The Worlds of Katherine Kurtz

This thread is for the game only. Only Players may post to this thread. Everything posted here is "in-character".

Any out-of-character posts or posts from members who are not players will be deleted.

The horrors of war have not been forgotten in the last 4 years since the Mearaen Rebellion of 1164. The rebuilding of keeps and new lords and titles stand as stark reminders of the costs of war. And there are the countless dead on both sides of the rebellion. Bodies are still found in fields and unmarked graves.

It was a war started by the Deryni, yet few of that race perished in the conflict. Perhaps that is what sparked the flame of resentment in the beginning. Whatever it was, the sparks smoldered in pockets here and there across Gwynedd. Often dismissed as rumor or ghost stories by various lords.

Even the openly Deryni lords couldn't bring themselves to believe such things were again happening in Gwynedd under King Kelson's reign. So the flames spread and sparked more fires in the hearts of men.

As it grew worse, the Church condemned the violence against the Deryni and against those that retaliated. But by the autumn of 1168 the flames had grown to an inferno. Some priests, in very human communities, were preaching about the evils of the Deryni and their sorcery that has brought damnation to Gwynedd.

It is a perilous time and things haven't been this bleak since the death of King Cinhil. And it looks as if history is going to repeat itself and bring about another Deryni persecution.

King Kelson and his court are seeing the realities of the growing Willimite resurgence and resentment of the Deryni across Gwynedd. The King is cautious in his actions otherwise the balance may tip to one side or other other and flames will burn across Gwynedd and consume both human and Deryni as it does. "Keep the King's Peace" is a common phrase when meeting strangers on the roads of the kingdom. Sometimes, it isn't peaceful.

In coastal Carbury towne, Autumn had rushed in like the chills heralding a fever. The sailors and the fishers had planned accordingly, putting out to sea to net herring, cod, mackerel, and with a prayer to Saint Andrew: salmon, before the Gulf of Kheldour was too perilous to cross. Indeed, the only ones troubled by the question of where their next meal would come from were the travelers, the wanderers, the vagabonds and the like. All of them converged in certain hotspots. The abbey, monastery or other such sanctuary for the body and the soul, the tavern for more practical rest, and the faire: the domain of jesters, players and fools. Spotted John, known as such for the paint on his face and the marks on his often exposed abdomen, was familiar with them all, but tonight he had yet seen only the last of those and it was his home. Just one more to say goodbye to.

"If you see me sleeping in the tent in the morning, kick me in my side and kiss me, dear friends, for I could not stay away for anything. If my arrow of Orion is embedded in the dirt by the entrance, then know we will meet again, in whatever shape we find each other. If there is no sign of me at all tomorrow, then I am with The Lord, and it is best you act as though I were never here." Those were his last words to his performing entourage, drawn from all over the Eleven Kingdoms, and a few beyond their borders. His motley facepaint had been ruined by the tears he shed for them, but they did not fall alone. Only their leader, the acrobat calling himself Scimmio, spat on the ground inside of their tent instead.

"You walk away from us out of habit as much as I tuck and roll the same. I can't promise there won't be another bowman where you once slept when you return, boy."

The boy in question simply smiled, his eyes glistening like blue ponds struck by stones. "It's kind of you to say that I am needed, boss. I had missed the feeling when we met in Valoret. But we've had enough mischief for a thousand years in two, haven't we, boys and girls? God be with ye all." With that, he tucked his straw hair in his cap, rose, bowed with a jester's sardonicism, adjusted the gayly dyed thing that was once a tunic and now but a shredded mockery of such shirts, and then saddled his horse outside.

Spotted John had intended to go one way from there, but the wind had blown him in another direction. Regardless, it was away, and he was alive, so by the light of oil lamps he loosed an arrow with a unique marker on it: a necklace with a woven figure evoking Orion and his bow, finding their home not in the sky, but the ground.

None could see where that wind began, but hours later it had led to The Broken Mast. He crept in warily with a wet, unblemished face, sans the tunic, with a mismatched towel draped over his old kit of lime and black like an all-concealing sagum, as though he were Pontius Pilate on a wilderness journey. Best to go by your real name, now, he thought.

Elspeth Rowan opened the side door of her stepfather's tavern, The Broken Mast. She was hit by the usual tavern sounds: men talking loudly, the occasional laugh or curse, tankards slapped down on wooden tables, the scrape of a bench across the floor as someone left for home or for the privy outside. She spotted Amy, one of the few people she called a friend, serving bowls of thick stew to a group of men at a table. Amy smiled at their fervent thanks, but moved quickly away.

Elspeth made her way as unobtrusively as possible across the room to the swinging door of the kitchen. This was her mother's domain; The Broken Mast was well known for its better than average food. As usual, the kitchen was warm both from the cooking fires and the bustle of activity. Elspeth lowered the hood of her cloak. She was well-known here, and no one commented on her mismatched eyes. Certainly not if they wanted to remain employed.

Her mother approached her, her kirtle covered by a large once-white apron and her gray hair bound into a still-white kerchief. "Everything is well?" she asked.

"As well as can be expected," Elspeth replied. "The wet nurse I arranged for has been accepted by the baby, who is finally starting to thrive."

"Are you still set on traveling with Amy to the library at Grecotha?" Elen Rowan's question held a hint of disapproval.

Elslpeth sighed, remembering the difficult childbirth she had attended less than a week ago. The woman was approaching 40 years of age, too old to bear a child, but after four daughters and a few stillbirths, a son was finally born. The father was ecstatic, promising his wife a fine new kirtle as a birth present. His joy soon turned to despair as the exhausted woman succumbed to childbed fever three days later. Elspeth, assisted by Amy, had tried every remedy she knew of, but nothing had broken the fever. The fine new kirtle would now be a shroud.

"Yes Mam, I am still determined. The old infirmarian at the hospice adjacent to Saint Stefan's Priory told me of a medicine called talicil that would reduce a fever quickly. Its use was banned long ago by the Regents, but records of its existence may have been kept at Grecotha. If that information could save a life..."

"Geoffrey will not let you travel unescorted," Elen stated firmly. "Your stepfather would not risk your or Amy's safety on the roads. Especially these days."

"But who will he find? Every available man will be working to bring in the harvest, or at sea to secure a catch before the weather turns foul. He can't spare Carew, especially with Amy coming with me." Carew was Elspeth's younger brother, who was well suited to follow his stepfather into the tavern trade and very good at tossing unruly patrons out into the mud. Elspeth stepped to the door of the kitchen and waved a hand to generally encompass those in the tavern. "Would any of these men actually be capable of providing protection?"

As she surveyed the room, Elspeth noticed the man just entering the tavern. His face was damp and he wore a mismatched towel draped over a ghastly kit of lime and black.

"Certainly not that one!" she stated with a nod of her head in the man's direction.

He heard her shout, and while he was initially perturbed by her gaze, the feeling subsided when he thought about what she had said. She's denying my involvement with something. Good. ((Bede attempts to Sneak to the tavern bar subtly. 3d6 5 + 3 + 6 = 14)) Now, stand proud, but move calmly. They're looking for a faire freak. That's obviously someone else. You are a patrician, and as long as you remain enshrouded by your new sagum, there's nothing more to see. He left his bow by the door, alongside the cumbersome weapons of the other patrons, but kept his hunting knife wrapped under the rags that were once a tabard. As he weaved between the boisterous patrons like a free sail on the wind, he was careful not to move like an archer, lest he invite a challenge by the exposed fibers of his disproportionate arms. Too few know that it is a world of difference between throwing a punch within a meter and loosing an arrow a quarter of a mile. The plan worked. So well, that nobody but the bartender asked his business, after offering him a wipe and a chide about risking a head cold.

"With arrows like those, you could spear a fish, man." He remarked as he wiped down a glass and proffered it to "John".

Oh, I sometimes forget I am wearing those, he thought but did not say, until he could not think of a reason why he should not.

"Ah, a professional, then?" The bartender laughed with appraisal in his eyes, but "John" gestured to keep the conversation a quiet one, then accepted the glass.

"An honest fisher of men, man." ((Bede attempts to make a Perceptive check at the bar. 2d6 6 + 4 = 10)) The bartender chuckled before turning his back to the ragged man in pristine white. A rookie mistake from a professional, "John" could tell. His suspicions were confirmed by two things: the way the man behind the counter shifted and turned things that helped nothing by being turned, and a burly man stalking through the gloom of the candlelight reflected in the glass in "John"'s hand. They bore no resemblance in body, but in the way they dressed, there was something. An agent of a reeve? A constable in the flesh? "John" wondered about either of them, then shook his head. He had seconds to think what to do, and they were draining out the hourglass quicker than the reading of this sentence.

Like a millstone covered in melting snow, he turned to face the room and the man of particular interest. ((Bede audaciously offers to buy Carew a drink. (Charismatic Roll)2d6 4 + 1 = 5)) "May I offer you a drink, friend?" He kept the glass in the air to see the bartender reflected in its surface. He does the cleaning very well, on top of everything else. He thought it would be a shame to have to fight his way out of there, but he patted the solid lump of his knife wrapped under his rags in preparation.

Now that they were face to face, both men were better able to judge one another. A ragged wanderer and an aproned, amiable but protective type with dark wavy hair. One belonged, and the other did not. With a declining hand that in the wavering light seemed the size of "John"'s chest, the strong young man said, "I cannot accept on the job . . . err . . ."

"Bede. But a common archer, man." And he adjusted the heavy towel. He noticed a resemblance between the man before him and the maiden from before; it was in the face, this time, but his eyes were comparatively plain, being merely a warm brown.

The mysterious man crossed his oaken arms. "Not a silvatico, I hope."
Bede snorted at that and played up a Nefynian accent. "You think I would get far in the woods draped in this? I am more of a specialist, dealing in secure goods, wares, people." And at one time, it was true. "Most recently: the Selkie, just today put out to sea, headed for Transha."

"Without you?" asked the man behind the counter.

Bede looked up and around to meet his gaze with a grin. "My contract was up."

The bartender nodded his understanding, then nodded to the man on his feet. That man took the cue to dispel some mystery and shook Bede's hand. The left one, empty as could be. "I'm Carew, stepson of the proprietor. Let me buy you a drink. Bede. We don't often have people like you darkening our doorway." The brawny heir to the tavern knew how to flatter. After the three men had reached a modicum of familiarity over the first couple of drinks, Bede had nearly let his guard down. Between the tall tales the pair pulled out of him, he noticed certain questions they asked of his character.

Carew excitedly asked: "Ever kill anyone?"

"Only as needed to fulfill my duties." At no other times had he stayed put long enough to check the status of his targets.

The bartender, who had revealed himself to be Geoffrey: the true proprietor of The Broken Mast, asked, "What do you think of maidens?"
This caused Bede pause. "How else might you ask me that?"
"What's your history with the fairer sex?"

"Ah." While he fidgeted with his earring, he replied, "Uneventful, good man. But if I heard one scream I would do my damndest to put an arrow through the cause of her grief."

Geoffrey became serious, suddenly. "Heaven forbid it, but you may yet have a chance."

"Pardon, sir?"

"It's my sister, and the girl following her like a sister, you see," Carew spoke up to explain. "They have business in Grecotha, but our father forbids them to go without an escort."

Coming that much closer to the full picture, Bede nodded. "'Tis the only sensible thing to do."

Geoffrey nodded in turn. "So, I would like to hire you, Archer. Four royals for four days, if you bring my Elspeth and Amy back to me unharmed."

((The time for negotiating wages has come. Haggle! 2d6 1 + 5 = 6)) Bede had been drinking, and nearly choked on the honeyed substance in his gullet. Carew helped him to catch his breath, and then it was his turn. "Nice, round numbers, sir, but a little low. This is a prosperous tavern, in a prosperous town. I know you can afford to pay me a fair soldier's wage, if only for a brief time. It would be six royals for four solid days, but that's not counting however long it will take for her to accomplish her goals in Grecotha, now, is it? Here's my proposal: you pay me the six upfront, then extra for however many more days she needs."

Gregory smiled. "You are bold and reasoned. Also, queer and foolish, young man. Four upfront, two on the return and then one and a half royals for extra days. And if all goes well, Carew won't dash your brains out when you return."

With Bede's lead, all rose. "I believe, gentlemen, that we are in agreement."

On the cold rain soaked autumn night, men in black leather and chain, bust through the oaken doors of the old monastery. They search through the building and cells but find no one. Exhausted by their empty search and the worsening weather they leave. Riding into the dark of night.

"They were there. Some of the coals were still warm in one of the braziers."

"The Master will not be pleased. But this weather makes it impossible to track them. We will have to rely on other methods."

"No, no! Not that one!" The barmaid proclaimed under her breath. The tavern crowd was loud enough to drown out the sound of her voice. Helpless to protest, she watched from across the tavern room,  as Proprietor Goeffrey Kildryn and Master Carew Rowan negotiated with a fellow on what can only be business of a guardianship nature.

"Forsake all Saints who detest women," she cursed under her breath, "The man is shirtless!" I will not fall for that again. Helplessly, her mind shimmied back to those handful of years ago when she had fallen, weak kneed, for a shirtless man. But who else could not have, for one such as he? Her inner mind consoled her for her past indiscretion. He lay cold as death itself. I did what I did to save his life.

Had his life been saved? She had no answer. She fingered the silver chain that hung from her neck, hiding her history deep under her kirtel. Her life had changed after that night. If ever she learned that he lived, she intended to call in his debt to her.  She looked back at the man being maneuvered into a job, he was a burly fellow, well enough to look the part, but he was not HIM. No one would ever be.

"Wench... Where's our ale!" Amy turned back to her work , setting the three tankards of ale on the table before her.  Her hand automatically opened to take the coins in payment. Two coins touched her palm. A third bounced on her bosom and tumbled into her cleavage. She knew better than to try and retrieve the silver penny before these louts. But that didn't stop them. "Come closer, lassie, and I will retrieve it for you," the drunkest one shouted, followed by cat calls from the other two.

Amy snarled at them all and her glare stopped the one's fingers from moving closer. "Roll those eyes of yours down to the gunk under your boots and just maybe you will find what is left of your brain sloshed on the floor."

She stormed away with half the tavern hooting and hollering at her back. "I need to find a better way to make a living." She snarled as she passed Carew on her way to the kitchens.

Amy stayed in the kitchen after that watching Elspeth wrangle out of her mother a full basket of bread, cheese, fruit, and dried meat to get them through the first days of their travels. When she finally got the go ahead, Amy filled three ale skins, a wine skin of the good stuff, and more skins of water and put them in the basket with the other goods.  There were perks to this job with her good friend being the owner's daughter.  Well, step-daughter, but that was a close enough relation.

When Carew finally marched into the kitchen, he widely smiled as he caught her glance. With conviction, he announced. "Amaryllis Aldan, I have tossed those three far beyond our tavern doors for the sake of your honor," he bowed chivalrously. "You can go back out onto the floor." Then more seriously he said, "Geoffrey needs your help with this crowd."

"Does he really?" she asked, wondering if Carew would someday be the one to save her from this life.  No, he enjoyed the tavern life far too well to take her away from here. " ...and that fellow...?"

"He is hired," the tall and handsome brother of Elspeth proclaimed.

"Not until you get him a shirt, he is not." Amy swore. "He is not as tall as you but he has your shoulders, give him one of your old shirts.  That green one that has faded from too many washes should do."

Carew laughed, "I am sure I can do better than that.  To make my sister and you happy I will throw in that leather jerkin, which I have outgrown."

"That will do," Elspeth said in agreement before hefting up her basket of goods and making her way out the back door. "Amy, I will see you in the morning at the stables. Make sure Geoffrey lets you go soon enough to get some sleep, we have more than a day's ride ahead of us."
   
   

Clip, clip... clop, clop... clip, clip... clop, clop...,

The foot falls of the two dusky tan ponies seemed to fall into the same strides. The rhythm was soothing. Amy felt at ease in the saddle as she rode alongside her mentor (the woman without whose tender care, she would have surely perished from this life.) The old gravel road climbed up from the harbor, skirting the hills, and reaching up for the flat plateau of land ahead of them. They had climbed the worst of the road's ascension that morning. And now as the afternoon came on, their sturdy little ponies took this slow climb with confidence. They would not see the distant tall curtain walls of the great University City of Grecotha until they had rounded the hill on their right and turned to face South. It would be a sight to see from this distance in the late afternoon sun. Amy had only seen it once before, but that time the city had been receding in the background and her eyes had been filled with despair that she had become a forsaken soul as she had walked this same road to the harbor by the great Gulf of Kheldour.

clip, clip, clip... clop, clop, clop

The larger horse walking the opposite side of Elspeth Rowan; the bay mare seemed to fall into the same slow strides as both ponies. Amy didn't look up, but she merrily stifled a smile behind the edges of the woolen cloak hood resting over her head. Their 'man-at-arms' had seemed to finally settle into the ponies' slow pace. Amy was not sure if the man's calling was truly that of a man-at-arms. Her first sight of him last night, with only a heavy cloth draped over his shoulders, was somewhat improved by his now wearing of a shirt and jerkin. He even seemed to have come upon a new belt at his waist. A man-at-arms, he could certainly not be. From her father's house, she had known plenty of men in that profession. This man carried neither a sword across his back nor one at his side. Instead, across his back was a hefty quiver of many brightly fletched arrows and his long bow was conveniently laid across his back with the loosened bow string tied with a cloth to his leather shoulder strap. But then who was she to comment about the man's true profession? What could it matter? It was not that far distance between Carbury and Grecotha, a travel that she was certain Elspeth and she could have made on their own. Yet Proprietor Kildryn, Elspeth's step-father, had insisted that they could not, so he had hired Bede. The young hired man was finally easing into their non-hurried pace.

Amy's thoughts drifted to times past. Her traveling days before meeting Elspeth had been managed by foot or by wagon-rides offered from friendly passersby. Weeks of being foot sore had led her in despair to these harbor shores some four years past. She tried desperately not to think of those harsh times. The anger of her father when he had returned home from the war had been enough to cause her to run away. The woman riding beside her now, had saved her from her own folly, she owed Elspeth more than she could ever repay.

Clip, clip, Click and a whiny.

The horse shook his head at the misstep, and the man-at-arms stifled a short curse. He was out of the saddle with the agility of a cat; any man accustomed to chain-mail would not have moved with such grace. He swung the bow to his side without it touching the animal, something only an experienced archer would have considered. Again, Amy wondered what Bede's real calling had been.

A quick perusal of the horse's foot, a flick of a dagger that Amy did not know where it came from, dislodged a small pebble from the hoof. "No damage done," proclaimed the young man as he bounded back into the saddle without effort and readjusted his gear.

"Do you think we will make the gates of Grecotha before nightfall?" Amy had to ask, wondering if it were best to find a place at the side of the road to rest instead. She had worked long hours the night before and had not managed the sleep that Elspeth had requested for her to get. A quick bite of food and even a short nap would do her wonders.

Casting out with the border-folk skills her grandmaman had taught her, she searched for a safe place at the side of the road. ((Perception taken with advantage, 3d6 rolls 1, 4, & 6 Success))

"Mistress Elspeth, I believe there is a flat spot beside the road, just around that rock there. We could pull aside and give the animals a bit of rest."

Edwin tugged irritably at his border braid. It was typical of his confused life, he thought, that his hair should have grown long enough to braid neatly just in time for him to return to Grecotha where it marked him out as a country bumpkin about two generations behind the times.

Thank God that at least he had been able to return for a second year of studies. On returning home to Culdi for the summer he had dreaded at first that his father now expected him to "knuckle down lad" and return to work in the stifling boredom of the family workroom. It had probably, no, make that certainly, been a mistake to entertain his brothers with stories of student life with more emphasis on the taverns and wenches than on the lectures and debates. His father, hearing, had not been amused. Boring old..., well best not form the epiphet even in his mind.

His cropped hair had not gone down well either. Again it had been stupid to make up that lie about how his braid had caught fire and a friend cut it off, heroically burning his fingers in the process. His father had not believed a word and looking at his son with contempt had demanded the truth. Which had not been well-received either and resulted in an interminable lecture about loyalty to the border tradition and their Graces of Cassan who had been so good to their family. What the hell did hair have to do with loyalty?

He had really feared that an end would be put to further studies. Fortunately though, there really wasn't enough work for three adult sons in the workshop, thriving though it was, and his brothers had clearly made representation on his behalf. Well, as much in their own interests as his, though Edwin bore them no malice for that. A man had to look out for himself, no one else would. They had even talked the old man into giving him a reasonable allowance to take with him, pointing out fairly that it did the family reputation, and therefore trade, no favours having a son of the house appear a pauper. Neither had he seen fit to point out that he would not be walking, or hitching lifts on passing carts, having won himself a passable nag in a dice game his last week in Culdi. It was well he had won; his own stake had been a copy of one of the more ribald tales copied for sale in his family workshop. He had been drunk at the time, too drunk to think or care how he would manage to pay his forfeit; not drunk enough to lose his knack with the lucky dice he had inherited from his grandfather.

