Forgotten Shadows

[Nezz]

((Thanks to Revanne for helping me strike the right balance, to Laurna for toning down my gruesome impulses, and to Bynw for... well, for just being Bynw. ))

For just a moment, Airich thought that Eddard de Nore would be cowed enough by the threat of a painful death that he might tell all, willingly. But then the moment passed.

"The Willlimites..." de Nore looked cautiously at Airich. "What do you think you want to know about the Willimites? That we simply want humanity to live without fear of their will being taken by another? That we resent being controlled by those whose first parents sold their souls in exchange for their unnatural power? That we would be happy if all Deryni left Gwynedd and let humanity have one kingdom without fear of the Deryni taint?"

Whether or not this was true of all Willimites, de Nore seemed to mostly believe this. And more so, he was actually talking, rather than yelling threats or insults at him. Airich might be able to get him to drop a clue without resorting to extreme measures.

"I've talked with plenty of Brothers of Saint Willim. Many a night in the tavern did we argue over the collective guilt or innocence of Deryni. But they didn't kill anyone. Why has your chapter of Willimites begun advocating for murder?"

"It's not murder when it's Deryni. And if those Willimites back from whichever slime-pit you crawled out from haven't begun doing their duty yet, it's because they're cowards who don't have the stomach for properly serving God."

"Not so," Airich replied. "They see their duty to God in a different light than you do. I know of two men who claim to be Deryni who were persuaded to renounce their powers and join your cause. And yet, you gave Lucas no such opportunity to repent. Why?"

"Lucas. Pah." De Nore spat again at the mention of the juggler's name. "That devil and I have a long history back in Nyford. He'd been given ample opportunity to renounce his evil. He chose time and again to not repent and instead, he ran. I'd never thought to see him again, but believe me, I was quite pleased to see that he'd wandered up this way. And doubly pleased when they gave me the task to make an example of him."

"And who is 'they'?"

De Nore grinned slyly and spat again. "Don't treat me like I'm stupid. If you were half as smart as you think you are, you would have stayed in your slime pit and renounced your evil powers and joined your craven Willimite friends. Because we're going to exorcise the land of every last Deryni. Including that fat son-of-a-whore whose arse keeps the throne warm."

Treason. This added a whole new level of crimes to the Grecotha chapter of the Willimites. Airich made eye contact with Captain Hawthorne, whose eyebrows went up at this revelation. Callum continued taking notes on a wax tablet.

"Ambitious plan," Airich said, "and yet, I doubt you have the manpower to pull it off. Not unless you've somehow converted Primate de Berry and have him preaching to the rightness of your cause."

"Ha! We don't need that Deryni-lover, he's going to have troubles of his own soon enough." Another spit. "He can just go out and..." De Nore went on to describe a truly obscene action that Father de Berry could perform on any number of farm animals, both large and small. Airich noticed Callum's ears grow red as he continued his writing, but the aide conscientiously added a note about a warning to the Primate.

"Then I don't see how you could possibly find enough allies to your cause," Airich said. "Deryni and Humans have lived side-by-side for too long in peace for the sheer numbers you'd need to overthrow the King, Deryni or not."

"That's because you are blind! And you think you're going to fool me into telling you our methods, but I see through your tricks. I'm finished talking to you, you revolting, diseased maggot and your..."

Airich could see that his horse and Father Hugh's farm animals were going to have a lot in common. But as amusing and instructive as these vile insults were, they were not getting him any further in discovering de Nore's associates' plan for more murders or treason.

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?

Airich had hoped to avoid this, but the time was now. He left his stool and stepped closer to de Nore. He looked down into the man's angry olive eyes and took hold of his Speech. In a voice of perfect mildness, he said "Tell me the details behind your next attack."¹

"The next one is going to be huge. One spark is all it will take, and the whole of Grecotha burns. It will be glorious! You can't stop it now, we've been planning it for months. No one can stop it!"

Grecotha? The entire city? De Nore rapturously detailed the Cathedral going up in flames. And the ancient Grecotha library. And the Bishop's quarters. And the people running like human torches in the night, screaming their terror to the sky.

No. Airich thought, You are not allowed. We will stop your evil no matter what!

A wildly gleeful look appeared in de Nore's eyes. "I hope you don't expect the plan to change just because I'm in custody. It will go forth as planned, and I will burn along with the city! But I will tell you this much: if I'm released first, I'll make sure that you, personally, find yourself in the heart of the inferno."

Airich ignored this personal threat and held steady eye contact with the increasingly frenzied de Nore. "Where and when will it start?"

"Where it will hurt the worst. They'll start at—" de Nore stopped suddenly, the glee dropping from his face. He stared back and Airich and his lip curled up in a snarl. "You pestilent, filthy, Deryni cur! How dare you! You will pay for this, you whoreson!"

They'd come to the end of benign questioning. Airich's choice was now to use force or to let de Nore keep his secrets and allow hundreds—possibly thousands—to die. He reminded himself that de Nore was the man who had personally set Lucas Whittington on fire to let him die in agony, and then rejoiced in his own evil. This was no time to go wobbly.

"Where will the fire start?" Airich asked again, and he applied additional pressure on de Nore to answer his question. Surprisingly, the other man resisted, his fury giving him abnormal mental strength.^{2 3}

"You won't get the mercy of the oil, I'll make sure you burn slow! You get to feel it when the flesh slips from your bones and your eyeballs burst from the heat—"

Airich grabbed the man's collar and pulled him face to face. "Where do they start the fires?" He threw everything he had into the compulsion, willing de Nore to answer him.⁴ I won't let you kill anyone else!

De Nore panted like a rabid dog, teeth locked to keep from answering, making enraged guttural noises as he fought the psychic coercion. Abruptly, he pulled his head back and stuck his tongue out at Airich, like a child mocking a sibling.

By the time Airich realized what de Nore was doing, it was already too late. He felt the pain and instinctively dropped the link, thinking at first he'd accidentally bitten his own tongue. Then de Nore grinned crazily at him, mouth open and lips pulled back. As Airich watched in shock, a frothy red sea of blood filled de Nore's mouth, drowning the sharp, white, islands of teeth, and spilling out onto the front of his tunic. De Nore pursed his lips, then spat a mouthful of blood into Airich's face, half-blinding him.

Airich recoiled in horror, wiping wildly at his eyes as de Nore's crazed laughter rang in his ears. He felt the other man's hands scrabble towards his throat, and it was only his years-long combat training that broke the other man's grip. He felt another body enter the fray as Hawthorne brought the prisoner down. Callum called out the door for a medic, and by the time Airich could see clearly again, several other members of the Purple Guard had arrived, with more coming.

It was at this moment that Airich's fatigue-banishing spell finally failed him.⁵ He'd stacked too many, one upon the other, trying to overcome a long, exhausting day and using his powers too freely. He felt the tell-tale dizziness and sudden weakness in his shoulders and knew he had less than a minute before the reckoning came due.

Airich pushed through the door, against the other men trying to enter. He looked at the long, narrow stairway coming down and knew he'd never make it to the top. He braced himself against a different cell door just as his knees gave out from under him, and he slid down to sit heavily on the floor.

A set of legs stopped before him and stood there. "I need... somewhere... safe... to lay down." Airich gasped. He wasn't sure how he got the words out or if the man had heard.

The legs bent and the body came into view, and Bede's blue eyes looked into his. "I knew it was a bad idea leaving you alone this afternoon. I could tell right from the start that you're a born trouble-maker."

Airich smiled at Bede as his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. "Don't let Elspeth see that bloody nose. She'll want to fix it." Then the darkness claimed him, with the taste and smell of de Nore's blood still on his face.
¹ Airich does Truth-say on Eddard, standard 2d6: 6, 4: success
² Truth-say, Standard 2d6: 4, 4: Fail
³ Tiring Save, Standard 2d6: 3, 1: Fail
⁴ Truth-say, Standard 2d6: 3, 4: Fail
⁵ Tiring Save, Standard 2d6: 1, 1: Super-duper Fail

[Marc_du_Temple]

[Special thanks to Bynw, Revanne and Nezz for help with this one. Nice ending, Revanne!]

Bede had just closed the door to the cell Airich was resting in when Edwin caught up with him. He must not have been far from the dungeon, all this time with the dean. "Ah, Master Scrivener," Bede greeted him and tried to comprehend the roiling emotions on the other man's face. Then he noticed that Edwin was looking at the book under his arm. "Would you like this back, now?"

"You ... you uncivilized Mearan maniac," Edwin sputtered. "What the devil have you done?" He took the book then and examined it, full of dread, while awaiting an answer.

"It was an accident," Bede said, beginning to understand the value of such tomes. "One which our mutual friend, Mr. Steinmeister, was responsible for." After all, he would not have slapped it against a metal trowel by choice.

