The King's Deryni (16 page)

The younger boy was already rearranging the pieces to their starting positions, and grinned wickedly. “We'll see who needs humbling.”

Indeed, the two were still playing when Alaric finally excused himself and headed up to bed.

The next time they were to play, two nights hence, Viliam handed Alaric a dog-eared sheaf of vellum pages stitched together along one long edge.

“That's Ulger de Brinsi's
Elements of Basic Strategy
,” Viliam said, as Alaric riffled through the pages, peering more closely at the diagrams. “Apparently, his principles apply for armies as well as cardounet.”

“Who was he?” Alaric asked.

“He was a Thurian master player,” Viliam replied, “trained at the court of Prince Kirill Furstán, who became his patron. Anyway, Ulger wrote this treatise for Kirill's sons, who were mad keen on the game and later became master strategists for one of King Kiprian's generals in the Great War. Fortunately, they were both killed early on, or all of us might be speaking Torenthi.”

“And I don't think Kiprian had read Ulger,” Jernian chimed in.

Viliam chuckled at that, then resumed. “Anyway, it's a good place to start with formal strategy. If you could read Torenthi, I'd loan you Count Koltan's masterwork. He was amazing.”

“You read Torenthi?” Alaric asked.

Viliam shrugged. “Enough to read Koltan. A lot of the terminology translates directly, once you master the alphabet.”

“He reads Torenthi,” Jernian muttered, “and Bremagni, and—”

“Just play,” Viliam retorted, with a good-natured dunt to Jernian's arm. “You'll scare him away.”

Alaric grinned, now thankful for the lessons in rudimentary Torenthi that his Aunt Delphine had given him. “It will take more than that,” he said. He glanced again at the vellum manuscript. “Let's see how I do with Ulger. And thank you, Viliam.”

“Always pleased to recruit another serious player,” Viliam replied, “and you do show promise, Duke of Corwyn. Now, Jernian, make your first move.”

Cardounet became their regular pastime after supper. Now and again, one or another of them would be assigned to table duty, delaying the start of play, but the work was not onerous, and none of them resented taking their fair turn. Alaric read and re-read the Ulger treatise, and his game slowly improved. So did his tilting at multiple rings, though he could not credit Ulger with that.

“You're developing a more discerning eye,” Llion told him. “Excellent. I've noticed that the squires do it with a sword as well as a lance. I think we shall try that tomorrow.”

•   •   •

W
HILE
Alaric continued his training, also sharpening his acumen at cardounet—and, thereby, his grasp of strategy—Kenneth was attending to the business of the duchy. Sometimes he rode the nearer boundaries of the duchy with a few of the regents, conducting regents' courts and assizes. On the first such foray north, Jovett rode with him, along with Phares Donovan and Jardine Howard, for all three men had spent several weeks acquainting themselves with the operations of the duchy, so that their practices back in Lendour would be in harmony.

More often than riding the boundaries, however, Kenneth sat on local courts and heard the domestic disputes of petitioners. In addition, he would receive periodic reports from his regents back in Lendour, and letters from Zoë. Correspondence came as well from Morganhall and Culdi, and also an occasional letter from the king.

He received one such letter midway through October, on a blustery afternoon made more pleasant by the pitcher of mulled wine he was sharing with several of his fellow regents in a sheltered corner of the courtyard adjoining the castle gardens. All of them looked up as Llion joined them brandishing a letter sealed with Haldane crimson. Alaric had gone riding on the beach with the other pages, in what promised to be one of the last such jaunts of the season, for the weather was starting to turn.

“When did this arrive?” Kenneth asked, as Llion handed over the letter and, at Kenneth's gesture of invitation, sat between Crescence de Naverie and Airlie Kushannan. Both Udauts were also present, father and son, and the elder Udaut poured a cup of wine for Llion as Kenneth cracked the seal on the letter.

“Within the hour, my lord,” Llion said. “It came by ship—which probably docked earlier this morning, but someone at the harbor only just got around to sending it up.”

“We'll hope that it isn't urgent, then,” Kenneth said, skimming over the usual salutations.

I am advised that no immediate escalation of hostilities is likely in Meara,
Brion had written—or, a clark had taken his dictation, for the missive was not in Brion's hand—
but we continue to monitor the health of the Lady Aude. For when she dies, it is likely that Caitrin will marry, and perhaps produce another Mearan pretender.

At this point, the hand changed, and also the tone.