So here he was back in Grecotha waiting for term to begin. That at least was one lie he had got away with; with luck his father would never find out that students were expected to return by the beginning of October not the beginning of September.

The truth was that he really did like the studies as well as the more physical aspects of student life. He could feel his mind stretching beyond the confines of Culdi, though where would lead him he didn't know. He didn't even know what it meant to be a Deryni, or whether that was good or bad. It didn't seem to make sense  to have powers that you left barely used, like having a bag of good gold sovereigns and only spending copper farthings. But then there were all these mutterings that he heard in the taverns, and even in the university itself, though well away from the ears of authority, that Deryni powers really were evil. Not that made much sense either; there had been Deryni priests now for two lifetimes, and had they truly been of the devil - Edwin surreptiously crossed himself, best to keep on the right side of the Almighty- surely church rituals would not be so mind searingly dull.

So here he was, waiting for term to begin. His daily routine was as muddled as everything else, he supposed. Spend the day in the library, hoping that learning the rudiments of logic, grammar and rhetoric from the wisdom of men of old might shed the light of wisdom on his own thinking, and spending the nights drinking and gambling which did nothing at all to clear his mind's confusion.

Elspeth Rowan wanted to press forward, but one look at Amy's face told her how tired the woman was.  Bede's face was carefully neutral, she thought.  Of course, the longer the trip took, the more coin for his purse.

"I think it is a good time to stop," Elspeth said.  "The ponies could use a rest after this morning's steep climb.  And food would not be remiss."

Amy smiled her thanks and led them to the spot she had perceived.  As before, Bede slipped quickly from his horse.  Both Elspeth and Amy dismounted before he could offer to assist them.  Assuming that he would have offered.

Bede looked around to see if the spot was as peaceful as it seemed.  Nothing felt threatening.  A small spring bubbled up at the side of the flat area, and they led their mounts over to it.  Both ponies and the larger horse immediately put their noses to the water.  After they seemed satisfied, the trio tied their reins loosely to some low bushes so the beasts could graze.

Elspeth removed the basket with their provisions and found a pleasant spot in the sun to sit.  Amy sat beside her, and Bede sat across from them, folding his long legs before him.  It seemed like a natural pose to Elspeth, one the man was not unused to.

"I'll serve," Elspeth said as Amy reached for the basket.  "You worked hard enough last night."  She broke off reasonable chunks of bread and passed them around.  Normally she would have passed the loaf and let each person help themself, but she had no idea how regularly Bede ate and did not want the whole loaf to disappear in one meal.  She passed slices of meat and cheese, then finished off with cups of ale filled from the skin.

"It is nice not to be the one serving the ale," Amy said and raised her cup to her friend. 

"Sometimes I think Geoffrey works you too hard,"  Elspeth stated. Amy nodded, pleased that Elspeth had noticed the fact.

"You don't work in the tavern as well?"  Bede asked  conversationally around a large bite of meat which he quickly washed down with a gulp of ale.

"Geoffrey decided I was not good for business."  Elspeth had lowered her hood and looked directly at Bede.  "Customers often crossed themselves and left the tavern when I served them.  It did nothing for the Broken Mast's reputation. 

"And best not to draw the attention of the church," Amy added.

Bede could see how Elspeth's eyes would disconcert some.  The left eye was a warm, amber brown; the right was a bright blue.  The blue eye seemed to look at him piercingly, much like the eye of a hawk.  Blatant gallantry would not work with this woman; he chose honesty. 

"I can see that your appearance could bother some," he replied.  "Though it could be an asset with those who had drank too much and thought to take advantage of the serving wench.  I suspect you could look very formidable when angry."

"Besides the fact that Carew would have killed them," Amy said, a touch of anger in her voice as she remembered the men in the Broken Mast the night before.  And there had been more before the night was over.

"And a pile of dead bodies just outside the tavern door is also bad for business," Bede added.

"Customers tend to trip over them on the way in," Elspeth said dryly. 

Amy grinned and Bede laughed.  The mood of the group lightened a bit.


"If I can just nap for a moment or two, I will be fine to continue," Amy said with a barely disguised yawn.

"An hour to two will not delay us too much," Elspeth responded.  "I'll wake you when we must leave."

Amy nodded gratefully and stretched out on the soft grass, pillowing her head on her arm.

"You will not rest as well, Mistress Elspeth?" Bede asked.

"No, I am well enough rested.  Rest yourself, if you need to.  I'll keep watch,"  Elspeth responded.

"Do you not trust me to keep you both safe?" Bede asked, a sharp tone to his voice.

"Should I?'  Elspeth's voice was not exactly warm. 

She rose and, holding the half apple she had not eaten, walked toward her pony.  "Here you go, girl,"  she said when she reached the mare.  "You have earned this."  The mare reached forward eagerly, grasping the half-apple between strong teeth.

"What do you call her?" Bede asked, at a loss for something to say.

"Falcon."

Bede gave her a quizzical glance.  "That's an odd name for a mare."

"It was the name of my father's ship." Elspeth stroked Falcon's muzzle.

"I have been at sea myself, once or twice,"  Bede said.  "Your father served on the ship?"

"My father was her Master."  Elspeth's tone did not invite further questions.

"And?"  Bede dared to probe deeper.

"The Falcon went down at sea;  all hands were lost."  Elspeth looked away.

Bede decided this was not a good time to regale her with his adventures and mishaps at sea.

Airich O'Flynn set down the book he'd been studying and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Another dead end. Natural Magiques had been no more useful than The Heretical Heritage. His quest so far was an utter failure.

He pushed back the stool he sat on and stood, stretching his back and neck; his body was accustomed to saddle and sword, not stool and book, and after two days in the library, it was loudly voicing its displeasure.

Airich turned and surveyed the stacks, wondering where he was going to find this needle in the haystack that was the Grecotha library, the oldest and largest depository of knowledge in the whole of the Eleven Kingdoms. He'd briefly considered asking the rector in charge of the library, but in truth, what would he tell the man? I'm trying to find the lost secrets of the Deryni so I can reject my heritage and possibly be disowned by my family as a result, would I find that near the Poetry section? As if he could hear Airich's thoughts, the old man glanced over at him, his eyes almost begging for a task to relieve the boredom and provide a little gossip.

No, Airich was not desperate enough to ask the rector. Yet.

Airich scanned the other patrons scattered around the room, few enough as there were in these days before the beginning of Term; perhaps one of them might be more familiar with this library. A group of squire-aged boys argued quietly among themselves in the corner after having been shushed by the rector twice already and threatened with expulsion from the library. Their debate? Of course it was "the Deryni question."

Also a pass. No sense getting involved with strangers who might want to string you up, even if you did agree with most of their complaints.

It had seemed so obvious in the Spring. Deryni Studies was not an uncommon topic for a student to research, despite the current troubles down south. Airich had been sure Grecotha's library would be robust with books and scrolls and old parchments about any topic a man might be interested in. But Deryni Studies? No, the library in the schola at Rhemuth had far more to say on the subject of Deryni abilities and their limitations than Grecotha's grand university. Searching through history books wasn't any more fruitful since any mention of Deryni as anything other than demons had been wiped from the records centuries previous.

Another young man wandered slowly across Airich's field of vision, his nose firmly planted in the book he was studying while ignoring everyone else in the room. Airich recalled noticing him a time or two these past days. His scholarly robe hung open over his spare frame, revealing a well-tailored shirt of quality linen paired with brown wool hose and forest-green cotte. The man himself wore his chestnut-brown hair in a proper border braid, if a bit short. As the student took his seat without lifting his eyes, Airich decided he looked to be just the type of man to seek advice from.

As Airich approached him, the young man looked up at him, a sunny but slightly wary smile on his face. "Pardon me," Airich said, "Could you perchance help me find some reference materials? You look like you're familiar with this library."

Edwin pursed his lips, wondering the best way to shoo away this nobleman without causing offense. "My studies run toward the unexceptional. If you need help with Grammar or Rhetoric, then I'm your man. Otherwise..." Edwin shrugged and smiled helplessly.

Now, go away, I need to study my Latin.

The other man looked consternated, brows furrowed. "My research is a little more specialized," he admitted. "Truth, man, you don't know this library any further than these base categories?"

He was not going to take a hint. Furthermore, Edwin felt his own chin rise at this challenge to his own knowledge of the library. "What are you researching?" he asked. He could figure out what this fellow needed, then send him on his way.

"It's a delicate topic." The man glanced back at the group of rowdies in the far corner, then lowered his voice. "It's a theoretical matter regarding the Deryni and their supposed abilities."

Well, now he certainly had Edwin's full attention. "Are you Deryni?" he asked. He didn't necessarily look Deryni, although Edwin knew by experience that appearance had little to do with it. He seemed a straightforward nobleman, perhaps a touch older than Edwin himself. His tooled leather jerkin and embroidered silk shirt spoke of a modest wealth, at least, and his weapons belt—sans weapons left with the Rector—looked serviceable and well-cared-for. The light-brown hair was twisted and clubbed in the back.

"Human," the other said, looking down, then looked back at Edwin. "This is just research I'm doing to help out... a friend."

This man was no more a scholar than Edwin was a king. But he had been wondering about what it meant to be Deryni, and fate or God had dropped this man into his lap; he might have answers. Edwin decided the Latin could wait while he picked the brain of someone who could conceivably know more about the subject than he did.

"I might be able to help you," he said, then put out his hand. "The name's Edwin Scrivener, by the way."

"Eric Banner," the other man said, placing an odd stress on his first name.

"Very well, Eric," Edwin said, "If I were you, I'd probably start my search with the Derynianus scrolls by Aubert."

"Naturally," Eric said, "That's where I started, but that's all pretty basic."

"Then let's find Deryni Studies and see where that takes us..."

The remainder of the journey to Grecotha was a pleasant southward trot under a fire-colored treeline enshrouded in morning mists. The two young maids and their hired guard were becoming less wary of one another, but neither side quite understood the intentions of the other just yet. Bede, for one, decided that fortune had been most decent to him lately. Perhaps there were sympathetic ears in heaven after all. He had long ago accepted that his plans and the Divine's would never be one-to-one and who had to win, so the fact that he had failed to so much as cross the threshold of the abbey that was sister to St. Stefan's Priory did not bother him anymore. He had made an almost perfectly clean break from Carbury, with a temporary job and new clothes. Baggy and itchy, even to his skin, and the tunic was the color of a Spring leaf pierced by constant sunlight, but he was covered quite nicely. Mustn't let the girls see you smiling, he thought, though he could not keep from humming choruses from his youth. What business they had in Grecotha, he cared not, as long as he could keep them from harm for about the length of a week. The job should not take longer than that, by his reckoning.

The path seemed apparent enough for Bede to take the lead when they had set out that second morning, but the mists were reluctant to abate. Instead, they seemed to cling to the trees and roads like a man to his life. Not a problem until they reached a fork in the road, one where there should have been a post with signs to guide them. The knee-high sharp stump where the path split suggested that there once was one.

When he hesitated, Elspeth spoke up. "Bede, have you not been this way before?"

He saw no point in distorting the truth. "No. It's easier to guess right about new directions with proper signage, I admit."

She clicked her pony to take the lead and assured him she knew the way from times past. Amy made a sound indicative of similar knowledge and guided her pony to follow Elspeth's closely. Bede protested. "Why do you suppose the sign was taken down? And who would have done it?"

"You're the man-at-arms. You tell us."

"This could not be the work of legitimate lumberers or anything of the sort. Mistresses: I suspect brigands, if not men of the woods."

"If we run into any Mearan silvatici, then it's good indeed that my father hired you, Bede."

He sighed in exasperation. "Come along, Winnie," he said.

Amy raised an eyebrow beneath her cloak. "Who?"

"My mare," he answered, pulling the horse up closer to the pair. "We make a good team, she and I. With her help, I'll keep up with your endeavor yet." He adjusted his bow meaningfully.

Curiosity overcame the young serving girl, and she asked, "How did you acquire such a fine horse, yet lack the funds for a shirt?"

"Hard work and care, mistress. It is like a troubadour with his instruments. The horse gets taken care of before the rider."

Elspeth nodded her understanding. "Like a mother with her child."

Furtherance of the discussion of maternal philosophy was hindered by a sight that confirmed Bede's suspicions. A mile out from Grecotha, by Elspeth's estimation, they encountered a cluster of men on the side of the road. Those wearing livery wielded pikes and arming swords. The ones who were dressed strangely yet fiercely, as though they had salvaged souvenirs they had no right to, had surrendered their assorted arms in a pile next to their few fallen comrades and had already begun filing into an iron-caged wagon.

While the trio scanned the scene, Bede was thankful not to recognize anyone in either of the new parties. And why should I? I was telling the truth about never having been this way. He ventured to ask the leader of the liveried men what had transpired. With a curt bow, the man said, "I am Phineas: the captain of the guard at Grecotha. These men had been a thorn in the side of innocent travelers for long enough. We merely needed the weather to turn in our favor to undo their traps and catch them in our own."

Bede bowed in his saddle. "Bede, archer. A brilliant stroke, if I may say so myself. How much farther is it to your city, sir?"

"No more than a mile the way you're going. What business do you have there?"

Bede sat up straighter. "I'm making sure my friends stay out of trouble."

Phineas crossed his arms. "I believe you. What is their business?"

Suddenly, Bede wished that he knew. Elspeth whispered something to Amy, and then the raven-haired girl spoke. "We come at the direction of the Infirmarian of the hospice at Saint Stefan's Priory, to seek knowledge at the university of healing herbs."   

The captain nodded at that. "On your way, fair ladies," he said with a gesture towards the road.

Sometime later, the fog finally dissipated, revealing their destination at last. Three story-high curtain walls of advanced masonry loomed against the grey-blue sky, guarding cathedrals and similarly empyreal towers from the wild elements of the woods, and compared with the scene on the road, the guards at the gate were lax. That suited the visitors from Carbury just fine. Just within the gate, Bede dismounted Winnie amidst the bustle of the midday crowd, full of students and others with an aura of enlightenment. This time he helped the women from their ponies, and spoke up with grandiosity. "Mistresses of The Broken Mast, may I present: Grecotha!" He said it with a habitual flourish telling of more awe than he felt. Of what use were universities to him? He addressed the group. "Now, I was given plain but simple instructions, mistresses. I am at your command, but I beg a little boon of you: that you stay in sight." With a brief reflection, he added, "Or failing that, with each other." It might be good to have a single tolling of the bells to himself. Then again, if what Amy had said about their business was true, far be it from me to judge, but . . . "You don't want to put too much faith in these learned men."

The cathedral sanctuary was dimly lit and dust covered everything. But this did not stop the priests from gathering there. Several wore stoles of purple to denote their ranks as bishops.

One of the bishops wore a mitre and spoke to the others present. "This is the true synod of Gwynedd. Free from the thrice damned influence of the Deryni that even now lead the flocks astray."

Many of the assembled priests and bishops cross themselves reverently.

"Our Bishop Milton has grand news for us, the faithful."

He nods to the younger bishop as the man rises to speak to the synod.

"Thank you ArchBishop. As you all know the ordination wine that our order used to supply to the whole of the Church has been stopped. Thus allowing Deryni snakes to enter the holy order of priests."

"We know of the vineyard now used by the Church. It is ran by a monastery. We have gained control of the brewing process there with brothers of our own. The wine will be altered and sent only to the areas we control for now. Ensuring that no Deryni spy is allowed into the priesthood."

"There will be a time when some of the more prominent bishoprics open up. Many of them are very old men. We will replace those bishops with our own brothers. Thus ending forever the rise of Deryni priests."

"I'm not convinced Father Brown really knew anything about being Deryni," Edwin said, turning a page in the book he was perusing. "His entire premise sounds too much like a sullen dismissal of Kinevan's proposal of Deryni origins."

"Agreed," Eric said. "I'm not arguing that he's wrong overall, but I think his argument about Caeriesse has merit and can't be rejected without further study."

"Perhaps," Edwin allowed, "but he's too biased. There's not a word of his writing that I'd take at face value. Now, if you can find a reliable scholar to back him up, then maybe I'll entertain his ideas. But until then," Edwin shut the book with a thump, "nuts to that."

Eric chuckled and turned his attention back to his tome. Edwin placed his book on the shelf where he'd found it and checked his notes. Acta Sancti Camberi was the next book he'd scrawled on the slip of paper, and so he went back to Histories to find it.

All-in-all, it had been a pleasant two days of research, far more interesting than studying Latin, or—God forbid—copying tax records for the king along with whatever harvest or haul of fish was being sent inland. Edwin shook his head, wondering what his father might think of his current research; Edwin couldn't decide if the old man would be pleased that he'd taken such an interest in family history, or if he'd look suspiciously down his nose at his son, wondering why Edwin was poking into private family matters.

And his research companion... Edwin had been pleasantly surprised to discover that Eric had reasonable intellect and hadn't just been begging for research help from Edwin. Between the two of them, they'd found several additional books that seemed worth looking into. Plus a lot more information on Deryni than he'd ever suspected.

"So... healing," Edwin said, walking slowly back to the table while he began perusing the book. "You think this Deryni healing is real?"

"Oh, aye," Eric said, distracted by the words before him. "M'father got it done to him many a time when he was younger."

"Is that right?" Edwin smiled, noticing that Eric had slipped back into a highland accent, as he did when he wasn't paying attention. Edwin couldn't identify it positively, but there was no mistaking that lilting brogue, no matter how mild. "Was he a kingsman?"

" 'S'truth." Eric sat back and stared off into nothing. "He also spent time in the old Duke of Corwyn's service, so he saw healin' done ta others as well."

That must have been a hell of a thing. The old Duke was dead decades past, but his name was still spoken in whispers among some, either as a demon from hell or an angel of mercy, depending on the speaker. If Eric's father has been in the service of that legendary man, then he must have some interesting stories to tell.

Edwin was pretty sure he knew now why Eric was researching the Deryni. He was wrong, but he thought he knew. And while Airich himself enjoyed hearing--and sometimes even spreading--some of the more spectacular rumors about the late Duke Alaric, that wasn't why he was here today.

Airich looked back down at his book that was proving to be fruitless, and flipped through several leaves halfheartedly. The pages fell open, revealing a scrap of old parchment that had been pressed between the leaves. He picked it up and looked at it.

The text on the piece of vellum had been a verse in Latin, written in emerald-green ink, but it had been torn so that only part of the stanza remained.

"dixit: Ecce,
hominibus donum meum.
fuisti in ventre matris tuae,
ad omnia saecula.
mundum manus sanationis meae,
meum et potentia sanationis meae."

Edwin had stopped reading and listened as Airich read the lines aloud. "That's quite the coincidence," he said once Airich had finished, "that you find a piece of verse about healing just as we were talking about healing."

"Aye," Airich agreed. If he were particularly superstitious or extraordinarily religious, he might take this as a sign that God approved his quest.

" 'Mine and my healing power,'" Edwin repeated the last line of the verse. "That almost sounds familiar. I wonder if..." Without another word, he got up and disappeared among the stacks.

He was back minutes later, carrying a small book. He sat and flipped through some pages until he found the part he was looking for. "I thought I recognized one of the phrases from a job I'd done a couple of years back. Here's an English translation of the entire hymn.

"Here am I, Lord: Thou hast granted me the grace to heal men's bodies.
Here am I, Lord: Thou hast blessed me with the Sight to See men's souls.
Here am I, Lord: Thou hast given me the might to bend the will of others.
O Lord, grant strength and wisdom to wield all these gifts only as Thy will wouldst have me serve.

"The Lord of Light said unto me: Behold!
Thou art my chosen child, My gift to man.
Before the daystar, long before thou wast in mother-womb,
thy soul was sealed to Me for all time out of mind.
Thou art my Healing hand upon the world,
Mine instrument of life and Healing might.

"To thee I give the gift of Healing power,
the awesome, darkling secrets of wood and vale and earth.
I give thee all these gifts that thou mayst know My love.
Use all in service of the ease of man and beast.
Be cleansing fire to purify corruption,
a pool of sleep to bring surcease from pain.

"Keep close within thy heart all secrets given,
as safe as said in shriving and as sacred.
Nor shall thy Sight be used for revelation,
unless the other's mind be freely offered.
With consecrated hands, make whole the broken,
with consecrated soul, reach out and give My peace.

"Here am I, Lord: All my talents at Thy feet I lay.
Here am I, Lord: Thou art the One Creator of all things.
Thou art the Omnipartite One who ruleth Light and Shade,
Giver of Life and Gift of Life Thyself.
Here am I, Lord: all my being sealed unto Thy will.
Here am I, Lord: sealed unto Thy service, girt with strength to save or slay.
Guide and guard Thy servant, Lord, from all temptation,
that honor may be spotless and my gift unstained."¹

Airich leaned forward as he listened to the words, letting them wash over him. He inhaled slowly as he took in the lines, the poetry of the words and the reverence of their meaning.

Unless the other's mind be freely offered. If only all Deryni would take these words to heart.