"Really? And where is he now? I swear, this is the last time I vouch for you."

"Take it out of his student fees, yeah? He's down here somewhere. Follow me," and Bede led Edwin limping to the cell in which the guards had imprisoned Henry. "How was your meeting with the witch?"

Still incensed over the book and his disappointing meeting, Edwin returned, "You clearly have not spent time in the circles I have if you thought I could meet Gwendolyn specifically, as though she were some ordinary country slip. No, that did not even happen. I did manage to meet with the dean, however. He was less than pleased to see me, you might imagine. He didn't seem too pleased with my recent behaviour and scorned our suggestions for her safety."

"I see..." Evidently, your silver tongue still needs work. "T'is of no consequence, yeah? The Willimites still know where she is, but so do we, do we not?"

"Oh, God." Edwin wiped a damp brow and exhaled. "One thing at a time, Archer. Before you start devising your damnable plans, let's take a look at my colleague, please."

Afternoon sunlight shone in through a barred window high on a stone and mortar wall in Henry Steinmeister's cell. The belt that bound his hands had been replaced with high-quality manacles, linked to a ring in the ceiling. His effects, including the trowel, were on a table against the wall of the door. "Hello," he said flatly to the pair.

"Steinmeister," Bede began. "This is Edwin. He is, like me, empowered to do with you whatever the law may allow. You are, like de Nore, who I'm sure you must know, a prisoner here for crimes you have confessed to ... and for trying to stab me, which I understand, but it gets old, yeah? What do you have to offer the good people of Grecotha besides the sight of your feet dangling from a scaffold you would otherwise admire?"

He denied knowing de Nore. Then he seemed to think deeply on the question Bede had put forth. Finally, he began to smile. "How's this for a brief speech to the crowd? 'No legal censure can bring Robert back to how he was, and that goes double for his traitorous human friend.'"

Edwin blinked and suddenly he had thrown a crunching haymaker directly at Steinmeister's cruel face.((Edwin Fists roll 3d6 4 + 6 + 3 OUCH))((Bede Strong roll 3d6 2 + 6 + 3)) Before he could follow with a second and then a third and however many after that it would take for him to feel better, Bede had pulled him back. "Easy," the Archer said. "We should not start so rough. Next time, remember to open your palm, my friend."

Edwin hated the idea of this, but he had already made himself a part of it. "Of course." He stared hard at Steinmeister, who could not look at him with the same mockery as before.

Bede asked again, "What do ye know?"

"I am just a laborer ... with a boss," Henry said, wincing as he spoke.

"Does this boss have a name? A face?"

"Jacob. And I do not know his face. Only his hand. He leaves notes filled with instructions for me at the stonemason's gate. Now, what's in it for me? I don't want to die."

Edwin spoke up slowly and carefully, to make sure he was understood. "As much as I hate you, it is only fair you be rewarded for your cooperation. Still, you have done things the law cannot simply forgive, nor would I want them to." He opened and closed his fists a few times as though flexing his fingers but the veiled threat was clear even though he now had his anger under control.

"We cannot speak for his excellency the Bishop, and it is he who bears his Majesty's remit of just retribution for evil here, but he also has the prerogative of mercy. (It was not for nothing that Edwin had buried his nose in tomes of Gwyneddian law)." He spoke quietly now as though enjoying the picture his words conjured up. "I have seen it once, a murderer who was given the chance of banishment. Stripped to his shirt and hose, with simply a scrip hanging from his belt for his few meagre possessions and a wooden cross on a leather thong to wear around his neck to declare him a penitent, and sent forth to walk to the nearest port and then take ship overseas. Hoping no doubt that a priest or two along the way would spare him something to eat and a rough bed. The man I saw had made a full confession and been absolved, and so was allowed his shoes. Have you tried walking barefoot in the winter mud, my friend?"

Edwin shouted for the guards. "This man is a murderer beyond doubt but he has turned King's Evidence. I would not for a moment presume to advise his Excellency but, if you ask me, the realm is well rid of even the corpse of scum like him!"

[Laurna]

"If those sluggardly knaves don't show their faces in the next few moments, Muirea and I are leaving. It ain't that far to the Drunken Parchment.  I told them we could walk it alone, but no... Bede insisted he would escort us, so where is that indolent Archer... and the knight and the scribe, too. It's they who wanted us to do this thing... so why aren't they here!" Amy swirled her cloak over her shoulders, slipped the hood up, and threw open the door. 

Only to come face to face with Bede grunting, "Good timing. Thanks mate," as he readjusted another man's arm across his shoulders and then dragged in sideways, a slumped figure through the threshold. It was Edwin who followed the slumped man, barely holding up his other arm draped over his neck.

"Heaven, help us!" Amy called, as she dove forward to grab Sir Airich's chin and lift his slack head. His face was covered in blood. She searched his face, looking for cuts or a broken nose. Too upset to go into trance, she could not tell the cause, it was not evident to her eyes.

"Amy, move away, I can not hold him up much longer." Edwin was saying, trying to push past her without knocking her down. Belatedly, she jumped back, allowing the two men to place their burden on the bench before the hearth. That is where Elspeth already stood, with cloths and water in hand.

"What did you guys do?" Amy demanded.

"Airich did this all on his own," Bede commented. "It is not an injury, at least not his injury." Bede added, having gotten the gist of what happened from the guards.

"Yea," Edwin agreed. "I've seen this done, but never knew the spell's failure would lead to this."

"Done, what?" Elspith questioned, as she started mopping the mess off of the knight's face.

"Too much Magic," Bede tossed out.

"Fatigue Banishing," Edwin corrected.

Amy cringed, "He did the spell for me a few times. I never knew a failure would be this devastating." She slapped her palm over the knight's forehead, and willed her eyes to unfocus.((Amy trying to read Airich's condition. 2d6=5 + 2; Yes, she can)) 

Exhaustion! Utter exhaustion, near to the edge of a chasm. "Give me both your hands," she said to the two men. "Now!" she yelled at them when they hesitated.  Holding Bede's hand, she tried pulling a little of his energy from him to give to the depleted knight. But Bede was already low on that scale and didn't have much to offer. ((Amy pulling a little energy from Bede 2d6= 2 + 2 failure)) She let his hand go and then took hold of Edwin's, who had an idea what she was up to and kept his shields dropped for her. ((Amy pulling a little Energy from Edwin.2d6=5 + 4 that will help)).  That and a little energy that she dared to supply from herself passed through her palm into the darkness that was overshadowing Airich's mind. ((Success Airich recovers instantly, Failure Airich takes longer. 2d6 4 + 3: Longer))

The boy must have really done it this time. Her infusion of energy did help the blackness recede, but he did not immediately recover. If she gave him anymore, then Edwin would pass out, and she would be too tired for work. And they had a job they had already planned to complete tonight. Would it be better to wait for another day. No! They all knew that time was no longer something they could diddle with. It was tonight or they find some other plan. "Speth, you'll need to let him sleep, a good sleep this time. And he is going to wake up with one of those damnable nightmares and splitting headaches."

"Ams, I have medicines for that." She softly pushed Amy's hand away while she pressed a cool cloth over the knight's forehead. "You sit down before you fall down," Elspith added to the scribe, noticing that he now looked a little wobbly.

Edwin agreed heartily and sat in a chair next to the bench. Amy had the concern that she had pulled too much from him, but he smiled at her and nodded he was fine. "I will make sure he sleeps too," the physicher said, pointedly looking at Edwin. When he had settled more comfortably into his chair, Elspeth then looked across at the only man standing. "Bede, get the girls to work, will you?"

"Aye," the archer said. "You want us there after Compline, right?"

Muirea chimed in, nodding in agreement. "Sometime after that is usually when the sword master arrives. He is never earlier than that. But if we don't get there soon, the Keep is going to toss us to the street, and we will not be in place to do what you ask."

"Let's go," Bede said, taking the hands of both barmaids and pulling them through the door. Amy only had a moment to give Airich's unconscious form a last look before she was dragged toward the roadway.

[Laurna]

Four girls and three men worked the Drunken Parchment this evening after a horrific or magnificent morning, depending upon your point of view. The tavern-keep, likening it to a Saturday night, had called in his three strongest pairs of arms, yet the patrons seemed quite subdued, so the three men stood around the bar looking irritated and even bored; but it was still early, so the tavern-keep did not let them retire for the night.

