Camber of Culdi (23 page)

The closeness of the air and walls was growing more oppressive, when there was a scraping of stone against stone before them, and a vibration as the outer rock was unsealed. Then the wall swung back to reveal cold steel thrust into the opening before them—swords held by faceless men in cloaks of midnight blue, their identity obscured by the glare of blazing torches.

Evaine raised her hand to shield against the unaccustomed brightness, trying to see beyond to the shadow forms who stood without. Camber merely stood and closed his eyes, willing them to adjust to the light, but not moving his hands.

There was a brief silence, and then: “It's Lord Camber,” a low voice said.

The swords were lowered and the torches withdrawn a space.

As the glare receded, Camber opened his eyes again and stepped forward, his hand on Evaine's elbow. Outside the Transfer Portal, a tall, blue-cassocked man with steel-gray hair was waiting, while three blue-mantled knights of the Michaeline Order sheathed their swords and moved into the background with their torches. Their leader, Alister Cullen, bowed stiffly as Camber saw and recognized him—for he was still wary of the turn of events which had made Camber MacRorie ally instead of adversary, however much he loved and trusted the great man's son. Camber returned the bow, himself a little ill at ease, and gestured toward Evaine.

“My daughter, Evaine, of whom I've spoken,” he said, by way of introduction.

Cullen nodded in her direction, as Evaine returned a slight curtsey; then he directed his attention back to Camber, eyes glittering like sea ice, heavy brows nearly meeting on his forehead.

“We had not expected you tonight, Lord Camber. Is something wrong?”

“I'm afraid there's been a change of plans,” Camber said. “May I speak freely?” He gestured toward the three Michaelines and raised an eyebrow.

Cullen's mouth set in a firm line. “I will stand pledge for their loyalty. What is it?”

“Joram and Rhys will be at the haven with the prince within four days, if all goes well.”

“Four days!” Cullen exclaimed, his composure rattled. “But, we had agreed—it was to be the week before Christmas!”

“I know. We will simply have to adjust somehow. My son Cathan is dead. We buried him but a few hours ago.”

Cullen's jaw dropped in shock, and then he closed his eyes and shook his head, crossing himself with a hand which was suddenly a century older than it had been three heartbeats before. The three behind him likewise signed themselves and bowed their heads.

Cullen, when he looked up, was visibly shaken. He yearned to reach out to the shining man and comfort him, to try to ease the pent-up grief; but his hands remained slack at his sides. He could not do that yet. Pride forbade. Through Joram, he had known Camber's resistance to his order for far too long to trust fully so soon. And so he folded his hands together awkwardly and searched for words, sighing at the inadequacy of whatever he might say.

“I'm sorry,” he finally murmured. “Joram spoke of his older brother quite fondly, and I always felt I knew him myself, though we never met. How did it happen?”

“We don't know for certain,” Camber said quietly. Evaine bit her lip and clasped her father's arm more tightly, blinking back the tears. “The guards who brought his body back to Caerrorie said that he simply collapsed and died with Imre, before the Yule Court last night. The truth is that there was a wound in his chest, however—of a sword thrust or a dagger. He must have died instantly.”

A strained silence followed. Then: “Do the guards know who did it?”

“If they know, they will not say,” Camber answered. “I believe Imre suspects us of something, though, else the soldiers would not still be in my castle yard. Tomorrow, I will have to make some excuse that Joram and Rhys left before dawn, to go into retreat or on some other errand. We've not been formally forbidden to leave the castle, so perhaps the ruse will work. Actually, they left for Saint Foillan's just after mid-day, though the soldiers don't know that. With luck, they should reach the abbey two nights from now.”

Cullen's quick mind caught the glossing over of time, the half-omission, and he looked steadily across at Camber.

“You say the guards don't know?”

“I—ah—covered their absence by placing a shape-changing spell on two of the servants,” Camber said reluctantly. “I'll restore them when I return.”

Cullen's face hardened at the mention of the spell, though he had, in a way, been prepared for such a revelation. Nonetheless, his hand twitched as if longing to move in some protective counter-spell, though he knew that was superstitious nonsense.