On another matter, I trust you will have heard by now of the death of Prince Hogan's wife, and the loss of the prince she was carrying. We now hear that Hogan has remarried the woman he had taken to wife in his youth: the Lady Kethevan von Soslán. His wedding gift to his new bride was to create her Countess of Soslán and to legitimate their children, though Festillic house law will not allow them to succeed to his titles and pretensions. Perhaps you might make discreet inquiries into Torenth, for it would be useful to learn how the Torenthis regard this news.

In the margin, Brion had written, in his own hand:
Duke Ewan wrote that part, as he is far more astute in such matters than I am.

Kenneth smiled as he skimmed over the rest of the letter, which inquired regarding the health of Kenneth and his son, then ended by reiterating the request that Kenneth should see what more he could find out about the Festillic pretender's domestic arrangements.

“It appears that we need to make some discreet inquiries into Torenth,” he said, as he passed the letter to Crescence. “Apparently Hogan Gwernach has remarried his first wife and legitimated her children by him. Had you heard anything about that, Laurenz?”

The elder Udaut shook his head. “No, but that does not mean that it is not true. I can certainly put out some feelers. There may be some gossip down by the harbor. And I can send some men across the border to see what they might turn up. Have we any idea when or where this might have taken place?”

“Nothing was mentioned,” Kenneth replied, “but my guess would be late summer, and probably somewhere up in the north of Torenth, since his superior title is Duke of Truvorsk.”

“And Pretender of Gwynedd,” said Airlie Kushannan, with a wry lift of one tawny eyebrow.

“Aye, that, too,” Kenneth conceded.

“I'll see about it,” Laurenz said, rising. “These things take time, but juicy gossip like an irregular royal marriage will tend to travel fast.”

•   •   •

H
ARDLY
a week later, one of the men sent out to investigate the rumors returned with news both surprising and shocking.

“This was unusual enough that it was making the rounds all along the waterfront across at Furstánan,” said Sir Seamus O'Flynn, dropping his saddlebags beside the table as he pulled up a stool across from Kenneth and Laurenz, who was his brother-in-law. “Hogan Gwernach has, indeed, married the Lady Kethevan and legitimated their surviving children. In addition, he gave titles to the two sons. The eldest, Zimarek, became Count of Tarkhan. The other son, Mikhael, is now Count of Sankt-Irakli.”

Laurenz cocked his head at the newcomer as Airlie Kushannan and Crescence de Naverie joined them. “This is hardly unusual, under the circumstances. You have more?”

“Oh, aye. Much more.” Seamus, who was heir to the Earl of Derry, poured himself a cup of ale and tossed it back before continuing. “To further celebrate the nuptials, which lasted a week, Hogan staged a grand tournament in which both his sons competed. For the younger, Mikhael, it was mostly for show. He is but seventeen, and only received the accolade a few months before the wedding. He prefers books to the sword, and only rode a pageant course or two before retiring from the field, content to watch from the stands with his parents.

“For Zimarek, it is a somewhat different story,” Seamus went on, allowing Kenneth to refill his cup. “Zimarek fancied himself quite the warrior. At two-and-twenty, he had half a dozen very successful tourney seasons under his belt. He rode well against all challengers—until a black knight rode onto the field.”

“Seamus, you are enjoying this far too much,” Crescence said sourly. “Who was this black knight?”

“That's the odd thing. No one seems to know. But he was able to put the point of his lance right through the visor of Zimarek's tourney helm.”

The statement left all his listeners momentarily speechless, including Kenneth.

Then: “A black knight killed Prince Hogan's son?” Airlie Kushannan breathed, then added, “I assume he
was
killed.”

Seamus gave a curt nod and drained off half his ale.

“And they don't know who he was?” Laurenz asked.

“Witnesses said it's very likely he was Deryni,” Seamus said. “Apparently he melted into the crowd before anyone could apprehend him. But whoever he was, he did Brion of Gwynedd a favor. That's one less Festillic pretender to deal with.”

“Hardly a serious threat,” Crescence said. “Zimarek couldn't inherit his father's pretensions.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Laurenz replied. “In any case, the point is moot. The man is dead.”

“And they have no idea who the black knight was,” Kenneth said thoughtfully, wondering, though he did not voice it, whether it possibly could have been the same black knight who had challenged Brion in June. Fortunately, none of those present had witnessed the bout; but Llion had, and Xander and Trevor. Llion would not and could not mention it, but Xander might, or Trevor. But only Llion and possibly Alaric knew the identity of the king's black knight.

