Forgotten Shadows

[Jerusha]

This scene was a collaborative effort by all us.  Go team!

Elspeth followed Brother Phillip into the small, isolated room in the infirmary, with Amy following behind her.  As their protector, Bede was next in line, then Airich and Edwin.  Brother Phillip stepped aside and allowed Elspeth a clear view of the body on the bed.

"Sweet Jesu!" Elspeth said softly in horror and crossed herself.  She hurried forward to assess what faced her.  Amy gasped as she now saw the still form on the bed. The men stopped in the doorway, their view initially blocked by the women.

Elseth strode forward and reached down to check for a pulse. She was relieved to discover the boy was not dead.  At least not yet, but that fate might not be far off.

"Amy, please fetch us water, a basin and clean cloths.  Bede, come help me cut what's left of these rags off of him.  But set them aside carefully; I will have a closer look at them later.  Airich and Edwin please wait near the door, inside or out as it suits you.  Brother Phillip, will you stay or leave?"

"I will help the young mistress find what she needs and then I will return with her.  I am to remain to assist you." Brother Phillip stepped outside.  Edwin glanced at Airich, who nodded slightly, and closed the door behind the monk, remaining inside with Airich.

Brother Phillip was likely instructed to keep an eye on us, thought Elspeth.  She firmly put him out of her mind.  Bede stood beside her, dagger ready to cut through the clothes that were not already in shreds.

"We must try our best to disturb his injuries as little as possible," she said to Bede.  "Poor boy, it looks like both shoulders are dislocated!"

"I'd say he put up a fair struggle," Bede stated.

"Maybe too much of a struggle for his own good."  She sighed.  "We'll start at the center, cutting the fabric into long strips we can peel back without moving his limbs."  As Bede cut through the fabric, Elspeth pulled it gently away. 

There was a knock at the door.  Edwin opened it to admit Amy and Brother Phillip with the items Elspeth had asked for.  He left the door open a bit; the smell of blood filled the room, and the number of people inside would contribute to the closeness of the air.  The shutters of the room's lone window had already been opened wide.  A little airflow might help.

"Lift him by the shoulders just enough so I can pull the remaining cloth from under him," Elspeth ordered.  She was surprised at how gently Bede moved the boy.  She removed the last of the rags, and Bede laid the boy flat again.  "Thank you, Bede.  That was well and gently done."

"I can't imagine what he could have done to deserve this,"  Bede said, his voice revealing anger barely suppressed.

"No one deserves this," Amy responded as she moved a small table closer to the bed.  There was a bloodstained piece of parchment on it.  She was too concerned for the patient to pay much attention to it now, so she set it to one side.  She filled the basin and took a cloth from the large pile she had brought.  She feared they would need to use them all.

Elspeth rinsed her hands in the basin and dried them on the cloth.  "If he starts to wake up, I will need your help."  She did not say skills in front of Brother Phillip.  "Though God alone knows if he will ever wake again."  Bede stepped back to give Amy room.

Brother Phillip was watching Elspeth closely, so Edwin took the opportunity to rescue the parchment from the table, covering it with one of the cloths and slipping it into his satchel.  He would look at it later, preferably out of sight of the monk.

As Elspeth examined the body, she listed the injuries she and Amy were facing.  "Of course his nose is broken, and there are several missing teeth.  Jaws and skull seem to be intact."  She gave Amy a pointed look; her friend would verify this quietly as Elspeth proceeded.  "Both shoulders are dislocated."  She gently picked up his right hand.  "This is badly broken, more like crushed; it looks like someone deliberately stepped on it!"

Edwin winced; if that had been his hand, his copying days would be over.

"He would have already been down on the ground for someone to do that," Airich commented grimly.  "That was uncalled for." 

Elspeth paused as she touched the boy's abdomen. "I feared this," she said as she probed as gently as she could.  The abdomen was swollen and tight, and the boy's skin was clammy and damp.  "He's bleeding internally."  She turned to Brother Phillip.  "I need leeches at once."

Brother Phillip nodded and withdrew.

Her examination finally complete, Elspeth decided to start with the broken nose.  "Hold him steady, Amy."  With strong fingers, she snapped the nose back into place.  It was Airich's turn to wince.

"Shoulders next.  Bede, I need you to hold his chest steady, but don't put any pressure on his abdomen."  When Bede was in place, she raised the boy's left arm straight out and pulled, guiding the shoulder back into the socket. It settled in with a soft, popping sound.  She repeated the procedure with the other shoulder, taking care to not move the mangled hand.

Brother Phillip returned with a small bowl covered with a cloth.  Elspeth took it from him and began to apply the leeches to the swollen abdomen. 

"Now we can begin the bandaging."  Elspeth set the now empty bowl on the table and turned again to Brother Phillip.  "These cloths are not long enough for slings.  Can you find us something more suitable?"

The monk gave her a suspicious look, but nodded and left.

"While he's gone, Ams, tell me what you found."

Amy's eyes had been focused on the wooden cross hanging from the wall over the bed. Her hands lay over the boy's forehead and abdomen. At Elspeth's words, she pulled her eyes from the cross and blinked a few times ((Amy used Empathy 2d6 looks for the cause of the boys abdomen pains 2d6 5 + 2 Success. )) In a very low voice she answered "No head wounds.That is a good sign. The hand...?" Amy shook her head in dismay. "Trauma to his center, I sense he had been kicked by a booted foot," she pointed to a great bruise. "I feel his pain but I do not know how to help him."

While Amy conferred with the physicker in quiet tones, Edwin took a moment to retrieve the parchment and scan it quickly.  He tensed and read it a second time, frowning as he did so.

There was something about the writing which made him feel that he should know who had penned it but he did not. Still it was distinctive enough with its somewhat uneven lettering, as though whoever had penned it was not very skilled, or was pretending not to be. He would know it again (2d 6:4 as per Bynw he will recognise it again).

But it was the contents which made him feel sick. His family chose to take being Deryni lightly "It's nowt but a fancy name fer second sight", but Edwin was beginning to suspect that was as much about self-protection as border narrow-mindedness. He knew little about his mother's family, they kept themselves to themselves living apparently contentedly on a prosperous but not showy estate just outside Culdi. But there had been that conversation with his mother's mother just before he left for Grecotha the first time. Hearing that the youngest boy of the family was heading off for foreign parts she asked that next time her daughter visited she should bring the lad with her. Shooing her daughter off on some errand she had taken his hands and told him of the grandsire for whom he was named. Much to Edwin's embarrassment she had wept as she told how he had finally revealed to her that he was one of the hated Deryni and how fear and revulsion had caused her to lose the babe she was carrying, and how that had broken the good man that he was. "I came ta ken jist how wrong I was, and we had mony mair bairns. But he ne'er forgave himself fer how th' guid laird made him". God forgive him he had barely listened, but now her anguish at her own fear and hatred which had so hurt her beloved man and destroyed their child came back to haunt him. It seemed such hate was not dead as they had been taught by the church. Where did that leave him? And merciful saints Airich had been sat flaunting his magic shirt.

"Airich, you need to read this."

Airich took the page Edwin offered and looked it over. Several too-familiar words jumped out at him: "Deryni," "heresy," "education," "permission," and above all, "executed."

"Ramos," he whispered to Edwin, who nodded once. "The boy's likely Deryni."

"Likely," Edwin said. "Why else would they leave this with him?"

Why indeed. And why would a dozen students at an elite university like Grecotha's seriously discuss burning a Deryni? But these thugs had gone beyond talk and beyond harassment, gone farther than a simple beating or a broken bone.

Airich caught Amy's attention. "We think the boy's Deryni," he told her. "Be careful when you scan him. He may have shields that could hurt you both."

Amy looked alarmed. What did it matter to her if the boy was Deyrni or not? His injuries were just as traumatic no matter what his race. "I can feel his pains," she said with a little quiver in her voice. "I know how he hurts so. But I do not know how to help him.  Why would shields hurt us both? I confess I've not met many Deryni."

"If you've already learned of his injuries, then I have worried you without cause," Airich said, silently cursing himself for worrying her. "My apologies, please continue with the patient."

Amy looked at Airich for understanding, but he seemed to have no more to say.  Amy turned back to continue conferring with Elspeth, determined to ask him more later.


Bede cleared his throat, addressing the men while the women did their work. "I found something during my morning stroll through the streets and alleyways." And from his jerkin he removed a rolled-up piece of paper. The cheaper vellum, hastily cut and roughly illuminated around the big damning words upon it that read

Deryni, Beware!
The streets of Grecotha are kept safe
by the Students of Willim The Martyr

Those who would aid in our righteous
cause will know how to do so.

((Bede perceives the reaction of his companions 2d6 4 & 4)) Bede found himself in hasty agreement with them. "It's terrible, isn't it? It must be if it leads to this," and he gestured at the boy with a bitter note on his tongue. In his mind, for the briefest of moments, he was not there any longer, but instead in the Carbury Infirmary, begging God for mercy as a well-lodged arrowhead cut him to shreds on the inside and left him discolored by bile on the outside. Then once again his prayers were answered. The Abbess herself lay her hands upon his mottled body. She swore him to secrecy instead of taking credit for the miracle that saved his life three years ago. At the time he supposed it was just as well, from a certain perspective. Saints need legends, whereas saviors let their deeds speak for themselves. Only now did the gravity of this secret hold real weight for him. Shaking his head, he gave the sheet to Edwin for a closer examination.

He was just as careful with that secret as he was with the secret of the job offer he had declined from such a character as may have nailed the flyer to the door where he had found it. Such expertise as his was in demand even by those whose enemies were mere children of unfortunate birth. ((Bede taunts a Willimite off stage 2d6 6 & 6)) Bede had made a point of raising his voice but not his tone as he boasted of further expertise in identifying unclean lineages and made an interrogating face at the man. Maybe later I'll talk of that one, he smirked with his face to the wall.

"Take heart, man," Airich said to Bede, mistaking the reason behind the other man's solemn silence. "The ladies are good at their work. They'll have this boy cursing his masters before the term is half over."

Behind him, Edwin shook his head slowly. He didn't know if Airich was just trying to cheer up Bede, or if he was overly optimistic. Either way, he doubted the boy would return to his classes at all this term.

"But these Willimites have made a mistake," Airich continued, dropping his voice lower so as to not disturb the women in their work. "They are planning worse mischief, far worse than even this senseless beating. But with this boy, they have shown their colors, and the provost of Grecotha will know now to guard against them." In hushed tones, Airich told Edwin and Bede of the plans he had overheard in the university courtyard.

[Bynw]

An other boy is found later in the day. He did not survive the beating that he received. Brother Phillip has come to Elspeth to inform her of the second boy.

His body has been brought to the infirmary where the monks will see to his care.

Like the first, a student, severely beaten. It is nothing short of a miracle that the first boy survived. Both of them should have succumb to their injuries and the cold of the frost during the night.

Also, like the first boy, this one too had a scrap of parchment found within his tattered robes. A warning that if a human defends the Devil's Spawn they must sufferer the same punishment.

