Forgotten Shadows

[Bynw]

Lord Washburn is not the only Deryni to send a mental call to Sir Iain Cameron. As usual the calls are short, so they are not distracting in most cases, and full of information.

"We are tracking several leads on Custode Priests in the city."

[Laurna]

Late morning:

The four women left the barracks together, noting the break in the rain. Amy prompted Gwendolyn to lead them to the portal. They walked through the slogged streets, avoiding the people rushing to get errands done before the rain began again. The Dean's niece led them to the Old Saint Willibrord church, which was attached to one of the lecture halls of the university.

"The Order of Saint Willibrord is a four hundred-year-old order," Gwendolyn told them "This is their mother house; their daughter houses are in Andelon, the Forcinn, R'Kassi, and the Anvil of the Lord. They are not a large order like they had once been during the time when the Word of the Lord was spreading south of the Southern Sea, but they still maintain this church and the offices of learning in the Foreign Languages departments." Lady Gwen bowed as two monks passed them in the nave. When they had passed, she put her hand on Amy's arm and led her into a side chapel, which held in its center a grand statue of The Lady holding her Babe.

"Wait here," Gwen instructed Elspeth, then pulled Amy to a small alcove at the statue's back. She indicated for Amy to kneel at the prie-dieu and then lower her hand down to the granite stone floor by her side. Amy made a small prayer and then reached down to the floor with her right hand. She knew the tingle in her fingers the moment she touched the cool, worn stone. So many feet had been here that the stone was cupped to the middle and covered in scratch marks that could not be polished away.

Knowing she was now hidden by the statue from the view of the nave, she placed both her hands over the scratches and learned firsthand what the signature for this ancient and very powerful Portal felt like. As Airich had taught her, she placed that signature in the memory center of her mind. She knew she would be able to recall it if the need for it came.

"Have you ever portal jumped?" Lady Gwen asked with a sudden mischievous grin.

"No, my lady. Airich did not know any place close to portal to, in order to show me."

"Well then, would you like me to show you?"

Amy looked around the statue at Elspeth, who was standing by the chapel entrance, looking at her with worried eyes. "I am not sure that is a good idea." Amy finally said, though her heart beat had started to race at the thought of making such a jump.

Lady Gwendolyn looked at Amy for a moment, and then smiled slowly. "Come," she said. "This will take no time at all."

Biting her lip, Amy tentatively put her hand into Gwendolyn's. The other woman pulled Amy in close and put her arms around her. "Close your eyes, and breathe," she whispered, followed by Your shields are open enough for this, no need to drop them completely. Amy took in a steadying breath, concentrating on her shields, for she still had that to master. She felt like a blanket covered her mind. And in that moment, her stomach churned as if she had been spun around. And then the blanket was removed, and she could let out her breath.

When she opened her eyes, Amy expected the world to be spinning, but the wood crate before her was unmoving, and she placed her hand upon it to steady her stomach. Then she realized Gwen was using her handfire to brighten the room, and Amy gasped. They were standing in the room that she and Airich had found a day ago, and she was leaning on the same crate she had leaned on before.

"This portal is trickier, because of these obstacles." Gwen said, pointing to the crates half-covering the portal stone. "Knowing where to place your feet is important when coming here. And it looks like someone has been here because this crate has been moved a few inches over from where it was. It is good we did not bring Mistress Elspeth too. There would not have been space for her."

"OH!" Amy exclaimed. "Airich and I moved these when we discovered this portal. We thought we had put them back where they had been."

"You were off by several inches."

Concern flooded Amy's face. "What would have happened if our feet had not landed in the open corner of the portal."

"Nothing would have happened, really. When I say nothing, I mean I would not have been able to portal out of the Lady's Chapel. It would have been like an instant bounce back. Though I can tell you that the spinning you felt would have been triple-fold. A bounce back is not a comfortable feeling." Amy grimaced at the thought of it while she still held on to the crate before her.

"I actually brought you here to help me clear all this. When I asked Uncle Nathaniel about giving you the other portal signature, he told me of your scholar's plans to move documents out of Grecotha through this portal. If men are going to be jumping through to here, we need to clear the portal stone completely, so that they do not experience that kind of bounce back."

Amy instantly nodded in agreement. The smaller crates were easy to shift aside. The large one took both women to shove and push across the floor. "There is something to be said for men," Amy said with a laugh. "They have the strength of oxen. Airich had made moving this look so easy."

"Sir Airich is a knight." Gwen mussed. "Strength training is what they do." Gwen teasingly puffed up her arm muscles to imitate a strong man. "Sure, men can use their muscles, the question is can they use what is up here?" She pointed to her head. "In a city full of scholars, it is amazing how many don't flex their brains."

Amy giggled, but then thoughtfully replied. "I think the three men in my company can and do."

"I am glad to hear that; time we got back to them." Lady Gwendolyn once more stood in the center of the now cleared portal stone. When Amy stepped in and trustingly leaned toward her, Gwen grasp her shoulders. "I normally wouldn't do this again quite so soon, but..." Amy closed her eyes, letting the blanket cover her more tenderly this time. Her stomach had barely settled from the first jump, but she thought it was less upset with this second try.

When she opened her eyes, they were back in the Saint Willibrord church. Elspeth stood next to them, a curious mixture of worry and delight in her eyes.

"Thank you," Amy said to Lady Gwendolyn, giving her a hug. "I am in your debt. We will find a way to stop this catastrophe from happening."

[Laurna]

Thursday late-morning
September 12, 1168
Arx Fidei Seminary

"My Lord Washburn, an injured nobleman arrived by portal. He is requesting the assistance of a Healer. When he heard you were here, he asked for you. He is in the infirmary."

"Take me to him," Wash waved the deacon to lead on. "Do you know who he is?"

"He has a Torenthi accent. He says his name is Lord Seger Nevran."

Wash stopped his pace for a moment and made a soft gasp, "King Liam's royal councilor? Here?" With concern, he waved the deacon forward, "Quickly now." The two jogged down the corridor to one of the Healing rooms in the infirmary wing of Arx Fidei Seminary.

Wash took a relieved breath when he saw the older man sitting up in the bed with a grimace on his face and his left arm tucked up tight against his chest. Wash was glad to see his new patient did not appear to be in immediate mortal danger from his injury. "Lord Seger, what has happened?"

The Torenthi lord, one of King Liam's Southern Beldour Counts, smiled sideways at Healer Baron Morgan. "Your people did this to me and to my guardsman, Kulter." He looked over his shoulder to the Torenthi guardsman, whose face was black and blue but was still standing in protection of his count. Washburn waved for the man to sit down in the next bed, but he did not do so until Lord Seger nodded that he could. "King Liam sent me to confer with Archbishop Hugh de Berry about an issue of unrest that seems to be spilling out of Gwynedd and into Torenth. If I did not find the answer I sought in Valoret, I was told then to go to King Kelson. I will not tell you how I got to Valoret."

Wash raised his eyebrows at that. "Portal, I presume."

"I should have used the All Saints Cathedral portal, but I thought I was being more discreet to use a lesser-known portal and then walk to All Saints to see the Archbishop Primate. But we ran into a volatile crowd before the Cathedral; they were protesting in the square. Not sure what that was about, but I fear it is the same trouble I came here to speak about. As it is, Kulter got in a tussle to make them let us pass, and then a club, likely aimed for my head, took me in the shoulder instead. Kulter and I escaped the mob into the cathedral, where the Archbishop ordered his man to bring us here.  I think he knew there was a Healer here.  I am glad it is you."

Wash gnashed his teeth, "So the trouble is spreading to Valoret? This is not good." Wash turned his attention to the injured arm and shoulder. He ran his hand over the tunic sleeve. "If you will permit me a shallow rapport, I can ease your pain and see what I can do to heal this. I fear you have broken several bones."

"Please do." Seger grimaced and took a deep breath, then lowered only the outermost part of his shields, just enough for the healer to do what he needed to do.

Washburn understood. Lord Seger Nevran was a senior member of Liam's royal court. There was much about the man that Wash was not aware of, and his presence in Gwynedd meant matters had become troubled in Torenth, where most of the population accepted Deryni as their ruling class. Wash recalled when Kelson had introduced the two of them in a private aside at his wedding feast a year ago. Wash admitted he had found no time to make discussion then, as many other happy things filled him up that day. Not being that well acquainted, Wash fully understood why the Deryni Count from Torenth kept most of his shields firmly in place. 