The daub and wattle structure, built to the back of the scriptorium stone building, was one story, long and narrow, with latticed bay windows all down the outer long wall overlooking the inner library courtyard. The entrance from the street was at the narrow end. The barkeep kept his barrels of ale behind a long counter along the middle of the inner wall, which also protected the exit to the kitchens in the stone building adjacent. At every window were two tables sticking into the room. The inner stone wall that was not covered by the bar/counter was lined with decaying bookshelves, smaller tables butted up to those. Not many writings lay stored on the shelves; a few musty old scrolls and broken-spine tomes from old lectures that students had left behind. For the most part, the shelves were decorated with bottles of every make and size; wooden, earthenware, and glass. Every dereliction of drink from all across the eleven kingdoms could be found on these shelves. All empty of their original contents, of course.

The night before, Amy had witnessed one student fight that persisted until one of the boys had been shoved into a shelf, bringing a rain of bottles down on his head. The tavern men came out then and forcefully evicted all fighters. Leaving Amy and Muirea to sweep up the shattered remnants and replace the few stained tomes and parchments back on the shelf. Only one bottle had survived that fight; a stout brown bottle of Old Ballymar still with its broken wax seal from a century before.

"If only that still had some liquor in it." One of the patrons had expressed as Amy placed it back on the shelf to stand alone.

If only tonight's patrons would liven up to be as riotous as last night's patrons had been, then the job Airich had asked them to do would have been easier. But tonight was very different. Even the barkeep made a side comment about a catapult being wound up too tight with anticipation of the frame snapping before the mortar could be released. The room was near full, every table occupied, if not yet every seat. The conversations at the tables were hushed and strained. Amy heard several versions of this morning's atrocities, told in both distressed and awed tones. The two factions seemed to sit at opposite sides of the bar in the long room. It was fortunate that Muirea and Amy seemed to be serving those students distressed yet curious enough to be here, and not serving the other end of the tavern, who were drinking victoriously, even if in nervous quietude. What would happen when the tensions in the room did snap? Would the patrons on Amy's side realize their curiosity would bring harm to their own health? Some were here only to relieve their hunger; this was only one of a few taverns where the pottage was edible. The other being the much more expensive King's Arm Tavern; not every student could afford to eat there. Muirea made an aside comment to Amy that she thought a lot of students were going hungry tonight: the Deryni ones, she supposed. Amy had not worked here long enough to know the faces of the students who had not shown tonight, she wondered if more people than Muirea were taking mental notes of the missing. Damn

Long into the girls' shift, sometime after compline, two men came in and took over an inside wall table by the old Ballymar bottle. They wore heavy robes of winter style with head coverings as the night was indeed proving to be another frost covered one. Muirea served them, Amy kept busy and ignored them. A little time passed and then came in six men, loud and boisterous, like on a normal eve.

The weapon's master of the university, Pietre de Guerra, was undeniably muscular and handsome, and undeniably an authority in this place. His looks were distinguished as rich as any noblemen's, his clothes clean, of brilliant red, embroidered, and silver buttoned, and doubly obnoxious amongst all the student robes. "I love it when he wears that open tunic," one of the girls had said in passing; she was likely noticing the hairy chest under the deep opening of this shirt. He and his friends took over two tables against the largest window across from the bar. His well appointed second man sat at one table, while de Guerra motioned for the four other friends to sit at the adjacent one near Amy's side. The sword master chatted loudly, he even placed his sword on the bar for the barkeep to hold. Normally, no weapons were permitted in the tavern. But obviously de Guerra only respected that ruling when he wanted to. The handle of his deadly looking dagger still stuck out from his belt. The barkeep made no attempt to request that he remove it. Arrogantly, de Guarra pounded on the bar and called for drinks for his friends. "Pour them my best, my good man, I want to welcome my new recruits properly," he shared.

The old barkeep bowed understanding, then he pulled a bottle from under the bar. "No trouble now, I don't need the watch coming down on us tonight."

"Ptue! Trouble? We don't get involved in trouble, do we, boys." The weapon master's second man heartily agreed. The four others, three students and one big older men, watched the magistrate's son with open curiosity. He grabbed a chair and sat down at the head of their table, bottle in hand, letting the barkeep drop five cups on the table before him. "I am welcoming my new duelist society recruits into our fold. They long to learn new moves of sword play. So I thought I would show them the finest hospitality our city has to offer."

Amy's stomach twisted inside. Dear Lord, don't let trouble start again, so soon.

Muirea grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back into the kitchen. The girl's face was panicked.  As soon as they were in the corner out of hearing, Muirea was stammering. "Jas... Jasper."

"What?" Recognition kicked in as Amy realized why that large man had seemed familiar.  "Demon spawn! We need to put an end to this now. Tell Bede to go, we'll try another night."

"And watch more burnings before we get the nerve to try again?" Muirea had a strange determination in her eyes. "I can do this."

Amy desperately wanted to cancel the whole thing and tell Muirea to get out of here immediately. But she sighed when her friend gave her this determined glare. "If you're sure, but stay out of Jasper's view until the time comes for us to act. He could disturb our plans worse than you just leaving right now."

"Yeah," Muirea agreed. "He is seated with his back to Bede, thank the Lord. I'll serve your farthest tables, if you serve mine."

"That'd be best. Let's give this a little time for those guys to settle in. Just cover up that red hair of yours."

Muirea quickly twisted her hair up and stuck a wooden stick through it to hold it in place, then pulled her neck scarf and retied it over her head. "Signal me when you are ready to switch back, Bede will take his cue from that."

"Got it."

"Break time is over, girls. I got thirsty guests starting to raise a fuss. Get your breasts out there and show them off!!" The barkeep was never a subtle man.

Amy left the kitchens with bowls of pottage. She shoved them under Edwin's and Bede's hands, saying, "Keep your heads down." Then walked over to the next unruly table, feeding the ravenous bunch. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peitre de Guarre pouring his wine into five glasses. He took the first sip, as a good host always did.  Amy noted he barely wet his lips, but made a good show of it. The four new recruits to the duelist society cheered and drank heartily of their cups; how often were new students offered the best wines for free? Not having seen this before, Amy noted that nearly everyone in the tavern was watching the four men drink. Amy stepped back nervously, not sure what to expect next.

After the four had drained their drink, there was a long silence; nothing followed. Rather than coughing and choking, and clamoring from poison, all four merely laughed and joked, and asked for a refill((1)) Pietre de Guerra smiled broadly. "There's a nice group of new recruits. You are initiated!" he yelled, then loudly ordered a round of ale and clapped all four on their outstretched hands. One boy did yawn but hide his embarrassment as the bar erupted in cheers and congratulations. Silently, a few meek patrons retired from the tavern. The show over. While the boisterous stirred with enlivened bravery. 

A new batch of students wandered in, they scattered to fill in the empty seats. A pair of them found a table just emptied nearest the door. Both in student robes and woolen caps and book satchels over their shoulders. They kept their caps on, being as the door often open and closed, letting in the cold wind. Muirea took their order. She came back to Amy's side, mumbling, "Tosh and twaddle, what are they doing here?"

Amy cursed, realizing just who they were, "We will switch back in a few minutes. Let those boys get a little more drunk. At least one of them is looking woozy. You sure you're up to this?" the Mearan gal only nodded bravely. This is going to be one hell of a show. Amy thought.

((1) Merasha delivered via drink, Standard Test.  Three student volunteers to join the duelist society and number 4 is Jasper looking to join the Willimites. 2d6 >= 4x 1: 3 + 4 = ... failure  2: 6 + 2 = ... success  3: 6 + 1 = ... success  4: 5 + 4 = ... success))

*****

Amy balanced her platter of filled mugs judiciously, this was the max she was allowed to carry. If the keep doesn't kill me, he will never let me carry this much again Amy thought to herself as she left the kitchen. She had just given the nod to Muirea who was not far behind her with her own platter of mugs. She sidestepped a boy racing under her upheld arms. Too soon, she wanted to yell. But the lad worked for the Keep and would not know that. She nodded to another table that told her they wanted theirs too. "Next," she yelled back at them.  She reached her targeted table of four: they were singing and yelling at each other, swearing each other was singing the wrong words. She handily placed four tankards on the table, then lifted her platter, still holding four more, and tripped as she turned. Tankards of ale, along with the wooden platter, flew up and then battered and drenched a student's robe, a student with a wide set of shoulders. ((Success means Amy spills the drinks as planned. Failure means Amy spills the drinks on a different patron. 2d6 3 + 5 = Success))

The student cursed; fire raged in his ale-drenched blue eyes. One hand grasped Amy's sleeve and his other hand open-palm slapped her across the face. She fell to her knees, her hands covering her face. Thank Heaven's Bede knows how to pull a punch, was all she could think. But still, even with the light slap, her cheek stung.