Brother Phillip states they are attempting to identify the two boys.

[Nezz]

Airich sat down on his haunches next to Edwin, who sat in one of the infirmary's uncomfortable chairs. Edwin was trying—and failing—to read a page or two from his Book of Hours to get his mind off the unpleasantness around him. He was well aware of Brother Philip coming and going, and so the pages copied from a rather less devout scroll stayed deep in his satchel.

"Elspeth thinks the boy may survive his injuries," the knight said.

"Yeah, I heard."

"She's not convinced he'll be able to keep his hand. Or if he'll ever be able to use it again."

"Nope." And why is it you can't stand to see me reading without feeling the need to disturb me?

"Losing your right hand must be as big a blow to a scholar as it is to a soldier."

"Too true."

Both men were quiet, and Edwin decided it was safe to return to his book when Airich spoke up again. "It occurs to me that I've neglected to thank you for the other night."

Edwin looked up. "What?"

"In the tavern," the other man said. "I saw you wade into that fight with no protection, fists and feet flying. Especially feet." Airich snorted in amusement. "I think I saw two of them doubled over, thinking they'd never sire a child."

"Err... there were three." Edwin wasn't sure if Airich was serious or if he was mocking Edwin for cowardice. He had left Airich to his fate so he could rescue his bag, after all.

"Three! All the better." Airich smiled in memory. "It's too bad you weren't able to take Jasper to task as well. Still, I'm grateful you had my back. I doubt I would have walked away from that one without your help. I didn't know he had so many cronies ready to stand up with him or I might have given the whole thing a second thought."

"You didn't notice that I left the fight before it was over?" Airich had to be mocking him, there was no way he was serious.

"I did notice. And I thank God for that because you weren't wearing even a leather jerkin to protect your ribs." Airich put out his hand to Edwin. "That kind of bravery deserves the truth, and in truth, I tell you that Airich O'Flynn thanks you for your aid."

Edwin was not used to being thanked. He started to mumble something incoherent, head returning into his book to avoid Airich's gaze. Then, as suddenly as though he had received a clip from one of his own apparently impressive fists, he jerked his head back up and looked Airich in the eye. The man had always treated him fairly as an equal, now he was offering him the hand of friendship. It was time to stop being churlish.

"Well, Sir Airich, I appreciate that. Next time, I'd appreciate it even more if you counted your opponents before diving in, but if I can I'll have your back."

He put out his hand and shook the other's heartily.

Both men looked up at the sudden commotion at the door. Brother Philip bustled through, although Edwin caught sight of a cluster of monks just outside. The priest came directly to Elspeth.

"They've found another boy," he said.

"Oh no," Elspeth said. She was already nearly spent, but this was more important. "Set him on this other table. Does he have the same type of injuries?"

"He's dead," Brother Philip said.

Silence descended on the room. The only sounds came from the monks outside the infirmary.

"How?" Elspeth asked.

"Beaten. Like the first boy. He... did not survive his injuries."

The monks came in, carrying the small body in a blanket rigged up as a sling. This boy was blond, unlike the other boy's brown hair. The tiniest wisp of a mustache dusted his lip and the lashes that rimmed his closed eyes were long and pale like a girl's. Stark bruises blackened his pale face and neck, and Elspeth didn't have to guess that the bruising extended underneath his clothes. His hands lay folded upon his chest, and this boy's right hand had been mangled as badly as the other boy's.

Elspeth stared at the boy, memorizing his face, his injuries, and let herself feel the fury it brought out in her.

Behind her, one of the men whispered "Bastards!" It could have been any of the three.

Elspeth turned to Brother Philip, holding her composure fully. "I will speak with Canon Damian," she informed him.

"Mistress Elspeth, as you might guess, he is very busy at this moment, and I'm not—"

"I will speak with Canon Damian." The steel in her voice and fire in her eyes made Brother Philip step back. He stared at her as if to take her measure, then nodded.

"Come with me then," he said.

"Amy, please stay and keep watch over our patient," Elspeth said. "Edwin, Bede, you're with me." She turned and followed Brother Philip, not waiting to see if anyone followed her orders.

Everyone moved to obey, for no one wanted to risk her wrath any more than did Brother Philip. This left Airich standing with no instruction, watching the infirmarian leave the room along with the other two men.

The monks spoke quietly among themselves as they prepared the young man's body for burial. Amy stood by the young man who yet lived, gently wiping his brow with a cool damp cloth. Tears coursed down her cheeks, but she made no sound.

Airich walked to stand next to the patient, across from Amy. "Take comfort," he said, softly. "He is in the arms of the angels, now, and beyond such mortal concerns as pain and fear."

"Comfort?" She looked sharply at Airich. "Is that your answer to a brutal murder? We shouldn't worry about it because the dead boy doesn't hurt any more?"

"Of course not, that's not what I—"

"And what about the next one? And the one after that?" she asked. "It's fine because the murderers are sending them to a better place?"

"You know that isn't—"

"You warned me about his Shields. Tell me what you meant by that."

"What?"

"This boy. You think he's Deryni and has Shields that could hurt me. What does that mean?" she asked as Airich made shushing motions. Fortunately, the monks didn't seem to have heard her.

Airich hesitated, then considered his words carefully, thinking of how to explain it to the uninitiated. "If he's Deryni, then he has a mental wall that protects his thoughts and feelings and memories. Any knowledge within his mind. This wall is not always secure, but if he were to sense someone attempting to breach it, he might reinforce it involuntarily."

"I once helped a... a Deryni," Amy said. "If he had shields, I didn't sense them." She rested her hand on the unconscious young man's shoulder. "This boy is in a deep sleep from Elspeth's medicine. How can these... his Shields... harm anyone in this state?" 

"That wouldn't matter. Shields don't sleep. And if they snap up suddenly, that could hurt both the person with the Shield and the person attempting to get through. My concern was that this boy might feel your touch and mistake it for an attack. Fortunately, you were probably too subtle for him and he didn't notice your presence."

Amy still seemed agitated. She looked up at him suspiciously. "How do you know so much about Deryni Shields?"

"I've studied much about the Deryni. That's how Edwin and I met in the library, researching Deryni abilities."

"Are you Deryni?"

The question was always a punch in the gut anytime it was asked. He side-stepped. "I'm Human." It was the truth, as far as Airich was concerned. His veins ran with as much Human blood as they did Deryni blood. Even if Amy's "Second Sight" extended to reading the truth, he should be fine. 

Her eyes narrowed. "You didn't answer the question. Are you Deryni?"

He froze. He could always refuse to answer. But that was an answer in and of itself, wasn't it? He moistened dry lips and looked away from her, then pitched his voice low. "Please. Don't ask me that question."

Amy leaned over the unconscious boy. She caught Airich's eyes in an unflinching stare. She asked again. "Are. You. Deryni?"

"Yes," he whispered.

She nodded, and leaned back. "The Deryni are rumored to see into men's minds and read their innermost thoughts." She spoke in the same low volume he'd used. "Is it true?"

Another painful pause. "It is."

"And do you know how to get through this boy's Shields and find out what he knows about those who beat him?"

"That's not something I would—"

"Do you know how?" she demanded.

"I do." She wasn't as forceful as Elspeth, but her questions were just as compelling.

She looked satisfied with this confession. "Then I suggest you find out the identity of these murdering thugs before the monks bring in more bodies."

"You can't ask me to do that."

"Why? What are you afraid of?"

Shall I have Edwin write out the full list? "You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I wouldn't?" She lifted her chin. "You're probably right. And I probably wouldn't understand the responsibilities of knighthood, either, or codes of chivalry, or protecting those in need. I'm just a silly girl, how could I possibly understand all the important things you know?"

Her biting reproach stung. He worked his jaw for a moment. "All right. I'll do it." An idea came to him. "I want you to help me."

Amy gave him a look of puzzlement. "I'm not Deryni. I don't know the first thing about doing Deryni magic."

"Use your Empathy." That should work. If she weren't Deryni, as she claimed, then she wouldn't feel anything other than a mental touch she was already familiar with. If she were Deryni... her entire world was about to change. "Use it on me while I see if I can read him. Can you try?" He presented her argument back to her. "Or am I the only person expected to act?"

Amy looked worried, but she straightened her shoulders. "I'll try."

"Thank you." Airich released a deep sigh. "Let's get this over with."

[Marc_du_Temple]

"Mistress Elspeth," Bede began, more somberly than usual, while he and their scholarly friend followed Elspeth, who in turn followed Brother Phillip through the empyreally carved stone building. ((Bede has been Educated by his experiences with brutality. 2d6 4 + 2)) "Not a single cut on either of the boys, if you do not count bloodied noses. No strangely shaped bruises either. It's safe to say they relished what they were doing, yet they were not tradesmen who did this. And two students?" Edwin fought to seem unafraid at that reminder, and to his credit, he succeeded.

"I agree, Bede," Elspeth whispered. "Whoever these Willimites are, they know the university well." Under one lancet arch, a skull in the likeness of a saint bore into them. ((Elspeth uses laser eyes. 3d6 4 + 2 + 6)) Elspeth stared back, and in her fury born of injustice, she felt it to be a portentous victory.

The archer placed a hand on Edwin's shoulder, and the young man jumped a little. "Peace, man," Bede assured him. "I don't think it's safe for you to be alone after all." He hastily added, "Not to suggest that you are a ..."

"I am what I am." Edwin shrugged Bede's hand off. "Edwin Scrivener. Just a common scribe. I will feel much safer when I no longer share a city with the savages who did this." Of course, he hungered to come into his own as a true Deryni, but somehow now seemed like a bad time to revel in that. Especially while staring a common mercenary in the face. Bloody mercenaries. What had father said once? 'The difference between a hired blade and an overzealous haggler at the market is the blade.'

Continuing from the declaration about savages and safety, Bede nodded his head. "Along with the evil they have done ... they were just boys! This certainly complicates things for those I care about." Vicious as these types are, they're always careful not to pick on someone their own size. And inspiration struck then, like a blow to the head. "Scrivener, I have a plan, and it involves your pen."

"Then you don't have a plan, Mr. Archer," came the tart reply. The warnings of his father could not have been any louder in his ears.

((Bede has been Educated in which end of the quill goes where. 2d6 1 + 2 NOT)) Bede frowned, rebuffed. "Then we are truly lost, Edwin. You are the only one amongst us who knows this city inside and out."

Edwin scoffed. "That's a separate issue from me getting directly involved in whatever you are planning."

"To a certain extent, maybe," Bede conceded. "Nevertheless, deeper and deeper we venture. We must do something."

At the end of a shadowy hallway that seemed to whisper suggestions of the argent alongside the austere, Brother Phillip bid them to halt. "We are here."

[Jerusha]

Brother Phillip knocked softly on the Canon's door and was bid to enter.  He did not close the door quite fully behind him (an uncharacteristic oversight by the monk), and Elspeth could hear the conversation between the two men, but could not pick out the words. 

