The Bastard Prince (29 page)

Hombard smiled without humor. “We know who our Deryni are, Master Surgeon, so
merasha
is little used. But I am quite human. May I be taken to the Haldane now, before I become too drowsy to convey my message?”

“When we are satisfied, you may be taken to the
king
,” Gallard said coldly. “Even a human messenger should be careful to observe the courtesies due one prince to another.”

The man shrugged and yawned.

“Then, may I be taken before your
lord
?” he amended.

Stevanus noted the dilated pupils and nodded to Gallard.

“Bring him.”

Briskly the
Custodes
knight set a gauntleted hand under Hombard's arm and followed back toward Rhun and Lior, steadying his charge when he stumbled once or twice. Hombard yawned again as Stevanus brought him before Rhun, not objecting as Lior moved in to grasp his wrist, monitoring his pulse as he inspected the wide-dilated eyes.

“Your name, sir?” Rhun asked, while Lior made his own assessment.

“Hombard of Tarkent, special envoy of his Serene Highness, Prince Miklos of Torenth.”

At Lior's nod, Rhun jutted his chin in the direction of the command tent.

“Come with me,” he said, leaving Hombard to follow as he went inside, hands clasped behind his back.

Inside, they had made the command tent as imposing as possible. Rhys Michael had taken a seat in a camp chair with his shield hung behind it, the Haldane sword across his knees, and his commanders and aides ranged to either side of him, with Kheldish carpets underfoot. Like the rest of them, he wore full war harness, save for helmet and gauntlets and the Haldane lion bold on his scarlet surcoat. Manfred stood at his right hand, with Cathan and Fulk behind the chair. Sighere and Graham represented the Eastmarch alliance on his left. Gallard and Stevanus remained by the entrance with Lior, Gallard pulling the flap closed behind them when all had entered.

“Sire, this is Hombard of Tarkent,” Rhun said.

Hombard inclined his head—a careful movement not intended to give offense, Rhys Michael sensed, but also indicative that he did not entirely trust his balance for a proper bow. Gesturing for a stool to be set behind the Torenthi messenger, the king returned the nod.

“Please be seated, my lord.”

Hombard fought back a yawn as he settled on the stool, bracing his feet wide for better stability. The eyes that he turned to the king were all pupil.

“My lord, I bring certain propositions from my lord Prince Miklos of Torenth, under terms specified by yourself. Will you hear these propositions?”

“That's why you're here,” Rhun said impatiently, coming to stand beside Manfred. “Out with it, man. We didn't bring you here to play games.”

“Indeed not,” the man agreed, setting his hands on his knees and drawing a steadying breath. “I am quite aware that this is no game. Sir, my lord desires you to know that he is graciously minded to reconsider his earlier plans for the castle and town of Culliecairn. Given certain assurances, he is minded to quit Culliecairn without further danger to lives—those of his men or yours. However, he requires that you treat with him directly, face-to-face, to resolve the terms.”

“Prince Miklos expects me to agree to this?” Rhys Michael said, before Rhun could reply.

“Prince Miklos expects that you will wish to prevent further loss of life, my lord,” Hombard said. “He deeply regrets the death of Lord Hrorik, for he was husband to the Lady Sudrey, who is distant kin to my lord. He suggests that the two of you approach a central, agreed meeting place under a flag of truce, within sight of both armies, each of you unarmed and accompanied by only one attendant. If you wish, he will stipulate that I shall be his, since you already have verified that I am but human.”

As he paused to stifle another yawn, giving his head a slight shake, Sighere said stiffly, “Hrorik agreed tae parley under a flag o' truce, an' it cost him his life an' the lives o' many other braw men. An' the takin' o' Culliecairn was entirely unprovoked.”

“An error was made,” Hombard conceded. “Lord Hrorik was not to be touched, for the sake of the Lady Sudrey. My lord therefore proposes to quit Culliecairn.”

“He was not proposing to quit Culliecairn when his herald delivered his demands in Rhemuth, a fortnight ago,” Rhys Michael said. “Nor did he express any particular remorse over the death of the Earl Hrorik. Then, his talk was all bluster over the christening of his nephew, the son of a man who makes claim to my throne.”

