Forgotten Shadows

[Nezz]

...hiding from Uncle Trevor and the responsibilities from having achieved manhood—as well as those of being an earl—in the largest pile of hay in the loft...

***

...hiding behind the largest pile of hay in the loft, but for a completely different reason now. And he isn't alone, either...

***

"Derry, you have nothing to apologize for. You did nothing wrong." The Countess Richenda still sits where they'd dined in the small hall in Marbury. He is on his knees before her. Pleading.

"That's what they tell me, but that doesn't stop the guilt," Derry says. It wouldn't be so bad if he could just remember, but his mind still refuses to give up the details of what he'd done. But he does remember manhandling the countess, trying to keep her from...Brendan? Had he hurt the lad?

Derry bites his lip in frustration... "Richenda," he whispers, "Please. Just... forgive me."

***

"I can't see that we've made much progress at all." Amy looked out across the reservoir in exasperation. She didn't feel tired—she didn't feel anything—but a mental weariness had overtaken her and she longed to be finished. "This lake almost looks deeper than when we started."

"We're in a landscape of the mind, you can't let yourself be fooled by things like distance and volume," Trevor told her. "The natural laws of the universe don't apply here. It's simply the way Airich imagines it."

"Does the same hold true for time?" Amy asked, suddenly noticing that Trevor looked like a priest again. "I keep thinking it must be springtime in our physical world, and Grecotha has burned down around us, and only Collos' wards have saved us."

"You may rest assured that it is not springtime," Trevor reassured her. He closed his eyes, concentrating, then opened them again. "We've been here a little more than an hour in the physical. As you can see, time flows differently as well. In fact, it flows differently for Airich as well: as you feel like you've experienced months, he's experienced years, living through the most part of my father's life."

Collos' walked up between them. He held a ceramic bowl full of rose-colored memories that smelled like cheap brandy. He knelt before Airich and set the bowl in his hands. "Drink this one next, Sir Airich," Collos breathed, "You must take this one into yourself before you can be healed." He stood and took a step back, watching.

Airich said nothing, and his eyes stared through Collos as if he weren't there. But after a few moments, the young knight dutifully lifted the bowl to his lips and drained it.

Nothing seemed amiss to Amy. Airich stared silently, as before. She lifted his hand and entwined her fingers through his, to see for herself what this important memory was...

...when he and Morgan had slipped away and returned secretly with His Majesty Liam-Lajos and Duke Mátyás hidden away from unfriendly eyes. Of course, the wedding ceremony itself was of little interest to Derry, although he was pleased that young Rory Haldane had found a bride he adored in the form of Noelie Ramsey. Afterward, he'd escorted then-Princess Araxie back to the castle where they'd joined the rest of the royal party in a grand feast. The drink had flowed freely, and even Derry himself had begun to feel its effects eventually. And that would account for why he and Mátyás had gotten into fisticuffs quite late in the night over some trifling matter. And why Derry, along with many other men, spent much of the next day abed feeling the aftereffects of that vast quantity of spirits. And why Duke Mátyás was ever wary of Derry afterward on the occasions when the two men happened to be in the same room together...

Amy withdrew. She could not determine that this memory was any more special than any others from the earl's life. In fact, it seemed inordinately mundane. She looked up at Collos, still not sure she could trust him, even as his aura radiated concern for Airich and hope for his well-being.

"What's so important about that one?" Amy asked him.

Collos watched Airich for a few moments longer, and then smiled. That one is important because the events of the memory never occurred, he sent to Amy and Trevor only. The memory I gave him covers a complete void in Sean's life. Airich's mind has been prodding at it like a man pokes at a hole in his tooth with his tongue.

I don't understand, Trevor sent. We all forget things. All the time. Why would a forgotten memory of my father give Airich trouble?

It is not a forgotten memory, Collos explained patiently. It was removed. Expertly and precisely. I could find no trace of what it might have contained, or who this skilled surgeon might be. In the normal course of things, this would cause a man no trouble, but in Airich's case... Collos stopped and pondered a moment. You have seen for yourself here how Sir Airich must live through his father's memories to integrate them. In this case, there was simply nothing to live through. Completely emptiness. He could not walk this path when a chasm separated one side from the other. And so I built a bridge in the form of a new memory. Now that he's successfully integrated it, it no longer matters whether or not he knows it to be truth or fabrication. 

As Collos turned to walk back to his own work area, Amy overheard him say aloud, "Let us pray now that the other problems are resolved so easily."

#
Darius hears the church bells strike the hour. The members of the ritual have been in for close to ninety minutes. Airich sleeps and all body functions perform normally. Darius offers a prayer of thanks and asks that things continue in this vein.

[revanne]

Back in the safe house, the same afternoon

Edwin bore Elspeth's brusque ministrations with as good a grace as he could muster. He still felt wretchedly ill, and though fighting with Bede had helped to lance some of his frustration, it had done nothing for his headache or his other aches and pains. The warm water felt good to his battered face but when the begrimed cloth was replaced with one laced with some astringent liquid he could not restrain a yelp, for all his pride. Elspeth stopped for a moment and said in a voice as sharp as her liniment, "I can leave these cuts to fester if you would prefer." 

Then she added more gently, for in his battered state Edwin really did seem to her more like a forlorn child than the arrogant youth he tried to portray, "Hold still a moment longer, then I'll give you a draught for your sore head and something warm for your belly. For once I'm willing to believe you are not the agent of your own misfortune. I might even be prepared to think you showed sense in declining to go haring off with my brave guard here."

Bede might have been ready to dispute this but Elspeth forestalled him by taking coin from her pouch and dispatching him to the nearest cookshop for whatever soup or stew they might have ready. A soldier might never turn away from a fight but still less would he turn his back on a warm meal.

Bede gone from the room, Elspeth turned her back on Edwin and began to pound a mixture of dried herbs in a mortar, which she then steeped in a measure of boiling water. Without turning to look at him she said, "You did not hear me say this but that fight has been a long time brewing and to my mind it will have done you both good to get it over with, misguided though your reasons were." Then she drained the liquid into a cup, brought it to Edwin and stood over him while he drained it to the last bitter dregs. After a while, Edwin's head began to pound less, and when, shortly after, Bede returned with a large bowl of stew which Elspeth divided out between them, even his abused stomach gave a hungry gurgle of anticipation.

All three of them were hungry enough to eat in silence, and as they did so Edwin brooded on what he had heard. His memories were clear, but just as clearly they were false. The archer he took for a man who would lie as soon as look at you, but it took a braver man than he was to accuse Elspeth of falsehood, even in thought. But how could he know? It occurred to him that surely a visit to the Dean's house would confirm whether or not he had been there. In the meantime, he must swallow his pride and ask Bede for all that he could tell him of MacBee.

Trusting that the food had softened the archer's ire as it had his own, and taking a deep breath, Edwin asked in a conciliatory voice, "I ask your pardon. It seems that I can show the same arrogance that I accuse Sir Airich of. If you know anything that can explain the mess inside my head, I'd owe you one. If it's good enough, I'll mebbes even stand still when you pay me back for that punch."

