Forgotten Shadows

[Bynw]

This thread is for the game only. Only Players may post to this thread. Everything posted here is "in-character".

Any out-of-character posts or posts from members who are not players will be deleted.

[Bynw]

The horrors of war have not been forgotten in the last 4 years since the Mearaen Rebellion of 1164. The rebuilding of keeps and new lords and titles stand as stark reminders of the costs of war. And there are the countless dead on both sides of the rebellion. Bodies are still found in fields and unmarked graves.

It was a war started by the Deryni, yet few of that race perished in the conflict. Perhaps that is what sparked the flame of resentment in the beginning. Whatever it was, the sparks smoldered in pockets here and there across Gwynedd. Often dismissed as rumor or ghost stories by various lords.

Even the openly Deryni lords couldn't bring themselves to believe such things were again happening in Gwynedd under King Kelson's reign. So the flames spread and sparked more fires in the hearts of men.

As it grew worse, the Church condemned the violence against the Deryni and against those that retaliated. But by the autumn of 1168 the flames had grown to an inferno. Some priests, in very human communities, were preaching about the evils of the Deryni and their sorcery that has brought damnation to Gwynedd.

It is a perilous time and things haven't been this bleak since the death of King Cinhil. And it looks as if history is going to repeat itself and bring about another Deryni persecution.

[Bynw]

King Kelson and his court are seeing the realities of the growing Willimite resurgence and resentment of the Deryni across Gwynedd. The King is cautious in his actions otherwise the balance may tip to one side or other other and flames will burn across Gwynedd and consume both human and Deryni as it does. "Keep the King's Peace" is a common phrase when meeting strangers on the roads of the kingdom. Sometimes, it isn't peaceful.

[Marc_du_Temple]

In coastal Carbury towne, Autumn had rushed in like the chills heralding a fever. The sailors and the fishers had planned accordingly, putting out to sea to net herring, cod, mackerel, and with a prayer to Saint Andrew: salmon, before the Gulf of Kheldour was too perilous to cross. Indeed, the only ones troubled by the question of where their next meal would come from were the travelers, the wanderers, the vagabonds and the like. All of them converged in certain hotspots. The abbey, monastery or other such sanctuary for the body and the soul, the tavern for more practical rest, and the faire: the domain of jesters, players and fools. Spotted John, known as such for the paint on his face and the marks on his often exposed abdomen, was familiar with them all, but tonight he had yet seen only the last of those and it was his home. Just one more to say goodbye to.

"If you see me sleeping in the tent in the morning, kick me in my side and kiss me, dear friends, for I could not stay away for anything. If my arrow of Orion is embedded in the dirt by the entrance, then know we will meet again, in whatever shape we find each other. If there is no sign of me at all tomorrow, then I am with The Lord, and it is best you act as though I were never here." Those were his last words to his performing entourage, drawn from all over the Eleven Kingdoms, and a few beyond their borders. His motley facepaint had been ruined by the tears he shed for them, but they did not fall alone. Only their leader, the acrobat calling himself Scimmio, spat on the ground inside of their tent instead.

"You walk away from us out of habit as much as I tuck and roll the same. I can't promise there won't be another bowman where you once slept when you return, boy."

The boy in question simply smiled, his eyes glistening like blue ponds struck by stones. "It's kind of you to say that I am needed, boss. I had missed the feeling when we met in Valoret. But we've had enough mischief for a thousand years in two, haven't we, boys and girls? God be with ye all." With that, he tucked his straw hair in his cap, rose, bowed with a jester's sardonicism, adjusted the gayly dyed thing that was once a tunic and now but a shredded mockery of such shirts, and then saddled his horse outside.

Spotted John had intended to go one way from there, but the wind had blown him in another direction. Regardless, it was away, and he was alive, so by the light of oil lamps he loosed an arrow with a unique marker on it: a necklace with a woven figure evoking Orion and his bow, finding their home not in the sky, but the ground.

None could see where that wind began, but hours later it had led to The Broken Mast. He crept in warily with a wet, unblemished face, sans the tunic, with a mismatched towel draped over his old kit of lime and black like an all-concealing sagum, as though he were Pontius Pilate on a wilderness journey. Best to go by your real name, now, he thought.

[Jerusha]

Elspeth Rowan opened the side door of her stepfather's tavern, The Broken Mast. She was hit by the usual tavern sounds: men talking loudly, the occasional laugh or curse, tankards slapped down on wooden tables, the scrape of a bench across the floor as someone left for home or for the privy outside. She spotted Amy, one of the few people she called a friend, serving bowls of thick stew to a group of men at a table. Amy smiled at their fervent thanks, but moved quickly away.

Elspeth made her way as unobtrusively as possible across the room to the swinging door of the kitchen. This was her mother's domain; The Broken Mast was well known for its better than average food. As usual, the kitchen was warm both from the cooking fires and the bustle of activity. Elspeth lowered the hood of her cloak. She was well-known here, and no one commented on her mismatched eyes. Certainly not if they wanted to remain employed.

Her mother approached her, her kirtle covered by a large once-white apron and her gray hair bound into a still-white kerchief. "Everything is well?" she asked.

"As well as can be expected," Elspeth replied. "The wet nurse I arranged for has been accepted by the baby, who is finally starting to thrive."

"Are you still set on traveling with Amy to the library at Grecotha?" Elen Rowan's question held a hint of disapproval.

Elslpeth sighed, remembering the difficult childbirth she had attended less than a week ago. The woman was approaching 40 years of age, too old to bear a child, but after four daughters and a few stillbirths, a son was finally born. The father was ecstatic, promising his wife a fine new kirtle as a birth present. His joy soon turned to despair as the exhausted woman succumbed to childbed fever three days later. Elspeth, assisted by Amy, had tried every remedy she knew of, but nothing had broken the fever. The fine new kirtle would now be a shroud.

