Forgotten Shadows

[revanne]

Edwin had been surprised to be met by a lay brother, and even more surprised for his request for an audience with the Dean to be so readily agreed, indeed, it had almost seemed as though he was welcomed rather than simply expected. The novice Aiden must have brought Canon Damian's request already, but even so he would have expected to be kept kicking his heels. Edwin straightened his shoulders and thought of the years of learning preserved within Grecotha which were now at risk. Their destruction would not be for want of trying on his part. Nevertheless, his palms were wet with sweat, and he wiped them nervously on his cotte as he was ushered into the Dean's presence. 

He bowed respectfully low, but not obsequiously, and as he straightened he was startled to see that the latter had risen to meet him and was bowing his head in polite greeting. 

"Edwin, I owe you an apology and my heartfelt thanks. It seems I misjudged you badly, and my niece has paid the penalty for my foolishness. Without your courage and that of your companion, I would be regretting my failure to heed your warning even more bitterly than I do now."

Edwin felt himself flush with embarrassment, and found that he had no idea how to respond. In his confusion he muttered something incoherent, however it seemed that the Dean did not expect a reply and had merely paused for breath for he continued, "Gwendolyn has now told me of the depth of insult that she has had to bear since she came here, insult which to my shame I dismissed as of no account. She has told me, too, of your kindness and courage and also that you are not afraid to speak your mind."

Edwin had not thought that he could get any redder; he had been wrong. He felt his cheeks burn with the thought that the Dean knew of his outburst to Airich, but before he could think of anything to say, he realised that the Dean was still speaking. "I respect a man who does not curry favour merely on account of rank, and though for your own sake I should perhaps be warning you to learn to guard your tongue, I fear that it is perhaps our unwillingness to confront others for fear of our own position which has brought us to this pass. I understand that you have something that you wish to say to me, given your previous reception here it must have taken courage to come but be assured that this time I am ready to listen"

The Dean then gestured for Edwin to take a seat by the window, and then seated himself opposite, clearly waiting for the student to speak. Edwin swallowed awkwardly, having put so much energy in mustering his courage he felt completely wrong-footed by the melting away of the expected hostility as though an opponent in a brawl had suddenly knelt in surrender. He pressed his lips together to counter his impression that his mouth was hanging open and muttered a hasty prayer to whichever saint was listening that he would not throw this chance away. 

"My lord, I understand, truly I do, how presumptuous I must seem. I haven't always been a model student," he began and despite himself shifted uncomfortably at the remembrance of previous smarts at the Dean's hands, "but I truly care about this university and the learning it contains. I beg you, please take the request from Canon Damien with the utmost seriousness. I cannot tell you how I know, there is no time for long explanations, but dreadful as it seems, and is, the plot to put this university to the torch is all too real. Books, scrolls, parchments, the work of centuries, all to be lost through ignorance and hatred. I understand that Canon Damien has requested you to see to the safety of the most precious documents but I beg you to have everything else that you can save be moved to somewhere more secure."

Edwin realised that his voice had risen with the intensity of his concern, he could only hope that his passion sounded convincing rather than the foolishness of youth. He looked up half expecting to see derisive dismissal on the Dean's face but the latter gave him a long measuring look before replying. "I would much prefer not to believe you, but you were right before and sadly it would not be the first time such things have happened." He gave vent to a sigh which was almost a groan of pain, "I had hoped that such hatreds had been long buried after nigh on fifty years of his Majesty's wisdom and grace, and it pains me more than I can say to think that there are those within this university who would destroy learning for any cause, but it seems that we have been guilty of only seeing the world that we wanted to see."

Edwin found himself moved by the pain in the other's voice, but even with his new found confidence, he was not so brash as to offer comfort. He waited uncomfortably as the silence lengthened but then, in a sudden change of mood, the Dean got to his feet and said with determination, "There are dry and secure enough places in the old tunnels, it is how my predecessors saved some at least of the Deryni texts in the days of the Custodes. I will take what steps I can, and do so now. The most precious documents chosen, I am sure wisely, by the Canon will be carefully packed into two satchels and be ready for you to pick up before the hour of Sext.  I'm not sure why you think that you can trust me, but I will try to be worthy of your trust and that of this university. Bless you my son, and may the Lord protect you from the evil that surrounds us." He made the sign of the cross over Edwin who bowed his head to receive the blessing, grateful for a chance to hide his renewed embarrassment and took his dismissal.

He did not wait to find out whether Amy and Elspeth were still with Gwendolyn, simply glad to be out of the house. The interview had gone better, far better than he could have imagined, and he found that he did trust that the Dean would do as he had promised, but the level of emotion had been a bit much for him; the combination of embarrassment and relief made determined to head at once for somewhere where he could get a good draught of beer and try and sort out what he thought about all this.

[Bynw]

As the Dean and Canon of the Great University of Grecotha move to preserve documents against an impending Willimite attack. Their actions and the enlisted help does not go unnoticed.

The start of the Term is nigh. The city's population has swelled, as it usually does before a term. The Watch and Purple Guard do not have enough men to enforce the weapons ban. So it is mostly ignored unless someone brandishes a weapon in public.

Students are everywhere. The dorms are filled, and every available room in the city is filling up with students that can afford the prices being charged by the innkeepers. Grecotha's students come from all corners of the Eleven Kingdoms. Mostly younger sons of nobles but even commoners that have scholarships are equally welcomed.

The city is bright and cheerful. Full of life and events leading up to the start of the busy Term.

~~~

"They are moving manuscripts and other documents to the old tunnels beneath the city," a young man says as he knells before another not looking up.

"It is of no concern. The plan will proceed. Even if some scraps of parchment survive in the tunnels they will never see the light of day again. All of those that know what they are and where they are will be purified in the flames. Go my son, and be ready."

~~~

Another call is made to Lord Iain. It is short and to the point.

"We must meet."

[Jerusha]

Jimmy Taylor studied the students that bustled about the streets of Grecotha. The purple sash and sturdy helmet eased his way past most, often with a respectful nod in his direction. Some students called out to old friends, pleased to be back in familiar surroundings (and more likely savoring the temporary freedom from family expectations). The newer students searched among the buildings, possessions in a pack sack and hoping to find their correct lodgings.

He passed the stalls of the booksellers, hives of activity as students attempted to sell their old books and find this year's in used but serviceable condition to reduce their expenses. There were never enough of these, and the booksellers were conducting a lively business.

Not only students thronged the streets. Merchants looked for opportunities for profit. Craftsmen knew the demand for their wares was greatest at the start of the term. Laborers pushed carts filled with items to be delivered to the taverns and inns which would be filled with students by evening. Jimmy smiled to himself; there would be more than one sore head and lighter script by morning.

As he made his way to the dim alley that was his destination, he also noted more blades that were not bound to their scabbards as ordered by the bishop's decree. No one was flagrant enough to carry a strung bow, though. At least not yet.

Jimmy turned into a dim alley between two storehouses. He stood facing the street, although he knew the man he was meeting would approach him from behind so that no one would suspect they were together.

The situation grows more dire, Sir Iain. As was his habit, Master Feyd's approach had been silent.

Sir Iain did not turn. How dire?

The Wilimites are not concerned that the bishop and his staff are moving manuscripts and documents into the tunnels to preserve them. They are proceeding with their plan to torch the university and city.

Feyd assumed he already knew about the documents. Well, he did now. They don't care that the knowledge will be saved for another day?

Feyd's mental voice grew hard. They don't care if any of it survives, because it will never see the light of day again. "All of those who know what they are and where they are will be purified in the flames."

 That would need to be one hell of a fire! Iain tried to never underestimate an enemy, but still.... Can a handful, or even a large mob, of zealots wreak destruction and murder on such a scale?