---

¹"Healer's Song," copyright Katherine Kurtz

somewhere in Torenth

"It's been four years Master. We have come a long way with our primary goals." The two men stroll through the gardens conversing with one another.

"I understand your reluctance in abandoning the prize of the blocker."
The other man gives the speaker a look that could almost kill.

"Apologies Master", he says with a slight bow of his head. "Abandon is not the correct wording. But we are no closer now than we were four years ago. Perhaps the ordeal pushed him too hard."

They stop. The men are scholars, dressed in the robes of a Torenthi University.

"Then what do you suggest?" The Master asks. "We just let him be and give up?" He shakes his head. "I cannot do that. He is important to the Order's future. You have seen," he makes a grand gesture with his hands, "the proof with your own eyes."

"I have indeed my friend. And that is why I am suggesting this new course of action" The other man, who is older, pauses for a moment.

"We continue our efforts in defeating our enemies. This rise of Williamite activity in Gwynedd could spread out from it's boarders. And there is the Custodes are are being very bold in their actions. Even burning Deryni at the stake in isolated areas. Gwynedd is in crisis. I wouldn't worry about the others, we have them poised to fall. These are the things we need to concentrate on."

The Master begins to speak but is interrupted as the older man continues. "We keep an eye on our Gwynedd friend. Just has we have for the last four years. But we use what we know. You have walked through his mind. You Saw his ability and potential. You are a master of rituals."

The two being walking again in the gardens. For a while in silence and enjoying the autumn foliage. "That is a new approach. And a challenge." The Master nods his head as he speaks. "I believe it could be done. We have long used rituals to grant Power to Humans. There must be one that can deprive a Deryni of his power as well."

He turns to the older man. "This is why I made you my lieutenant. To talk sense into me when I needed it."

The older scholar bows his head again. "It is my honor to serve Master."

"Let's not doom this quest before we even get started, Bede," Elspeth Rowan said with just a touch or asperity.  "I would not want to have wasted your time."  She turned and started toward the University without looking to see if he followed.

"Is she always so abrupt?" Bede asked as he and Amy fell into step behind her.

"Oh no, you've caught her on a good day," Amy replied innocently.  "Usually she's quite snarly."

"I'll be happy with my good fortune." 

Elspeth led the way through the winding streets.  As they grew closer to the University itself, they seemed to be engulfed by students of varying ages.  The two women became aware of the quizzical looks that came their way; this was the domain of men upon which they were encroaching.

Elspeth straightened her shoulders as she approached the gate. She did not expect them to pass through unchallenged, and she was right.  An older, graying man in a clerical robe stepped forward from the gatehouse.  He had the presence of one who expected to be obeyed.

"You cannot enter further.  Women are not allowed within the University of Grecotha."

"We are here on behalf of the Infirmarian of the Hospice of Saint Stefan's Priory to meet with Canon Damian.  I have a letter of introduction from the Prior for him"  Elspeth said politely, producing a scroll from her satchel.  She did not offer it to the porter.

"Canon Damian is not available today," the porter stated curtly.  "If you will give me the letter, I will give it to him, and he will decide whether to meet with you or not."

"That is not acceptable, I'm afraid," Elspeth replied, though still respectful and polite.  She kept her voice even, and although her face was shaded by her hood, Bede could have sworn he saw the blue hawk-eye flash.  "I am to present the letter to him personally."  She slipped the scroll back into her satchel.  "I would not overrule my instructions, as I am sure you understand. When will be the best time to present ourselves tomorrow?"

"I can't say as there is a good time, Mistress.  You could stand outside the gate all day, and likely the next, but I cannot guarantee your entrance.  Perhaps if you trust me with the letter?"  The porter allowed his question to hang in the air.

Elspeth appeared to consider his proposal, but then she shook her head.  "I'll grant that you would see the letter safely to Canon Damian," she finally said. "But it would not be prudent to allow even the smallest chance for it to be misplaced."  Elspeth gave a small smile.  "Even in spite of the best of intentions."

The porter gave her a stony look.  "It is your choice, Mistress.  Return tomorrow if you like, or the day after, or whenever.  I give you no promises of admittance."

Elspeth looked at the old porter.  "I am not looking for promises; I look for a fair and reasonable response to our request.  Until tomorrow."  Elspeth nodded her head and turned away back toward the town.

Bede and Amy followed her.  Bede admired the women for standing her ground with grace and resolution.  But perhaps "snarly" would have gotten more favorable results.

Edwin found himself strangely moved by the rhythm and meaning of the words he read aloud. Even when he had copied the translation out a few years back he had been vaguely aware of the beauty and power of the words, though that had soon been overlaid by the need to copy as quickly as possible.

Staring into space is all well and good for them as don't 'ave bills ta pay.

Edwin shook his head irritably to rid himself of his father's voice, and allowed himself to open to the beauty of the words as they resonated in his mind. Was this what it meant to be Deryni? No, the hymn was only speaking of healers, but even so, to know oneself endowed with power by the Creator. To ignore that was surely sin.

He shook himself again, now he was beginning to sound like a priest. That was the danger of studying alongside them he guessed. Maybe holiness was catching, like the sweating sickness. It was time to get out of here and into the King's Arms before Eric decided that his research companion was away with the fairies.

Edwin looked up and caught a strange, almost wistful expression in the other's eyes. Well that definitely was none of his business, and it was clearly well past time they took themselves off to the King's Arms where they had got their supper and nightly ale the last couple of evenings.

"Come on now m'lord, you owe me for that finding. Supper and drinks are both on you I reckon."

Eric looked pleased enough to put his mood aside, though he grimaced at the form of address more than half jocular though it was. 

"Aye, Master Scholar, I'll grant you that." 

Edwin hid his grin at the other's neat repost to his own formality. He felt that they were like a pair of dogs who had got past the cautious circling and were just beginning to sniff at each other, though each keeping their guard up. Hardly the most respectful of analogies, especially as he had begun to suspect that his companion's background was rather more elevated than he had let on.

The way to the tavern was by now familiar to them both and the September evening beginning to be chilly they didn't linger on the way. The Arms was crowded, with as usual, a smattering of fellow students that Edwin knew and more folk that he didn't. One of the latter he certainly had no intention of getting to know better, his scowl was enough to turn the ale sour. Finding that there were two spaces free at the end of one of the long tables, they sat down opposite each other with their mugs of ale and waited for the serving girl to bring their bowls of stew. By the savoury smell which arose from the bowls of those already eating tonight's offering was some sort of fish. Airich was somewhat scandalised to see Edwin stretch round behind his neighbour and peer into a full bowl. Unabashed he reported, "Looks good. Some sort of thick fish soup with grains. The food's usually good here; mind, the guv'nor here should be able to afford a decent cook the amount of money he rakes in from his ale."

Airich, looking around rather more circumspectly, noticed that some tables had whole platters of fish on them, and wondered why Edwin had been so insistent on ordering them bowls of stew brought ready served from the kitchen.

Noticing where Eric was looking, Edwin explained, "If you pay for a portion from the common platter, it's more than likely the greedy carrion in the middle of the table will eat the best bits before we can get a look in. I'm not paying for someone else to eat half my dinner, that's why I always bespeak it served up from the kitchen."

Airich thought with amusement that Edwin had no intention of paying for his dinner anyway, he was more than happy to defer to himself in that. In their conversation over the last couple of days Edwin had made it clear that he was glad to escape the confines of his family business in Culdi. He was happy to talk about his background. Lucky man, having nothing to hide in that respect at least. For all his protests though, it seemed to Airich that Edwin was no more glad to waste good coin than his father. 

The food when it came was as good as it had promised.

The King's Arms Inn and Tavern had beds available for their small group.  As there were less travelers in Grecotha, a time before the full ranks of students return to the universities, there were not any other women to share a larger room with at the inn. With a little haggling, Elspeth afforded the smallest of the private rooms for herself and Amy. Their arms-man, Bede, rented a small cot in a larger room with several men, it was just down the hall from where the women were. He was considering moving the cot to the hallway across the girls door for the night. He wasn't sure the innkeeper was going to take too kindly to this act; he would wait and see if it became necessary. Elspeth didn't seem adverse to the idea, though she thought it a bit over protective. After all, the King's Arms was a reputable establishment; she had stayed here before with her mother.  After freshening up in their room, Amy and Elspeth made their way to the main common room on the ground floor. Amy appreciated the clean neat space where diners ate and drinkers happily tossed down ale between loud stories told without seeming to be well into their cups. But then it was still early.

Bede waved the two women over to open spaces on a bench he had saved for them. Places with the warm hearth at their backs. "The kitchens are serving a fish banquet tonight, I ordered our share with them also at table, it should be along any moment." The man seemed quite pleased with himself for taking the initiative. Amy looked across the table at the three eager men in student's robes who seemed rather pleased to find two women at their table. And yet they weren't staring at Amy the way some lascivious boys do. Amy was puzzled, they seemed more pleased with their own jokes and their cups of ales. Amy decided Bede could do what he had been paid to do if the need arose, so she relaxed to take in their surroundings.

The common room was bustling with activity, it was a tall narrow room of stone and plaster with wood paneling along the back wall where the barkeep tended to the ale. The space was lit well enough by hanging candelabras and hearth at their backs. A large window of diamond-panes was set at the front next to the door and a row of smaller windows along the wall opposite the hearth gave a view of the inn's small courtyard. The patrons were all men, from the young to the old, nearly all in the robes of the varying universities that were housed within the walls of Grecotha. There were no private tables to be had, only long trestle tables and benches against the walls and row down the center. 

Whoops from the three students cheered the cook on as he set a long trencher down the center of their table. The communal dish of the night was a long white fish, still with head and tail, laid on its side over a mash of slivered almonds and short grains. The server held up his hand before any of the spoons could delve into the delicate meal. He poured a steaming white liquid of almond milk seasoned with cinnamon and ginger over the whole of the fish and then sprinkled a tiny amount of very expensive saffron herb over the whole. If the diners tipped him quickly, he would add more. The man opposite Amy did so and more saffron was added to the dish. Pocketing the extra coin, the cook stood back; the moment he did so six spoons dug into the meal. The three men on the far side only hesitated momentarily until the two women had had their first chance at the dish. They both tried the almonds and rice in their first bits, neither willing to rip into the flesh of the fish. Seeing this, Bede held up his hand stopping the carnage,  produced his small eating knife and cut off portions of fish for his charges and himself, he set those bits closer to their side of the trencher. It was a good thing that he did, for in minutes the whole fish had been devoured by the other three ravenous students. Fresh pitchers of ale sat at each side of the table. Bede had been certain to retain the one for the three of them. For the other pitcher had been emptied far faster than their own.

With the fish gone the three students laughed, got up, and left their table seeking more food at the next table. Amy sighed relief at their leaving and took another spoonful of the sliced almonds and rice. It was mild yet delicious, a food she had not eaten before. Bede happily filled in the history of the food for her. "The grains are from the east, from the principalities of the Buffer States. We ate this often when I was there, I never thought I would dine on rice and almonds again."

Elspeth nodded in agreement, her hood still over her head, muffled her soft words so only Bede and Amy could hear. "Mother asked the cook on our last trip here, where she could purchase such grains. Mother nearly choked when she was told the price of these imports. Apparently there are enough foreign students here of wealthy families that the tavern has taken to offering these outlandishly rich meals at smaller prices to us travelers." Feeling self-conscious for offering so much, Elspeth pulled her hood closer over the top of her head. No one could see her face clearly now that it was shadowed by the light of the fire behind them.

Greedily Bede finished his side of the trencher, picking at the fish bones and setting them far from the women. Amy was unsure about all that saffron, yet she happily nibbled at the bits that she knew had none. Which really was not hard to find as the students had devoured most of the meal that the saffron had touched. Elspeth was more retrospective, eating slowly at what remained.

While the girls dined on the remains, Bede launched into a story of a winter season spent in the Focinne Buffer States avoiding Gwynedd's snowfall. Amy laughed at a crude part and Elspeth shook her head in disbelief. When the 'man-at-arms' story was all said and done, Amy looked back at her friend and saw a faint smile that showed Elspeth appreciation of the tale. Amy offered her own tale about working at the Broken Mast. For her it was a good story about friendship and she was happy to tell it.

((Bede has or has not Perception of someone in the Grecotha tavern. 2d6 1 + 2 = 3)) Amy was saying something, Bede knew, but he was not listening. He was shamelessly staring at a barmaid employed by the tavern, with hair like carrageenan moss. She had a captivating calm in her manner, as if she were the guardian of something sacred, but he knew it was her own happiness. For a share of such happiness, he had once posted a carilus flower upon a neighbor's birchen door. His voice had cracked like glass as he boldly and fearfully sang the ave like his father once did, but it had worked, confirming his joy with an embrace. But that was before the uprising. They were just children then. It had been so long since he had seen her face that he had almost begun to lose the memory of it. Nonetheless, stranger things than a chance encounter here had happened lately, so he looked a little harder. Before he was certain of anything, before he dared speak her name, the barmaid noticed him as well. In the uncertain light, her eyes were unknowable, unrecognizable, and then she was lost in the crowd. To be seen again, he had no doubt, but not yet.

Amy stopped her tale realizing Bede had made no response to her jest. The young man had not heard anything she had said. His eyes were wide focused on one thing. Amy followed his gaze and saw the back head of a girl with thick red-auburn locks slip out of sight. She looked back at their man-at-arms as he now seemed to be searching the room to find her again.  Amy turned her spoon around and poked him in the ribs with it. The poor man acted like he had been stabbed. Belatedly, Amy regretted her action and shifted away.  "You have wounded me, madam. Shall I fall dead at your feet?"  Bede over-reacted like a stage fellow, holding his heart and pretending to fall off the bench.

Amy laughed out loud then stifled her giggle when Elspeth's hand touched her arm to desist. More quietly Amy said with a nod to both her companions, one at either side of her "I do apologize."  Subdued, Amy tried to explain."I was just thinking how any poor girl could handle themselves in this boisterous crowd.  And I thought sailors were bad."

All three nodded in agreement as the loudness and roughness in the tavern seemed to grow as the evening light outside fell away. "You know, I came through this town before," Amy admitted.  "I learned quickly enough that the only place for a woman here was as a laundress, a barmaid, or a h...; you know what I mean,"  she said, eyes down-caste. "Heaven help me, if I ever fall that far." She whispered while ducking her head, knowing that one time she might have...; she feared a taint very close to that, though only known by a few people, had succeeded in staining her soul forever. "I left Grecotha right quick and never thought I would be back here again."

"That is where we meet," Elspeth said quickly. "We see this girl struggling along the road from Grecotha to Carbury toward the nunnery," she said. "Mother, Carew and I were in a wagon going home with goods. We had just enough room in the back for her to seat herself. We dropped Amy off at the nunnery, and on my next visit there,  we two got to talking. Turns out Amy is really good with reading people, especially the injured. We started working together. .... Well time passed and months later, Amy had to make a choice: to be a nun or to move on."

"Do I look like a nun to you?"  Amy said with a laugh. "That would have been heretical of me to try."

"I don't agree," Elspeth said with sincerity. "Well, as it was, Amy needed a job and Geoffrey needed new girls. And I got a good friend I can count on."

Amy smiled at that. "Our friendship is the one thing life has allowed me to keep," she replied.

Airich hadn't mentioned to Edwin that he was quite familiar with the King's Arms, as he was staying in one of the upstairs rooms. And, as usual, the stew was delicious. Likewise the ale. Full with the slight aftertaste of apple. Airich drained his mug and thought about poetry.

The words of the hymn sat with him still. Sang to him, truth be told. He would swear he could hear the voices harmonizing together, the soloist's clear soprano ringing throughout the cathedral, singing of the blessing of being an instrument in the hands of the Holy Father. He reached into his jerkin and touched the holy medallion that stayed warm against his chest.

"That's the one problem with the stew, it'll give you indigestion something fierce if you're not careful," Edwin said, mistaking Airich's gesture.

"Th'stew dinna trouble me," Airich murmured, his mind still elsewhere.

Edwin threw his head back and laughed. Airich came back to himself, wondering what had caused Edwin's joviality. He didn't have long to wonder.

"You said 'dinna!'" he said, pointing at Airich. "I definitely heard it that time. You may be court-educated, but you're a highlands bumpkin, just like me! Why, I'll wager your Christian name is really Alric or Ailfred, and your family name is O'Connor or O'Malley or O'Paddy or something like that."

Blast the nurse who'd raised him and instilled a highland accent he couldn't shake. Airich tried to think of some way to refute his Edwin's accusation, but he was feeling too good and Edwin's laughter was too infectious. A grin broke through his stern exterior and he let out a chuckle. "My mother may have called me Airich a time or two," he said, stressing the correct pronunciation.

"Very good, Lord Airich O'Paddy, I think I deserve another ale for deducing that brilliant conclusion."

"Very well, Master Scholar, but only if you—"

Danger. Cornered. Trapped.

Edwin winced. Airich was off the bench and scanning the room, looking for the source of the silent cry. There. The auburn-haired serving girl, clutching her wooden platter to her chest. A group of laughing men behind her, with a large man leering over her. She didn't scream, but her fear was nearly physical, far beyond the usual annoyance of a barmaid to a handsy patron.

The voices in his head went through a quick war: mind his own business or obey the precepts of chivalry. There was little doubt which he would choose and which voice he ignored. He was moving before he'd even finished the thought.

"King's Peace, friend," Airich said to the man, slipping between the two and startling the bigger man into stepping back. "It's hard to get a drink when the tavern's so crowded, eh? But it's not the poor girl's fault. Let me buy you and your friends a round of this excellent ale and allow the girl get back to work."

The man stared at Airich as if he were some small insect that had crawled out from the slime. Airich held his ground and his smile, even as he suspected this wouldn't go well.

"If you want... peace... friend," the other man said, "you should go sit down and drink your own ale. She's none of your concern."

"Oh? Are you her father?"

"No."

"Her brother?"

"No."

"Her husband?"

A pause, then, "Yes."

The girl, shaking behind Airich, whispered, "He's not, he was my sister's husband."

"You lying slut! You'd better—" the man lunged at the girl. He stopped when Airich planted a fist in his face¹.

The punch didn't drop him, but it certainly surprised him; a man that size probably wasn't used to anyone standing up to him. It didn't stop him for long, though.²

"Run," Airich ordered the girl, relieving her of her wooden platter and pushing her towards the kitchen.

---

¹ Normal attack, Disadvantage 1d6= 6, success
² tough guy swings back, Disadvantage 1d6=4, failure

Edwin had remained frozen where he was for a few seconds, the sense of discomfort he felt like when his father teased his belt down his back in preparation for a beating. He watched Airich confront the larger man, who didn't look like a student, and then deck him across the jaw with a wicked right. The bigger man did not look pleased. Neither did his friends.

Edwin's instinct for a fight kicked in. Airich might only be a mate of a few days, but he was a mate, and that was enough. He jumped to his feet just as a resounding thud echoed round the tavern, the low ceiling and wooden paneling creating an ominous echo: the big man's fist had just connected with a wooden platter Airich held before him. Lucky thing, the blow hadn't connected or Edwin might be down one mate. But so intent on the man before him, Airich couldn't see what Edwin saw another man coming up to grab Airich from behind. Ducking and weaving in the way that he had learnt as the smallest of three brothers, he darted between Airich and his would-be assailant and aimed a blow in a place that had the latter doubled up ((roll advantage 4+3+5 =12). As the man staggered back in pain Edwin thrust hard against his shoulder which, off balance as he was, brought him toppling to the floor. ((Attack at advantage 5+1+6 =12))

Edwin stood panting, thankful that he felt no compunction to fight according to any knightly code. Which was a good thing as several more of the big man's friends joined in the fighting.

Amy's nerves were shaking her awake from the blissful meal; so used to men and their stupid aggressions after a few cups of drink that she hardly noticed the commotion at first. Wasn't there someone like Carew in a tavern like this? Trouble was they were sitting too close to the action, now that more than two men had joined in the play. She jumped up with a grasp on each of her companions wrists and made to pull them away toward the side wall. ((Amy pulls her companions away 2x1d6 1d6=3 1d6=1 Failures)) Her two companions were unmovable, Elspeth was only waking up to the danger, and Bede was as tense as stone. He shook her hand off, his full attention on where the barmaid had been shoved to. Amy missed her balance and promptly fell backward, her rump slamming hard onto the stone floor. "Mother!" she cursed under her breath. She had only just added to the chaos.

By now, Bede was not the only one captivated by the disturbance. Half of the bar had begun jeering and cheering. Some rooted for the outsiders, others for the faces they recognized regardless of who was in the wrong, and some among them even started placing bets. Uncharacteristically frozen, Bede thought someone had tried to get his attention. Maybe the same patron who was trying to get him to join in the betting. "Another time, man," he said amicably and resumed his ursine analysis. It did not seem right to bet on someone else's safety, not tonight. Maybe he could find a way to not compromise his job or his few meaningful social ties, or if he were not careful, they would be cut in a single stupendous stroke.