"You may enter," Brother Phillip said and opened the door wide.  Elspeth squared her shoulders and approached the canon, Bede and Edwin on either side of her, one step behind.  Elspeth curtseyed, and the two men bowed.  Brother Phillip closed the door securely and stood beside it.

"You wished to see me," the canon stated. 

"Yes, Canon Damian," Espeth began. "We are concerned that a second boy was attacked and now lays dead, and I fear we may still lose the first.  We need to know more about what we are facing, and how we may assist."

'You need not worry, Mistress, but I assure you we share your concern." Canon Damion rested his hands on top of a parchment that lay on the desk before him, steepling his fingers.  "The bishop has been informed and is taking this very seriously.  He is initiating strict rules to ensure the safety of the students.  The city watch has been informed." There was a note of finality in his voice.

Elspeth had never been one to give in easily.  "I understand from Brother Phillip the second boy also had a parchment pinned to what was left of his robes.  I would like to see what it says."

The canon gave the monk a disapproving look.  However, thinking the contents would discourage the three standing before him, he picked up the parchment and handed it to Elspeth.

"Thank you." Elspeth read the contents and turned pale. 

If a human defends the Devil's spawn, they must suffer the same punishment.

She handed the parchment to Edwin.  "Sweet Jesu," he muttered after reading it and handed the parchment to Bede.

Bede read it and felt the anger boil up inside him.  He was tempted to crush the parchment into a tight ball and throw it into a fire.  The irony of that did not escape him; he handed it back to Elspeth.  She held the parchment for a moment and then returned it to the canon.

"No amount of protection the bishop puts in place will protect your students once the contents of this gets out," Elspeth stated firmly; her tone did not invite argument.   "And it will get out; it always does."

"I assure you, Mistress, we are very capable of looking after our students."  The canon sounded very firm.

"I assure you that you do not," Elspeth responded with equal firmness.  "This will cause exactly what it is intended to do; fear.  And that fear will grip the University of Grecotha in a deadly grasp."  She took a deep breath and continued.

"You don't know what living with this kind of fear can do to you, but I do. I live with it every day. The fear that one day, someone will see my mismatched eyes, point at me and declare me a witch, just because their cat went missing the night before." Elspeth paused for a moment. "I have to be so careful with my patients, always explaining what I am doing, the contents of each remedy and what it will do, keeping nothing hidden from the patient or anyone who attends him.  There must never be any suspicion that I have used a spell. And I never use charms, no matter how hard a patient may plead for one."

"I know many of the students of this university,"  Edwin stated as he took up the argument.  "No rules the bishop imposes will prevent the fear from spreading, and that fear will breed suspicion.  It will not stop with the students, but spread to the masters.  How long before students accuse students? Students accuse masters? Masters accuse each other? They will do it to protect their own lives. It will be chaos."

The room remained silent for several moments. Canon Damian regarded the cross that hung over a small pre-dieu positioned along one wall.

"What do you want me to tell you?" he finally asked.

"Perhaps you can begin with how this all started," Elspeth prompted. "While you are certainly dismayed by what has happened, it strikes me that it is not a complete surprise to you."

The canon took a moment to gather his thoughts. "We have always welcomed foreign students.  Some come from Orsal and Tralia, from Andelon or even the desert of R'Kassi. Many are Deryni, and mostly we welcome them. By tacit agreement, they do not overtly use their powers, or use them to advantage over other students. Not all Deryni are foreign, of course, but the same agreement applies."

"It was at the end of the last term that we noticed a change," Canon Damian continued. "The Deryni question has been debated before, but never so hotly.  I confess I do not know why it changed."

"You allowed the debates to continue?" Elspeth asked, a bit surprised.

"My dear Mistress, debating is one of the things we do!"  The canon smiled slightly. "We encourage expansion of knowledge through opposing viewpoints. We teach the technique to every student in the university; it is a requirement for graduation."

Canon Damian's face sobered.  "Gradually, there was less and less 'opposition' to the supposed evils of the Deryni. Debate became tirades, and we dealt with more than one fight. I had hoped it would die down when the term ended and not surface again. I was wrong."

Edwin thought about the diatribe Airich had overheard. Not only had the problem not died out, it had taken a deadly turn.

"You've no idea who has been behind this?" he ventured to ask.

"I had hoped it would be someone who had graduated and gone, putting an end to this," the canon replied ruefully. "Wishful thinking, I am sure. To answer your question directly, I truly don't. And it is possible the source could be from outside the university. You know the students frequent the taverns of the town."

Edwin was well aware of that. "And the talk would be more convincing after a tankard or two of ale."

"I have nothing more I can tell you," the canon said with finality.

Can't or won't, Elspeth thought and knew the discussion was over. "Thank you, Canon Damian," she said. "Edwin and Sir Airich have access to the university, and Bede knows the town. We will do our best to search out who is responsible for this so it can be stopped. Mistress Amy and I will continue to care for any injured as best we can."

"That is all I can ask for," the canon said and gave them his blessing. "May God keep you safe."

As they followed Brother Phillip from the office, Elspeth feared that protection would not be enough.

[Laurna]

(( I have the honor of posting this thoroughly interwoven collaboration between Nezz and myself. This has taken a few days of work, with each of us submitting ideas and words to be turned into a full scene, Thank you Nezz))

Amy was a little shaken by her own veracity and by his sudden admittance of the thing he'd tried to deny. She watched as Airich brought two chairs and set them next to each other, facing the boy and away from the monks.

"Mistress Amy, would you consider praying with me for this poor boy?" he said in a voice louder than normal. "I fear his survival is in the hands of the Lord now."

Amy snuck a quick glance at the monks; they continued performing their work, paying no attention to her or Airich.

Airich sat on the left chair and rested his hands lightly upon the boy's chest in an attitude of prayer. She sat next to him. "What do you want me to do."

"Do what's normal for you," he whispered. "Be sure to make skin contact. But you do that whenever you feel someone's pain anyway, don't you? Just remember that you're in control. I won't force you to do anything you wouldn't be able to bear. You can get out any time you want."

Amy desperately aimed to calm her nerves and position herself to join in this thing that she had demanded that he do. She felt so wrong about it, yet it felt so needful. To save lives to spare others, this horror of two beatings, she would do anything, whatever the end consequences, to keep it from happening again.  Saving lives was far more important than her own discomforts. She had always felt that way, it was that very thing that allowed her to feel other people's pains and find ways to abate them. ((Amy sliding into calm Empathy 2d6=3 + 1)) but this time she was scared, far more so than any time in her life.

Visibly shaking, she just managed to place her fingers over Sir Airich's wrist and then with a tense determination, she moved her other hand to touch the back of his neck between his collar and the warrior's knot of his hair. This wasn't going to work, her grandmother had insisted that only calm balance could open her gift.  She tried for a deep breath, finding her chest tight. She had to give this up. As she lowered her left hand she felt that warm amazing sensation.

So he was wearing it again. This time well hidden under his tunic. Her fingers brushed the warmth emanating from his shirt. It was like the breath of a summer's breeze on a winter's icy day. She used the calming warmth of the shirt to find her own peace. ((Amy feels Airich's shirt and uses the calming effects and his prayers to bolster her Empathy 3d6 3 + 5 + 4 Success)) For a brief time she heard the echo of the knight's soft prayers as he had replaced broken stitches into the embroidered neck edge. The prayer brought her gaze up to the cross on the wall, above the bed of the student clinging to life. All her nerves slid away. Focusing on the wood grain, her mind's eye fell beyond her fingers into the strong muscles of male neck and shoulders. Up toward the nose, once broken, now healed. The cheek bones were knitting together and the skull crack was but a faint blemish in the bone, no longer giving the deep throbbing of the head that it had the few days before.

Then she felt a swoop, the oddest of sensations. A looming presence enfolded her within himself. It was so like another time, and another man, yet even more encompassing than before. That other man, naked in body and mind, full of despair, had looked at her with bloodshot blue eyes, sunken as if death were but moments away. His mind had enveloped hers in that moment, forcing upon her his forgiveness for bringing a cup of poison to his lips.

From within this new presence, Amy felt a sudden surprise. Wash? The ghost-voice from the other night sounded in her head, a meaningless word. ((Amy finding rapport with Airich for the first time. Bynw said disadvantage with plus one Pip.1d6=3)) She sensed his control slip. In sudden fear of being left alone in this strange place, she felt her own newly born Shields bounding up around her. But Sir Airich, proven high Deryni, already had control over her and he kept her shields from slamming shut. ((Airich forms Rapport with Amy. Easy. 2d6=5, 6)) With a cry, she felt her intimate protection tamped away.

And then in horrific shame at having forced her to his will, he whispered Please forgive me, in nearly the same way the other man had said I forgive you. She cried, but her indomitable will kept him from quitting this experiment all together. She seemed unable to mind-speak with him directly, but she could project her desires to him in images. The boy on the bed, this must be prevented! Not knowing how else to protect her in Rapport without her own ability to make it an equal sharing, he did the only thing he could think of. He surrounded her in a blanket of warmth; he cocooned her mind like a caterpillar encased for protection from the evils of the world. It melted her soul with its caring touch and she sat back in her cocoon and watched as a real Deryni used his powers to enter the mind of the wounded student to find the answers that she had demanded that he find.

Airich did not allow himself to wallow in self-loathing or ponder the unexpected appearance of Washburn Morgan in Amy's thoughts. He had Amy tucked away safely within his mind, so he turned his attention to the young man before him.

As he'd expected, the boy's own Shields hung tattered like spiderwebs in a November storm. It would require a delicate touch to move through them without making the boy panic. Slowly he sent in the slightest breath of thought, rested it against the remaining Shields, and waited to be acknowledged. ((Airich inspects wounded boy's shields. 2d6=5, 5))

Eventually the boy's sense of self stirred weakly, fluttering against Airich's benign soul-self. Airich sat quietly as a feeble tendril moved and reached toward him. Then Airich slowly lowered a portion of his own outermost Shields, and let the boy reach further inward. He didn't dare let control of his own Shields relax one whit: if the boy suddenly became agitated, it would require every bit of Airich's concentration to keep from slamming them shut on the boy's tender psyche.

As the boy continued searching, Airich took a moment to check Amy, hidden safely behind yet another deep set of Shields. She seemed to be watching in fascination. He couldn't tell if she truly understood what she was seeing, but he knew she would grasp it soon enough. Her ability to feel another's discomfort gave her an advantage with this kind of deep mind work as well as being a drawback that could cause her additional pain if she weren't constantly alert.

Airich focused back on the tendrils the boy sent out toward him. He returned feelings of calm assurance and acceptance, letting the boy know he was among friends. Airich was about to send in a delicate tendril of his own when suddenly the boy's Shields dropped, and the entirety of his mind wrapped itself around Airich, sobbing in terror and gratitude for finding a protector. It startled Airich, but his training held true while the boy's mind wrapped itself tighter, trying to find safety.

A blanket of warmth, similar to the one Amy resided in, grew around the boy, reassuring him of his security. Eventually Airich was able to find coherent thought within the barrage of emotion that battered him, and he reached for that.