They can with Byzantyun Fire.

Iain felt his blood run cold and it took significant effort to not turn to face Feyd. Do they have it already?

I am sure they do. My contact believes the fire could occur at any moment.

And almost impossible to stop once it starts. Which means we have to stop it before it starts.

My thoughts exactly, Sir Iain. I'll leave you to it.

"Bloody hell!" Iain said aloud and turned, but Master Feyd was already gone.

[Nezz]

September 12, 1168
Bishop Bernard's office
Grecotha
morning

"Philip?" Bishop Bernard repeated. "Philip Saxon of my guard?"

"Aye. The very one," Airich confirmed. He stood at resting attention before the Bishop, who sat in a cushioned chair.

"I can't believe that. I've known Philip for many years and trust his loyalty absolutely. He spent much effort in defending Grecotha during the war four years ago. In fact, the situation was dire enough that he was trained in the field as a battle surgeon. Indeed, I'm planning to promote him next week once the new term is underway and things have begun to settle down."

"I don't question his loyalty to you," Airich said, feeling sick at the idea of Philip being promoted. "You are not Deryni, and despite your sermon the other day, you've never been known to favor Deryni over Humans. Everyone knows that you are a fair administrator of the city, so it only stands to reason that he would be loyal to you. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't look the other way when someone was mistreating a Deryni."

The Bishop frowned at Airich. "Some men are not so fortunate to receive the honor of knighthood. For those without sponsors and knights to train them, the Purple Guard is their knighthood equivalent. They're not blessed with the honorific Sir, but they do receive the respect that the Purple sash brings and the martial training that goes along with it. So I would recommend you think very carefully before accusing a man I consider your equal."

Airich was taken aback by the force of the Bishop's words. He understood that being a member of the Purple Guard was an honor, and at no time did he consider himself their betters. Did the Bishop imagine that Airich was jealous of their honors, or simply badmouthing one of his Purple Guard out of arrogance, or spite?

"Your Grace, I would not expect you to act on my word alone. Or even that of my companions, since I am expected back in Rhemuth soon. But we did think it wise to keep you apprised of what we have learned, and you can act from there or instruct us further."

"Very well, tell me what else you have learned." The Bishop rose from his chair and walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back. "Who else do you suspect of being one of the Willimite leaders?"

"Pietre de Guerra and Father Jacob Dinsmor are two of them. None of us knew the third man, although Edwin recognized him as being someone he's seen around the taverns." Airich hoped that mentioning these names didn't bring down the same dressing-down he'd gotten for using Philip's name.

"Father Jacob, eh?" Bishop Bernard turned and leaned against the window sill. "Father Jacob's pet project is the Statutes of Ramos and examining their cultural outcomes. He says he's fascinated by their complexities, but I wonder if there isn't more to it.

"As for de Guerra, he hasn't bothered to hide his contempt for the Deryni race since the war four years ago; he helped train the new recruits. The man's always been arrogant and convinced it's his God-given right to do whatever he wants because his father is the magistrate. He is the city's best swordmaster, which is why he trains the students, but if he's involved in any nefarious acts, he should be brought in and questioned."

Airich stretched his arms behind his back, wishing the Bishop would grant him permission to sit. "We've had no indication of direct actions taken by any of the four leaders still living. Only Eddard de Nore confessed to murder and treason, and I believe it's his people who are attempting to burn Grecotha; the other leaders didn't say anything about it, and Phi—one of those leaders expressed his honest opinion that de Nore's cell doesn't have the manpower to carry out their plan."

"Tell me what you can of this fourth man," Bishop Bernard said, pacing about the room. "What did he look like?"

"Older than the rest of them, probably a little past his prime. I'd guess he's a well-off merchant by his dress, maybe he trades in imports. Long black hair, tied back in a tail. Thin beard, not enough to hide a strong jaw. He wears a thick gold hoop in his right ear and several rings on his fingers, one of them is embedded with a substantial emerald."

"Hmmm. That almost sounds like..." The Bishop paused and rubbed his chin. "I wonder if you're describing Marcus Burke."

"If it helps, Edwin says he's seen the man around in several taverns, like the Drunken Parchment and the Velvet Lion."

"That would make sense. Marcus Burke is the guildmaster of the Wine Merchants guild. He regularly visits the best inns and taverns, making connections and deals. And that's in addition to his wealthy clientele, and to the Church, which also purchases his wines.

"The man is good company. I've dined with him on multiple occasions myself," the Bishop said. "He's a fair merchant, and he knows how to acquire the best wines from all corners of the Eleven Kingdoms. Fianna and Vezaire, of course, but he also can find some surprisingly excellent wines from as far as Arjenol and Grecia."

A wine merchant—no, worse, the Wine Merchants guild master was a Willimite leader. A man entrusted with procuring wine for the best—and probably worst, as well—houses and taverns in the city. And—oh Lord—providing it to the area churches! The very idea chilled Airich's blood.

"Assuming that we are talking about the same man," Airich said, "I find myself concerned that such a man—a Willimite—is providing the wine that the people of Grecotha will partake of unsuspectingly."

"I assume you are thinking of merasha," the Bishop said. "But what would be the point of poisoning an entire congregation? My understanding is that merasha acts as a sedative to many Humans, and I'm not sure why they'd want to put half their congregation to sleep."

Airich considered this point. "Identification," he finally said. "A few drops of tainted wine in the sacramental cup wouldn't be enough to affect most Humans, but it might be enough to give most Deryni congregants some measure of discomfort. Anyone watching for the signs would likely take note of those having any mild reaction. Or poison the chalice more thoroughly and wait until that moment to set the..." No, that idea was too horrible to even consider.

"These men..." Airich said as Bishop Bernard pondered. "They're all highly placed men within the city. I doubt any of them get their hands dirty with the physical crimes of the Willimites; their lackeys would do that and the leaders will seem perfectly innocent in the matter. I don't think the Willimite lackeys will voluntarily tell us about their leaders' involvement. So unless you're willing to accept a certain amount of magic as evidence, I'm not sure where to go from here. Unless you want us to wait for the next assault or murder to find more clues." He couldn't keep a certain amount of bitterness from his voice, the frustration of feeling like they were back to square one in their investigation.

"Tread carefully, Sir Airich," the Bishop said, his tone deceptively mild. "At best, you're asking me to offend several high-ranking members of the community by bringing them in for questioning, based on nothing but magical hearsay from an outsider."

Keep calm, boy, no need to mouth off to the Bishop.

"Of course not, your grace. But there must be other Deryni in the city who you trust. Lady Gwendolyn, perhaps? Or her uncle, if he is Deryni? Have one of your expert questioners speak to them where they are comfortable, and have the Lady Gwendolyn simply listen for lies."

"Unacceptable." The Bishop seemed to be digging his heels in, the more Airich tried to sway him. "If we do that, everyone will start turning in their neighbor, insisting they are Willimite. No, there must be a better way."

Airich was at a loss. "Then, there really isn't any more I can do for you at this time. I don't know if I'll be allowed to return to Grecotha after I've met with the King, or if he has other plans. I pray he sends better qualified people to aid you in your fight against the Willimites."

"His Majesty plays cardonet several steps beyond the rest of us. I'm sure he hasn't forgotten Grecotha," Bishop Bernard said.

"Speaking of the King," Airich said, "I feel I should let you know that when I see him, I will tell him what I've learned here. And who is involved."

The Bishop looked up sharply. "You're going over my head? Trying to push me into taking action?"

Airich was startled by this accusation. "No, Your Grace, not at all. But I'm the King's man and I'm obligated to tell him what I've discovered in my investigation here. I'm only telling you this now so you don't think I'm going behind your back."