On one hand, having Edwin at Airich's back meant neither was going to be clobbered from behind; on the other hand, Airich was acutely aware of Edwin's lack of protection, a cotte and scholar's robes being worthless in a fight. Fortunately, most of their opponents weren't any better armored than Edwin. And Edwin was beginning to look like he was enjoying himself.

Still, that big fellow in front of Airich had already clouted his ear once and left it ringing. The man had a punch like a bull. Fortunately, he was slow and signaled his moves well ahead of time, giving Airich ample opportunity to sidestep. He needed to put this guy down for good, but he wasn't going to be able to focus on the main threat so long as his skinny friend was dancing around at the man's side.

The lanky fellow prepared to throw a right-handed punch at Airich's neck¹. Airich avoided it² and followed up with a left hook that sent the man reeling³. Airich didn't think he'd be back soon.

That left three opponents, if no one else joined in.

---

¹ Normal attack, Disadvantage, 1d6=5, success 
² Right arm block, Disadvantage, 1d6=5, success 
³ Left-hand attack, Disadvantage, 1d6=5, success 

Edwin watched open-mouthed as Airich shook off the blow to his head that surely should have brained him, and turned to deal with the yard of pump water who was dancing round in a way that he clearly thought made him look threatening.

A beauty of a left hook from Airich and the man was reeling back; the last Edwin saw of him he was headed for the tavern door. Edwin had no time to ponder where Airich learnt his fighting skills but the image of his grace and ease of movement lodged itself in Edwin's thoughts for another time. For now there was the big bruiser coming in again for the attack on Airich. Edwin yanked off his scholar's open gown and gathered it over his fists, then placing fists and gown over his bent head he charged head first into the man's belly, knocking him flying into the edge of a trestle table where he lay with the fight knocked out of him for the moment at least. ((advantage roll brawler attack I forgot to make a note of the dice roll but I know it was a success)).

He straightened, feeling pleased with himself. Right, who was next? There was a hell of a noise going on, with half those standing round the bar cheering and yelling. Saints above, did they mean to bring the town watch down on them? At least it looked as though the onlookers were having too good a time to risk getting hurt by joining in, so that left just two. He and Airich had this covered.

Suddenly one of their opponents bent to the side and plucked up something from off one of the benches. God no! It was his satchel, with his precious parchments and pens, the tools he needed for his studies, and the means of  earning himself a few extra coins as a copyist. Christ have mercy! The man was heaving it towards the fire, where the oil which rendered it waterproof would surely catch.

Edwin lurched towards him, only to trip over the prone body of the man he had felled. He righted himself but it was too late. ((Standard defensive roll 3+1 = 4 failure)).

"Fat lot of help you are!"  Elspeth snarled at Bede.  She stood and reached to help her friend up,

Amy was grateful as Miss Elspeth stepped between her and Bede's backside; it was her assistance that got Amy back on her feet. She would have laughed at her own clumsiness at falling down if she hadn't shockingly got this odd sense that fire was kicking up where it should not have been. ((Does Amy Perceive the leather bag catching fire 3d6 =6, 3,& 1, Success)) Desperate, she looked over Elspeth's shoulder toward the welcoming hearth. There was nothing welcoming about it now! There at the edge of the burning logs lay a large leather satchel, its straps already smoking and turning black in the midst of the flames. A log in the fire dropped down an inch spreading sparks over the old ashes. The upper corner of the bag nestled into the flames as the log fell. The leather must have been oiled to protect the contents from rain and weather, it only took a moment for that corner to flare with a new greenish glow.  There were too many people standing between Amy and the hearth; none of them seemed remotely aware of the danger. Yelling with a sharp call, while wildly pointing at the hearth, she was desperate to get Bede's attention who was closest to it. ((can Amy call Bede 2d6=3, 4  Failure)). It was Elspeth standing at Bede's back who came to awareness at Amy's alarm. She saw the direction that her friend was pointing and her eyes flashed their concern. 

Elspeth heard Amy's yell and her gaze followed her friend's pointing hand.  Amy was pointing at a satchel which had started burning in the fire.  Who would be so base as to throw someone else's possession into the fire with such spite?  Fight or no fight, that was not right! ((Elspeth grabs the satchel from the hearth. 2d6=6 & 2  Success))  Elspeth dashed forward and grabbed the satchel at the bottom, narrowly escaping scorching her fingers. She pulled it from the flames upside down, and blessed the clasp for holding firm.  She batted at the flames that had caught on the straps with her free hand and ended the threat of engulfment.  Movement behind her caught her attention.  One of the men was barrelling toward her, arm drawn back ready to throw a punch. The nerve!  One of the few stools in the tavern was within reach, and Elspeth shoved it hard to intercept the charging man. ((Elspeth tries to intervene 1d6 = 4; failure.  Figures.)) The stool connected but the man kicked it aside.  "Bloody hell," she said.  "Not hard enough."

((Bede attacks the guy charging Elspeth. 1d6 = 3))  "Kheldourian bastard!" the archer snarled in a foreign accent. Bede was on his feet and throwing his arms wide to protect Elspeth from the charging brute. The attempt was technically effective if inelegant, for the local's attention was steered away from his client. ((Enemy reacts to Bede 1d6 = 5)) With pinpoint eyes the man redirected his wrath, slashing through the musty air like a furious bear and sneering "And where would you be from, vagrant?"

((Bede-block! 2d6 2 + 5 = 7)) Bede had little talent for offensive swinging and could not hide it, but there was much else to hide behind the fortification of sinewy arms. He'd have to apologize later for getting the shirt warped. "Somewhere they'd bury your ugly hide for good fortune." Not that he had seen such a thing, but if it scared the outlanders, it may as well be true.

"Now, Amy, we need to move NOW!"

Amy needed no further encouragement.  Elspeth grabbed her arm when Amy was close enough and ran with her toward the stairs leading to their room above.  She hugged the satchel to her side as they dodged several combatants, leading Amy up the stairs.

"What about Bede?"  Amy asked breathlessly.

"He'll have to look after himself," Elspeth said without looking back.  "He's managed well enough so far. We'll find the satchel's owner once the tempest below has blown out."

Grecotha University, the largest and oldest in Gwynedd, has many places where students can gather to discuss and debate the topics of their studies. And also where secrets can be told without fear of them being over heard.

"Gather everyone that you can trust." The student says to a small group of students and non-students. "We are going to send a clear message to the Deryni and the Deryni-loving traitors."

"We know of a Deryni student here at the university and we know his human friends. Within a fortnight they will be burned at the stake outside the city walls."

(So I decided to roll the dice to see how Edwin reacted to what was happening to his bag. 1&2 Angry 3&4 calm and reasonable 5&6 desperate 1d6 =1 angry it is.)

Edwin managed to right himself but, as he spun round to get himself back to where the man with his bag was, he saw to his horror that it was too late. The bag was in the fire and already beginning to catch. Why the hell had he ever got involved with any of this; he hated to think it but the old man was right.

"Ne'er get yoursen involved with what is nowt o' your business."

He no longer cared who was fighting or what they were fighting about, blind to all but his precious bag. All very well for Airich and the likes o' him to jump in all chivalrous to save a damsel in distress, let him get on with it. If a noble's possessions were damaged, doubtless plenty more where they came from. But without his bag he could neither study nor earn his keep. Well, he had got himself out of more fights than Airich had had hot dinners so he rapidly weaved his way round where Airich was struggling, moved smartly to avoid a guy in an eye-splitting shirt and edged himself round the back of the brawling bodies towards the fire.

His plan was to grab his bag, risking a scorched hand but no matter as long as he made sure to use his left hand, and leg it. As far and fast away from this tavern as he could make it. A pity, he had liked the place but there were plenty of other places to drink and eat in Grecotha. And if ever a plausible looking guy asked him for help with his research, well he was done with helping people.

He looked away from the fire long enough to check that he was not being watched and as he looked back he saw that a young woman had snatched the bag out of the fire. Brave lass and  someone with sense in this madhouse. His relief was short lived as the fight moved between him and the lass, giving her time to escape with her spoils, and an accomplice, up the stairs to where he knew there was a room set aside for female guests. He had got into trouble before for trying to gain entrance there but now he was too angry to care. Edwin felt red-hot rage pour through him. What the hell was going on? Was this some sort of trap set up by Airich to allow the women to steal his bag? As another fist connected with Airich's jaw he had to admit this seemed unlikely; just two opportunist sneak thieves then, making the most of their chance. No doubt they thought there was coin or something of value in the bag.

Ignoring everything going on behind him he lunged for the stairs and hurtled up them just in time to see the door slam closed. Barely stopping in time to avoid crashing into the door he reached for the string to lift the latch. It wasn't there, of course! In rage he hammered on the door yelling words that even his father would have frowned upon when addressed to women.

((Bede shoves his opponent, hopefully back into the center of the brawl. 1d6 = 6)) The threatening words from Bede did cause the bookish brute to flinch. In a moment of primal inspiration, Bede lunged forward with splayed fingers, closing them tight around the collar of the man's nicer shirt. Using his entire body for momentum, as though the leader in a dominating dance, he dragged the overall heavier man around only to throw him back where he came from, into the heart of the free-for-all. His opponent disappeared under the writhing forms of the other fighters as they fell over him like trees before the axe. Then Bede dusted himself off with a steadying breath. Onto the next thing.

"Winnifred?!" he shouted above the pandemonium. Getting to the kitchen was easy enough, with the tricks he had learned from Scimmio. It was darker than he expected, and perhaps darker than it was supposed to be, he surmised from the lightless lanterns and candles. He took one off of its perch and lit it with a spark from his hunting knife against his eating knife, and saw someone he loved. Not his Winnifred, but someone differently dear to who he once was. Her cousin Muireagáin. Cleverer than she was often credited for, it came to light too late for him to care that she had orchestrated many of the meetings between him and his beloved. What she could possibly be doing here, he had no idea. Doubtless, she would feel the same if she recognized him.

"Who are you?" she asked fearfully, clutching a hefty cleaver without deftness. Her agitation increased as she continued to speak. "One of his friends? Tell him I'll never replace my sister, and I'd sooner join her." With shaking hesitation, she turned the knife's blade towards herself and dared him with raised brows. When he slumped and began to stammer, she pounced. "Say something, or I'll scream."

Moving slowly, he took off his hat and spoke honestly. "Muirea, it is me: Bede Archer, third son of Ulrich Archer, of Meara. My loyalty is to my God, my queen, my heart, my family, my friends, and then my employers, in that order."

Recognition, relief and disappointment dawned on her beautiful face, and once again she was the sister he never had. "You've grown so much, and yet not at all, Bede. By the saints of our youth, where have you been all these years? What have you done if not repent and live?"

Four years of turmoil boiled over in his dry throat. "I waited for Winnifred! At the mouth of the River Laas. As long as my body could, I did. I don't have time to recount the rest, but I can keep you and my friends from Carbury safe if you'll follow me."

She dropped the cleaver and grasped his hands imploringly. "I'm safer here, Bede. Do you hear that? That's the sound of the bouncers getting ready to do their job. Go out the back, and sneak back to your friends how best you can. Hurry, and God be with ye!" With a shove towards the back, he was gone, circling around the block so as best to survey the situation. He saw candlelight shining out of Elspeth's room from across the street. His was the one next to it, and his new destination. But how to climb the sheer wall of the first floor was yet a mystery. Then he recalled his partner in derring, and trotted off to meet her.

It was a lucky thing, Airich thought, that the man in the painfully green shirt had caused a tumble that took the wind out of several of his opponents. Edwin had moved on and the big guy was back up and facing him, but he was the only one left. And he looked as tired and beat-up as Airich felt.

And Airich felt very tired and beat-up.

The serving lass was away safely—at least, Airich no longer saw her red hair bobbing through the tavern—and hopefully she would not return soon. But would this man stay away from her? Airich didn't think it likely. He'd have to send this fellow a message regarding the proper way to treat ladies.

The two men circled each other, looking for an opening: both breathing heavily but neither willing to concede. The big man's eyes flicked up and behind Airich, but before Airich could react, a dagger hilt smashed against the side of his face¹—same side as before, dammit!—and an arm encircled his neck from behind.²

"You want I should cut 'im, Jasper?" Airich heard the voice against his ear, much louder than the angry shouts and boos from the crowd, and felt the edge of steel below his chin. "Say the word, I'll cut 'im good. I'll give 'im a new smile if—"

Hoping that his mother's prayers for him were as effective as ever, Airich braced against the man behind him and booted Jasper in the gut.³ He grabbed the dagger-wielder's arm and pulled him over his shoulder, then drove his elbow into the man's neck.⁴ He snatched the dagger from the floor where the gasping man had dropped it, and struck Jasper on the temple with its pommel.⁵

Jasper dropped on his face, groaned once, and lay motionless.

Cheers, applause, and groans accompanied the sound of coins clinking. Looking around, Airich saw no one else willing to fight; Jasper's buddies were either gone or nursing their bruises over their mugs, and glaring at Airich.

Airich straightened his jerkin and brushed imaginary dust from it. He climbed the stairs at an unhurried pace, aware of dozens of eyes on him.

He was pretty sure he could make it to his own room before he passed out.

---

¹ J attack against Airich, disadvantage; d6=6 Success
² sneak attack on Airich, disadvantage; d6=5 Success
³ Airich attack against J, disadvantage; d6=6 Success
⁴ Come on, baby needs shoes! disadvantage; d6=5 Success
⁵ One more good one plzkthx; disadvantage; d6=6 Success

"Mind your mouth!" Elspeth yelled back.  She did not flinch, having heard many of the words before.  Her father only rarely took her with him to the docks; her brothers, however, used to like to show off their additional language skills.   "How do we know you aren't trying to steal it yourself?"  More loud words came from outside the door, just as colorful as before.

"The door should hold,"  she said to Amy. 

"If not, I have this," Amy responded and withdrew her dagger.

"Hopefully it won't come to that."  Elspeth turned to lay the satchel on their bed.  She opened the clasp and began to pull out the contents.

"What are you doing?" Amy asked, a hint of disapproval in her voice.

"I'm looking to see what it holds," Elspeth replied calmly while inventorying the contents. "I would be concerned if it holds large sums of stolen coin." She spread the contents on the bed and  took special note of the pens and parchment.  "It appears this must belong to a student.  It would cost a fair amount of coin to replace all this." 

Elspeth moved back to the door.  "Calm yourself enough to make yourself understood properly,"  Elspeth said forcefully.  "If you can identify the contents of the satchel, it might prove your ownership."  She was not ready to agree to return it quite yet even if he knew what was in it.

Edwin took a deep breath to calm down a bit.  He was dismayed that the woman had obviously rifled through his bag. It was worth a try, to tell her the contents; besides, the pounding on the door was making his hand hurt.  He rubbed the side of his hand and took another deep breath. 

"It contains several sheets of parchment, four pens, and my lucky dice.  It also contains a note from my research at the Grecotha library." He hoped she didn't read the note; it was not complementary to one of the more annoying lecturers.  She probably couldn't read, he thought hopefully.

Amy, still holding her dagger securely in her right hand, moved toward the bed and picked up the note.  She glanced at it and smiled. 

"Our loud man outside the door is not respectful of all his lecturers," she said.

"It would be nice to attend the university and have the luxury of belittling one of the esteemed faculty," Elspeth replied a bit wistfully.

"I agree it is not fair to deny women a university education, although I admit, it would not be for me."

"Life is not always fair."  Elspeth turned her attention back to the door.  She was not unfamiliar with the ways seamen gambled.  "The dice are odd.  Describe them more clearly, if you can."

Edwin looked toward heaven and then said, "Four are black, and four are white."

"I think this satchel is his, Speth,"  Amy said.

Brandishing her dagger in a firm grip at chest height, Amy unlatched the door and jumped a full step back.

"Watch yourself boy, I am not afraid to use this. We don't want to bring downstairs trouble up here." The shell gleam of Amy's eyes kept an account of every move the student made.

Following an exasperated curse, the tall young man paced forward two long strides. Amy jumped back in retreat to match, keeping herself and the dagger steadily between this man and Elspeth who was repacking the bag's contents.

"Slow down! You will get your stuff. But only if you keep your courtesy to us women."

"What courtesy do I owe thieves!" The student retorted.  His forehead was compressed with frustration, his hands tensely flexed before him, palms out, in plain sight, free of weapons. No calluses on these hands, proving labor was not his occupation, instead showing ink stains around his fingers. Nevertheless, Amy feared those empty hands if they came too close.

"It wasn't us who threw your bag in the fire," Amy countered. She added that special gift to her voice that often convinced others toward her cause. ((Amy using her Charisma on Edwin 3d6= 5 + 1 + 2  Success)) "Miss Elspeth rescued your property when no one else would. You should thank her."

"The way I saw it, you ran like thieves!" the tall boy claimed. Yet his face was slowly unwrinkling and he stopped looking like he was about to rush her.

"We've seen a brawl or two, I dare say," Amy replied more assuredly.  "We both know to run before the whole tavern erupts into chaos and no one but the constable wins."

"It's all right, Am's, here's his stuff back. The flame didn't catch on the papers inside." Elspeth lifted the sachet with an outstretched hand just beyond the reach of Amy's dagger. "Know that we never had any intention of theft. Just didn't have many options... I am not one to let books, or in this case precious parchment, go to the flames.... We meant no disrespect, not knowing who the owner was."

When the student moved too fast to snatch back his bag, Amy again threatened him with her dagger. It wasn't one of those small eating knives either, more like a weapon a man would carry.  He slowed his motion and inched forward taking the top corner of the outstretched bag. He could feel the crisp burns in the leather under his fingers. 

Greatly relieved that he was not going to have to come to fist-to-cuffs with two women, he took his bag, opened it with a quick glance inside, then gave a slow nod to the brown haired girl who had saved his possessions. "Thank you."

In that moment she looked up at him with a warm brown eyed gaze from a half tilt in her head accepting his apology.  In the next moment, however, she heard shuffling footsteps coming down the hall and she turned her full face to him exploring the space behind him. He shivered as her one crystal clear blue eye came into full view.

Fifteen... sixteen... seventeen steps! Airich counted it a victory that he'd achieved the second floor.¹

At the top, out of sight of the people in the tavern below, Airich stopped, leaned against the wall, and breathed in slowly and deeply, wincing in pain. I don't know how you did it, Da... a single brawl and now I won't be able to move for a week. The ringing in his right ear nearly drowned out the sounds of the fight's aftermath, and the tavern's attempt to return to normal.

He should probably go to his room and make sure his gear was packed. The innkeeper would eventually track down the instigators of the fight and demand payment for any furniture that was damaged, and possibly charge a fee. And probably toss Airich out of his lodgings.

He really needed to be more careful with his money. He was a long way from home and this money needed to last. He glanced at the dagger still clenched in his fist. He could probably sell the serviceable weapon for a half-sovereign, less if he had to go through the black market. He certainly wasn't going to return it to its former owner. Drawing steel—even a dagger—during a tavern brawl, indeed. The man was lucky Airich had only planted his elbow into his throat, rather than the dagger he now held in his hand. He tucked it through his belt.

All this trouble over a girl.

No, all this trouble because you wouldn't do the smart thing. It would have been simple to sidetrack him instead. Just a nudge, plant a new thought, and ol' Jasper would have been demanding more ale and completely forgotten about the red-haired girl...

Airich irritably smothered that train of thought. It served no purpose.

It's not like Jasper's a good man, you would have been well justified in saving that girl the easier way—

Be quiet!

Arguing with himself made his head hurt worse.

Something tickled his lip. He wiped at it, and was surprised to see it was blood. He hadn't even noticed it for the overall numbness of his face. And... gah, was that a loose tooth? Hopefully just his mind playing tricks on him.

He really needed to go lie down.

Airich slowly shuffled down the hall, holding himself upright against the wall, dim rushlight showing the way to his room. He passed the first guest-room door, the one they kept separate for women, and was surprised to see it open and light spilling out. A glance within showed him a man, his back toward Airich, facing down a woman. The woman was staring out the door, towards Airich, her face awash in mistrust.

Please, God, please let her not be in danger from this man, I can't do any more to help...

The man turned, and—thank you God, I owe you for this one—it was Edwin, looking curious and affable, as ever.

"There he is, the hero of the hour," Edwin called out. Airich thought those were his words, based on his lip movement: the ringing in his ears was getting louder and becoming more of a roaring.

"You should have warned me you were about to pick a fight with the entire tavern," Edwin continued as he saw Airich pull away from the wall and stand up straight while in the hall. He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. "I would have found myself the best seat in the house. And run the betting table. 'Sir Lord Airich O'Mazing against the entire patronage of the King's Arms.'" Edwin stressed this with a sneer. "We could have made quite the haul. That is, if you'd bothered to tell me! But what's a scrivener's livelihood to one such as you? A mere pittance. You risked my future just to impress a damsel whose favors you could have bought for a penny. Thank God Almighty and these women that my bag isn't ashes now."

