The Quest for Saint Camber (56 page)

The speaker was a thickset individual in his potent mid-forties, previously identified as one Brother Michael. He was also the spokesman for the Quorial, which Kelson and Dhugal had learned was the eight-person governing body of the village, called Saint Kyriell's. The man had an unquestionable air of authority about him, dark eyes gazing unwaveringly out of a fleshy but powerful face. The hands toying with a quill pen were square and callused with hard work and made the pen look very fragile. He bore a token tonsuring, a small but precise shaven area no larger than two fingers in breadth, but the rest of his hair was long and drawn back in a thin, tightly plaited braid, untouched by grey. His garb was the same as that of the deceased Sagart—a dark grey hooded robe and scapular girt with a knotted cord of red and blue—and Kelson had concluded that he, like Sagart, must be one of the priestly
coisrigte
.

One of the guards standing to either side of Kelson and Dhugal asked a question in the quick, staccato dialect that even Dhugal could not understand, and that sparked another round of heated debate among the four men and four women of the Quorial—which also included Bened and Jilyan, who were eventually revealed to be brother and sister. An archer called Kylan, another soldier whose name neither Kelson nor Dhugal caught, and two older women, perhaps in their fifties or sixties, also sat on the Quorial, as well as a young girl called Rhidian, who looked to be barely into puberty. Like the other women, she, too, wore a grey robe, but no wimple, her straight brown hair caught in a tidy knot at the nape of her neck.

Kelson had no idea how long the interview had been going, though he knew it must be several hours by now. Since his and Dhugal's arrival, the circle of sunlight streaming through the smoke-vent above the hall's central hearth had crept some distance across the floor of beaten earth. By the angle of the beam of sunshine, he judged it must be just past noon, but the windowless hall was dark and gloomy, lit only by torches. A workmanlike lattice of well-hewn rafters supported a tightly thatched roof, low overhead to keep heat from dissipating in cold weather, and the plastered walls were whitewashed to make the most of the torchlight. Just in front of the low stools where Kelson and Dhugal sat, the members of the Quorial were ranged behind a long trestle table, raised one step on a low dais.

The folk of the village had gathered to hear the proceedings, too—some fifty or sixty strong, seated on long benches just behind the prisoners—likely most of the inhabitants of Saint Kyriell's, Kelson suspected. Nearly all of them wore at least something that was grey, and some were dressed in it exclusively. That oddity, added to Brother Michael's presidency over the Quorial, lent a religious aura to the gathering that made Kelson more than a little uneasy.

Nor were he and Dhugal really certain what was actually happening. Brother Michael had informed them that they were not precisely on trial, but it was as close to one as either king or border lord wanted to come. Much of the proceeding was carried on in the quick, slurred dialect that only Dhugal understood even vaguely, so he and Kelson had to maintain constant rapport—difficult enough without physical contact—for the king to have any notion what was being said. That was doubly disturbing, since several of the men involved in their initial capture testified at length and went on to describe the damages done to the tombs in great detail.

It sounded worse, the way they told it, than what Kelson and Dhugal remembered doing. Eventually, the two were given the opportunity to repeat their stories, but they could read nothing beyond the solemn expressions of their captors other than the impression that all of them acted in what they believed to be justice regarding the seriousness of the crimes committed. It was not until Kelson had finished his third testimony, reiterating his innocence of malicious intent, that he realized someone was Truth-Reading him.

Dhugal! Someone else in here is Deryni!
he sent, just before slamming his shields fully closed.

Dhugal gave a physical start, though he covered it very well with an apparent coughing fit for diversion, and Kelson ventured a wary probe in the direction of the dais. The entire area had become vaguely blurred to his psychic sight. At least one of the Quorial was Deryni and was shielding the others.

“We are aware of what you are,” the girl Rhidian said, speaking for the first time. “We have known since you entered.” Her voice was lower-pitched than Kelson had expected, and her eyes were a pale amber-brown, almost straw-colored. “And now you know, because we have chosen to reveal it, that some of us are Deryni as well. That you are Deryni only makes our decision more difficult, however, because the fact remains that you have committed a crime against our people that customarily demands the death penalty. And yet, we recognize now that you intended no sacrilege in the
tuam coisrigte
.”