Seger gave a great sigh of relief when Morgan abated his pain.

"Now let's get this shoulder bare and see what the damage is." With help from the infirmarian of Arx Fidei, they removed the councilor's tunic, shirt, and undershirt to show the misshapen left upper arm and massive swelling of a heavily abused shoulder. Wash grimaced and placed his hands over the injury while the infirmarian, also a young healer, let out a small curse and set his hands over Washburn's to help balance the delicate energies. Concentrating, Wash sought the healing he had mastered in the four years since he'd discovered his gift.

Time passed, but not as long as one would think it would take. Seger talked through it all to keep his mind off of what was happening. He talked about the Torenthi Court, of King Liam's and Queen Eirian's grandchildren, who were also distant cousins of Gwynedd's King. Wash heard the words only on his most superficial level, to review at a later time, for he focused nearly all his attention on straightening bones and repairing torn tendons. 

At the last, Wash sent a healing swath of energy through the full shoulder to reduce the swelling and the bruising. When he came back to the attentiveness of the conversation, Seger was laughing about Prince Nigel Lajos's quest to pick roses for Grandmaman Eirian's birthday breakfast. "He will not forget too soon that the queen's favorite roses also have the longest thorns."

"How old is the prince now?"

"He is five, and growing strong. Like his father and his grandfather, King Liam."

"I am glad to hear of it."

Wash turned to the guardsman in the next bed and did what he could for the man's jaw and cheek. After several successful minutes, he said. "Both of you will still be a little sore for a time. So do not overtax the areas I have healed."

"We understand and we thank you." The Torenthi Lord looked at Wash more closely, "What can you tell me about these Willimites?"

"Very little that is not already common knowledge, I am afraid. I know that the King has men at every location where trouble is brewing. But I am not at liberty to say what the king is considering."

"But you are here, a Healer, close to the trouble. That can not be a coincidence. Is the King expecting more injuries like mine?"

"I am here to assist if situations get out of hand for the others in this region. And I am not the only Healer in this infirmary." Wash nodded to the infirmarian who was now across the room and assisting others.

"I am thankful that you are here," Lord Seger said, but in mind speech he sent, Is there not more you can tell me of Kelson's plans?

I can not. Brother Peter can see you to the St George's Cathedral portal, and from there you can inquire from the King directly.

Thank you, I accept.

Wash waved over Brother Peter, the same man who had portaled the Torenthi Lord from Valoret, to take him to Rhemuth. As he did so, Lord Iain and Father Trevor entered the infirmary. Wash noted that Iain and Seger gave each other curious looks and then an estranged greeting.

Iain was quick to pull Washburn out of the infirmary before asking, "What is the Torenthi Lord doing here?"

"He was injured in Valoret on a fact-seeking assignment from the Torenthi court."

"Did you tell him anything?"

"I healed him, I did not tell him anything."

"I am glad that was all," Iain seemed relieved. "In case Kelson or Seisyl has not made you aware, Lord Seger is one of the newest members sitting on the Camberian Council. He was chosen to take Denis Arilan's chair. He is a very astute man who does not miss a detail. So I advise you to watch yourself around him."

Wash reconsidered their conversation. He certainly did not want to stir up trouble for himself with the Camberian Council. Being a Morgan was trouble enough in the eyes of some of those members. Thankfully, they were not as biased as they had been in his father's time. "Do they Know...?"  Wash asked Iain while pointing to his own head.

"That is a good question that I can not answer. If they do not, let us not be the ones to break the code of silence." Iain was deadly serious, and Wash was glad he and the Torenthi Lord had kept their rapport to a shallow level.

****
When they had left the infirmary and walked out into the coolness of a cloudy day, Father Trevor pointed north. The curtain walls around them kept them from seeing the rising plateau of land that started at the spires of Valoret city and steadily rose to meet the base of the Rhendall Mountains, a three days ride away. They might not see the land from where they stood, but they could see how the sky had turned to a stormy mixture of greys and blacks in that direction.

"I have spoken with my brother," Trevor told both men. "The situation in Grecotha is desperate."

"I can concur with that," Iain said, striding across the Seminary square toward their cathedral. "There is a very real threat of fire. I have it from a friend of both of ours, who expects me to correct the issue."

"Friend?" Washburn looked at his cousin-by-marriage confused, until Iain made a sign of death in the air that Wash knew well enough. "I see... can you solve it?"

"Hah!" Iain said with little confidence.

Trevor once again swept his hand toward the northern sky. "My brother, Airich, has been doing weather working. He has it raining in Grecotha. We are too far south to feel the impact of that working but if we climbed a tower we would see where the storm is centered." All of them looked Northward, Grecotha was more than a hundred miles away but the lighter clouds seemed to disseminate in all directions from there.

"Hold a momment!" Iain turned sharply to face Father Trevor. "Are we still talking about your youngest brother? He's bringing down the rain in Grecotha? I knew it was someone, but I thought it was one of the professors. Wash told me yesterday that same youth couldn't even use a transfer portal!"

"Lord Iain," Trevor tried to correct the misconception about his brother.  "It is not that he is incapable of portaling or doing magic; it is just that he had turned against his Deryni powers for nearly four years. It seems this uprising is at the very least correcting that flaw of his character."

Iain nodded, starting to gain some understanding. "Unfortunately, dampening the roofs and streets will help only some, as they intend to use Byzantyum fire." Iain said with a curse under his voice. "Rain will help, but not with the initial burst of flame. We have to make other contingencies. Wash, I am taking Trevor and Jamyl to the university to make as many jumps out with critical documents as they can. Charity is going to assist from Caerrorie. We will need you to coordinate getting the documents into Archbishop Duncan's hands in Rhemuth."

"Very well, I can do that," Wash responded. "Trevor, is Caerrorie a safe interim location for the transfers?"

"It will be for the short duration that we are using the portals. I am sending a letter with Charity to my assistant to assign extra guards on the hidden portal at the shrine."

Giving one last look at the northern sky and feeling the despiration that was the underlying cause of such weather working, they entered the cathedral and paced toward the Sacristy. Upon entering the vesting room, Trevor nodded to the young Deryni priest guarding the portal. "Baron Washburn Morgan will stand here at the ready for the afternoon, and he will need your services. It will involve going to Rhemuth and meeting with the archbishop there."

"I will do as he directs me," the young priest said, unsurprised to be involved in the action.

Before standing on the portal stone, Earl Iain pulled Wash aside. "Inform Kelson that we need reagents to counter Byzantyum fire. Vinegar in mass quantity, I think. If you can get it quickly to Caerrorie, we can get it into Grecotha before it is too late. If you or the king can find any other solution, we would all be grateful. I know we can also use sand; we'll get that from Grecotha's quarry."

"I will contact Duncan and Keslon as soon as you are gone. I think it would be best if you share the Portal Signature for Grecotha with me now."

"And tempt you to jump there to assist us? I think not."

"Iain, you know me better than that. I have made my vow to the king, I will not break it."

"Is Fiona here? I only trust that she would keep you out of harm's way."

Wash laughed. "True, she would, but the king is holding her hostage in the Queen's tower."

"NO!"

"Oh aye!  With all the doting upon her that the queen's ladies are giving to a pregnant Morgan."

Iain laughed. "That much attention is surely driving Fiona mad."

"Indeed," Wash agreed. 

Iain placed himself to the back of the portal stone and gestured for Trevor and Jamyl to join him. But even as they were finding their positions, Iain stretched out his hand to Wash and touched his face. In a flash of insight, Washburn learned the portal signature of where the men were going. Wash was grateful and stored the information in a permanent place to be regained, if need called for him to use it.

"Not for you to use," Iain insisted, "but to give to another if need be."

"I understand, and I thank you," Washburn said.

The two Deryni men leaned into Lord Iain's embrace, his hands touched them both and all three calmed in expression; in a blink they were gone.

Lady Charity stepped on the portal stone. "I will see you again in a short while." she said.

"I will be ready," he told her, and then she too was gone.

Wash called over for the Deryni priest to attend him. "Father Thomas, let us call Archbishop Duncan together and tell him of our plans."

[Bynw]

Sometime Thursday Morning


Three men meet in the quietness of an alcove in the great library of Grecotha's university. Using a spell that causes others to ignore their presence so they can speak openly without anyone ease dropping on their conversation or taking notice of them.

