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the golden lion of Gwynedd etched on a field of black and gleaming gold. And on
his head, the ducal coronet of Corwyn, hammered gold in seven delicate points,
crowning the golden head of the Deryni Lord of Corwyn.
He appeared unarmed as he strolled toward his place at the head of the tables, for
the ruler of Corwyn traditionally had no need to go armed among his dinner
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r r
guests. But beneath Morgan's rich attire was the gleam of supple mail protecting
vital organs, the slim stiletto in its worn wrist sheath. And the cloak of his Deryni
power surrounding him like an invisible mantle wherever he went.
Now he must play the gracious host and settle down to the bore of a state dinner,
while he inwardly seethed with impatience and wondered what had happened to
Duncan.
It was well after dark when Duncan finally returned to Coroth. His horse had
gone lame the last two miles, and he had been forced to go on foot the rest of the
way, controlling the almost overpowering urge to force the animal to continue at
a normal pace despite its pain. He had controlled that impulse. For whatever
advantage the hour's difference in his return might make, it was doubtful that it
would be worth ruining one of Alaric's best saddle horses. Besides, it was not in
Duncan's soul to purposely torture any living thing.
And so, when he and the animal finally limped into the courtyard, he leading, the
tired horse following slowly, it was to enter an almost deserted area. The gate
guards had passed him without question, since they had been warned to expect
his return, but there was no one in the courtyard to take his horse. At the
invitation of the duke, the squires and pages who would normally have been
manning the stable had slipped inside to the back of the hall to hear Gwydion
sing. Duncan finally found someone to take the animal, then made his way across
the courtyard to the entrance to the great hall.
Dinner was over, he soon learned, and as he passed among the servants crowded
in the doorway he could see that the entertainment was already in progress.
Gwydion was performing, seated on the second step of the raised dais at the far
end of the hall, his lute cradled easily in his arms. As he sang, Duncan paused to
listen. The troubadour apparently deserved his reputation he held throughout the
Eleven Kingdoms.
It was a slow, measured melody, bom of the higK-lands of Carthmoor to the west
the land of Gwydion's youth. And it was filled with the rhythms, the modulations
to minor keys, that seemed to characterize the music of the mountain folk.
Gwydion's clear tenor floated through tKe still hall, weaving the bittersweet tale
of Mathurin and Derver-guille, the lovers of legend who had died in Interregnum
times at the hands of the cruel Lord Gerent. Not a soul stirred as the troubadour
spun his song.
So how shall I sing to the sparkling morn? How to the children yet unborn? Can I
survive with heart forlorn? My Lord Mdthurm is dead.
As Duncan scanned the hall, he saw Morgan sitting at his place to the left of the
dais where Gwydion sang. To Morgan's left, Lord Robert was flanked by two
beautiful women who gazed fondly at Morgan as the troubadour sang. But the
seat to Morgan's right, closest to Duncan, was vacant. He thought he might be
able to make his way there without creating too much disturbance if he were
careful.
Before he could do more than move in tKat direction, however, Morgan saw him
and shook his head, then rose quietly and made his way to the side of the hall.
"What happened?" he whispered, pulling Duncan behind one of the pillars and
looking around to be certain they were not being overheard.
"The part with Bishop Tolliver went well enough," Duncan murmured, "He wasn't
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r r
enthusiastic about the idea, but he agreed to delay his answer to Loris and
Corrigan until he can evaluate the situation. He will let us know when he makes a
decision."
"Well, I suppose it's better than nothing. What was his general reaction? Do you
think he's on our side?"
Duncan shrugged. "You know Tolliver. He's squeamish about the whole Deryni
aspect of things, but then, everyone is. For now, he seems to be with us. There's
something else, though."
"Oh?"
"I ah think we'd better not talk about it here," Duncan said, glancing around
meaningfully. "I had a visitor on the way back."
"A v ," Morgan's eyes went wide. "You mean, like mine?" Duncan nodded soberly.
"Can I meet you in the
tower room?"
"As soon as I can get away," Morgan agreed.
As Duncan moved on toward the door, Morgan took a deep breath to compose
himself, then crossed quietly back to his seat. He wondered how long it would be
before he could extricate himself gracefully.
In the tower room, Duncan paced back and forth before the fireplace, clasping
and unclasping his hands and trying to calm his jangled nerves.
He was much more upset than he had realized, he knew now. In fact, when he
had first entered the room, a short while earlier, he had had a violent fit of
shaking as he thought about his visitation on the road, almost as though an icy
wind had blown across his neck.
The attack had passed, and after throwing off his damp riding cloak he had
collapsed at the prie-dieu before the tiny altar and tried to pray. But for once, it
hadn't worked. He couldn't force himself to concentrate on the words he was
trying to form, and he had had to give it up as a lost cause for the moment.
The pacing was not helping either, he realized. As he stopped before the fireplace
and held out one hand, he realized that he was still shaking in a delayed reaction
to what had happened earlier.
Why?
Taking hold of himself sternly, he crossed to Alar-ic's desk and unstoppered a
crystal decanter there, poured himself a small glass of the strong red wine Alaric
kept for just such emergencies. He drained that glass and poured another, then
took it over beside the fur-draped couch against the left-hand wall. Unbuttoning
his cassock halfway to the waist, he loosened his collar and stretched his neck
backwards to get the kinks out, then lay back on the couch, the glass of wine in
his hand. As he lay there, sipping the wine and forcing himself to review the
situation, he began to relax. By the time the gryphon door opened and Alaric
entered, he was feeling much better almost unwilling to get up or talk at all.
"Are you all right?" Morgan said, crossing to the couch and sitting down beside
his cousin.
"Now I think I may survive," Duncan replied dreamily. "A little while ago, I
wouldn't have been so sure. This thing really disturbed me."
Morgan nodded. "I know the feeling. Do you want to talk about it?"
Duncan sighed heavily. "He was there. I was riding along, I rounded a bend in the
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r r [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]