The Bishop’s Heir (14 page)

After another few heartbeats, Kelson turned his attention back to the waiting contact, opening his mind to fill with Morgan's message.

Well done, my prince
, came Morgan's whispered thought in his mind.
I really wasn't certain I could reach you. Who else is in the link?

Caulay and Dhugal
, Kelson replied.
And Dhugal is still partially conscious, so try not to let anything surge, or he's going to feel it and scare himself to death pulling out
.

He caught the impression of laughter, like tinkling silver bells, and then a more sober note.

A brave lad and a true friend
, Morgan sent.
Why don't you bring him back to Culdi with you!

I'm needed already?
Kelson queried.

Aye. Cardiel asked me to contact you. He and Arilan have in mind to promote Istelyn to the See of Meara, and they'd like your official opinion. I told them I thought you'd approve, but you ought to do it in person
.

The logic of the request was apparent, and the importance of the summons beyond question, but Kelson sensed something more, vague and less pleasant, lurking beneath the surface. Dhugal stirred, perhaps sharing some of that uneasiness, and Kelson had to tighten his control just as little.

What's wrong?
he asked.
What is it you haven't told me?

Someone tried to kill Duncan earlier this evening
—merasha
on the dagger
.

What?

One of his own retainers
—
hardly more than a boy, really. Unfortunately, he's dead
.

And Duncan?

As his own shock and concern reverberated in the link, he could feel Dhugal tense and try to withdraw. Relentlessly he clamped down on the controls, determined to hold the link just a little longer, even if doing so frightened Dhugal.

He's all right!
Morgan's reassurance came lancing through.
A bad slash on his palm that I can probably heal in the morning, and the expected aftereffects from the drug, but no permanent damage. Just get back as soon as you can
.

The emotion behind Morgan's thought was controlled, but very powerful. Despite Kelson's attempt to buffer its intensity, Dhugal recoiled at the alien sensation; the link began to quiver. No longer trusting the luxury of worded communication, Kelson sent agreement and an urgency to break contact for Dhugal's sake—and was out of the link, as much pushed as of his own volition. As he twisted around to grab the trembling Dhugal by the wrists, he continued to catch the ragged after-echo of Duncan's pain as it had come through Morgan's perception—only now it was coming from Dhugal.

“Stop it!” he whispered harshly, giving Dhugal a shake and trying to force reason past the panic. “Look at me, Dhugal! Take a deep breath and listen! Let it go! You're all right.
Duncan
is all right. Will you—”

As his mind probed at Dhugal's, bright pain seemed to explode behind his eyes, rebounding against his swiftly raised shields and somehow echoing back to Dhugal with even greater force. Dhugal cried out, doubling up and sinking to the floor despite Kelson's attempt to support him, then lay there sobbing blindly—dry, wracking heaves as he gasped for breath, rocking in Kelson's arms.

Kelson was stunned. As he held the shuddering Dhugal and tried to comfort him, he could find nothing to account for the reaction. With the breaking of the link with Morgan, Dhugal should have felt nothing further.

But when Kelson at last tried another tentative probe, the reason became abundantly clear.

“
Shields!
” he whispered, withdrawing as quickly as he could and thrusting Dhugal far enough away to stare at him in shock. “Mother of God, Dhugal, where did you get shields? Can you hear me, Dhugal? You've got
shields
! Dhugal, are you all right?”

Groggily, Dhugal uncurled and managed to sit up, holding his head with one hand and leaning against Kelson's knee for support. Kelson did not press him for further response, only waited while Dhugal got his bearings and gradually raised his head, dragging a sleeve across his tear-stained face. His gaze was still a little glassy as he looked up at the king, and he seemed to be having trouble focusing.

“Dhugal, what happened?” Kelson breathed.

Dhugal made a brave attempt at a smile. “I was about to ask you the same question. God—my head hurts!”

“Somehow you managed to pick up some of what Morgan was sending me,” Kelson whispered. “Then you slammed down shields on the link. How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Shield. Most humans can't. Everything was fine until Morgan told me about the attack on Duncan, and the
merasha
.”