"The Byzantyum fire in the baker's guild has been rendered inert. It would have destroyed the entire guild house along with several others had it been ignited," the first man says. "Even this summoned rain wont stop it. Unfortunately that is the only cache of the liquid fire that we have yet discovered."

The second man speaks up, "I am watching the Portal at the Bishop's palace. A little spell or two that is undetectable as a trap since it's not on the actual Portal square. I should be alerted if anyone enters the area or uses the Portal itself.  But I wonder what we should do about Lord Iain's presence in the city. Can he be trusted?"

"Brother James is our primary link to the Custodes that are operating in Grecotha. They are the one's that are overseeing de Nore's plan to burn this city," the last of the trio begins.

"But we cannot just take him as we did his brother. The Custodes could panic and possibly set off their hidden caches of Byzantyum fire before we are ready. And Grecotha would be lost."

"No, we must continue to watch Brother James. Find the right moment to seize him and learn what he knows. But we must let him go without remembering what happened to him. Timing is most important here. Then we move on the Custodes."

"As for Lord Iain. Yes his is trustworthy. He must be brought into the fold and know what is happening."

Feyd pauses a moment before continuing. "Perhaps we can even gain some allies among the Bishop's investigators. Several of them are Deryni after all."

The trio continue their conversation for a while before leaving one by one. Feyd is the last who quietly releases the spell before he too blends into the background of the University.

[Nezz]

((I must attribute about 40% of this scene to our lovely gamemaster, Bynw. I couldn't have done it without him.))

Thursday noon-ish
September 12, 1168
Drunken Parchment Tavern
Grecotha

Airich couldn't quite say what prompted him to actually set foot into the Drunken Parchment. After riding through most of the city, he'd stopped in at the safehouse to don his armor and properly secure his weapon. When he got back outside, he discovered he'd just missed a break in the rain. He looked up to the clouds.

Let's not get rid of all that rain just yet, hey? Maybe save a little for the fire itself, whenever it comes.

Aran was not pleased by the prospect of going back out, but Airich asked no more of his horse than he asked of himself. And the beast was going to get fat and lazy if Airich didn't exercise him a little more. Maybe after he returned from Rhemuth and the immediate problem of the fire resolved, he might take Amy out for a ride, find a lovely glade where the leaves were turning orange and beginning to fall, perhaps watch the sun set...

No, he reminded himself. Put that from your mind, Amy's staying with Elspeth. Nothing you say can change that. Airich had cast out a short while ago, gotten an impression from Amy that she was happily working with Elspeth still, and they hardly needed his help.

And perhaps that was the problem. No one needed his help now. He was back to being the useless younger son who was incapable of doing anything right. He'd been unable to convince anyone this fire was going to happen; he'd been unable to discover when the fire was to occur; he'd been unable to convince the Bishop of the identity of the Willimite cell leaders. Hell, he hadn't even accomplished his ultimate goal behind coming to Grecotha, which was to rid himself of his malady once and for all.

Any fatherly advice for your poor, wretched boy, Da? Wise words of comfort? Tell me I'm an idiot and that life is better than how it feels at the moment?

Nothing. Apparently, Da had better things to do than console his foolish son.

And that was when he happened to ride by the Drunken Parchment, Pietre de Guerra's tavern of choice. Airich considered the time. It had to be close to noon, and unless he missed his guess, de Guerra would retire here to escape the weather during the dinner hour.

The man was a magistrate's son. People spoke of a certain amount of entitlement the man brought with him, but for heaven's sake, he had to have acquired a certain amount of reason as well. He had to know that all-out war against the Deryni could only end in death and destruction on both sides. Could he possibly be swayed away from the Willimites foolish crusade? Or, if not, he at least hoped to make a name for himself here in Grecotha, he would have every reason to want to protect it from Eddard de Nore's fire.

Wouldn't he?

Only one way to find out.

"...and so I said 'you might not have a hole in your head, but that won't save you' and I ran him through!" De Guerra's croney's laughed at his gruesome anecdote, all competing for his attention and approval. Airich sauntered to the table and stood. De Guerra swivelled, noting the stranger standing at his table. He opened his mouth to chastise the man, but recognition entered his eyes, and he smiled.

Airich gave him a small half-bow. "Sword master," he greeted the other man while mentally nudging the student sitting opposite de Guerra. "Do you mind if I sit?" he asked as the student vacated his seat, and, without waiting for an invitation, sat in the empty chair.

De Guerra looked over the knight before speaking, noting the man's sword bound to its scabbard, unlike his own blade, which was free of restraints. "Come to interview me, eh Deryni?" He saluted Airich with his glass of wine, grinning. "Oh, that's right, you are no longer one of the Bishop's investigators. But I have nothing to hide. Care for a drink?"

Pietre reached for a cup and decanter of wine and poured it for Airich.

"Thank you, no," Airich said, putting up his hand. "I saw what happened to the serving girl the other night after she'd sampled at your table. I'll pass, if it's all the same to you. But yes, I would like to ask you a couple of questions. No interrogation. Nothing difficult. A simple conversation between men of learning and wit."

De Guerra gestured toward the wine, "I'm not trying to poison you. Just offering a drink to take away the chill of the rain." He pushed the cup that he poured for Airich on to one of his fellows, who accepted this boon gratefully. "Well, Sir Knight, did you come to talk about the weather, sword fighting styles, or law? I am well versed in many subjects. When I succeed my beloved father as magistrate, it is good to know these things."

De Guerra's relaxed pose, to the naked eye, was one of ease. But Airich had no doubt the man could easily draw his sword or dagger—both unbound in their scabbards—in a moment and be ready to defend himself, or attack. Airich noted this caution with satisfaction. While he had little doubt that de Guerra could take him in a duel, de Guerra had no idea of Airich's own abilities, physical or arcane.

"Nay, sir, my questions are more of a personal nature," Airich said. He gestured, open-palmed, from himself to the magistrate's son, a gesture of civility and non-aggression between the two. "What I would like to know—and I have no doubt that you have told this story to your friends many times—is what happened during the war to convince you that the Deryni race needs to be destroyed, cast out, or subjugated into utter submission?"

"You are mistaken, Sir Knight," de Guerra said. "I don't believe that the Deryni need to be destroyed. I know of those that do think that, but I personally don't." His face hardened, and a faraway look came to his eye. "I saw with my own eyes just how manipulative your kind is during the war. I had heard of tales beforehand, but the war showed it to me. It's your Power, you see, it's evil and it's corrupting. I don't think you can help yourself; you must take control and manipulate those around you."

He paused to gauge Airich's reaction.

The knight simply raised one eyebrow. "Manipulative? You're saying Humans are not? That this is some kind of personality trait unique to the Deryni race? Surely there's more to your story than this, I would love to hear the specifics of what convinced you of the Derynis' perfidy."

De Guerra laughed. "Not at all. We humans can manipulate others with threats or rewards. But Deryni... they can manipulate the mind and corrupt the soul. As you did to Eddard."

"Eddard's soul is his own and always was," Airich said firmly. "His corruption did not come from me. No matter what people say, no Deryni can touch another man's soul."

De Guerra looked skeptical. "I've heard what happened to poor, dead Eddard. Your sorcery can take away a man's God-given free will and turn him into a puppet. That kind of manipulation, Sir Knight–" De Guerra paused, and looked like he needed to control his anger. Or disgust. He started again. "I am sure Eddard was not the first you have used your Power on, and he won't be the last either. Like I said, you can't help yourself. The allure is too great. You must control those around you. It is in your nature—"

"Like you had to control the barmaid from the other night?" Airich asked, "Using her as a reward in your game?" 

De Guerra paid him no mind, possibly presuming women didn't count. "I saw it during the war. How the Deryni, always leaders of men, took matters in their own hands to get information from the enemy or to turn the tide of a battle. Your Powers are what corrupts you.

"But I don't say you should be killed for it. None of my boys think that, right lads?" A chorus of voices around the table agreed with him. "But I do think you should be kept away from good folks who must use more conventional means to sway others to our causes and beliefs. Many men would rather die than betray a friend or Lord. You can make them do it. You can make them forget doing it. You can make them into a puppet for further use later. Even if it's years."

"Do you see my point?"

"I do." Airich felt unexpectedly queasy at de Guarre's declaration of puppetry and forgetting. Yes, such a thing was theoretically possible, but he'd never heard of such a geas lasting years. He shook off the feeling: this discussion was too important to allow himself to get emotional.

