Forgotten Shadows

[Nezz]

Thanks to Revanne for letting me play with her character and making sure the words I put in his mouth are words he actually would say. Further thanks to Bynw who encouraged us to "lay it on thick."

They had the devil's own time wrestling de Nore up two full flights of the circular staircase that had led them down below the library. They hadn't even gotten to the steps before Bede had been scratched, Edwin kicked, and Airich spat on.

"That's enough of that," Airich declared, and pulled a length of braided cord from his belt pouch and whipped it around Eddard's wrists as the other man screamed.

"No, NO! Don't touch me! Get your Deryni hands off me, you'll pay! Help, I've got Deryni devils controlling my mind! You disgusting maggots, I'll make sure you burn—"

"Oh, shut it." Bede shoved a handkerchief Edwin borrowed from the fraternity leader into de Nore's mouth and Edwin tied it on. de Nore thrashed and screamed from under his gag, but at least no more discernible filth spewed from his mouth.

It occurred to Airich that this man could indeed be controlled by some Deryni somewhere else: it wouldn't be the first time for such a thing to happen, and these did not sound like the ravings of a man in control of himself. Airich risked a quick read below the surface of de Nore's mind, but jerked back from the sewage he found. One could make the case that de Nore actually was possessed, but it was only by his own rage and a hatred that bordered on insanity.

Even with these considerations, it took the combined efforts of all three to heft the struggling student to the next landing. "Leave off your squirming!" Edwin finally cried out after another kick to the ankle that made him slip down several stairs, bashing his shin against the edge of the step. "We're only trying to turn you over to the Purple Guard, not what was done to poor Lucas! If you'll just cooperate, we can stop manhandling you and get you out of our hair and we'll all be a lot happier!"

This was the impetus de Nore needed to cooperate with them, and the next flight took about one-quarter of the time it took for the first flight. Edwin then pushed open the small door and they exited onto the quad. A half dozen of the Bishop's own Purple Guard stood at attention nearby, summoned by one of Edwin's fraternity brothers. A growing crowd of students had gathered, curious about what was happening.

"Hold a minute," Edwin said to Bede and Airich, then walked over to the guard captain and spoke in quiet tones, then walked back.

"It'll be a couple of minutes before we can turn you over to them," Edwin told de Nore as he removed the kerchief. "They are waiting for their officer. Sorry about the gag, can we get you something to drink? You've got to be thirsty now."

"Drink?" Eddard's voice rose shrilly. "You think I would accept a drink from your demon-infested hand? You're a diseased rat!" He pulled back then abruptly head-butted Edwin in the chest. Edwin fell back while Airich and Bede wrestled de Nore back under control. de Nore himself shrieked and raved like a madman, thrashing in an attempt to get free. Edwin got to his feet again.

"Hold, friends," he said to Airich and Bede. "The man's scared, and with good reason. We are three to his one, and him bound. Sir Airich, please free this good scholar from his bonds, I think he will be more manageable."

Airich eyed Edwin as if he, too, were raving, but he understood that Edwin had a plan, and so he unfastened his cord and released de Nore. The frantic student threw himself to the ground, rolled to his back, and scuttled away several yards.

"You don't fool me! You have planted something in my head! They're Deryni fiends, I tell you!" he yelled to the amassed crowd, which was growing larger as de Nore's screams brought more curious onlookers. He got to his feet. "You have dared touch my person, I will now have to be purified to rid myself of your stink. I will not allow you to drag me down to hell with you."

Edwin put his arms out, palms forwards. "Eddard, there are no Deryni here who want to kill you. No one looking to drag you to hell—"

"You all want to kill me!" he shrieked. "I know your secrets! But you think I won't hesitate to strike the flint for you like I did for Lucas? By God I will, I'll anoint you with the oil myself and burn the damnation out of your soul! If that's what it takes to keep the likes of you away from me, then I will do it. And a thousand more like you." He looked wildly around at the gathered students. "And you... you can help me purify this school, or you can burn with it!"

It took the captain of the Purple Guard but a moment to have his men surround de Nore and take him into custody as the witnesses stared in shock at Eddard's open confession. It certainly came as a surprise to Edwin, Airich, and Bede.

"Well," Edwin said, then looked at the surrounding students and instructors. He put his hand out toward the retreating de Nore as if presenting him to them. "My friends," he said, "That is what it means to be a Willimite. They're both dangerous and mad. Ridiculous and terrifying. Delusional and convicted to their cause."

His voice rose in volume and he looked at his crowd. "Brothers, we cannot allow these people to infiltrate our halls. They will destroy all that we and our intellectual ancestors have spent centuries working towards. To join with them is madness. We must, as a school, turn away from their frenzied cult, and show the world the true light of Christ that shines through our acts and our studies.

"It will not be easy. They threaten us and our brothers and those we hold dear. But we can show these Willimite heathens that we do not fear them! We will walk the halls of this university and the streets of fair Grecotha and we will show them that they are powerless against us! We stand together, Human and Deryni alike, and reject their message of hatred!"

From the midst of the ever-growing crowd, three rosettes landed at his feet. Edwin turned towards the library and cried out as he had but hours before, "Grecotha, clean the filth from your noble halls! Teach your students that they can reject this false doctrine! Teach those others that they have no power here!"

There was silence followed by loud cheers; although it was clear that not all in the crowd were convinced, most seemed won over by Edwin's eloquence. Those cheering the loudest pushed forward to crowd around Edwin but he put up his hands in a gesture of denial. "Don't waste time here, my friends, all of us have work to do if we are to rid ourselves of this plague. It won't be done by standing here."

The last thing Edwin wanted was to become the leader of yet another faction in the university, taking the danger while a group of admiring supporters looked on. Reluctantly, those who had thrown the rosettes nodded and moved away, taking the rest of the crowd with them. It seemed that today's excitement was over.

Edwin returned to Airich and Bede, still a little giddy from the rush of energy that had flooded him as he spoke. Airich bowed before him. "Master Scholar, I had not realized that I stood before true greatness until this moment." Edwin couldn't figure out if Airich was mocking him or if he was serious. "But for now, shall we report our findings to Canon Damian?"

"No," Bede said. He put his hands on Airich's shoulders. "Sir Knight, I apologize for being the bearer of this news, but... you and I stink of smoke and death. And our Master Scholar is not much better," he glanced down at Edwin's leg, "not to mention the blood that seems to be oozing from his hose. So before we meet with the good Canon, let us get cleaned up. Believe me, he will thank us for the favor."

[Laurna]

"Oh my, oh my!  Our boy really is a literary genius," praised the Carbury gal. Amy took in a satisfying breath, opened her eyes wide, and looked for the first time in a long time at both the women who were intent on her every facial movement and utterance that she had repeated while in rapport. "I don't know anything about lecturing, but I would say Scribe Edwin has the charisma of a magister."  Amy blinked at Elspeth's pleased expression and Muirea's look of amazement. Their appreciation made her smile. "He will be running this university before you know it." 

"What about that de Nore fellow?" Muirea questioned her. "Did he really say what you said he spouted?"

Amy's smile faded and her stomach reeled in disgust; she wanted to spit out the taste of him. "Vile wretched man.  How can anyone.... hate... I mean...  really hate... I've seen abuse, but him? He is beyond... my comprehension." Amy said at last winding down from the tension and rapid heart rate she had been experiencing while in Rapport. "and to think he kicked poor Edwin in the shin so hard, I could tell he was doing what he could to quell the pain."

"What?!"  Elspeth turned on Amy in alarm. "You did not say he had been injured."

"A booted foot took him straight on the shin, and then he slid back down two steps, scraping the same spot, decisively. He didn't tell Airich."

"Hell and high Water!" Elspeth exclaimed.  She was up and grabbing her basket of medicine and checking the contents for bandages.  Satisfied, she returned to Amy demanding, "Where are they now?"

"Um...  um."  Amy struggled for a minute to unfocus her eyes, but it lasted only a moment before she fell to the back of her chair exhausted. "They are heading to Cathedral square to the bath house at the side of the cloister. Bede is saying he wishes he had fresh clothes to change into after," Amy repeated.

Elspeth looked defeated. "It's for men only."

But Muirea stood up beside Elspeth. "Only for the clientele, not for the serving women who bring in towels and keep it clean," Muirea explained.

"Is it a brothel? So close to the Cathedral?"  Amy was appalled at the idea.

"Not at all. It's the oldest and best bath house in the city. Every man goes there at least once a week. The pool is fed by a natural spring and the ancient Byzantyun mosaics around the pool and colonnade are amazing. The king restored the bath to its ancient glory about a dozen years ago as a gift to the city. The laundry house uses their discarded water, and women trade the laundry with the bath house all the time. We will have to enter through the Wash house to get into the Bath house, but we should not be questioned once we are in."

Elsepth perked up at the idea. She had been resolved to bluster her way in; she knew from past experience that if you act like you belong somewhere, most people did not question your presence.  Muirea's solution was a good start, followed by a little subterfuge once in the bath house, which didn't seem to bother her if it got her where she needed to be. After she repeated this aloud, Amy gave her a good luck smile. "I don't have the strength to go. Muirea, you are in charge of watching Elspeth's back. You hear me. Nothing had better happen to either of you."

"I know people there. We will be fine."  Then Muirea was pacing toward the door. "Let me grab a fresh tunic and clean hose for each of our men."

Elspeth agreed and after a word to Amy to get some sleep, both women left the boarding house.

It was mid morning by this time. Amy could barely keep her eyelids from folding down. She pulled the curtains on the window and curled up on her bed. Her last thoughts were that she should warn Edwin that Elspeth was coming.

****

Water aqua and crystal with wavering creatures like great whales and large fish, mermaids with shimmering scaled tails; all far beyond the reach of hands dancing in the swirls of the distant sea. Not alone, closer, nearly within reach, are men of flesh and bone and not much more. The mermaid sings her serenade at the bottom of the pool and calls men down to reach her. Don't listen to her song, it's a deception. Her loveliness is but guile to lure men to drown.

Air? Surface? There! Splash! Gulp of hot tinted air! The song is a lute strummed in the tunes of the Forcinne echoing over the splash of the fountain...

"Father! No! Don't take him!" Her baby cries from the cold hands that have pulled him from her breast. A mother screams."Father, he is mine!"