[Marc_du_Temple]

"Ye already apologized, didn't ye?" Bede grumbled. He then tried to laugh through the remainder of the pain. "I am na judge, that I require just desserts for every offense. Just desserts when I can get them, eh?" He swept back his matted straw hair and cleared his throat, remembering to speak plainly instead of natively when relating a lengthy tale. "Well, there's many a true story about MacBee I could tell you, if I wanted to outrage you, but one that comes to my mind now is something that I know he did early last July. It was when Scimmio's Entertainers were marching through Marley, but awhile after we had picked up ole' Macbee near Arranal Canyon, that we had begun touring in the city of Marbury. With the encouragement of our troop, a fairegoing old gardener came up onto the stage to play his part in his 'Hypnotic Confessional.' We all thought it was very amusing as he confessed to stealing seeds like a pauper, a wild night in his garden every now and again, owing some outstanding debts, having an embarrassing given name, and a foul lineage, but nobody expected him to confess to a robbery and battery from the night before. Least of all me, because I knew where he was at that time of the night: chasing me out of his garden with a shovel in one hand and a lantern in the other."

"What were you doing there?" Edwin asked.

"Watering his bushes, but that's another story," Bede waved a hand sheepishly. "The mood was ruined irreparably when a youth in the livery of the Earl of Marley strode forth out of the crowd, boxed the man's ears and loudly reprimanded him, swearing he would never be allowed to garden for the family of Marley again." Bede sighed with pity.

"I don't understand your half-finished suggestions," Edwin responded, becoming mildly bemused.

"I did not understand at first, either," Bede assured him. "Even now I cannot say with certainty when he used a greater Deryni trick on the gardener, only that I'm now convinced he did, and that he very well could have done it in broad daylight on the stage. Later, in the evening, when Macbee was the guest of honor in the Earl's hall and the rest of the troop were left to wander (with a small promise of a reward for the association with the confessor), I washed the paint of my stage persona, 'Spotted John', off, put on a proper shirt and trousers, then visited the gardener in the local jail."

"'Surely,' I insisted to him, 'there must be some detail you are confused on. What reason do you have to confess to so great a crime when I am your alibi?' But he swore he had never seen me before that morning, and became emotional over the memory of the crime he believed he had committed, when I knew he was heroically doing his duty as a gardener and groundskeeper, chasing a mischievous youth out of the Earl's garden. I left believing he was just mad or maybe that I was."

"Now I see that there is a pattern of illusory manipulation that all leads back to Macbee, that perhaps he had some motive to torment this man by framing him for a crime, that perhaps he had committed, inadvertently freeing me from culpability for my petty rebellion. And perhaps he has done something similar today, laying another one of his attacks on an innocent at someone else's feet. Only this time, the innocent is you, as well as the one whose memories he has tampered with. Perhaps he is becoming more skilled at this evil art."

"It's almost beyond belief," Edwin stammered, trembling from the certainty he felt creeping in.

"If only we had Mistress Amy here to testify to the truth of my words," Bede glanced at the door, "But I swear to God I embellish and change nothing of what I tell you now."

[Jerusha]

Still in the safe house, same afternoon

As Bede explained to Edwin what he believed Macbee had done to the student's memories, Elspeth gathered their bowls and her mortar to wash. It wasn't as if she wasn't interested in what Macbee had done, but something was niggling at the back of her mind. It remained just out of reach no matter how hard she tried to latch onto it.¹

With a sigh she set the bowls and mortar aside to dry and returned to the others. Edwin was listening intently, and Elspeth quietly took a seat on the bench near the fire. She tried to follow the conversation, but the comforting warmth of the fire caused her eyelids to droop and her chin soon dropped to rest against her chest.

It was a sunny afternoon, and Little Huw paddled their coracle away from the bank and into the small stream. Most coracles were small, but nothing small would hold Little Huw, and he had custom made this one to comfortably hold him and a passenger as well. 

Huw told her a story from his last voyage that he would not have told her within their father's hearing. Elspeth laughed heartily, and thought it might actually be true.  You could never be completely sure about Huw's stories. Elspeth used her own paddle to steady the boat, which now rocked gently.

The sun was warm, songbirds were singing in the trees and the bees buzzing among the flowers on the bank. She turned her head from watching the bank to look at her brother and gasped. 

Instead of Little Huw sat a man whose face was framed by short brown curls, and a lazy tonsure could just barely be seen. Both eyes were a kind blue, and he didn't seem at all perturbed by the colors of her eyes. He smiled at her, looking quite pleased with himself. What great teeth he had!

Alarmed at thinking such thoughts about a man who was obviously a priest, she dug her paddle into the stream. The coracle spun around, and around and around....

Elspeth's head snapped up and she looked with dismay at Bede, who was looking quite amused.

"I thought a tale of my days performing might cheer Edwin up, but it looks like it put you to sleep!"

"Oh, beg pardon!" Elspeth said hastily. "I didn't realize I was so tired. We should probably all get some rest as best we can."

"Now that my head is not throbbing so badly, I just might manage that."  Edwin was smiling, too.

Elspeth was mortified, and not only by the fact that her companions looked amused at her expense. She was sure she was blushing, probably all the way down to her toes, which fortunately were still hidden by her almost dry hose. 

Bede stood and distributed the blankets he had found when he had searched the house earlier.  "Given all that has happened," he said, "I am not comfortable, in the role of guard I am so often reminded of, with the idea of us splitting up into separate rooms. If Mistress Elspeth would not be too horrified, I think Edwin and I should bed down near the door, and leave Elspeth with her own space across the room closer to the fire."

"I think that is an excellent idea," Elspeth replied stoutly. "But make sure you both stay out of any drafts."

"I'm more worried about a flood at this point," Edwin said as he opened the door briefly to observe rain pouring down again. "I'm beginning to wonder if we should worry more about Grecotha burning down or washing away." He closed the door and folded one of the blankets into a makeshift pallet. 

Elspeth made herself as comfortable as possible, but as she began to drift off to sleep again, she suddenly sat upright.

"Wait," she said urgently.  "Now I remember what Sir Airich said to me that was so important.  And he was right!" <sup>2


1</sup> Eidetic memory to remember what Airich had urgently told her. Rolled at disadvantage because Elspeth is exhausted.  1d6 = something abysmal.  I forgot to write it down.

² Eidetic memory, standard roll with success on 4, 5, 6.  2d6 5 + 1 = 6.

[Nezz]

((Many thanks to Revanne for the lovely memories of three wee lassies.))

Within Airich's dreamscape...

The two earls talk companionably with each other, both having lost their fathers while mere boys, although for very different reasons. Brendan complains that he wants to play with the practice swords, but Derry makes him balance on the log across the stream and dodge the acorns that he throws at the boy. The young earl doesn't realize the older one is already preparing him for swordplay, training his coordination and balance...

***

Briony had run to him, squealing, "Uncle Seandry!" He'd picked her up and swung her 'round in his arms, exulting in the simple delight in her face. But even as he laughed back at her, he'd wondered if he would ever have children of his own to share such love and fun.

Derry thinks fondly on this old memory as he takes both his younger daughters by the hand. "Shhh, not a word to your madre!" Celsie and Faith are occupied with Trevor, now a fretful toddler, and Faith's musical voice tries to gentle her little brother. Derry and the girls are safe for an hour at least.