"Yes Mam, I am still determined. The old infirmarian at the hospice adjacent to Saint Stefan's Priory told me of a medicine called talicil that would reduce a fever quickly. Its use was banned long ago by the Regents, but records of its existence may have been kept at Grecotha. If that information could save a life..."

"Geoffrey will not let you travel unescorted," Elen stated firmly. "Your stepfather would not risk your or Amy's safety on the roads. Especially these days."

"But who will he find? Every available man will be working to bring in the harvest, or at sea to secure a catch before the weather turns foul. He can't spare Carew, especially with Amy coming with me." Carew was Elspeth's younger brother, who was well suited to follow his stepfather into the tavern trade and very good at tossing unruly patrons out into the mud. Elspeth stepped to the door of the kitchen and waved a hand to generally encompass those in the tavern. "Would any of these men actually be capable of providing protection?"

As she surveyed the room, Elspeth noticed the man just entering the tavern. His face was damp and he wore a mismatched towel draped over a ghastly kit of lime and black.

"Certainly not that one!" she stated with a nod of her head in the man's direction.

[Marc_du_Temple]

He heard her shout, and while he was initially perturbed by her gaze, the feeling subsided when he thought about what she had said. She's denying my involvement with something. Good. ((Bede attempts to Sneak to the tavern bar subtly. 3d6 5 + 3 + 6 = 14)) Now, stand proud, but move calmly. They're looking for a faire freak. That's obviously someone else. You are a patrician, and as long as you remain enshrouded by your new sagum, there's nothing more to see. He left his bow by the door, alongside the cumbersome weapons of the other patrons, but kept his hunting knife wrapped under the rags that were once a tabard. As he weaved between the boisterous patrons like a free sail on the wind, he was careful not to move like an archer, lest he invite a challenge by the exposed fibers of his disproportionate arms. Too few know that it is a world of difference between throwing a punch within a meter and loosing an arrow a quarter of a mile. The plan worked. So well, that nobody but the bartender asked his business, after offering him a wipe and a chide about risking a head cold.

"With arrows like those, you could spear a fish, man." He remarked as he wiped down a glass and proffered it to "John".

Oh, I sometimes forget I am wearing those, he thought but did not say, until he could not think of a reason why he should not.

"Ah, a professional, then?" The bartender laughed with appraisal in his eyes, but "John" gestured to keep the conversation a quiet one, then accepted the glass.

"An honest fisher of men, man." ((Bede attempts to make a Perceptive check at the bar. 2d6 6 + 4 = 10)) The bartender chuckled before turning his back to the ragged man in pristine white. A rookie mistake from a professional, "John" could tell. His suspicions were confirmed by two things: the way the man behind the counter shifted and turned things that helped nothing by being turned, and a burly man stalking through the gloom of the candlelight reflected in the glass in "John"'s hand. They bore no resemblance in body, but in the way they dressed, there was something. An agent of a reeve? A constable in the flesh? "John" wondered about either of them, then shook his head. He had seconds to think what to do, and they were draining out the hourglass quicker than the reading of this sentence.

Like a millstone covered in melting snow, he turned to face the room and the man of particular interest. ((Bede audaciously offers to buy Carew a drink. (Charismatic Roll)2d6 4 + 1 = 5)) "May I offer you a drink, friend?" He kept the glass in the air to see the bartender reflected in its surface. He does the cleaning very well, on top of everything else. He thought it would be a shame to have to fight his way out of there, but he patted the solid lump of his knife wrapped under his rags in preparation.

Now that they were face to face, both men were better able to judge one another. A ragged wanderer and an aproned, amiable but protective type with dark wavy hair. One belonged, and the other did not. With a declining hand that in the wavering light seemed the size of "John"'s chest, the strong young man said, "I cannot accept on the job . . . err . . ."

"Bede. But a common archer, man." And he adjusted the heavy towel. He noticed a resemblance between the man before him and the maiden from before; it was in the face, this time, but his eyes were comparatively plain, being merely a warm brown.

The mysterious man crossed his oaken arms. "Not a silvatico, I hope."
Bede snorted at that and played up a Nefynian accent. "You think I would get far in the woods draped in this? I am more of a specialist, dealing in secure goods, wares, people." And at one time, it was true. "Most recently: the Selkie, just today put out to sea, headed for Transha."

"Without you?" asked the man behind the counter.

Bede looked up and around to meet his gaze with a grin. "My contract was up."

The bartender nodded his understanding, then nodded to the man on his feet. That man took the cue to dispel some mystery and shook Bede's hand. The left one, empty as could be. "I'm Carew, stepson of the proprietor. Let me buy you a drink. Bede. We don't often have people like you darkening our doorway." The brawny heir to the tavern knew how to flatter. After the three men had reached a modicum of familiarity over the first couple of drinks, Bede had nearly let his guard down. Between the tall tales the pair pulled out of him, he noticed certain questions they asked of his character.

Carew excitedly asked: "Ever kill anyone?"

"Only as needed to fulfill my duties." At no other times had he stayed put long enough to check the status of his targets.

The bartender, who had revealed himself to be Geoffrey: the true proprietor of The Broken Mast, asked, "What do you think of maidens?"
This caused Bede pause. "How else might you ask me that?"
"What's your history with the fairer sex?"

"Ah." While he fidgeted with his earring, he replied, "Uneventful, good man. But if I heard one scream I would do my damndest to put an arrow through the cause of her grief."

