javan. Now,
there
was a
human
for you! Jesus Christ,
you
were the one to confirm that someone had managed to tamper with Hubert's memory, and that Javan prob—”

Without warning, Dimitri seized Albertus' wrist and jerked him off balance, surging into the other's mind even as he released Rhys Michael, rising to guide the earl marshal's collapse as his knees buckled. Fulk had started forward in alarm, not certain what was happening, but Cathan was already hurtling across the room to wrestle him away from the king, taking him into control as Rhys Michael scrambled from his chair.

Meanwhile, Albertus swayed on his knees and then toppled onto his side, while Dimitri still maintained dogged contact. As the king crouched down beside the kneeling Dimitri, the Deryni was already forcing his mind deep into that of the unconscious Albertus, less and less mindful whether he ripped it as he searched out what he must know.

“It is as I feared,” the Deryni murmured, as he withdrew enough to speak, the black eyes almost glowing as he glanced at Rhys Michael. “He suspects too much, and the threads run too deep. His life was already forfeit, but I had hoped for better cover for the deed. Still,
you
will not be suspect.”

“Wait!” Rhys Michael whispered. “What are you going to do?”

“Merely stop his heart. It will be an easier death than he gave most of his victims. Easier than your brother's death.”

Chilled, Rhys Michael grabbed Dimitri's sleeve.

“Did
he
kill my brother?”

“His was the direct order that permitted it. He watched him die. See for yourself, if you wish, but be brief.”

Rhys Michael could not turn away from that invitation. Trembling, he laid his hand on the earl marshal's forehead and let Dimitri guide him to the specific memory that lay bare beneath their scrutiny. With a tiny mental wrench, he was
in
Albertus' memory, reliving those final moments of treacherous battle lust on a killing field beside a river ford, when a king had fallen to well-planned treason by his own lords of state.

From Albertus' vantage point astride a great black brute of a battle charger, he saw a hail of arrows rain down on the red-clad figure farther across the field. Beyond the king, the Haldane standard faltered as the valiant Guiscard de Courcy went down at last. Though Javan himself appeared to escape unscathed, his horse went down with half a dozen wounds, bright blood blossoming against the animal's creamy coat.

Somehow the king managed to throw himself clear, landing on his feet. Bareheaded, he laid about him with the Haldane sword like a man possessed, but not so nimble afoot as he had been mounted. Sir Charlan, the king's favorite aide, tried to ride alongside and pull the king into the saddle behind him, but more of Albertus'
Custodes
knights cut down that horse as well. King and aide fought together as a team then, and with Charlan now guarding the king's back and Javan himself maintaining a deadly net of steel before him, no one seemed able to breach their defenses—until more arrows began to find their marks.

“Take him!” Albertus screamed, thrusting his bloody sword toward the distant figure and trying to fight closer.

Another flight of arrows whispered off in the king's direction, and this time the king fell. The arrow he took in the chest probably was fatal, even if lesser wounds had not already delivered enough
merasha
to kill him within minutes. Sir Charlan caught him as he fell, himself now wounded, and Albertus spurred his horse toward the spot where he had seen them go down, several of his
Custodes
knights clearing a path.