Hope and Charity wriggle in the freedom of the jerkin and hose long since outgrown by Seamus, but they are obedient to their Da's command, managing to suppress their delighted giggles. Once safe in the little spinney that grows close to the castle, he laughs with delight as his little lasses swarm like squirrels over the miniature climbing tree he had picked out for them.

***

"I'm sorry, milord... I'm afraid it's another stillbirth," the midwife says.

"No..." His heart breaking, Derry goes to Celsie in their bedroom. The countess puts on a brave face, but he sees the tears behind the smile.

"It was a little boy," Celsie whispers, and her voice breaks. "I'd hoped to give you one more boy."

"Shhhhh, it's all right, Cels. Just so long as you're healthy." He enfolds his distraught wife with his arms and kisses her head.

"His tiny body was perfect." Celsie finally begins weeping. "I just couldn't keep him."

"It's not your fault," he reassures her. His tears drop into her hair.

"That's four! I don't know if I'll be able to carry another. Trevor's already seven—"

"Nay, Celsie!" He holds her away from him so he can see her face and she his. "You have given me five healthy bairns. What man could ask for more? If your arms ache to hold a child, wait but a few years, then Seamus and Faith will give you all the grandchildren you could want. Weep for the little ones we have lost, but not for me. My family is beautiful and my happiness is complete."

And together they mourn the babe they never had the chance to hold.

***

"It seems as if you've had a good life," Iain said to Sean. "Airich seems quite calm for a man who's downing decades of another man's life."

Iain had finished going through the governmental and political memories, had turned two of his amphorae over to Collos, and had now joined the others in bringing bowls to Airich. Airich himself had significantly slowed his intake of memories, much as a man grown full from too much feasting. The young knight had changed his clothes again, and now wore a simple white shirt over indigo trousers without ornament.

Most of the people gathered here for the ritual had changed their gear at least once since they'd met in Airich's mindscape. Iain himself now wore unobtrusive grays and browns, all the better to keep from being noticed. Amy looked more like a barmaid rather than a fine lady, her skirts tucked up in her belt to keep them out of the way and her hair pinned back in a messy pile on her head that still made her as stunning as ever. Trevor looked like he could have been mucking out the horse stalls. Only Collos still wore the part of a noble knight, although his sword remained sheathed and he wore his shield on his back.

"I can't say that I've had much to complain about," Sean said to Iain, swirling the memories in his bowl to inspect for impurities. "I've had troubles, of course, the same as any man. But overall, I've always been surrounded by people I love. My King and my liege have always been good to me. I couldn't ask for better children—this troublemaker notwithstanding—" he nodded towards Trevor without breaking the rhythm of his swirl, "and I even have grandchildren—well, the Earl has grandchildren. I have nieces and nephews. What more could a man possibly ask for?"

"Airich has certainly benefited from your comfortable life," Trevor said, "and I don't hold it against him, even if it means he knows about the incident with the donkey and Lavinia Udaut."

"You might be a man grown and a priest to boot, but don't think I won't take the strap to your backside if you ever try something like that again." Sean said, handing the bowl to Amy, who decided she would ask Airich about Lavinia Udaut after this was all over.

Collos appeared among them once again, carrying a ceramic bowl, larger than the others, and painted with garish colors. As he passed her, Amy caught a cloying, fermented smell from the bowl that made her eyes water. Unnatural colors glimmered within, and Collos wore an expression as grim as death. Once again he knelt before Airich and set the bowl in his hands. Once again, Airich began to drink.

Riding through the Llyndruth Plain, it was becoming clear to Derry that he was coming down with some fever, for he felt light-headed and—

Airich choked on the water from the bowl, gagged, and began coughing violently. He would have dropped the bowl had Amy not been there to catch it. He kept on coughing and gagging, his psychic body expelling the memories that Collos had given him, until he collapsed in a heap. Amy, Trevor, and Sean sought to help him while Iain gave Collos a questioning look. Collos himself released a melancholy sigh as he retrieved the large bowl.¹

"Was that the result you expected?" Iain asked, eyebrows arched.

"It was the result I'd feared. I'd hoped for better, and I had to try, for Sir Airich's sake," Collos said.

"What was that?" Airich weakly asked as he rolled to his back to look up at Collus.

"Certain memories I tried to disguise, to make them more palatable," Collos answered, sitting down next to Airich. He opened his hand over the bowl and drew out the colors and scent, leaving behind a bowl of gray, brackish water that smelled of old marsh and decay. Airich rose to his elbows and made a face at the unholy mess within.

Sean was on his feet in an instant. "No! You said you could erase those memories! Or hide them!"

Collos shook his head sadly. "I have done what I could. Many memories are buried and hidden forever. Others have been removed, and many more will yet be removed. But these..." Collos shook his head and motioned toward the bowl, an obvious gesture of futility. "They're an integral part of who his father is, and they've been with Sir Airich for many years. They're rooted too firmly. I cannot erase them without doing permanent mental damage."

"Let me drink it, instead," Sean said.

"That wouldn't—"

"It wouldn't work? Why not? Don't Airich and I share a mind? I am him, yes? Then why can I not accept this cup in his place?"

"Because you're not supposed to be here," Collos said. "You said so yourself. This is Airich's body, Airich mind; you are simply living here. You cannot integrate these memories, for they enabled your existence. They are you."

"Listen to him, Da," Airich said, sitting up with Trevor's help. "You should not have to go through this again."

Sean looked around futilely, as if trying to think of a new reason to save Airich the pain he knew was coming. Lord Iain laid a hand on his shoulder; he was once again dressed in his finery. "Lord Sean, I observed a herd of wild ponies grazing in a valley just beyond this ridge. Perhaps you might help me identify their breed while Airich is busy." In a lower voice, Iain murmured, "I believe Sir Airich will have an easier time of this if he is not worried about how these memories are affecting you."

"Aye," Sean said, shoulders slumped in defeat, and Iain took the two of them away from this place.

"Mistress Amy, Father Trevor, I would have you remain," Collos said. "Stay with Airich. Encourage him. Comfort him. But for your own sake, do not join him in these memories. Some of them are far worse than anything you can imagine, and he would be troubled to realize that you were living them as well."

"I'm troubled to know that I'll be living them," Airich muttered, getting into position to accept this next batch of memories.

Amy held her breath. She did not care about herself when it came to these tormented experiences, if she could help soften them, then she would live them with Airich. But it was Trevor who backed away first.

"I think I know what's in that bowl," the priest said. "My father never spoke of it. But I've heard old soldiers confess their war trauma. Stories I would never repeat." He looked at Amy. "As I understand it, Alaric Morgan—good lord that he always was—dulled that trauma in our father long ago. But Airich has admitted he has nightmares about it. Lady Amy, you and I have no right to witness my father's pain. I suggest we both do as Collos asks."

Amy looked long at Trevor. How could she help Airich if she did not know what to comfort him from? And what of Collos?  Was it harmful that he knew what the bowl held? What were his motives?