“What's
merasha?
” Dhugal asked blankly.

“Oh, sweet
Jesu
, of course you don't know. It's a drug. I don't know where it comes from. But it muddles Deryni senses so that we—can't use our magic. I've never had it used on me, but Morgan has—and now Duncan. And I know it was used to make my father vulnerable to Charissa's magic, so she could kill him.”

Dhugal shivered. “It sounds terrible.”

“So was what happened when you tried to back out of the link! And you've got shields, for God's sake!
He
doesn't,” he stabbed one hand toward the sleeping Caulay in a gesture of frustration, “and you didn't seem to, either, until we started getting that rebound from Duncan. What the devil happened? Can you remember anything at all?”

Dhugal rubbed at his temples and winced. “I can't think with you yelling at me.”

“I'm not yelling at you, I just have to know what happened,” Kelson said, a little less emphatically. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I scared the hell out of me, too.”

Cautiously Dhugal took a deep breath and let it out slowly, not looking at Kelson as he tried to ease himself back to memory of the pain.

“It's still mostly a jumble,” Dhugal finally went on haltingly, “but I do remember that after you stopped talking, I got sort of—drowsy.”

“That was my fault,” Kelson muttered. “I confess I did a little more than I'd told you I was going to. But that shouldn't have made you react the way you did. What else do you remember?”

“I—have a vague impression of General Morgan laughing.… Something about bishops, too—and—and then a terrible pain in my head.”

“That must have been Duncan and the
merasha
,” Kelson said, nodding. “Somehow, you got farther into the link than I thought—just enough to channel some of the emotion. I wasn't expecting shields, though. Caulay doesn't have them.”

“He doesn't have my knack with animals, either,” Dhugal countered, almost a little irritated, “and he used to be as good a tracker as Ciard.” He paused. “Maybe it does have something to do with the Second Sight, though. Maybe—maybe shields go along with that.”

“Maybe,” Kelson replied.

But Dhugal's comment about the animals had struck a responsive chord in Kelson, so that the part about the Second Sight barely even registered. He recalled his father telling him how Morgan could charm deer to the very gates of the city if he wanted to, and some passing mention he remembered of Morgan's sister Bronwyn being able to call the birds from the sky. If their ability came of being Deryni, then what about Dhugal? Dhugal was also good with animals—and that would certainly account for the shields.

“Let's try this again,” he said, slipping his hands to either side of Dhugal's head before the other could object. “Try not to fight me. This is the only way we're going to find out more about what we're up against.”

But Dhugal gasped and tried to pull away at once as Kelson's first probe clashed against the shields again.

“God, what are you doing to me?”

“I don't want to hurt you,” Kelson answered. “Try to relax. I'll ease up while you do, but you've got to help me. Don't fight me, dammit! The more you struggle, the more it's going to hurt!”

But the pain of Kelson's probe had already pushed Dhugal beyond reason again, contorting him into a shuddering fetal ball. Kelson tried several approaches, but the shields refused to budge. He could also sense Dhugal's heartrate rising dangerously. He would have to stop.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, as he withdrew altogether. “God, I wish I knew where you got those shields!”

He doubted Dhugal had heard him, but he kept repeating his apology while he waited for Dhugal to come around, kneading the rigid shoulders until finally Dhugal stirred, uncurling enough to turn frightened, pain-dulled eyes on him.

“I'm sorry,” Kelson said again. “I didn't
want
to hurt you. I really am sorry. Are you all right?”

Dhugal nodded groggily and sat up with Kelson's help, lifting a hand in reassurance.

“It isn't your fault. It's mine. I did try to do what you asked, but it hurt so much—”

“I know.” Kelson glanced away, reviewing everything one more time, then shook his head and sighed.

“Well, it isn't going to do us any good to just sit here and make apologies to one another. It's no one's fault. I certainly wish I didn't have to leave for Culdi tomorrow, though.” He raised an eyebrow hopefully. “I don't suppose you'd consider coming with me?”