Geoffrey became serious, suddenly. "Heaven forbid it, but you may yet have a chance."

"Pardon, sir?"

"It's my sister, and the girl following her like a sister, you see," Carew spoke up to explain. "They have business in Grecotha, but our father forbids them to go without an escort."

Coming that much closer to the full picture, Bede nodded. "'Tis the only sensible thing to do."

Geoffrey nodded in turn. "So, I would like to hire you, Archer. Four royals for four days, if you bring my Elspeth and Amy back to me unharmed."

((The time for negotiating wages has come. Haggle! 2d6 1 + 5 = 6)) Bede had been drinking, and nearly choked on the honeyed substance in his gullet. Carew helped him to catch his breath, and then it was his turn. "Nice, round numbers, sir, but a little low. This is a prosperous tavern, in a prosperous town. I know you can afford to pay me a fair soldier's wage, if only for a brief time. It would be six royals for four solid days, but that's not counting however long it will take for her to accomplish her goals in Grecotha, now, is it? Here's my proposal: you pay me the six upfront, then extra for however many more days she needs."

Gregory smiled. "You are bold and reasoned. Also, queer and foolish, young man. Four upfront, two on the return and then one and a half royals for extra days. And if all goes well, Carew won't dash your brains out when you return."

With Bede's lead, all rose. "I believe, gentlemen, that we are in agreement."

[Bynw]

On the cold rain soaked autumn night, men in black leather and chain, bust through the oaken doors of the old monastery. They search through the building and cells but find no one. Exhausted by their empty search and the worsening weather they leave. Riding into the dark of night.

"They were there. Some of the coals were still warm in one of the braziers."

"The Master will not be pleased. But this weather makes it impossible to track them. We will have to rely on other methods."

[Laurna]

"No, no! Not that one!" The barmaid proclaimed under her breath. The tavern crowd was loud enough to drown out the sound of her voice. Helpless to protest, she watched from across the tavern room,  as Proprietor Goeffrey Kildryn and Master Carew Rowan negotiated with a fellow on what can only be business of a guardianship nature.

"Forsake all Saints who detest women," she cursed under her breath, "The man is shirtless!" I will not fall for that again. Helplessly, her mind shimmied back to those handful of years ago when she had fallen, weak kneed, for a shirtless man. But who else could not have, for one such as he? Her inner mind consoled her for her past indiscretion. He lay cold as death itself. I did what I did to save his life.

Had his life been saved? She had no answer. She fingered the silver chain that hung from her neck, hiding her history deep under her kirtel. Her life had changed after that night. If ever she learned that he lived, she intended to call in his debt to her.  She looked back at the man being maneuvered into a job, he was a burly fellow, well enough to look the part, but he was not HIM. No one would ever be.

"Wench... Where's our ale!" Amy turned back to her work , setting the three tankards of ale on the table before her.  Her hand automatically opened to take the coins in payment. Two coins touched her palm. A third bounced on her bosom and tumbled into her cleavage. She knew better than to try and retrieve the silver penny before these louts. But that didn't stop them. "Come closer, lassie, and I will retrieve it for you," the drunkest one shouted, followed by cat calls from the other two.

Amy snarled at them all and her glare stopped the one's fingers from moving closer. "Roll those eyes of yours down to the gunk under your boots and just maybe you will find what is left of your brain sloshed on the floor."

She stormed away with half the tavern hooting and hollering at her back. "I need to find a better way to make a living." She snarled as she passed Carew on her way to the kitchens.

Amy stayed in the kitchen after that watching Elspeth wrangle out of her mother a full basket of bread, cheese, fruit, and dried meat to get them through the first days of their travels. When she finally got the go ahead, Amy filled three ale skins, a wine skin of the good stuff, and more skins of water and put them in the basket with the other goods.  There were perks to this job with her good friend being the owner's daughter.  Well, step-daughter, but that was a close enough relation.

When Carew finally marched into the kitchen, he widely smiled as he caught her glance. With conviction, he announced. "Amaryllis Aldan, I have tossed those three far beyond our tavern doors for the sake of your honor," he bowed chivalrously. "You can go back out onto the floor." Then more seriously he said, "Geoffrey needs your help with this crowd."

"Does he really?" she asked, wondering if Carew would someday be the one to save her from this life.  No, he enjoyed the tavern life far too well to take her away from here. " ...and that fellow...?"

"He is hired," the tall and handsome brother of Elspeth proclaimed.

"Not until you get him a shirt, he is not." Amy swore. "He is not as tall as you but he has your shoulders, give him one of your old shirts.  That green one that has faded from too many washes should do."

Carew laughed, "I am sure I can do better than that.  To make my sister and you happy I will throw in that leather jerkin, which I have outgrown."

"That will do," Elspeth said in agreement before hefting up her basket of goods and making her way out the back door. "Amy, I will see you in the morning at the stables. Make sure Geoffrey lets you go soon enough to get some sleep, we have more than a day's ride ahead of us."
   