"I see," the Bishop said. "Sir Airich, do you have the warrant I issued to you to investigate the Willimites?"

"I do, Sir."

"May I see it please?"

"Of course." Airich dug into his belt pouch and pulled out the parchment rolled up in there. He handed it over to the Bishop, wondering what he was going to add to it.

"Thank you." The Bishop unrolled the sheet, looked at it, folded it in half, then ripped it down the center. He set the pieces together and ripped again. "I thank you for your services in behalf of Grecotha, Sir Airich, but they will no longer be needed at this time." 

Airich blinked stupidly at the Bishop as the older man set the pieces of parchment into the brazier next to his seat. They caught the flame and curled into black ash in no time. Airich felt the blood rush to his face at this disgrace. It took several tries before he could phrase the question, "What... what about the others?"

"They're not abandoning my city, so they'll still need their warrants to continue their investigation." The Bishop extended his ring. Stiffly, Airich knelt, kissed it. He made to withdraw.

"Sir Airich, I see that your weapon is not secured. See to it at your earliest opportunity."

"Your Grace?"

The Bishop looked at him patiently, as if explaining a simple concept to a dull child. "You are no longer part of my task force. The edict very clearly states that blades are forbidden, or must be secured to their scabbards. See to it."

"Your Grace," Airich said, trying to keep his voice steady, "you gave us a task that—of a necessity—meant that we would make enemies. As a result, I have enemies. You now take away my only means of defense?"

"You're Deryni. You're never defenseless.

"You may go."
Does the Bishop recognize Marcus based on Airich's description? Hard 2d6: 5, 1 =Fail
Bishop's reaction to Airich's news: 1d6: 6 =Positive
Used 1 point of Grit to swap the 1 with the 6 so that we can find out Marcus' identity.

[Bynw]

"Father," the young man begins kneeling before the priest. "You have asked me to tell you anything that seems strange to me no matter how unimportant it might be to my own eyes and ears. One of my brothers is missing. He should have been in the dormitory before going to the midday meal. We always meet in this way."

"I have made inquires but no one has seen him since supper last night. I thought it strange and have come to you."

The priest responds to the young man. "Other than your inquires, does anyone know this brother is missing?"

"No," the kneeled man responds. "Since the term has not yet started there has been little in the way of attendance counting of students."

"And what does he know?" the priest asks.

The young man looks up. "Everything that I know."

"Do you think these investigators have taken him?" he asks the priest.

The priest turns and looks out the window on to the city of Grecotha. He fiddles with the chain holding the cross around his neck as he does. "It is possible. And they have at least one Deryni in their company. Pray for your brother's safe return."

"And if you do see him again, share nothing with him. Not even the fact he was missed. Send him to Father Theo. For if your brother returns without a good explanation of his disappearance he will most likely be betwitched by Deryni sorcery and cannot be trusted."

The young man bends his head again and a single tear runs down his cheek. "It shall be done Father."

[Marc_du_Temple]

[Thanks to the team for input on the weather!]

The King's Arms was so busy that it was as if Thursday morning had become a Friday night. Maybe the rain, which was becoming a heavy drizzle and seemed set to turn into a downpour, had something to do with the need to gather indoors in the warm. Though the patrons were likely enough to get as wet in their insides as they would have in the outside.

The young Mearan who had decided to drown his sorrows was soon joined by the scholar Edwin. The exploits done lately between the two of them made them more easily recognized than Bede would have preferred if he could muster the coherence to think about it, whereas Edwin was more welcoming of their three new friends. Muirea, then on the job at the tavern, watched warily when she could. The scene before her weighed heavily on her mind, keeping her mind absent from her work, leading to silly mistakes and apologies, but she could not help it. Why was Bede suddenly so miserable? What put a spring in Edwin's step for once? And these plain-looking revelers that joined them: they were new faces at the tavern, however mundane.

At the table, one of the revelers raised his tankard and spoke in a harsh eastern brogue. "Drink and drown your sorrows, my friends."

"Aye," Bede murmured, obliging.

Edwin shrugged yet drank, feeling that the worst was behind him for now. "I can't fix the past, but I can toast to a good resolution." He raised his tankard too. "To the dean! May God bless him and his house!"

All drank.

"I am curious," spoke the smallest of the new friends, craning his neck. "What is it that troubles you so, Mister Archer?"

"A star of pyrite I once pledged myself to. It once guided my steps as though I were an astrologer. But it was false! It led me astray, as the stars of Adam, Samson and David all did before her." There was a silence, before he shook his head. It was not as though his star had asked him to wander down this particular path. "No. I am my own trouble, good man. Always have been, always will be, or at least until this bottle gives me an epiphany."

So they drank again.

Edwin frowned. "Damn your eyes, Bede. You and I are heroes, not common rogues! Raise your stiff neck and see the beauty of it all! Instead of resenting your lot in life, try finding pleasure in it besides breaking things and shooting those more black hearted than yourself."

Bede was too deflated to argue. They drank again.

The most keen-eyed newcomer among them spoke to Edwin. "Milord, what pleasures are there to be found in this blighted city?"

Red-cheeked, Edwin grinned. "I have a few suggestions I've come to familiarity with in my studies here."

"Show us," commanded the first man in his thick accent. Edwin rose, followed by the revelers. Bede remained as he was, but looked like he was deeply sick.

Muirea waded through the customers to protest. She planted herself directly in Edwin's path.  "Where are ye going, leavin' yer friend lookin' so forlorn, master?"

Before Edwin could form a thought in his defense, the man with the brogue caught her attention. "Kindly look upon my forefinger," he soothed, while his friends cajoled Edwin outside. Her brilliant eyes became stupefied and glazed when he tapped her forehead lightly. ((resistance roll at disadvantage for Muirea 1d6: 2)) "You listen well, and you want to listen well, girl."

"Dinna think ye can speak ta her like that," Bede groaned sourly, nearly falling off of his stool.

"I apologize if you feel excluded," the man said slyly. ((resistance roll at disadvantage for Bede 1d6:2)) "Do not trouble yourself, John. I want your attention as much as hers," he assured him, taking it in a manner quite similar to how he had taken Muirea's.

Somewhere in Bede's mind, he finally recognized the Torenthi accent of the man for what it was. It was irresistible since his resolve had left him. Why did he call me that? The man said, "Sit up straight and take a deep breath. You will feel better that way. So much better." The weird thing was that he did.

The man slowly turned to face Muirea again, who had looked impassively on as the man manipulated Bede. In a crooning tone, he asked her, "Do you know what this stinking, gutter poet said at this table?"

With a weird calm, she softly answered, "There is nothing he could say that would outweigh his actions. Na truly."

"I see," said the stranger from Torenth. He leaned in close and whispered to her, "Tell me how you feel about this fool. You can trust me..." He received her answer with a mischievous smile. "... I see. You want to show him how you feel. Do it."

Bede's blurry vision showed him a familiar shape sauntering towards him then stopping just before his face. When it pulled him in towards itself, he gripped the table with one hand to avoid falling on his hands and knees. At the moment, Muirea was incapable of questioning her actions. Spellbound, when she kissed him, she was as impulsive and as honest as any drunken patron could be, and feeling him wobble like a ship on the water, she felt an indescribable relief and even a little triumph, tempered by something in the back of her mind. Something too small to understand. When their eyes opened again, both had to catch their breath.

The Torenthi sighed sardonically and leaned towards Bede. Too quiet for anyone but him to hear, he whispered, "Do you feel better? No, you feel the sickness you repressed before bubbling up, don't you?"

The Mearan man's hands scrambled across the table looking for a tankard, finding one he had not knocked over just in time to relieve his stomach inside of it.