Amy watched Collos's eyes. She saw no guile: if anything, she saw an inner awareness of the pain he was about to inflict and a need to help Airich get through this. She did not like this one bit. But the one thing she did not see was malice. Was this foreign man the same as the cold-hearted captor of a war prisoner she had witnessed four years ago? Or was he more than that. If he only wanted money and information, he would not be looking upon Airich with such concern. What gain could come of this for him?

Amy quickly realized she had to trust Collos, or she had to get out. And getting out would be devastating. Trust then. Trust... here... now, yet stay mindful and aware.

Airich looked worried as Collos held the bowl out to him. Amy released his hand from hers and laid her arm over his shoulders. Airich accepted the bowl and looked at Amy, then flashed her a nervous smile.

"We're here with you," Amy reassured him. "We'll help in any way we can."

Airich nodded and lifted the bowl to his lips. He began to drink.

***

The memories began, as they always did, with the searing pain in his back as they snapped the shaft of the arrow. They sat on his legs and held his arms over his head as the surgeon's knife bit deep. He cried out, but didn't have the strength to fight them. He glimpsed the face of the man giving orders, and despaired; instead of finding safety, he was in the hands of Warin de Grey, Morgan's sworn enemy. He screamed again as they withdrew the barbed arrow from his back and then fell into a swoon, and from here, the dream shifted backward into stomach-clenching terror...

#

Darius is alert as his patient's body tenses and his heart rate rises, gradually at first, but then it suddenly spikes. His breath comes in short, shallow gasps. With the blood loss the boy has suffered, this is life-threatening. Darius massages his heart, not the gift of Healing, but a Deryni gift nonetheless. At length, the heart resumes a more normal rate, but Darius dares not allow himself to be distracted for a moment. Whatever echoes Sir Airich is living through, Darius prays they may end quickly and he pass into more peaceful memories.

¹ Collos failed his roll.

[Nezz]

((Sensitive readers may find portions of the following scene distressing. Caution is advised.))

"He can heal."

"Heal?" The son of Satan glances at his companion with interest. "Rhydon, did our young friend just say that Morgan can heal?"

"He did, Sire. Your ears do not lie."

Wencit of Torenth sets down the goblet he's been sipping from, his interest now piqued. "Tell me, Sean Lord Derry, what makes you think that Morgan is a healer?

Derry clenches his teeth. His jaw aches from trying to hold his tongue, but the words spew forth against his will. "He healed me."

"Truly? And did you see this healing occur?"

"No." And then, because his mind is still partially his own, he adds, "I was busy dying."

Wencit's thin lips draw together in a tight smile while his darker companion chuckles. "What think you, Rhydon?" Wencit asks. "Has Morgan actually discovered this ancient gift of the Deryni?"

"Nay, Sire." Rhydon casually balances his dagger on his fingertips. "Methinks Morgan found some need to bind the earl to his service and has bought his loyalty with false miracles."

Derry whispers a silent prayer of gratitude that this secret, at least, remains hidden...

***

...Can't breathe can't breathe please God I can't breathe! And then his head is out of the frigid water and he gasps for breath, panting, head hanging upside-down with the smell of horse and old leather in his nostrils, and he only has a moment to grab another breath before he's plunged underwater yet again...

***

...back in that damnable chair, with that damnable box full of his foul tools. More drugs, more merasha. Twin maggots of quicksilver burning through his brain, into the very core of his being, touching every intimate secret and leaving slime and filth in their wake. Never again will he be clean or fit to live among decent men...

***

Airich came back to awareness of himself, panting heavily: odd, considering this mental body didn't need to breathe. Amy and Trevor supported him.

"Is that it?" Airich gasped. "Did I get them all?" It felt as if he'd spent weeks integrating these nightmares.

Amy took his face between his hands and placed a tender kiss on his lips. "Not yet, Dearheart, there's more yet that you need to take in."

Airich looked at the bowl Collos held and was dismayed to see it was still more than half full.² "Madre de Dios," he whispered. "How am I to do this again?"

"You can do this, little brother." Trevor gave his shoulders a gentle shake. "You are the most capable member of the entire family; I know you can bear this. If it gets too bad, you can remind yourself that this is nothing more than memory, can't you?"

"I don't know," Airich said. "When I'm in the middle of it, I don't know that I'm anyone other than Father, or that I'm not actually living through these events—oh Trevor, you can't imagine how bad it was for him. What he went through..." A hard glint came into his eye. "Wencit of Torenth was luckier than he deserved in his easy death. I wish the King had let him suffer the agony of that poison longer than he did, the fiend earned no less."

Trevor, who had never heard more than the official story of the King of Torenth's death—losing his life in the Duel Arcane—looked surprised at this news. He glanced over at Collos to see if he had overheard.

Collos, as usual, made no sign that he heard anything, but he couldn't have possibly missed it, considering his proximity. He did hold out the bowl again. "You must try again now, Sir Airich," he said. "The longer you wait, the more difficult this will be."

When Airich looked at the bowl with trepidation, Collos laid a hand on his shoulder. "Remember, your father survived these hardships, and went on to have a truly blessed life. You, too, can survive them." Collos now gestured towards Amy. "If you further question the need to live through this torment, then look upon this fair maid, and consider the truly excellent reasons for why you should want to be healed."

Airich gazed at Amy, noticing the simplicity of her beauty, which required no fine clothing or jewels to augment it, and saw the tiny minnow within her, and the strength she possessed; the courage to perform the rites and rituals of the High Deryni, even as she barely knew her own powers, let alone understood them. 

Once again, Airich lifted the hated bowl to his lips and drank deeply.

***

"Rhydon, perhaps you will remind our guest how I feel about lying."

It's only a hallucination, it's not real, it can't truly hurt me, he tells himself as Rhydon begins his spell. And yet, that didn't stop the terror, or the pain of the caradot tearing into his body and ripping it open yet again...

***

...manhandling the Countess Richenda, her struggles nothing to his strength, and he would take her through the portal to Torenth with the boy...

***

...broken of will, watching in terror as his own hand pressed the blade deeper towards his own heart...

***

...Hands around the neck and squeeze tight, tighter, throttle him until those evil grey eyes close forever...

#

Darius works harder to keep the knight's heart steady, his breathing stable. Airich groans as if in agony and rolls his head back and forth. If it gets much worse, Darius will need to join in the Rapport and report to Collos, have him pause the ritual. He knows this will make things harder later on, but unless Airich's body can relax, there may not be a later on.
²Collos fails a second roll.

[Nezz]

Airich awoke from the never-ending nightmare once again. He was curled on his side, his head resting on Amy's lap, and he shuddered uncontrollably. Amy was stroking his hair, and murmuring soothing words while Trevor rubbed his arm.

"You back with us, runt?" Trevor asked. Airich could see the worry in his eyes through the forced smile.

"Aye," Airich whispered, his voice hoarse and his throat sore. He wished for nothing so much as to continue lying here, basking in the softness of a woman's care, knowing the worst was over and he was safe, and that his task was nearly finished. But he knew if he stayed too long Collos would be here soon, demanding that he return to the integration.