"I repeat, I don't like seeing knowledge burn," Elspeth stated, "or anything used to record knowledge." She didn't like how the man in the hall stood there, unmoving. Something about him made her uneasy. Listening to the student talking to him, he was probably one of the men involved in the brawl. She thought she detected a faint moist glistening on his face from a bloody nose. Best move these boys along quickly.

"The armed doormen will probably come up this way looking for the troublemakers. You two had better get off to your room if you want to avoid trouble," she said. The student looked at her, his brow furrowing again, this time with worry. He looked back at his friend in the hall, who continued standing there, staring.

Soft in the head, Elspeth thought. The one man pretending to be a student, and his stupid muscle-bound friend. What are these two playing at? She caught Amy's eye and narrowed her own, letting the younger woman know to stay on her guard. Amy responded by tightening her grip on her dagger and looking grim.

Then Elspeth saw the other man's face drain of blood. His eyes rolled back and he swayed.

"Catch him, he's going down!" she yelled as the man's knees buckled and he slumped into a dead faint.

---

¹How long can we stay upright? 1=shorter, 6=longer
1d6=6

"Catch him!  He's going down!"

Edwin thought he saw the crystal blue eye flash at him.  For a moment, he was torn between holding on to his satchel or dropping it to try to catch the man rapidly falling to the floor.  The crystal blue eye won out; he dropped the satchel and dashed forward, catching Airich just before he hit the ground.

"Bring him to the bed there," Elsepth directed, pointing to a bed that as yet had no claimant for the night. 

Edwin, not much recovered from the brawl downstairs, struggled to raise the heavier man.

"Move quickly, I hear heavy footsteps.  Probably the bouncers."  Amy sheathed her dagger and grasped Airich with both hands around one arm.  Between the two of them they managed to lift him as far as his knees and haul him over to the bed.

Elspeth quickly closed the door behind them and latched it securely.  "Fine time to show up now," she muttered under her breath. 

"You need help?" a burly voice called through the door.

"All's well in here; you can move on," she called back..

"Keep your door locked.  Don't venture out until all is settled down below."

"Have no fear of that,"  Elspeth thought to herself.

With Elspeth's help, they managed to manipulate Airich onto the bed.  "Dead weight is always harder to move," she commented.

"Surely, he's not dead!" Edwin might not like his fellow borderer much, but he would not wish him that.

"I should hope not," Espeth replied as she arranged the battered man into a more natural position. She pushed her hood back and carefully examined him, starting at his head.  With gentle fingers she probed his skull to make sure it was intact.  She spent some time looking at one ear, which was swollen to almost twice its size.  "No blood coming from it, which is good.  Ams, will you pour some water from the pitcher and bring it here, please."

Amy went to the large pitcher filled with water which was meant to be shared by all of the occupants for washing.  She poured a reasonable amount of the water into the basin beside it.

((Physicking roll, 2d6.  If successful, the target creature is healed for 2 HIT points.  2d6  4+1=5. Sorry buddy.))

There was little Elspeth could do for this except apply a cloth with cool water to help with the swelling.  With luck, once any internal swelling passed, his hearing would return to normal. The man was beginning to stir slightly.  Good, though she would prefer to complete her examination before he came fully round.

As Elspeth checked the various cuts and bruises to the man's hands and face, Amy followed with a dampened cloth, making sure the wounds were clean.  Edwin retrieved his satchel and watched them. He did not offer to assist; it was clear they were a practiced, experienced team.  He wasn't needed.

Elsepth studied Airich's nose for a moment, and cocked her head to one side. With a brief motion of her hand, she directed Amy to clean away the blood.

((Physicking roll, 2d6.  3+4=7.  Sigh.))

Well, there was not much she could do here except the old tried and true method. The nose wasn't badly broken, but it was not completely straight either.  She could leave it, but in spite of several bloodstains, the man was well dressed, likely noble.  He would not thank her for leaving his nose misshapen.  She glanced at Amy, who laid her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward with her weight to keep him still and under control, if necessary.
 
Elspeth placed her fingers firmly on each side of the man's nose and then gave the nose a firm push.

"OW!!!"  The man's eyes flew open and for a moment he pushed against Amy's strong arms, trying to sit.

"Lie still and don't complain," Elspeth said in a soothing voice.  "I thought you would prefer the nose straight.  I can put it back the way it was if you'd rather."

Edwin could have sworn the mismatched eyes twinkled.

There in the inn's paddock she was: Bede's trusted steed. "Easy, Winnie," he spoke in soothing tones as he stroked his mare's face. "Go back to sleep, girl." Looking in her dark eyes, he saw himself reflected back, and became terribly aware of just how far they had come with no sight of their quarry. "Tonight we found a memory and an old friend, girl." When she had calmed and stood tired but still, he glanced around for more man-shaped witnesses. Unfortunately for him, some were just leaving the tavern through the front door nearby. He ducked into a deeper shadow and witnessed the final humiliation of the night's antagonists.

The innkeeper's reedy arms cut the air like a switch from the doorway. "Stay out, and you stay away from our maid, you hear?!"

The men who limped out the door in the innkeeper's wake said nothing, only glaring with scorn and shame and raising their hands in compliance as they were shooed out. Only when the door had been slammed shut did they voice their complaints. Bede recognized the first to speak as the one who had charged toward Elspeth and who he had thrown back just as quickly. "At least we had some fun. Right, Jasper? Gave them a good scare, I think."

"We did not come here to have fun. We came here to bring the Mearan harlot back as my bride!" That must be Jasper, Bede decided. He didn't need to see his face to know which one it was, or who the man spoke of. As angry as he was amused by the anguish of the bully, he had a little sport then, miming that he had an arrow and a bow to nock it in, and with a soundless whistle, he let the imaginary instrument fly before continuing to listen.((Bede goes through the motions of using Sharpshooter 3d6 2 + 6 + 4 = 12))

Another one of the thugs spoke, although it sounded as if it hurt terribly to do it. "No way could anyone have been good enough to beat us. That guy had to be cheating."

"Not cheating", Bede whispered to himself, proudly flexing arms that had grown brawny from years of archery. "but he did have help from Ma Archer's boy playing nine-pin with your ruffians."

"Did anyone notice if there was metal between that uppity boy's fingers or..."

"Magic!" Jasper proclaimed, and Bede could only keep from guffawing aloud amidst the hay by clamping his own mouth shut with one hand and painfully pinching himself with his other. He had seen powerful magics in his day, and anything subtler than those was inconsequential next to the numbers advantage the thugs had brought with them, in his opinion. Besides, they had started it. Nevertheless, Jasper's friends all fell in line with his new theory, and as they disappeared down a stony alleyway, the only specifics they could further agree on were that next time they would be ready and that it was not yet over.

By Samson, do you promise? Bede was eager to ensure that Muirea never looked at anyone that way again, and never had reason to either, but he then chastised himself for reckless thinking. If those men could hear his thoughts, they would never let him succeed at anything again. With that in mind, and a minute more to be sure that the coast was clear, Bede flew off towards the wall again, this time at a running start, hoping to clear the sleek bottom story's section of wall with momentum alone. ((Bede uses Acrobat in order to break into his own room. 2d6 4 + 3 = 7)) To no avail, and the best he could say for himself is that he landed on his feet when he hit the ground, shaken by the total of the night thus far. Then he remembered other details of the paddock and its furnishings. Furnishings that included a ladder. A few minutes later he returned once more to his window, by now looking less and less like a chivalrous suitor and more like the sneak that circumstances were making him once again. But no matter, as there were no witnesses to see him creep into his room at this dead hour of the night. Once safely inside, he was feeling reckless, and so he separated the old machine from his window sill with a simple shove, leaving it perpendicularly spanning the alleyway. ((Having done poorly with acrobatics, Bede tries for Strength. Rolling at 'disadvantage' to keep this one simple. 1d6 = 3))

The nose adjustment even made the barmaid clench her jaw, but that gave her better tension in her shoulders and arms to hold the wounded man down. If he had fought her for a second longer she would have lost the battle, he was a well toned man under all those fine garments.  It was fortunate that Elspeth had the professional mature voice; like the wisest women of the convent. Normally her strongest attributes were directed at women in the deep throes of childbirth. Yet Elspeth had seen plenty of injured men as well, most of them the surly type from off the docks at Carbury. To a male patient, the infirmarian was like the matriarch of their own clan houses. A woman who would see them through their worst of days so they can get back to the job at hand.  If the men got too surly, Elspeth would back away.  Amy would then slide into the view and hearing of the injured; she seemed to have the knack of soothing the beastly side of men, at least some times. 

This was the case now. Even with a slight quiver of shock after his adjusted nose, the fighter was attempting to sit forward and was blocking Elspeth's caring hand with a raised arm. "I'ms fines," he just managed to slur between swollen lips.  Elspeth sat back and Amy spoke clearly and soothingly to their patient as she firmly pushed his shoulders back toward the bed and then leaned into his vision, giving him her softest smile. "Ease yourself, good man, you're injured but you are safe. Let us help you. We wish no further harm to befall you." Amy took the wash cloth and dabbed lightly at the cuts around his eyes. The right eye was swollen shut and the left eye, partially open, watched his new benefactor as she moved gently over him. He relaxed under her ministrations.

"Edwin...?" he managed in a whisper. Amy noted the wounded man didn't wait to hear if his friend responded to his call, it could be that he neither saw him nor heard him in his dazed state. But he seemed to know that the other man was standing there. "In... my room... my bags... white... cloth...." The effort caused him to cough and spit out blood. Amy hoped that it was just from the cuts in the man's mouth. But a look from Elspeth showed her concern that it could be more. With a nod of agreement between them, Elspeth again caught the man's attention with a push on his abdomen and asked if it hurt when she pushed. Amy used the distraction, she moved the wash cloth across his forehead, her fingers and palm leaving the cloth there and moving her palm over his swollen eye. Her left hand reached around his head and slipped smoothly to his collarbone. She turned her eyes up to the candle flame on the table, doing as her grandmother had taught her so many years ago. ((Amy using Empathy to feel the pains of the injured man 2d6 = 2 + 6  success)).

There was pain, she had been ready for that. The right ear and cheek bone throbbed from the abuse, the man's eye deep under the swelling seemed unharmed,  though he probably did not think so from the thundering throbbing of his forehead. That throbbing proved the nose bone wasn't the only bone with fractures, the cheek bone had a crack across the most forward portion, but it was not crushed as it could have been under so many blunt hits. More seriously, Amy discovered a tiny abrasion in the skull near the ear, a fracture so small she could barely sense it, but that would account for his dizziness and head pain.  She suspected that the pain in his teeth and sinuses at least would subside if he did not eat hard food for a few days to come. Elspeth's medicine and time were about the only thing they could do for his head injury, unless it proved to be worse, then the only help would be a healer from the city's infirmary. Taking a deep breath Amy shifted her perception toward Elspeth's bigger concern, his ribs and breathing. Amy did not find any serious injury there. "Praise the Lord," she whispered under her breath.

Amy was turning her gaze back to Elspeth saying that his breathing would be fine, her concern was the side of his head, when her fingers at his neck brushed his fine linen shirt beneath his tunic. A tingle so sharp, yet so undefinable tensed her hand, but before she could move her hand again to find what had caused it, the patient's hand had snatched her wrist and was firmly holding it up in the air.

Who are you? challenged a male voice. Amy, mouth opening wide but not ready to answer, looked up and around, for who had asked that? The student was wide eyed and watching her without opening his mouth and her patient could barely speak clear words between his wounded lips. Only once before had she heard words like this, words in her head and not sounds from her ears. That man too had been wounded, not in the same way as her current patient, but a wound of the soul was as serious as the wound of the body, maybe even more so. 

She pulled her hands away quickly standing up trying to hide her distress. As an afterthought, she wrung the cloth in her hands into the water bowl, rinsing out the blood stains. She could no longer look back at the man on the bed; not out of fear for him, but out of fear for what she had done in the past. 

Espeth looked at her friend with concern.  Something had startled Amy and caused her to turn away from their patient.  Now she seemed to avoid even looking at him.  This was not like Amy at all, but Elspeth felt this was not the time to ask her about it.  Amy would confide in her if and when she was ready.

The patient on the bed lay tense,  trying to scan the room with his more functional left eye. "Be at ease,"  Elspeth said gently.  "Let me give you something to ease the pain and help the swelling go down. If you can rest comfortably, you will heal more quickly."  She reached for her satchel and withdrew a small packet. 

"Amy, would you please bring me a cup of wine from one of our skins?"  She looked down at her patient. "The good stuff, I think."  Did she see the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips?  Or maybe he just relaxed a tiny bit.

Amy, feeling relieved at having something to do besides avoid the patient, withdrew a cup from their bags and poured the appropriate amount of wine into it.

Elspeth accepted the cup from Amy and poured a powder from the packet into the wine.  As she swirled the contents of the cup carefully to dissolve the powder, she looked at her patient and asked, "Would you share your name with us?  Just your first name would be fine. If not, that's all right, but it's better than referring to you as 'That Man on the Bed.'"

The man looked doubtful, then mumbled something that sounded like "Erik." 

"Thank you Erik.  Now this...."

"Don't need,"  Erik mumbled.

"Oh, but I believe you do.  Don't worry, this will not harm you.  It's just a mixture of rose, lavender and sage.  It relieves the pain from headache and swelling, which you have plenty of."  She reached forward and lifted his head, holding the cup underneath his swollen nose.  "You probably can't smell this very well at the moment, but if it was noxious, you would be able to smell it clearly!"  She moved the cups to his lips.  "Sip it slowly, but drink it all."

Elspeth wished Amy would help her convince him, but the younger woman still seemed reluctant to assist. Nevertheless, Erik seemed to realize that he really didn't have a better choice.  Slowly he drained the contents of the cup.

"Rest now," Elspeth said as she lowered his head back onto the bed.  She watched him closely as the potion began to take effect.  Gradually he relaxed, and as he fell asleep, began to snore softly.  He was breathing more through his mouth than his nose at the moment, but that was to be expected.

Elspeth rose and handed the empty cup to Amy.  She stretched and rubbed the small of her back for a moment while Amy busied herself rinsing and drying the cup.

Elspeth turned to the man standing along the wall holding his satchel firmly.  She didn't pull her hood up, thinking her strange gaze would be to her advantage.

"I believe you owe us an apology for thinking us thieves," she said.  Amy came to stand beside her.

Edwin gave her a wary look.  "Watching you run away with my satchel certainly did suggest it."  A glint in the bright blue eye made him hastily add, "You certainly do not appear to be thieves now."

Elspeth suspected that was as good as she would get.  "You can take your friend back to his room as soon as he awakes."

"Um, he's not my friend."

"What?" Amy asked, startled.

"He's really just an acquaintance.  I left him behind when I saw you running off with my satchel."

"You what?!" Elspeth said sharply. 

Edwin suddenly felt like he was about to be taken to task by his mother.

(Posted on behalf of Revanne, whose internet access is iffy at best)

The older of these two women had Edwin's mother's way of making him feel about five. But he was a scholar and an adult, at least he had reached the age of adulthood. It was time he put forth his maturity and reclaimed some dignity.

"Mistress," he began, making himself look the woman in the face, though it was no longer the gaze of that blue eye which bothered him but the forceful personality behind it. "Mistress, I can only offer you my humble apologies for mistaking your intent, and my thanks for rescuing my satchel. The contents are very precious to me, though doubtless that seems odd to you."

The eyes, brown and blue, fixed him with their gaze.

"And why would you think that?"

Because they show me as a scholar, and you're women. Bad idea! Besides which though the university had taught him that the learning of the mind was beyond the scope of women, he knew that his own sisters were as capable of thinking as he. Maybe just be honest, though he was learning that that too was a bad idea.

"Because many despise a student who carries his means of earning coin with him."

The eyes turned less hostile and the two women conferred in low tones. Then the elder spoke in a more conciliatory tone.

"You write letters for people?"

"My family are scriveners in Culdi and these days mostly copy books but I like to earn my own coin where I can."

Elspeth perhaps saw rather more than he had intended. The quality of Edwin's clothes were not that of a poor scholar, but she approved a man who did not boast of his family's wealth and was not too proud to earn his own coin. He saw her change of expression, perhaps he had actually said something right!

"You wish me to write something for you? I will do it gladly, and perhaps allow that to settle somewhat of my score?"

Edwin met Elspeth's gaze and actually smiled, though only briefly lest she should take renewed offence.

"We had hoped to be allowed to research some matter of healing in the university library and I  have a letter of introduction to a Reverend Canon Damian, but the porter refused us admission and would not even agree to see that the letter reached the Canon."

Her tone was full of suppressed anger but not at him and Edwin did not blame her. Thank heaven he had silenced his idiot tongue for once.

"But I know of Canon Damian, he is a good man, who is known for his interest in healing. I'm sure he would help if he could. I would gladly take your letter to him for you."

Elspeth eyed him warily. He spoke well, and seemed willing to make amends but if she was willing to believe in his good intentions his reliability seemed more suspect. So far, all she had evidence of was his ability in a fight, his suspicious nature and his imaginative command of swear words.

Her silence unnerved Edwin. What had he said wrong now? Didn't she trust him? Very sensible of her really but discouraging to his genuine wish to make amends. She was speaking again, maybe the best idea would be to listen to her.

"I don't think I am willing to part with the letter other than to the Canon himself, but if you are able to make a copy and take that, I would be grateful. How much would that cost?"

Edwin flushed, but quickly swallowed his offence knowing none was intended. She was a working woman and knew the value of labour. 

"I think I owe you more than one good turn, once we have light enough in the morning I will copy it for you gladly and see that it gets into the right hands."

After taking a minute in his dimly lit room to collect his thoughts, his next move became clear to him. The last he saw of the Carbury lasses, he had just gotten them out of harm's way, and nearly at the cost of his face. No matter there; all is well that ends well, but there was the question of where they had gone to next. ((Bede listens to the sounds of the tavern: perception 2d6 4 + 6 = 10)) With shallow breaths he listened to the sounds of the tavern, hoping to spot a familiar voice or shuffle of feet. With relief, he noticed a lack of authoritative barking as well as drunken shouting. The fight was over and so was the ensuing patrol. Then he pricked his ears and caught sounds from the room belonging to his clients. Their voices were reassuring, but the voices of men were not. Their father will kill me if their giant doesn't first.

It was not an easy decision, but he left his bow and his arrows behind and took off the jerkin too. He was much too warm as it was. He sorted through his pack, passing over the white canvas that had been a makeshift top and passing over other assorted goods until he found a spare horseshoe. Perfectly inconspicuous, he thought as he dropped it inside of his shirt. That and his knife were enough in his mind to handle anything in these quarters.

Two minutes after his return to the tavern, he appeared at their door. "Mistress Elspeth, Mistress Amy: I have returned from the trouble downstairs. Are you hurt?"
He recognized Elspeth's voice, charged with castigation, "You laggardly boor! Slow to rise and slow to come for us, is that right? God only knows what Father was thinking."

He had been peaceable for long enough, he decided then. With his mouth inches from the gap in the door, he whispered angrily. "I am not a laggard. I have made it this far by balancing caution and daring, something you are halfway to learning. Clearly, he was thinking the pair of you would get yourselves killed on your own, and little wonder there!" He could guess at how the conversation would flow if he demanded to see the men inside. The only move was to make them so angry that they would open the door to yell at him to his face, but he was loathe to ensure that they hate him. "All this fuss over a damned book, but none of them ever taught you to say thank you for a well-timed intervention."

It was Amy who opened the door. "Thanks for-" She did not sound thankful.

And he was inside, with the dirk in his left hand and the horseshoe in his right, glaring with hooded eyes at the men. The worse-looking one was sound asleep, apparently sleeping off the brunt of the fight downstairs. The less bloodied one tried to rise and throw a hook-punch at Bede, but gave up on that due to fatigue, resigning to instead pinning him against the wall of the door. The impact knocked the breath out of his lungs and the weapons from his hands. Between ragged breaths, the two rivals tried to hurl accusations regarding their associations with the women.

"...greasy footpad. . ."

"...meddling lech..."

"...villain..."

"...dandy..."

The brown-haired newcomer won out. "They are dissatisfied with your service, whatever that may be."

"Chivalry costs extra," Bede grinned tauntingly. Then he realized just who these men were, and he began to understand the situation. Muirea owed her safety to them perhaps more than himself. "You two ... you created that ruckus to protect the barmaid." He nodded approvingly. "Her name is Muireagáin. She told me while I stayed with her until the danger had passed."

Edwin recognized the intruder too. "You have two mean arms when you're able to use them, man." He let him go with that comment, and all stood on more equal footing then. Names were exchanged and hands were shaken.

Bede then turned to the girls and begged them. "Forgive my caustic tongue and ways, but please, don't risk your lives so eagerly."

Elspeth nodded but answered, "Some things are worth the risk. Saving someone who can't save herself. That's why we're here, you know. Finding secrets to save lives."

"And for that, you have my utmost," he said with a sigh. He took off his soft grey cap, wiped the sweat from his brow before, and made as if to speak, but was beaten to it by Edwin once again, much to his chagrin.