Muirea had dropped her platter of ales, letting them smash on a nearby table, and run to her defense, all the while, yelling at the student who had hit her friend. Anger flared in the student's eyes. When the barmaid grabbed his soaked robe to tell him off, he took her by both arms and shoved her backwards. She stumbled and fell directly across de Guarra's chair and lap. The fencing master had started to stand, and she struggled to get free as they both landed back hard into the chair. Her flaming red hair came loose of her scarf and caught on his fine matching colored embroidered vest. Then her hand was pulling her hair stick free and her riotous curls tangled until she gave a hard pull. She freed her hair, along with a silver thing that went flying to the floor near Amy's feet. But the large man at the table near de Guarra took center stage.

"You! Damn you! I've been looking for you!" Jasper recoiled when the red head stopped squirming in de Guarra's arms, and she hissed at Jasper causing him to yell, "Your dead sister has been haunting me!"

"Really?" de Guerra piped up appalled at Jasper's outburst, "Calm yourself, before you make of yourself an utter fool." But Jaspar was starting to stand and reaching to grab the barmaid's arm. This brought a dagger swiftly under Jasper's chin. With a cold, icy stare, the magistrate's eldest son hissed. "Sit down and hold your tongue, or you will lose it and the badge of honor you received today.  I could happily toss you back out on the street where I found you, if I find you are not up to our standards."

Properly chastised, the big man sat down. De Guerra set the barmaid into the chair he had just vacated, and he stood tall between the man and women, cleaning his fingernails with his dagger, pretending that was the only reason he had unsheathed it.

Then as if noticing the dagger for the first time, he put it away, pulled up another chair and brokering no quarrel, he asked Jasper, "Now tell me what is your dispute is with this young lady?"

The big man, tense as a drawn bow, could barely spat one word without betraying his anger. "And before you speak," de Guerra said forcefully,  "remember your place and whom you're speaking to."

Then purposely ignoring Jasper's stammering, he poured the barmaid some wine, for she was starting to shiver.

"I can't drink, I am working," the girl managed to whisper. But her eyes never left Jasper's face.

"The Barkeep won't deny you one little sip?" de Guerra smoothly said while placing his own cup into her hands. Dutifully she drank, with a flicker of her eyes toward Amy and the student's standing in alarm behind her friend. ((2))

Amy was herself so tense, she nearly rushed forward, but a student at her back put a hand on her arm. And then, abruptly, the barkeep was thrusting a bucket and rag at her. "You made the mess, you clean it up."

Fumbling fearfully, Amy dropped to her knees, hoping that Muirea was going to be rescued in some non-violent fashion, soon. Then she recoiled, this will all be for naught if she couldn't retrieve that damn button. Where on this floor did it scuttle to?
((2)Muirea sips the wine, success means she does not get sleepy. 2d6= 1 + 2 soon she will be sleepy))

[Jerusha]

Earlier that evening...

Elspeth carefully wiped clean the wooden spatula that she had used to spread the ointment on Airich's brow, forehead and temples. It was a complicated formula, but it was the best remedy she had for a bad headache, and she never traveled without it. She had taken Amy's word that the knight would have a headache when he awoke, and had decided there was no good reason to wait until he was awake and told her he was in pain. As if the stubborn nobleman would actually tell her!

He lay unmoving on the bench, his head now pillowed on the extra cloths she had folded and placed under it. So long as he remained quiet, she was not worried he would roll off the bench. 

Edwin, in contrast, was snoring in his chair, his head resting against the back of the chair and his mouth half open.  She was tempted to nudge him, but she doubted that would stop the noise. No matter; she needed to stay awake anyway.

She stirred the fire and then made herself comfortable in another chair. She mulled over the little bit Edwin had been able to tell her of what had happened, but it was third-hand from Bede who had gotten it from the guards. Bede had not been able to go into more detail before he rushed out of the door with Amy and Muirea. She would have to wait for Airich to wake; hopefully he would tell her the whole story and not only the parts he thought she should hear.

Elspeth stared into the flames dancing in the hearth. Something niggled in the back of her mind.  A simple formula found in a book her father had brought back from Byzantiun. A powder made from common ingredients, which could produce an amazing effect! ((Educated roll at advantage to remember the formula:  3+4+1 = 8. Failure!)) The details escaped her; perhaps they would come to her later.

Airich stirred on the bench, moving his head slightly from side to side as if something disturbed him. A bad dream? Memories from what had happened earlier?  Elspeth rose and searched for something in her satchel. Moments later she returned and placed a sprig of lavender behind his left ear. The left side was closest to the heart, and the calming scent of the herb would give him some peace. Or at least enough to keep him from rolling off of the bench.

With a sudden snort, Edwin woke up, sitting forward and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Stiff neck?" asked Elspeth sympathetically. She had spent enough nights in chairs, or rather stools, beside her patients that she knew how uncomfortable one could be upon awakening.

"A little," Edwin replied. "How is Sir Airich doing?"

"I can't tell really," the physicker replied. "He's a bit restless, but shows little sign of waking up yet."

"Just as well, or he'll try to come with me to the Drunken Parchment." Edwin rose and stretched.

"You are still planning to join Bede there?" Elspeth asked and gave him a stern look.

"I really should. I need to back him up in case the girls run into trouble."

"Yes," Elspeth said dryly. "Surely nothing could possibly go wrong."

"I'll fetch fresh student robes for Bede and bring back a second set for Airich, just in case." Edwin decided a quick retreat might stop further objections.

"Just in case he doesn't come to his senses and realize following you might not be a good idea?"  Elspeth looked thoughtful for a few moments. "Bring a third set as well."

Edwin looked puzzled. "A third set?"

"Do you really expect me to let him go by himself and keep himself out of trouble?"  Her blue eye seemed to flash.

"He might just want to avoid the lecture."  Edwin hazarded a smile.  "I don't suppose you could find a hunk of bread or a piece of cheese somewhere?"

"Ah yes, growing young men. You get what we need from your room, and I'll see if I can scrounge something up from the kitchen." Elspeth waved him off and turned to check quickly on the knight before heading to the kitchen.

As she made her way to the kitchen, a memory surfaced in Elspeth's mind. ((Educated roll at advantage to remember the formula:  2+3+5=10.  Success at last!)) Such a simple formula, and she could find what she needed in the kitchen. Elspeth hummed a little tune on the way.

***

"Sweet Jesu!" Elspeth exclaimed. "The man is deranged!"

Airich sat on the bench and finished the rest of the warm broth Elspeth had brought from the kitchen and kept warm for him on the hearth.  Edwin had left not too long before, in time to meet Bede just before compline. Elspeth's ointment had done its work, and Airich's headache had been reduced to nothing more than the occasional dull ache behind his eyes.  The broth and sleep had helped him regain most of his strength, though he would not dare to attempt another fatigue banishing spell for some time. 

"And he truly believes it is his God-given right to carry out his plan!" Elspeth's voice was harsh.

Airich sighed deeply. "Though it likely won't be him; I don't see him being released from the dungeon any time soon." He had not wanted to tell her all of the details of his questioning of De Nore, but she seemed to know when he was skirting the truth and doggedly brought him back on course.

"The fact that others will carry on with or without him makes my blood run cold. Or it would if it wasn't boiling right now." Elspeth stood in front of him, indignation radiating from her like heat from a fire.

"So you see why I have to go to the Drunken Parchment! The Willimites have to be stopped, and de Guarra may be the only one who can lead us to them in time. And I think we may be running out of time." Airich rose and picked up one of the robes Edwin had left behind. "And I would like to find out if any of them know what happened to de Nore yet. I admit, I'm worried that once word of his mutilation gets around, that might be the spark he was looking for to set the city alight."

"I'm coming with you." Elspeth picked up the other robe.

Airich stopped with his robe half over his head. "No! Under no circumstances!"

"It's not your decision," Elspeth replied firmly. "Amy is my responsibility, as is Bede while he is under my employ. We have welcomed Muirea within our group, so my responsibilities include her. And Edwin has grown on me, after a fashion." Elspeth shook out her student robe and checked the length. It would do.

"Besides," she continued as Airich stared at her in disbelief. "You yourself said you are only there to watch, only intervening in an emergency. I am very capable of watching too, and a second pair of eyes will be helpful. Even if they don't match."  She quickly braided her hair and wrapped it around her head.  The cap she pulled on would hold it in place, and when she pulled it down just below her eyebrows, her eyes could not be clearly seen.

Airich pulled his robe the rest of the way over his head and shrugged in defeat.  He did not have time to argue, and leaving Elspeth alone could be more dangerous than bringing her along. He still didn't like it.

Elspeth gave a final tug to her robe, slipping a small paper packet into her belt purse while Airich pulled on his cap. 

Compline was ringing as they entered the street and made their way to the Drunken Parchment.