The Torenthi snorted and tapped Muirea's shoulder. "Look how you disgust him, my dear."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but the sight of Bede's turmoil broke the spell even as it strained her heart. She whirled, bloodily cuffing her hypnotist on his cheek before running to the back room to be alone.

Nonplussed, the Torenthi shrugged and told the barkeep he would pay the tab for the table. As he walked out after his companions, Bede stared after him and growled, "Ye will rue this, Jester Macbee..."

"The best gaming dens are this way, lads," Edwin proclaimed as though he were leading them to the promised land. Onward they marched through the dreary rain, until it seemed to him like they might never see the dice tables. Edwin did not notice when he stopped leading and started following. Somewhere around when he noticed that they kept referring to him as though he were a knight. By the time he realized how far away from his intended destination they were, they had arrived at the small staircase leading into the crypt behind the St Matthew's Chapel.

Macbee assumed a commanding posture and spoke with power towards Edwin. "You feel drawn down there, as if by an insatiable curiosity."((Jester Macbee tries to take control of Edwin 3d6 1 + 4 + 4: FAILURE))

Edwin did not like his tone one bit. "I bloody well do not!" Shivering, he turned to walk away, not enjoying their company any further, only to feel the palms of the other two men slam forcefully into his chest, sending him tumbling down the stone steps. When he had settled at the wet, rough bottom, the small one rushed down to strike him square on the forehead with the hilt of a light dagger, and that was the last thing he saw above ground that morning.

[Laurna]

"Amy, let's not go back to the safe house, as yet. I really would like to put this recipe to the test. We will try a batch without the spell work first, just to see if the ingredients mix up the way we are told they should."

Amy glanced into the satchel of supplies that she regularly carried for her mentor, reaching into a side pocket she said, "Ah yes, I have the herbs here, I didn't want to lose them by putting them up in the attic rooms." She pulled forth several linen cloth parcels of dried whole herbs. "This is everything we obtained from the herbalist the other day. Will it be enough?"

"I think it will be enough for two tries. For the second batch, I will let you try the spell. Does that sound agreeable?"

Regardless of the seriousness of what they would attempt, Amy gave a mischievous smile, "I look forward to the attempt."

"Contain your enthusiasm, Ams. First, we shall have to grovel for entrance back into the infirmary. If Master Bonhom is as much of a stickler for professionalism as Novice Aidan has says he is, we might not even get permission to get inside to attempt the work."

"Surely a man of intellect and skill will recognize and respect another with such skills. Canon Damian would have passed on his own insight and your recommendations from the convent."

"I am a woman, Amy. That is a hard fact to overlook. Let us see if this man can do so."

The two women pulled their cloaks tightly around themselves, then hastened down the rain soaked street to leave the Dean's residence and find the infirmary, which was fortunate to be not so far away.

*****

Master Bonhom, sat behind his desk in his private office, his glare at the two women standing before him was stern. Both women had shed their wet outer attire and were now simply showing their clean woolen gowns of neither peasantry nor noblesse styling. Both modest, single young women wore head coverings of linen clothe as married women would wear telling the world that they were not available for courtship or other lower forms of wooing, but they were not dressed so modest as to be nuns of the convent from which their letter of recommendation from the Carbury Nunnery of St Stefan's originated. It seemed that Master Bonhom had heard the Canon's appraisal of this woman Physicker's skill, otherwise he would not have agreed to meet with them at all. As yet he was disinclined to meet Mistress Elspeth on equal terms, and that infuriated Amy, though she kept her opinions closed behind her newly forming inner shields.

"It is uncommon to have women in my Infirmary, other than the laundresses that come each day, of course."

"Of course," Mistress Elspeth said with a nod. "Difficult times do require exceptions-of-necessity," she added.

"Indeed, they do. I have a letter here from student Robert's father, Lord Thorne, appraising me, or rather you, for his son's full recovery." He watched the two women carefully, both gave small acknowledging nods without excessive outward emotion. Amy thought their calmness seemed to appease Master Bonhom's unease with them.

"We were pleased to be able to do the work that was required," Elspeth confidently replied.

"Yes, and now that I am back. Is there something more that I can do for you?"

"There is, Master Bonhom, thank you for asking. We would like to request a table in your alchemy room to make medicine. I have come into the possession of knowledge of older medicine that we would like to see if it makes up as readily as our sources say that it will."

"Your, research has me curious, as well. Please do have a go at it. My alchemy room is open to you. But do be forewarned, I will not bode disruption of the normal workings of my infirmary from your companions. As I understand, they became accustomed to staying here before. That will no longer be possible.

"I do understand. Thank you, Master Bonhom."

*****

"If you slam that pestle any harder into the mortar bowl, you'll chip off bits of stone into the herbs. I don't think granite will make the mixture any more potent." Elspeth's fingers touched the back of Amy's hand, and the younger girl stopped grinding the herb to dust, then instantly broke out in tears instead.

"I am sorry, so sorry, Speth... I'm just so worried."

"Is it these Willimites, or Airich leaving us?"

Amy shook her head. "Both of course, but... but it is more than that."

Elspeth took away the mortar and pestle, setting them aside, then took both of Amy's hands in her own. "Talk to me."

"I truly believe that, somehow, the worst will be stopped before it happens. There is just too much good in the world for this evil to prevail. But I do not have as much faith that the minions of good will survive the battle that is coming. I want to follow Airich if he leaves, but I can not leave you here. The danger is so great, how can I leave your side. As for where Airich is heading, I don't think I am ready to face the men that Airich needs to talk to when he gets where he is going. But I do think he should not face them alone."

"If it is about me, I am heeding the warnings and keeping my head down, don't worry about me. Or is it about meeting the King? Amy, I doubt you will be admitted into the royal court, so you need not worry yourself on that, just be Sir Airich's anchor in that storm filled harbor."

"I intend to try. But it is not the king. I have learned that a certain man is waiting for Airich in Arx Fidei; a man who will take him to the king. And that man... I... Speth... he is a Deryni Healer.... He is my son's father!"

"OH!" Elspeth grabbed her hands harder. "You are not afraid of him, are you? You've never said you were afraid of him before?"

"That was before I knew I was Deryni, and before I knew he was a Healer. If Carwyn's parents are both Deryni and his father is a Healer, then my son is Deryni! There is no doubt, and there is a strong chance he will be a Healer like his father." Amy wrestled her right hand away, and whipped the tears forming in her eyes, bracing her features to try and explain without breaking down again. "I have not seen my son because my father stole him from my arms. But I know he is safe with my sister and her husband. But they are human, like my father. Surely, my Deryni blood comes from my mother's side, not my father's. Humans should not raise a Healing child."

"He is only three years old, Ams!"

Amy nodded, "I know, but I am running out of time. Soon he will be old enough to feel his heritage in his bones and if someone does not teach him the right way, he might learn the wrong things. I need him back with me to teach him who he is. But now I fear that if I tell the truth, this Healer, Baron Morgan, will take him from me, just as my father took him from me!" Amy gave a small wail of anguish at the thought, she would have turned away if Elspeth did not still hold one of her hands.

"That action does not sound like something the father of your child would have done four years ago? What makes you think he would do it now?"

"I don't know. What if he is changed from the man I helped four years ago. He is the brother of a Duke. I have his son. What kind of rights does a girl like me have against such nobility. Edwin is right when he says it matters if someone is noble or not."

"Oh, Edwin and Airich will quickly learn that loyalties and friendships mean more than titles. And I do not believe the man Airich described to you would steal your baby from your arms."

"That is what I thought about my father, but..."

*****

She sat on a cot in the convent hostel room, a small babe of three months of age greedily suckling at her breast. There were other women filling the other beds, some ready to have their own babies, but all of them had homes to go to once their child was born. Amaryllis had nowhere to go, and soon she would have to leave and find her own room and board somewhere. Those were her concerns as she held her son tight. She never imagined the future that came upon her so suddenly when her father, in full rage, stormed into the convent.