He'd been living with his father's memories for such a long time, and yet he'd never truly understood the man as a person before. But now, after seeing so much of his life—no, after experiencing so much of his life, actually living through the many years, he felt a kinship that he hadn't felt before, different from the kinship of father and son: more like that of brothers who shared their mother's womb and remained inseparable from birth. Thus was the closeness he felt towards the Earl Derry now.

The shaking eventually eased and he was finally able to breathe easier. He rolled to his back looking up at the faces of those who loved him. He was mentally exhausted, but now that the nightmare of Esgair Ddu was over, their support could give him the strength to finish integrating the rest of the memories.

Collos walked into his field of vision. He carried the nightmare bowl in his hands. "You've done well, Sir Airich," he said. "Just a little more and this bowl will be empty."

The nightmares weren't over.

Airich groaned and rolled back to his side, hiding his face. "Sangre de Dios, no más," he whispered. "I can't. I can't! Not again!"

Collos sat at his side and tilted the bowl. Airich could see that only a little of the murky liquid remained within, but it would still require several swallows. He let his head drop in despair.

"Sir Airich, to quit at this point is to guarantee immediate madness."

"I'm not quitting, I just... I can't..." Airich muttered an oath under his breath. "It feels like I will die if I take in any more. It's poisoning me."

"It cannot poison you any more than it already has. You've held this awful mess within you for four years and it hasn't killed you yet. The only thing different now is that instead of hiding it, you're holding it up in the light and facing it directly."

"I don't think you understand," Airich tried to sound like he was not whining. "I can't take any more. I don't think I can force myself to do it. Part of my mind thinks it will kill me to try."

"We are here. We will help you," Collos assured him. "Simply take the bowl and drain it, and that will be an end to your father's nightmare. It will be a part of you, but it will not trouble you the way it did in the past."

Airich was still for a minute, then said "I'm trying. I am actually trying to force myself to sit up and drink from the bowl, but I can't. I have no control over myself in this matter."

Collos held out the earthen bowl to Amy, who grasped it with both hands and balanced the weight of it: not nearly so heavy as it had been. Trevor moved around behind Airich, and he and Collos maneuvered Airich into a sitting position, resting against Trevor's knees and shins. Collos placed a hand upon Airich's shoulder. "We are all here to help you and we will be here when you've finished." He motioned to Amy, and she scooted forward and held the bowl up to Airich's lips. He looked at her with fear, then with resignation, and finally trust. He nodded.

Amy tilted the bowl and Airich drained it.

***

...astonished horror at the sight of Duke Jared and his Cassani soldiers dying painfully while the entirety of the Gwynedd army looks on, helpless to save them...

...looking around at the enemy encampment, astounded that these men who had been allies but a week ago would bear such hatred towards him now...

...feeling his wounded bicep, imagining it oozing with infection...

...despair as he knew he rode back to his death, yet never had he been more proud of his young king for protecting innocents...

...men with fists and whips taking such pleasure in their work...

***

He lies in the cold, dark, and damp, alone after hours of interrogation. The cell isn't even long enough to lay straight, so he curls up on his side.

He's experienced his own agonizing death a dozen times, in a dozen different ways, each more horrific than the last: drowning in a vast, deep underground pool; falling from the tallest tower of Esgair Ddu to be dashed against the rocks below; slowly garroted; evisceration; burning alive; drawing-and-quartering; and of course, the caradots. Each death is as terrible as the one before it, for each time, he'd thought this was finally his actual death and not just the hallucination. And each time he was brought back to consciousness knowing he had not found his release.

He lies/lay in the cold and filth, frightened and confused by memories of events that never actually occurred/that he never actually experienced. He sees/saw no way out of the horror his life has/had become. He hates/hated himself for having betrayed his King and liege lord, and the shame is/was something he will/would carry with him for the rest of his life, no matter how much or little time he has/had left. And worse still, he knows/knew that when they come/came for him again, he will/would continue spilling their secrets.

But at that moment, he realized there was a way out, to escape the tortures of the devil himself. For he can take his own life. It would be a simple thing, to stop his own heart, for he was Deryni, and he would not allow any tyrant to manipulate him. All it would take was a simple nudge, like so—

no airich now is not your time

A voice from nowhere interrupted his thoughts. It was of no consequence, however, and he focused once again on his task—

airich don't do this thing you are needed said his brother.

my son, you must only bear this a moment longer and you will be free of these torments said his father.

airich my love, stay with me, you promised you would come for me said his heart.

The voices brought with them the tiniest ray of hope, a reason to continue living, and so he lies in his cell, abused, but no longer broken, for he knows he will soon be free.

#

Darius senses the knight cannot survive this trauma much longer. Despite his best efforts, Airich's heart thumps wildly and his body twitches uncontrollably. His breath is ragged. Just as Darius is ready to have Collos call off the ritual, Airich relaxes and begins to breathe easily again. His heart eases and Darius is able to bring it to a rhythmic beating pattern; soon, his help is no longer needed. The young knight sleeps peacefully.

Somewhere inside of Airich, Darius knows, an important battle has been won.

[Nezz]

Within Airich's dreamscape...

They'd given Airich the cleanest, sweetest water they could find, and he'd sipped it slowly, trying to clear his head of the foul memories of Cardosa and Esgair Ddu. He was finally able to sit up by himself and drink from the bowl without help. Collos had disappeared again, doing whatever work required such concentration. 

Iain looked into the reservoir, noting how much lower it appeared, compared to earlier. They'd come a long way since they'd begun this process, however many years ago it seemed. Looking within himself, he determined the ritual had begun nearly three hours ago for their bodies in the physical world.

The Purple Guard would be missing Jimmy by now. Iain didn't think there was any more to be learned here, and Trevor, Sean, and Amy were ably handling water-fetching duties. He wondered how difficult it might be to swap out his role in the ritual for one of Airich's other three companions; he knew that, at this point, his main purpose was to provide strength to Collos and Airich.

Iain felt a slight trembling under his feet. The trembling grew to a tremor before a full-fledged quake trembled beneath them. It continued for several seconds before it slowed and then stopped.

Iain looked at Airich. So did everyone else. "What was that?" Trevor asked.

"I don't know," Airich said, "but something feels... wrong."³

"Something is very wrong," Iain said, his sharp eyes catching a spot of red on Airich's shirt. He pointed it out to the others. Airich pulled out his shirt to get a better look at it, and they all saw it: a splash of red to the right of Airich's navel, and it was growing.

"That's not good," Airich said, and got to his feet, looking around. "Where is Master Collos?"

Iain caught sight of a man running toward them from the base of the dam. It was Darius. He wore trousers and boots and nothing else, and his body displayed the powerful build of a man long accustomed to physical labor. Iain's trained eyes caught the tattoo on the man's right forearm: it was the same dragon/shield emblem that Collos' own shield bore.

Another tremor shook the ground, and Darius slid on some rocks before he finally made it to the top of the reservoir. "Collos!" he called out, "Master Collos! Quickly!"

Collos appeared in their midst. "Darius, what is happening?"

"Master, the boy needs a healer, now. Immediately! He will not live without one."

"What did you see?" Collos asked, but Darius was already gone, his spirit returned to his body in the waking world.