Be at peace, young one. You are safe and in my care. No one will harm you further here. What is your name?

The boy didn't answer right away, but continued to burrow into the safety of Airich's own mind. Airich calmly let him, and then asked again. When he asked a third time, he received an answer: Robert

Good, thank you, Robert. I'm Airich, and you're very brave to come out to me like you did.

Airich became aware of Amy again, swaddled in her own cocoon of safety. All her attention was on Robert. She was trying to reach him, to tend to him, to comfort him. She would never be able to breach Airich's own protective fields around each of them to reach him, and under normal circumstances, Airich would never consider allowing her to. But Airich still had one more task before him, and he knew that his body was growing fatigued.

He created a small opening between the two cocoons, small enough that there could be no crossover, but wide enough that they would have the sense of one another. Robert, this is Amy. She is a new Deryni. Will you stay with her for a moment? I will be here with you, but I need to focus somewhere else. He felt the assent from Robert and gratitude from Amy as she understood immediately that Airich was leaving Robert in her care even while Robert would think she was in his.

Airich left them safely swaddled and moved deeper into Robert's mind and memories. It wasn't difficult to find what he was looking for: it was the most recent one there. He settled into Robert's memory and watched as the boy walked around the inside of an old dilapidated windmill at the top of a hill, the walls of the city could be seen in the far distance. He and Alfie were trying to piece the machine together, and just needed one more part that the other boys had hidden to make it work. They just needed to get the vanes moving before dawn so the others could see that they'd succeeded.

But that missing gear kept eluding them, hiding within the shadows of night. At Alfie's insistence—Alfie always loved to see Robert's little tricks—Robert brought up an orange handfire since they were safely alone. They'd finally found the missing piece and were ready to install it when the door opened and bodies poured in, dressed in black with faces covered. The men descended on the two friends, who stood no chance against so many, despite Alfie's dagger. He heard the threats and taunts, felt the blows and kicks and raw hatred. And then they'd dragged him out into the cold and left him with a broken body and a despairing soul, not knowing what had happened to Alfie. Robert had then sworn to himself that he would survive their hatred and live, if only to spite them.

Airich pulled back as Robert's memory went black as the young man had finally slipped into unconsciousness. It was a painful memory, Airich reflected, and would only get worse when Robert discovered the fate of his friend.

Airich knew how to smudge it, how to lessen the pain of that memory. But that was a lie. The memories never quite went away, they simply lost their shapes. Like paint smeared on a canvas; one might never recognize it for what it once was, but the paint remained. The most talented artist with exquisite tools might even manage to remove most of the paint, but it always left behind that stain. Like a smudged handkerchief.

The ability to alter a man's thoughts does not give me the right to do so. Robert might be young, but he was a man, and needed to be respected as one.

Airich headed back to escort his two charges to the waking world. Ever so grateful, Robert drifted back to his own battered body. As their connection parted, Airich cracked open his own eyes and saw a faint smile lift the corners of the sleeping boy's mouth. His breathing was easy, far easier than before. He would live.

Airich set about assisting Amy in the same smooth quick motion, but unexpectedly, she clung to him, even after he had unwound her cocoon. Images flew from her mind to his. Images of the man dying of a drugged cup she had fed to him. Her guilt and her need to save this man had brought her to a place she had never imagined that she would be, locked in the cell of a dying prisoner and giving of herself the only way that she knew to bring him back to life. She blurred her images then before she fully had compromised herself, but she was not afraid of Airich. If he knew who her knight had been, maybe he would know if the man still lived, for she had no way of knowing what had happened to him after. She let one more set of images slip into his mind before she willingly found her own courage to break their intimate rapport. The image shocked and surprised him and when their minds had parted they found their arms had enclosed each other in close embrace.

"I thought you should know," she said, so very softly next to his ear.

Behind them, the sound of the monks intent on their labors continued unabated. If they'd noticed Amy's inappropriate proximity to the young knight beside her, they made no comment. But when she thought to disentangle herself, she found herself so exhausted she could hardly move.

The door burst open, and through it came the voices of Elspeth and Edwin, both speaking angrily, followed by words from Bede. But before the others could comment on the tableau before them, Airich whispered two words.

"He lives."

Edited: for Robert's memory of what happened to clarify that he had been found outside of the city gates and what he had been doing out there. Edits by Nezz and myself

[Bynw]

Brother Phillip gives each of the 5 members of Elspeth's group a parchment. Granting them a warrant to investigate the death and beatings of the two students. Granting them full access to the University grounds. And permitting them to carry weapons.

"We are in dangerous times. These Willimites must be found and rooted out of the University. There is no place for violent behavior against our students. We are open to debate and discussion on the Deryni Question. But these acts must not be tolerated. His Grace is imposing strict ordinances upon everyone within the city."

He then gives them a copy of the edict that is going into place this very hour:

In the Name of Kelson, King of Gwynedd, His Grace Bernard the Bishop of Grecotha orders the following:

Be it known that,
The Grecotha city gates are to be closed at all times.
Be it know that,
Travelers to and from the city are subject to search, including all possessions, bags, wagons, chests, etc, etc.
Be it known that,
Gatherings of students outside of lectures is limited to no more than 3.
Be it known that,
Gatherings of other are limited to no more than 5.
Be it known that,
The city watch may disperse any gathering at any time if deemed to be a public danger.
Be it known that,
All blades are forbidden within the city. They must be bound to scabbards at all times.
Be it known that,
All bows of any kind must remain unstrung within the city.

These edicts are effective immediately.

[revanne]

This should come before Bynw's last post.

Edwin felt as though his insides were curdling. It was all too much. His untrained Deryni senses were picking up on pain and grief but he had no idea how to damp down his reaction to any of it. He longed to hide in a corner with a book until it went away. But he knew that was the action of a coward and besides which it wasn't going to happen. So he went for his other solution in times of stress, pick a row with someone.

He looked at Bede. How he would love to tell him, with his Mearan accent and disreputable clothes, where he got off. He looked again at the archer's arms. Bad idea. That left Elspeth. He spoke in his most formal and pompous tones. Like his father doubling his prices for a noble client.

"Mistress. You should have left the speaking to me. Do you not realise who you are speaking to, and the great favour he has done you in allowing you into the Cathedral library." He did not quite dare add "as a woman" but it hung provocatively in the air.

"These are men of great learning. You need to show them respect."

Elspeth had remained dangerously quiet just long enough to make Edwin squirm.  There was no warmth to be seen in her hazel eye, and the blue eye shot daggers in Edwin's direction.

"You dare to say that I should defer to you when I was the physicker Canon Damian sent for in this situation?  Do you think he simply called for the first physicker he could think of, and a woman no less?  You think too much of yourself, boy, especially when you behave like a self-centered prat!

"I have every respect for a man of Canon Damian's learning and position.  Although it may have taken him a moment to realize I would not be shooed away by those facts, he responded with respect for my position, and answered my questions as truthfully as he was willing to go.  I believe he will keep his word when this is finally over and allow me access to this great collection of knowledge under his custodianship. 

"But just because they are men of great learning, don't expect me to throw myself under their feet!  They have my respect because they have earned it, which you certainly have not!  You are still a student and have much to learn from your masters."

Edwin knew he was wrong. Knew he had spoken outrageously and in his heart knew that he had no right to speak so to this amazing, courageous woman. But the sight of the student's broken hand had frightened him.

The sensible thing would have been to admit his fear and apologise. He opened his mouth, his apology tense in his chest and it was going to come out as a shout, whether he meant it to or not. The glare from the archer's warned him to hold his peace. 

"Leave be lad. when you're in a hole, stop digging!"

Edwin wanted desperately to yell back in his own defence. But the door opened,  first to witness the monks dressing the dead boy in a shroud, and to see beyond the other student far younger than himself, clinging to life with a shattered hand. In that moment he knew he was wrong. Knew he had spoken outrageously. This whole situation was out of his depth and it unnerved him

[Laurna]

Dismissing Edwin with her hand, frowning at the reminder of that death too easily ended life as she passed the monks and their charge, Elspeth frowned even harder when she came to stand behind Airich, seated with his arm around Amy as if holding her in the seat.. "What is the meaning here?"  It was clear that the injured boy had not died to cause these two melancholy, for there was an ease to his breathing and even a faint smile upon his lips.

Startled by her mentor, Amy tried the jump up and nearly tripped upon her skirts under her feet. Only Airich's hold on her kept her from the floor. Amy's face was drained of all color and her body slouched even as she finally managed to straighten her skirts and stand.

"He Lives," she managed to repeat in a horse voice. "My Lord in heaven, Speth!  He Lives!" Tears were streaming down her face and she fell into Elspeth's shoulder, holding the woman as she regained her emotions. It was clear that the boy on the bed was still very much alive, but Elspeth instinctively understood that was not who Amaryllis was referring to.

Elspeth managed to send horrific silent accusations toward the knight Airich as he stood, looking rather pale himself. He rubbed his temple, blinked several times, and then stood straighter, the color returning to his face and his eyes brightening to alertness.

"She just needs some rest, my lady. She will recover with a little sleep."

"Recover from what?" Elspeth growled. "What have you done?"

He shook his head and walked to the table pouring himself a small ale from the covered mug that had been set there for their refreshment. He took a long drink. "I only did what Amy asked of me," he finally claimed.

"Saints alive, someone needs to teach you how to respond to a question with a straight answer," Elspeth muttered, then turned her attention back to Amy. What she saw was not torment or desperation, but relief and a conviction of courage. Elspeth brushed back Amy's tears like a mother to a daughter with a silent question on her lips.

Amy took a breath to control her near giddiness. "It was not all in vain, all the uncertainty, all the shame. I can live with that. Don't you see, Speth? I can go on..."

Elspeth understood it a little, but why now? How had this come forth here? What had Airich done?  She set Amy down on an empty cot and let the girl curl up on her side and fall nearly instantly to sleep with an ease that Amy rarely felt. Edwin and Bede watched the women with questions and concerns. But no questions could be broached aloud for Brother Phillip arrived with a handful of small parchments in his hand.

[Nezz]

(This scene is another collaboration between the five of us. I sincerely thank Laurna, Jerusha, Marc, and Revanne for all their work on this.)

"...and I will be your liaison with the Bishop in this," Brother Philip said as the four finished reading the documents he'd given them. Amy still slept in the infirmary, next door. "Any questions?"

Elspeth frowned at him. "How much time do you have?"

Brother Philip bowed. "I am at your service for as long as you need me, Mistress."

"Why did the bishop decide he wanted us to do his investigating?" Edwin asked. He wanted to run home, screaming, to Culdi. He couldn't think of how this nightmare would become worse. Oh yes, he could: the Willimites could discover him. Worse, they might already know. Or they might torture him to find out what he knew about others. It wasn't being killed that was the problem but how much they made him hurt, first.

"The Bishop understood that the ladies are interested in the healing arts," Brother Philip replied. "He had also heard that the rest of you are not afraid to intervene to defend those under attack. Was he misinformed?" he finished mildly.