Glancing around at the other men at the table, Airich saw other faces, watching intently: some hostile, some curious, some merely bemused. He had one chance to convince these men that Deryni were no more to be feared than other men. "It's an excellent point. But to answer your direct charge towards me: before Eddard, the only person I had ever forced the truth from was the instructor who required me to prove that I had learned the spell to his satisfaction." There seemed no point in attempting to deny his heritage at this point. "As for Eddard himself, he had already confessed to murder and treason, through no coercion of mine—in fact, he seemed quite proud of his plans and deeds—and so, by the justice of Bishop Bernard and King Kelson, his life was already forfeit. Pulling the truth from him seemed a far kinder method of interrogation than taking hot irons to him. Perhaps sometime you and I can discuss the relative merits of pulling the truth out of a prisoner versus pulling some kind of answer out of a prisoner while leaving his body a broken, bloody mess."

"But forcing a confession out of someone, even as vile as Eddard de Nore, is still on the verge of wrong reasons," de Guerra contended, pouring himself another glass. "It would be better to use cruder methods. Because his dignity would still be intact. He could still not betray himself. Deryni Powers takes away free will. An aberrant and, in the opinion of many, an evil act. But that is a debate for those who serve in the seats of judgement, or for priests and philosophers."

"I say there is little dignity for a man broken in body and spirit after hours or days of torture," Airich countered, pressing his fingers against the table for emphasis. "I chose what I considered the lesser of two evils to obtain information from a wicked man. And someday, those judges and priests and philosophers you speak of may judge me harshly, but until then, the only man I answer to is my King, and he will not fault me for my decision."

"Praise from a Deryni King, what a fine thing." De Guerra's lip curled into a smirk, then quickly changed into a charming smile. "Long life to King Kelson, our finest Deryni King," he said, raising his glass. His cronies and students followed suit, with mutterings of "To the King" and "To good King Kelson" echoing. 

"As far as the allure of control," Airich said, ignoring this bit of borderline treason. "I have no desire to control anyone. If the Willimites hadn't murdered Alfie Meadows and tried to kill Robert Thorne, I would still be minding my own business, controlling no one but myself and my horse."

"Maybe it's your Human half that makes you less compelled to use that Deryni Power for the wrong reasons," de Guerra said, smiling as Airich flinched at the realization that this man knew more about him than he'd realized. "That's right, I've done some investigations of my own, Sir Airich. Perhaps your Human father did us all a favor by diluting the blood of your dam, making it a little less objectionable."

At this insult to his mother, Airich had to force himself to not react. He knew de Guerra was reading his expression and body language; he didn't bother to hide his self-satisfied smile.

"You see, Sir Knight? I don't want to see all Deryni dead. I just don't want them around Humans. Let Deryni use their Powers on other Deryni."

"I confess, it's good to know that you don't want to see me dead. Gossip around town had it that you approved of the Willimites and their extreme methods. I'm glad I came to see for myself." He was such a good liar, Airich thought, that he almost believed the man himself.

"I don't care for rumors," De Guerra said. "Most of them are usually only in the imagination of those that start them. Rarely based on truth."

"I don't disagree with you, but as investigators, we had to start somewhere," Airich said. "Tell me, though, since you have such excellent sources within the Purple Guard: can I then assume that you know what information I gathered from Eddard? It affects you as much as anyone who lives in or loves this city."

"My information does not come from the Purple Guard, Sir Knight." De Guerra sounded almost offended by this. "I am a Magistrate's son and heir to his seat. One learns that craft by being involved in it, just as a knight learns his trade by battles. I learn mine by being my father's right hand. As for the information you got from him? Setting fire to all of Grecotha. Preposterous, in all of this city's history we have never had such a devastating fire. And unlikely to have one now.

"Eddard de Nore was a known burner of Deryni in the south before he came to Grecotha. He boasted of it openly. I'm sure he dreamt of such things. Probably convinced himself it was true. Grecotha is safe from that lunatic."

"Safe from Eddard de Nore, yes," Airich agreed. "But what about his followers? How many did he really have? He might have had only a score or so. But he might have had more. I have been informed Eddard had a way of convincing people to listen to his ideas. He had a great number of contacts in Nyford. And the resources of a very old and—often—respected family. I don't think anyone should underestimate his desires.

"Sword master, I'm not saying that you should believe everything that Eddard said. I'm not asking you to believe what I say. But I am asking that you consider the idea that perhaps Eddard de Nore was more than just a fanatic Deryni-hater, and that others caught his vision. Just... try to be prepared for an awful eventuality. Warn your students, they listen to you. I don't believe you would not be affected if some of them were to die in the fire."

De Guerra scoffed, "I've told you that I don't listen to or spread rumors. Especially rumors that come from questionable sources, such as heretical magic. As a Deryni, you have the ability to make Eddard de Nore say whatever you wanted him to say. Is there any real proof to this outrageous claim?" He paused for a brief moment. "I didn't think so. Because it is not a fact. Eddard was charismatic, but not that charismatic. To burn this city would take an army.

"I'll make a deal with you, Deryni." De Guerra leaned forward over the table. "Without using your evil corrupting magic on the innocents of my town, bring me absolute proof of this. You do this, and not only will I warn my students, but I will make sure none of those fanatics are able to light a single fire."

Airich laughed. "You want me to bring you "absolute proof" of an event that hasn't happened yet? You will have your absolute proof when a hundred fires spring up in Grecotha spontaneously and without apparent cause." Airich shook his head. "Five strangers in your city have virtually no chance of finding absolute proof that such an event will occur."

"To start a hundred fires as you say requires material for a hundred fires and at least a hundred men. De Nore does not have a hundred followers in Grecotha. A dozen or so maybe, but not in the kind of numbers that it would take to burn this city. There would have to be proof somewhere of it." De Guerra leaned back, his face contemplative. "Maybe I will go looking for it. To satisfy my own curiosity," he grinned.

"You mistake my intent, good sir," Airich said. He was growing tired of arguing with de Guerra, and he suspected a headache was forming. He pressed his point home. "I don't ask you to prepare for this fire on my own behalf: it is for yours. Your life and fortunes are tied intimately with this city. As for me, my King has summoned me to Rhemuth, and I answer his call. I have done what I can to protect Grecotha," he glanced out the window at the continuing drizzle, "but I won't be here when the fire breaks out." 

"Leaving so soon?" de Guarra smirked, but held his tongue from what he might have said. Instead, he gave the knight a nod. "Good travels, Deryni. Be warned, the roads are dangerous in these uncertain times."

"Thank you, and I wish you all luck in your own investigations, de Guerra." Airich stood. The interview seemed to be at an end, and Airich still didn't know any more than when he'd come in. He wished he'd dared listen for the Truth of de Guerra's words, but he'd come here in good faith to talk with this man, and without the Bishop's warrant, using his powers on him would give truth to the idea that Deryni couldn't be trusted.

On the other hand, if he'd done nothing more than convince Pietre de Guerra to look more seriously into Eddard de Nore's plan for burning Grecotha, then this meeting hadn't been a total waste of time.

"One more thing," Airich added before he stepped away from the table. "I have no doubts that the Willimites have approached you to join their order; you're too outspoken and powerful for them to not be tempted by you. And no, I'm not going to ask you to give me names. But the next time you speak with one of their leaders, ask them what good they think they are doing. What they truly think they can do—in practice, not in theory. The Deryni have been subjugated by Humans once before in our history; they won't idly sit by and let their rights be stripped from them again. Tell the Willimites that if war breaks out between our two races, hundreds—no, likely thousands will die on both sides. Nobody wins."

De Guerra took another drink of his wine. "Hundreds and thousands die in every war. Even in the one just four years ago. If the Deryni and Humans go to war against one another, it will be a different war ... not one of Kingdoms and principalities, as most wars have always been. In the end there will be a victor; there always is one."

"Yes, there will be a victor. But no winner. Good day to you, Sword master." Airich gave the man another half bow, and nodded to the rest of the table. He made his way to the door, and exited just as another group of men approached. Their leader stopped when he saw Airich.

"You!" Jasper snarled. He pulled his dagger.

[Marc_du_Temple]

Thursday late morning
September 12, 1168
Grecotha

That morning, Bede wasted no more time in his search for Edwin and his assumed tormentors. He knew exactly where to start when he slapped open the door of the kitchen where he had made peace with Muirea, heading straight for the barkeep. "How many gaming dens are in this city, and where are they?" he asked impatiently.

The man across the wooden counter hesitated, then said, "Twelve."