"So this is where you have been and why you lied to me!" boomed the accusation of the Mayor of Droghera.

"Father, you disowned me! Where was I to go?"

"St Brigid's would have been better than hiding from me across half the kingdom!"

"You shamed me in Droghera, How could I raise my son there?"

"You have no right to raise any son."

"Da? You placed me in that manor house! Your own daughter! You knew there were traitors there, else wise why would you have me gathering information for you. You didn't expect me to come home from there, did you? Not only that, but you didn't care. The only protection I had was from the head housemaid."

"I placed my own people in every single household in Culdi Highlands. Trouble was brewing, but we did not know from where, or who might be involved. Baron De Chantel was one of Kelson's loyal king's men; the estate was supposed to be one of the safest houses there was. And yes the chatelaine knew you were my daughter, she was there to protect you. NOTHING should have happened in that house. What did happen was solely of your own disgraceful making."

Her father grabbed at the baby. Amy clutched him hard to her chest, but the baby cried from being pulled both ways.

"I will kill him if you do not let him go!" were her father's strongest guttural words, and Amy knew when he spoke like that, he meant every word he said.

Terrified, she let Carwyn go. "Don't hurt him!" she screamed, "He is your Grandson!"

"And I will see he is raised to be so, but not as a son of yours." Mayor Arthur Aldan took one long look at the crying baby, wrapped him in his swaddling tighter, then held him close to his chest, away from Amy's reaching arms. "I have paid your time here with the convent. I recommend that you seek repentance for your shame and that you submit yourself fully into their care. Become a daughter of the Lord, for you are no longer a daughter of mine; if you ever were one! You are disowned, shunned. Do I make myself clear?"

*****

When the nightmare memory had finished playing out between Amy and Elspeth, Amy fell into Elspeth's shoulder and professed her fears by shedding long suppressed tears.

"I tell myself every day that I will earn the right to have my son back. Airich even said he would help me make it happen. But Airich is only the youngest son of an Earl with no titles of his own. And he is beholden to Morgan, for he needs to be healed by him. Morgan is the son of a Duke, a Healer and a Baron. Airich will have no more say in this matter than I do."

'Then you will have to be the one to present the truth to Carwyn's father. Don't make Airich do it. YOU must be the one to prove yourself in the eyes of your son's father. Do not fear him. Do not make demands of him, either, but give truth and ask for justice and mercy if you must." Elspeth placed both hands on Amy's cheeks. "When Airich leaves, you will go with him!"

[Jerusha]

Thursday morning, September 12, 1168

Jimmy Taylor had not expected a summons from the bishop. He sifted through his actions over the last few days and could think of nothing that might have drawn the bishop's attention. After the bishop had introduced him to Philip as a new recruit recommended by Archbishop McLain, Jimmy had avoided any direct contact with Bishop Bernard. A new recruit was too far down the ladder to draw the prelate's interest.

Jimmy straightened his tunic and adjusted his purple sash before approaching the guard standing outside the heavy oak doors of the bishop's palace to ask for admittance. Before he could do so, the door swung open and Philip strode out and down the steps, emanating confidence and purpose. Jimmy could not avoid him, so he touched his helmet respectfully with his forefinger and nodded. Philip raised one eyebrow in surprise, but nodded back, continuing on his way.

Damn! Jimmy thought as he showed the guard his message from the bishop and continued through the door.

Jimmy was admitted to Bishop Bernard's study by a lay brother who closed the door quietly behind him as he withdrew. Jimmy removed his helmet, tucked it in the crook of his left arm, bowed and then stood at attention.

"Your Grace."

The bishop looked irritated, clearly displeased about something. Something Philip had said?

Bernard seemed to give himself a mental shake and said, "You are aware I have a team of investigators trying to locate the Wilimites, are you not?"

"Yes, your Grace." Best not to say how much he did or did not know.

"One of them has brought me information I will share with you. You should also know that I do not believe all of it." The bishop's tone hardened.

"I trust you will also share which parts you do not believe, your Grace?"

"You can be sure of it, Guardsman Taylor." The bishop took a deep breath and began.

He finished by saying, "I have rescinded Sir Airich's warrant, both because of his wild accusation, and because he will be abandoning Grecotha and returning to the safety of Rhemuth." He sat back and looked at Jimmy, index fingers steepled in front of his lips, waiting to see how the man would respond.

Brilliant! Cut off your right foot because it stepped in something you don't like the smell of! was what Jimmy wanted to say. He did not, instead taking a deep breath. He'd best set the record straight, whether the bishop liked it or not.

"Then you are not aware that Philip murdered de Nore," Jimmy said calmly.

"He could not possibly have!" Bernard blurted out, dropping his hands from his face, leaning forward and gripping the edge of his desk. "Who told you such a thing!"

"Those that witnessed Philip's actions in de Nore's cell." Jimmy kept his voice neutral as he continued, not wishing to arouse the bishop's ire further. "He stuffed a rag deep into the prisoner's mouth and left it there, presumably to shut him up. If Philip was as good a battle surgeon as you say, he should have known better. De Nore did not die of a seizure; he died because he could no longer breathe."

"The guards misunderstood what they saw!" the bishop snapped.

"They did not. I verified the rag remained firmly lodged at the back of de Nore's mouth when I helped to retrieve his body. There can be no doubt of it."

"I will not believe it!" Bernard stated.

"That is your right, your Grace, but I would not advise it."

"It is not your place to advise, Guardsman!"

"Your pardon if I have overstepped my orders, your Grace." Jimmy's pale blue eyes took on an icy tone. "But you should also know that Sir Airich returns to Rhemuth on the King's orders and will return at the King's pleasure. One does not disobey one's king."

The bishop's jaw clenched, but he released his grip on the desk. "The King removes one from their number when they are clearly struggling to find the Wilimites with little progress. That makes no sense to me."

"You said that the King plays cardonet several steps beyond the rest of us. Trust him to do so." Before the bishop could explode, Jimmy continued, softening his tone a bit. "They have found four suspected Wilimites, your Grace. But you deny them the inquiries that could find that proof. You have many Deryni students here at Grecotha. Surely the use of magic for the greater good should not be abhorrent to you."

"I do not condemn it, but nor do I condone it. And so I have sent for you, Taylor. Find the proof, convince me of its truth, and I will act on it. Perhaps I might even reinstate Sir Airich's warrant, if he returns." Bishop Bernard rose and extended his ring toward Jimmy. "I advise you to get started."

First Feyd and now Bishop Bernard! And it wasn't even Terce yet!

Jimmy bowed, leaned forward and kissed the amethyst stone, trying not to mentally choke on it. He then took his leave, deep in thought.

It might be best to get Sir Airich out of Grecotha before the young knight did something rash to redeem himself. He would contact Washburn at the appointed time and then it might be wise to make contact with the bishop's investigators.

Sir Iain Cameron was going to need all the help he could get.

[Nezz]

Thursday morning
September 12, 1168
Cathedral Square
Grecotha

Airich sat on the ground at the base of the fountain in the center of Cathedral Square. A simple spell kept people from noticing him—not that many people were out this morning—so he sat in the rain, listening to what it told him.

He hadn't summoned this drizzle, but weather working was tricky that way: the weather always had its own ideas about what it wanted to do. This was why he'd begun summoning the clouds days before he'd hoped to need the rain: summoning rain from a clear day required the force of will from many people if they wanted fast results, and could have unpredictable side-effects. Plus it looked suspicious, and people here in the north and west were sensitive to the idea of weather-working.