   

*****

Clip, clip... clop, clop... clip, clip... clop, clop...,

The foot falls of the two dusky tan ponies seemed to fall into the same strides. The rhythm was soothing. Amy felt at ease in the saddle as she rode alongside her mentor (the woman without whose tender care, she would have surely perished from this life.) The old gravel road climbed up from the harbor, skirting the hills, and reaching up for the flat plateau of land ahead of them. They had climbed the worst of the road's ascension that morning. And now as the afternoon came on, their sturdy little ponies took this slow climb with confidence. They would not see the distant tall curtain walls of the great University City of Grecotha until they had rounded the hill on their right and turned to face South. It would be a sight to see from this distance in the late afternoon sun. Amy had only seen it once before, but that time the city had been receding in the background and her eyes had been filled with despair that she had become a forsaken soul as she had walked this same road to the harbor by the great Gulf of Kheldour.

clip, clip, clip... clop, clop, clop

The larger horse walking the opposite side of Elspeth Rowan; the bay mare seemed to fall into the same slow strides as both ponies. Amy didn't look up, but she merrily stifled a smile behind the edges of the woolen cloak hood resting over her head. Their 'man-at-arms' had seemed to finally settle into the ponies' slow pace. Amy was not sure if the man's calling was truly that of a man-at-arms. Her first sight of him last night, with only a heavy cloth draped over his shoulders, was somewhat improved by his now wearing of a shirt and jerkin. He even seemed to have come upon a new belt at his waist. A man-at-arms, he could certainly not be. From her father's house, she had known plenty of men in that profession. This man carried neither a sword across his back nor one at his side. Instead, across his back was a hefty quiver of many brightly fletched arrows and his long bow was conveniently laid across his back with the loosened bow string tied with a cloth to his leather shoulder strap. But then who was she to comment about the man's true profession? What could it matter? It was not that far distance between Carbury and Grecotha, a travel that she was certain Elspeth and she could have made on their own. Yet Proprietor Kildryn, Elspeth's step-father, had insisted that they could not, so he had hired Bede. The young hired man was finally easing into their non-hurried pace.

Amy's thoughts drifted to times past. Her traveling days before meeting Elspeth had been managed by foot or by wagon-rides offered from friendly passersby. Weeks of being foot sore had led her in despair to these harbor shores some four years past. She tried desperately not to think of those harsh times. The anger of her father when he had returned home from the war had been enough to cause her to run away. The woman riding beside her now, had saved her from her own folly, she owed Elspeth more than she could ever repay.

Clip, clip, Click and a whiny.

The horse shook his head at the misstep, and the man-at-arms stifled a short curse. He was out of the saddle with the agility of a cat; any man accustomed to chain-mail would not have moved with such grace. He swung the bow to his side without it touching the animal, something only an experienced archer would have considered. Again, Amy wondered what Bede's real calling had been.

A quick perusal of the horse's foot, a flick of a dagger that Amy did not know where it came from, dislodged a small pebble from the hoof. "No damage done," proclaimed the young man as he bounded back into the saddle without effort and readjusted his gear.

"Do you think we will make the gates of Grecotha before nightfall?" Amy had to ask, wondering if it were best to find a place at the side of the road to rest instead. She had worked long hours the night before and had not managed the sleep that Elspeth had requested for her to get. A quick bite of food and even a short nap would do her wonders.

Casting out with the border-folk skills her grandmaman had taught her, she searched for a safe place at the side of the road. ((Perception taken with advantage, 3d6 rolls 1, 4, & 6 Success))

"Mistress Elspeth, I believe there is a flat spot beside the road, just around that rock there. We could pull aside and give the animals a bit of rest."

[revanne]

Edwin tugged irritably at his border braid. It was typical of his confused life, he thought, that his hair should have grown long enough to braid neatly just in time for him to return to Grecotha where it marked him out as a country bumpkin about two generations behind the times.

Thank God that at least he had been able to return for a second year of studies. On returning home to Culdi for the summer he had dreaded at first that his father now expected him to "knuckle down lad" and return to work in the stifling boredom of the family workroom. It had probably, no, make that certainly, been a mistake to entertain his brothers with stories of student life with more emphasis on the taverns and wenches than on the lectures and debates. His father, hearing, had not been amused. Boring old..., well best not form the epiphet even in his mind.

His cropped hair had not gone down well either. Again it had been stupid to make up that lie about how his braid had caught fire and a friend cut it off, heroically burning his fingers in the process. His father had not believed a word and looking at his son with contempt had demanded the truth. Which had not been well-received either and resulted in an interminable lecture about loyalty to the border tradition and their Graces of Cassan who had been so good to their family. What the hell did hair have to do with loyalty?

He had really feared that an end would be put to further studies. Fortunately though, there really wasn't enough work for three adult sons in the workshop, thriving though it was, and his brothers had clearly made representation on his behalf. Well, as much in their own interests as his, though Edwin bore them no malice for that. A man had to look out for himself, no one else would. They had even talked the old man into giving him a reasonable allowance to take with him, pointing out fairly that it did the family reputation, and therefore trade, no favours having a son of the house appear a pauper. Neither had he seen fit to point out that he would not be walking, or hitching lifts on passing carts, having won himself a passable nag in a dice game his last week in Culdi. It was well he had won; his own stake had been a copy of one of the more ribald tales copied for sale in his family workshop. He had been drunk at the time, too drunk to think or care how he would manage to pay his forfeit; not drunk enough to lose his knack with the lucky dice he had inherited from his grandfather.

So here he was back in Grecotha waiting for term to begin. That at least was one lie he had got away with; with luck his father would never find out that students were expected to return by the beginning of October not the beginning of September.

The truth was that he really did like the studies as well as the more physical aspects of student life. He could feel his mind stretching beyond the confines of Culdi, though where would lead him he didn't know. He didn't even know what it meant to be a Deryni, or whether that was good or bad. It didn't seem to make sense  to have powers that you left barely used, like having a bag of good gold sovereigns and only spending copper farthings. But then there were all these mutterings that he heard in the taverns, and even in the university itself, though well away from the ears of authority, that Deryni powers really were evil. Not that made much sense either; there had been Deryni priests now for two lifetimes, and had they truly been of the devil - Edwin surreptiously crossed himself, best to keep on the right side of the Almighty- surely church rituals would not be so mind searingly dull.