“Though I cannot condone your action, I can see the necessity for it,” he permitted himself to say. “But, ignore that for the moment. We must make our own preparations. How many people do you intend to bring to the haven?”

“We'll be ten in all: eight family and two servants—the ones I shape-changed; if Imre finds out what I've done, it might not be safe for them to remain behind.”

“I see,” Cullen nodded. “When may we expect you?”

“We'll try to stay at least the four days it will take Joram and Rhys to get Cinhil to safety. If Imre doesn't move against us before then, there should be no difficulty. If he does—well, we'll have a problem. If we must escape through our own Portal, and I see no reasonable alternative if we're discovered, we run the risk of Imre placing troops before every known Portal in the kingdom to try to catch us. If he goes that far, I doubt that Joram and the others could reach safety without being captured. We'll just have to do our best to stall.”

Cullen nodded thoughtfully. “We can probably cut our safety margin to three days, if necessary. Imre can't close off all the Portals that quickly, even if that occurs to him: we may be giving him credit for more astuteness than he possesses. And there's no way for him to guess that Dhassa is our target. A calculated risk, but it may be our only chance.”

Camber controlled a smile, admiring the logic of the man. “How are your preparations? Can your people be ready?”

Cullen turned to the three behind him, his clasped hands behind his back. “You've been listening, Jeb,” he said to the tallest of the men. “We're talking about a three-week compression of our timetable. Can you gather the order in three days?”

Jeb, Lord Jebediah of Alcara, Grand Master of the order's military arm, stepped forward with the easy assurance of a trained warrior. “It will require judicious planning to keep down suspicion at the increased Portal activity, Father. But, yes, I think we can do it.”

“How many men?” Camber asked.

“Two hundred knights, my lord, carefully dispersed to places of safety until we have need of them.” He smiled. “Your own son's prowess with weapons will tell you of their training.”

Camber returned the smile, and Cullen nodded. “Nathan?”

The second man, a scar sleek and white along his chin, stepped forward and bowed.

“Provisioning will be finished within a day, Father General. The grain ship arrived this afternoon. We should have it unloaded and transferred to our hidden storerooms by nightfall tomorrow. Everything else is in readiness.”

“And the non-combatants?” Cullen asked the third man.

Jasper Miller laid a hand on the Michaeline emblem on his mantle and bowed. “Three days hence, even the king himself will find no servant of Saint Michael upon the land. Until the true king comes again, the Michaelines shall cease to exist.”

“You risk much for an untried prince, sir,” Camber breathed, marvelling at the man's faith.

“Better the untried prince of a once-noble house than the usurping son of regicides who now sits on our throne!” the man retorted. “The Haldanes were ever friends to our order, and to the people of Gwynedd.”

“God grant that they always will be,” Camber replied. “And pray that this Haldane comes. It will be two days at best before Joram and Rhys even reach his side, and longer before we see his face. Suppose he is unwilling to take up his crown?”

“He will not fail us,” Cullen said. “He
must
not. But in the meantime, our energies were best spent ensuring him a safe haven when he comes. And at Caerrorie—is there ought we can do to ease your work there?”

Camber shook his head. “We'll begin tomorrow to bring through the few things we will need, in small lots. Evaine will help me,” he added, laying his hand over his daughter's, who had been watching and listening all the while.

“Very well,” Cullen said.

He stroked his chin in a thoughtful gesture, then looked up at Camber with a slightly sheepish expression which seemed doubly out of place on his dour, craggy face.

“Ah, knowing how I feel about the darker aspects of our abilities, you will probably think me addled to ask this, but might I suggest that you leave the shape-changes on the two servants for a few days—since the deed is already done,” he added defensively. “It would help to alleviate needless suspicion, and perhaps gain us a little more time.”

Camber raised an eyebrow and smiled in spite of himself. “I had not considered it, and might not have mentioned it if I had, but yes, it could be done, provided Crinan and Wulpher are willing—and I see no reason to suspect that they would not be.”