"You'll not ruin our family name. I disown you! This child will grow to never know your disgrace."...

 Pain shimming from ankle to knee as a body brushes past, a voice giving his apology before swimming away. Clenched teeth under water, gasping and sputtering at the surface. Too many bodies swimming near. Rubbing the wound on his shin, his fingers can not relieve the pain. The heat of the spring waters should have helped the pain. But the sting of it is worse now. Above, the sun shines over a pool tiled in mosaics of blue and greens with images of yellow and orange fish in the old Byzantyun style. Surrounding the Health-waters are colonnades of carved stone pillars holding up blue roof-lines bowing toward the marble fountain at the head of the pool. The artistry of the fountain displays a pod of Mermaids rising up from the vapor of heated spring mineral water being steadily poured from scalloped sea shells into the pool....

The startling eyes of blue and burnished gold, a hand holding her own hand firm and confident. 'Its time. Push. Ams, Push."  Pain unbearable... "Amaryllis, you can do this. Almost there. PUSH!"  A scream and then "It's a boy!"...

Water, blissful water, wash away the detritus ilk of hate, wash away, fire and brimstone.

Shoulders relaxed, cool tiles of blue and burnished gold, under arms folded, where eyes only see small portions of nude bathers walking in and out of the pool. Strong hands kneading shoulders and back.  Warm oil tickles down the skin at the waist. Older brothers had once held him down and tickled him there, but now the kneading and molding of flesh by warm fingers is a pleasure seldom sought after and never given by family. Should do this more often. This was the primary thought that permeated the listener's mind as the images of mermaids and men blurred her vision...

"Someone is here to see you," said a very familiar voice. A view rising from the blue tiled slab he laid upon to the wide shouldered blond man before him.  The primary viewer made nothing of the sight. But the listener, more aware than before, saw tawny bare shoulders and strong bare chest with narrow waist and bare feet below a looped woven fabric tucked about the hips. The man, Bede Archer, was pointing to another. The primary viewer sat up abruptly grabbing fabric that had been over his backside and pulling it high, wrapping it around himself like a himation worn by the original builders.

"How did you get in here?" said the scribe's voice. Muirea holding a tall pile of similar folded cloth  giggled and said. "I showed her in through the laundry building. We are not the only women here."

Edwin sputtered,  "but I don't know any of them."

Mistress Elspeth ignored his discomfort. Instead she pointed to the wound on his leg. "At least you have washed it clean. But I can not imagine how many detrimentals have seeped into this wound through the water. If you're done getting wet, then it is time I gave you some healing salve and wrapped this injury as it should have been wrapped an hour ago."

Edwin stood from the slab by the side of the water and moved in under the cover of the colonnades surrounding the large communal swimming pool, passing the figure of Sir Airich recumbent on a green tiled slab with two pairs of hands giving both his shoulders and his feet ceremonious attention. The knight had paid for an alcove in the wall with benches and their items stacked on stone shelving at the back of the niche. "Wish I had fresh clothes," Edwin said dismally as he sat wrapping the loose fabric closer around himself. He made certain that only his injured leg showed as he stretched it out for Elspeth to see.

The physicker replied with  "Tsk, tsk," as she fingered his wound, "This might hurt, I need to dry it before I can treat it with proper medicine."

[Jerusha]

Elspeth was as gentle with her examination of Edwin's injury as she could be.  As was her habit, she described what she was doing as she proceeded.  Edwin focused on Elspeth's hood, drawn up as usual to shield her eyes, trying to ignore the pain the physicker could not help but inflict.

"The bone appears to be intact," she said as she felt along the length of his leg.  'Good news.  It's more of a deep scrape than a cut, so I think we can dispense with stitches."  She smiled slightly as she felt Edwin let go of the breath he had been holding.  "Though with a scrape like this, you would have been bleeding like a stuck pig.  I'm surprised they let you enter the bath."

"My hose soaked up most of it," Edwin volunteered. "So it was only dripping a bit when we arrived."

Elspeth gave an unladylike snort and reached a clean cloth.  She gently pressed it against the wounded area to soak up as much water and blood as she could.  Edwin sucked in air between his clenched teeth.

When Edwin's shin was dry enough to suit her, Elspeth reached for her satchel and basket of bandages.  She found the small stoppered clay pot she was looking for and opened it.  It gave off a strong smell of garlic. 

The older woman smiled at Edwin's slight grimace.  "The garlic is used to prevent suppuration.  The smell will disperse soon enough."  She began spreading the ointment over the injury.  "Although you may want to avoid any kitchens, lest the cooks serve you up on a trencher."

Edwin managed a small smile.  She's good, to make me smile in spite of the pain.  The pain began to lessen; there must be something in the ointment besides garlic.  Maybe it was better if he did not know what that was.

As Elspeth began bandaging Edwin's shin, Bede noticed they had begun to draw curious glances from some of the patrons.  Admittedly, a woman in a cloak with her hood drawn up was an oddity in a warm, humid bath house.  And Muirea was definitely pleasing to look at.  Bede positioned himself beside a colonnade, resting his forearm on it and trying to look nonchalant, while hoping his stance would dissuade anyone from approaching to satisfy their curiosity.

Elspeth tied off the bandage.  "Finished," she announced.  "However," she continued with a tone in her voice that forced Edwin to look directly at her.  "I suppose it would be foolish to think I can convince you to stay off that leg as much as possible for a while.  Should I try anyway?"

"I'm not carrying you around on my shoulders," Bede piped up.

Edwin hesitated for a moment and then answered truthfully.  "Under the circumstances, I can't promise I will.  But I will be mindful of it."

"I thought as much. However, if the leg feels swollen, or if the wound becomes more painful, you must inform me immediately!  There is no room for discussion on this point,"  she added while assuming her sternest look.

"That I will promise you," Edwin responded staunchly.

"And no chasing after anyone," the physicker added.  "Send one of us instead."

Try as he might, Edwin could not imagine Mistress Elspeth with her gown hitched up to her knees chasing someone down a street.  No, that image would not form in his mind!

She turned her attention to Airich, who stood up from his green tiled slab, carefully wrapped in a towel.  "We will do our best to keep reminding him,"  he stated with a sharp glance at Edwin.  "It may be the best we can do."  He shifted his glance to the pile of clothes Muirea still held.  "If those are our clothes, can we trouble you to leave so we can get dressed?"

"Of course," Elspeth replied, beginning to rise.  "Unless you need our assistance, that is."

Edwin's jaw dropped and Muirea giggled.

[Bynw]

"It saddens me so to see my homeland and Kingdom in such turmoil. But what must be done so we can move forward in our plans and bring an end to the accursed Deryni and to restore the rightful Haldane line."

The King in Exile continues to speak to his council of loyal Bishops. "Then, we can build Gwynedd back better and stronger. Free of the Deryni taint and line of murderers and usurpers."

One of the Bishops responds, "The Willimites are spreading discord across Gwynedd. And they are encouraged to do whatever they think is necessary. Even the corrupted Church has a view brave priests speaking the truth of the Deryni again. It is a great blessing."

"We have reports of several Deryni being burned at the stake for their crimes. A fitting end for their heresy. We have also heard that a Willimite faction in Grecotha has something special planned for that wicked cesspool of Deryni education. Possibly at the beginning of the fall term."

Another Bishop enters the privy council. "Your Majesty. Let me introduce Father Malcom. He has been appointed to the position of King's Confessor."

[Nezz]

"...faster than a snake striking, if you believe the rumors," Muirea told them as the five entered the boarding house. "Most of the girls don't believe it, but one of them said she saw him duel Martin Gardiner and it was like watching a cat play with a mouse."

"I heard about that one," Edwin added. "I heard Gardiner was bleeding from a dozen cuts before de Guarra deigned to finally put him out of his misery."

"The man sounds like a perfect Willimite," Elspeth said, sounding incensed. "Someone who enjoys tormenting others. And has the backing of a magistrate so can't be held liable for his misdeeds."

"You should challenge him, Sir Airich," Muirea said as they came to the cozy common room. "You could make mincemeat out of him, couldn't you?"

"Unlikely," Airich laughed. "I'm a soldier, not a bravo." He unbuckled his sword belt, then pulled off his tunic and armor and piled them together on the end of the bench, leaving just his long shirt covering his torso. "I'm good enough with a blade, but I don't spend my life practicing, as so many of these duellists will. I have no doubt he could cut through my defenses and have me bleeding my life out in the street in no time."

"If it comes down to it, bows beat swords at a distance nine times out of ten," Bede said. "If it comes down to it.." It was hard to say whether or not the archer was joking.

"Let's hold off murdering the magistrate's son for now," Elspeth said tartly. "In the meantime, you, you, and you. Eat!" She stabbed her finger at each of the three men, then pointed to a mound of bannocks on the table, sitting next to a platter of cheese. The men did not have to be told twice, and not just because they didn't want to risk Elspeth's wrath.

After several minutes of uninterrupted chewing, Airich turned to Muirea. "So you would expect to see de Guarra at the Drunken Parchment tonight when you go in to work?"

"Yes, probably."

"Do you think you might be able to get close to him? Without putting yourself in danger?"

"Depends. How close is close? Remember, they only let one or two of the older girls serve him because of his wandering hands."

"What about if you were to flirt with him? Or is he too unbearable for that?"

"Oh, he's actually quite good-looking. And charming when he's inclined to be." Muirea set her hands on her hips and cocked her head at Airich. "What are you thinking? What would I do if I got close?"

Airich placed his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together. "If there were any way that  you could acquire something personal of his..."

"Money? That would be easy enough."

"Not money, that changes hands too much and wouldn't have any residual aura from him. A button, possibly... maybe a clasp of some sort. A lock of hair would be great, but it would be hard for you to explain."

"I think between the two of us, me and Amy could double-team him and nick some kind of—"

"Don't involve Amy," Airich said quickly, "not if you can help it?"

"Oh? I'm expendable and Amy's not?"

"No!" Airich looked offended at the suggestion. "Amy's Deryni and you're not. If anything went wrong, she'd be in far more danger than you, spying on a Willimite."

"I'm not sure if I like the idea of either one of them doing any more than just listening." Bede frowned at Airich. "Deryni or not, they could get into serious trouble pinching a customer's belongings."