His brother Seamus had told him about what it had been like when he was on campaign with Prince Javan during the Mearan war. Of how the ocean gale summoned by Duke Dhugal had been subverted and turned into stinging rain and a deadly lightning storm. Of the winds that screamed through the canyons and the howling vortex that had threatened the Gwynedd army. And the protective spell cast over the troops by the Deryni mages and augmented by the chanting of the brave soldiers.

It must have been a thrilling and terrifying sight. Especially for Human soldiers who felt caught between warring Deryni sorcerers.

Well, his goal today—in addition to keeping Grecotha from burning to the ground—was to avoid giving people the idea that anyone was manipulating the weather, let alone an upstart outsider like him. The slow build-up of clouds and its subsequent drizzle were typical for the time of year.

Airich rubbed his thumb over the Saint Joseph medallion he wore: one of the three he kept on his person at all times. Most Deryni he knew used a visual cue to focus the mind for their rituals, but he preferred tactile sensation. And Saint Joseph seemed the proper saint to keep a weather-working practitioner from thinking too highly of himself. A reminder of just Who these Deryni powers came from.

Perhaps a slight adjustment to help the sun warm the rain a touch.

Are you quite through licking your wounds?

I'm not licking my wounds. I'm working.

Of course you are. You've also been chiding yourself for being the biggest bumbler in the whole of the Eleven Kingdoms.

It's true, isn't it?

Hardly. Just because Bishop Bernard doesn't want to believe that a good man can learn to hate doesn't make you a bumbler.

It's not just the Bishop, Da. This entire city has been one enormous kick in the teeth since I got here.

Oh, well then, I would think you'd want to leave sooner rather than later.

I do.

Then why haven't you called your brother?

Airich had no answer to that question.

Perhaps not all aspects of this city have been so bad, eh? Could be you're worried about leaving a certain lady behind?

I... She's not... Da, it was a pleasant dream, but it can't be any more than that. She will not abandon Elspeth, and I don't blame her. I wouldn't abandon Elspeth either if I had any say in this matter. Or Muirea, or Bede, or even Edwin, who I happen to like despite his damned mood swings.

Before you decide what the lady will and will not do, perhaps you should find out what she thinks for herself.

I should. It's just—

The sensation of Trevor's contact nudged at Airich's consciousness.

Speak of the devil. You talk to your brother. He'll have good advice for you.

Airich released the Saint Joseph medallion and felt for the Saint Camber medallion hanging from his neck, the one enchanted to make contact with his family easier.

Trevor, I'd expected to hear from you an hour ago.

I know, and I must apologize for that. We simply don't yet have the knowledge we need to fetch you here.

What is it you still need? A stiff breeze, and Airich abruptly felt the chill of being soaked through. He set off for the stables, only two blocks away and closer than the entrance of the tunnel he used to return to the safehouse.

Wash is having trouble getting through to his contact who knows the Grecotha portal. The man seems to be busy this morning. We were hoping he'd be here by now.

Just as well. Airich pulled up the hood of his cloak as the drizzle grew momentarily heavier. One of the deans here is packing up some manuscripts for us to take with us for safekeeping. You and I both get to take a satchel to turn over to Bishop Duncan; I promised Canon Damian we'd turn them over to no one but him. We can't go until he's got them prepared for travel, and I don't know how long that will take. A few hours, at least.

Safekeeping from the fire? Excellent plan. Maybe I should bring Charity and Jamyl with me and they can protect additional documents from being lost.

Perhaps. You can talk to the Canon or the dean when you get here and set up a system to get all of the important manuscripts away from here instead of just the few dozen that we two could take out. I doubt anyone would listen to the idea if it came from me. Airich couldn't hide the bitterness from this last statement.

Oh? Aren't you leading up this team of investigators?

Not even close. First of all, that honor belongs to our physicker. An amazing woman. Smart, competent, no-nonsense... you'd like her. Second of all, I have been ignominiously relieved of my duties as an investigator. The Bishop has decided I am not worthy.

What?

Airich shared the events of his meeting with the Bishop for Trevor, including his humiliating reprimand.

That's not like Bishop Bernard at all. He must really trust Philip if he'd ignore your evidence and remove you from the team.

That's what I've been saying, a third voice added.

Who was that? Is there someone else with us? Trevor asked.

I was agreeing with you, Airich said, shushing his inner voice.

Well, while we're waiting on Wash's contact, get someplace safe and stay put.

Can't do that yet. I've got to check on Aran in the stables, and take him out. I'd like to see what parts of Grecotha are built with stone and which parts are built with wood, so I know where to focus the rain.

Airich, you're not manipulating the weather, are you?

Not at the moment, no.

Airich practically heard Trevor's physical sigh. Please tell me you have help from others and aren't trying to shoulder the weight of the city by yourself.

I'll welcome their help as soon as I find out who they are.

Alright. Try not to exhaust yourself before I find you.

I've been taking it slow and easy.

What are you going to do with Aran while you're away?

I've implanted the directions to a farm just outside the city in his head. I think he's smart enough to follow his instinct there if a fire breaks out.

Airich's inner voice said, Aran's from a good line, he'll figure it out. Too bad about those socks.

Are you sure someone else isn't listening in? Trevor asked.

I'm sure. And I'll be careful.

Good. I hope to see you by noon.

[Jerusha]

Thursday Morning
September 12, 1168
Bishop Bernard's Study
Grecotha

Bishop Bernard of Grecotha stared at the ashes in the brazier beside him. What had triggered such an intense reaction to Sir Airich? His antagonism spilling over to Jimmy Taylor, who he was sure had the ear of Archbishop Duncan? In all his years of service to Grecotha, he had tried to be patient, compassionate, and even-handed in all his judgements. The stonemason had deserved his exile, and de Nore would have faced death for his crimes anyway. But not in that way.

Bernard sighed. The Wilimites had been getting under his skin for some time. Could Philip be one of them? It did not fit with the man he knew, but how well did he really know Philip? If he was a Wilimite, was it actually a problem? It was if he was also a murderer, no matter how one tried to justify the death.

How could anyone even contemplate the burning of the great University of Grecotha? Centuries of knowledge put to the torch! It was an abomination.

And it was not only the books and buildings that would burn. Lives would be lost. 

Bernard rose from his desk and turned to the prie-dieu, his eyes fixed on the crucifix above it.  He knelt on the padded step, folded his hands and lowered his head. He would ask God for His forgiveness and for His guidance. And mercy for Grecotha.

***

The bells had rung Terce by the time Bishop Bernard rose from his prayers. God had granted him a state of equanimity and renewed purpose.

His first act would be to replace Sir Airich's warrant. It would be ready for him when the knight returned from Rhemuth; Bernard sincerely hoped the return would be soon.

[Marc_du_Temple]

Thursday mid-morning
September 12, 1168
King's Arms tavern
Grecotha

With the sun a little higher in the sky, Bede was beginning to feel better, physically. Almost like himself again. A maid whose name he did not know had tossed him a clean rag some time ago, and he used it to wipe the sweat from his face. Some things were still wrong and needed to be addressed. His skull throbbed, and he knew it was as much from stress as it was from the drink, but the knowledge made the thinking no easier. In his current state, he thought in the simple way that had kept him alive for four years since the war. Beat him, Devil cares if he lives ... hold her, if she wishes it ... break the jester's toys ... wipe the shepherdess' tears...

His legs were numb and wobbly, but he found the strength to stand at last. The letter that had stabbed him through the heart still lay on the table, stained by drinks as much as salty water. He roughly folded it and placed it inside the breast of his jerkin, and began looking for Muirea. It was not long before he found her in the tavern's kitchen, washing dirty wooden bowls with vigor. "Muirea," he began.