So here he was, waiting for term to begin. His daily routine was as muddled as everything else, he supposed. Spend the day in the library, hoping that learning the rudiments of logic, grammar and rhetoric from the wisdom of men of old might shed the light of wisdom on his own thinking, and spending the nights drinking and gambling which did nothing at all to clear his mind's confusion.

[Jerusha]

Elspeth Rowan wanted to press forward, but one look at Amy's face told her how tired the woman was.  Bede's face was carefully neutral, she thought.  Of course, the longer the trip took, the more coin for his purse.

"I think it is a good time to stop," Elspeth said.  "The ponies could use a rest after this morning's steep climb.  And food would not be remiss."

Amy smiled her thanks and led them to the spot she had perceived.  As before, Bede slipped quickly from his horse.  Both Elspeth and Amy dismounted before he could offer to assist them.  Assuming that he would have offered.

Bede looked around to see if the spot was as peaceful as it seemed.  Nothing felt threatening.  A small spring bubbled up at the side of the flat area, and they led their mounts over to it.  Both ponies and the larger horse immediately put their noses to the water.  After they seemed satisfied, the trio tied their reins loosely to some low bushes so the beasts could graze.

Elspeth removed the basket with their provisions and found a pleasant spot in the sun to sit.  Amy sat beside her, and Bede sat across from them, folding his long legs before him.  It seemed like a natural pose to Elspeth, one the man was not unused to.

"I'll serve," Elspeth said as Amy reached for the basket.  "You worked hard enough last night."  She broke off reasonable chunks of bread and passed them around.  Normally she would have passed the loaf and let each person help themself, but she had no idea how regularly Bede ate and did not want the whole loaf to disappear in one meal.  She passed slices of meat and cheese, then finished off with cups of ale filled from the skin.

"It is nice not to be the one serving the ale," Amy said and raised her cup to her friend. 

"Sometimes I think Geoffrey works you too hard,"  Elspeth stated. Amy nodded, pleased that Elspeth had noticed the fact.

"You don't work in the tavern as well?"  Bede asked  conversationally around a large bite of meat which he quickly washed down with a gulp of ale.

"Geoffrey decided I was not good for business."  Elspeth had lowered her hood and looked directly at Bede.  "Customers often crossed themselves and left the tavern when I served them.  It did nothing for the Broken Mast's reputation. 

"And best not to draw the attention of the church," Amy added.

Bede could see how Elspeth's eyes would disconcert some.  The left eye was a warm, amber brown; the right was a bright blue.  The blue eye seemed to look at him piercingly, much like the eye of a hawk.  Blatant gallantry would not work with this woman; he chose honesty. 

"I can see that your appearance could bother some," he replied.  "Though it could be an asset with those who had drank too much and thought to take advantage of the serving wench.  I suspect you could look very formidable when angry."

"Besides the fact that Carew would have killed them," Amy said, a touch of anger in her voice as she remembered the men in the Broken Mast the night before.  And there had been more before the night was over.

"And a pile of dead bodies just outside the tavern door is also bad for business," Bede added.

"Customers tend to trip over them on the way in," Elspeth said dryly. 

Amy grinned and Bede laughed.  The mood of the group lightened a bit.

***

"If I can just nap for a moment or two, I will be fine to continue," Amy said with a barely disguised yawn.

"An hour to two will not delay us too much," Elspeth responded.  "I'll wake you when we must leave."

Amy nodded gratefully and stretched out on the soft grass, pillowing her head on her arm.

"You will not rest as well, Mistress Elspeth?" Bede asked.

"No, I am well enough rested.  Rest yourself, if you need to.  I'll keep watch,"  Elspeth responded.

"Do you not trust me to keep you both safe?" Bede asked, a sharp tone to his voice.

"Should I?'  Elspeth's voice was not exactly warm. 

She rose and, holding the half apple she had not eaten, walked toward her pony.  "Here you go, girl,"  she said when she reached the mare.  "You have earned this."  The mare reached forward eagerly, grasping the half-apple between strong teeth.

"What do you call her?" Bede asked, at a loss for something to say.

"Falcon."

Bede gave her a quizzical glance.  "That's an odd name for a mare."

"It was the name of my father's ship." Elspeth stroked Falcon's muzzle.

"I have been at sea myself, once or twice,"  Bede said.  "Your father served on the ship?"

"My father was her Master."  Elspeth's tone did not invite further questions.

"And?"  Bede dared to probe deeper.

"The Falcon went down at sea;  all hands were lost."  Elspeth looked away.

Bede decided this was not a good time to regale her with his adventures and mishaps at sea.

[Nezz]

Airich O'Flynn set down the book he'd been studying and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Another dead end. Natural Magiques had been no more useful than The Heretical Heritage. His quest so far was an utter failure.

He pushed back the stool he sat on and stood, stretching his back and neck; his body was accustomed to saddle and sword, not stool and book, and after two days in the library, it was loudly voicing its displeasure.

Airich turned and surveyed the stacks, wondering where he was going to find this needle in the haystack that was the Grecotha library, the oldest and largest depository of knowledge in the whole of the Eleven Kingdoms. He'd briefly considered asking the rector in charge of the library, but in truth, what would he tell the man? I'm trying to find the lost secrets of the Deryni so I can reject my heritage and possibly be disowned by my family as a result, would I find that near the Poetry section? As if he could hear Airich's thoughts, the old man glanced over at him, his eyes almost begging for a task to relieve the boredom and provide a little gossip.

No, Airich was not desperate enough to ask the rector. Yet.