[Marc_du_Temple]

[Thanks to Nezz for writing the opening monologue]
Jasper decided then was a good time to explain himself, mixing fact and fiction with a skill that would make Bede blush. "Four years ago, after the end of the war, I found this woman and her sister starving, along with their parents and other sisters. Out of the goodness of my heart, I brought them back to live with me and care for my house and my own dear sweet mother, and pay them an honest wage for honest work.

"I expect it was only natural that her sister fell in love with me, and as I was fond of her as well, we married. But alas, she was barren and couldn't give me the wee bairns I so desired, but I loved her too much to put her aside. But in the meantime, my own mother died, and this one stopped doing any work, and instead spent my money on ribbons and sweetmeats and fripperies. And then when I insisted she work or pay rent, she took a job at the King's Arms, but I never saw so much as a farthing, and my own coin kept disappearing as she kept coming home with new veils and stockings.

"When at last I confronted her about her thievery, she shrieked at me and told lies about me to her sister, my dear wife, and turned her against me. And then my wife and unborn child died in a tragic accident, I offered to forgive her the money she stole from me if we could simply return to our former situation of her taking care of my house, but instead, she stole even more money from me and has been hiding from me so that I can't collect what she owes. And then, when my lovely wife's ghost rose from the dead to haunt me, I knew there could only be one cause..." *pointing finger* "This woman is a ..."

"WENCH!" somebody bellowed. Everyone turned to see the one who had offered violence to the two maids standing where he had before, with a newfound indignation on his face. He extended his arms as if to show something, but all that could be seen were embarrassing stretch marks on the fabric of the sleeves, exposing rough flesh beneath. "Come look what you did to my only robe, if you don't mind." He had done that himself, though none had noticed.

De Guarra stood between the red-haired maid and the angry student, looking almost heroic but far more calculating. Muirea, drugged and sleepy from his special wine, attempted to slowly back away from the scene unfolding, but the magistrate's son refused to let her go; the attention these two men paid her stirred the princeling's curiosity.

Jasper attempted to scare off the hooded student. "Your quarrel with her is nothing next to mine. Back off or you'll be well bloodied!"

"Make me," Bede spoke plainly. "You do her a greater violence with your false words than I could ever do."

Oh, how de Guarra was intrigued. As usual, it fell to him to be the mediator, not that he minded. "Gentlemen. It seems that my ... acquaintance, Jasper, has challenged you to a duel, young student. Do you accept?"

Beneath his hood, the student snorted. "Why engage in such formalities when I have a stool at my side to hurl at the esteemed sir until he gains some perspective?"

"Because he does not yet have what you want. What both of you seem to want ... I do."

Muirea's confusion was briefly shaken. None but Bede noticed her look at him and mouth the words, Don't lose.

"What are the conditions, sir?

De Guarra smiled, clasping Muirea by the shoulders as she shuddered. He leaned to whisper to Jasper, saying, "Consider this to be an additional test." For the student's benefit, he spoke louder. "What is your name, young man?"

"Thomas," Bede said. "The terms, please, sir."

"You will like this, Thomas: while you may have provoked this incident, you did not lay the challenge down. Accepting it gives you the right to choose the weapons and the way your mettle shall be proven, although I ask you do not slay one another," he tried not to sound disappointed.

"I see ..." Bede feigned hesitation and made it seem like the choice was not obvious. "Bows, fired not at each other, but at a target of your choosing, sir..."

The insolence of the youth to not know his name. "Master Pietre de Guarra, Weapons Instructor at the university." he testily reminded everyone. Then he snapped his fingers for his entourage. "Fetch us bows and a complement of arrows, and meet us in the tunnels."

[Laurna]

All this tension above her head and Amy was gnashing her teeth. She didn't dare look up at Bede or Muirea.  They were doing this for her sake.  If she didn't get that button, it would all be fore naught.  The silver lump gleamed in the wetness of spilled ale. Just there under the next table. Amy took her rags and reached for it. Just mop it up with the slop and no one will know.

A booted foot shifted and stood, the weight of the boy dropped directly atop the button. Amy silently cursed and waited under the table for the boot to lift and move away.((First try. Amy reaches for the button on the floor. 2d6=4 + 4 Failure.))

With de Guerra's announcement that a duel was at hand, men and boys shifted and stood, chairs were scoffing loudly echoing against the floor of the tavern. Good Lord, what has she just missed? A duel they were saying, and low nasty comments, and then jibs about the weapons of choice.

The boy with the boot seemed to sense something under his foot as he stood. He kicked at it, the boot nearly smacking at her too-close fingers. She jerked them back in time, but only to see the silver button skitter from her reach and slide to a stop an arm's reach away. ((2nd attempt for Amy to grab the button on the floor. 2d6= 2 + 1 Failure. I am claiming Willimite cursed dice.))

Amy looked up for a second to see Jasper making a grab toward her poor, helpless friend. De Guarra's second-man had the redhead's arm in a vice grip and was dragging her along.  De Guerra had a swagger of confidence, and Bede followed in their wake with desperate composure. Amy wanted to yell encouragement to Bede, but she did not dare.

The patrons all were moving to follow.  Everyone was interested in witnessing this display of wrath over the besmirched reputation of the barmaid. Amy was horrified at what she heard. Not only did they want to watch two men challenge each other, but they wanted to bet on the winner.  Calls of betting numbers were flying over her head. She made a dive for that stupid button before it could be kicked away again. But she was not fast enough. ((3rd attempt for the button. 2d6=2 + 3 Failure AARGH!))

[Nezz]

Airich watched with no small degree of trepidation as the silver button skittered away once again from Amy's outstretched fingers. He reached out to mentally to hold it in place so that she could collect it without further ado. At that moment, one of the other patrons bumped the table, knocking it forcefully against his hip. He inadvertently knocked the button again,¹ and winced as it rolled across the floorboards and directly into a knothole.

He glanced up sheepishly to see Amy glaring at him, and her expression made him grateful he wasn't within reach of the soggy floor rag she twisted in her hands. He gulped and concentrated once again. Hoping she was watching closely, Airich brought the ring back up,² nearly level with the floor; it shouldn't be obvious that it was floating on nothing, and if Amy was quick, no one would notice.

She was indeed quick.³ She used her damp rag to collect the button and pull it toward her, and then grabbed it with her other hand and stashed it in her pocket.

Sighing with relief, he felt Elspeth grab his arm. "Hurry, we must go with the others." Airch turned to follow Elspeth and join the other patrons leaving the tavern.
¹ TK that darned button. Easy Standard. 2d6: 1, 1: critical fumble (Bloody hell!)
² Let's try that again. Easy Standard 2d6: 1, 5: Success
³ Amy grab. Standard roll. 2d6: 4, 6: Success

[Laurna]

The tavern emptied of a huge chunk of its patrons. Amy sat on the floor in misery. She finally had what she sought, tucked away in her pocket. But what price had this cost them?

"Finish cleaning up" The bar keep yelled at her. "When one of them is dead, they will all be back here to drown their murderous hearts in ale."

"But de Guerra said they wouldn't be shooting at each other."

"Sure, that's what he said."  Then the bar keep gave a hideous laugh.

Amy struggled to stand, her heart was racing, she ran out of the pub in the direction that the last stragglers were taking.

[Marc_du_Temple]

Like a herd of slavering beasts, the patrons of the Drunken Parchment followed de Guerra, with his captive and the two competitors following most closely, with the rest of the investigators lagging behind. He led them on a winding path into an abandoned building in the poorest district. It was pitch black except for a candlestick which de Guerra unhurriedly lit and then carried the rest of the journey. He then led them down into what seemed to be an unused wine cellar. As they went further on, through a creaky pine door into a forbidding tunnel of an odd design, the sound of their footsteps grew louder, like an endless avalanche.

"Keep sight of my light," de Guerra called out to all. It was difficult for some, thanks to the winding path he took, through suffocatingly narrow and damp halls of strange, halting patterns, like a meaningless maze where they could become lost without their guide. Few had seen bricklaying of that kind before; it looked as if it had been perfect in its complexities, maybe a thousand years ago. Finally, it opened up into a rectangular chamber seemingly carved from the earth itself, with hardly a stone separated from another under a vaulted ceiling that was equally marvelous, appearing to be made of gravel held in space by some forgotten marvel of mortar.

"We're truly deep under the city now, are we not, Master de Guerra?" Bede asked, recognizing the setting from the Domesday Book.

"We could not be much deeper, Thomas. Ah, good, my friends are back with the necessary tools for this night's work. Take your bows and your quivers with their arrows, gentlemen." With that done, he passed Muirea to a trusted lieutenant in exchange for more candles, two of them being red. While the audience took their seats on solid stone benches along the two longer walls, he distributed and lit the assorted candles so that the chamber became well-lit, leaving the two red ones for last. These he placed in niches at opposite ends of the chamber, where Edwin guessed figures either holy or not once stood.