"I guess it's a good thing it's not up to you to decide how I help, then, isn't it?" Muirea retorted.

"The girls can do a remarkable job listening to the things people say in public, and it's a useful skill. But I'm hoping they find me the right type of object so I can spy on Pietre de Guarra while he's in private, and meeting with people he might not want others knowing about. Instead of picking up one Willimite at a time, we bag a gaggle of them in one fell swoop." Airich shrugged. "That's the theory, at least."

"Well now you've definitely convinced me." Muirea thumped the table with her fist. "I'm your woman."

"If she gets hurt..." Bede muttered, barely within Airich's hearing.

Airich smiled and looked over at Edwin, who'd watched all with nary a comment as he continued working on the buttery bannocks. Then he looked more carefully at Edwin. Were you aware that you have an open connection to Amy? Edwin nearly dropped a bannock at this unexpected communication, but then recovered himself and his breakfast.

I'd forgotten. She's still there? I thought she must have left because she's been quiet since they hauled off de Nore.

She's still there. I think she's asleep. Airich looked deeper at the connection. Have you two been linked since early this morning? She must be exhausted. Do you know how to disconnect a psychic link?

Er... I don't.

Here, let me show you. Airich demonstrated this simple procedure for Edwin, and his link with Amy dropped Do you think she was asleep while we were at the baths?

I don't know, I wasn't... oh no flaming hells!

Airich had to smother a mental laugh as the implications of this question occurred to Edwin and roared through their own connection. I'll let you drop our link so you know you can do it yourself.

Their connection dropped with a mental click.

Airich got up and went over to Elspeth. "May I check on Amy in your room? She's been connected to Edwin this entire time and I'd like to make sure she hasn't exhausted herself too badly."

Elspeth fixed Airich with an amber eye. "Do I need to come in and chaperone you?"

"No, ma'am."

"Don't make me come in there and break your nose. I'd just have to fix it again, and you don't want that."

"No ma'am!" That was threat enough for him to behave, even if he hadn't already planned on doing so.

Airich took his gear upstairs and dropped it off in his room. He also took the opportunity to change into his coolest summer hose, as the day had become sweltering. He didn't bother to put his tall boots back on, then padded quietly up the hall to the girls' room.

He lightly rapped on the door, in case she was already awake. No answer, so he tried the latch and found the door opened easily.

Amy lay on her side upon the big bed, legs curled up with one foot tucked behind the other. Her hands clasped each other under her chin. She was fully dressed but for her shoes. Airich knelt on the floor before her and touched her forehead, feeling for the psych underneath. Her Shields lay wide open as he'd expected, a standard consequence of falling asleep during rapport. Her fatigue seemed well within the bounds of normal from extended contact with someone else, especially for a novice. Her time spent using her natural empathy as a medical assistant had apparently built up an endurance for such work not usually seen in beginners. Even now, he could sense her transitioning to a lighter level of regular sleep. She would likely wake on her own within the hour.

Still, a small stress line appeared between her brows, and Airich feared she might be taking too much onto herself. But perhaps not. Amy was no innocent child, and had a life with the usual concerns and worry, and he really needn't feel as if her new abilities were the sole cause of her stress.

He mentally caressed a spot near the base of her Shields, to encourage them to close for her protection. They responded to his touch and rewarded him by sliding closed naturally, and not with the snap that would likely have woken her with an unpleasant start.

Airich sat back on his heels and took a minute, while no one was looking, to appreciate how truly stunning this woman was. Her hair, splayed gently out from her pillow, was as black and glossy as any Haldane's. Thick lashes rimmed her closed eyelids and her lips parted in a natural pout.

He gently touched her lips with a forefinger, thinking of the passion they'd shared two nights ago. He knew better than to take it personally; any two healthy young bodies might feel the same ardor for one another, it was only natural. Still...

Airich lowered himself to the floor and leaned against the bed, legs stretched out before him. He was not in a position to think seriously about any woman. If one didn't count the myriad of other reasons, the mere fact that he was a landless knight living on the generosity of his parents would prohibit him from searching for a wife of his own. His skills as a swordsman were perfectly adequate, but nothing that would set him apart from a hundred other such men, so it was unlikely he'd garner any special attention or accolades.

Once upon a time he'd thought to become a great sorcerer and discover the secrets of the universe, like few Deryni before him had. Whispers of some of the great men of the past had sparked his imagination, and names like Sé Trelawny, Stefam Coram, Lewys ap Norfal, and Azim ar-Rafiq had captured his attention: true Deryni masters whose powers had no equal and whose understanding far surpassed that of ordinary men. To study in Andelon and possibly even the Anvil had been Airich's goal, and his knight's training had suffered as a result. Of course, that was before the headaches and nightmares had begun.

He turned his head and looked at Amy again. He smiled. "Amaryllis Aldan," he said, "Give me the word and I will bring you Otis Turpin's guts in a silver charger. And ask nothing in return but perhaps to stand within the presence of your smile."

He found himself growing quite relaxed sitting against the bed in a comfortable women's bedchamber. He had too much to do to fall asleep, he needed to banish his fatigue again and get about his business. Or at least return to his own room for a short nap. But he would close his eyes for just a moment first...

[Laurna]

A shift of dreams, no longer filled with friends talking... quiet now. Peaceful and easy, stillness. Warmth, a bit too warm, a small stretch searching for a cooler spot on the bed.  Amy rolled over, her hand brushed a tangle of hair. She pulled back, expecting a cat to slide up to her. But it wasn't a purr that she heard, rather a rushed inhale and a long guttural exhale. Silence and then a sudden inhale once more. Elspeth did not sleep like that.

Amy's eyes opened. Above the level of the mattress was the top of a head, face lolled into the mattress's edge. Hair loose with ringlet curls that had dried from the bath, but had not yet been brushed back into a boarder knot. Amy liked the fact that his hair was not as straight as he normally brushed it out to look. His head weaved up a little as he let out a low sounding breath. She smiled.

I guess I am not the only one who likes to look in on the people I care about. She stifled a giggle. How long had she been asleep. There was no way to tell.  Now that she did not feel Edwin or anyone for that matter, it could be any time during the day. She did have to work tonight and if Muirea came in to tell her it was time to go to work, she would see this. The woman would surely tattle to Bede about this, and that might anger the archer. He still considered the two women from Carbury under his protection.

Amy sat up slowly and shifted out of the lower part of the bed. Airich did not wake up.  Should she wake him and move him to his room? Yes. But did she dare to do that? He had to be more tired than she had been. His little nap at the bath had not been long.

The vision of his strong back glistening in the sun, not white and pasty like some men who hide from the sun, but lightly colored by what could only be several shirtless hours out of doors. Likely training to wrestle, she imagined. She longed to wake him but did not dare. Not in the mood this image had touched inside.  Instead, she tiptoed to the door, took one long look behind her, then slipped out to find a way to distract everyone from coming up here until he woke himself up.

[revanne]

With thanks, as ever, for others' contributions.

Edwin woke up with a start and a stiff neck, he must have fallen asleep over his plate. At least it wasn't soup. Looking around, he could see that the same weariness had overcome Bede, though the archer was still asleep with his head cradled on his arm. Amy, he noticed, was sitting in the corner of the room, absorbed in some mending. He stretched to ease the crick in his neck and was just thinking that he really ought to go up to his room to find somewhere more comfortable to have his sleep out when the remembrance of the morning's events came flooding back into his fatigue befuddled brain.

As he came fully awake, his first concern was to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged, as the sight and stench of the burning came back with its full horror. Breathing slowly and deeply, he managed to force the nausea back down, but the churning of his thoughts was not so easily subdued. What was happening to the university he loved, and had he made things better or worse with his heroics? And most of all, what were they doing sleeping like this when their first duty was surely to report to Canon Damian?

He pushed back his stool and jumped to his feet with a suddenness which shot a burning arrow of pain up from his wounded leg. He swore loudly, which woke Bede and earned him a disapproving look from Amy. Thank goodness Elspeth wasn't there to hear him. As he thought this, he could hear Elspeth speaking as she and Airich came down the stairs. He thought he heard her say something about Airich's nose being out of place like the rest of him, but, whatever that was about, they didn't have time for such nonsense. He was beginning to worry what Canon Damian would be thinking of his declamations, and there was only one way to find that out.

He did not dare tell the others to hurry up, but it seemed that they had all had similar thoughts, and in a very short time they were standing outside Canon Damian's office next to the University Library. Edwin waited for Airich to knock, only to find the latter looking impatiently at him.

"You're the student here."

"Not anymore."

"Oh. For heaven's sake," Elspeth pushed past the useless menfolk and knocked firmly on the door, which was opened almost immediately by the slight young novice, a youth who was old enough to have taken temporary vows, but surely didn't look any older than fifteen, if barely that– the same novice whom they had last seen in the infirmary. He looked inquiringly at them, but, seeing the women, at once dutifully lowered his eyes and waited to find out what this interruption to the usual routine of the monastic day was about.

"We are here to report to Canon Damian," Airich said calmly. The lad seemed unnerved by being addressed directly by one with such obvious authority and stammered out, "Ah'm sorry m'lord, but Father Damian is wi' his excellency the Bishop and canna be disturbed."

Edwin felt immediate sympathy for the novice's nervousness, faced with having to deny the request of someone so obviously his social superior. Before either Airich or Bede could respond and unwittingly unnerve the lad still further, Edwin spoke, echoing the lad's own border accent which he himself was beginning to lose but which he could still return to at will.

"D'ye ken when he's like ta be free ta speak wi'us?"

The lad looked up, startled, but obviously put more at his ease. He even managed a tentative smile in Edwin's direction as he shook his head and replied. "He was after saying that he'd no' be finished afore Vespers. I'm sorry sirs." There was a pause, then he added hesitantly, "and mistresses."

Elspeth stepped forward then, noting the tension in Edwin. It was apparent he had wanted to clear the air over his position at the university, one way or the other. Now his stress regarding the matter was to be extended. Edwin was trying unsuccessfully not to twist his sleeve in his fingers, but otherwise appeared calm before a serving young man of the church.  And the Novice was looking at Edwin in hopes that the University student would understand that the presence of women in this holy house of learning should be brought to as short a length of time as possible.