Airich scanned the other patrons scattered around the room, few enough as there were in these days before the beginning of Term; perhaps one of them might be more familiar with this library. A group of squire-aged boys argued quietly among themselves in the corner after having been shushed by the rector twice already and threatened with expulsion from the library. Their debate? Of course it was "the Deryni question."

Also a pass. No sense getting involved with strangers who might want to string you up, even if you did agree with most of their complaints.

It had seemed so obvious in the Spring. Deryni Studies was not an uncommon topic for a student to research, despite the current troubles down south. Airich had been sure Grecotha's library would be robust with books and scrolls and old parchments about any topic a man might be interested in. But Deryni Studies? No, the library in the schola at Rhemuth had far more to say on the subject of Deryni abilities and their limitations than Grecotha's grand university. Searching through history books wasn't any more fruitful since any mention of Deryni as anything other than demons had been wiped from the records centuries previous.

Another young man wandered slowly across Airich's field of vision, his nose firmly planted in the book he was studying while ignoring everyone else in the room. Airich recalled noticing him a time or two these past days. His scholarly robe hung open over his spare frame, revealing a well-tailored shirt of quality linen paired with brown wool hose and forest-green cotte. The man himself wore his chestnut-brown hair in a proper border braid, if a bit short. As the student took his seat without lifting his eyes, Airich decided he looked to be just the type of man to seek advice from.

As Airich approached him, the young man looked up at him, a sunny but slightly wary smile on his face. "Pardon me," Airich said, "Could you perchance help me find some reference materials? You look like you're familiar with this library."

Edwin pursed his lips, wondering the best way to shoo away this nobleman without causing offense. "My studies run toward the unexceptional. If you need help with Grammar or Rhetoric, then I'm your man. Otherwise..." Edwin shrugged and smiled helplessly.

Now, go away, I need to study my Latin.

The other man looked consternated, brows furrowed. "My research is a little more specialized," he admitted. "Truth, man, you don't know this library any further than these base categories?"

He was not going to take a hint. Furthermore, Edwin felt his own chin rise at this challenge to his own knowledge of the library. "What are you researching?" he asked. He could figure out what this fellow needed, then send him on his way.

"It's a delicate topic." The man glanced back at the group of rowdies in the far corner, then lowered his voice. "It's a theoretical matter regarding the Deryni and their supposed abilities."

Well, now he certainly had Edwin's full attention. "Are you Deryni?" he asked. He didn't necessarily look Deryni, although Edwin knew by experience that appearance had little to do with it. He seemed a straightforward nobleman, perhaps a touch older than Edwin himself. His tooled leather jerkin and embroidered silk shirt spoke of a modest wealth, at least, and his weapons belt—sans weapons left with the Rector—looked serviceable and well-cared-for. The light-brown hair was twisted and clubbed in the back.

"Human," the other said, looking down, then looked back at Edwin. "This is just research I'm doing to help out... a friend."

This man was no more a scholar than Edwin was a king. But he had been wondering about what it meant to be Deryni, and fate or God had dropped this man into his lap; he might have answers. Edwin decided the Latin could wait while he picked the brain of someone who could conceivably know more about the subject than he did.

"I might be able to help you," he said, then put out his hand. "The name's Edwin Scrivener, by the way."

"Eric Banner," the other man said, placing an odd stress on his first name.

"Very well, Eric," Edwin said, "If I were you, I'd probably start my search with the Derynianus scrolls by Aubert."

"Naturally," Eric said, "That's where I started, but that's all pretty basic."

"Then let's find Deryni Studies and see where that takes us..."

[Marc_du_Temple]

The remainder of the journey to Grecotha was a pleasant southward trot under a fire-colored treeline enshrouded in morning mists. The two young maids and their hired guard were becoming less wary of one another, but neither side quite understood the intentions of the other just yet. Bede, for one, decided that fortune had been most decent to him lately. Perhaps there were sympathetic ears in heaven after all. He had long ago accepted that his plans and the Divine's would never be one-to-one and who had to win, so the fact that he had failed to so much as cross the threshold of the abbey that was sister to St. Stefan's Priory did not bother him anymore. He had made an almost perfectly clean break from Carbury, with a temporary job and new clothes. Baggy and itchy, even to his skin, and the tunic was the color of a Spring leaf pierced by constant sunlight, but he was covered quite nicely. Mustn't let the girls see you smiling, he thought, though he could not keep from humming choruses from his youth. What business they had in Grecotha, he cared not, as long as he could keep them from harm for about the length of a week. The job should not take longer than that, by his reckoning.

The path seemed apparent enough for Bede to take the lead when they had set out that second morning, but the mists were reluctant to abate. Instead, they seemed to cling to the trees and roads like a man to his life. Not a problem until they reached a fork in the road, one where there should have been a post with signs to guide them. The knee-high sharp stump where the path split suggested that there once was one.

When he hesitated, Elspeth spoke up. "Bede, have you not been this way before?"

He saw no point in distorting the truth. "No. It's easier to guess right about new directions with proper signage, I admit."

She clicked her pony to take the lead and assured him she knew the way from times past. Amy made a sound indicative of similar knowledge and guided her pony to follow Elspeth's closely. Bede protested. "Why do you suppose the sign was taken down? And who would have done it?"

"You're the man-at-arms. You tell us."

"This could not be the work of legitimate lumberers or anything of the sort. Mistresses: I suspect brigands, if not men of the woods."

"If we run into any Mearan silvatici, then it's good indeed that my father hired you, Bede."

He sighed in exasperation. "Come along, Winnie," he said.

Amy raised an eyebrow beneath her cloak. "Who?"

"My mare," he answered, pulling the horse up closer to the pair. "We make a good team, she and I. With her help, I'll keep up with your endeavor yet." He adjusted his bow meaningfully.