“It had the desired effect, did it not?” Hombard said.

“And what was that?” Rhun demanded.

“Why, attaining the homage of the Haldane, by his attendance at Culliecairn in honor of Prince Marek's son,” Hombard replied, to a rumble of indignation from Rhys Michael's officers. “No further tribute is required at this time.”

“No tribute has been given, nor shall be,” Manfred said through clenched teeth. “Nor do I think Miklos ever intended that the King of Gwynedd should attend the christening of the Bastard's heir.”

Hombard shrugged, not batting an eye at the insult. “It is not for me to speculate on my lord's intentions, sir. I can only tell you that my lord bade me say that his plans have changed. The young prince his nephew has taken ill. He was privately christened last night. He and his parents have already left to take him back to Tolan.”

Rhys Michael sat back at that, wondering if it could be true. Hombard believed it to be true, but so would any messenger, repeating what he had been told to say.

“Why should we believe this?” Manfred demanded. “The fact remains that Prince Miklos is Deryni and has long and openly supported a pretender to the throne of Gwynedd. I do not think he would submit to
merasha
the way you have done, to ensure that we can treat with him without fear of treachery.”

“I cannot refute that last, my lord,” Hombard conceded. “I would point out, however, that even my lord Miklos can be Truth-Read. My lord suggests that the Lady Sudrey might provide this service to your king, by accompanying him to the parley my lord requests. My lord reminds you that, as kin to the Torenthi Royal House, the lady bears Deryni blood—not sufficient to pose you any threat, but certainly sufficient to verify the truth of my lord's proposals from his own lips, as Gwynedd and Torenth discuss terms of a withdrawal.”

“As Gwynedd and
Miklos
discuss such terms,” Rhun said pointedly. “Unless, of course, it's King Arion who authorized this bit of mischief.”

Hombard shrugged and yawned again. “I speak for Prince Miklos, my lord. I can tell you nothing more. I am sent only to treat for terms of a meeting.”

After an instant's taut consideration, Rhun jerked his chin at Stevanus.

“Take the messenger somewhere and let him lie down while we sort this out,” he said. “And stay with him.”

When the two had gone out, Gallard accompanying them, Rhun came to sink down on the stool the messenger had vacated. Lior also approached, to stand with Manfred. Sighere looked uneasy, Graham dismayed. As Rhys Michael handed his sword back to Cathan to hold, he found himself wondering whether he could have misjudged Sudrey.

“This makes no sense,” Rhun muttered. “Why this sudden change? Why would Miklos offer to withdraw? Unless, of course, he is aware of what happened to Dimitri.”

As he cast an appraising look at those who had been present, Manfred glanced uneasily at the king.

“You think he was counting on Dimitri to shift the balance once he had lured the king here?” he asked.

As both he and Rhun looked at Lior, the
Custodes
priest shrugged. “'Tis possible, my lord. With Deryni, anything is possible.”

Rhun drummed his fingers on his knee, then turned his attention back to the king.

“Meeting Miklos under his terms is still out of the question, Sire. I can't allow you to see Miklos alone.”

“I wouldn't be alone if Lady Sudrey accompanies me,” Rhys Michael pointed out.

Manfred snorted. “That's hardly any more reassuring. If she's as little endowed with Deryni power as everyone has always insisted, then she'd be of little use to you against any tricks Miklos might try to pull. And if she's powerful enough to protect you against
him
, then she's powerful enough to be dangerous in her own right—especially if she should turn her ultimate loyalties back to her own blood.”

Sighere folded his burly arms across his chest, anger smouldering in the dark eyes.

“If, by that, ye mean her Torenthi kin—have ye forgotten that those he calls her ‘kin' are responsible for Hrorik's death? I assure ye,
she
hasnae forgotten.”

“And
I
have not forgotten Hrorik's loyalty,” Rhys Michael said, “or that of
his
kin. I certainly have no reason to doubt the Lady Sudrey's loyalty. It was Miklos who stirred this pot seven years ago, when he first inquired of my brother Javan concerning her fate. Her Torenthi kin don't seem to have cared much about her before that. She declined contact with them then, and I do not believe that recent events are likely to have produced a change of heart.”