To Edwin's eye, it seemed Elspeth had misinterpreted the novice's discomfort as she asked, "What is your name, son?  I have worked with you, but I don't think we were introduced."

Edwin could sense the lad's unease with a woman of authority, at least in this place, and wondered how long the lad had been so far from home. He would be unused to speaking with women as a novice, but these were hardly usual times and if he was, as he seemed to be Canon Damian's assistant, then it was best he got used to the opposite gender presenting themselves in the office from time to time. He wondered how long it was since the novice had last seen his mother, and it occurred to him that Elspeth was likely near the age that his mother had been when he did last see her.

Maybe Elspeth's approach would be helpful, but still Edwin jumped in to make the introduction more comfortable.

"We're all o'us working wi' th'Canon so let's ken who we all are; I'm Edwin Scrivener of the Scrivener House of Culdi, with me are Sir Airich O'Flynn of Derry, and Mistress Elspeth Rowan, a physicker of Carbury also assistant at St Stefan's nunnery–her knowledge is worthy of the respect of Canon Damian's, you were witness to her ability in the infirmary a few days back." Edwin realized during this introduction his own opinion of his new friends had much improved since those first days.  "And these are our companions, Mistress Amy, Guardian Bede and his family's friend Mistress Muirea."

The church lad's tension relaxed. This seemed a good approach, the novice stood straighter and replied, "Ah am Aidan McLain, from St Machan's Abbey as was; that's in Cassan."

"A McLain?" Airich asked. "One of the McLains?"

"NO! No, no! Just one of the clan branches from generations back. My father's a cobbler. He did good work in his early years, but then... after a hand injury when I was very young, he was troubled to keep working. We were four boys in the house more girls too, My da sent us two youngest boys, to St Machan's Abbey. But then there was a fire..." Aidan swallowed and skipped what ever he was about to say.  "Ah have heard from other sources, that my eldest brother has taken on the Cobblery. Ah could go back, but that is not my desire. Ah have made vows, temporary for now, but I am working toward making them proper."

Airich nodded, but he still looked the boy over, obviously noting any family similarities to a certain Duke of Cassan. But if he saw anything, he made no mention of it.

The thought of injured hands reminded more than just Edwin of Elspeth's special patient. Before he could ask, Elspeth was already broaching the question. "How is Robert doing? I know he was moved to a new room, but I have not seen him since yesterday. Do you think you could take me to him?"

Novice Aidan's shoulders eased. "Sorry, Mistress Elspeth, but th'young student was met by his father just a few hours since an' has left th'university."

There was a sigh of much relief from all six persons standing before Aidan McLain. Sir Airich's eyes opened. "They managed to pass the road blockades? He must have brought several armed men with him?"

"No," Aidan corrected, "He came alone and left only wi' Robert."

Airich and Edwin both looked at each other, and Edwin could see a light suddenly shine in Airich eyes. "But of course," was all Airich would say. 

At Edwin's inquiring glance, he heard the knight's confident voice in his head, Portal transfer.

Mistress Elspeth thanked Novice Aidan for his time and requested if they could return after Vespers. Aidan agreed and all of them left the canon's office, but it appeared they had differing ideas as to what to do next.
Bede turned to Edwin. "Since we can't get in to see Canon Damian, shall we go pay a visit to that friend of ours?" He fingered a pair of green-glass eyeglasses.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Edwin replied. He glanced at Airich. "You with us again?"

Airich shook his head. "I've got a different task to see to this afternoon. But good luck to the both of you."

[Nezz]

As usual, thanks to Laurna for Amyfying this scene.

"You look refreshed from your nap," Airich said to Amy as they walked behind Elspeth and Muirea, headed back to the boarding house. Regardless of his own errands, he would see the women safely home before he returned to the cathedral.

"The nap helped quite a lot, thank you," Amy said.

"I meant to speak with you before now," he said. He slowed his pace to give themselves some distance between the other two women.

"Oh? What about?"

"Nothing specific. I just didn't want you to think I was ignoring you. Or avoiding you. After the other night."

"You'd said you needed to take care of personal matters, so I didn't expect anything," Amy said. "And this morning has been... well, it's certainly been something, hasn't it? But it was nice to wake up and see that you'd been checking in on me." 

"Oh, well, I was concerned about you. Edwin said that you'd been in rapport all morning, and since he hadn't been controlling it, you must have been. I was worried you'd exhausted yourself."

"I seem to be well enough," she said. "Perhaps my mind isn't as sharp as usual, but I'm certainly able to serve customers and juggle drinks. And I've still got a few more hours to rest before I have to do that."

"Just be careful. Don't take any unnecessary risks." They continued walking. Then he asked, "Did you see anything... interesting while you were in rapport with Edwin?" He looked away as he asked this, his face as expressionless as he could possibly make it.

"Thank heavens, no. The worst of the fire was over by the time Edwin got there, so I didn't see the body, although I'm sorry to say I could sense the smell. I did hear Edwin's speech, which was impactful and expressive. Wouldn't it be nice if we could stop the Willimites just by turning all the students in the school against them? I suppose that's not likely if there are more people like that nasty Eddard de Nore out there." Amy was not an overly superstitious type but saying his name caused her to cross herself and mumble a word under her breath.  "What a relief that the Purple Guard heard his confession." She clenched her jaw, wishing, hoping, that his incarceration would bring an end to this mess. But she knew that was a false hope. 

"It's too bad de Nore managed to get such a good kick at Edwin's leg. I felt it when he slipped down the steps after." Amy almost told the knight of the scribe's pain, but decided that was not for her to tell. "It's a good thing Elspeth got there by the time—" Amy stopped suddenly, then began speaking quickly. "I told Elspeth about the injury, and she ran off almost immediately. Once I was alone, I think I fell asleep."

She looked up at Airich. He was watching her intently, but looked away when she made eye contact. "Asleep?" he asked.

"Must have been. Because, I presume, I lost the connection with Edwin, some time before I woke up. Maybe being asleep breaks the link. Does it? I guess I should have closed it sooner. I was so tired." Should she say anything about her dreams; they had not all been pleasant? Some of very personal nature, and others of... well. No need to share the pleasure of those. "I needed the rest, I will have to learn to shorten Rapport. Sleep must have ended it, or Edwin did," she said as they approached the boarding house.

"Or I did."

"Oh!"  She looked up at him confused, but then a smile caught in her eyes.  "The ancient mermaids were marvelous to see. I would love to see them some day with my own eyes." She giggled and then dodged into the boarding house door before Airich could say anything more.

I should have guessed you'd like the sea creatures, he sent her, getting in the last word after all.

Darn, she'd forgotten he could do that.

[Marc_du_Temple]

After saying their farewells and being wished happy hunting by the women and the knight, the Archer and the Scrivener began hunting their prey in earnest. Bede could only guess as to the hiding place of a man like Eustace at this time of the day, so Edwin took the lead in the tracking of this one. The obvious and correct place to look, he knew, was the Grecotha library. When they entered it, Bede was struck by a feeling of wonder and awe at something too many of the students already took for granted: the wealth of knowledge at their fingertips. Hundreds of books, and only some of them bound in chains. Hundreds of worlds I've never visited, or have and never truly known. He grimaced at nothing in particular and chided himself for such flights of fancy. His world was material. Not vellum, but stone, wood and flesh. Nevertheless, he had Edwin indulge him on this matter, wandering the shelves until they found a domesday book, about the length of his forearm and just as thick.

While the rector made his way over to them to unlock this particular volume, Edwin asked him, "What do you need a domesday book for?"

"I would like very much to see this city and the surrounding country from a perspective that is more ... civil than I seem to be able to get on my own." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "As things stand, I hate this place. It takes good people and beats them raw, giving vain promises in return, be they deryni or human."

"That's harsh to my ears," Edwin protested.

Bede was quick to point out, "It canna be that harsh, or else you would not have protested as you did today. You did well, I think." He accepted the book from the rector graciously and said to them both, "And thank you for this." It had a satisfying heft, in his opinion.

Then they split up, agreed that whoever found Eustace would wait for the other to find them. Edwin had his firsthand knowledge of what the target looked like and his habits to guide him, while Bede had the descriptions from the scholar and Muirea. She had told him much of this particular patron. The young man from Bremagne was sitting alone at the end of a table in the upper reading room, squinting at the inky innards of a book of canon law. That was where Edwin found him and made attempts at distracting conversation. He mostly got incendiary looks for his trouble, but it went on for long enough to achieve the desired effect.

Eustace's attention was finally gotten by a man in a guard's blue who otherwise looked the part of a sellsword. Strange enough on its own, but the man was wearing his eyeglasses and seemed to be struggling to read a volume on Grecothan history with them. He forgot himself, as was his way when slighted, rising to accuse the man. "Trou de cul!" he hissed. "You think I do not recognize my own eyeglasses?"

"Impossible," was the stranger's answer, and a flash of teeth. "Unless this is not the pair that you stepped on getting out of your bed." That was the lie that Eustace had told Muirea, when she so innocently asked him of their whereabouts.((Bede Intimidates Eustace 2d6 5 + 1))

Realizing who his betrayer was, Eustace cursed. "That loose-lipped harlot!"

"Watch it," Bede warned, slowly removing the eyeglasses. "Now, cooperate fully, and you may have these back and more, without a scratch. Otherwise, how far is it to the floor from over that railing, Master Scrivener?"

"None of us are engineering students here, Bede," Edwin shrugged.

"Peace, messieurs," Eustace spoke, needing no more convincing. "Keep your voices low and pray we are not seen. I will tell you what you want to know." In a stifled manner, as though he were embarrassed by the feeling of shame, he muttered, "I did not anticipate the severity of their methods, I swear on mon Dieu. First I must know: is young Robert alright?"

"We'll talk if you talk." Edwin's promise was a cautious one.