Bede snorted. "In a city this dense and old? What a surplus of customers they must have."

"Well, you being a lawman, however unorthodox, I'm sure you will find the rest in no time," the barkeep replied while wiping a glass with a rag.

Briefly, Bede considered pulling him over the counter to count the rest of the dens together, but then he remembered that Muirea still worked there. Who else would care if Edwin was humiliated? Who else who knows the city? He paid a portion of his tab with some of the pay that had also come in the mail from Carbury, then bolted, only stopping for breath when, dripping wet but kept warm by his cap, he had reached the threshold of the university library.

The bronze doors would not open for him, he knew. Not after what he had done to their Domesday book. Fortunately, his destination was beside the library, not inside of it. He sidled over to the small door at the end of the great stone edifice, and furrowed his blonde brows in futile concentration.((Memory roll for Edwin's club codes 2d6 2 + 3)) "What the devil was the code for this asinine arcanum?" he muttered, inaudible over the sound of his patternless knocks. With a final bang of his fist, he gave up on that method of entry. He rolled up his sleeves and looked around to ensure the coast was clear.((Bede Strength check 3d6 2 + 5 + 6)) With much creaking and shuddering, the door gave way under the pressure of his callused palms. ((Bede Sneak check 3d6 2 + 6 + 2 CLOSE ONE)) Safely inside of the passageway, he carefully pushed the door back into place, making sure it at least looked like it was yet sturdy, although the inner latch was quite limp. Nothing a carpenter could not quickly fix, he told himself as he crept further in, to the left in the side passage and then down the spiral stair.

((Bede Perceives 2d6 2 + 3)) For all of his bravado, he was blind in the darkness, until he reached the second door and its single torchlight. ((Bede second Memory check 2d6 3 + 1)) His struggle to remember a single word of the poetic passphrase gave him a greater appreciation for the scribe's intellect. Instead of bothering with a guess, he cupped his hands against the door and said, "If anyone is in there, it's me: Bede Archer. Our mutual friend, young Master Scrivener, is in danger! I let my wits leave me, and he might suffer for it, but maybe you can help me save him!"

That turned out to be as effective as any recognized passphrase. Someone unlocked the door. A young student in wrinkled robes peered through the gap he had made and asked, "Edwin is in trouble? What kind?"

"The kind that ranges from humiliating to ruinous," Bede answered. "He's consorting with a nasty and persuasive hypnotist, and he might not even know it."

The youngster shivered appropriately and ushered Bede inside. "Wait just here, will you? I'll collect our fellows." ((How many fraternity lads are hanging out in the lodge?1d10: 7)) The boy ducked into a side room and then returned with six other boys, in assorted shapes and sizes, yet all colored by a certain implacable bookishness. They all had questions, such as "Where is Ed?" or "How did you get in here?" but Bede could only answer them one at a time; he motioned pleadingly for silence, and then he spoke. "I broke into the outer passageway with my bare hands, powered by a desperate concern for Edwin. He is presently in the company of the manipulative and cunning Macbee, a Torenthi hypnotist and seducer."

"I have classes with a lad from Torenth," said a student as he scratched a patchy beard. "What does this man look like?"

"Handsome, damn him," Bede spat uncouthly. "He's of an average size, with wavy dark locks and a thick, trim beard. He has a lowly protruding nose, set to detect any whiff of weakness. His eyes seem small until he gazes at his prey, and then they widen as though he were an owl. His shoulders are wide set, but hardly burdened by muscles. Ye can probably take him one on one, if he had no tricks up his sleeves. And he is as cruel as any bird of prey, when he believes he will not be caught. Can ye believe he is yet younger than myself?"

"How much younger? Colorful as your words may be, he almost sounds like that classmate of mine."

"Then you must help me find him!" Bede almost gathered the lads in his arms and carried them out. "Find them."

"What makes you think we cannot trust him? Is it because he's Torenthi?"

"Nah, it's because by his wiles, he tricked my love into doing this to me," Bede lied as he undid his jerkin and pulled up his shirt, exposing his old abdominal scars from the war. Of course, it was true that Macbee was responsible for seducing many a wife away from her husband, convincing many an honest man to turn criminal, and even children to do harm that only a child could fail to understand. His mind was rocked by the recollection of Macbee asking a naive boy, "Don't you wish to prove that your sister can fly?" And Jester Macbee's favorite faire ground trick was the Hypnotic Confessional. But there was no physical proof of any of that on hand.

When he was met with sympathetic winces, he continued, "The last I saw of them, they were headed to some gaming den Edwin knows about. Saint Anthony help us to figure out what the devil his preferred outlet may be, eh?" He singled out two lads who seemed to be possessed of quicker spirits and frames than the rest. "Ye and ye: I need ye to find your dean and tell him what sort of mischief has befallen his new favorite, and I also need ye to find our shared friends. Look for a young knight from out of town, a mistress with flowing ebony hair, or an older, wiser woman with two differing eyes. Don't ye mind those. The rest of you poetic upstarts, find your courage and come with me!"

[Jerusha]

Thursday early afternoon
September 12, 1168
Saint Willibrord church
Grecotha

Sir Iain Cameron was not expecting company when he appeared on the Portal stone in Old Saint Willibrord church, with Sir Jamyl and Father Trevor standing in front of him. As the shorter of the three men, his initial view was blocked. He felt the other two men tense as he heard a startled gasp, a higher pitched "OH!" and the sound of someone knocking against the prie-dieu with a muffled "ouch" following almost immediately.

He pushed forward between his companions and saw three women facing him with looks that went from astonished to worried and finally to annoyed in a very short span of time. A young woman with dark hair stood beside the prie-dieu, rubbing her hip. A second woman stood beside her, well-dressed but with injuries to her face and around her eyes that were healing. Her hair was cut to only a few inches in length, but someone had taken care to shape it as attractively as possible. Iain guessed that she must be the Deryni Lady Gwendolyn, now mostly recovered from her kidnapping.

It was the third woman, older than the other two, who quickly moved in front of them, and in spite of the suddenly cramped space, managed to put her hands on her hips and give him a hard stare.

Iain was not quite prepared for her mismatched eyes, especially the piercing blue one that seemed to lock on to his own pale blue pair.

"Sorry to startle you," he began, not quite sure how to explain the sudden appearance of a Purple Guardsman, a priest and a knight in their midst.

"Father Trevor?" the woman by the prie-dieu said suddenly.

The priest looked at her carefully, as if trying to remember where he'd seen her before. Then it came to him. "You must be Airich's Amy," Father Trevor said with a smile.

Amy blushed. "I wouldn't put it quite that way," she said hastily. "But yes, I am Amy Aldan. Elspeth, this is Father Trevor O'Flynn, Sir Airich's brother."

"You can explain to me how you know that later," the older woman said in a low voice, but nodded in acknowledgement of the priest.

They are two of the bishop's investigators, Iain sent to his companions, and will know about the movement of the documents. Dean Nathanial is leading the effort; the other woman is his niece, Lady Gwendolyn. And Deryni

"I am Sir Jamyl Arilan, and I have come to help move the books and manuscripts to safety." Jamyl gave a slight bow to the women and moved off of the Portal stone.

"And you?" Mistress Elspeth asked the man wearing the purple sash.

"Merely a simple guardsman who was never here," Iain replied with an exaggerated bow.

Father Trevor hastily moved to one side, and the man with the purple sash was gone.

[Laurna]

The Bishop's Purple guardsman had left so rapidly that Amy had missed an attempt to greet the fellow Deryni. For it was obvious that it was he who brought the king's men through the portal. Both king's men waisted no time in stooping down on a knee and placing their hands on the portal stone to learn its signature. Lady Gwen understood this necessity, but Elspeth gave both men a curious look as they looked up at each other, satisfied, and then rose to stand before her.

"I take it that you are both Deryni then. And will be able to use this portal?" Elspeth asked.

"Now that we have learned the signature, yes indeed," The priest replied, staring intently into Elspeth's face. "Where is my Brother? I need to bring him back with me."

"I don't really know," Amy replied when Elspeth could not answer. "He was going to the Bishop's office earlier. But other than a quick check in on me, I have not heard from him since then. But I did get the impression that he was not happy about something."

"Give me a few moments, then: I will contact him." Trevor put his hand to his shirt, and concentrated. He was quiet for a minute, then looked back at Amy. "He says he will meet us at the Dean's residence. We should be able to collect our satchels there and begin the process of transferring these manuscripts."