The self-appointed mediator and the competitors who hated each other so stood alone, a world apart from the laws of King Kelson, but the sight of Airich kept those same laws somewhere in Bede's mind as he listened intently to de Guerra: "As in accordance with the spirit of our agreement, both of you will shoot at targets of my choosing. In this case, red candles. Whoever hits them best wins, with everything that entails. Any concerns before we begin?"

Bede spoke carefully. "I would be grateful for a moment for us to test-fire these bows. How else should we know their style?"

De Guerra nodded obligingly. "No trickery, good men."

And there was none. Bede and Jasper did their best to ignore one another while they loosed one arrow each into the now-empty corridor they had come in from. Bede went first after testing the draw of the string, but in the darkness and under the strain of a day so long, he could hardly see straight. His arrow skittered across the floor, no harm to anything.((Bede Sharpshoots 3d6 1 + 1 + 2)) Jasper chuckled and strutted into place. His aim was not perfect, but it would have stuck well into the far wall were it made of wood instead of crumbling bricks.((Jasper shoots 1d6 5)) He turned back to face Bede, quite pleased with himself. "She will be mine again."

"We'll see," Bede growled, turning on his heel.

They took their places in the center of the room, back to back, facing their individual red candles, waiting for de Guerra's command. The magistrate's son spoke in a commanding tone which he had learned from his father. "First: Jasper."

Heeding the command, Jasper nocked his arrow, drew it and loosed it. Yet it did not hit anything but the wall in which the candle stood, not even reaching the niche. ((Jasper shoots 1d6 4))

"Now: Thomas."

The pressure was mounting in the mind of the Mearan Archer. His eyes followed the target precisely, but his heavy arms began to tremble. He did no better than his enemy. ((Bede Sharpshoots 3d6 3 + 2 + 1))

"Bede ... devilment!" Muirea cried, hoping it seemed like a stutter instead of a plea to some unknown savior.

"No bedevilment in this chamber, fair maid," de Guerra soothed. "But I am afraid these men are beyond understanding. Do they loathe to waste their arrow on candles, or do they love to waste my time?" He snapped his fingers. "The rules are changed. Both of you, cross to your candles. Good. Now, face one another. Perhaps you make better targets for one another than paltry candles. Are we agreed?"

There was silence so perfect that it was broken only by the sound of rats scurrying somewhere. With unbroken stares, they both nodded their assent.

"Good! Once again: Jasper, you go first!"

The chamber was long in the sight of Jasper. Far longer than the corridor had been. Bede might have flinched out of self-preservation if his enemy's arrow had come anywhere near him.((Jasper shoots 1d6 2))

"You disappoint me. Thomas: nock, draw, and loose!" he barked like an instructor conducting drills, not a man commanding a man to harm another. But in this case, Bede was happy to oblige. The sound of Muirea's voice had sharpened his focus, dispelling the haze in his mind. All of the lessons of his father and brothers returned to him in that moment of pure clarity. ((Bede Sharpshoots 3d6 6 + 2 + 6))

Jasper yelped and tried to drop his bow out of his right hand, but could not. It was pinned into place by "Thomas"' arrow, stuck through the back of his hand. He fell to the stone floor, in shock and humiliation. De Guerra approached him slowly, disappointment heavy on his face. "Hold still, you jackdaw," he hissed before unsheathing his sword and cutting the arrow into a more manageable size. "Now, pull what's left out yourself," he instructed, turning on his heel and sheathing his blade in one elegant motion.

That business concluded, Bede offered the weapons back to de Guerra in exchange for Muirea, who did her best to maintain a neutral expression. Like she was not thoroughly elated, relieved and thankful. De Guerra warned them, "Don't let me see either of you attracting the guards on account of this night. It would reflect poorly on all of us."

"Aye, sir," Bede nodded, tiredly.

[Laurna]

Amy was stunned to silence as she watched Muirea escorted from this deep place on the archer's arm.  How everything could have been so different in just a blink of an eye. With Jasper given the first chance at a lethal shoot, she had rapidly whispered prayers from the far side of the cavern. And she even let out a soft scream in terror when Jasper's arrow flew. It wasn't until it was all over, that she wondered if she could have brought powers into play.  Like what Airich had done with that button. It never occurred to her before that such a thing was even possible. Thankfully, Bede's talent was all his own. A Deryni ability here would likely have got them all killed.

The stress of this night washed over her, and she was almost too tired to stand. She saw way over on the far side a student wrap a robed arm over Airich in his student's robe and those two left in the midst of the mass of the others. Amy waited until there was room enough around her to not get pushed and shoved off her feet. A few steps through the darkening tunnels with the candles far ahead of her, she walked feeling thread bare.

A hand came up under her elbow, and she would have pulled away if not for the easy voice in her ear, "I got you lass, never fear." Edwin was there. She had not even seen him in this crowd. How she was so pleased to not be alone.

"Is it over?" she asked demurely.

"Yes, that is more than enough for one day."

"I should go back to the tavern"

"I don't think so." Edwin told her. And indeed when they reached the streets, instead of following the weapon's master and the students in the direction of the scriptorium and the pub, the scholar led her down the opposite street where four others, far ahead, were turning a corner.

[Nezz]

When she and Edwin had reached that corner themselves, the sight of the boarding house door was a very pleasing sight, but Edwin had other ideas. "I want to go see Stonemason's Gate, see if anyone left any messages for Henry."

"Tonight?" Amy was dismayed. "It's so late. You could do it in the morning before mass, I'll go with you then."

"I guess I better see you home first," Edwin said. "Yet, I think it is important to see if anyone left a note for Henry before any of the Willimites hear that he has been arrested and take the note back.

"Well, I'm not going to let you go wandering the city all on your own. Not at this hour. You'll need someone to back you up in case of trouble." Edwin's expression clearly informed her that he didn't think she was capable of backing up anyone. But, humoring her, they turned right instead of left and walked the near-mile to the quarry at the outskirts of the city.

"Stonemason's gate is around the other side of the quarry," Edwin said, peering through the darkness. "It shouldn't be too far—oh, there it is. Come on."

Edwin grabbed Amy's hand and tugged her along behind him. On the way, they passed the shadows of two figures, partially hidden within a niche in the stone wall. Amy slowed for a moment, curious about the figures, but Edwin pulled her along. "Don't stare," he said, just as she realized exactly what the figures were up to. She blushed and hurried along after Edwin.

They soon arrived at one of the larger gates. "This is the one," Edwin said, looking up. "I see dozens of little cracks and crevices where someone could hide a note. I'll check the other side, you can check this side."

Amy set to work, running her fingers along the spaces between the stone blocks surrounding the gate. Most of them were fitted together too tight to tuck anything into, but there were some blocks with chinks broken out of them where someone might insert a slip of paper. She found nothing, though. Fortunately, Edwin whispered, "Found something, this might be it." Amy came over to see what he'd discovered.

"It's definitely paper," he said. "Too dark to see if there's any writing on it."

"Wait. Do you hear that?" Amy whispered. She heard whistling from behind her. Could it be Jacob? She scanned frantically from left to right. Was there no place to hide?

In a heartbeat, Edwin had grabbed her around the waist and whirled her into one of the recesses in the wall. He whispered "Sorry" and then pressed his lips against hers, his body pushing hers firmly into the shadows. She understood what he was doing and why, and felt no particular flattery over this behavior, but neither did she take it as an offense to her character.

She was a little surprised when the pretense of a kiss gradually became an actual kiss, and it wasn't a bad kiss, either. She didn't know where he'd gotten his experience from, but she had to admire the technique. It seemed impolite to let him do all the work, though, and so she shared with him her own meager experience with the activity.

As much as she was enjoying the experience, she was not so lost in it that she didn't hear the footsteps coming near and then walking past. Her eyes opened past Edwin's ear and saw two men ignoring them and walking toward the gate. They stopped where Edwin had found the note, and it was too dark to see what they were doing, but she distinctly heard one of them say, "Damn it, someone's taken it already."

Amy held her finger up to Edwin's lips to silence any words he might have whispered.  She pulled him deeper into the cubby. His shoulders pressed into hers. She prayed the men would not notice them.

After a quiet consultation between the two, they continued walking away from the two Deryni. Amy released the pent-up breath she didn't realize she was holding and waited for Edwin to disengage. He didn't seem to be in any hurry. And honestly, now that the two men had gone on and taken the danger with them, she was happy to just hold onto him for support while the weakness in her knees passed.