"Very well. Those two boys found outside the walls of the city? They were my academic enemies. Not rivals; enemies. I knew that they were stealing my work and presenting it as their own, with just enough variance between themselves to make me seem the thief, but I could not fathom how. How could any human have looked over my shoulder? Before today, I have been far more cautious and private about my studies. I could only conclude that they were not human, who humiliated me so. It has been a lonely time, since coming to this chilly university. I had everything in Bremagne but a future, one might say. Here, I had little besides the pity smiles of barmaids and the mockery of those more attuned to these Gwyneddian mores. If I fail out of Grecotha, or worse: walk a road of mediocrity, then I may as well die. But I came into the knowledge that the elite of the elite at this university, they too have contempt for the Deryni. I saw a chance to slash two straws in one stroke of the scythe, as my tenants sometimes told me. I convinced the boys that we could become friends out there, and even that they could join these esteemed fellows with me. Young Alfred," Edwin and Bede took him to mean Alfie. "He gave me a good blow for it, knocking my glasses to where I could not see them in the dark. I came back looking for them, but only found his body. I reported it to the guards, with some simple explanation for finding it. Mon Dieu, that was all too much! I only wanted to see them shout for mercy and admit what they were doing to me."

"You foolish, petty bastard," Edwin spat, eyes wide and brows furrowed. "Robert is going to live. Elsewhere. So, congratulations are in order, I suppose."

"What else can you tell us?" Bede asked. "We need to know who these friends of yours are."

"They are not my friends after this morning. I think I would rather be cold than look at a roaring fire ever again. You look for Henry Steinmeister. An engineering student, and my contact amongst ... those gentlemen."

"Oh? What's he like? Do ye know, Ed?" Edwin shook his head, but Bede could not fault him there. He turned back to Eustace and began carefully wiping the eyeglasses and nodding encouragingly.

Eustace rubbed his sharp nose, wiping the perspiration on his face from its epicenter, and anticipating the return of his eyeglasses. "I won't accuse him before the magistrate, but know this: he is a man unafraid to get his hands dirty. No, he revels in it. If you can get him to confess, not to a priest, but as freely to yourselves, then you will have come so much closer to the truth. Yet he is as likely to help you as kill you. He makes me seem calculating, so impulsive is he."

The temperature seemed to rise with this foreboding warning. Bede wiped his brow. "What if we fail there, eh? May the Lord forbid it, but if these former friends canna be stopped, what's next for them?"

Eustace gulped down his narrow gullet. "If you knew your history like a scholar, you would already know. They have tasted blood, messieurs. The blood of students and of an entertainer who would not be missed did they not give him so dramatic an exit. But they preach death to all Deryni, not just ones like them. Someone who is not a student, who is not an entertainer with no one to trust in the city, he could still tell himself that he will be fine, unless?"

"They prove their reach with something drastic," Edwin finished the thought with dread. ((Harmless Education roll on Edwin's behalf 3d6: 3 + 5 + 2)) He racked his memory and knowledge of the city's social order. Who was openly Deryni but untouchable? No ... unattainable? "This could still be a university matter while matching your suggestion, Eustace. Are you aware of the dean of literature's relations? Of course not. No offense," lest he provoke the irrational student. "He has a niece who stays in the city for seasons at a time. You'd not forget her if you met her, but good luck there, as he's very protective of her as well as his other kin. Fair, tall, inquisitive and brilliant. Her name is Gwendolyn, but the critics of the university call her the Grecothan Grimalkin, or simply the witch."

Bede was intrigued. True to his word, he returned the eyeglasses before he and Edwin left, pretending like they never met the man who had so bared his bitter soul.

[Nezz]

Airich stood within the confines of a small chapel within the cathedral, and failed to avoid thinking of the appropriately vile word that fit his mood.

There had to be a transfer portal here somewhere. Damned if he could figure out where. No tell-tale octagonal tile patterns in the floor, nothing he could detect in any of the small chapels, and now the priests were staring at him with suspicion, wondering about this loiterer in their midsts.

The cathedral floor itself could take hours to search, and Airich just didn't have that kind of time to spend on a possibly fruitless task. He thought perhaps he might return to the library and search there. He'd initially thought to look there first, but he'd seen Bede and Edwin questioning a student there and didn't want to distract them. He felt a certain amount of guilt that he wasn't helping them, but his task was one that a limited number of people could do, and—if successful—could benefit the entire operation.

Airich left the cathedral and walked the increasingly familiar path back to the university library. He'd just come into the courtyard when he spied Canon Damian strolling across the pavers that outlined the grounds. He would know about the portals in the cathedral if anyone would.

"Father Damian," Airich called.

The Canon turned towards the voice that called his name and laid eyes on Airich. "Yes, my son?"

Long legs quickly ate up the distance between them. "Father Damian, have you finished with your meeting with the Bishop?"

Canon Damian shook his head. "No, we're simply taking a short break. I thought I'd stretch my legs while I had the chance. You're welcome to join me, Sir Airich. Tell me how your investigation is coming along."

A private conversation with Canon Damian was ideal, and Airich was surprised the man knew his name and face. He fell in with the older man's steps. "I assume you've been briefed on this morning's events, and that the Purple Guard has reported that Eddard de Nore has confessed to the murder of Lucas Whittingham. We've currently got people interviewing other suspects this afternoon and plan further investigations this evening.

"So at this point, we now have two murders and one attempted murder ascribed to the Willimites. Forgive my presumption, but I assume you have sent to the King for backup? Now that we know this cult is more than just talk?"

"Oh yes," Damian confirmed. "I sent some messengers a few days ago, before we brought your people onboard. I've sent additional messengers this morning to update them of our current situation. I hope to hear back from Rhemuth in a few days."

"Days?" It didn't require Deryni messengers days to carry critical information. "What about your transfer portals?"

"My what?"

"Your transfer portals," Airich repeated. "I would presume you have Deryni runners who can send and receive messages to the other diocese quickly. Messengers from the king would use them as well." Airich's hopes for a quick solution to the unknown portals were rapidly diminishing, but he had to ask. "I'd hoped you could tell me where they are so we can work more efficiently. I also think they might be necessary on the off-chance that we need to evacuate some Deryni to a safer location."

"I'm afraid I can't help you with that." The priest shook his head sadly. "We don't use Deryni runners between terms. Rhemuth and Valoret sometimes send us messengers, but I'm not privy to the methods they use to arrive in Grecotha quickly."

So much for saving hours of searching. Still, the Canon could help him with this task at least a little bit. "It's almost guaranteed that there would be at least one portal in the cathedral somewhere. Might I have permission to search there?" If he could keep the curious monks and priests off his back, the search would go smoother. "Of course a priest would need to accompany me so I don't go into any areas completely off-limits."

"That sounds reasonable," Damian said. "Use that warrant I gave you and tell Brother Francis that I said you had permission to search where you will."

"Thank you, I will do that shortly." Airich was relieved that at least one thing was going right. "In the meantime, who else do you have looking into these Willimites? I thought if we might coordinate with your other investigators and share information, we could cover more ground."

"I don't have any other investigators at this time," the Canon said. "When the King sends assistance, I should have more people to spare for this situation."

"No other people?" Airich stopped in his tracks, and the Canon paused as well.

No one else? Just the five of them against a growing horde of fervent zealots? "Where are your reeves who should be looking into this? Is anyone questioning Eddard de Nore about his fellow conspirators? Where is your spy network? You must have people who you can trust to bring you information, do you truly have no one who has infiltrated the Willimites and brought you word of their doings? How can the Bishop run this city with such a shocking lack of competence?"

Canon Damian's voice was ice. "Sir Airich, you forget yourself."

What are you doing, you dolt! Airich dropped to one knee and bowed his head before the irate priest. "Yes, Father. You have my abject apologies," he said as sincerely as he could. No matter how poorly he thought the city was being run, he had no business mouthing off to this representative of the Church.

Miraculously, the Canon did not walk away, but continued their conversation, although his voice had lost all kindness it had previously contained. "Our worst nightmares have not prepared us for the likes of these Willimites. Student brawls... petty theft... that is what Grecotha has been accustomed to, and we have had no need of a reeve in several years. The Purple Guard manages the university affairs, and the watch handles the rest of the city. I'm sorry that our setup does not meet with your approval."

Airich felt the blood rushing to his face in shame. He lowered his upraised knee and bowed low before the priest. "I humbly beg your pardon, Sir. I have been... distracted since this morning when we brought Lucas Whittington's body down from the stake. My words were uttered in haste and no small amount of despair."

After a moment of silence, Canon Damian said, "You have my forgiveness, my son. And my understanding." He put his hand out to raise Airich to his feet. "Have you been to see a priest since this morning?"

Airich's brow furrowed in confusion, "No, I had not thought to seek confession today."

"No, not for confession," the priest said. "For solace. You witnessed a truly horrific event this morning, and you might find peace of mind if you speak with a priest about what you have seen."

"Thank you, Father, I will do that soon. But..." He didn't want to press further, but he had to know. "Please reassure me... I am not the only trained Deryni in your arsenal, am I?"

Damian looked at Airich sadly. "My boy, my "arsenal," as you call them, have yet to arrive in Grecotha for the beginning of the new term. And, if I may be honest, I highly doubt to see any of them once word of this morning's debacle spreads." The older man sighed. "And so, I make do with what I have and pray for God to send me what I need. And what I need is great men. Brave and clever men. Like your father." The priest cocked his head and looked at the knight carefully. "Are you like your father, Sir Airich?"

Airich was taken aback by this question but answered truthfully. "Sir, no one is like my father."

The Canon smiled. "Ah, too true. And that was unfair of me to ask you to compare yourself; young men need to find their own paths, don't they?"

"I suppose so."

Canon Damian looked back the way they'd come. "I think it's time for me to return. And you have things to do as well. It was good to speak with you, Sir Airich."

Airich watched the man go. He hadn't told Airich what he'd wanted to hear, but at least Airich knew what he needed to know. And what he needed to do.

[Laurna]

Washburn Morgan stood tall on the steps before the massive bronze doors leading into the great hall of Rhemuth castle. On the steps beside him stood Prince Javan and Archbishop Duncan. Behind them gathered several lords and magistrates, more from Duncan's era than of the prince's. These were the men who had not traveled with the king. Washburn considered this old guard was getting long in the tooth, and it was getting time that the king started appointing men closer to Javan's age if the capital was going to keep up with the times. And indeed, these times needed a thrust of youth to pacify the worst of the rumors, not the old faded glories of generations past.

The king was returning early from his two-month summer sojourn through Meara and Cassan. A quest to reassure his people that they were still beloved by him, even after their rebellion of four years ago; also to see the completion of the rebuilding of the cities of Ratharkin and Laas.