"And mine," Edwin said to all.

This raised an eyebrow from Bede, but nothing more as he smiled amicably and said, "The hour is too late for lofty schemes. Let's move to the subject of protection: the martyred-looking fellow stays here tonight, under the careful watch of the nurses, and devils take any who protest that. I happen to be their hired guard, but ..." he made a face of consternation and counted on his fingers, "... four, five is a crowd. It's too dangerous to walk the streets after curfew, especially immediately after making enemies as you lot have. Why don't you come rest in my room, friend? If only tonight."

Edwin weighed the proposal and thought it convenient. Maybe too convenient, like a sweet in the middle of a meal of gruel. "Are you sure, mister?"

"Why not?" Bede grinned bawdily. "I have had much worse company than a heroic student."

A gentle hand on his shoulder, followed by an equally gentle voice.

"Sir Airich? Can you hear me?"

Airich cracked open his left eye. He barely made out what he thought was a woman's face close to his in the dim, pre-dawn light.

"Sir Airich, would you like to move to your own bed? Do you think you can stand with help?"

"Mmm," he grunted. He'd been quite content to drift in his lavender-scented haze of not-hurting-as-much-as-before. But he did not want to cross the matriarch with the commanding voice and painfully strong fingers. And privacy did sound nice: one of the women kept waking him up every few hours, and the occasional whispering between the two intruded upon his dreams.

He slowly lifted his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself to a sitting position. He could feel the room whirling like a spindle, even with his eyes closed, and it felt like someone was beating him about the head with a giant bream. He couldn't help it: he groaned.

"Oh, it's not so bad as all that." Edwin dropped onto the bed next to him, and slipped an arm under Airich's shoulder. "The Mistresses Elspeth and Amy have been seeing to your every need and have determined you are not about to drop dead in your bed. So, on your feet, your lordship!" and he pulled Airich standing.

Edwin was surprisingly strong. Airich appreciated the assistance.

" 'm'notllord," Airich mumbled as another man draped Airich's left arm over his own shoulders. Airich blinked at him with a half-opened left eye. "Whooryu?"

"Just a good Christian man, milord. Bede Archer, and I am the ladies' hired man, so you can trust me to see you to your bed safely."

Airich wasn't even sure who "the ladies" were or why they were concerned for his safety. But he trusted that Edwin would get him to his room without incident. Or being robbed blind.

"You've got to tell us which room is yours," Edwin said as they maneuvered the injured man out the door. He was determined to get Airich put to bed safely with no complaints. Under no circumstances did he want to give Elspeth an excuse to berate him again.

Edwin barely understood Airch's mumbled words as he said something about the corner room, and gestured vaguely with his hand further down the hall. He and Bede steered Airich to the room, through the door, and maneuvered him onto the bed. Mindful of Elspeth's warning on how to treat others, he loosened the laces on the other man's jerkin while Bede pulled off his tall boots. Airich himself kept reaching feebly for the rucksack sitting at the foot of his bed.

"Leave off, milord," Bede said. "Whatever you think you need in there, I assure you it will wait until morning."

"Needth'chif," tumbled from Airich's swollen lips. Whatever that meant.

"You need to lie down. Mistress Elspeth was insistent that you go right back to sleep." Edwin tried pushing him down to his pillow, but Airich resisted. "Dammit, don't be so bloody stubborn."

"Calm down, I'll get your thing for you," Bede said, and knelt by Airich's pack. "What am I looking for?"

"Hang'a'chif. Leff pocket."

Really? All this fuss for a handkerchief? Edwin shook his head, wondering if perhaps Airich had been knocked in the head a little harder than Elspeth had estimated. Bede dutifully dug around through the pack and finally produced a large handkerchief with fine green stitching along the edges.

"Your handkerchief, milord. Perhaps a love token from an enchanting young lass back home who awaits your return?" Bede looked wistful as he stared at the handkerchief for a moment, then handed it to Edwin to pass on to Airich.

"Here you go, will you finally settle do—oh!" It looked like a fine handkerchief, of the sort that ladies everywhere carried, but as soon as he touched it, Edwin didn't want to let it go. It felt good to the touch, not unlike his lucky dice. Regretfully, he held it out to Airich, who grabbed it and held it to his chest, releasing a deep sigh. He laid down on his pillow then, acquiescent as a lamb.

"I like that handkerchief of yours," Edwin said. Perhaps he might be able to acquire that same type of fabric for himself. "What's it made of?"

"Prayers," Airich said.

Edwin snorted. Apparently getting a straight, honest answer about anything out of this man was going to be as likely as hearing a kindly word from his own father.

Airich listened to the two men leave the room. He wasn't likely to go back to sleep immediately, but he thought it wouldn't take long.

The blessings in the handkerchief had already begun their work. He could feel the tingling in his lips and on his knuckles where the prayers had started to encourage his body to heal itself naturally. His head was still a bit fuzzy, but he hoped he'd be able to speak normally by noon. In the meantime, he had a puzzle to think on.

Who are you?

He'd used Mind-speech with someone he didn't know. That was stupid. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. Two years? Three?

The woman's soft hands and soothing manner had put him at ease, and he hadn't noticed her presence at first. He'd felt a feather-like touch, delicately tickling the edge of his being, almost too gentle to notice. Then it had flared and brought out an instinctive reaction from him: Deryni touch, Deryni response. And she'd retreated as if he'd burned her. It was fortunate he hadn't instinctively snapped his shields tight on her; that would have caused pain for them both.

She might not be Deryni. The hill folk used magics that might have been Deryni originally but had long since transformed into something else. Same with the jerramán crystals and the cording lore his mother used. Deryni, not Deryni: Who could say?

The Willimites would say. They might very well be wrong, but they would still have a say. And they would say "magic" and "Deryni" and "wicked" and not hesitate to blame an innocent woman for all manner of evils in the world.

The Willimites were not completely wrong. He'd discussed it at length with his friends in the taverns back home, deep into the night, earnestly presenting his case with others who argued with equal passion. The Deryni had the power to cause great harm to Humans, but the potential to harm someone was no more proof of harm done than that of any man with a blade and the knowledge to wield it properly.

No, the Deryni were not evil of themselves. But they were proud. And that hubris was where a Deryni might decide that the ability to alter a man's thoughts gave him the right to do so. And this was where Airich found common cause with the Willimites.

But that was back home. The Willimite gatherings to the south and this far north took a reasonable complaint against some Deryni as a condemnation against the entire race. They were willing to lump Deryni healing into the same damning category as Deryni mind-control. And so one took care to keep one's business to oneself and not speak of one's background, lest a word slip and the wrong people discover the wrong things.

Which is why Airich finally came to the conclusion that the girl with the soothing hands was probably Hill folk, and hopefully thought his questioning of her merely a figment of her imagination. And that he had no need to worry that she might slip out and tell the wrong people the wrong things about him.

He sighed, the warmth and tingle lulling him deeper into that space between waking and sleeping. The woman's hands had been so calming... so comforting. He wondered if he still had the ability to do similar things, it had been so long since he'd tried...

Get the hell out of my head, you filthy Deryni pig!

Airich's eyes popped open at the memory. He no longer drifted on the edge of sleep.

The handkerchief didn't heal everything.

It was a long time before he'd calmed himself enough to relax again.

(Posted once again in behalf of Revanne, whose internet continues to be "quirky.")

Edwin woke stiff and sore, not only from the after effects of the brawl, but from an uncomfortable night spent on the floor of the uncouth stranger's room, wrapped in his cloak with his head pillowed on his precious satchel. The man had offered a share on his straw pallet but Edwin had been too wary to accept, he didn't think the man would stab him as he slept but he would rather not find out. Besides which it was likely enough the man had lice.

He silently gathered up his satchel and let himself out of the room. The click the latch made as he lifted it caused the man to stir but Edwin slipped rapidly out of the room and headed downstairs. The idea he had formed between bouts of fitful sleep had been to slip out of the inn and return to his student life, not exactly intending to break his promise to copy the women's letter, more conveniently forgetting he had made it. It had all been a bit too intense and peculiar for his liking.

"Keep your head down lad, and don't get dragged into other folk's concerns."

His father's words, wise or otherwise, were immediately thwarted as he stepped off the staircase into the common room of the inn and saw that the two women were already seated at one of the benches drinking small ale and breaking their fast. His conscience awoke, or maybe it was just the smell of new baked bread, and he stepped towards them making a small bow of greeting.

He sat himself opposite them and ate hungrily from the common basket and, as the irritated looking serving maid brought him a tankard of ale, he fumbled for some coins and handed her rather more than the customary amount to fend off awkward questions as to where he had spent the night.

Then since his satchel was open, and as evidence of the good faith, which Elspeth might well with good reason have doubted, he brought out the tools of his trade, mixed a little water with the powder he poured into his inkwell, and trimmed his parchment to the size of the letter Elspeth laid with care on a dry area of the table.

Elspeth looked at him appraisingly. "I trust that you understand that this letter is for Canon Damian's eyes only and you are not to share its contents with any other. I begin to understand that in this town of learning, women who seek knowledge are regarded with suspicion."

Edwin froze. He knew himself to be something of a rogue but he had the pride of his calling. A scrivener might not be bound by any seal of confessional but none worth his salt and, it must be admitted, with a desire to keep his own skin whole, would dream of sharing what he wrote for others.

Without a word he trimmed his quill, dipped it in the ink and wrote. Once he had finished he carefully tidied away his tools, and then, being certain the writing was dry, he rolled the parchment up and carefully placed it in the breast of his cotte. He stood up, bowed formally to Elspeth and headed out of the inn.

Elspeth stared after him musingly. A strange mixture this young man but she would withhold judgment until word came from Canon Damian. If it did. If it didn't she was unsure of her next move and they were wasting precious time and coin.

Nibbling slowly on the last slice of bread richly moistened with butere; the soft churned cream of milk not commonly gotten in the port town of Carbury.  At least not at the Broken Mast. Fresh butere and soft cheeses were the one thing Amy missed the most about her childhood. Dairy had been the chief farming of the valleys around Droghera. Her half-sister's husband was the Master Fromager; the spices he used to add to his creations...delectable.  Amy whipped the last crumbs from the side of her mouth. She wondered... No don't... that hurts too much!

She tore her eyes away from the empty bread plate and was glad to see Elspeth's scribe putting away his tools and standing up from the table. She did not pay much attention to his departure and she did not look up when Elspeth made some small prayer hoping that she could trust him.  She supposed it was her lack of response that caused Elspeth to duck her head down to Amy's eye level and ask, "Do you want to talk about it?"  Amy only pressed her lips tighter. "What happened last night?"

Very aware that there were people in the room, Amy tucked her head lower and pulled her thoughts inward. "No..." She managed to whisper. But that was not fair to the woman who had saved her life, Elspeth knew much, but even this she had not told to another living soul. Could she...?  "My past... " No No not ever! "It's nothin', Speth, just a haunting from poor sleep."

Elspeth nodded with understanding and caring in her beautiful heavenly eye. "I have said it before... You know you can tell me more about what happened 4 years ago. I will always support you, who... whatever happened." But now was obviously not the right time. "Why don't you go back up to our room and give yourself a chance at some real sleep."

Amy nodded, anything to be away from the noise of the tavern. She lifted her skirts just enough to clear the steps. At her room door she remembered that the water pitcher was empty. Should she just fall into bed? But washing her face and hands would really help her sleep better. Thinking of faces, just how was that poor injured m'lord's face doing? Cool fresh water might help him sleep better too.  Maybe she should get a fresh water pitcher and take it to his room first, check on him, and then refill her own to ease her mind, thus allowing her a real rest.

The red-headed serving girl reached the top of the stairs in the same moment that Amy filled her pitcher from the water bucket on the stairs landing. She didn't at first notice the platter of food that the serving girl carried.

"Oh, excuse me," Amy exclaimed with a quick backstep, attempting to neither splash the water over the pitcher's edge nor knock it into the serving girl's ladened platter. "Umm. Miss, I'd like to check on my patient. He's in the northwest corner. Can you let me into his room?"

The maid looked at Amy as if sizing her up and estimating her trustworthiness. Then she nodded. "I'm bringing him food right now, I can let you join me. But I will ask you to leave if he says he doesn't know you."

"That's fair, thank you," Amy said as they continued down the hallway. "Can I help you with anything there?"

"No, I'm perfectly balanced at the moment. But you can hold the platter when we get there so I can unlatch the door." Amy happily took over this task once they stopped at the door. The girl went through the keys on her belt until she found what she sought, then tried the door. It snicked open.

"Oh. Not even locked. I hope he's all right," the girl said, and Amy earnestly agreed.

He certainly looked all right, lying there on the bed—at least, as all right as one who'd taken the beating he'd taken last night. Better in fact than he had a right to be. The purple bruises were darkening nicely, but much of the swelling had already receded, leaving him looking battered but not mis-shapen and nearly dead. As the serving girl set her platter on the small table, his eyes opened and flicked towards her, then at Amy. Amy steeled herself, waiting to hear that ghostly voice to come into her mind.

Silence. His eyes showed no flicker of recognition. Had he completely forgotten the events of last night? That could happen with a patient suffering head trauma.

"I've brought you food, milord," the other girl said, dropping a curtsy. His eyes moved back to hers. "Just porridge and bread, a little ale. I can bring you more if you'd like."

"Thank you," he said. His lips moved and Amy heard his voice clearly through her ears. "I'm sure what you brought will be plenty." Then, before she could offer to help, he sat up.

Amy blinked. He hadn't been able to do that so easily in the early hours when Edwin and Bede had brought him back to his own room. And his speech was no longer mumbled through swollen and split lips. He sounded almost normal.

Curious. Amy had heard of men of a noble race who performed miracles of healing. Could this man possibly be one such? As curious as she was, she did not dare to touch him with the gift her grandmother called the blessing of Mother Nature, but more notably called second sight by the people of Cassan. She knew enough about Deryni to know that their touch could be bewitching, but somehow that did not frighten her. She knew first-hand that Deryni could be as vulnerable to hatred as men of all races were. So what was it about this man? She looked up at him for the first time, meeting his eyes. Both eyes; his right eye was open as well as the left. Deep black covered the right side of his face, but his blue eyes looked back at her almost with as much curiosity as she looked at him. But then ... Nothing... nothing followed.  No words of the mind, no tingling sensations. He seemed as normal as any young man looking at a pretty girl.

*****

Airich's shields were locked tight now, and nothing would get through them. Nor could he casually snoop on the medic's assistant to see if she really might be Deryni. No, that wasn't his business, he could keep his curiosity to himself.

He wished she'd stop staring at him with such suspicion. It unnerved him.

The serving lass was much easier to look upon. She'd offered him porridge and a thick slice of bread, heavy with butter. And a smile that made him feel like last night's beating was worth it.

"You are going to lose that tooth if you chew down hard on that bread," the dark-haired woman said—Amy or Elspeth, he didn't know which was which.

"This woman says she is your infirmarian," the serving lass said, "but if you don't know her or don't want her here, I will send her away."

"No, she's... what she says she is." Airich looked at the woman in question. "What if I tear it into small bites and soak it in the porridge?"

She pursed her lips. "Soak it well," she finally said. "If the chewing causes any pain, I would stop eating the bread immediately."

"Thank you, Mistress..." He paused, hoping she would offer her name.

The woman shook her head and sighed, "Drink lots of fluids. Not the hard stuff, mind you. I will send Mistress Elspeth to see you around dinner time. I hope you don't have plans of wandering off.  If you do, I will send my man in here to make sure you stay put. Have I made myself clear?"

As clear as the Sword Master at Rheumuth's training ground.

"Yes Ma'am," he said. He might not keep his word, for there was still much he needed to research while here in Grecotha. But she—Amy, presumably—seemed to believe him; she set her full water pitcher on his table and abruptly left his room. That left him with the sole tender attention of the pretty redhead.

"Thank you for bringing up the food," he told her. "Last night's stew seems quite a long time ago. And I wasn't sure if I would be able to make it to the dining room without falling over again."

She chuckled, eyes downcast demurely. Then she surprised him by dropping to her knees before him and grasping his hand that held the spoon in both of hers.

"My lord! Thank you! You will always have my gratitude for what you did for me last night. I don't know what I would have done had you not interfered. It was Jasper's intention to take me back to his home and force me to become his wife, will I or nay. And he is a brute. I know I can't prove that he killed my sister, but I saw him beat her many times. I fear for my life if he ever lays  a hand on me again."

Airich listened, aghast. At the time, he hadn't even realized that he'd been casting out again, but it was no wonder he'd picked up on her wordless panic. As hard as Jasper had hit him, he couldn't imagine what such a blow could do to a woman's delicate flesh and fragile bones.

He imagined someone laying a hand on his mother or sisters or nieces like that. That someone would be dead and Airich would be on the run from the law.

He set his bowl on the little table that held the candle, then took her hands in his. "I trust I taught him a sound lesson to not touch you again. But if he so much as looks at you with a cross eye again, you can tell him that Sir Airich O'Flynn will come looking for him. And I promise I will leave him with more than just a headache, I will remove a small piece of him because I will be armed. And if he does it again, it will take a larger piece and wear it as a trophy like the Northmen do. And I will keep taking pieces until he finally leaves you alone or runs out of pieces for me to take."

She stared at him, open-mouth and wide-eyed. Airich sat back. "I expect it wouldn't come to that. And I don't think I'd look very good with a chain of bloody fingers around my neck. The King frowns on that kind of thing at court."

She smiled now, long delicate fingers covering her lips. Airich took that moment to collect the dagger on the floor next to the bed. He offered it to her hilt-first. "You should take this."

"What would I do with that?"

"Protect yourself if you know how to use it. Sell it if you don't. Save your money and go home to your family if they don't beat you."

"You're too generous. I can't take your dagger."

"Spoils of war," Airich said. "I took it off Jasper's cheating buddy and now I bequeath it to you. You need to be safe. Don't go out without friends. You have friends?"

"I do. And I keep finding more."

((Bede uses his Vigilance to wake up. 3d6: 1 + 5 + 3 = 9)) As the vagabond archer slumbered, his dreams of home were tread upon by the sound of footsteps receding from his room. When the door shut again, his eyes opened. Normally such sounds would be cause for concern, but he was still weary from the exertions of the day before. Too much so to roll out of his straw bed. Besides, he thought he got the measure of his guest after he had asked him just what his game was, when they had settled into this room last night; there was no reason to keep him here now that the sun was up. The plan the student had devised with the approval of his employer was a good one, he was loathe to admit, but it was more subtle than the ones he was on the edge of proposing. He turned over for another ten minutes of rest, wincing at the coarse bed's grinding against his sometimes sensitive flesh.

He scratched his scalp, yawned and took the rough blanket off of his bare chest as he rose. Then he made to pull out fresh clothes for himself, before realizing that he was pawing empty air. Right. You are indeed a scarcely endowed one. He washed his face in a basin quickly and then put on the clothes of yesterday. And the day before, and then came the determination to find something new for himself. Something inconspicuous for a city, he decided as he tucked the dirk in his belt along with his eating utensils, briefly distracted from his self-consciousness by the sound of wood scraping against stone outside.

((Bede either Perceives someone before they do him or not. 2d6 6 + 5 = 11)) As he closed the door to his room, he came alert, as though a memory grabbed him by the scruff of his stubble and stared him in his face; somewhere in the hall was Muirea, he knew from details only privy to one familiar with another by fathomless lengths of time. Sure enough, there she was, leaving Airich's room. He felt a twinge of worry, but dismissed it as he caught her in the embrace he had wished to give her the night before. He whispered shakily, "It truly is you, lass," as she returned it with strength enough to nearly trip him. He grimaced as he felt the lump of a knife on her person, but would never fault her for that. When they separated, he asked her, "How the devil did you get here?"

She pursed her pink lips. "I might ask you the same, but ai'm beginning to piece it together. You got yourself a Kheldourian bride, did you? The strong dark one, or ..."

"God, no. You know better than to assume such things," he chided her, flustered. "I am their hired man. It's a new development. Might not last another week, if they're successful here."

"And then what?"

"And then ... I hardly know. I was going to repent in earnest for our rebellion and a list of more personal sins ..." He wanted to move on, but she raised that eyebrow of hers, so much like an inquisitor's vise. "Insurrection, robbery, smuggling, poaching,  ... och, drop it, will you? You still haven't answered my question, Muirea."

She sighed with regret and lamentation. "The war was hard on the family. It interrupted our plans, not that you need reminding. When the soldiers of Gwynedd came, many of them treated us fairly. As fairly as war might allow. After all, they still have to eat, and so they 'foraged' away our entire flock. We were down to the last farthing, and friends like you were nowhere to be found. But he was." Bede raised an eyebrow. "The man who the knight trounced. Jasper, a low, low footsoldier of Gwynedd. He promised my sister and me security and love here in Grecotha. He's a liar, as he was then. He beat her ruthlessly and coveted me too. I can't prove it, but I know he killed her. This tavern and its keeper have been my only sanctuary, Bede."