After some unknown length of time, he stirred and stepped back, taking her hands and drawing her out of the cubby. Despite the darkness of the night, she could see the white of his teeth as he grinned. She reached out with her mind to touch his, and was relieved to find that his amusement didn't extend to thinking they had shared an emotional moment. Both knew exactly what this was and what it had meant to each other, and both were satisfied.

"Let's get you back to the boarding house," he said to her. "I'd hate to think Bede suspects anything. I'm pretty sure he'd break my arm for this."

"Probably," Amy agreed. Hand in hand, the two walked home together.

[Nezz]

The knock on Elspeth and Amy's bedroom door the following morning came far too early for civilized people to be awake, but Elspeth, familiar with medical emergencies at all hours of the night, woke up without delay. "Who is it?" she called out, sitting up.

"Airich."

Elspeth looked back at Amy, who'd also sat up and was looking alarmed and the tiniest bit guilty. Amy shook her head, denying any foreknowledge of this visit.

"Can I come in?" the voice continued.

"Just a minute." Elspeth pulled her mantle around herself and slipped out of bed and to the door. She opened it a crack and peeked a crystalline eye through the opening. It was indeed Airich who stood there in shirt and leggings. He looked like he hadn't slept in at least a day, although Elspeth knew for herself that could not be. His eyes looked haunted. Perhaps the nightmares were plaguing him again.

"Do you need me to send Amy out to speak with you?" she asked.

Airich shook his head. "I need your help."

"Oh, well, in that case..." she opened the door wider to admit the knight. He stepped silently into the room, and Elspeth shut the door behind him and sat next to Amy on the bed, motioning for Airich to sit on the room's only chair. Instead, he remained standing, wavering side-to-side and looking dazed.

"What is troubling you, Sir Airich?"

"I don't need a title," he said, "it's just us. Please don't set me above you."

"Very well, Airich. What's wrong? Do you need more of the headache ointment?"

"Not just yet, thank you. It's... a different sort of problem."

"All right. What can I do for you?"

Airich looked around the room, avoiding her eyes, avoiding having to talk. Finally, he said, "Elspeth, have you ever removed a tumor?"

"What?" Of all the things he could have said, that was not one that Elspeth expected. "No, I'm not a surgeon."

"What about lancing one and draining one? Have you done that?"

"Airich, do you have a tumor?" Elspeth was alarmed now. "If so, we need to find you a—"

"No, not a tumor." He kept looking away from her. Elspeth wondered if it was a man's problem. Perhaps she should ask Amy to step away for a few minutes so he could talk more freely. "It's... I've got this..." He searched for the words, and then blurted out. "Elspeth, do you know where the part that makes a man Deryni is found?"

Elspeth looked quizzically at Airich, then at Amy, then back again. "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean like a spleen or a kidney or something. Somewhere inside of me, there is this thing that means that I am Deryni. Something in my head or my heart or my gut or my blood... Something makes me Deryni instead of Human, and I need it gone.

"I'm not afraid of the knife," he continued as Elspeth could only stare dumbfounded at him, "and Amy could probably help you figure out how to find it and get it out, she's—"

"No, Airich, I am not going to cut you open and dig out some organ that makes you Deryni! That is the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard."

Airich stared at her in dismay. He obviously didn't expect her to shut him down so quickly. "Then tell me where to find it," he finally said in a low voice, "and I'll do it myself." A slim dagger appeared in his fist, its tip inches from his stomach. His eyes told her that this was no bluff.

"Airich O'Flynn, you will put down that dagger this minute!" Elspeth's voice brooked no dissent.

Airich stared at her without moving for a few moments more, then reluctantly dropped the dagger onto the floor. Amy hastily snatched it up as Elspeth got up and stood toe-to-toe with the knight. "You will sit. Now." She pointed to the chair. Once again, he obeyed.

Elspeth folded her arms and looked down at him. "I don't know what this is all about, but I think it's well past time that you told us exactly what it is that you're struggling with. Two men have been murdered so far, and if we're going to continue investigating these Willimites, we need to trust each other. If you can't operate at full strength, then we must know how to plan around your ailment. So, start talking, Sir Knight." She held her stare until he dropped his eyes.

"I sometimes think... that the Willimites aren't wrong. We Deryni are monsters. I'm a monster."

"Nonsense."

"I'm serious." He looked up at her standing over him, his eyes earnest. "The Willimites are afraid of people who can get into their heads and discover their deepest, darkest secrets. Of people who can manipulate them into doing things against their will. And that is exactly what I am."

"Airich, you have done a great deal of good, just in the past few days. You identified Alfie and Leopold, and you were instrumental in helping Robert so that he could use his hand again."

"I'm sure that's of great comfort to Alfie and Leopold."

"Well it certainly was a comfort to Robert, who will no longer be crippled for life," Amy spoke up for the first time. "Helping the living is the work of a good and compassionate man."

"And yesterday afternoon, you discovered the existence of a plot to destroy the entire city of Grecotha." Elspeth said. "That's hardly something a monster would do."

"No?" Airich asked. "Did they tell you how I learned of this knowledge? I reached into his mind, took hold of his tongue, and pulled the information out of him. And once he realized what I was doing, he fought me, and then he actually mutilated himself to keep from spilling his secrets."

"I suspect if the people of Grecotha knew what you'd done, they would call you a hero instead of a monster."

"Nonetheless, it was a villainous deed performed by a villainous man." He put up his hands in a helpless gesture of futility. "Perhaps it really would be for the best if I were purged by fire."

Elspeth did not believe for a moment that he truly thought that. But the sincere emotion that accompanied that statement alarmed her. "Are you suggesting that you would take your own life?"

"No..."

That No was strong and reassuring.

Airich continued. "I want to live. But..." He looked Elspeth in the eyes, and she could feel the truth of his pain. "I don't want to live like this any longer. The headaches. The nightmares. The self-loathing. The pressure. The guilt. Getting lost in my own head. Throw in a little bit of ecstasy followed by more self-loathing and guilt and nightmares, and there you have it. That's what it is to be me."

"There has to be a solution," Amy interjected.

"Sure," Airich agreed. "I stop being Deryni. Or at least stop living like a Deryni. The last time it got this bad, it took a month of behaving like a Human before I could sleep through the night again. But now the authorities in Grecotha have come to us and want us to investigate murders. And then I find out that they have no other trained Deryni working on the Willimites. And so I have no choice but to use the most intrusive methods possible to discover what they need me to discover. And I don't know what I'm going to do if I can't... just... rest!"

Elspeth sighed. "Airich. You need to stop fighting. Stop fighting what you are, and just be who you are. Be the best man you can be with what you have to work with. That's all anyone can expect of you. And don't run beyond your ability to walk, you can't help anyone doing that.

"And if you can't stop the Willimites in their evil, you need to remember that it's not your fault. You don't need to feel guilt for their wickedness."

Amy had sat quietly through most of this, but now she shifted closer to him, touching his hand. She gave him a look of reassurance when he did not flinch from her touch. She slowly moved her hand toward his head and gently placed it at his temple. "Would you be willing...?" her voice dropped before she said the word Rapport, in case her being Deryni repelled him.

"Always," he whispered. His blue eyes flicked up to meet her lavender ones. "It's one of the beautiful things about being Deryni I still have left."

Amy slipped inside his mind, finding his Shields lowered. It was Airich as she knew him, but instead of finding it still and quiet—as she had yesterday as he'd slept—or finding it organized and well-ordered—as she had when he'd taken her into deep Rapport—she found it a chaotic hive of activity. It was difficult to find any meaning from his sense of self as it spun her around, leaving her disoriented.

In a movement of self-preservation, Amy shrunk herself down, a minnow too small to be noticed by the great storm that went on about her. Where is my twin? she called out into the tempest that surrounded her. Instantly, a tiny fish that mirrored her appeared at her side, snuggled up close as if he could protect her from the storm. Or perhaps seeking protection for himself, she thought.

What is all this? she asked.

The reservoir is full. The dam leaks.

What does that mean?

If I can't reinforce the dam, it will burst. It was never meant to hold so many thoughts and memories. Not so soon.

Can't you find someplace to put the excess?

I've tried. It won't follow the path I created for it. Something else blocks it. They were very tiny fish. It was easier to communicate in tiny sentences. Perhaps that was why her twin was always so hesitant to volunteer information.

What blocks the path?

I don't know. It's smudged. I can't see into it or past it.

What will happen if the dam bursts?

I'll drown. The tiny fish quivered next to her.

You're a fish, silly, you won't drown.

I'll be lost in the maelstrom. I don't know if there's any way back.

May I look at the dam?

A hint of trepidation. Yes. But don't touch it.

He led her deeper into the storm, deeper through levels she hadn't seen before. They stopped before a set of Shields.