The preliminary reports proved that King Kelson's tour had been a success. The Western and Northern third of the kingdom were at peace and regaining their prosperity. As for the two thirds of the kingdom who spent the summer wrongly thinking themselves beyond the king's eyesight... well, they had become naughty children in need of their papa's firm attention. The most Eastern third of the kingdom was having road banditry problems that were barely held in check by the Dukes and Earls marshaling the roads. And the middle third of the kingdom was nearly in open rebellion of a far more pernicious sort than Duke Valerian had caused before the actual battle of Laas.

Wash heard the pipes and drummers of Cassan long before the royal procession came through the palace grounds gates. The skirl of the pipes had announced the king as soon as he had disembarked from the river crossing. The stirring sound had marked his passage through Market Square and then the Princes's Square before turning back toward the climb up the castle road. Prince Javan's operative in the lower part of town had told of the people coming forth in cheerful droves to welcome home their king. Amazingly, the pipers, still not out of breath from the hard climb, played their king's procession into the castle's courtyard and continued to play as the royal procession marched in through the gates. Behind the drummers, Wash watched the display of a dozen royal pennants flapping in the afternoon breeze; they entered the yard to circle the outer edge of the stone paved open grounds. Following the pipers and the colors were a dozen caparisoned horses of Crimson red and gold; the Haldane Lancers escorting a regal soul in full regalia of Royal Crimson on a magnificent white steed.

King Kelson Haldane was god-like in his presentation to his people. They who saw him, loved him; they who knew him personally loved him more. Those who truly loved him as a man, knew just how much he appreciated all this pomp and circumstance, not for his own pride, but as his gift to his people. And in return, their cheering was their gift to him. This giving was greater than any offering of coin.

A dozen of Cassan knights followed the king and, to Washburn's surprise, Duke Dhugal was among them. To shake Dhugal out of Cassan in autumn meant that the king was taking all these rumors with serious conviction. Three covered carriages followed the king and his knights. They entered the yard, jockeying for position to allow the ladies of court to disembark. Washburn knew first hand how much those wheeled vessels swayed, and wondered how many of the delicate ladies were road-sick. Should he offer them a healing hand as they stepped from their torture conveyances? But first he must greet and wait upon his king. 

Several dozen cavalrymen came last into the main yard; rather than mill around as the nobles did, they turned left to go straight to the stables and the barracks beyond. The stirring in the yard seemed to settle as the travelers found their rightful places to come to a halt. The drummers gave a resounding roll and the pipes sang a lifting charge. All watched the pipe major, but the pipe major watched his king. Kelson raised his hand and at the moment that he lowered it, the pipe major made some minute motion and all the sounds of pipe and drum came to an instant silence. The only following call was an order from the knight's captain, and all the riders came to resting ease. This brought a whole staff of young men from the sides to sweep forth and take the heads of the horses. Prince Javan and Baron Washburn descended the steps, coming to stand before their king with grateful bowed greetings.

"Sire," Prince Javan was the first to speak. "Your staff has prepared a banquet for this evening, your rooms are awaiting your refreshment from your long travel."

"That is not what I need, son. What I need is all my councilors to join us in the wardroom. I understand we have much that needs to be discussed."

"Aye, sire, but I fear you have arrived ahead of most of the council members. We did not expect you until tomorrow."

"I had no intention of lingering on the road at times like these. I will have what reports I can get today; send word that those who can arrive within the hour must do so. Reduce the banquet to a simple, hearty meal. I want my people to sleep tonight so that I can bend them to tasks tomorrow morning."

"Aye, Sire." Prince Javan said with a small bow. He placed his hand on his father's bridle and held the steed while the king dismounted.

"Lord Washburn, I am glad you are here," the king said as he turned to his baron. "I want to hear personally what happened at Arx Fidei."

"Yes, Sire. May I offer a warm hand to the ladies each before I come to you." He looked across at the first dazed ladies-in-waiting as they stepped from their carriages, attempting to appear fully aware, but not quite succeeding from their racing rush home.

The King gave a smile. "So that is how healers win over my court ladies so effortlessly."

"If only I had known about this advantage in my youth," Washburn lamented.

"Neither you nor your father needed that much more advantage than you already had in your youth. You are so much like your father, you know that?" The king commented, gesturing that Wash might proceed. Then he and the prince, joined by the Duke of Cassan, were marching up the steps to be welcomed home by the Archbishop and many noble retainers.

Wash stepped aside to the carriages, finding milling women gathering like a gaggle of geese. He offered a hand to each of them. And with surprising faces of gratitude, each willingly gave it, then straightened and went more about their business with purpose instead of illness. The last women to stand within the frame of the carriage door were Queen Araxie and Duchess Mirjana. Both women wore their hair perfectly placed, and their gowns brushed free of dust. The Duchess was once a beauty of the Festilic family, and now, with matronly elegance, she was a stalwart of the McLain Clan, a woman to be reckoned with if she detected danger near her loved ones. The queen who descended last from the carriage transcended all. She was a goddess! Not by her clothes, which were perfect but demure, rather by her emanating strength that flowed from her gaze. Not a Deryni aura, but a royal presence gained by love for and from her people.  If she had been a Healer she could have healed the enter land with just that gaze.

Araxie alighted from the carriage with a special grace. She accepted only a light touch of hands between herself and Washburn. That light touch was all that the Healer in Wash needed. With it, he sent her a warmth of energy and healing. She smiled at him gratefully. Then took his arm and let him escort her to her husband at the top of the stairs. Mirjana graced his other arm as they ascended the steps. Washburn was a man flying high at that moment.

"Where have you left Lady Fiona?" Dhugal asked as he accepted his wife's arm from the knight Healer.

"She will be along by portal this evening," with a light in his eyes, Wash said. "We both agreed she needs not to be traveling by horse at this time."

"This is your first," Dhugal stated. "We men all get that protective feeling before our first child arrives."

"And by the second and third child," the Duchess of Cassan interrupted. "The fathers do not even give it a second thought." Mirjana's smile was warm and teasing. She squeezed her duke's hand, and he squeezed it back.

The doors of Rhemuth opened to the rulers of Gwynedd, and all stepped across the threshold, gladdened to be home.

*****

While the king and his blood-brother bathed and changed in the royal apartment, Duncan and Javan also in attendance, Washburn gave a full reciting of his visitor of two nights back at Arx Fedei Abbey and the arrangements that had followed.

Kelson had already been briefed on this, just hours after it happened. This was the first that Dhugal had learned of the encounter, and he was a bit dismayed at the outcome. "You made a formal agreement with that man? How did you bring yourself to go that far? After what Feyd did!"

Wash grimaced at the memory. He was not the only one who had been tortured by the kidnapping. Every man in this room had dealt with the emotional sequences of those horrific days. "In this, the needs of the kingdom come first. I am wagering my life and my family's lives that the Master of the Black Order is on the side of Deryni and an enemy to the Custodes."

"The enemy of my enemy..." Duncan mumbled.

"...is not quite my friend." Washburn completed the old saying. "But has become an ally from this cause."

"If I find this is all from his own making just to trap you, his order will learn the true meaning of Cassan's anger." Dhughal hissed with his hands in fists. The king appeared calm and eyed his blood brother to return to the same calm. When Dhugal unclenched, Kelson allowed his squire to shift a simple red tunic pulled over his head and let him secure his belt with his dagger at his side. Talking before Squire Rhys Alaric, who helped his grandfather dress, was not considered a breach in private knowledge about Washburn's abilities. Prince Rhys Alaric Kelson Haldane, now the age of 15, was well on his way to apprenticeship for the crown someday. But everyone prayed, including the young prince himself, that that day would not come until his old age.

"Then has Iain received any reports?" Dhugal asked by way of taming his anger.

"Iain is waiting for one now. He promised to arrive here soon as he is able, to report directly to you, Sire."

"Good. Have him sent to me the moment he arrives, no matter what I will be doing."

"Aye, my king." Wash said with a bow.

"Very well. Dhugal if you are ready, it is time we go get the full story of this unrest in my kingdom. I intend to rectify what my absence has caused." What personal anger the king held, it was held in check. First, he wanted to know just who that anger needed to be aimed at before he let that arrow fly.

*****

"The band of banditry that has been harassing travelers along the Bearncoill Pass between Rengarth and Madras has launched another attack." Baron Sieur II de Vali, Steward of Coroth was here to speak on behalf of his duke. Wash listened intently to all the man had to say. "You will recall that Earl Tovias Genlis of Carcashale first accused Count Zygmunt of Medras for harassing Gwynedd's trade route over the mountains. Followed by Zygmunt accusing Tavias of starting this illegal enterprise to line his own pockets with bogus Travelers tax. Both crowns of Torenth and Gwynedd ended the accusations with a truce last month. To thwart the bandits, all the local nobility on both sides of the pass have formed up armed escorts for caravans to cross the pass in both directions. Lord Derry, Lord Genlis and Lord Zygmunt have successfully kept the road clear. That is, until yesterday."

Wash held his breath; he had not heard this part as yet.

"A large caravan was struck yesterday by a larger contingent of men, a nasty group of armed Coamar Mountain peasantry, yelling 'Die Deryni.' The group was beaten back and scattered into the hills, but not before it was discovered that the heathen attackers were using Merasha-tipped arrows. Seamus O'Flynn was leading this caravan, and he was injured during the attack." Breaths were noisily inhaled around the table as Sieur continued. "The caravan returned to Rengarth this morning, three members had been affected by the Merasha, and several humans had lesser injuries. Kelric dispatched himself and his men by portal to Rengarh immediately and met the injured there. He has seen to their needs; Seamus not yet healed, but was being cared for when I left an hour ago. My duke has ordered a full battalion of men to guard the pass. Earl Derry has ordered more men to join the duke's. With early snows in the higher elevation of the Coamar Mountains, it is thought to be a blessing—perhaps for the first time in peacetime history—that the snows will close the passes far earlier than normal and bring this banditry to an end."

"Not bandits, they're Willimites," said the Duke of Carthmoor. Albin Haldane looked very much like portraits of his grandfather Nigel, now that he had matured past the age that had troubled his father.

Washburn broke the silence of this revelation. "Sieur, does Kelric need assistance? If so many were injured in such a way, I can help."