"Not entirely," Edwin conceded, "although not necessarily eagerly." Where does the Bishop get his information, anyway?

"That is well," Philip said. "We'd prefer that fights not break out spontaneously with the city walls.

"In that case," Elspeth said, "it seems only reasonable that since we are being asked to stay here in Grecotha, that you pay for our lodgings. We only brought funds to pay for a few nights."

Behind her, Edwin fought to keep his mouth shut. This is the Church! They don't spend coin lightly, you can't make these kinds of demands!

Elspeth was going to get them all excommunicated! Or, looking on the bright side, sent packing from Grecotha.

"That's a reasonable request," Brother Philip said. "But in return, I would ask that you all move to the closer student lodgings. Much less dear. The church isn't made of money." He sighed. "Most irregular having women in the university, but sadly these are not regular times."

Elspeth chose to take this last statement for the victory it was, rather than an insult.

"If we're finished," Airich said, "I'm going to go back and sit with Robert until he wakes up."

"Wait, who's Robert?" Elspeth asked.

"The young man in the other room." Airich turned toward Brother Philip. "His name is Robert Thorne. The boy who died is his friend, Alfred Meadows. The university masters will need to inform their families."

"How... er, how did you discover this?" Brother Philips asked.

"I asked him," Airich said, opening the door. "He told me."

Bede broke in. "If I'm reading this warrant correctly, it's telling me that I can string my bow and use it within the walls of the city? And not get in trouble?"

"Within reason," Brother Philip said. "You may carry your bow prepared, but other laws still stand. Even for you." The monk gave Bede a searching stare. "Especially for you. Do not shoot anyone without just cause."

"And who decides what constitutes just cause?"

The monk stared longer until Bede began feeling uncomfortable. He finally said, "I have been told of your past, Bede Archer. Your list of sins is considerable. If you cooperate with us in this, much of that list can be cleared. But only if you follow the king's laws."

Elspeth's ears perked at this. How did Brother Philip know Bede?

The abashed scoundrel murmured something that rhymed about a thief on a cross, before humbly petitioning for specifics. "Including the trouble with Father Corin?"

"Even that."

"How is the good father?"

Brother Phillip gritted his teeth. "To think that you would do such a thing after receiving sanctuary from a nun, beloved of God. The man is poorer, for the lack of a gold cross."

Bede shook his head. "I cannae return that. One more thing ..."

"Not to interrupt the Holy Confession here," Edwin burst in, "but I don't think that's why the good brother is here. We're looking at a murder here. I, for one, need to be sure there is no other."

"Watch your tongue, my son," interrupted Philip, "or it'll be you on your knees. Holy Confession is no topic for levity." Brother Philip paused. The boy was clearly agitated. Best give him something to do. Speaking more gently he added "You're a student here, are you not? Let's step into the hallway for a moment, and I will give you the name of the house nearest the infirmary. Many of our esteemed guests bring their wives to visit, and this house is run by a woman who understands our university guests' needs."

Happy for once to be of use, Edwin bowed in agreement and showed Brother Phillip out into the hall. As they passed through the infirmary, he glanced toward Elspeth and was disappointed that she had not even seen his polished acknowledgment. She was more concerned with the blasted knight standing tall before her.

As far as Elspeth was concerned, hearing that Bede had robbed a priest was more than enough. She'd returned to the infirmary and stepped over to Airich, who stood at her approach. She looked down at the sleeping boy: his color was good, and his breathing was steady. "When did he regain consciousness?" she demanded of Airich. "Why did you not send for me immediately?"

He didn't answer right away. She could practically hear him trying to think up a response that answered as little of the question as possible. "Before you answer," she added, "consider that last night you asked me for absolution. If you were serious, then I ask you to please stop side-stepping my questions, and answer me directly and fully."

She couldn't guess what went on behind those blue eyes, but he finally took a deep breath and spoke quietly. "He has not yet regained consciousness. Robert is Deryni. I spoke with him," Airich touched his temple, "mind-to-mind. As Deryni do." He fell silent then, looking at her nervously.

As Elspeth pieced together the implication of his words, Airich spoke again. "Amy guessed it. And insisted I find out what he knows about his attackers—which, unfortunately, is almost nothing. But I know Amy will tell you soon enough, when she deems the time is right."

Elspeth pursed her lips but nodded. "Tell me what you learned, then."

Airich seemed mildly surprised at how easily she absorbed his news, but then recounted what he'd seen in Robert's memory. 

Under normal circumstances, Elspeth would take full advantage of this opportunity to find out more about Deryni abilities from an actual practitioner of those arts, but when he'd finished his report, she had too many questions running through her mind.

She couldn't fault Edwin's suspicions: why had the Bishop selected five total strangers to investigate these murders?  Did he not trust his own men? Did he suspect the Willimites had infiltrated the university? Or—and she hated thinking this about high-level clergy—was their group being set up as a diversion for the Willimites while the canon conducted his own secret investigation?

She looked down at the boy who she now knew to be Robert.  He looked peaceful, but he was not out of danger. ((Will Robert wake up?  2d6 1+5 =6.  Woo hoo!)  He stirred slightly, and his eyelids fluttered before his eyes opened.

"Lie still," Elspeth said gently.  "You are safe here. I am Elspeth, the physicker who looked after you. I am so glad to see you are awake."

Elspeth was unaware of a second conversation going on at the same time.

You're safe, Robert Airich told him. Trust Mistress Elspeth, you could not be in better hands. She looked after my own wounds a few days ago. It's not just any physicker who would be so attendant as to straighten your nose for you. She even allowed you to sleep through that procedure.

Don't be alarmed by her eyes, Airich added as Elspeth pushed her hood back to see her patient more clearly. Robert looked startled, but made no exclamation. Each one is lovely and perfectly normal. I prefer looking at the honey-coloured one, myself.

Mistaking Robert's silence for the confusion that came with waking from a coma, Elspeth said, "Let me have a look at you, and then I'll send for some broth. You need to start regaining your strength." She examined Robert carefully and decided the leeches could safely be removed. Although she knew their value for bloodletting, she had never been fond of the ugly beasties.

Edwin returned then, "Brother Philip has agreed to give us good rooms in a boarding house across the street, but as it looks like some of us will be staying with the injured here tonight," the scribe announced with a triumphant smile. "He has gone to order food for both ourselves and our patient."

Elspeth nodded in afterthought at Edwin's declaration and returned to her chore. Airich dutifully held the basin she dropped the little bloodsuckers into.

While she was engaged in this disgusting process, a young novice arrived with a platter that held a terrine of stew and a covered bowl of broth. After carefully cleaning the boy's abdomen, Elspeth asked the novice to take back the satiated leeches and bring a fresh shirt for Robert. The novice quickly disappeared to do her bidding.

Airich fetched the bowl of broth while Elspeth gently settled Robert into a better position. "Let me prop up your head, and take slow sips from the spoon. There is no rush; take your time." 

Before long, half of the broth had been consumed. Roberts eyelids began to droop as the warm broth eased his hunger pangs.

"Now I'm going to give you something to ease the pain," Elspeth said as she laid his head back on the bed. She reached into her satchel for the proper packet and a cup.  "Sir Airich, could you please pour some of the ale into this cup? I prefer to use wine, but I think the stronger drink might go right to his head!"  Robert responded with a slight smile, and Elspeth was pleased.  As she mixed the potion, she explained what it was and what it would do, just as she had for Airich two days previous. 

Just before she gave it to him, she said softly, "If anyone here causes you concern, or does anything that is suspicious, I want you to send for me at once." The boy gave her a curious look and then nodded slightly. Within moments of finishing the potion, Robert was asleep.

Airich frowned at Elspeth. "I caused him no harm earlier when I questioned him. Did you find my behavior suspect?"

"I wasn't worried about you," Elspeth replied evenly. "But Robert was not supposed to live; whoever did this meant to kill him. When whoever that was discovers that he is not dead, he will be in danger. They don't know he can't identify them. When Amy wakes up, she can sit with him for a while while I get some rest. I'll evaluate his condition then and we can decide how to proceed from there."

Bede, meanwhile, had been standing patiently nearby, looking penitent. Withholding his nerves, he waited for Elspeth to turn his way. "Mistress?"

"Bede," she said. Her voice was as cold as he'd ever heard from her. "I didn't hear much of what you and Brother Philip said to each other, but it was enough. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

There is a good question, he reflected. No one wanted to hear that their bodyguard had robbed a priest, even if that priest was as corrupt as Judas in a storehouse. He could say Father Corin had it coming. He could admit that his true past was a degree or two away from what he had said before. He could say "Long live Sidana" and run for the gates. Maybe even "Sorry." Then he met her eyes and said, "Unless you require my services in the city, tomorrow I would like to begin a search of the woods, starting where the poor boys were found."

"Do as you please," she snapped.

He bowed again, failing to meet her gaze this time. "I'm afraid that's what got me into this mess, mistress."

At that moment the door opened again and Brother Phillip returned with the novice holding a set of student clothing. He asked the novice to give the clothes to the physicker. "Will there be anything more?" He asked directly of her.

"Yes. It seems Master Bede, Sir Airich, and Scribe Edwin will be going out of the gates for investigation." When all three men opened their mouths to protest, Elspeth ignored them. "Brother Phillip, will you arrange for a guardsman to escort my friends to the exact location where each of the two students were found. I want them to discover any clues that may have been missed."

"Yes, Mistress, I will see that a guard meets with Sir Airich at the city gate an hour after dawn."

"Thank you." Elspeth dismissed him with a nod. The brother inclined his head toward the physicker respectfully, then he promptly left for the evening. The monks finished their work and solemnly carried by stretcher the body of Alfred Meadows out of the infirmary to the chapel mortuary. Everyone stopped to say their personal prayers as they left.

Elspeth looked from the sleeping student to Airich; the knight seemed determined to stay by the boy's side. Edwin, on the other hand, seemed anxious to go. "Either stay with us here tonight or take Bede with you if you go to our new boarding house rooms." Elspeth told the scribe with sincere concern.  "I don't think it is safe for any of us, warrant or no, to walk alone through this city at night. Bede? My father is still paying you until I hear otherwise from my letter to him. Are you abandoning your post?" There was a slight growl in her voice, but she added, "Or are you still working for me?"

His sunburnt face burned hotter at the insinuation. He snarled lowly, "There are a great many things you can accuse me of, mistress, but disloyalty is na among them. May I remind you that I am your bodyguard, and no one else's but your curious friend? Everything else I have done since we met, good or bad ... give my will some credit." Then he turned to Edwin and patiently said, "When you are ready, Master Scrivener," not revealing his own eagerness to leave unless he had to.

The terrified student shook his head. "Not to offend, but I quite like it here. I will stay in the infirmary, and I wish you luck 'til the morning." Whoever you are, Edwin thought.