"Ye're not supposed ta be back here," she whispered, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Yet here I must be," he replied. Now that he had found her, even he was at a loss for words. He could lie, or shift blame entirely onto things that were easier to discuss than the whole truth. It was as difficult as facing any foe, but he chose honesty over regression into old habits. "I have to know that ye know that ye bear no responsibility for any of my behavior today. Do ye know that?"

She said nothing, which was worse than anything. Exasperated, he offered the letter to her. When she accepted it, he continued speaking. "I am grieving. Was grieving. And little did I realize that a faire-ground foe had come to make misery of us all. I was so blind."

"Damn her callous heart," Muirea whispered, yet she did not sound surprised by what she read. She stepped away from her work to better face Bede. "Ye are wrong, to say that I bear na responsibility for yer behavior. Did I na tell ye where ye might find her at last? I had reason enough ta suspect she had moved on, but I had no heart ta tell ye, Bede."

He shook his head. "Ye have had enough ta worry about without my feelings taking the throne in yer head, no?" To his surprise, she suddenly clutched her head and grimaced. He grabbed her arms pleadingly, full of confusion.

"I dinna know what is in my head, ye understand? Or, no, it's ... it is ye, but did that Torenthi bastid do that?"

"I hope not," he whispered involuntarily. Louder, he explained, "He is someone from my recent past. When I was a travelling entertainer, I travelled with a troupe, of course. Jester Macbee was our hypnotist. He was good at his work, but he often took a pleasure in it that caused us trouble. I normally dinna judge troublemakers, but I take exception to him. I tell ye, neither of us are at fault for what we have done today." Bede did not go so far as to explain how no hypnotist he ever knew could convince someone to do something that was truly unthinkable to them. It was sufficient for her to know that Macbee was a master of persuasion.

Coming back under her own control, she dryly asked, "And this is who Edwin is now with? Some company ye two keep, eh?"

"My God, that is who Edwin is now with!"

[Bynw]

Thursday morning


James Welch, the 2nd son of a minor Gwynedd Baron, makes his way across the Grecotha University campus. He left the chapel after morning prayers and walks without hurry or worry. Greeting others as they past.

His robes identify him as a brother, a student of Grecotha's Seminary. A future priest of the Church. He makes is way towards the library for his studies.

He is unaware that his movements are being watched.

[Laurna]

Thursday morning
September 12, 1168
University Infirmary
Grecotha

Two pots bubbled merrily on the hearth. Both had started with the same herb mixture of plant seeds and aromatic leaves, seeped in water and vinegar. Both pots were stirred on occasion. But only one pot was stirred while whispering an incantation. More like a small song hummed as Amy moved the ladle in slow circles. It occurred to Amy that this image of her stirring a brew in a pot was much like the ancient child fairytales told to scare children. Never in her years of childhood had Amy thought she would one day be one of those witches. "Deryni," Elspeth had corrected her when she had made a joke about it. So she slowly stirred her pot while humming and concentrating on the spell Lady Gwendolyn had taught her. And Elspeth thoughtfully stirred the other pot in the same manner but without the power of the Deryni. In the first hours, there didn't seem to be a difference.

"Ite ut adducatis salutem et sanitatem." Amy sang softly, finishing her spell for the third time. (Go that you may bring health and healing)

When a few hours had passed, they noticed that Amy's brew was creamier and her seeds were softer, mushier even, and as she removed her wooden ladle the wood had turned an oily dark color. As Gwen had told her to do, she carefully lifted the ladle away from her medicine and dropped it into the hearth flames to sizzle and sputter and then burn like the rest of the kindling. Gwen had said the spell pulled out an impurity of an oil which adhered to the wood. That oil—now concentrated, though not poisonous—could lead to skin irritations at that concentration, and therefore it was best to just burn it away and be rid of it. The oil in the unensorcelled brew of Elspeth's would do no harm in the full mixture, but it did make the mixture a little less potent, which was why the Deryni had learned to pull the oil out.

They poured their respective mixtures over enameled drying platters. They were supposed to dry in the sunlight, but there was very little sun today. So they set the platters on a rack near the hearth stone. "I do hope this will be acceptable," Elspeth said. "I think this is supposed to dry slowly, yet quickly enough to not mildew, but certainly not quick enough to burn in a flame. We will have to ask Lady Gwen if we are doing it right. I fear, with this weather, we will not see the sun for days. And I would really like to have this medicine in my arsenal as injuries keep occurring in this town."

"With this many young men in one place without women to counter their capriciousness, I do not see how this city has not burned down before this." Amy said, showing her old habits of distrust for the opposite gender.

"You forget this is an ecclesiastical city. The young men here are supposed to be under a higher rule of discipline."

"Aye, but that has not stopped the violence, has it? In some circles, it seems to have heightened it. As a woman, I can not fathom how doing harm under any guise can be from the word of the Heavens. Why don't men think as women do?  Protect the home, the family, and all our neighbors too, but without causing harm to others. I just don't understand!"

"We women may never understand, but I think that is why we are here, to help balance out their capricious nature, as you say."

"Mistress Elspeth, I have found you."  Elspeth and Amy looked up to see nurse Lucie walking into the infirmary. She produced a letter and handed it across to the physicker.

Elspeth opened it, seeing the signature of Lady Gwendolyn at the bottom. She read the letter to herself and then summed it up for Amy. "It seems Gwen will take us to the Portal that we asked to see, but first she asks if we can use our letters-of-warrant to get her past Captain Phineas, so she can talk to that carpenter fellow, Master Adam."

"To face her tormentor? Is that a good idea?"

"We both think it will help my lady overcome her trauma," Lucie was quick to answer. "Will you please help her do this?"

Both inspectors agreed, gathered their cloaks, and followed Lucie toward the city barracks and the prison cells there.

[Nezz]

Continued from previous post

The rain was coming down hard now, and no one was on the streets to notice them as a fourth hooded woman joined their group. As Gwendolyn had suspected, two letters-of-warrant were enough to convince the guards to admit them unquestioningly into the barracks. They were escorted down to the lower level where the prisoners were held.

"Let me do the talking," Gwendolyn whispered to the Carbury women. "Please watch and listen in case I miss something important."

The man, presumably carpenter Adam, looked up from where he sat on a narrow bench, ankle chained to the wall. He grinned wolfishly when he realized his visitors were all women, but when the door closed behind them and Gwen dropped her hood, his grin dropped as well. His eyes grew wide with alarm.

"Hello, Adam," Gwen said, confirming the man's identity for Amy and Elspeth. "I'm delighted for the opportunity to speak with you again. Our last conversation was cut short so suddenly."

"Grymalkin," Adam sneered. Amy detected the false bravado of his words. "You seem to be flourishing since the treatment that Baz and Englebert gave you."

"Oh, I am at that," Gwendolyn said, "and I'd like to talk to you about that treatment."

"That was their doing," Adam insisted. "I told them to be gentle-like, but they didn't listen to me."

"Oh, I'm sure you did," Gwendolyn purred, "but they're dead now and you're still alive. Which is unfortunate for you." The woman gestured, and a tongue of flame jumped from the lantern to Gwendolyn's palm, where it danced and flickered wildly. "I have need of answers." She wound her fingers around the flame and stretched it out, playing with it like a piece of yarn. It seemed to respond to her touch lovingly.

Amy blinked at the flame, then blinked again. She was almost positive the flame was an illusion and not real fire. Adam obviously did not realize this. The panic on his face would have been terrible if he hadn't brought this upon himself. As if he suddenly realized the nature and true power of the woman he had dared kidnap.

"Who decided that I should be the one that your cell abducted?" Gwen asked.

"Frank and 'bert, they were in charge," Adam said. "They made the decisions, and they wanted to use my place, so I'd get blamed if we got caught. I told 'em it was a bad idea, but they ignored me."