Curiosity overcame the young serving girl, and she asked, "How did you acquire such a fine horse, yet lack the funds for a shirt?"

"Hard work and care, mistress. It is like a troubadour with his instruments. The horse gets taken care of before the rider."

Elspeth nodded her understanding. "Like a mother with her child."

Furtherance of the discussion of maternal philosophy was hindered by a sight that confirmed Bede's suspicions. A mile out from Grecotha, by Elspeth's estimation, they encountered a cluster of men on the side of the road. Those wearing livery wielded pikes and arming swords. The ones who were dressed strangely yet fiercely, as though they had salvaged souvenirs they had no right to, had surrendered their assorted arms in a pile next to their few fallen comrades and had already begun filing into an iron-caged wagon.

While the trio scanned the scene, Bede was thankful not to recognize anyone in either of the new parties. And why should I? I was telling the truth about never having been this way. He ventured to ask the leader of the liveried men what had transpired. With a curt bow, the man said, "I am Phineas: the captain of the guard at Grecotha. These men had been a thorn in the side of innocent travelers for long enough. We merely needed the weather to turn in our favor to undo their traps and catch them in our own."

Bede bowed in his saddle. "Bede, archer. A brilliant stroke, if I may say so myself. How much farther is it to your city, sir?"

"No more than a mile the way you're going. What business do you have there?"

Bede sat up straighter. "I'm making sure my friends stay out of trouble."

Phineas crossed his arms. "I believe you. What is their business?"

Suddenly, Bede wished that he knew. Elspeth whispered something to Amy, and then the raven-haired girl spoke. "We come at the direction of the Infirmarian of the hospice at Saint Stefan's Priory, to seek knowledge at the university of healing herbs."   

The captain nodded at that. "On your way, fair ladies," he said with a gesture towards the road.

Sometime later, the fog finally dissipated, revealing their destination at last. Three story-high curtain walls of advanced masonry loomed against the grey-blue sky, guarding cathedrals and similarly empyreal towers from the wild elements of the woods, and compared with the scene on the road, the guards at the gate were lax. That suited the visitors from Carbury just fine. Just within the gate, Bede dismounted Winnie amidst the bustle of the midday crowd, full of students and others with an aura of enlightenment. This time he helped the women from their ponies, and spoke up with grandiosity. "Mistresses of The Broken Mast, may I present: Grecotha!" He said it with a habitual flourish telling of more awe than he felt. Of what use were universities to him? He addressed the group. "Now, I was given plain but simple instructions, mistresses. I am at your command, but I beg a little boon of you: that you stay in sight." With a brief reflection, he added, "Or failing that, with each other." It might be good to have a single tolling of the bells to himself. Then again, if what Amy had said about their business was true, far be it from me to judge, but . . . "You don't want to put too much faith in these learned men."

[Bynw]

The cathedral sanctuary was dimly lit and dust covered everything. But this did not stop the priests from gathering there. Several wore stoles of purple to denote their ranks as bishops.

One of the bishops wore a mitre and spoke to the others present. "This is the true synod of Gwynedd. Free from the thrice damned influence of the Deryni that even now lead the flocks astray."

Many of the assembled priests and bishops cross themselves reverently.

"Our Bishop Milton has grand news for us, the faithful."

He nods to the younger bishop as the man rises to speak to the synod.

"Thank you ArchBishop. As you all know the ordination wine that our order used to supply to the whole of the Church has been stopped. Thus allowing Deryni snakes to enter the holy order of priests."

"We know of the vineyard now used by the Church. It is ran by a monastery. We have gained control of the brewing process there with brothers of our own. The wine will be altered and sent only to the areas we control for now. Ensuring that no Deryni spy is allowed into the priesthood."

"There will be a time when some of the more prominent bishoprics open up. Many of them are very old men. We will replace those bishops with our own brothers. Thus ending forever the rise of Deryni priests."

[Nezz]

"I'm not convinced Father Brown really knew anything about being Deryni," Edwin said, turning a page in the book he was perusing. "His entire premise sounds too much like a sullen dismissal of Kinevan's proposal of Deryni origins."

"Agreed," Eric said. "I'm not arguing that he's wrong overall, but I think his argument about Caeriesse has merit and can't be rejected without further study."

"Perhaps," Edwin allowed, "but he's too biased. There's not a word of his writing that I'd take at face value. Now, if you can find a reliable scholar to back him up, then maybe I'll entertain his ideas. But until then," Edwin shut the book with a thump, "nuts to that."

Eric chuckled and turned his attention back to his tome. Edwin placed his book on the shelf where he'd found it and checked his notes. Acta Sancti Camberi was the next book he'd scrawled on the slip of paper, and so he went back to Histories to find it.

All-in-all, it had been a pleasant two days of research, far more interesting than studying Latin, or—God forbid—copying tax records for the king along with whatever harvest or haul of fish was being sent inland. Edwin shook his head, wondering what his father might think of his current research; Edwin couldn't decide if the old man would be pleased that he'd taken such an interest in family history, or if he'd look suspiciously down his nose at his son, wondering why Edwin was poking into private family matters.

And his research companion... Edwin had been pleasantly surprised to discover that Eric had reasonable intellect and hadn't just been begging for research help from Edwin. Between the two of them, they'd found several additional books that seemed worth looking into. Plus a lot more information on Deryni than he'd ever suspected.

"So... healing," Edwin said, walking slowly back to the table while he began perusing the book. "You think this Deryni healing is real?"

"Oh, aye," Eric said, distracted by the words before him. "M'father got it done to him many a time when he was younger."