"Blast," Collos muttered and looked at Airich: his eyes were wide with worry, and he set his hand protectively to his side, where the red splotch was growing larger still.

Collos turned to Iain. "You can summon your healer?"

"I can contact him. Whether he comes or not will be up to him."

"Then come with me." Collos set his hand on Iain's shoulder. Iain felt momentarily disoriented, but blinked to clear his vision and found himself sitting on the floor in Collos' safehouse. Near the back of his mind, he could feel the Rapport that he hadn't left yet, but couldn't sense the details of.

Before him, Airich was in convulsions, his body jerking violently and uncontrollably, jaw clenched and eyes rolled back. Ragged, shallow breath gurgled from his lungs, and his face was drained of color but for cyan-tinged lips. He'd torn his stitches again and the bedding was soaked. Darius fought to get Airich under control, but was losing the battle.

"What happened?" Collos asked. He lunged forward to apply pressure to the wound so that Darius could work to stop the convulsions.

"I don't know what triggered the seizures, but it's re-opened the wound," Darius said, his voice intense but undisturbed. "His throat is nearly closed and his chest can't fully expand to bring in new air. I've tried to clear it, but he's drowning in his own bodily fluids."

Collos pulled one bloody hand away from Airich's side long enough to make a single gesture. Iain felt a modulation in the wards surrounding them. "You can make your call now, Sir Iain," Collos said.

Iain grabbed his Camber medallion and reached out to contact Wash, even as he knew it was already too late. The basement portal was twenty minutes away for someone who knew the maze of Grecotha tunnels, and even Iain could see that Airich would be dead within ten. But if Airich were going to die, it wouldn't be because Iain hadn't tried.

He made the call.
³Way to fail three times in a row, bynw. You trying to kill my boy?

[Nezz]

(Back in the dreamscape)

"Won't live without a healer?" Amy questioned Airich as his three protectors gathered around. "Airich, what's wrong?"

"I'm not sure," he said, breathing heavily. He looked at his bloody hand, and pulled up his shirt to see the wound. His flesh seemed whole, yet blood spread slowly across his abdomen. "Everything feels strange. My body seems very heavy. Especially here." He patted his chest. "There's a lot of pressure."

Trevor looked at the still forms of Collos and Iain, both of whom remained perfectly still and slightly translucent; the barest Rapport held them as part of the ritual.

Trevor had made the calculations about how long it might take Wash to find their location from the portal and come to his own grim conclusions. "Airich, you need to focus," he said to his brother. "Your wound in the real world has opened again. Can you reduce the bleeding? Maybe slow your heart rate and breathing as well? That would give Wash time to come through the portal and find the safe house."

Airich concentrated, then shook his head. "I can't. The merasha...it's not as bad as it was before, but it's still a hindran—oh." With this last word, Airich fell onto his backside with a thump, looking surprised.

Amy was on her knees beside him in an instant, ready to support him if he needed it. "What happened, Dearheart?"

"My legs don't seem to work," he said. He looked up, befuddled, at the three faces surrounding him. "I think I'm dying," he said calmly. The ground rumbled again, as if voicing its assent.

"No. Absolutely not." Trevor knelt to help Amy, shaking his head unconvincingly. "Not after we've spent what feels like five years fixing your brain that you broke." He tightened his lips. "Please don't make me tell our parents what happened to you. Come home and tell them your story yourself."

"I don't think I have a choice." Airich clutched Amy's hand in a death grip. He looked into her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to spend a lifetime with you. We were only allowed a few days."

"Please don't go, Airich," Amy implored him. She felt tears welling. "You're supposed to teach me more of your Deryni magic. You showed me that I had it, I need you to stay and show me everything I can do with it."

"Ah, my Amaryllis..." He cupped her cheek. "I think I will be denied the privilege of showing you the full beauty of our Deryni gifts. But Trevor will make sure you can join the schola in Rhemuth. And he will ensure your... family remains close by." He pulled her face close to his, and kissed her, loving and gentle. It wasn't like a kiss between physical bodies, and the intensity of such intimacy between two spirits pierced her soul and bound her to him, and him to her.

He released her, and she trembled with the fear of losing him now. "You can fight this, I know you can," she whispered as the first tear rolled down her cheek.

"No, Love. I don't even know what I'm fighting." Airich frowned. "Give thanks to God that at least there's no pain. Just this weight in my chest. Makes it hard to breathe." He looked up at Sean, who'd been standing there quietly, looking worried. "You can feel it too, can't you?"

"Aye." Sean nodded slowly. "I've felt the hand of death brush past me before: this is what it feels like."

"It is the hand of death for you, as well," Airich said. And it must be true. If Airich's mind had created Sean out of memories, then Sean would die when Airich did.

Still holding Amy's hand, Airich turned to Trevor. "My brother..." he said, "Father Trevor. I think it's time." It was apparent to all that Airich was requesting his Last Rites.

"Airich, please," Trevor begged, "Wash will be here soon. Whatever is wrong, you know he can heal you. Just hang in there a little bit longer."

"It's not up to me, anymore," Airich said, eyes downcast.

Trevor pressed his forehead against Airich's. "Little brother. We barely got you back and now you leave us again? This is not fair."

"I know," Airich said. He hugged his brother. "I would stay if I cou...Who is that? Where did they come from?" Several people had appeared on the opposite side of the reservoir. "Did Collos bring them? No, that can't be right; some of them are children."

"Collos didn't tell us he had anyone else prepared to join us," Trevor said. "And I don't think he would bring children into this ritual."

Even as they watched, these strangers on the other side beckoned. And though they seemed far, their faces and forms were clear to those on this side of the reservoir.

Sean gave a sudden intake of breath. "I know them," he said, and pointed to one of the men. "My Uncle Trevor. We named you after him," he told the priest. "He raised me after my father died."

"And that's our grandfather Seamus next to him, isn't it?" Trevor asked. "He looks like you."

"Lord have Mercy," said Amy, crossing herself as she realized she was seeing Airich's dead kin, come to claim their son.

"What about the little ones? And the babes-in-arms?" Airich asked.

"They..." Sean had to stop to compose himself. "They're your brother, and sisters. They died before you came along."
The following scene is a continuation of this one. And I want to thank Laurna for writing it so beautifully.

[Laurna]

"Gran!" Airich cried out as he recognized one of the figures on the far side of the reservoir, a woman in a warm shawl gesturing to him with arms open wide.

Airich climbed to his feet, discovering strength to stand. Yet, he was holding his breath now. He managed a shallow intake of air as he started ginger steps toward her.

"No! Stay!" Amy called, but her voice seemed distant, even to her. She looked at Trevor and realized that he, too, appeared as translucent as Iain and Collos in this realm of the mind. She blinked, and her own hand was now translucent, and that was why Airich no longer heard her words. She blinked again.  Feeling as if she was fallen into a false world, she saw where Airich lay on a pallet his body convulsing and unconscious as she watched. Iain and Collos were attempting to hold her knight steady while Darius tried in vain to open Airich's air way. Trevor, his prayer book in his hand, was praying, his voice tense. Amy realized the priest was giving Last Rites. And she screamed. She stood no chance getting through to Airich in the real world. She would only be able to reach him in the realm of the mind.