Seamus took another deep draught and shook his head. “If anyone knows, that information has not reached the portside taverns. Hogan is still well regarded in Torenth, even if few believe he can actually regain the Crown of Gwynedd.” He shrugged. “Of course, it's unlikely that Zimarek actually could have been accepted as Hogan's heir. But now, we shall never know.”

“There
is
still that other son,” Airlie Kushannan reminded them.

“Aye, but he hasn't the fire in his belly to take the Crown, even if the legal obstacles could be overcome,” Crescence said. “No, if Hogan is to make a try at winning back the Crown, it will have to be with his daughter at his side. And that should be a while, because she is only five.”

“That's one blessing, then.” Kenneth breathed out in a long sigh. “Very well. I doubt this changes anything in the short term, but the king should know what we've found out. And let's keep our scouts out awhile longer. Any additional information could be useful.”

“That can be done,” Airlie agreed.

“Meanwhile, I probably should think seriously about heading back to Rhemuth,” Kenneth continued. “I had never planned to be away this long.”

Laurenz Udaut inclined his head. “You will be missed, my lord, but we do understand. Had it occurred to you that you might return by sea? It's getting late in the season, but you could skirt the coast and then sail north to Desse.”

“That's true,” Kenneth replied. “It would save horses—and our backsides. We've already done a good deal of riding this season.”

“I'll see about a ship,” Airlie said. “I believe we have a smaller one due within the week, bringing over wine from Fianna. The cargo was intended for the market in Corwyn, but it could be profitably diverted to Desse.”

“That would be ideal,” Kenneth replied. “Thank you.”

He shared the news with Llion shortly after the meeting broke up, sharing nothing of his speculation regarding the black knight, and the young knight offered no speculation of his own. By suppertime, Xander and Trevor had also heard the news, with Xander remarking on the coincidence of Brion's challenge by a black knight, but neither offered any theory of who either man might have been.

“Good riddance, I'd say,” Trevor muttered darkly, echoing Seamus's remarks. “That's one less Festillic pretender.”

Thereafter, conversation turned to the preparations that must be made for their return to Rhemuth by ship.

“He that saith he is in the light, and hateth his brother, is in darkness even until now.”

—I JOHN 2:9

T
HE
expected ship made port two days later, and its crew began making immediate arrangements to divert to Desse, offloading some of its cargo and taking on new consignments to accommodate the changed schedule. Some of the crew aboard the ship had heard about the death of Prince Hogan's son, but no one had any information that Kenneth and his council did not already know.

Meanwhile, in preparation for his imminent departure, Kenneth held several final courts and, on their last night in Coroth, promoted several pages to squire. After supper that evening, while Kenneth and Llion drank with the men who would resume running the duchy, Alaric watched moodily as Jernian and Viliam set up the cardounet board for a final set of matches. He would miss their camaraderie. He had few friends near his own age besides Duncan and Kevin, and they were cousins, so it hardly counted. Back at Rhemuth, he had none, really—and more than one who hated him.

“Alaric, you look like your best friend just died,” Jernian observed.

Forcing a wan smile, Alaric propped his head against one hand and sighed. “It's almost that bad,” he replied. “I shall miss the two of you.”

“Well, then,” Viliam said. “We aren't dead
yet
. But we shall miss you, too. We haven't been able to find
anyone
else to play as passionately as you do.”

“I'm no match for either of you,” Alaric said, straightening one of the archers on the board. “I can't be much challenge.”

“On the contrary,” Jernian said. “You're getting quite good—at least compared to most players.”

“They must not be very good.”

“No, they aren't,” Viliam said flatly. “We live in eternal hope, but you . . .” He glanced at Jernian. “Shall we give it to him now?”

“I think so. Otherwise, he's apt to get all mawkish on us.”

Alaric glanced between the two of them in question. “What
are
you talking about?”

“We have a parting gift for you.” Viliam reached into the front of his tunic to produce a much-folded sheet of parchment. “Jernian copied out most of it, and I did most of the translation. But neither of us knew some of the Torenthi words, so you're on your own for that.” He handed the parchment to Alaric.

“I did include some diagrams,” he went on. “Those should help. It's the opening section of Count Koltan's
Elements of Strategy
—or as much as would fit on that piece of parchment. He had to write really, really tiny, so it's going to be tedious to read. As if Koltan isn't already tedious.”