"I am so glad to hear someone is taking this seriously." Amy said, relief in her voice. "Edwin will probably be there as well."

The nobleman, Sir Jamyl, nodded at the sound reasoning and then looked to the noble lady Gwendolyn and her companion. "Ladies, Perhaps you will show me to Canon Damian's office, where I can introduce myself to him and arrange to start moving more of these documents and manuscripts."

Gwen smiled up at the dark, handsome nobleman, but then saw the ring on his finger and her smile subsided. "I will be pleased to show you the way. It is not far."

Amy watched Gwen and the king's man leave, making a giggle. She turned back to Father Trevor, noting the familiarity of his handsome features, which matched his younger brother's. But it was not she who Trevor was paying attention to; instead, he was looking wondrously at Elspeth, who was almost blushing from the attention.

Elspeth finally faced the priest head-on and said, "Your brother made an utter fool of himself the first time he saw my eyes. Are you about to do the same?"

Trevor blinked at her and smiled pleasantly. "If I do make a fool of myself, it will only be because I've never seen the harvest sun shine in the same sky as the cool blue moon, and the beauty of such a vision has overwhelmed me."

It was Elspeth who was struck dumb for a change, having no idea how to respond to such a compliment, especially from a priest. Amy watched the interchange with interest.

"Madam," he continued, "would you kindly show me the way to Dean Nathaniel's home?"

"It would be my pleasure. I hope you do not mind a little rain." she said wistfully. But when they reached the outer door, they saw the heavy rain had subsided to a light drizzle. Elspeth pulled her hood only partially over her face as the three of them walked over to the Dean's residence.

((Thank you Nezz for Trevor's kind words.))

[Marc_du_Temple]

Thursday late morning
September 12, 1168
Grecotha

Six hooded figures marched silently through the Grecotha rain and out of the mouth of the university's arch, into the street where other people scurried irritably. Their robes marked them as students, and it was true of five of them. For those who would ask, Bede was again the student named Thomas, but this time tucking his bow awkwardly against his back, creating the image of a man who had thrown his back out recently. Per his instructions to the others, they were to be as unnoteworthy as possible while conducting their search, so that no one ought to ask their names in the first place. Yet, at the first sign of either of the men they were searching for, they would spring forth for either the recovery of a friend or a fight. And no matter what they found or did not, they were to return to a friendly tavern at the toll of each bell. They fanned out, occasionally seeing each other from opposite ends of the streets as they made their crisscrossing search.

The bell of Sext called them into a humble tavern by the name of The Cyclop's Cornerstone, where Bede paid for the refreshment of his posse, and they all ordered separate meals. On the barmaid's advice, they took stews and soups, to fight against the threat of weatherborne sicknesses. Between gulps, Bede took their reports, and summarized them thusly, "So, lads, we have found Torenthis, and we have found Borderers, but never together, and never quite to the descriptions we know so well, aye? ... yes, it is interesting how that one Torenthi woman answered your questions, but not in a way that helps us. Maybe write to her boyar father when this is over, yeah? They say to keep such things poetic but respectful. Shy not from frankness when speaking to such people," he advised. "For now, let us review where we have not been yet." The students named a dozen places he had perhaps only heard of in passing before, two dozen he had never heard of or been to in his life, and one he could not in good conscience assign to anyone else.

"The Drunken Parchment?" a Bremaigne accent piped up from beyond the confines of their bench.

((Bede Vigilance 3d6 6 + 3 + 3)) Bede spun to seek out the eavesdropper and his companions did the same, giving Eustace a minor fright. Their fellow student raised his arms in peace, saying, "I could not help but hear, Messieurs."

"Come," Bede bid him with a beckoning wave. "Tell us how ye have been since we last met."

The students closest to Bede made room for Eustace to sit under their watchful eyes, but they did not know what to watch for from him. Bede knew his secrets and knew mercy enough to not spill them in front of his peers. Once he had made himself comfortable, Eustace explained, "I have not been well. It is like there is a sickness inside of me that will not go away, in any weather, under any circumstances. I wonder if God is trying to tell me something."

"School is like that, sometimes," one of the more advanced students remarked, trying to help.

"Incurable diseases, too," a student with a more medical-literary bent chimed in.

"Let us na speculate too much," Bede shooed them. He knew well enough what guilt feels like, although he knew less of it than perhaps he should have. "Any new friendships made, or old ones severed?"

"I no longer speak to the likes of Steinmeister, and not him either, naturally. As for new friends: I have none."

"Well, this lot 'ere could be your friends, yeah? I'm sure they would appreciate any help in finding the one friend we all have in common: Edwin Scrivener." Bede whispered the details of their problem before gulping down the last of his meal and rising with the student posse. "The decision is yours."

"Then I shall join you," Eustace declared with newfound resolve. "I shall join you in the search of the Drunken Parchment."

[Nezz]

Thursday early afternoon
September 12, 1168
Drunken Parchment stable
Grecotha

Jasper's dirk was long and sharp, but Airich wasn't putting up with any of his nonsense. He dodged Jasper's first swipe, then, moving with trained speed, he grabbed the bigger man's wrist and twisted it behind his back. "Drop it, or I break your arm," Airich warned him. Jasper grunted and tried to break Airich's hold, but Airich applied more pressure. "I'm serious, I'll do it."

He would do it, too... happily, in fact. But Jasper dropped his weapon, and Airich secured it under his boot before releasing Jasper back to his friends.

"You cost me my wife!" Jasper seethed, pointing at Airich. "You filthy Deryni cheater!" The hand he pointed with was not the same hand he'd held his dagger with. His right hand was bandaged.

"She never was your wife, and never will be, you half-wit. And it didn't take a Deryni to do that to you." Airich nodded towards the bandaged hand. "That archer just needed half an ounce of brain in his head. You are a clumsy oaf, and if you come at me again, your friends will have to scrape up what's left to carry to the infirmary."

He looked down at the dirk he'd secured under his foot, a weapon far nicer than he would have expected. "I like your dagger. I may have to claim it as a spoil of war." Instead, he stepped back to allow Jasper to retrieve it. "You'd best secure that before someone confiscates it."

Airich stood his ground, making it clear that Jasper would have to bow before him if he wanted his dirk back. Jasper got around this by forcing one of his friends to pick up the dagger for him.

"You've been warned," Airich said as he walked past. He kept a psychic eye on the group of men as he walked around back to the small stable at the back of the courtyard, and was not surprised when, after a few minutes, they followed him.

Airich sighed as he fiddled with Aran's buckles. Jasper wasn't going to let this rest until he was dead, or had at least lost a few fingers. Airich walked to the back of the stable, where no horses currently resided, and pretended to look through the straw for something.

Deryni-enhanced senses heard several men enter the stable, heard the whisper of a sword sliding from its scabbard. So that's the way you want to play this, eh? End it one way or the other? So be it.

Jasper, conceivably, could be a better swordsman than he was a brawler; he had been accepted into de Guerra's duelist society, and Airich doubted de Guerra accepted novices. He might even duel left-handed while shooting right-handed. And he was strong: Airich needed to remember that, after having been clouted by him a couple of times in their first fight. So Airich was wary, but not worried, despite the taller man's longer reach.

He waited until Jasper was only a few yards away, preparing to strike him down from behind. Airich stood, turned, and advanced on Jasper in one smooth move, pulling his sword from its sheath; it ripped through the embroidery thread and illusion that appeared to secure it to its scabbard and caught Jasper's sword as it came down for a killing blow.

Jasper stepped back, astonished. "You cheater!" he said. "Deryni tricks from a foul sorcerer!"

"Really? You just tried to behead me from behind, but I'm the cheater?" Airich was not looking to kill Jasper, but he wasn't going to pull his blows, either. It was to Airich's advantage that he'd replaced his mail earlier, while Jasper was protected by no more than a leather jerkin.

Jasper's friends backed away, hooting for blood, and gave the two swordsmen room. This stall in the back was larger than the rest, designed to handle multiple non-aggressive horses. The two men circled each other, trading blows, blades clanging against one another. Jasper was indeed much better with a blade than with his fists, and several of his powerful strikes forced Airich back before the knight could once again press his advantage. Both men managed to nick the other, and soon, blood spattered on the hard-packed earth.

Airich was the better swordsman, however, even against a left-handed opponent. While Jasper played at a fancy offensive maneuver he had yet to perfect, Airich saw his chance. A thrust, a flick, and Jasper's sword flew to the other side of the stall.