Kelson drew a deep, careful breath. Rhidian was the source of most of the shielding he now perceived over the dais. That she and at least a few of the others were also Deryni only made his and Dhugal's decision more difficult, too—for if they must try to fight their way out of here with magic …

But perhaps there was another option. If Rhidian had read the truth of their statements …

“We therefore grant you an alternative to the stake,” Rhidian went on, her eyes never wavering from Kelson's. “A chance not only to win your freedom, but to redeem your Haldane line in the eyes of Saint Camber.”

She paused, as if waiting for him to speak, but Kelson did not know what to say. When it became obvious that she was not going to speak until he did, Kelson glanced at Dhugal, taut and also waiting for him to make the next move, then coughed and returned his attention to the girl.

“Do you speak for the Quorial, my lady?” he asked softly.

She inclined her head slightly. “I do.”

“May I ask if you also claim to speak for Saint Camber?”

No emotion showed on her calm, childlike face, but several of the others murmured aside to one another and shifted uneasily in their seats.

“We are the Servants of Saint Camber,” Rhidian said after a short pause. “We have kept his memory and veneration in secret for nearly two hundred years. We do not claim to speak for him, but we believe that, from time to time, he speaks to those who trust in him and he makes his will known.”

“I see,” Kelson said. “And has he made his will known to you concerning us?”

“No, but I have undergone the
cruaidh-dheuchainn
and seen his face,” Rhidian said enigmatically. “If you would be pardoned for what you have done, you must do the same.”

What's a cr
—
whatever she said?
Kelson sent to Dhugal.

I dunno and I don't think I want to find out
, Dhugal returned.
Some kind of trial?

“You have seen his face,” Kelson repeated aloud, trying to buy a little time. “How, if I told you that Dhugal and I have already seen Saint Camber's face from time to time?”

The murmur of consternation that rippled through the audience and the Quorial threatened to drown him out, so Kelson did not attempt to say anything more. After a moment, the commotion died down and Rhidian looked at him again, with a disturbingly discerning gaze coming from a child.

“
If
you were so bold as to tell me such a thing,” Rhidian answered, as if there had been no interruption, “I would say that you must prove your claim upon your body, by submitting to the
cruaidh-dheuchainn
, the
periculum
, the ordeal.”

“And what is that?” Kelson returned.

“A ritual procedure. You will see, in due time.”

Uneasy, Kelson swallowed.

“And why must we undergo this—ordeal?” he asked. “You're Deryni. You know that I'm not lying about our contacts with Camber.”

“You are not lying, no,” Rhidian answered. “You
believe
that you speak the truth. But the mind can deceive. Our way is surer. When you recount what you experience in the
cruaidh-dheuchainn
, we will
know
whether your contact has been genuine.”

“And what if we refuse to go through the
cru
—the ordeal?”

“Not the two of you, but you alone, Kelson Haldane.”

“No!” Dhugal spoke up. “If it's to be only one of us, let me go! He was badly injured. I'm stronger.”

As Rhidian's glance flicked to him, then to the others of the Quorial, Brother Michael shook his head.

“No. It must be the Haldane.”

“Why?” Dhugal demanded. “I've felt Camber's presence, too.”

“So you believe,” Michael said impatiently. “However, it is out of the question.”

“And how,” Kelson interjected, “if I were to refuse?”

“Then you both would burn for your crimes,” Bened spoke up, “though it would grieve us to consign fellow Deryni to the fire. But the desecration of Sagart's tomb demands a sacrifice in recompense—either by the flames or by the
cruaidh-dheuchainn
.”

“He will not refuse,” Rhidian broke in smoothly. “He is the
Ard Righ
, the high king, duly anointed and consecrated, oath-bound to protect his own. Honor demands that he not place his own safety over that of his vassal or allow his vassal to take a place of danger in his stead. Furthermore, if everything else is as he claims, then Kelson Haldane can, indeed, restore the Blessed Camber to his rightful veneration.”