A pleased grin slowly spread across Alaric's face as he realized what a very special gift the two had prepared for him: a gift nearly as precious as the friendship the three of them had shared in the previous weeks.

“You copied out part of Koltan for me?” he said, unfolding the packet.

“You'll have to start learning Torenthi,” Jernian warned. “It won't be easy.”

“The best things are rarely easy,” Alaric replied, casting an eye over the tight-crabbed script and then peering more closely. “I do know the Torenthi alphabet, though, and a few simple words. My Aunt Delphine taught me.”

Viliam sat forward eagerly. “Does she play cardounet?”

Still grinning as he shook his head, Alaric refolded the parchment and slipped it into the front of his tunic. “I shall ask her, the next time I see her. She's very clever. But this is a wonderful gift, Viliam. Thank you, both of you. I shall study it on the voyage to Rhemuth, and I shall think of the two of you. We sail in the morning, you know.”

The faces of both older boys fell. “We know,” Jernian said.

“And that's why we must play tonight,” Viliam said, pushing the board slightly closer, to invite Alaric to play the whites. “Your move, Duke of Corwyn!”

In the game that followed, Alaric came very close to beating Viliam, and was almost certain that the older boy had not held back to give him a better chance.

Viliam and Jernian then played a fast, brilliant match at which Alaric could only shake his head in wonder. And when Alaric did finally play Jernian, he actually won.

“Viliam, did you see that coming?” Jernian demanded, as Alaric sat back to savor his victory.

The older boy only shook his head and gave a tiny smile. “Only toward the end, my friend. But it wasn't
my
place to tell you. Nicely done,” he said to Alaric, extending his hand for a congratulatory handshake. “You're actually a very quick student. I shall look forward to our next game.”

On that happy note, Alaric retired for his last night at Castle Coroth, dreaming of strategies when he finally fell asleep.

•   •   •

N
EXT
morning they rode down to the docks several hours before the tide was to turn, accompanied by most of the regents. Alaric rode ahead of the adults with Jernian and Viliam, who had been given special permission to come along, ostensibly to attend Jernian's father.

The ship waiting at the quay was a sleek cargo cog called the
Gryphon
, middling in size, with faded green sail furled along her wide yardarm and Corwyn's long sea pennant of green-black-green floating lazily from the top of the mast. Aboard the ship, members of the crew clearly were stowing equipment and cargo and readying for departure, but a considerable commotion was brewing quayside, where several men in green knitted caps apparently were trying to load a horse that, quite clearly, did not want to be loaded. They could hear its squeals and the frenetic clatter of hooves on stone well before they got close enough to see the cause.

“Whatever are they doing to that horse?” Viliam said, trying to stand in his stirrups for a better view.

“Frightening it half to death, it would appear,” Alaric retorted, then gigged his pony as close as he could get without trampling bystanders.

“You there, stop that!” he shouted, as he threw himself from the saddle and began pushing his way between the nearest of the sailors. “Can't you see she's afraid?”

Struggling his way closer, he could see that the distressed animal was a magnificent grey mare of obvious R'Kassan breeding, apparently disinclined to put even one dainty hoof on the boarding ramp leading into the dark hole of the hold. Two men on the ramp had a long rope looped around the mare's hindquarters, trying to make her move forward, and another was tugging at a rope attached to the mare's headstall, but a new explosion of frenzied resistance sent one of the men into the water with a dull splash.

“Easy, lad!” another man cried, putting out an arm to block his way. “D'ye want to get killed? She's a demon, she is!”

“She isn't a demon, she's just frightened,” Alaric replied, focusing on reaching out to the mare with his mind as well as his hand. “Papa, I can gentle her. I know I can.”

“Yes, I believe you can,” said Kenneth, who had worked his way closer to the drama at quayside, with Llion and Lord Hamilton close behind. “Gentlemen, why don't you back off and let my son give it a try? He really is very good with horses. What have you to lose?”

The men looked dubious, but they backed off dutifully at a nod from Lord Hamilton, one of them tossing an end of the come-along rope to his mate in the water and another edging his way around the mare to hand Alaric the end of the lead. A second lead trailed from the headstall and was tangled under the mare's feet, but she had ceased her plunging as the men backed off, and now was merely snorting and blowing, rolling the whites of her eyes as she turned her attention to this new threat in the shape of a boy, gathering up the slack of the lead rope in his hands.