Airich stepped back and lowered his sword, thinking the duel finished. But Jasper shot him a look of pure hatred as he pulled his dirk, and leapt at Airich. The unexpected ferocity of this renewed attack forced him to tighten his defense, and he stepped back to regain his balance. He didn't notice Jasper's friend moving casually behind him. Until the man swept Airich's legs out from under him.

Airich went down, landing flat on his back.

With a gleeful laugh, Jasper dropped to his knees and brought his dirk up high, then slammed it down. His powerful thrust rent mail and enchanted linen, driving through flesh and muscle.

The shock left Airich unable to scream, or even breathe. He gasped twice.

And then was still.

***

For the second time in under a week, the Deryni of Grecotha were startled by a psychic scream of agony. Many of the untrained students didn't understand the implications of the scream. The locals shuddered, believing simply that the Willimites had claimed another victim and that the evidence would be on display soon. Only two people in the city knew for sure what they'd heard.

[revanne]

A few hours earlier

Edwin recognised the sensation in his head and stomach. God, when would he ever learn that alcohol brought its own penance. He thought of tentatively opening his eyes then the instinct for self- preservation kicked in, an instinct born of years of brawling with those bigger and of more malevolent intent. He lay still and resisted the temptation to send even the slightest tendril of investigative thought out, though he did not need Deryni powers to know that he wasn't alone. There were hands, rough hands dragging off his cotte, and guttural voices, strongly accented, speaking about him. Slowly his memory started to come back, the voices seemed a bit familiar. O God, please don't say he had celebrated his success with the Dean by walking into a trap like a Martinmas goose following grain onto the butcher's knife.

The voices seemed to be arguing about something, he tried to follow what they were saying but concentration threatened to bring up the contents of his belly. He did manage to catch the word "knight" spoken with disgust and disappointment as his right hand was seized and the ink stains and callouses on his fingertips scraped against a rough hand. Were they disappointed that he was not a knight? Could it be that he had been taken in mistake for Airich and did their disappointment mean they were more or less likely to kill him? He felt the fear of imagined agony lap at him like clammy fog and resolutely forced it from his mind before his body utterly shamed him.

Then more sensitive fingers were feeling the protective embroidery of the shirt Airich had loaned him and he heard a whistle of appreciation before the shirt was gently lifted over his head and pulled with care from his body. As his naked torso was revealed sharp fingers poked contemptuously at the underdeveloped muscles of his upper arms, and his limp body was turned to lie on its front as the scars left by beatings were traced with a contemptuous laugh. A hand was laid on his forehead and then nothing.

[Laurna]

Thursday early afternoon
September 12, 1168
Saint Willibrord Church
Grecotha

The Carbury women put their energy into wiping the dampness from the leather satchels as they arrived at the church. The important tomes and scrolls were easier to move and to stay protected from harm like rain and accidental dropping on the cobble street. Some of these tomes were quite heavy and quite old. The stack of satchels kept arriving in students arms at the front of the church, which the two women collected, wiped off the rain drops and then set them down behind The Lady statue. Two monks currently attending the church, were helping keep the way clear for the unprecedented move taking place, they seemed well aware of how it was happening. Amy was glad of it. And also glad to that Lady Gwendolyn had volunteered to help in her way. She was putting her considerable talent to guarding the streets as the boys passed from the dean's office to the church. Amy kept tabs on the two king's men, as either Sir Jamyl or Father Trevor arrived, heft up the packaged knowledge, and then with little effort disappear again. A few minutes would pass, and the portal space would again be filled by the other man.

"Portals are amazing feats of magic," Elspeth had commented at one point, and Amy firmly agreed.

Many Portal jumps later, Amy could see the strain starting to appear in the eyes of the two king's men. It was apparent that portal jumping did more than just make the stomach queasy. Elspeth was nearest the portal when the next jumper appeared. Her instincts had her catch Father Trevor as he stumbled, stepping off of the portal. "Father, I insist you take a break, your brother has told us how use of powers can drain your reserves."

"I shall be fine, thank you, my lady."  But with his next step, he realized he didn't feel fine. He took her suggestion and stepped to a stone bench and sat with little grace. "Perhaps just a few minutes."

Elspeth looked relieved, while smiling side long at him. "Father, I am not a lady of nobility. Simply a woman of medicine and physicking. Knowledge that I don't need to recognize over-exertion when I see it."

"I admit I have been trying to keep up the pace with Sir Jamyl. He has far more portal experience than I do." Saying his name seemed to conjure the King's knight from thin air. Sir Jamyl appeared on the Portal stone, and indeed he looked near as fresh as when they had started.

Silent words might have passed between the two king's men, for Jamyl only nodded in acknowledgement toward his priestly friend. He reached out to Amy to have her hand him the next satchel of documents.

"Should not you take a break too," Amy said to him.

"I don't need one yet." He gave her a bright smile. Amy was wishing there was more that she could do to help, and Sir Jamyl must have seen that in her eyes. "Hey, do you want to try portal jumping too?"

"Could I?" The sudden prospect lit up Amy's face; a look from Elspeth told her to give it a go.

"Pick up that other satchel there. Now come with me back to the portal." Jamyl slung his leather bag over his shoulder and then indicated Amy to stand before him with her goods in her arms. "Lean back against me. Open your shields for me; more fully than that. I am not going to just take you through, I want to show you exactly how this is done."

With a nervous excitement, Amy did as she was told. The time before with Gwen, she had felt a blanket over her mind.  This time it felt more like a bridge. And across that bridge streamed instructions and a sensation of a magical engram, kind of like a geometric figure, only it was oddly sensed and not seen. And then she was standing in a different room and a beautiful blond woman was staring at her with wide eyes. "This is Amy Aldan." Jamyl said, releasing Amy from that bridge. "Amy, this is my wife, Charity. She is one of Airich's sisters."

Before Amy could even step forward, Charity was taking her satchel and placing it upon the ground, next to several others. But it was clear that most of the documents that had been sent here had already been moved on to somewhere else.

"I am pleased to meet you in person, Amy." Amy could feel the warmth emanating from this lady; a real noble lady, the first she had ever met. She didn't know whether to curtsey or not. She started to and Charity instantly raised her up and said, "We are friends. There is no need." and gave her a bright smile.

"I see you are getting a little behind, my love." Jamyl said to his wife. "We are starting to slow down on our end, that should give you more time to make jumps to Arx Fidei. I have a report for Washburn that I would like you to relay. Amy, take a few minutes to learn this portal signature, just the way you learned the other one back at the church. And, this time, I will have you portal me back to Grecotha. What do you think of that?"

Amy's eyes flew open wide. Not only had the name of a certain man raised the hair on the back of her neck, but to take another through a portal on her first try was unsettling.

Girl, get a hold of yourself. she internally demanded. you are not going to see, Wa... him. You will be going back to Airich. He should be back at the Church with Edwin and Bede by this time.  Determined to do this right, she knelt on the floor next to the pretty white marbled square set with black and white checkered tiles around it. At first, she thought it was awfully apparent for the portal to be so undisguised, until she looked around and saw the floor was designed with many large white marble square stones and many bordering checkerboard tiles. Only the feel of magic indicated this stone was the portal over the others.

When she was certain of the portal signature–her shields still open–she felt the strength of strong energy emanating all around this white and black stone room. She realized then there were no windows. Only one closed door on the western side. The room was lit, not by torchlight, but by hand fire from two of the guards standing to either side of the door. Deryni both, then. She thought.

On the wall opposite the door was an arched niche, a small bas-relief of a cowled man in long robes and sandaled feet holding five scrolls in his hands, was placed above a black and white marble altar. At the moment the Altar was empty, but Amy got the impression that at times of deep prayer, a book and candles sat upon the Altar.

"What is this place?" She asked, disturbing the couple in their private rapport.

"This is Caerrorie," Jamyl turned to tell her. "Specifically, this is the chapel of Saint Camber."

Amy walked closer to the relief of he who must be the Deryni Saint. She knew so little of Deryni Lore that she searched the face of the Saint's carving to see if his likeness reminded her of her prior learning. Yes, now she recalled, a fresco on the wall at Saint Brigid's Convent. That had been larger than life. This carving was diminutive. Finely detailed, but not imposing in the least. In fact, she felt calm and at peace while staring at the carving of the elder man. She stared in awe. "Forgive me for staring," she said, humbly dropping to her knees and bowing her head. "I am not worthy."