“I can and will do it, my lady,” Kelson said.

Kelson, no!
Dhugal sent.

The subject is closed
, was all Kelson sent in return.

“Restore Saint Camber?” Jilyan asked skeptically.

“And undergo your—ordeal, if that will win our freedom. I have faith that Saint Camber will not desert me now, after all we've been through together,” he added, far more confidently than he actually felt.

“So be it, then,” Brother Michael said. “You will be conveyed to a place of preparation, where you may bathe and meditate. The ritual will begin at sunset.”

Kelson nodded. “May Dhugal accompany me in that, at least?”

Bened started to object, but Michael shook his head and held up one hand.

“After the ritual bath, yes,” he agreed. “And he may keep watch with the brethren while you are apart for the
cruaidh-dheuchainn
. That much we grant you, because you are both Deryni.”

“Thank you,” Kelson said. “One further request—might we, perhaps, have something to eat?”

This time, it was Jilyan who spoke up.

“A strict fast is customary, to sharpen the senses, but you may have bread and water. Personally, I would advise water only, knowing what you must endure. Young MacArdry may eat, if he wishes.”

“I'll fast with my blood-brother,” Dhugal said stubbornly, though Kelson murmured that it was not necessary.

“Very well, then,” Brother Michael said, standing. “Kelson Haldane, have we your oath, as king and knight—” He touched the spurs lying on the table in front of him, “—that neither you nor your companion will attempt to escape until the
cruaidh-dheuchainn
is completed?”

“By Saint Camber, I swear it,” Kelson said.

“And you guarantee young MacArdry?”

“Yes.”

“On your oath?”

“On my oath as king and knight.”

“So be it, then,” Brother Michael said. “Let the candidate and his companion be escorted to the place of preparation.”

The sun was sinking low on the horizon, promising an early sunset behind the mountains, as Morgan and Duncan drew rein with Ciard and Jass to make camp for the night. The air was thin and cold, and men and horses were spent. They had lost the track of the underground river around noon, and everyone's spirits had flagged as the afternoon wore on and they found no further sign.

“We're not going to find that river again,” Morgan said to Duncan, after he had picked halfheartedly at the stew Ciard made and then gave up on trying to eat it. Jass was seeing to the horses and equipment, and Ciard was cleaning up the supper things.

Duncan, sipping listlessly at a cup of mulled ale, shook his head and set the cup aside, resting his chin on one knee.

“I have to agree. I don't like admitting to defeat any more than you do, but I'm afraid we've about reached the end of our resources.”

Morgan sighed. “Do you think it's worth one last cast tonight, just to try once more to pick up some trace? If we could even find bodies—”

Duncan shook his head and breathed out heavily, not wanting to consider that eventuality any more than Morgan did, though even bodies were better than simply never knowing.

“I don't know, Alaric. I'm so tired, I can't think straight. This mountain air's given me a headache. They can't possibly be alive, though, after so long—can they?”

“I doubt it.”

Morgan closed his eyes briefly, his gryphon signet pressed against his lips, then pulled Kelson's champion ring out of the front of his tunic and looked at it thoughtfully, dangling it on its leather thong. Duncan, watching this, raised one eyebrow.

“What is it?”

Ruefully, Morgan shrugged. “Probably nothing. I was just thinking how a person's essence permeates something closely associated with him, like this ring.
It
won't do, of course, because it's here and Kelson is—somewhere else. But maybe we could link into something one of them was wearing. At least it would be a focal point to cast for—to find their bodies.”

“But if it worked, then we'd know,” Duncan replied.

“Yes.”

After a few seconds, Duncan scooted a little closer.

“All right. What did you have in mind?”

“I was afraid you'd ask that,” Morgan replied. “It has to be something they wouldn't have lost in the accident. Maybe their Saint Camber medals.”

Duncan shook his head. “I don't know if the medals would have a strong enough connection. They hadn't worn them long enough.”