“Because of—what just happened?”

Kelson nodded.

“I can't.” Dhugal swallowed and turned half away, fiddling with a fold of his kilt. “It's my father, Kelson. You've seen how he is. Winter's just beginning. I couldn't leave him here alone.”

“He wouldn't exactly be alone,” Kelson ventured. “Your sisters are here, and he has a whole clan family. Or is that really the reason?”

Dhugal drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, avoiding Kelson's eyes. “That's most of it. If he dies—no, make that
when
he dies—I'm going to be Chief of Clan MacArdry, as well as Earl of Transha. I have responsibilities to my people. It—makes things very difficult if the new chief isn't around when the old chief passes.”

Chilled, Kelson glanced up at the bed towering above them, though he could not see its occupant.

“Caulay's dying?”

“I doubt very seriously that he'll last out the winter,” Dhugal said quietly. “He
looks
strong, but his heart—well, let's just say that if he were a horse, I probably would have put him down months ago. There's—someting wrong in his brain, too. He couldn't even talk for a while after he lost the use of his legs, though that came back after a few months.”

“I'm truly sorry.”

“So am I.” Dhugal gave a resigned sigh. “Unfortunately, that doesn't change anything. I doubt even your Deryni healers could have done much for him. The least I can do is be here at the end, if that's possible. Of course, if he does last out the winter, I have another problem. Come spring, my place is at your side, leading the MacArdry levies.

“But we'll worry about that then, if it happens,” he concluded brightly. “As for the other, let's not worry about that until then, either, shall we?”

With a helpless shrug, Kelson rose and helped Dhugal to his feet.

“If you wish. Much as I'd like to have you at court through the winter, I certainly can't fault your reasons for staying here. I don't suppose there's any real urgency about—what's just happened. Whatever's going on in your head has probably been that way for some time, so I doubt much will change by waiting until spring to find out more.”

He and Dhugal moved silently back into the embrasure of the window seat, where Kelson pushed one of the moveable lights farther open and looked out to sea, inhaling deeply of the salt air as Dhugal stood beside him.

“Strategically, nothing much is going to happen until spring either,” the king continued, after a few seconds. “Look out there. The storms are already brewing. In another month, the rains will more than double the travel time in this part of the kingdom; in two, the snows will have doubled it again. Even your cousin Ithel, as much as he may want my throne, can't move any kind of effective army under those conditions. No, we have the winter to decide how to handle this. There may be some minor local disturbances, but no serious threat for at least five months.”

Grim-lipped, Dhugal glanced back into the room, at the great bed wrapped in shadows and the man snoring noisily beneath the sleeping furs.

“When there
is
a threat, I shall be there, my brother,” he said softly. And he held up his right hand with the faint scar etched across the palm.

The gesture moved Kelson more than almost anything else which had happened that night—and there had been many moving moments. Wistfully he raised his own right hand and matched the faint scar across his own palm to the one on Dhugal's. The memory of the making of those scars came flooding back all in an instant, as if the two of them stood once more by the sacred well, high on a wind-scoured hilltop at the edge of Candor Rhea. Kelson had been ten, Dhugal nearly nine.

“Are you sure you really want to?” Dhugal had asked, as they washed their grimy hands in water from the well. “My people count an oath as strong as blood, when blood has been shed. And what will your father say?”

“I don't care what he says, after it's done,” Kelson had replied. “He can't undo it, can he?”

“No. Nothing can undo it unless one of us is dead.”

“Then we don't have to worry,” Kelson had said with a grin, “because you and I are going to live forever, aren't we?” He paused a beat. “Does it hurt much, do you know?”

Dhugal had looked a little greenish under his freckles.

“I dunno,” he confided. “My brother Michael made blood-oath with his friend Fulk when they were younger than we are, and he said it hurt
terribly
—but I think Michael makes things up to scare me sometimes.” He swallowed. “It's only a little cut, after all. If we're going to be knights, we have to learn not to be afraid of getting wounded, don't we?”