Thankful that lightning did not strike her where she knelt, she managed to make a prayer for the safety and health of her friends and for Grecotha in the days ahead. After her prayer she let the aura of the room fill her with peace.

A hand gently touched her shoulder, she was brought back to reality, and saw Sir Jamyl's smile. He waved for her to stand. "I would love to tell you the story behind this room, but I will have to leave that for Father Trevor to tell you. For now, we need to go. Do you think you can portal back to Grecotha?"

"I fear I will make a mess of it," she said, biting her lip.

"Nonsense. I will be with you to assure you get it right."

It really was not as hard as she had first thought. She didn't need nearly as deep rapport with the King's knight as she imagined she would. Jamyl helped her form the bridge between them. He let her envision the signature of where they were to go. And when he approved it. He indicated for her to use her powers to make the jump. The instant of motion was thrilling; here and then gone too soon. And to her amazement, she was not sick at all when they arrived back at Grecotha.

That is until she felt the stab through her deepest being and the distressed masculine howl that set her feet to running. 

[Nezz]

((This scene and the one following were written as a collaboration between me, Laurna, and Jerusha. These two ladies are marvelous writers and I hope everyone appreciates their hard work.))

Thursday early afternoon
September 12, 1168
Saint Willibrord Church
Grecotha

"Have you known Airich for very long?" Trevor asked Elspeth as he rested on the bench in the church. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done so many multiple jumps within such a short time. Even as close as the Caerrorie portal was located, so many jumps in short succession left a priest like him fatigued; his lifestyle was not nearly so active as Jamyl's. So he was happy to sit and rest for a few minutes, and chat with the most striking woman he had ever laid eyes on.

"Not long at all," Elspeth responded. "I think we all arrived in Grecotha about ten days ago. Amy and I met Airich the following evening when he collapsed in our room after beating up half the clientele of the King's Arms." At Trevor's incredulous expression, Elspeth nodded. "Oh yes. He might deny it, but you can use your truth spells on him. And no matter what he says, I did not do that to his nose to make him fear me."

Trevor laughed, and Elspeth took a moment to appreciate a fine set of teeth. The good father had excellent teeth, and Elspeth wondered if Deryni had a special method of taking care of their dentistry that mere Humans were unaware of. It was professional, medical curiosity, of course, that she'd even noticed the man's mouth. There couldn't possibly be any other reason that she might notice whether or not a priest could be considered handsome or not.

"If he'd gotten his nose broken, I have no doubt that he's eternally grateful to you for straightening it, no matter how you did it," Trevor said, clasping his hands over one knee. "I'm afraid we O'Flynns are a vain lot."

"Is that why your family learned that special embroidery lore, to keep those handsome features from harm?"  Elspeth instantly ducked her head in shame. She was talking to a Priest! How could she have let such a thought slip from her lips?

Even more to her chagrin, the Priest's face lit with laughter, "There might be something to that.  Mi madre is beautiful, and the ladies have admitted that Da is not so bad looking himself. And as I heard it, Da liked to get into all kinds of trouble when he was younger. Valiant trouble, you know the kind: damsels in distress, dragon-hunting, chivalrous quests, more damsels in distress. He even professes to have met a mermaid once. That is likely where Airich picked up the tendency to get into trouble. Anyway, Madre excelled in the cording lore, and embroidered numerous tunics and undergarments for the whole family. I personally think she wanted to keep Da's good looks from harm. Age is catching up with him, though. The cording enchantments do not stop hair from graying or the skin from weathering."

"I am almost glad to hear that. The protection I have seen from Airich's shirt is miracle enough." Elspeth ducked her head, "Sorry Father, I didn't mean to imply..."

"Nonsense, my lady. Cording lord is not a miracle, but it does have the Hand of the Light touching the threads. Close enough, I would say."

He smiled, noting Elspeth's wide eyes, and he rolled up a sleeve to show her the embroidery around the edging. It was fine, delicate work.

"Again, I am not a lady, but to see this fine a needlework puts me in mind of wishing for such talent when I suture wounds. Do you think a prayer said with every stitch would bring about healing faster?"

Father Trevor looked at the young woman beside him with intrigue. "That is a wonderful thought, I will have to broach the idea with Madre to see if she has ever tried it."

The infirmarian looked at him gratefully, as if she was unused to having men appreciate her ideas. Her crystal-blue eye actually twinkled at him, and dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth.

Trevor stood abruptly, and trod down the nave, as if stretching his legs. It had suddenly seemed a prudent idea to move away from such close proximity to this enchanting woma—to this daughter of God. He looked out the door. Lady Gwendolyn knelt with a student under a cloth awning, in an attitude of deep prayer. Trevor knew the truth of it, which was that she'd been psychically watching for anyone who might espy the unusual comings and goings to the church, and warning the students when to move, and which way. She'd been the one who'd personally vetted the monks and students carrying their precious bundles, making sure none might be secret Willimites. Trevor strongly suspected she would overwrite their memories when they'd finished.

Trevor approved these safety measures. It was not a showy display of magic, and Lady  Gwendolyn had done a marvelous job of timing the students' movements to attract as little attention as possible.

Trevor turned back towards the front of the church and saw Mistress Elspeth studying him. But he was composed once again and could face her without turning into a green-eyed tomcat.

[Jerusha]

And here is part two. Thank you, Nezz for the kind words.


"May I resume my seat beside you again?" Trevor asked Elspeth. He hadn't intended to sound so formal, but Elspeth patted the bench beside her in invitation.

"All seems to be going well at the front of the church," he said conversationally. "Lady Gwendolyn has everything under control."

"She is a strong woman. Surviving her ordeal is proof of it." Elspeth hesitated a moment. "Are you and Sir Airich very close?" she finally asked.

"Well, we were and then we weren't for a while." Trevor gave the woman beside him a curious look. "We have resumed regular contact recently, since he came to Grecotha."

"Father Trevor," she said, stopped, and at Trevor's encouraging look, plunged on. "Are you aware that your brother is ill?"

"I know that he has some concerns," the priest answered carefully. "However, under seal of the confessional, I cannot reveal any details."

"God forfend!"  Elspeth exclaimed. "I would never ask or expect such a thing! Have you any idea how many times a woman in the trevails of childbirth has told me things she probably should not? And I would never reveal them, either. Especially if they were about her husband."

Trevor smiled and resisted the impulse to pat her hand in understanding. "I will say that Airich is experiencing some issues that concern me."

"As they should." Elslpeth's voice took on a professional tone. "He came to the bedchamber I share with Amy early one morning. He wanted to know if I could extract the organ that made him Deryni."

'He what?" Trevor looked shaken. "He did not share that."

"I doubt he would; he was in a terrible state. He pulled out a small knife, pointed it at his stomach, and declared he would do it himself if Amy could point him to the right organ." At Trevor's look of alarm, she quickly added, "Amy talked him out of it, and helped him regain his control. Then he contacted someone whom he thought might be able to help him."

Elspeth looked at the priest beside her with sudden insight. "That someone was you, wasn't it?"

"Are you always so quick to figure things out?" Trevor asked, following up his question with a smile.

"I'm a physicker and a midwife. It's part of the process." Elspeth paused and then added, "I hope I have not offended you, or overstepped any boundaries...."

"You have not, and thank you for sharing this with me. It helps to understand just what he is facing." Eyes the colour of the harvest sun and the cool moon looked relieved.

A woman of intelligence and compassion, all wrapped up in such a lovely package. Stop it! he told himself firmly. He was saved from possibly embarrassing himself by Amy and Jamyl arriving on the Portal stone. He was about to greet them, when he froze, horrified by a soul-wrenching mental scream of agony and despair that emanated from the innermost depths of the Deryni soul. The colour drained from his face as Amy staggered and nearly fell.

"Father Trevor, what is it?" Elspeth asked urgently.

"Airich." Trevor's voice was flat. "Grab your medical bag, we'll need it." Without further comment, Amy hiked up her skirts and ran out the doors of the church as if Satan's minions were at her heels.

Instinct tried to send him after Amy without pause, but he stopped himself, then dropped to his knees. He grabbed the cross hanging from his neck. "Oh Lord, please send aid to my brother," was his whispered prayer. "I fear he is in deadly peril and may not survive without help. Thy will be done, Amen." He stood and grabbed Elspeth's hand, and—after a mental entreaty to Jamyl to guard the manuscripts and portal with Lady Gwendolyn—the priest and physicker ran after Amy.