This is the outermost layer. It keeps things out. It's supposed to keep other things in, but it's lost strength recently.

She observed the damage to the Shields, swam close and saw the leaks he'd mentioned, where thoughts and ideas and images slipped through. They flashed through at the speed of thought, and she was unable to view any of them before they flowed past.

What's wrong with all these memories? Why can't you let them through?

They're not mine.

Where did they come from?

Airich didn't reply. A dark shadow descended upon them for just a moment and Amy felt within him a frustration that stopped just short of rage and despair. Elspeth, from her physical vantage point, was surprised when the knight suddenly let loose with a string of expletives at the Deryni race in general, and those who mucked around in other peoples' heads in particular.

Amy understood now why Airich had requested solitude the other day. The concentration required to repair the damaged Shields and reorganize the chaos must be immense. She decided now would be a good time to withdraw from Rapport, as she didn't want to become the focus of the anger that she'd just felt. But someday soon she would ask who had mucked about in his head.

Amy looked at Elspeth. "His mind is a mess. No doubt about it."

The eyebrow over Elspeth's blue eye went up in curiosity, while Airich looked as if he couldn't decide to feel offended or justified.

"Airich, what have you done to attempt a cure?" Elspeth asked. "Other than trying to carve out pieces of your body?"

"Everything I could think of," he said. "Nothing has worked."

"Have you talked to anyone about this? An expert?"

"No."

The eyebrow over the amber eye went up this time. "Truly? You'd rather I take a chunk out of you than talk to someone who might actually know how to help you?"

Airich looked abashed, as if he'd finally realized how absurd this sounded.

"Is there someone you could talk to who would understand it?"

"Probably. I don't know." He looked off to the side, thinking. "Certainly not in Grecotha."

"Well, you're Deryni," Elspeth reasoned. She made a motion with her fingers at her forehead, indicating people communicating with their thoughts. "Can't you talk to people who aren't here?"

"There's a definite limit to how far I can reach. Although..." He fingered the silver medallion that hung around his neck. Conceivably... with help... "I think I might be able to reach someone. But I'd need to borrow your strength, if you'd allow it."

Elspeth gave this request the consideration it deserved. "Will it hurt?"

"No. In fact, you'll probably fall asleep."

Elspeth glanced out the window. "Come find me in a few hours when decent people are up and about. I think I can help you then."

"Thank you, Mistress Elspeth," he said solemnly. And stood to leave.

"Sir Airich?"

"Yes?"

She smiled warmly at him. "We're here for you. Whatever you're going through, you don't have to do it alone."

Airich opened his mouth to respond, but his voice caught in his throat. He had to take a few moments to compose himself. "Thank you, Mistress Elspeth." He nodded respectfully toward the younger woman. "Mistress Amy." He turned and left the room.

[Nezz]

((Hi all. If it seems like I'm posting a lot of scenes in a row, that's because Revanne and Marc are away for the better part of the week, so I'm taking advantage of that and playing with their characters behind their backs. No, seriously, Revanne warned us that if we did anything untoward with Edwin, she'd take him up to a monastery with her so he'd be safe.))

Bede woke up to Edwin shaking his shoulder. "Wake up," the scribe whispered. "I need you up and moving."

"Yeah, I need a lot of things. Including more sleep," Bede muttered, noting how dim the pre-dawn light was, and burrowed deeper under the covers.

"I said get up." There was a steel in Edwin's voice that Bede was unused to hearing. He rolled over and sat up.

"What do you need?" he asked, sounding more alert than he felt.

"Guard the house. Especially the women," Edwin said. "I've got an errand. But I think we may have been compromised."

Now Bede was alert. "Anything particular I'm guarding against?"

"I don't know. Just keep watch for an hour or so. Try to get everyone to attend first Mass, that should give me enough time to make the preparations I need."

"I wish you'd tell me what's going on, but I'll do as you say. This time."

"Good man," Edwin said. "I'll rendezvous with you all at the Cathedral and explain everything then."

[Nezz]

((The following magnificent piece of writing is presented courtesy of Revanne, who did an amazing job of capturing the Bishop's voice. She's also off visiting the monastery that she keeps threatening to bring Edwin to, and has minimal internet access.))

The attendance at early mass in Grecotha's Cathedral was normally sparse other than on feast days. This morning the nave was thronged with those who had been disturbed enough by the horrors of the previous day to wish to seek solace in this house of prayer. What met them was sufficiently out of the ordinary to add to their sense of fear rather than offer reassurance. For the priest celebrating the mass was none other than Bishop Bernard himself, and he himself was clearly deeply disturbed. The gentle scholarly man whose kindness was a byword in the city now displayed an anger which few would have expected. He preached a homily, again not usual at the early mass, which spoke in fiery terms of the eternal fate which those who lived without charity could expect, and in even fierier terms of the sin of rebellion which was of the devil himself. Those who felt able to move forward to receive the sacrament after their consciences had been thus seared were unnerved yet further by the sight of a man lying prostrate on the cold stone slabs before the altar clad only in shirt and hose.

As the service ended, two brawny officers of the purple guard entered and raised the man to his feet holding him firmly between them, and other guards moved through the nave ushering the worshippers out of the great west door, down the steps and into the square in front of the Cathedral. No-one was prevented from leaving the square, but few wanted to, something was clearly about to happen, and despite the atmosphere of fear there was also a sense of excitement at being present to witness whatever it was.

After only a short delay the Bishop reappeared at the top of the steps, he had divested himself of cope and chasuble and wore a simple white alb with the purple stole of judgement and penance. He was flanked by the purple guard, and the prisoner and penitent—for clearly he was both—was laid back down on his face at the Bishop's feet. Then Bishop Bernard turned to face the crowd and spoke in a voice clear enough to be heard at the furthest reaches of the square.

"By the grace of his Majesty the King, it is my task to ensure the good and godly order of this town. Yesterday both were breached in ways which I believe with my heart and soul cannot but be the work of the devil. And those who commit such evil face the judgement of both their earthly and heavenly Lords. You may be very assured of that. Two men were apprehended and questioned yesterday, and both admitted their guilt. They were guilty of both sacrilegious murder, for it was not for them to presume to mete out the penalty for heresy, and rebellion against the peace of our Lord the King. I will not sully my tongue or your ears by repeating the foul treason uttered by Eddard de Nore against his gracious Majesty, and had he lived he would have suffered the full pain of the death, horrible yet just, meted out to traitors. Had he lived I say, for in the frenzy of his hate he brought a seizure upon himself and has gone to face the judgement from which no man can escape. He died unshriven, as is only just, since he had sent others unshriven to their deaths, for God is not to be mocked nor do our sins go unrequited. His body will hang in chains and guarded for a day and a night then be quartered as is due to a traitor and flung into the plague pit "

Bishop Bernard paused and slowly and solemnly signed himself with the cross, though he failed to add the customary "and may the Lord have mercy on his soul." Then he turned and took an aspergillum from a deacon who was standing almost unnoticed behind him before resuming his speech.

"This man," he gestured to the man lying prone at his feet, "Henry Steinmeister, a man who has received generous hospitality from this land and this university, has likewise admitted his guilt to murder but was willing to turn King's evidence. He will not face the gallows but, having proved himself unworthy of the hospitality shown to him, he is condemned to leave the realm whose people and King he has so betrayed. As the voice of the King's justice here I condemn him to exile, with the authority from God to lay down penance I decree that he will rise from here and go as he is now, with only his scrip and his shoes returned to him. I further decree", and the sternness of his voice intensified,"that no one amongst you will dare to impose your own justice on a man whom the King has sent forth."

As the Bishop was speaking, two of the guards raised the man to his feet, and it could be seen that he wore a small wooden cross on a leather thong around his neck. One of the guards returned to him his scrip, big enough for only a few meagre possessions, and he buckled it around his waist with hands that visibly trembled. Then the man bent stiffly to put on his shoes before standing head bowed before the Bishop, who, for the first time, spoke directly to him. "You are to go from here and make your way to the nearest port from where you must take ship never to return. If you do, your life is forfeit. Be grateful that you have time to amend your life and save your soul. You are to go as a penitent, on foot, without cotte or cloak, dependent on the charity of those who have more mercy than you have shown. You have made your confession and been shriven and so you may go with God's blessing, and I pray that you may become worthy of it."

The Bishop took the aspergillum and shook the holy water contained within it so that drops fell onto the bowed head of the man before him. The man knelt to kiss the hem of the Bishop's robe then rose painfully, turned, and walked out through the crowd who parted to let him go. At no point did he raise his head or even seem aware of any around him. Then the Bishop raised his hand and proclaimed a general blessing before turning and walking back into the Cathedral. The crowd melted away in silence, though doubtless before noon word would be all over the town.