Feeling himself thrice chastened, Bede regressed to his first impression of the student. "Lick your wounds, if you'd prefer. My own welfare is not my chief concern." He looked at Elspeth one last time for the evening and finally began to see the power in her eyes, but with effort he shook it off. "I also lied about not knowing the barmaid. She's a childhood friend. I need to see that she, too, is safe for the night. I will return as soon as I can." He waited for Elspeth's permission. When she finally gave it with a dismissal of her hand, he bounded out of the room before she could change her mind.

[Marc_du_Temple]

Bede felt hot despite the cold Autumn air in the city, as he strode worriedly from the university to the King's Arms. He listened as best as he could for the mood of the people, despite his distracted thoughts and distressed heart, but gave up with the conclusion that they were yet ignorant of the awful crimes the day had seen. He fiddled with the warrant in his hands as he walked. At one moment it felt light, and in another, it felt heavier than any stone. When he finally reached the threshold of the tavern-inn, the sun was setting upon him, and the walls were close upon him in his view. This time he entered with no gentle grace, glancing wildly for any sign of Muirea. ((Bede Perceives? 2d6 6 + 2)) She was at work, and glowing without any blemish or hurt. Thank you, God. He went up to the counter and ordered one drink as she approached.

"Bede," she smiled her greeting. "I have not yet packed. I just need a little time before tomorrow, and then we can begin the journey home."

As the Fianna Red entered his grasp, his relief at seeing her faded into the present duty: tell someone the truth. "I must begin by telling you that I am here for you as much as I can be." She looked confused, but she was listening, of course, so he continued in a voice only for her to hear. "None of us are leaving tomorrow. The girls from Carbury and those men who helped save you a few nights ago, and myself: we've been tasked with solving the murder of Deryni lads." He handed her the warrant to read.

Her eyes widened in sympathy and shock at the news, but she was not Deryni. She did not think she knew any Deryni. The Willimites were not coming for her, and so her sorrow was not personal. "And you were happy to help?"

"Well, I'm not so bad as to have no pity for innocents, no matter where they're from. The priests did add an extra sweetness to the bargain for me. Talk of forgiveness of crime as well as sin." He drank to sate his thirst and alleviate the tension he was feeling inside.

Good news. "That's wonderful, Bede. So, it's not all bad. I can stay a little longer if it helps you and some poor lads. You knew I would'na mind, didn't you? What else has you down?"

He nearly spit the beverage like the loosing of an arrow. Not for her question, but for its saccharine taste. With a gulp, he replied, "The rest of the 'investigators' do not care to have a man who robbed a priest in their midst, even if the priest's mistress and child are now well attended to by his gaudy cross. Or maybe it's that I have told them one truth for every five lies since I met them, I dunno."

"Oh ... well, I think I do," she said. "You've already proven your might, but you leave your heart in doubt, don't you, Bede?"

"Aye." He could not deny it.

"So come clean. Confess. And make sure Amy sees it. That lass holds suspicion like a knife, so it was foolish to provoke her to use it."

He smiled with resignation, but a weight was coming off of his shoulders. "You always were the wisest girl—now woman—I've known, Muirea." Unexpectedly, the candlelights caught her face at a gloomy angle, and inspiration returned to Bede's mind like a dallying muse.

She laughed. "Is that all?"

"No," he shook his head and took off his cap. "If you would join me, I wish to postpone honesty until the morning light comes. I have a plan for getting back at Jasper."

When her shift had ended for the evening, they rendezvoused in his room, where he had prepared his paints. For her part, she had brought the most grim and terrible clothing she owned. ((Bede paints (idk what to roll that as but he's been doing it for awhile) 2d6 5 + 4)) He made it worse with his paints, his knife, and whatever grime he could muster and she could stand, until a beautiful woman stood in his room, draped in a cornucopia of grey and well-worn decay, like a robber of the dead, or a prisoner left to waste too long whose dignity would not be stolen. That would not suffice, so the next step was to get to work on her very skin and hair, with her input, suggestions, and mild protests, until before him was his most ambitious artistic work yet, beyond anything he had done at any faire across the world.

She was terrific in every sense of the word and mostly monochromatically macabre, with frenzied hair like concentrated blood haloing a face betrayed by life itself. Where on another night she might have added a touch of red to her cheeks, Bede had taken pains to make them appear sunken and dehydrated, accentuating other parts of her face with shading as she requested it until she resembled someone else: her own sister, could she avenge herself.

((Bede Educates a friend in acting 2d6 5 + 6)) The only problem was that Muirea was still looking at him like she normally did, albeit expectant of something. Anyone who knew her at all would see through the ruse they were planning at this point. "Of course," he exclaimed, not yet proud of his work. "It's not enough to look like someone else. Take it from me, Muirea: you have to feel that you are that someone you have disguised yourself as, or the player will himself, or this case herself, be played."

"It's not a 'place' I want to be in," she answered, but she listened nonetheless.

"Well, if not that, then at least know the role's mannerisms, quirks, highs and lows of feeling." He was quoting Leofric, the troop's thespian, now. "When you speak, speak to be heard far and wide. Speak from your chest, like so," and he opened his shirt enough to expose his marred breast. "Dinna worry about me. Just see how I'm moving," and she also heard how his voice carried more strongly than ever before. He was quite pleased to see her understand immediately with that demonstration, and to hear her just as clearly. Breaking into a grin, he gently shushed her, stilling her elated and easy shouting, so as not to awaken the other patrons.

A short while later, a man in a green cowl followed a specter through the back alleys of Grecotha, until they arrived at a decrepit apartment in a quarter the students seldom ventured into. It was the domain of guildsmen as well as misers with nothing to spare for youths condemned to learn for a living. "We are here," she whispered. She turned to the cowled man like in a dream, and briefly dropped her guise. "Bede, I don't know if I can do this."

((Bede does his best to Inspire: 2d6 2 + 5)) He would have touched her shoulder for reassurance, but he dared not smear any aspect of her ghastly costume. Instead, he said, "I am with you, in case anything should go awry, but it will not. Remember: speak less from the heart, and instead speak more to terrify him. There is a strength in you like a thunderstorm of the morning. I have seen it, and now it's time for a cloudburst." When she believed it, he receded into the darker shadows to observe guardedly.

((Muirea is SCARY 3d6 2 + 2 + 6)) She began with the tone of a whisper like creaking wood, rising in volume until her old tormentor must have heard her. "Jasper..."

A corresponding silhouette appeared on a second-story windowsill, demanding to know who she was and what she wanted. Bede thanked St. Genesius for the illumination of the moonlight cascading down upon the star of his show.

With a hellish smirk, and in a voice unlike her own, she answered the man in the window. "You know who I am. But have you ever known how I feel? Once I did care for you, amidst the horrors you showed me. Now I am naught but jealousy. Jealous like the God you betrayed when you laid your hands on me one last time!" she roared, and even Bede flinched a little.

"Sinead?!" Jasper trembled in the window, like a shadow seized by paroxysms.

"And now you dare try to replace me with my sister!?" she laughed, and she meant it, in a way. He was pathetic, after all. "You damned fool. You cannot replace what you cannot be rid of. And although you are damned, while you live, I will never leave you!" He was inarticulate now. Giving him a few seconds reprieve, she followed slowly, making sure he understood what she would say next. "Forget all dreams of my poor sister, lest I remind you of the fires that await you, again, and again, until you see no other choice but to join me, my dear," she spat. She held his gaze until he retreated noisily into his home, and then Sinead was Muirea once again.

Bede whistled, and she followed the sound around a corner. Once out of sight, she began wiping the paint from her face with her wrists. Bede helped her along using the shirt that had once belonged to Carew and most recently served him well as a cowl. Then she shocked him well, knocking it from his hand and hugging him strongly. "We're a little closer to freedom now, aren't we?"

[Nezz]

(Not technically a collaboration, but I sure couldn't have done this one without loads of help from Laurna. She changed this scene from a stuff-that-happens scene into a major chunk of character growth. Thanks, Laurna!)

Amy sat quietly, reflecting on her day as she watched Robert slumber. Elspeth and Edwin both slept on two of the other infirmary beds. Airich had been standing by the windows looking out at the cold darkness: frost once again appeared on the lattice panes.  She stopped watching him the moment he turned back to look around the room. She closed her eyes, but heard his footsteps and the muffled chink of the mail he'd been wearing this day. She felt him sit on the edge of the bed next to her. For several minutes they both just looked at Robert neither saying anything.

"How do you feel?" he finally asked her.

"Strange. Wonderful. Terrified."

"That's not surprising."

"I need to know more about what this means."

"We'll get you there. But as you saw, it's exhausting. Don't try to run faster than you can walk."

She gave him a direct inquisitive smile, but found that too personal when he returned her gaze. Quickly she looked back at Robert. The boy seemed to be having a bad dream, he rocked in his sleep. A cold shiver went through her. Someone had done this to him, deliberately, and for no reason but that he had Deryni blood.

She had Deryni blood. She could be in just as much danger.

Sir Airich bent over and reached across to Robert's good hand. He closed his eyes. Steadied his own breathing and, after a moment, Robert ceased his rocking and he relaxed back into calm sleep. Satisfied, Airich opened his eyes, released the boy's hand and sat up straighter. Somehow he was sitting even closer to Amy now. For a moment, he reminded her of her knight, even though the two looked nothing alike.

Amy reached into the neck of her gown and pulled forth a long silver chain. The chain was weighed down with a signet ring dangling from the end of it. She turned it up and showed it to Airich. "Do you recognize this?"

He turned it in the candlelight, reflections of tiny flames dancing across its curves. "Aye, the stag is the emblem of Lendour. This is Kenric's heraldry."

Kenric. She'd discovered recently that the Earl of Lendour was named Kenric. The man who'd given her this ring had claimed merely to be a knight, not an earl or heir.

Airich was squinting at the ring again. "How would you be carrying Kenric's ring? Oh, wait..." He twisted the ring to see it from a different angle. "I see. The stag is on a roundel, not a shield. It's old, too." He handed the ring back to her. "This is the former signet of the Steward of Lendour."

Amy nodded. This sounded right to her. She thought longingly of her Lendour knight.

He just said Former, but hadn't he said before that He lives.

She closed her eyes—dare she question this—then looked back at Airich. Soon she might work up the nerve to ask him to tell her more about her knight.

"Can I tell you a story?" Airich said.

"Yes. If it is not full of monsters." It would help her keep her mind off the horror of the murder, and further possible attacks.

"Hmm, all stories have monsters, otherwise they would not be worth telling," he said. "But since you ask it of me, I'll leave out most of the monsters. What do you know about Alaric Morgan?"

She looked at him derisively. "Don't tell me you believe the rumors of that man being a monster.  They're not true. My father called him the rescuer of Saint Brigid's, and even Morgan the Kingmaker."

"I haven't heard him called "Morgan the Kingmaker," but yes, that would be him."

"I know the Morgan name, but only what history says happened," Amy said. "And I know that history changes depending upon the person telling it. The way I've heard it told is that the Duke of Corwyn helped King Kelson keep his throne, he was loyal to the king for his entire life. Wasn't he a cousin of Archbishop Duncan, too? Oh yes, and he was the first lord to openly flaunt his Deryni power—oh!" Yes, he had been Deryni. That meant something to Amy now.