Manfred scowled. “Perhaps he hopes to change her mind, if he can contrive to meet her in person.”

“I have no doubts about Lady Sudrey's loyalty,” Rhys Michael repeated, hoping his faith was not misplaced.

“It still could be a trick,” Rhun muttered.

“Well, if it is, it's one that's been hatching for about twenty years, which I doubt,” the king replied. “Look. I'm not keen on the idea either. It's possible Miklos
will
try something, but he'll do more than try, if we have to fight it out in the field. Granted, we'd win eventually—but at what cost? And you can bet that Miklos and Marek will slip through our fingers before we can reach them. Marek already has, if you can believe what the messenger said. That only postpones the day of reckoning.”

“If we simply let Miklos withdraw, it still postpones the day of reckoning,” Rhun said. “And if he plans treachery, and you fall, it brings another day of reckoning immediately. Are you that eager for another regency?”

“Of course not. I'm no more eager to die than the next man. But we'd be gambling possible treachery against the certainty of many lives being lost, if we have to fight this out.” Sighere was nodding as the king went on.

“I've been asking myself why Miklos would even offer to parley, much less withdraw,” Rhys Michael said. “Up until this morning, he'd given no indication that he planned to make this anything other than a mortal insult, by taking my fortress and giving it to the heir of my chief rival—and a bloody confrontation, if I tried to make him back down.”

“But now he's
offerin'
tae back down,” Graham said. “Why?”

“A good question,” Rhys Michael replied. “I can only suppose it's come of what happened the other night. Marek's son may well be ill, but I doubt it; I wonder if he was ever even in Culliecairn. No, I think that having Dimitri unmasked took Miklos totally by surprise—as it certainly did us. I don't delude myself by supposing that we came out of it as well as we did by anything other than blind luck—but he doesn't know that. And until he figures out what happened to Dimitri, he doesn't dare push us too far.

“That means at least talking about withdrawing from Culliecairn—and offering to let us bring the only other Deryni we've got is the best he can do to reassure us that he intends to operate in good faith.”

“Sire, these are all well-reasoned arguments,” Lior said thoughtfully, studying a thumbnail, “but has it occurred to you that we might not have come out of the Dimitri affair as well as we thought, and
that's
why Miklos wants this meeting?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we've been worrying about whether Lady Sudrey might betray you, if we allowed her to go with you to parley with Miklos. But another, even more insidious possibility is that Dimitri could have gotten to you after all—in which case, you could betray
yourself
into Miklos' hands.”

While consternation whispered among them, Rhys Michael reflected that the possibility of betraying himself was not altogether farfetched—though not at all in the way Lior imagined. It occurred to him, however, that he might confirm that he had not misjudged Sudrey while simultaneously reassuring the great lords that Dimitri had not tampered with his mind.

“There
is
a way we could find out about that,” he said tentatively.

“Find out about what?” Rhun said.

“The prospect is not personally reassuring,” Rhys Michael went on, “and I don't even know whether she's capable of doing it, but you could ask Lady Sudrey to probe me, to find out whether or not Dimitri did any tampering.”

“You suggest we
let
a Deryni touch you?” Rhun whispered.

“She isn't just any Deryni,” Rhys Michael said carefully, “and I think we could stipulate safeguards to ensure that she didn't go beyond what was asked. Not that she would,” he added, with a pleading glance at Sighere and Graham. “She has good reasons for remaining loyal to the House of Haldane, which has upheld her husband's family for many years—and even better reasons for hating Miklos, who killed her husband and whose line abandoned her when she was a young, frightened, forgotten hostage in a suddenly hostile land. Why should she turn against me, when Miklos is the enemy?”

Lior was nodding slowly as Rhys Michael finished. “If she is of such meager power as everyone insists, I would question whether she is capable of what is needed, but the idea does have merits,” he said. “Father Magan could help me monitor the procedure. He's familiar with the outward characteristics of different kinds of workings.”

Rhun snorted. “Both of you are familiar with what Dimitri wanted you to
think
were the usual characteristics, over the years.”