"I see..." he was beginning to lose his appetite. "If he's not allowed in here, but he's free to prowl the streets looking for you, you're trapped, aren't you? What can I do?"

There was hope in her eyes. He had not seen that in four years. "Either get rid of him or me. There's not much keeping me in this city now, you know."

"I'll do whatever I can for you," he promised. "But where is Winnifred? Do you know?"

She sighed and looked as if she might be sick before she gathered herself enough to nearly look him in the eyes. "Last I heard, Winnifred was in a fishing village deep in Laas Bay, Bede. I'm sorry." And then she went back downstairs, resuming her work as if nothing was ever amiss.

He waited a minute or so before doing the same, and was glad to see Elspeth down there. Assuming his most chivalric posture, he nodded curtly as he gestured at a free stool at her table. With her assent, he joined her. "Are you well on this sunny morning, Mistress?"

"I am, thank you, Bede."

He ordered something simple involving eggs and ate vigorously, speaking only between bites. "Is the student on his way?"

"He is, with a copy of the letter in hand. Just a copy. I'm not foolish enough to part with the original."

"Of course. Very wise of you to keep to that line in the dirt, Mistress. And what shall we do while we wait for this door to open? I suggest we go over some alternatives, if he is to fail. Ah, hear me out: should he run afoul of something that would prevent any meeting between him and the canon, I need only some string and to know which window belongs to our intended." He made a gesture with his hands, holding the left palm flat and making to pull some imaginary missile with his right before releasing it.

She laughed gustily, which normally would not have stung, if only he was not serious. "I beg you to have some faith, Bede."

It was not her eyes but her face that struck him with its dual meanings, then. Although the eyes helped, he was sure, before he shook his head. "On the contrary," he spoke numbly between bites, "I cannot get enough, Mistress. What then shall we do?"

A sudden draft let her not only see but smell her hired man. "I think it's time we all got ourselves a few baths. And then I must review my notes before the research can begin. Why don't you explore the city a little after that? And when you're tired, I need someone to stay with the patient."

He liked the idea but he also urged her to stay close to Amy until he returned. ((Bede Sharpshoots in a contest of bows. 3d6 3 + 4 + 5 = 12)) After he washed up, he did wander the city, wary as he was curious. All was dreadfully mundane to his eyes and ears until he heard an especially boastful guard declaring himself to be an archer without rival.

He came back in a good mood around noon, wearing a shirt the same indigo as that belonging to the guard, who was now that much chillier after their little wager. After eating his fill, he gently opened Airich's door with supplies of his own in tow, explaining himself. "I'm not here to rob you, Milord. I'm here to tend to you and make sure you do not hurt yourself in leaving too soon. Mistress Elspeth's commands." Then contendedly, he laid out his sheet of canvas on the floor and broke open his containers of painting clays.

With resignation, Airich propped himself on his elbow, curious as to what would follow.

Edwin paused at the door of the inn.  He had hoped to complete his task from Elspeth and then return to his own life. Why did nothing seem to go the way he wanted lately? He could see no way around this, so he might as well get on with it.

He felt a glimmer of hope as he entered the inn and did not see either of the two women.  That hope was dashed as Amy came down the stairs with Elspeth following, the hood of the older woman's cloak drawn up for privacy.  Of course they spotted him immediately.  There was no escape.

"Were you able to see Canon Damian and deliver the letter?" Elspeth asked immediately as they all sat at one of the tables. 

"Yes, I did, and he was most gracious,"  Edwin began, wondering at the best way to phrase his report. He was wary of rousing Elspeth's anger again, although he was sure she was fair-minded enough not to blame the messenger. Besides which, he had increasing sympathy for her frustration.

"You are hesitating," Amy stated as she studied his face.  "Why?"

"Canon Damian was adamant that he could not give access to the library to any woman, even one with such a high recommendation from the Prior,"  Edwin said.  Those hadn't been the canon's exact words, but close enough. 

"That's not fair!" Amy said tartly. 

"But he did offer an alternative, and I think it's a good one."

"Go on,"  Elspeth said cautiously.

"He offered to allow you to conduct your research in the cathedral library," Edwin said hurriedly.  "I have often heard that it is almost as extensive as the Grecotha library.  He believes there is a good chance that what you are looking for might be there."

Edwin looked at Elspeth hopefully as she carefully considered what he had said.

"His invitation will include Amy as well?" she finally asked.

"Yes, I made sure of it,"  Edwin replied  "However, he also insisted I escort you myself and remain with you in the library," he added cautiously.

"So the canon has reservations about our request,"  Elspeth said.  "That does not surprise me.  I confess, I had looked forward to being the first woman allowed into the grand fortress of the University of Grecotha. But if that's not to be, I'll accept the alternative. It's better than being turned away completely."

"Shall we go now?" Amy asked, hoping activity would lessen her friend's obvious disappointment.

"Why not?" Edwin responded.  "It's only late morning, and we have the whole afternoon ahead of us."  The sooner this task was completed, the better.

"We'll leave at once," Elspeth said, rising from her seat.  "Let's not allow Canon Damian the time to change his mind."

"Canon Damian!" the monk cried as he hurried after the retreating figure.

Canon Damian turned around to face the young monk who called after him.  "Yes?" he inquired.

"Did you see her eyes, Canon!"  Brother Martin crossed himself while looking at the canon for guidance.

"Have no fear," Canon Damian responded.  "The prior of Saint Stefan's letter told of the woman's disfigurement.  He also assured me she is a humble, pious woman.  You have no need to fear her presence."

"Yes, Canon Damian," the monk replied, though perhaps not as sincerely as the canon would have hoped.

"As we discussed, assist the women in finding the volumes they need to consult," Canon Damian instructed.  He paused for a moment and then added, "But take note of the volumes they read.  We may need to know some time in the future."

"As you instruct, Canon Damian."  The monk seemed relieved.  He bowed and turned toward the Cathedral library at a more sedate pace.

Canon Damian watched him leave and then turned back to his original path.  He had known the Prior of Saint Stefan's for a long time, but you never know how time might have changed a man's direction in the world.

 
"Do most people run from you, Mistress Elspeth?" Edwin asked in dismay.

"No, usually they just hastily cross the street," Elspeth replied mildly.

"The nerve!" Amy replied hotly.  "He could only have been ruder if he had run screaming!"

The conversation ended as Brother Martin reentered the library.

"You have what you need to start?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you Brother Martin," Elspeth replied politely.  "We will let you know when we need your help to find more."

Elspeth looked at the four volumes laid on the table before them.  She had been specific that they needed medical texts from the time before the regents.  She was fairly sure her request was regarded with some suspicion.  She opened the first book and started to scan the contents.  Amy took the second volume.  They were thick and would take some time to review.

"Do you need help with the Latin, Mistress Elspeth?" Edwin asked as Elspeth turned several pages of text over.

"No," Elspeth replied, absorbed in the work.

Amy reached over and laid a hand on her friend's arm. Had Elspeth forgotten her lecture to Edwin on how to treat people properly so soon?

For a moment Elspeth gave Amy a confused look and then nodded.

"Beg pardon, Edwin.  I am quite competent with Latin.  I do thank you for asking."

Edwin nodded, but did not look completely mollified.

Elspeth sighed and continued.  "My father may not have been able to change my eyes, or change the way people treated me because of them.  But he did the next best thing; he provided me with an education.  I had the best tutors he could find that were willing to teach a girl.  Finding them was not always an easy task, I am sure.  Instead of the normal finery a ship's Master would bring home to a daughter, he brought me texts and scrolls from far off lands.  Unfortunately, after he was lost at sea, the tutoring ended.  But I still have all the reading material stored safely away, and I return to review it whenever I can."

"I understand," Edwin said.  "Perhaps I should be asking for your help."

"I think we can agree to help each other," Elspeth said and smiled.

For a moment, Edwin was taken aback by the sheer beauty of her smile.  Elspeth noticed his reaction, blushed, and returned quickly to her text. 

Edwin opened the third volume, looking for any references to medicines or potions, as Elspeth had instructed.

Morning became afternoon.  Brother Martin excused himself briefly to attend the offices and join his brethren for lunch.  None of the three researchers were inclined to stop for food; the search for knowledge slaked whatever hunger they noticed.  If they noticed.

By the time Brother Martin returned, they had finished the first four volumes.  Although the reading was interesting, it did not hold what they were looking for.  The monk dutifully fetched three more volumes, one of which seemed older than the rest.

"I'm afraid there isn't anything more after these,"  said Brother Martin.

"Let us be hopeful these will suffice," Elsepth replied, already opening the oldest volume.
((Elspeth is educated, so makes a standard roll to see if she finds anything.  2d6 1+6=7.  At last!))

Amy stifled a yawn and rose to go and look out of one of the open shutters. The shadows of the trees in the courtyard below were growing longer.  The afternoon was fast slipping away.

Elspeth turned a page of her text, reading quickly towards the bottom. She stopped, drew a sharp breath, then began to read the words a second time.

"...gather the talicil plant after it has gone to seed, boil it for several days and dry it in the sun.  Then it must be ground..."

"I've found something!" she exclaimed, doing her best to keep her voice low.  "Damn, the page is torn away right at the bottom."  She glanced rather sheepishly at Brother Martin, who gave her a stern look.  " Who would be so careless with this knowledge," she continued as she carefully turned the page.  Other plants were referred to, but nothing more on talicil.

"Edwin, would you please make a copy of this passage?"  Elspeth asked as Amy came to look over her shoulder.

"It will be my pleasure."  Edwin gathered his writing materials and set to work.

Amy went back to the text she had been reading.  Elspeth's discovery had sharpened her mind again.  ((Can Amy discover something to help Elspeth.  2d6 2+5=7.))  When she turned the page, she spotted a piece of folded parchment that had been placed in the book, possibly to mark a reader's place.  It looked older than the book, and she opened it carefully.

"Use this to dampen the effect of the cursed drug."

Amy felt the words almost scream into her head.  She hastily refolded the parchment and set it aside, not willing to read it any further.  She would mention it to Elspeth once Edwin had finished his copy.

"I'm afraid you must be leaving now,"  Brother Martin said sternly.  He moved forward to begin gathering their volumes.

"Just a quick moment more, Brother Martin," Edwin said, holding his hand up to forestall the monk.  "Let me make sure this is dry first."

Brother Martin harrumphed and closed the volume Amy had been reading.  He approached Edwin, who nodded to indicate he could take the rest of the books. 

"You need to leave now. I have already let you stay longer than I should."  Martin did not look as if he would entertain any objections.

"Thank you, Brother Martin, for allowing us so much time," Elspeth said placatingly as she closed the wax tablet she had used to make a few notes of her own. 

Amy noticed that the folded parchment still lay on the table.  Brother Martin was already turning away with the volume that had contained it.  "Take this too," Amy said to Elspeth softly so the monk would not overhear.  "I don't know what it refers to, but it may be important."

Elspeth gave her a quizzical look, but placed the parchment in her satchel.  If it was important to Ams, then it was important to her.  And Brother Martin was doing his best to show them out of the door as quickly as possible.

"Somehow, I don't think he'll let us return," Edwin said.

"Likely not," Elspeth replied as they began to retrace their steps to the Inn.  "And I have made you miss your lunch."

"And ours!" Amy reminded her.

"I know of a stall that serves excellent meat rolls," Edwin announced.

"Then lead on!" Elspeth waved her hand in a forward motion. "It will be my treat.  We've earned it, and it will be a small payment for your help this afternoon, Edwin."

It was Edwin's turn to smile as his stomach gave a loud rumble.  They were in good spirits as they went in search of food.

(The next few sections were a collaborative effort by the whole team.)

"I suppose we should check on our patient," Elspeth said as the three entered the King's Arms.

"Likely. You did instruct Bede to sit on him if necessary to keep him in bed. The least you can do is make sure he actually needs it," Amy said. She stretched her aching neck and rubbed her cramped shoulders. She was not accustomed to spending the better part of her day hunched over a book, regardless of how interesting the subject matter might be. 

Oh! That reminded her: the slip of paper...

"Trust me, he still needs it," Elspeth said. "I know you said he was sitting up without help this morning, and it's good that he has a strong constitution, but that probably means he's going to over-exert himself and do himself harm before he's ready to be up and about."

"When we've finished, 'Speth, there's something I need to show you," Amy said. "I picked it up in the library just before Brother Martin escorted us out."

"Oh? Let's see to the business at hand, and then I want to hear all about it."

Amy and Edwin followed Elspeth up the stairs, then down to the northwest room. Edwin was quiet and seemed lost in thought. 

The light of multiple candles leaked out from under the door. "Heaven forbid you sleep, like a sensible wounded man," Elspeth muttered, then knocked on the door, opening it simultaneously. "Hello, it's just us, we're here to check on the invalid."

Two pairs of eyes looked up from their tasks to greet the women. Bede, paintbrush in hand, knelt over a thick bolt of canvas, folded and refolded on the floor. Airich sat on his bed, cross-legged like a tailor. And, in fact, was working on his decorative overshirt with needle and thread on a small embroidery frame. When he saw the women enter his chamber, he set aside his stitching, then stood up and walked to the window, then grabbed his undershirt, freshly scrubbed of blood and looking mostly dry. He pulled it on over his head and shoved his arms through the loose sleeves before returning to greet them. 

Elspeth cocked an eyebrow: he really was healing fast. Either that or he was a damn good actor. But what might his game be? "Sir Airich, how are you feeling?" she asked him.

"Mistress Elspeth," he walked toward the newcomers and bowed before his physician, "I feel much better. I understand I have you to thank—oh bloody hell!"

It never failed to amaze Elspeth how some people could make such utter jackasses of themselves when they looked at her eyes for the first time. So it was to her delight that Airich's eyes popped open wide as he crossed himself, then took an involuntary step backward and stumbled onto the bed. He sprang upright again and stuttered "I didn't—I mean, you—I—I didn't see—." His own eyes flicked desperately from her left eye to her right and back again, as if he couldn't figure out which eye he needed to address. Elspeth kept all traces of mirth from her face and let him suffer.

The poor boy finally dropped to one knee before her, head bowed in supplication. "My lady," he finally said, "I offer you my humblest apologies and beg for your forgiveness. I have no excuse for this rudeness, and if my own father were here, he would take me out behind the stable and thrash me like a lazy page. Have mercy upon me and tell me how I may earn your grace." He lifted his head and looked her directly in the face.

Elspeth suspected he was actually focusing on her nose.

"And why should I forgive you?" she asked archly. "You are merely one of the many men who mock me or treat me like a demon or monster each day. I see no reason why I should forgive any man who treats me with such disdain."

That ought to make him sweat, she thought with amusement. The amusement was short-lived as she saw the devastation on his face, as if by her word she had condemned him to  the deepest pit of hell.

He dropped his face away from hers, but before she could think of the words to end this, he'd grasped the sheathed longsword that lay nearly hidden by the bed. He held it upright before him with both hands, the pommel reaching nearly to her sternum.

"Give me a task," he said, looking back into her face, and this time, he met her gaze unflinchingly. "I will serve you until you are satisfied with my sincerity and grant me forgiveness."

Elspeth stared at the earnest young knight, for a knight he surely was.  Although she was tempted to come up with some ridiculous task, she couldn't do it.  The man was deadly serious.  She would not take advantage of his genuine contrition.

"Let's not be hasty, Sir Knight," Elspeth said after a moment.  "I have no task to put before you, or quest for you to follow.  Perhaps the fact that you make the offer is absolution enough."  She could not resist a slight smile.  "What would my patients think if a noble knight followed me around carrying my satchel?  They would likely slam their doors in my face!"

Bede stepped forward. "Act with some dignity, milord," he suggested to Airich, while offering his hand to the knight. Airich shot him a scowl and knocked away Bede's offer of help with the back of his hand, then stood. Bede steeled himself momentarily, wary of what Airich might do now, but Elpeth stopped Bede with her own powerful gaze.

"Sir Airich," she said, and Bede could hear her using her stern voice. "If you would kindly seat yourself upon the bed, I need to check on your progress."

Bede returned to his canvas, musing about how Elspeth could better use that stare to her advantage as he painted dual suns: one aqua and one a rich goldenrod.

Watching these goings-on, Amy was slightly amused but also a little surprised by Airich's quick submission to the infirmarian's words. She shivered. There was a deepening unseasonably chill in the air. She worked her way toward the window casement to shut out the night air, stepping gingerly between the bed, Bede, and Bede's canvas before pulling closed the window. A bright rush light burned in its stand beside the window and cast its light over the projects that both men had been working upon. Amy was intrigued by Bede's painting, but at the moment her focus settled elsewhere. She turned to looked at the hoop stretching out the delicate embroidery design around the neck line of the expensive looking shirt that Airich had tossed absently across the edge of the bed at the time when Elspeth and her followers had arrived.

It was clear now to all observers in the room that this brawler from yesterday was indeed a knight; that sword was proof beyond doubt. Bede did not seem surprised by this and Elspeth seemed to take it in full measure as she turned down his offer to complete a quest of her asking. Humbling a nobleman, however much the peasantry might joke about it, was in truth a serious matter and not to be abused.

"My lord, this workmanship is extraordinary. Do you mind if I look at it." She had bent down slowly toward the hoop but had yet to reach out to touch it.  Airich, distracted by Elspeth's ministrations, absently acquiesced to her request before thinking about it.

Her hand brushed the stitching, She felt a cascading warmth like sun on a summer day reflecting off the threads that rolled over the length of her fingers and into her palm; it was not quite the shock she had received from it last night but at least now she understood why that sensation had surprised her so yesterday. "Ahh..." she sighed, mesmerized, unwilling to move her hand away.

At the sound of her voice, Airich's head swiveled towards her, and intently watched her reaction. Amy's gaze focused inward on the sensations under her fingertips, an unnatural warmth; she felt as if she was drawn into the fabric, into the very history of the linen and silk threads.

Was this what had surprised her last night? Before that ghostly voice had manifested. Yet now, as then, the source of the feeling eluded her. What made this so inviting and so precious? Certainly it was not just that a man was doing the stitching? ((Amy using perception, does she understand what the magic/prayers are that have gone into the embroidery of Airich's shirt  3d6= 2 + 4 + 4 failure)).

"It's a fancy shirt, nothing special about it," Bede said, trying to not feel put upon over something as trifling as who was receiving attention for their art. He couldn't deny a certain concern over Amy's reaction, however. It was almost as if she were staring into one of Jester MacBee's spinning discs that could make people go into a trance. Was she in danger? Bede picked up his canvas and stood close to Amy, pretending to look for someplace safe for it to dry. He kept his ears open for anything suspicious.

"Why... How... I don't understand this," Amy said. She looked at the knight sitting on the bed, staring at her. He was as much an enigma to her as that other knight from long ago. Yet this man was whole, unbroken. She was pleased to see the bruises across his face were already changing from purple to green. "Are you a Healer?" she had to ask in a whisper.

There was a long pause of stillness in the room, like everyone was holding their breath.

"A healer?" Airich repeated, finally breaking the silence.  "No, such gifts are not mine to command, I fear." He felt around in the bedclothes, pulling out a delicate white handkerchief, which he held out toward Amy. "This is a gift from a woman of my acquaintance. I think it's what you're probably wondering about."

"Hold still, my lord, I want to check the lump on your temple." Elspeth plucked the handkerchief from Airich's hand and passed it on to Amy and continued her work. "Please remain sitting, if you would."

Amy accepted the handkerchief, and even though she was expecting it this time, she gasped at the intensity of the feeling. ((Amy touches Airich's handkerchief using perception- 3d6 4 + 3 + 4 failure)) Something there, so strong it frightened her. She tried to look closely at the elaborate stitches that were even more numerous and finely placed than those in the shirt. Very delicate and time laden work was this. She pulled it closer to her face and stared deeply at the stitching.((Unaware, Amy uses Power trait after she sees the confusion in Airich's face = 1d6= 1, failure)). Transitioning to an inner space she had never been before, she heard a woman's voice, chanting.

En el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo, te bendigo con salud y fortaleza y una pronta recuperación de tus heridas.

Terrified, Amy felt faint. Her hand weakened and the white square of fabric slipped from her grip.


((thank you team for helping put this together))

There you go, put the knight to the question, Amy, Bede had thought. But what's going on? Why is Amy so dazed?

Standing nearest to the lady, Bede fast-stepped and quickly swept the falling white fabric away from the floorboards and somehow kept it from touching the wet paint of his canvas. He gave the fine cloth a quick glance. "Oh yes, this is the one from last night, isn't it?"  He felt it probingly between callused fingers and tested its strength gently. It was beautiful, in a way, but not the sort of thing he was familiar with. ((Bede is an Educated fool with money on his mind 2d6 1 + 1 = 2 OW))

Bede considered the implication in Airich's words and the presentation of this mysterious handkerchief. "Healing, Milord? In all my travels, I have never seen something so inanimate bless a man so freely. To what extent does it heal a man?"

Airich's wary eyes held none of his usual good humor and more than a hint of warning. "It is a gift from someone very dear to me. I would rather we not find out."