"Let me tell you a little bit about Alaric Morgan," Airich said. "In a hundred years, I believe the history books will record his name as the greatest man of his age, barring King Kelson himself." Airich reached out and set his hand near Amy's arm, and touched her wrist with his fingertips.¹

An image sprang into Amy's mind. A blond man, handsome, dressed in black and green and gold. A man with the presence of subtle power and control. He looked every bit the legend she would have expected from such a man.

"Understand that I have, on occasion, told tall tales of General Morgan, speaking of him as if he were a saint sent from God, or sometimes telling of his sorcerous ways, depending on my audience; in all honesty, he was greatly amused by the stories of his sorceries. But to you, Amaryllis Aldan, I speak his truth only. And trust that I know whereof I speak, for several generations of my family served him: my father, and his father, and his father before him, when Alaric was but a wee lad."

Amy looked up, straight into the young knight's eyes: the blue irises shimmered, bespeaking personal knowledge. Yes, she could feel that truth in him, so much sharper than she ever had in the past. And within her mind, she saw another man alongside Duke Alaric, with laughing blue eyes and mouth, and brown curls that couldn't be tamed with a leather thong at the nape of the neck. This man could be no other than Airich's father. She could see it in those same eyes.

"Why do they call Morgan "Kingmaker?" she asked. "The King is Deryni himself. Did Morgan train him?"

"No, Kelson was completely untrained the morning of his coronation. He had no powers whatsoever. Duke Alaric and Archbishop Duncan—he was only Father Duncan back then—gave him the ability to defend himself when he was challenged to a magic duel later that self-same day."

A new man appeared within her vision now, wearing a simple priest's cassock, the barest tonsure at his crown, and eyes the color of a summer morning.

"Lord a-mighty, that's Archbishop Duncan?"

"Ssssssh, don't wake the others."

"Sorry. My goodness, he is—was—a handsome man."

"Much to the dismay of the women of court." Airich grinned. "Many the lady was sure that she would be the one he abandoned the priesthood for."

"I understand why they hoped that."

"Anyway. Alaric and Duncan performed a ritual on the fourteen-year-old King. This awakened the powers that the Haldane kings have passed down through the generations for hundreds of years. It was these powers, not his Deryni heritage, that made it possible for him to defeat the Duchess of Tolen when she challenged him for his crown. She is the first monster in this tale."

A different vision appeared, one of King Kelson—as a boy!—manipulating crimson magics against a beautiful yet sinister woman, who herself wielded magics of icy blue. Amy shivered from the image.

"The following year saw many changes take place in Gwynedd, but this is a story about Morgan, not the land he loved. A year after Kelson's coronation, Alaric courted and wed his Duchess, the beautiful Richenda." Amy saw the woman now, masses of strawberry hair framing a heart-shaped face and cornflower eyes, a smile playing about her lips.

"She... I mean the Duchess, she was a stunning lady," Amy said. It was the woman's eyes that caught Amy's attention. They reminded her of her knight's eyes, smudged and bruised and sunken, but clinging to life, and looking at her to help him. "A noble Lady fit for a duke."

"Indeed. The story of Alaric and Richenda is truly a love story for the ages, for their courtship was not without its struggles. But the King granted them permission to wed. And wed they did, for a mere nine months later, the Duchess presented the Duke with his first child, a daughter, followed in short order by a son and yet another daughter. To this brood, we must add Richenda's son from her first marriage, Brendan Coris."

"Oh, I know of him. Isn't he the Earl of... um, let me think. Marley?"

"Aye, the Earl of Marley. Alaric took him in with the same love he gave the boy's mother and was as true a father to Brendan as he was to any of his own children.

"For eleven years, this family grew and loved each other well."

Amy could see them, could visualize these children as they passed through their years as babies, then children, and then the older ones into their very young adulthood. The sight of this family filled her with joy, even as it broke her heart. Her own home growing up held moments of love, but the harsh times outweighed them. And the idea that she might herself one day have a happy brood of her own, well... it seemed so unlikely now.

As she watched this family grow, it occurred to Amy that these visions seemed extraordinarily vivid, and full of the details of true friendships and comfortable intimacy. They couldn't have been imagined piecemeal from courtly gossip.

Also, Airich couldn't have been born at the time these images had been committed to memory. Where could he have gotten them from? Amy focused behind the image of the happy family. Right... There... She heard the voice of a man laughing with the red-headed boy over a new-born foal in a barn. Then the voice of the same man consoling the little blonde girl after she'd scraped her knee. Airich's father? He didn't just work for the duke, they were good friends, a friend to the entire family by what she witnessed. 

Airich, meanwhile, had continued his story, "But the family was not quite complete, for, long after Richenda despaired of birthing any more children, she presented to Alaric one more fine, healthy son. The title of "Hero" must have been writ large upon his brow, for surely he grew in power and stature from a boy to a squire to the finest knight I have ever had the pleasure to know. He wins most of the tournaments he competes in. The other men have to pry the ladies off him with sticks to have a chance with them. And a few years ago, his own healing skills manifested themselves in him."

The baby boy Amy saw began toddling, and then played with other children, and moved on to serving as a page in the King's court.

"In short, this splendid man is the epitome of what it means to be knight of the realm."

Amy watched as fleeting images as a child became a page, the page a squire and then the squire earning his knight's belt and spurs. Amy witnessed a confident man, with the entire world laid out before him like a jewel, waiting to be plucked. There was nothing this young lord, with his golden hair and cornflower eyes, was incapable of, no lady who couldn't be won, no enemy he couldn't defeat.

"His name is Washburn Morgan."

While still bewildered by this man Amy had never known, Airich's vision of him changed, a shadow fell across him and his brilliance; Amy gasped as the shock of recognition struck her.

"A few years ago, Wash was summoned to help a friend recover his lands. But during his mission, he fell into the hands of the other two monsters in this story, and they meant to use him for their own foul purposes. Very few people knew what had become of him during these dark days. It's said that the enemy tried to break his mind and convince him that his own beloved family had rejected him and his King had abandoned him. These nefarious fiends would make a pawn of this man, the greatest knight of the kingdom and the son of the King's dearest friend, and use him against his own country in bloody war."

Amy now saw the images she had shared the night before reflected back at her: her Lendour knight brought low, near unto death, cursing both enemy and family alike for their torment. It was strange yet mesmerizing how the storyteller weaved in these most recent insights into his tale. "It is only by Divine Providence working through the King's spymaster that Wash was able to escape. But word has recently reached my ears that there is more to this part of the story than was previously known. The kindness of a beautiful maiden gave him the courage to be more than just his enemy's pawn." 

And she saw herself lying beside him, black and gold hair intertwined as their bodies had been for that brief night of shared comfort. Amy should have shied from the story teller's vision, but in this one thing she felt no shame. She had known nothing of the man before that night and never learned anything of him afterward, but she knew in her heart that he would have despaired unto his death if she had not acted as she had.

"It took time, for such hurts do not heal easily. Time and the loyalty of a few friends. But he grew strong once again, stronger even than he had been before, for no man goes through such experiences and returns unscathed. He was given lands and a commendation from the King."

And he was once again the golden, comely knight, a little older, wiser, with bright eyes and a warm smile. His shoulders square with the conviction of a man who knew his own will and power.

This, Amy realized, was a personal memory, something that Airich had seen with his own eyes. It was her knight's—no, it was Washburn's truth. He lived, and he was whole. She longed to touch him again in this new rebirth, but she knew such a thing could never come to pass. Her youthful, seventeen-year-old heart protested, but her wiser self realized she had no need.

The sense of dread that had been Amy's constant companion for four years unlocked itself from around her heart. The unknown fate of the prisoner had been replaced by a nobleman with the conviction to protect others. Lord Washburn Morgan was again a man of strength; Amy emulated that strength by straightening her posture and squaring her shoulders. If he could refind himself,  so could she.

As this final vision faded from her mind, Amy turned her head and looked at Airich. She mouthed the words "Thank you" to him. His eyes smiled back at her in return.
¹ Mind Share 2d6: 1,5=success

[revanne]

Very early next morning.

Edwin had barely slept. He had been aware that Amy and Airich were talking quietly, too quietly for him to hear even had he wished to and not loud enough to distract his whirling thoughts. Either he must face his terror or go, tail between his legs, to the Canon, confess that he was too much of a coward for this assignment and crawl back into the safety of his books praying that trouble would not come for him. No one in Culdi need ever know. Was that really what he wanted? As soon as it began to be light he slipped out of bed, and unusually for him, slipped to his knees in prayer beside the bed. Herbs crackled underneath his weight releasing a pungent scent; scattered on the infirmary floors  and, changed daily, they almost masked the inevitable smell of stale blood and worse. He inhaled deeply, asking whichever saints might find it worth the trouble to listen to him that he might inhale courage. He heard a quiet noise behind and looking round saw that it was Elspeth. Oh God. Did he even have the courage to face her?
Elspeth had awoken early herself and, quietly slipping out from under her blanket, came to check on Robert. He was lying quietly and seemed to be still deeply asleep, doubtless thanks to Airich's ministrations for which she gave thanks. How he did it she neither knew or particularly felt the need to know; what she was sure of was that the gift of such peace could not be evil, unlike those who had perpetrated such pain.

She saw that her patient's outer cotte had been roughly bundled onto a stool and with a suppressed sigh of exasperation began to fold it neatly. As she straightened a sleeve she felt something rustle beneath her fingers and pulled out a scrap of parchment with something written, no, drawn, on it. It looked like an outline of thin inner workings of a windmill but with a lot of odd looking lines and arrows particularly pointing to a set of small gears around the shaft

Edwin watched her, grateful for her sensitivity in not appearing to notice him at prayer. He really, really did have to do this. He got to his feet, already feeling the redness of shame colour his face.
"Mistress. I am sorry for my rudeness to you, yesterday." What excuse could he offer? "Maybe try the truth," said the voice of his conscience, perhaps awakened by his prayers "The truth is, I am sick with fear."

"So are we all," she replied. "I don't see that as a reason to insult anyone." But she spoke gently and her eyes were warmer. "It is natural to be afraid of such things as we have witnessed here."

Emboldened by her gentleness Edwin rushed on "It's not so much that I'm fearful of being killed. What I am truly afraid of is being made to tell the names of students I know to be Deryni. I knew a man who had been captured and tortured in the war; I think I might do anything to stop being hurt like that."

There it was out. Burning with the shame of his admission he could not look at her. She gently reached out and lifted his chin so that his eyes met hers. "None of us knows how we will face anything, we can but pray for enough courage if the time comes. And pray even harder that it never does."

She held his gaze for a moment longer then she looked down at the parchment in her hand and briskly continued. "This was caught in Robert's sleeve. I have no idea what it might mean, do you?" Edwin took it, grateful for the chance to look away and pleased that this, at least, was something he knew the answer to.