“So, what's this all about?” he crooned. “No one is going to hurt you. There's a good girl. Aren't you the fine, fierce battle steed? I'm sorry if you were frightened, but you needn't be worried. I know, it's a big, dark, scary hole, but I promise that there's nothing aboard the ship that wants to eat horses. You're very, very beautiful, and I'm sure you're very, very fast. . . .”

As he talked to her, mostly nonsense just to catch and hold her attention, he gradually eased closer. She whuffed a few times, and whuffed again to get the scent of him as he held out his hand to her velvety nose. But when he had stroked her neck a few times, at the same time gathering up the rope tangled under her feet, she seemed to sigh and lean into his caress, even half closing her eyes.

“That's better,” he murmured. “Now let's go inside. It's just a big barn, really, and they've got lots of oats and hay for you.” He took a few steps toward the loading ramp, and she followed obediently, before he could even tug on the lead. “Good girl! Just keep walking. And once we've got you bedded down, they'll give you a nice rubdown and a good feed.”

With that coercion, the mare walked calmly into the hold of the ship and let herself be tethered in a waiting stall next to a dun gelding, who whickered greeting across the divider. A stableman immediately brought her a wooden pan of oats, stroking the mare's neck as she tucked into it. He then showed Alaric how to pass the canvas support sling under the mare's belly and secure it.

“How far is she going?” Alaric asked, as they fastened the last buckle.

“Nyford, I think,” the man replied, then added, “You do have a way with horses, lad. I heard her carrying on outside.”

“She was just frightened,” Alaric replied, smiling as he gave the mare a final pat. “She should be fine now, especially with another horse for company. But I'll be aboard until Desse, so call me if there's any problem whatsoever.”

The man nodded. “I will, young sir. And who should I ask for?”

“Just ask for Alaric Morgan,” the boy replied, with a cheery smile as he turned on his heel and went back out the loading ramp to the quay.

His father and the regents were waiting as he emerged into the sunlight, and several gave him pleased huzzahs. The crew had mostly returned to the rest of their duties, but the man he had spoken to out on the quay touched two fingers to the edge of his cap and nodded in approval. Kenneth and most of the rest of their party had dismounted—only Llion and Xander would be accompanying them, along with four men-at-arms—and the regents were in the process of taking their leave.

Some of the partings were poignant. Trevor Udaut had served Kenneth since his knighting, some four years before, and had spent much of his time going back and forth between Rhemuth and Coroth as Kenneth's liaison with the regents, for his father, Lord Laurenz, was part of the council. Now Trevor was leaving Kenneth's service to remain in Coroth, for he had married the year before and now had a wife and twin daughters. In due time, he would succeed his father as Baron Varagh, but more immediately, he was to become the council's most junior member.

“You will be missed in Rhemuth,” Kenneth told him, as Trevor clasped hands with him at the gangplank with his young wife and his parents. “But you have family responsibilities of your own now. You don't need to be traipsing all over the kingdom with me.”

“Xander is still a bachelor, my lord,” Trevor replied, with a smile and a nod at Xander. “He'll take good care of you. And Alaric will need Llion less and less, as he shifts into official training as a page.”

“That is very true,” Kenneth agreed. “And meanwhile, I shall rely on you as another pair of safe hands here in Coroth, to keep my son's duchy safe.”

“You have my word on it, my lord,” Trevor said with a smile. “Godspeed.”

“And keep you safe as well,” Kenneth replied, turning to another of the regents.

A further farewell was of particular poignancy for Alaric, for he must say good-bye to Jernian and Viliam, who stood now near Jernian's father as Alaric prepared to board.

“You must write if you find someone to play cardounet with you,” Jernian said.

“Of course I will,” Alaric replied. “And when I come back next summer, I intend to trounce both of you!”

“Oh, yes?” Viliam retorted.

“Oh, yes!” Alaric answered, tapping the breast of his tunic, over the bulge of the Koltan transcript. “I have the magic formula, and I intend to master it!”

“I hope you do,” Viliam said honestly. “Godspeed, Duke of Corwyn.”

“And God bless both of you,” Alaric replied, just before Llion hustled him aboard. Kenneth had already gone up to the afterdeck with Xander, and seemed to be deep in conversation with several of the crew.

Llion stayed with Alaric at the ship's rail as the crew began to cast off the mooring lines, first the bow and then the stern, the pair of them watching as the tide caught the bow and slowly began swinging the ship out from the quay. Once they were clear, men belowdecks ran out the oars to row a few dozen strokes that moved the ship into a patch of wind as sailors aloft began to unfurl the great, green sail.