Cullen looked very uncomfortable, and cleared his throat uneasily. “Yes, well—ah—good. It should ease matters a little. Are there—ah—any Deryni in the guard contingent?”

“The lieutenant is Deryni. There may be others. I've not spoken with anyone else, however.”

“Hmm, well. I don't suppose I need remind you to be careful.”

Camber controlled the urge to smile again—he had the distinct feeling that he had taken the measure of the gruff old vicar general, and found himself liking the man—then held out his hand.

“We'd best get back before we're missed. Will you pray for us, Father?”

Cullen, taken by surprise at the request, automatically put his hand in Camber's and clasped it in farewell. “If you truly wish it, my lord,” he said, as he realized what he had done. “Though, frankly, I had not thought to hear such a plea from your lips.”

“Because of our past differences? I think we both, perhaps, misread the other badly. God keep you, Father.”

And as Camber, with his daughter, turned and stepped back across the Portal threshold, he heard Cullen murmur, “And you, my son.”

Then they were back in his study at Caerrorie, and the newly widowed Elinor was rushing toward him to fling herself into his arms.

“Thank God, you've returned,” she whispered, hugging him close for comfort. “The king's lieutenant wants to see you. I've been stalling him for nearly five minutes.”

“Did he say why he wants to see me?” Camber asked, stepping from the Portal and beginning to strip off his outer garments.

“It's snowing harder. He wants to move his men into the hall. I have the distinct impression that they plan to stay longer than just overnight.”

“That's splendid,” Camber answered, his tone indicating that he did not think it splendid at all. “Where will I find this lieutenant?”

Five minutes later, he was entering the Great Hall, where the lieutenant was waiting, having paused to don a nightrobe and to clear his mind of his recent activities. (After all, the man was a Deryni.)

The lieutenant was pacing the floor before the hearth, rustling the sweet rushes and disturbing the sleep of the hounds sprawled by the fire. Several of his men were gathered silently at the other end of the hall, muffled in great cloaks. Camber took in the scene at a glance as he emerged from the stairwell, then crossed to the hearth. The dogs raised their heads to greet him, but he stilled their motion with a firm hand signal.

“I'm sorry you had to wait, Lieutenant,” he said quietly, drawing his robe around him against the cold. “It is my custom to meditate before retiring, especially in times of stress. I'm afraid I have trained my daughters too well that I am not to be disturbed.”

“I understand, my Lord Earl.” The lieutenant bowed. “I came to ask whether I might move my men into the hall for the night. It's beginning to snow harder. I think we're in for a storm.”

“Certainly, sir, though I hope you will not overstay your welcome,” Camber said softly. “I'm afraid I haven't the means to house an entire garrison indefinitely.”

“Well, I hardly think a score of men constitutes a garrison, my lord—” the man started to protest.

“No, but it is a reasonable substitute at a time like this. And I did not hear you clarify my ‘indefinitely,' either. Just how long do you intend to stay?”

The lieutenant looked down in embarrassment. “I'm sorry, my lord. I dislike being here at such a time just as much as you dislike having me here. But I am commanded to remain until I receive further orders. You are acquainted with soldiers, sir, though you were not one yourself. I'm sure you will understand—”

“I understand your orders, sir. I am not that far removed from military matters after twenty-five years at Court. What I do not understand is the reason for those orders. Am I and my household under arrest?”

“Of course not,” the lieutenant said uncomfortably. “We were sent to escort your son's body home in honor, and, I assume, to render you that same honor until it has been determined just what really happened to your son.”

“Then, you acknowledge that he did not merely collapse and die, as your instructions first gave you to say?”

“I—er—I am not permitted to discuss that, my lord. I'm sorry.”

His voice trailed off, very uncomfortably, and Camber smiled, with a gentle, resigned lifting of one corner of his mouth.

“I suspected as much. You are not to blame,” he said. “Please feel free to billet your men here in the hall, by all means. I will have the steward see to building up the fire.”