Breath in, breath out, calm, focus. She slipped back into the vision of the reservoir, the translucent forms of Trevor and Collos did not return with her. and her scream seemed to have pulled Lord Iain out of Rapport completely. So it was just her and Sean, standing at the side of the water's edge. Airich was already waist deep in the water, moving toward his kindred dead. The water was no longer iridescent: it was simply water: if it symbolized anything to Airich, Amy couldn't fathom what it might be. And the reservoir was no longer a reservoir, but a vast ocean, reaching out past the horizon.

"Dear Lord, has he passed beyond life already?" Amy breathed.

"Not yet. As long as I'm still here, it means he's still alive," Sean said, looking somber.

"Then you must stay," Amy requested of Sean, her hand encircling his hand. She stepped into the water and reached out to Airich, but he was beyond her outstretched fingertips. "Airich!  Please! Turn to me. Look at me!"

"This way lies peace," he said, not looking at her. "They are welcoming me into this eternal bliss."

Amy saw warm, brightly lit essences of power, floating in the waters before Sir Airich O'Flynn: souls of his past. They were beautiful. They did not call to Airich nor did they entice him to move toward them; calmly they waited as he glided deeper into the waters and further away from her. And somewhere, just beyond the edge of her sights—both human and psychic—she knew an Archangel with irridescent black wings waited.

Amy no longer wailed or screamed, for this was too lovely. Only her heart was breaking with the knowledge that she must let him go. If only... If only... He would stay... just a little longer.

"Please, My Love," she said very quietly, "Please take my hand and stay with me, just for a while more."

He turned then, a glow around his face. "I will wait for you," he said, and he slipped under the water's surface.

[Laurna]

Scaled wings of crimson hue fold backward even as a huge wedged head with twisted ruby horns and diamond fanged teeth stretch forward to dive cleanly into the depths of the murky bottom of this watery grave. The dragon's eyes, a whirling storm of fire, finds what it seeks: the spirit of a man lost, the body of a knight having taken its last breath, the shards of a life that must be saved. The dragon halts out of awe and respect: before him, Archangel Uriel raises his dark feathered wings and then sweeps them down in acknowledgement. Accepting that perhaps this moment might yet be reclaimed.

Grateful to be given the opportunity, crimson talons grasp Airich's body and pull him away from the last of his peaceful ancestors. The keeled-scaled tail whips around and sends dragon and man back the way they had come. Great wings breach the water's surface and pump hard to lift upward into a black sky dotted with thousands of stars. The stars surrounding them start falling like tear drops from a lover's eyes. They fall to sting the surface of the reflective sea, building upon one another, forming a bright sand island. The island grows large enough for the red dragon to land upon. Purple flowers bloom in the sands, and upon this soft bed of flowers is where the dragon lays Airich down. Eyes wide, Airich can not imagine what this could be, other than death.

The Great red dragon, Airleas, lifts his head high and breathes fire into the night sky, bringing forth a sunrise on the horizon, illuminating the flowers as they glisten with spring dew.

"Youngest son of Derry, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" the Dragon asks in the deepest of bass voices.

[Nezz]

On shore, Amy clutched at Sean's tunic. "What is that? What's happening? Is that beast the Angel of Death?"

Sean stared incredulously at the great red dragon. "That's impossible," he whispered. "Alaric died. I witnessed his death."

The dragon shook its head and looked deep into Sean's eyes. You witnessed my death, it's true. Yet here I am, once again standing before you. I shall always protect that which is yours as you protected that which is mine.

Amy went down on her knees and prayed, finding hope where previously there was none.

[Laurna]

One hour in the past
Caerrorie

Within the confines of the small shrine of St Camber just outside the village of Caerrorie, Baron Washburn circled the marble floor. Each passing of the altar made him more irritable. He would stop and bow before the saint, for he had genuine respect and belief in the Protector of Deryni and Humans Alike. But when stepping away, he would think of people, Deryni or Human alike, who chose hatred and violence to belittle and overpower what they themselves could not understand or control.

Lord Jamyl had dropped off the last set of documents some time ago and had not returned. At that time, he had given Charity and Washburn a first-person accounting of the cry of the lone wounded soul somewhere in the university city, and of how Trevor had gone to investigate. Jamyl was returning to Grecotha to discover what had happened. Time passed and though Wash had tried a direct Rapport with Iain, he had no luck in making contact.  One short quip, just a while back shared from Sir Jamyl, showed that the youngest son of Sean Lord Derry was skewered in a dagger fight, and he would tell Washburn more when he discovered the extent of the confrontation. Yet Washburn did not hear anymore, and that had him pacing this shrine.

Washburn Morgan was a man of action, this waiting was not in his bones, not if he thought he could be helping to resolve the trouble. But what was the trouble? If he did take action without more knowledge, would he cause more harm than help.  Kevin McLain's warning glances, stayed his feet from walking to the center of the shrine where the portal stone lay. Yet that portal remained no more than three steps away as he circled it. 

Enough of this!

 "I am done waiting!" Washburn called.

"Wash, No!" Kevin obstructed his steps to the room's center.

"Step aside or come with me," Wash warned. "I'm going!"

Kevin looked around frantically at the two priestly guards at the entrance to the underground shrine: neither of them would be willing to stop a nobleman of Washburn's rank and standing. "You two, change clothes with us," he requested of them instead. "If we are to go, we can not go as ourselves." That was an order the two guards could follow, and even Washburn appreciated the irony.

"I have played a monk before, you know."

"So you have told me," Kevin said with a sidelong glance, rubbing the very top of his head.

Wash got the reference instantly, "No Tonsure. Not this time!" he sternly replied as Kevin suppressed a smile.
 
Exchanging noblemen's tunics for the Guardians of St Camber gray robes, Wash and Kevin, no longer looking like the king's men—except for their chain mail and weaponry hidden beneath—stepped over to the portal stone. Charity watched them anxiously as the baron gestured to her. "No word of this is to get to anyone," he requested of her. "Not anyone, understand! Only your husband if I can not find him first." Wide-eyed, Charity swore it would be so.

Wash stood tall on the portal stone, and Kevin stood before him. The rapport between the friends was instant and required only the lightest touch of Wash's hand on Kevin's shoulder. And then they were standing in a dark room, cold and damp as a cellar. Wash gave a shiver, he hated dark underground places. Why, of all the portal locations in Grecotha, had Iain given him one so deep underground? Perhaps to discourage him from breaking his promise. So be it!

He threw up a ball of handfire, nearly blinding them both, before reducing the brightness and looking around. They were in a storage room, with crates and barrels covering all parts of the large space. Even parts of the portal were covered by crates. Iain's instructions for portaling here had been very specific, and now Washburn knew why. They were standing in the only part of the portal stone that had been vacant.

Neither man wasted much time with the surrounding room. They cast outward, finding a corridor beyond the door. They knew it was empty before they entered. A door led to tunnels in one direction, and a set of stairs led upwards in the other direction. Washburn chose the stairs. "I am not getting lost in the tunnels of Grecotha.  I have been here enough times to know that they lead everywhere and nowhere if you do not know the landmarks to getting out."