He's lying, Amy told Gwendolyn, unsure if the other woman had noticed.

"I don't believe you," Gwendolyn said, and flicked little droplets of flame onto Adam's jerkin. He frantically slapped at them. Upon seeing his frenzied movements, Gwendolyn splashed the tiny droplets onto his face. Adam cried out and slapped his own face repeatedly, trying to douse the non-existent sparks before they burned him.

"Come now, my Lady, is this truly necessary?" Elspeth asked.

Amy put her hand on her closest friend's arm, and whispered into her mind. It's illusion, Speth. Almost like hypnosis. That flame is not real and will not harm.

Gwendolyn chuckled. "I suppose it's not. But it is therapeutic." She shook her hands and the flames disappeared. "And it's nice to see the man responsible for my abduction and attempted blinding jump at my bidding. You are the leader of your cell, right?" She smiled mysteriously at Adam, her eyes bright in the dim light of the basement.

"Yes," Adam responded promptly.

"And you are of Eddard de Nore's faction, correct?"

"Yes, my Lady."

"And you know of this fire that is to take place soon."

"Yes, my Lady."

"When is it to occur?"

"I don't know that, my Lady, but it is soon," Adam confirmed. "I thought to make a little extra coin before I left town, and that's why we nabbed you. None of us looked to kill you, even though you are known to be Deryni, we just thought we could earn a bit of a ransom before the city was destroyed."

Amy realized that Adam's sudden glibness must be due to the same type of magic Airich said he'd used on de Nore.

"Thank you for that, Adam, it's good to know that you didn't set out to kill me specifically," Gwendolyn said sardonically. "How are we to stop this fire?"

"They say no one can stop it, my Lady," Adam said. "Brother James assured us all that Grecotha will burn, no matter who tries to stop it."

"And who is Brother James?" Lady Gwendolyn pressed.

"I... he... he's my go-between with Eddard. I only saw him once or twice: he was always the one to contact me. Usually with a note."

"When did you last make that contact, Master Adam." Amy said, stepping forward, she did not use the magic that she knew Gwendolyn was using, so she doubted this man would answer her. But he looked at her straight on.

"The day that Eddard died, the note declared nothing will stop the cleansing. That is when I knew I needed funds to start a new business in Carbury."

"Carbury will not like your kind." Amy said with surety. "A note, you say, found in the wall behind a brick?"  She ventured to guess, thinking of the note she and Edwin had found.

"I would not call the stone at the bath house a brick." Adam said.  Then realized what he said and turned his eyes away from Amy.

But Gwendolyn caught the significance and used her persuasion to lock his eyes on to hers. "Which stone in the bath house? Is that how you pass your information along?"

"The tall stone on the right side of the bench facing the mermaid pouring water into the pool. It has a cubbyhole where we can leave notes to one another. That is how I am kept informed by Brother James."

Amy nodded to Gwendolyn: that was what she needed. This would be the second location where Willimites had left notes for the members of their cells. Both those locations should be closely monitored to see who else might look for messages in them. Of course, it would be up to one of the men to watch the bath house. If they had the time. And the desire to get cleaned up. Amy giggled to herself from her memory of what she had seen in the bath house previously.

[Jerusha]

Thursday morning
Grecotha

"You can pick this up tomorrow afternoon. I'll clean it up and replace the cover. It will be suitable to return to Lady Gwendolyn." 

"Thank you," Jimmy responded. "I'll be back tomorrow."

Jimmy Taylor of the Purple Guard turned away and made his way through the market. After his conversation with the bishop, he had stopped briefly in the barracks to retrieve the muddied book he had found and began a search for who had purchased it. He had been surprised that a bookseller remembered it, but since it had been purchased by Lady Gwendolyn, a frequent visitor in search of interesting tomes, he had been in luck.

The time spent visiting the booksellers—and there were many serving the university students and faculty—had given Jimmy the chance to consider how he should approach Philip. Judging from Philip's demeanor as he left the bishop's palace, Jimmy felt certain the bishop had told him something of Sir Airich's report.  How much remained to be determined.

Speak of the devil. 

Philip stood in the center of the market, surveying the scurrying populace. A brief break in the heavy rainfall had encouraged the return of people to the streets to accomplish anything they needed to do before the rains started again. The break would not last long; the sky was already beginning to spit at them.

"Philip! Well met!" Jimmy called as he approached Philip. Philip did not look pleased.

"Not now, Jimmy; I'm busy," Philip said as Jimmy reached him.

"You look like you are looking for someone," Jimmy said cheerfully. "Can I assist you?"

"I doubt it. I'm looking for a liar."

"Well, we often do that, don't we? Anyone in particular?"

"That poor excuse for a knight, Sir Airich O'Flynn."

"Why, so am I!" Jimmy said as the spitting sky turned back into pouring rain. "Let's find some cover and we can compare notes." Philip gave him a withering look, but followed.

Owners were shuttering their stalls as Jimmy led Philip to the roofed entry of a tavern. The entry was empty, and others scurrying for cover avoided sheltering with two Purple Guardsmen.

Philip turned to face Jimmy. "Why are you looking for Sir Airich?" he asked, the tone of his voice demanding an answer.

"I need to ask him a few questions on behalf of Bishop Bernard."

"What about?" Philip's voice sharpened as he grew suspicious. "And why you?"

"You may or may not know that the investigators think they have discovered who the remaining Willimite cell leaders are. Sir Airich reported their findings to the bishop first thing this morning.  The bishop has grave doubts about one of those accused..."

"I should think so!" Philip interrupted.

"Ah, so you are aware," Jimmy gave Philip a level look. "Sir Airich lost his warrant over that."

"My loyal service to this university and Bishop Bernard is above question. To be accused by that young upstart is unforgivable." Philip spat on the ground, missing Jimmy's boot by a narrow margin.

"Oh, don't be too hard on him." Jimmy turned his gaze from his boot back to Philip and said calmly, "I'm the one who accused you of murder."

"YOU WHAT?"

Philip reached for the hilt of his sword, but there wasn't enough room in the entryway for him to draw it. Jimmy intended to keep it that way.

He looked directly into Philip's eyes. "I'm the one who discovered the bloody rag you stuffed into de Nore's mouth when Callum and I retrieved his body. That was not an accident."

"De Nore was murdered, aye, by evil Deryni magic!" Philip returned hotly. "Magic performed by that not-so-upstanding Deryni knight!"

"I don't believe the knight is the one who stuffed the rag in so tightly that de Nore could not breathe." Jimmy's gaze did not waver.

"The man was suffering; I gave him the coup de grace out of mercy. No one should suffer at the hands of a Deryni!" 

Jimmy had been careful to do nothing more than truth-read the man before him. He did not want  to raise any suspicion that he could do more. It was clear Philip truly believed his actions were that of mercy. Mercy to end de Nore's suffering. From his point of view, Philip was telling the absolute truth.

"The bishop will be very much relieved when I report that to him."

"I think we are finished here," Philip said curtly.

"I'm glad we have cleared that up, and I can move on to the other suspects." Jimmy moved as if to allow Philip to leave. "Bishop Bernard is steadfast in his belief in your loyalty.  Can I also add that you are not a Willimite leader, or even a supporter?"

"Of course I'm not! Now out of my way!" Philip shoved the shorter guardsman to the side.

Finally, a lie.

Philip stopped just before leaving the entryway. "Why did the bishop task you with this?"

"You would have to ask him that," Jimmy responded. "I just do what I'm told."

Philip gave him a long look, but finally moved on.

Hopefully I've set the cat among the pigeons. Jimmy drew his cloak closer around himself in preparation for moving back out into the rain when the call from Lord Washburn came.

With a sigh, Sir Iain Cameron slipped back into the entryway and responded in kind.