"It looks like a bit of a test; you know, for a student hoping to be allowed to join a fraternity." At Elspeth's blank look, Edwin thought he was being stupid again and hastened to explain. "Students with the same interests tend to gather into fraternities, and there's usually some sort of test before you are allowed to enter. I'm more of a literary man, but this looks like the sort of thing that those who are drawn to mathematics and the design of buildings would do." He took it to the eastern window, by now letting in the early morning sun, and squinted at the piece of parchment. "I can't say for certain, but it looks like the design for the gears above the grindstone of a windmill, Some one has circled the spokes of this gear here. I wonder if it required realigning or repairing. and the test might have been to have the mill working by morning. There is a rhyme here about sails turning in the breeze by early dawn's light. If that was the test, then the Fraternity would see the windmill turning from the distance of the gates and the students would be admitted into the esteemed secret society for the rest of their studies here at the university. It is considered a high honour to belong to such a company." A silence hung in the air, then Edwin slowly said "Not a bad way to lure someone into a trap."

Elspeth remained silent as her hand reached to reclaim the parchment. But before she took it back from Edwin, she asked. "Did you pass such a test?"

The scribe remained quiet and did not look at her, but then thought about honesty; what could he say that was discrete yet truthful. "In literary terms, I once had to reiterate selections from Satires and Epistles from the King's Gwyneddian back to its language of origin from old Rum."

The lady looked up at him with an approving nod. "Latin verses in the original?  That would be a challenge ."
"The selections were not for repeating in the hearing of the University Masters." Edwin could not hide his enjoyment of the memory.

"Perhaps it is best that I do not take that challenge." Elspeth could not help the smile that brightened her normally composed facade.

[Marc_du_Temple]

((Made in collaboration with Revanne and Nezz!))

The five had just finished breaking their fast of ham and porridge when Airich approached Edwin. "Master Scholar," he said, "I have been thinking—"

"Are you sure that's wise?" Edwin asked. His talk with Elspeth had left him significantly buoyed, and Airich's use of that title gave him the nerve to make this jest.

"Ha!" Airich grinned, accepting this bit of deprecating humor. "I myself have but a passing acquaintance with wisdom, which is why I have come to you for your thoughts.

"We three have been tasked with some investigative work. While I doubt we are in much danger, I can't ignore the fact that the people we are looking for are vicious and cruel. Whether they meant to kill young Alfie or not, they are killers, and they will not want to be brought to justice. So we should all be on our guard and take proper precautions."

Airich waved a hand toward Bede, who was just coming to join them. "Bede is a soldier and wears a leather jerkin, which will provide some protection." He struck his own chest with a fist. "I am also a fighting man, and I will keep my mail on. But a scholar does not usually require such armor. So I thought perhaps you might wear this to protect yourself while we are out."

He held out his cream-colored shirt with the exquisitely stitched pattern at the color and cuffs. Edwin didn't need to touch it to know that it was his shirt with the protective magics embroidered into it.

Edwin wondered for one heart-stopping moment if Elspeth had shared his fear and this was a sop to a coward. Then he took himself firmly to task - he had known both the lady and Sir Airich for only a few days but it was enough to know that neither was capable of such behaviour. But this shirt had been embroidered with faith and love with the hope of protection for the one who wore it.

Edwin put out his hand to touch the shirt, instinctively checking to see that there were no ink stains on his fingers, and gently stroked the embroidery. He extended his fledgling Deryni senses and could feel that there was a sense of strong protective love. To his horror he felt his mouth begin to twitch with emotion as he thought of his own mother who had so often put herself between him and trouble. Biting the inside of his lip, he looked at Airich and asked, all sense of levity or pretence gone, "But this was made for you, to ensure your protection. How can it be fitting that you give it to a stranger, and a commoner at that."

"A man doesn't need noble blood to have a great heart," Airich said. "It would be easy for you to lock yourself in your room or return to your father's home in safety. You have chosen neither, but you put yourself in some danger with this venture. You are telling the Willimites that you are a friend to Deryni by your actions. That means a great deal to me."

As if realizing he was speaking too personally, Airich then shrugged his shoulders and brought up his own wall of levity. "Besides, if you stay alive longer, it helps me stay alive longer. I'm very self-serving that way."

Edwin knew that to continue to refuse would be churlish and foolish. And maybe also ungrateful; maybe this was one answer to his prayer that morning for courage. He stood and bowed formally to Airich. "I accept with gratitude then, My Lord. My thanks to you and whichever gracious lady I owe the loan of this protection to."

Then catching Airich's somewhat embarrassed look at such formality he too took refuge in levity. "Maybe I should have washed more thoroughly this morning, to pay such a garment due honour." Then without any more protest he shrugged off his cotte and began to unlace the neck of his own plain, though fine linen, shirt.

Inspired by the outfitting going on, Bede addressed Edwin, "Do you have a weapon, aside from your burliness and wits?"

Edwin fiddled with his cuffs and did his best to think of a neutral answer for the renegade. He forced himself not to reach for the dagger which had hung at his belt until a week or so ago. He had prized that dagger and been all sorts of a fool to offer it up as a forfeit, but he was not about to let a Mearan know that. He then shuffled through his pouches until he produced a scribe's well-worn knife, like a sliver of iron. "I have this."

Bede shook his head. "That will hardly do if the Willimites get a hold of you." He raised a hand, begging calm and stillness from the wary student, as he unsheathed his dirk with his other hand. Then he flipped his grip to offer the handle to him. "A real Mearan blade. The kind made for stony men and beloved women. We have to start trusting each other, and that means you too. Let me hold on to that for you for the day. I doubt anyone will be so quick to cross you with this on your belt."

Edwin gave it a moment's thought before accepting the trade. "Do be careful, Bede," he warned. "That knife is a gift from my father." He frowned at the feeling of the weightier blade, which made the one he had lost seem like a child's toy but decided he could get used to it. ((Edwin tests Bede's knife 2d6 3 + 3))

"So is mine," Bede said nostalgically.

Airich spoke, then. "If either of you has gloves, you should keep them on. The Willimites use a compound called merasha to neutralize Deryni, and while merasha by itself has no effect on humans, I do know that alchemists have mixed it with other substances that might affect a Human. People looking to incapacitate a Deryni have been known to dip nails or splinters in merasha and leave them where an unsuspecting person might prick a finger."

Bede flexed his gloves and nodded appreciatively.

Airich dropped a hand on the shoulders of the other men. "Good sirs, let us see what this day holds for us. God willing, we can help stop the Willimites terror before anyone else gets hurt."

*****

The three rode through the city and met the guardsman at the West Gate at the appointed time. They were led outside the city wall and a little beyond, to where Robert had been found the day before. It was at a little clearing just off the side of the road. Unfortunately, other travelers had walked and rested here, and any clues about who might have left him here had been obliterated long since.

"No respect for a tragedy, these people," Bede muttered. ((Bede ... looks for evidence 1d6 4)) He had so wanted to find a sign of some kind to work with.

Edwin cleared his throat and shared what he knew. "Mistress Elspeth and I have reason to believe a windmill is a part of this."

The others looked at him quizzically. Bede asked, "What gives you that idea, man?"

In answer, Edwin revealed a roll of parchment with some kind of design on it. "We found this on poor Robert."

((Bede and Airch see that it's a windmill. 1 is Bede, 2 is Airich for first. 1d2 2)) "Ah," said Airich. "Very well, then. We have a direction." Thus did he whistle for their guide's attention.

Seeing the anticipation on all of their faces, the guardsman chuckled. "If this is a proposal for another wager, Archer, I know better after watching Horace lose his shirt."

Bede shook his head. "Not this time, man. The knight will give you a full explanation of our needs."

Expectantly, the guard turned in his saddle toward Airich, who looked quite mythic upon his horse. Airich simply requested, "Please, lead us to the windmill, sir."

"Of course, sir," the guard nodded and bid them follow.

"Our thanks, good sir," Airich nodded and led the others as they fell into a train with Bede immediately after him and Edwin trailing behind.

With the morning sun at their backs, it looks as if they were climbing the shadows themselves on those hills, with the birds and the stags flying before them and the crunch of leaves under their hooves. A strange, resolute bunch they were in those forgotten woods. It was Edwin who broke the silence. "Bede, you did not tell me you were a betting man."

"I bet on everything, or didn't you notice?"

Edwin chewed on that and probed further. "What's a bet you've won? Aside from the one premised on ditching an ugly shirt."

What indeed did he have to show for venture after venture after venture? Scars? Discarded names? Faces only fate could return to his sight? Bede came precariously close to losing his focus as a rider then, but the snorting of his Winnie broke his melancholy reverie. He stroked her corded old neck appreciatively. "In the war, during the Ratharkin Campaign, we set camp early one day. 'We' including the Archer family, the footsoldiers of Valerian, and some of his loyal knights. For a certain interpretation of that word. Oaths are an especially serious thing where I am from, but I digress. Everyone except the knights and their lackeys were without a horse to spare, but ye know what? I wanted more. I am light on my feet and yet proud of it, but these feet need preservation, sometimes. So, I happen upon a knight with a particularly efficient-looking bow. And a horse all his own. Not a young foal, or a sturdy pony, or a mighty destrier, but a good, walnut courser. I already had a bow, and still do, so I bet my wages for that particular campaign against his horse. The knight was the kind of old that is desperate for diversion, instead of resigned to nothingness. A bet against a common bowman was diversion enough. Pity for him he could'na aim as true with a bow as he could with a sword, right, Winnie?" and he kissed the back of her head.

"I would do the same," Airich stated approvingly from up ahead. "A horse deserves a master who respects him."

Edwin felt true levity and camaraderie with the Mearan, for a brief moment. "I did do much the same! I won the horse between my knees with my lucky dice."

Bede had to look back and marvel at the keeper of his knife. "A game of dice? There's the mettle that pinned me to a door, Edwin! Remember your conquests fondly when we must charge!" and he laughed loud enough to reverberate through the woods, waking the owls in their trees, but he laughed with Edwin.

[Bynw]

that Saturday morning ...

In the dressing room of a far off castle, a man in his prime, dons the tailored crimson robe of his new office. He glances into the mirror to look at himself.

Tall, bold, and broad-shouldered. A face of a warrior that commands respect, a bit of fear, and instant obedience. His dark hair and beard complete the look as he places a hammered gold circlet on his head and adjusts it so. A regal portrait in the making.

He stares into his own grey eyes. Piercing into his very soul. His birthright coming finally to pass.

A voice breaks his reverie.

"It is time Your Highness," a priest speaks to him. "Soon we shall crown you as the rightful and true King of Gwynedd and you shall bring an end to the false line of Deryni kings."

The priest leads him out of the dressing room.

---

A castle's great hall is only as great as it's occupant. And today a man is to become an anointed king. The crimson banners of golden lions are hung through out the great hall.

Hundreds of people are in attendance to witness this special event. The crowning of a king in exile. They talk with one another. The voices echo off the stone walls causing a blur of the speech that cannot be followed by anyone outside of their own conversations.

A hush falls over the crowd as the procession begins. All eyes focused as the doors to the great hall are opened.