"Is that right?" Edwin smiled, noticing that Eric had slipped back into a highland accent, as he did when he wasn't paying attention. Edwin couldn't identify it positively, but there was no mistaking that lilting brogue, no matter how mild. "Was he a kingsman?"

" 'S'truth." Eric sat back and stared off into nothing. "He also spent time in the old Duke of Corwyn's service, so he saw healin' done ta others as well."

That must have been a hell of a thing. The old Duke was dead decades past, but his name was still spoken in whispers among some, either as a demon from hell or an angel of mercy, depending on the speaker. If Eric's father has been in the service of that legendary man, then he must have some interesting stories to tell.

Edwin was pretty sure he knew now why Eric was researching the Deryni. He was wrong, but he thought he knew. And while Airich himself enjoyed hearing--and sometimes even spreading--some of the more spectacular rumors about the late Duke Alaric, that wasn't why he was here today.

Airich looked back down at his book that was proving to be fruitless, and flipped through several leaves halfheartedly. The pages fell open, revealing a scrap of old parchment that had been pressed between the leaves. He picked it up and looked at it.

The text on the piece of vellum had been a verse in Latin, written in emerald-green ink, but it had been torn so that only part of the stanza remained.

"dixit: Ecce,
hominibus donum meum.
fuisti in ventre matris tuae,
ad omnia saecula.
mundum manus sanationis meae,
meum et potentia sanationis meae."

Edwin had stopped reading and listened as Airich read the lines aloud. "That's quite the coincidence," he said once Airich had finished, "that you find a piece of verse about healing just as we were talking about healing."

"Aye," Airich agreed. If he were particularly superstitious or extraordinarily religious, he might take this as a sign that God approved his quest.

" 'Mine and my healing power,'" Edwin repeated the last line of the verse. "That almost sounds familiar. I wonder if..." Without another word, he got up and disappeared among the stacks.

He was back minutes later, carrying a small book. He sat and flipped through some pages until he found the part he was looking for. "I thought I recognized one of the phrases from a job I'd done a couple of years back. Here's an English translation of the entire hymn.

"Here am I, Lord: Thou hast granted me the grace to heal men's bodies.
Here am I, Lord: Thou hast blessed me with the Sight to See men's souls.
Here am I, Lord: Thou hast given me the might to bend the will of others.
O Lord, grant strength and wisdom to wield all these gifts only as Thy will wouldst have me serve.

"The Lord of Light said unto me: Behold!
Thou art my chosen child, My gift to man.
Before the daystar, long before thou wast in mother-womb,
thy soul was sealed to Me for all time out of mind.
Thou art my Healing hand upon the world,
Mine instrument of life and Healing might.

"To thee I give the gift of Healing power,
the awesome, darkling secrets of wood and vale and earth.
I give thee all these gifts that thou mayst know My love.
Use all in service of the ease of man and beast.
Be cleansing fire to purify corruption,
a pool of sleep to bring surcease from pain.

"Keep close within thy heart all secrets given,
as safe as said in shriving and as sacred.
Nor shall thy Sight be used for revelation,
unless the other's mind be freely offered.
With consecrated hands, make whole the broken,
with consecrated soul, reach out and give My peace.

"Here am I, Lord: All my talents at Thy feet I lay.
Here am I, Lord: Thou art the One Creator of all things.
Thou art the Omnipartite One who ruleth Light and Shade,
Giver of Life and Gift of Life Thyself.
Here am I, Lord: all my being sealed unto Thy will.
Here am I, Lord: sealed unto Thy service, girt with strength to save or slay.
Guide and guard Thy servant, Lord, from all temptation,
that honor may be spotless and my gift unstained."¹

Airich leaned forward as he listened to the words, letting them wash over him. He inhaled slowly as he took in the lines, the poetry of the words and the reverence of their meaning.

Unless the other's mind be freely offered. If only all Deryni would take these words to heart.
¹"Healer's Song," copyright Katherine Kurtz

[Bynw]

somewhere in Torenth

"It's been four years Master. We have come a long way with our primary goals." The two men stroll through the gardens conversing with one another.

"I understand your reluctance in abandoning the prize of the blocker."
The other man gives the speaker a look that could almost kill.

"Apologies Master", he says with a slight bow of his head. "Abandon is not the correct wording. But we are no closer now than we were four years ago. Perhaps the ordeal pushed him too hard."

They stop. The men are scholars, dressed in the robes of a Torenthi University.

"Then what do you suggest?" The Master asks. "We just let him be and give up?" He shakes his head. "I cannot do that. He is important to the Order's future. You have seen," he makes a grand gesture with his hands, "the proof with your own eyes."

"I have indeed my friend. And that is why I am suggesting this new course of action" The other man, who is older, pauses for a moment.

"We continue our efforts in defeating our enemies. This rise of Williamite activity in Gwynedd could spread out from it's boarders. And there is the Custodes are are being very bold in their actions. Even burning Deryni at the stake in isolated areas. Gwynedd is in crisis. I wouldn't worry about the others, we have them poised to fall. These are the things we need to concentrate on."

The Master begins to speak but is interrupted as the older man continues. "We keep an eye on our Gwynedd friend. Just has we have for the last four years. But we use what we know. You have walked through his mind. You Saw his ability and potential. You are a master of rituals."

The two being walking again in the gardens. For a while in silence and enjoying the autumn foliage. "That is a new approach. And a challenge." The Master nods his head as he speaks. "I believe it could be done. We have long used rituals to grant Power to Humans. There must be one that can deprive a Deryni of his power as well."

He turns to the older man. "This is why I made you my lieutenant. To talk sense into me when I needed it."

The older scholar bows his head again. "It is my honor to serve Master."