Acting as bodyguard to the Healer, Kevin took the stairs first. They passed through two more storage cellars and another set of stairs before finally coming into the kitchens of an important house. Servants, all young men and boys, hustled around the tables and ovens. Kevin and Wash watched behind a stack of barrels and waited. A set of clergy came into the kitchen wearing dark robes, each hefting large platters of food, likely to be taken to a dining hall.

How good is your Shapeshifting ability? Wash asked Kevin.

Kevin grinned. Not as good as Lady Aliset's, but I can change the color and styling of our robes.

Just after the last of the robed churchmen took their platters to go out of the kitchens, two more such men picked up baskets of bread and cheese and followed the others out of the servants' area. When they were clear of all eyes, those last two slipped down a different long corridor and found a side door leading outside. At the last second they each stuffed a cloth full of food into their tunics, like thieves only promising to themselves that they would repay the Bishop later, then they stuffed the empty baskets under a cabinet. They stepped into the wet weather, pulling the hoods of their robes up over their heads.

They walked out of the Bishop's Palace garden, past two guardsmen watching the gate; the guards watched them as they left, but didn't stop them.

They were immensely grateful to be out in the city streets unencumbered, and more grateful to the weather that had kept the citizens indoors. Washburn knew where he was now; he steered them away from the Bishop's Palace and the Cathedral Square and paced an indirect route to St Willibrord's church.

No one interrupted them until they were confronted by a woman at the church doors. She seemed a formidable lady, declaring the church was closed due to water damage from a leaky roof. Wash suspected a lie but could sense that her shields were strong enough to foul his truth reading. The healer in him wanted to repair the damage to her injured face, but that would be far too bold for a man of the clergy. So he shifted his compassion down a layer and assumed an authoritative stance that he presumed a monk might portray over this "mere" woman blocking his path.

"I am looking for a guardsman of the Bishop's. I'm told he would be here. He is a shorter man than ourselves." Wash tried to recall what identity Iain was using and realized Iain had not told him. Darn the man's secrecy.

She looked him up and down and said "'Shorter than you' narrows the possible men of whom you speak by none, monk."  Her cutting tone challenged the authority that Washburn portrayed. "I have not seen your face in my city before. Why is that?"

She made it clear that her authority here was greater than his. Was he so anxious for his friends that he had misjudged by using false bravado? Kevin gave him a stern glance, causing the sternness in Washburn's face to melt away. "Madam, would you let us pass, please," he requested in his full courtly manner.

"Not until you tell me who you are and by what authority you demand this," she said.

"I have been a patron of Grecotha for years. But what I need to know now is the location of two men. One a noble man from Rhemuth and the other a member of the Bishop's Purple Guard. They have had business this morning within the Lady's Chapel of this church."

Her eyes searched his curiously, and then finally she answered. "Neither are here. They went separately in the direction of the university's library."

"Thank you, Madam." He nodded, suspecting this to be truth told.

Washburn led Kevin away from the church around a corner and stopped in an alcove. While Kevin remained alert to their surroundings, Washburn opened his mind to seek out Jamyl. It didn't take long to discover the Arilan lord standing in the rain: not near the library, as the woman had suggested, but many streets beyond the library, in an older part of the city—the other side of the city. After a quick list of directions, Jamyl added: "Can you hurry? I fear for what is going on here. Whoever it is inside this building, they are neither university students nor faculty. I sense Deryni energy."

Washburn and Kevin ran through the streets, soaking boots and the hems of their clerical robes with mud and puddled rain. They found Jamyl in an alcove, watching an older residential building that had only a small window filled with a thick glass beside the wooden door.

"This is the location that Iain last contacted me from," Jamyl said as soon as Washburn greeted him. "But I can not read anything inside those buildings over there."

"Then we find out," Wash said. But before Wash left the alcove to enter the street, a large man in garments of the Purple Guard entered the street from the same direction that Wash and Kevin had come from. Had the man been following them all the way from the bishop's palace? Frustrated, Washburn retreated deeper into Jamyl's alcove. The guard loitered for a time, looking here and there, not finding his query. Wash hoped that man would soon find other interests and leave. With dismay, Wash realized the man seemed convinced there was a mystery here to be solved. The guard with the purple sash backed into the doorway of a near building and simply waited. All three king's men clenched their jaws, now how were they supposed to discover what was happening to Airich in the unreadable building before them?

[Laurna]

((written with Jerusha))

Lord Iain Cameron retreated fully from the Ritual mentally, and then physically retreated from the warded space to stand in the small area between the ward and the door leading to the streets beyond.  In this space, he was isolated from the commotion behind him. His heart was racing, his fists clenched in frustration. This would not do! He took a long settling breath and then another to restore a semblance of calm. He would make this Rapport succeed. If Morgan was in distant Arx Fidei, he might not hear him. If he was delivering documents to Rhemuth, he would never get here in time. There were other Healers, but no, it had to be Morgan! And he could waste no more time worrying about success. Just do it!

Baron Washburn, we urgently need a Healer. Can you get to Grecotha, now!

To his utter shock, Wash answered him immediately. I am in Grecotha, where are you?

Iain held back his surprise: the king would be none-too-pleased to discover that Wash had disobeyed royal orders. But the fact that he was here now was all that mattered. He sent Washburn a quick set of directions for where he was. But Wash interrupted him almost immediately.

I am already here, the healer sent, but I am hindered from crossing the avenue, as there is a Bishop's guardsman waiting for me to do just that. Kelson would accuse me of disobedience to the Crown if I got caught.

Kelson will see us both tried for disobedience, and we will tell him the truth of it. Iain decided. But I am desperately glad to see you are here. I'll handle this. Look Wash, the moment the way is clear, rush in. Airich is dying. He was wounded, but there is something far more injurious to his mind than the injury to his body. Also, there are others here whose presence will dismay you, but I am vouching for all of them. All! Understand me?

Very well, I will do the best I can. Just distract that guard if you could for me. Thanks Iain!

Iain started to close the rapport, knowing Wash would be most unhappy to find out who was waiting inside. Should he tell him? Damn, there just wasn't time to explain it all. He would ask forgiveness later.

Jimmy Taylor opened the door quickly and walked out into the rain. He saw where three men hid, but he turned away and started walking in the direction of the Bishop's Palace. He acted startled when Phillip suddenly stepped before him and demanded to know what was going on. Jimmy acknowledged Phillip, "I need to report to the Bishop, I will tell you as we go." The part of Jimmy that was Iain, did not need to turn around to know that behind him, Washburn dashed across the rain-soaked streets to enter the space where chaos reigned.

[Bynw]

Lord Thane has not been idle while Master Collos and Darius have tended to the physical and mental injuries of Sir Airich. He has been tracking Brother James, a seminarian at the university of Grecotha with connections to the Custodes Order.

At last the opportunity had come, Lord Thane had subdued the young priest-in-training and had taken him to the cottage outside the walls of Grecotha. There he extracted the information needed about the Custodes and the plans for burning the city. He erased the event of being taken and interrogated from the mind and memory of the would-be future priest and returned him to the city unharmed.

Now armed with this important information, Lord Thane made his way to the safe-house and his companions.