"No!" was the instant comment from both King and Archbishop. But the shock of these refusals were downplayed by Sieur himself. "Your brother has everything well in hand. Seamus's drug influence was much reduced this morning, and Kelric was hopeful he could heal him soon. He will be fine after the full effects wear off."  Wash breathed a sigh of relief: the O'Flynn sons were among his closest friends. He would never forsake them. But he did catch the look from Kelson to Duncan, then Duncan sent to Wash a tight message, You may go nowhere without the king's escort.

Wash sighed and cursed this damn skill of his. What good was it if he could not use it for the purpose that it was formaly intended.

The king, meanwhile, had turned to Prince Albin to hear about troubles from Carthmoor and Carthane.

"What began at New Argoed quickly spread to Nyford. Nyford has always had an undercurrent of anti-Derynism. Perpetuated by the de Nore family—if ever there was a family I wished a plague upon—if only they were not successful procreators."

"Albin!" the King admonished his cousin. "That is not worthy of you."

"You are right, Sire. I correct what I said." At that he gave Duncan a nod asking forgiveness.

"Something must have happened to have topped your anger," Duncan asked.

"Yes, indeed." Prince Albin went on to describe minor incidents at first about small groups of men asking overt questions in the local taverns. Innocuous questions at first, which led to the divergence of which families seemed to have more economic favoritism than seemed fair. "At first, my spies did not know what to make of this questioning. Of course, we have families that run very profitable trade businesses out of the harbor; businesses, I might add, that have nothing to do with heritage traits. Just recently, gatherings of men have started harassing these good merchants and accusing them of being the accursed devil's spawn of Deryni. Not all the families they are accusing have Deryni blood. Most do not. This has caused these wealthy merchant houses to hire Connaiti mercenaries as house guards." Albin shook his head in disgust.

"The men making the accusations have declared themselves the Brothers of Saint William. They have vowed to rout out the corruption of the devil and bring down any business known to be associated with Deryni. I have sent peacekeeping guards into the streets and around the harbor and profitable businesses, regardless of being Deryni or not. But now the accusations between the greater houses as to who is to blame for these Brothers of St William is heating up. I have denied them the right to fight amongst each other, but now I fear if something does happen, they will retaliate upon the common folk of Nyford instead."

No one dared to say a word on this civil disturbance. All looked at Kelson for answers. "I will consider this and let you know in the morning. Would a troop of King's men help keep the peace?"

"I do hope so, Sire." 

"As for the harbor shipping, it is necessary that we keep the flow of trade open in Nyford. Our fleet is currently harbored at Concaradine. I can order them to help watch the estuary and the harbor anchorages."

"That might put a leash on a few angry houses, Sire. I just pray that it will not be needed for very long." The king gave his cousin an agreeing nod, turned toward the council at large, then focus on one person in particular who had yet to speak.

"Any more news from Grecotha? More than the death of one student and another injured?"

"Aye sire. An informant arrived as we all were changing after our own arrival." This was Jamyl Arilan, son of Seisyll Arilan. Seisyll, Washburn knew, was out seeking even more dastardly information that could not yet be divulged to even this elite council; Information coming from Valoret, and its outlying town of Ramos.

"And you did not see fit to tell me what he has?" Kelson asked of the younger Arilan.

Prince Javan was quick to come to Jamyl's rescue. "I left orders we were not to be disturbed after you arrived. It is my error."

"I see." Kelson said giving his son one of those we need to talk later looks. "What is the news from Grecotha?"

"There was a burning before dawn this morning. A Deryni burning." Silence hung in the air as no one dared to breathe.

"Who was burned?" The question was very low and menacing.

"An entertainer by the name of Lucas Whittingham. One of the Willimites there has confessed to the murder."

"Who has confessed?" the king asked soberly.

"Eddard de Nore. Your Majesty."

The fist that slammed the table-top made every man jump.

[Marc_du_Temple]

With the Domesday book tucked under one arm, Bede briskly wandered the city until he came to the site of a building under development, with the scent of limestone and mortar heavy in the air. Once there, he let his blue eyes wander over the workers until he found one in hiked-up student's robes. He approached as casually as he could, as a man armed and equipped for trouble, hoping the book would make him appear to belong in such studious company. "Are ye Henry Steinmeister?"

"That I am," replied the laboring student, slapping the dust of bricks off of his hands and into the air between them. "And you are?"

"Bede Archer."

Henry looked him up and down, from rugged old boots to the end of his bow. "I can see that."

"Touche, stone master. What are you doing here?"

"Mere extracurricular work. Just because the term has not started does not mean I should be idle. Despite our troubles, this is a growing city."

((Bede Education roll 2d6 5 + 1))"Of course. I'm learning just that from this 'ere book. Have you heard of Bradene de Tourz? On top of everything else he did, he was a supporter of public works like this."

Steinmeister snorted derisively. "There are more important things than public works. Or rather, there are different kinds of public works. Take it from me."

"There's something else I would like to take from you," Bede muttered unthinkingly. ((Henry Perception Roll 2d6 1 + 4)) Lucky for him, Henry could not hear him clearly over the clangor of the hammers and other tools, and evidently did not recognize him as one of the impulsive assistants to the guards from the early morning. Bede switched his manner. "I could'na agree more. Whoever made that pyre, the one from this morning? Damn good work."

Steinmeister was surprised. "You have no love for the Deryni?"

"The Deryni have taken everything from me. Someone taking something from them is like the song of a bird to my ears."

Steinmeister smiled faintly. "Why don't you wait a little, and we can talk about this privately? You look like someone who could be of use."

"I hope so," Bede nodded. A short time later, Steinmeister took a break from his labors and led Bede into a secluded alley. None would see him pull his warrant out here. "Now," he said slowly as he put it away and tapped the book's hard spine, letting the gravity of the situation sink in for young Steinmeister. "We have good reason to suspect you were involved with not only the death of Whittington, but the brutalization of those two students last week. What do you have to say for yourself?"

((Rolling to see if Engineer assumes Bede is Deryni 2d6 6 + 3))"Only that it was foolish of you to choose to question me where no one will know you have gone, you damn Deryni." ((Engineer attacks 2d6 3 + 1(Good news!))) Steinmeister pulled a trowel from the belt at his waist. Judging by his girth, Bede decided that the man had cultivated much more strength than speed within himself, for the slash was a sluggish one. ((Bede Improvises 1d6 6)) Sluggish enough to be handily batted away with the Domesday book, with a clanging of metal against a stone wall. ((Bede strength test 2d6 3 + 4 vs Steinmeister strength test 2d6 6 + 3))

Bede pressed his advantage with a thrust of his open right hand, grabbing Steinmeister's robe furiously. Nonetheless, his strength was not the same as the Willimite mason's, who tore Bede's arm away with ease. ((Bede attacks 1d6 4)) But as long as Bede could pin the man's trowel arm in place, they would remain at an impasse. This must have been something that Steinmeister knew as well, since his next move was to attempt to break them up with a headbutt. ((Steinmeister attacks 1d6 5))((Bede counter roll 2d6 4 + 3))

Seeing it coming like the onrush of a mighty bull, Bede simply leaned back and thus received merely a rough bump on his nose instead of a concussive blow to his forehead. He staggered back, still clutching the book and now snorting up his own blood. "Ye lime licking scum," he growled.

Steinmeister simply smiled like a maniac as he came back for more, thrusting the weapon he thought he still held when in fact he held nothing at all. ((Steinmeister thrusts again 1d6)) He must have dropped the trowel with the book's rough encouragement. Bede wanted to cut off his hand with the knife he had borrowed but settled instead for trapping it in the middle of the Domesday book's pages. ((Bede and the Domesday Book 3d6 4 + 6 + 1)) ((Bede and the Domesday Book pt2: the bookening 3d6 2 + 3 + 5)) Bede's next move was simple: twist the engineering student's hand via the book's vise-grip until he was in a more compromised position. One knee fell to the pavers, followed by the other. Bede then moved his left hand to Steinmeister's shoulder, forcing him all the way to the ground. "It's na nice to scuff a man's nose and stretch his only good shirt, no?" He hoped that Edwin was having an easier time with the dean and his entourage.
((Rolling for book damages. Once for each impact. 2d6 5 + 5))

[revanne]

The two young men left the library discussing what they should do next. Edwin felt relieved that Bede had volunteered to interview the stonemason and, though he was unhappy with the role that had been assigned to him, he could see the sense in Bede's reasoning. An archer with a Mearan accent could hardly expect to be admitted to the presence of the Dean of students, whereas he at least knew where the man lived with his widowed sister and her daughter Gwendolyn. 

He turned for a last time to watch Bede walk out of sight, and was horrified to see that the wretch had the Domesday book still under his arm. Mother of God, had the man no respect for the time and effort that had gone into making such a tome?" He made to go after Bede, but in his haste he slipped on one of the cobbles and fell, painfully banging his injured shin. By the time he had picked himself up, cursing freely, Bede was gone.

None of this improved his mood, which was already sour. He had had no intention of sharing such humiliation
with a man senior to himself both in age and experience, but his previous trips to visit the Dean had been enforced occasions of discipline after he had been taken up in drunken brawls. Both visits had ended with bruises to his dignity, his back, and his purse. On the second occasion, he had been leaving, suitably chastened, only to meet Gwendolyn and her chaperone coming in the opposite direction. She had thrown a discreetly understanding smile at him, as though she knew exactly why students were summoned to see her uncle. No wonder she was called a witch. 

Edwin could feel himself descending into a sullen mood of self-pity, and forced himself rather to think of the reasons for his task. There was no room for childish sulks in the dangerous place that this city had become. He would indeed have welcomed a fine and a flogging if it was the worst that a man had to face. As he made himself think again of the morning's horror, he was suddenly struck with the thought that Elspeth, the woman who had so effectively tended to his wounded leg, had also had to endure being called a witch, and he flushed painfully with the remembrance of how casually he and his fellow students had likewise miscalled Gwendolyn. And for what? For the crime of daring not to hide what she was. Yes, a Deryni, but more shockingly - as far as the young men of Grecotha were concerned - a young woman who enjoyed all the opportunities for learning that her uncle was able to indulge her in, limited though they were.

He turned towards the house where the Dean lodged with his household. It was testament to the peaceful place that Grecotha had been that students were allowed free access to the man who was responsible for their welfare and discipline, and though Edwin's own experience had been of the latter, he knew of others who had been enabled to continue their studies through the Dean's own personal generosity.

Admitted to the Dean's presence, he found himself faced with a man who seemed unable to decide whether to exhibit approval or anger, though the Dean's initial remark was neutral enough, "I hear you are finding within yourself something of a talent for rhetoric!" Bede had seemed to think that Edwin might be able to actually speak to Gwendolyn herself and Edwin had not thought it worth an argument, but, faced by the Dean, he knew that such a request would be taken for the gross impertinence it was. As he stammered out the warning they had agreed upon that it might be best for Gwendolyn to be taken to safety out of the city, he saw that the Dean clearly regarded this as insolence coming from a student. 

With ice in his voice, the Dean replied, "You have been given a task, I suggest you confine yourself to it and leave off meddling in affairs that are none of your concern; I could add that, given your actions this morning in placing a target upon your back, you might properly be more concerned with your own safety."

There was nothing for Edwin to do but leave with as much dignity as he could muster. He only hoped that the others had met with more success.

[Nezz]

So what is the point of having convictions if you're just going to cast them aside the first time there's trouble? Airich pondered this dilemma as he descended the narrow stairway of the Bishop's palace toward the small dungeon there.

What's the point of taking a vow to the king if you're not going to do everything in your power to uphold his law? his brain countered, and he had no good argument. His vow to give up his Deryni powers and live as a Human had been the promise he'd made only to himself. Isn't that why you're wading hip-deep through your Deryni magics? And planning on going further? You're not doing this for your own amusement.

Be quiet. He hated it when that side of himself won the argument. But his Human and Deryni sides were both interrupted by a frantic yelling from the cell at the end. "I demand you allow me to see Bishop Bernard this instant! He will not be pleased that you have placed me here! My father will make sure you are punished severely for this indignity! I was doing God's work, you have no business chaining me up like a common criminal!"

"How long has he been going off like that?" Airich asked.

"On and off since we brought him in," said Captain Hawthorne, who stopped before the door and loudly rattled the key in the lock. Airich heard another shriek from inside the cell, followed by a round of curses.

"I'm surprised you haven't gagged him yet," Airich said.

"Oh, where's the fun in that?" said Hawthorne's assistant Callum, who stood behind them, holding a tall stool. The door opened, and all three entered the cell.

"I see you're here to torture me some more," Eddard de Nore spat. Literally. Fortunately, he was chained to the wall by arms and one foot, and his spittle missed by a wide margin.

"Thank you for showing us where to sit," Airich said, indicating that Callum should set the stool just beyond the splash zone, and sat there. "If you'll stop your spitting for just a minute, we're going to release your chain from the wall so you can lower your arms," Airich said, "but feel free to continue cursing, I'm learning some interesting new insults I hope to use some day soon."

Captain Hawthorne took it upon himself to risk the spit-barrage, but apparently de Nore wanted his arms down more than he wanted to dampen Hawthorne's uniform and wisely kept his mouth shut. Once his arms were lowered and attached merely to each other by a small length of chain, he started up with his threats and insults once again.

"I will take great pleasure in making sure you personally pay for this assault upon my person. You and your strutting peacocks who wear their purple sashes with the pride of Lucifer himself. It's not too late for you to renounce your sins and ally yourselves with the Lord against the blasphemous Deryni devils."

"How are those shackles?" Hawthorne asked him, "Not too tight, I hope?" He tested them to make sure they weren't brusingly tight.

"Don't touch me, Deryni whoreson!" de Nore screamed, yanking his hands away. Airich took advantage of Eddard's distraction to slip smoothly within the confines of the man's mind. The Human had no Shields so this wasn't difficult.

"Stop fighting," Airich said. "If I were a Deryni who wanted to take control of you, I would have done it this morning while you were spitting on me." At least he'd missed the face. "I would have made you soil yourself or punch yourself in the face just to pay you back for that."

"Ah hah! So you admit you are Deryni?"

"Sure, why not? I'm Deryni. What about you, Hawthorne?" Airich looked to the captain.

"Oh yes. Deryni through and through. So are all my men."

"I was baptized Deryni when I was a wee tot," Callum added.

"I knew it! Well do your worst, fiend, you'll never be able to subvert me with your foul magics."

"Hell, why would we want to subvert you?" Airich asked. "Most of the university's students are already Deryni, and the few who aren't have already joined our cause. Along with the Bishop and the brothers and priests who teach, and the entire city watch."

De Nore's eyes narrowed. "You're mocking me."

Airich shrugged. "Perhaps a little."

"The men enjoy mocking you," Hawthorne added. "They come down here and check your shackles just for the excuse of making contact with you and hearing you squeal about how they're all Deryni and going to hell. They've been wagering on who can make you squawk the loudest without actually hurting you."

Derision was such a wonderful weapon against those who took themselves too seriously. Airich sensed de Nore struggle to find a properly outraged answer to this revelation before giving up and returning to his earlier rant. "You want my soul because I am a de Nore and my family is well known for hunting down your kind and giving them the fitting end they so richly deserve. If I were to recant my beliefs, that would be a severe blow to our cause."

"I promise, I don't want you," Airich insisted. "I personally think the de Nores are just a bunch of murdering child rapists. Just like good old Uncle Septimus." That struck a nerve, Airich felt the jolt.

"He did not—"

"Yes, I know what they say. They say that Septimus didn't actually bugger the little boy, he only killed another filthy Deryni. But let's be honest with each other." Airich decided to risk another dowsing and brought his stool closer to the prisoner. He dropped his voice lower as if sharing a confidence with Eddard. "Would a man like Father Septimus de Nore truly commit the worse crime of murder merely to cover up the lesser crime committed by a couple of guardsmen? I don't think he would. You must have thought about this yourself in those rare times you allow yourself to think of this black mark on your family's name. In all likelihood, Septimus de Nore was right there with the guardsmen, taking turns sodomizing the child before killing him to stop his tongue.

Airich felt the sense of horror running through Eddard as he carefully wove his narrative. Obviously the de Nore family had come to a similar conclusion themselves. "So you see, I really don't care about your vile family name and history. You're nothing but a common murderer—"

"I have had no trial!" de Nore interrupted, hiding his discomfort of Septimus' crime behind a curtain of outrage. "Put me before a fair and human judge and I will prove that I was in the right. In fact, I demand an Ecclesiastical trial, for I was doing the work of God—"

"You can demand whatever you'd like," Airich countered. "However, you have confessed to breaking the King's law in front of Hawthorne here and several dozen other witnesses, so it's highly unlikely you'll receive anything other than the King's justice. Tell me, Eddard, have you ever watched a man hang?"

"I'm not afraid of your Deryni king's justice! My death will bring hundreds or even thousands to the cause, and I will die with a clear conscience, knowing that I have done my duty unto God and will therefore rise to the highest ranks of the Heavenly elite."

"Yes, yes, I know you feel no guilt about murdering Deryni," Airich waved this fact aside. "But you didn't answer my question. Have you watched a man hang?"

"I have," de Nore answered triumphantly. "It's a quick death and quite painless. Not like Lucas Whittingham's death, he suffered the pains of hell before the devil took his soul to his eternal torment."

This was the first comment de Nore made that actually raised Airich's hackles, and he had to stop himself from angrily striking the words out of de Nore's vile mouth—which was what de Nore wanted: a reaction of any kind. But he kept his calm and began to focus on de Nore's mental state. "But have you ever seen the other kind of hanging, Eddard? When the drop doesn't break a man's neck, but strangles him slowly." And here Airich let a subtle sense of suffocation drift slowly into de Nore's mind. "Have you witnessed the legs kick in desperation for one more taste of air? Watched the tongue swell and protrude from his mouth? Seen the eyes turn red and bulge from his head?" He now exerted the slightest hint of pressure around the neck and eyes. "Just think about how he spends the last five or six or seven minutes of his life, suffering slowly. Knowing that at the end of that very long, dark tunnel is death, and you'd better know for an absolute fact, Eddard, that you will be praised by God and his angels, and that you are not about to be condemned by Saint Peter to suffer for the murders you have committed."

Airich sat back and let Eddard think for a moment. As he suspected, de Nore's conviction was solid, but held the tiniest bit of uncertainty that was prevalent in any man not the most devout saint.

"It seems to me," Airich finally said, "that the King himself might put a word in the hangman's ear as to what kind of death a condemned man might suffer. Depending on how helpful the man was before his death. In fact, conditional upon how cooperative the man was in preventing other deaths, the King might even consider commuting a death sentence to something else. Exile, perhaps... or maybe even a simple flogging. He might need to be convinced to choose that mercy by others who had witnessed the man's cooperation, but I'm sure that could be arranged.

"Master de Nore, why don't you tell me about the Willimites... ."

[Marc_du_Temple]

((Bede Strong test post upgrade 3d6 2 + 1 + 5)) Bede walked awkwardly but with determination, carrying the slightly used Domesday Book in the crook of his left arm and pulling Henry Steinmeister by a belt binding his wrists with his right hand. He was leading the murderous Willimite to the dungeon, but already the man was jabbering. Bede wondered if he hoped to be spared the trip. It would make no difference, but the facts as Steinmeister declared them to be still lingered in his head. He had claimed responsibility for the crushing of Robert's hand, so Bede was a little rougher with his guiding than maybe was necessary. When Bede told him that Robert was doing alright, Henry's only question was where, to which Bede had to say, "Somewhere better than where we're going, yeah?"

"It does not matter," Steinmeister stated matter-of-factly. "He can't have gone far." Bede was glad that his captive could not see his smirk at that incorrect assertion. Then they arrived. Henry became more stubborn in his resistance, but it mattered little after Bede turned him over to a pair of guards he had no hope of overpowering.

As the evil engineer was dragged away, Bede found a stone wall to lean against and opened the Domesday Book, trying to pass the time with reading yet instead taking in the full scope of the damages. The wooden covers would be fine, although one side was a little scratched. The pages toward the middle of the book, however, were torn at the epicenter and somewhat crinkled beyond that point. Angels an' demons. If Edwin does na kill me, the rector will. Still, it was all readable if one could forgive the wear. He had just begun the section on the labyrinthine world beneath the city, when he heard a great commotion from somewhere deeper inside the dungeon. Airich's voice was unmistakably a part of it. He shut the book.