"Yes, of course not," Bede said, pretending as if he was not about to bite his thumb like a maniac to test its restorative properties. It indeed had an effect on everyone. "Does it affect most women in the way it has Mistress Amy, or is there something deeper going on here?" Bede took a sniff of the fabric. "Soft, yeah, but no perfume. It smells faintly of blood, which is only natural, I suppose." Besides his befuddlement and curiosity, he felt quite himself. "What do you say, Scrivener?"

"Let me see it," Edwin said, quickly snatching away the prized handkerchief.

"Enough!" Elspeth thundered. "I have a patient I am trying to see to, and none of you are helping. Kindly return his handkerchief and leave the room." Her tone brooked no discussion or argument. A minute later, she and Airich were the only two people left in his room.

Airich was quiet as Elspeth continued to minister to his hurts. He finally said, "I meant it about the task."

"I know you did, dear," Elspeth replied. "It was a kind gesture. Of course I forgive you."

The furrow between Airich's brows finally relaxed.

Leaving Airich's room, Elspeth hurried down the hall to the women's room and slipped inside the door. Amy was curled up on her bed sobbing silently into her pillow.

"I'm so sorry, Ams!" Elspeth exclaimed, gathering Amy into a maternal hug. "I couldn't concentrate with all the talking, and Airich just wouldn't hold still with everyone passing that silly piece of frippery back and forth, and I had to have silence."

"I know." Amy sniffed. "I don't blame you. You did what you needed to do."

"Forgive me?"

"Of course."

Elspeth settled on the bed next to Amy. "Now tell me about what upset you. You have my undivided attention... ."

Brushing the wetness out of her eyes, Amy sat up with her feet still curled up under her on the bed. At least she had had enough sense to take her shoes off before she had collapsed into the softness. She looked up at her best friend and then subconsciously back at her feet. "How can I tell you what I do not know myself?"

"Small words, remember, that is how you got through this before. Tell me what frightens you so, in small words?"

"It chanted..." she said, how was she to describe what she had heard?

"Chanted? Like the monks of the abbey?" Elspeth's look was of confusion.

"No. Not men's voices... a woman singing very softly..." Amy thought back. "reverently, in words I have never heard, but I think it was a prayer.  Didn't you feel it when you touched it?"

"The handkerchief?  No, it was certainly beautiful. Airich said it was a token from a woman." Elspeth smiled, "He is a knight, Ams, of course he has girlfriends. I mean, a man who looks like that must have a dozen."

That made Amy smile shyly, and the smile made her feel better. "Well at least one of his amours has a very special talent. Seeing as how this knight is so eager to jump into battle,  I can see why his love would give him such gifts; the shirt, too."

Espleth opened her eyes in understanding. "Bet it is not the first time this nobleman's been nearly bludgeoned to death. Any woman in love with him would be pulling her hair out every time he was out of her sight. I bet she's been chanting prayers every night in hopes she will find him alive the next day." Elspeth shook her head in certitude. Amy stifled a giggle.

Not wishing to have to answer any questions he took himself downstairs where, tankard of best ale in hand, he found a dark corner to ponder how he had got himself in this mess.

It had really started as he accompanied the lasses to Canon Damian. Neither of them was inclined to talk, which had given him time to think. Far too much time as it turned out. Seeing how real their frustration was at being barred from the University library, he had considered for the first time how unfair it was that women should be excluded, given how uninterested some of the male students were at ever putting their privileged noses inside a book. One thought had led to another and soon he was thinking of the barmaid last night and how vulnerable she was, and women like her, to any passing lout who thought that his lust should be as easily slaked by a tavern wench as his thirst. And that had led to thoughts of Aline back in Culdi, who he had kissed and cuddled and fondled with promises of love which he had had no intention of fulfilling. He had not gone so far as to risk getting her with child, but that had been with no concern for her. And he had mounted his newly won horse and ridden away from Culdi with no thought at all for the girl who he had used to while away a tedious summer.

Perhaps it had been entering the cathedral with this in his mind, or seeing the Canon who all but the most reprobate recognised as a good man, but as they finished their meal, on an impulse he had asked the lasses to wait for him and had gone in search of the Canon in his study at the end of the Cathedral cloisters. It had not been a pleasant experience making his confession to the Canon. Well, confession never was, but the priests in Culdi had been easy enough to fool with his half-truths; the Canon, for all his gentleness, had made him feel as though he was a dirty cloth, scoured clean and hung out to dry. He had been laden with prayers to be said daily for a month, and strictly enjoined that until the young ladies, as the Canon referred to them, left Grecotha for home, he was to consider himself responsible for their protection. Well, that was probably his own fault, as in an attempt to restore something of his own self-respect, he had painted a less than flattering picture of either of the two other men.

After he had finally received absolution, as he had risen from his knees and was turning to go, Canon Damian had called him back and asked "You are a scrivener are you not, my son? You copied the letter for the lady? Do you often copy things for people here in Grecotha?" Edwin had replied "Yes" readily enough. The Canon had looked worried and said with warning in his tone, "Be careful what you become involved with, my son."

That had made no sense then, and it made no sense as he pondered it now. He took a deep draught of the ale, that at least was good, and wondered again what he had got himself into.

"Mistress Elspeth, we need to talk," Bede said, once again catching her at the tail end of her meal in the main hall of the inn. This time, Amy was with her. "Do ye recall the maid over whom the brawl was started?"

"The one you ran after? She just finished serving breakfast."

"Yes, her. I had my reasons, and if you'll hear them out, I think you would understand."

"Please, Bede, do not worry so," she shook her hooded head as she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. "Just because you were hired to help two women does not mean you are forbidden from helping one more."

His posture relaxed as relief entered into him. He chuckled, "I could not have hoped for a more understanding woman for whom to work. Especially since ... well, she needs our help this time."

Puzzlement shined like a broken mirror on Elspeth's face. Amy narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Bede beckoned the maid in question over to them and continued his explanation. "This woman, 'Muirea'," he said like he had no practice at it. "Is imperiled by an unwanted relation. The brute who our knightly friend brought low, whose knife she now carries as a gift from the knight, killed her beloved sister in some sick rage, and now he wants her for a replacement. The simplest way out for her is to come with us when we return to Carbury, and from there ... you may send her on her way."

Amy queried not her guard, but the barmaid. ((Amy's Second Sight: go! 2d6 5 + 3)) "What is this unstrung bowman to you, Muirea?"

Bede was astonished by her remark. Muirea, for her part, attempted to wave away the question, "Just an acquaintance who has the decency to check on lasses in distress."

Amy was unconvinced. "'Chivalry costs extra' he once said. The same night he went after you and did not see us again for nearly an hour. I don't understand it. What price is he having you pay for his company?"

Bede found himself again and sternly interjected, "Mistress, if you have questions on this matter, you should address them to me, and if I'm wrong, the lass may walk or run now and I won't do a thing about it."

There was a moment of uncomfortable, unflinching stillness, until Amy pressed the issue. "I simply wonder what the difference is between her and us, Bede. You've already found a way to fold two contracts into the same time if you wish it."

He seemed mildly outraged, but Amy had the feeling that was a front for something. He dared her, "Are you attempting some sort of renegotiation or goading my avarice?"

"I simply wonder what she is to you," she insisted tensely. ((Amy's Second Sight: go! 2d6 3 & 6 she's gonna sweat him out now))

It was too chilly for him to be perspiring, with the morning frost only beginning to recede, yet there he was. "I ... could never do that to her. Where were you all four years ago?" Leofric the Thespian, I call upon your lessons, he thought. "She and I are both lapsed children of Meara. She's a washerwoman from Talacara, and I had the misfortune of being a loyalist for the Haldanes, and the blessing of having been long out of the country before the war even began, for I: Bede Archer son of Kay Archer had long been in Torenth by then, guarding Gwynedd's interests," and then he chuckled, "As well as my own. I first heard the news of the violence and turmoil in my beloved home at a Torenthi magicker's mercy. He had taken a strange interest in my entourage, and only through the sacrificial efforts of my father did we escape to slowly make our way westward again. Not so easy to accomplish on foot, and with terrible injuries, healed slowly and most assuredly only by a gracious God. By the time I reached the church of St. Follian for a rest, the only news I trusted was that it was too late for me to intervene. In despair, I spiraled around these lands, taking jobs like these where I could, afraid to face a home changed so severely. After all, if Gwynedd came to this, then how much worse could the foolish losers have suffered? And for proof, here is Muirea. You are right to ask of her payment, Mistress Amy, but I would not take what little she has from her. Instead, I would take her stories, if she deigns to tell me. Stories of home," and his voice almost cracked from the strain of saying the word.

Amy was speechless, nearly retching upon this tale; this man is a liar. Yet he lies so thoroughly that I cannot pick one falsehood from another. But I know he has less love for Gwynedd than he pretends and more for her than he admits. Her grey eyes burrowed into his but he did not flinch. Lying must be part of his soul, Amy thought.

After his pseudo-confession, he excused himself abruptly, leaving for some fresh air in his full kit of indigo, grey, brown, and adorned in the very real weaponry of his dishonest trades. The three women were yet to part. Elspeth looking charitably at the maid of "Talacara" soothed her bubbling anxiousness. "The war took its toll on all of us. None of us will turn away a woman in need, girl."

Muirea began to speak but Amy struck first with her own words. "I hope you can forgive my suspicion, Muirea. It's a difficult habit to lose."

"Forgive?" the heritage of her beautifully tuned voice shone through, released by the raw relief she felt. "Nay, I'm already in your debt, friends. Och, and before I forget, Sir Airich gave me something for you," and she produced a few iridescent coins from a fold in her work-dress. "Payment for saving him so."

The two women of Carbury smiled their thanks and received Airich's coin, and for a brief time before another patron called for her, Muirea stayed and established a real rapport with them, trading true stories of times gone by, the triumphs of their actualization and the littler causes for smiles come and gone.

The dying gardens were lovely. Airich leaned back on the bench and rested against the stone wall of the University's chapel and tried to take in the beauty of the late-summer shrubberies and vines climbing the centuries-old walls. He looked down at the book in his hands where he'd scrawled the words to the hymn he and Edwin had found the other day. His handwriting was not so clean as the scribe's, but he read the words again, hoping they would bring him comfort.

He'd gotten up at first light, dressed, packed his gear, settled with the innkeeper, and ridden Aran to the library a final time. He'd wanted to cross-reference one more of the passages Edwin had tracked down to see if it might lead to the identity of the poet who'd written the hymn. The clue had been a dead end, as were the two other hints. So now he found himself in the courtyard, trying to remember a melody he'd only heard once before in his imagination.

Finally, Airich closed the book and set it atop the heavy wool cloak that had become too warm for the day. Then he unfastened his dagger from his belt and held it before him, hilt up. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at it.

Forgiveness. Such a simple thing, yet so difficult. Seventy times seven. That was the number of times he was commanded to forgive. And it wasn't as if Airich's own sins weren't greater by far. Really, what was a little paint stain¹ on a piece of fabric that Airich treasured beyond value? That he hardly showed to anyone? Will never show anyone ever again. Never let the damned thing out of my possession. No, that tiny smudge would have no effect on its healing properties. In years to come, he would no doubt see that faded red stain and smile in memory of some of the strange and wonderful people he'd met in his travels.

But dammit! Couldn't they have taken more care when handling such an important and personal item?

Breathe. Relax. Forgive. It's not important.

Forgive.

He brought the cross to his lips, hooked it back to his belt, then dropped his hands to his lap and leaned back again, eyes closed. A pair of red squirrels argued noisily with each other from different branches of an oak tree, presumably over their nut hoards. Overhead, a flock of swallows called to each other as they began their long migration south. And on the other end of the courtyard, a small cluster of students spoke excitedly about how to correct all the wrongs in the world.

Airich cracked open one eye and glanced their direction, then closed it again. Just the same gaggle of boys who had been arguing in the library the other day. He'd seen them around and about over the past few days, and they spoke with the conviction of youth who knew they had all the answers. Duke Dhugal should do this. King Kelson should proclaim that. Archbishop Duncan should announce something else. As if these children knew the first thing about life in the world beyond University.

"...No, I'm serious, he said a fortnight," one voice announced.

"Less than a fortnight, maybe even a week," another one said. This was followed by exclamations of disbelief before several other voices shushed them down.

They no doubt thought they were being quiet. The acoustics of this courtyard bounced their voices around until it almost sounded to Airich as if they were sitting next to him.

"What do you suppose it smells like?" asked a young voice in a much quieter tone. Several voices spoke up with various food-related suggestions, most of them various meat dishes. Airich didn't care to hear about what they were planning to cook, it sounded likely to be unpleasant.

"Do you think there will be any screaming?" This voice was so faint, Airich barely made out the words.

They were going to cook an animal alive? Of all the barbaric...

"They might gag him."

Him?

"Or her. It might be a girl."

"I don't want to see them burn a girl."

"She wouldn't be a girl, she'd be a Deryni, don't forget that."

Airich's blood froze. Were they serious?

"You can't let them fool you. They're not real people, they just look and act like people. But they're just devils pretending to be people."

Airich forced his body to relax, feigning sleep. This cluster of boys—no, many of them were men, in the legal sense—so casually discussing burning alive an actual person. They had to be speaking theoretically, hadn't they?

A man had a certain commitment to his principles, and principles at a cost to self was an acceptable price. Commitment to principles at a cost to others was a different matter entirely. It only took a moment to come to a decision, and then he opened and cast out toward the boys.

He didn't go deep, not with any of them. He merely floated around the perimeter of their thoughts, scanning just enough to understand the lay of the land.²

This land was grim.

They were all deadly serious. Some were incredulous, several were horrified by the very topic they discussed. Two shivered with religious fervor, and one burned with a lust that made Airich recoiled before he got any such filth on him. Airich scanned only one of them deeper, to find the source of this information, but he only got the impression of a sheet of paper with words on it. It was as much as he could gather without committing himself further or going in deeper. But it was enough. Airich brought his shields tight and considered his options.

It was time for a lone Deryni knight to leave Grecotha.

The provost of Grecotha didn't know Airich from any random man on the street and had no reason to take his word for anything. Transha was a two-day ride if he pushed Aran, although that risked laming the poor horse. And there was no guarantee that Duncan Michael or Kevin McLain would even be there. But notifying Transha seemed the best hope to help avert a tragedy.

Airich didn't have long to wait before one or two of the boys separated from their fellows and went their way. Airich stretched, looked toward the sun, collected his book and cloak, and made his way to the stable.

He mounted, then made his way to the road and pointed Aran's nose toward the west gate. If he made good time, he should arrive at the Purple Turtle Inn not long after sunset.

He paused.

A woman with mis-matched eyes who men feared to look upon. She'd been called monster many times in her life. Did evil men need a better reason to put her to the torch?

A girl with second sight who had heard his mother singing prayers meant for him alone. She might be Deryni and she might not, but do the wicked care?

A brilliant scholar and scrappy brawler who researched the Deryni with gusto. Would his interest in Deryni mark him as a target?

And a paint-spattered jester who kept watch over them all.

Airich turned his horse around and headed back to the King's Arms to warn his friends.

---

¹Will the paint come out? 1d6=1, fail.
²Airich spies on boy 1, Normal, 2d6=3,6 Success;
Airich spies on boy 2, Normal, 2d6=6,3 Success;
Airich spies on boy 3, Normal, 2d6=4,4 Fail;
Airich spies on boy 4, Normal, 2d6=2,1 Fail;
Airich spies on boy 5, Normal, 2d6=5,3 Success;
Airich spies on boy 6, Normal, 2d6=6,5 Success;
Airich spies on boy 7, Normal, 2d6=3,2 Fail;
Airich spies on boy 8, Normal, 2d6=5,1 Success;
There are probably more boys, but this gives us a good feel for the group.

An older monk who introduces himself as Brother Phillip finds Mistress Elspeth at the common room of the inn. "You and your companions are to come with me." He demands, "this is by the order of Canon Damian."

He takes the group through a lesser traveled gate of the Grecotha University grounds. The lone guard doesn't challenge him. But certainly gives a raised eyebrow at the arrival of two women being escorted onto the grounds of the oldest university in Gwynedd.

They are lead to the university's infirmary. There they are met by Canon Damian himself. "If you wish to have access to the library. I give you a task in the next room." He gestures towards a door. "Brother Phillip will see to your needs. You may not leave this infirmary without an escort."

With that, the Canon departs and leaves the group and their monk guide.

Brother Phillip leads the way into the next room.

The boy wasn't dead when he was found outside the city gates in the early morning frost. His torn, bloodied, and dirty robes, or what was left of them, marked him as a student of the university. It was hard to tell, but he couldn't be any older than 15 years of age.

He was clinging, just barely, to life when he was brought to the infirmary. Severely beaten with bruises and cuts all over his body. Multiple bones broken and a few dislocated into unnatural positions still.

The term has yet to begun and this student is going to miss the entire term if he survives at all.

Deryni healers are few and far. Most are in the Royal service of King Kelson. None are available to travel to Grecotha. The boy will have to heal on his own with care and time.

The only thing the boy had besides his scholarly robes was a single piece of parchment. Inscribed with the Statute of Ramos barring Deryni from education without permission of their Human overlord.

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


((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.

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.

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."

"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."

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.

(( 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

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.

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

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.

(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.

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?"

(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

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.

((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.

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.

"Here you go, milords," the guard said as they pulled to a halt. "Would you like me to go in first to make sure there's no danger?"

"That'll be unnecessary." Airich dismounted and saw that Bede and Edwin were doing the same. "But if you could stay out here and keep an eye out for anything unusual, that would be helpful."

"Very good, m'lord."

The building that housed the wind machine did not seem to be a particularly large structure, but Airich wasn't sure what he'd expected. He looked at the two-level structure with the mill's vanes not much longer than the height of a man. Its lower level was built of pale, mortared stone, and its upper level, built of deep brown wood, was accessible from a rickety exterior stair.

"Edwin, can you take the upper level?" Airich asked.

"Sure. What am I looking for, exactly?"

"Anything out of the ordinary," Airich said. "Use that big brain of yours, Master Scholar. Find us a clue to the identity of the boys' attackers." Edwin glanced at Airich, unamused, and headed up the stairs.

"And you, Master Tracker," Airich said to Bede, "would you care to see what you can find out here? Prints of some sort, or perhaps a lost glove?"

"I hear and obey, Lord." Bede gave him an exaggerated bow and set about following the order.

That left the main level for Airich. Based on the memories he'd picked up from Robert, he was confident the attack had happened here. A small high window kept the air flowing, so the inside didn't smell as musty as he'd feared it would.

He looked around at the bare room. Other than a ladder going into the second floor and the bin half-full of uncollected flour, there was little to see. Unless someone had stashed something in the grain bin, there seemed little of use here.

Cautiously, he lowered his Shields for full sensitivity, casting out for any trace of psychic residue that might—

Deryni scum!

Airich's head whipped around. He saw no one else in the room with him, and he only heard the ordinary, expected sounds of the wind rustling through the grasses outside, and Bede calling up to Edwin to ask a question. He looked around...

There.

Airich stepped towards the ladder and sank to his haunches. He touched the floor...

Darkness broken by Robert's handfire and the nearly full moon occasionally peeking through the clouds. Alfie asking, "What's that noise?" The door crashes open and four dark figures burst through. One goes for Alfie, but the other three come straight at Robert. They're bigger, taller, older. Their student robes flap wildly and they wear masks that cover their faces, except for one man who wears a burlap sack with eyeholes over his head.

Airich committed to memory as many details as he could, trying to judge the height of these older boys, to see any identifying features of their hair or jaws or teeth.

The three are on Robert before he can defend himself. Their fists are striking him: on the face, on the body, on the head. They curse him, spit upon him. Two of them grab his arms and twist while the third one knees him several times, and he screams and crumples in on himself and nearly passes out from the agony.

Airich flinched. Repeatedly. The flashes of pain were quick, but severe, made all the worse by the sheer hatred directed towards the boy.

"Deryni scum!" the one screams at him. "Are you spying on my mind? Can you feel this? I hope you feel how much I loathe you!"

But they still aren't finished with Robert. They twist his arms behind him and when it feels like they can't go any farther without tearing his arms off, they twist anyway, first one side and then the other. Now they finally release the boy, his arms dangling limply from his shoulders. He falls, and after a few more kicks, the three turn on the other boy, but not before one of them deliberately crushes Robert's hand beneath his boot heel.

The vision began losing focus as the men moved away from the initial source of the psychic cry. The last thing Airich felt before it went black was being dragged by his feet out into the cold, frosty night.

Airich came back to full awareness, and nearly lost his balance as he realized both Edwin and Bede were on their knees, staring at him, a mixture of curiosity and worry on their faces.

"You back with us?" Edwin asked.

"You seemed entranced," Bede added.

"I was... no, not... ." At a loss for how to explain himself, Airich gave up, and stood. "I found what I was looking for."

"I'm glad someone did," Edwin said as the other two men also rose to their feet. "I found nothing of interest up there."

"The glorious out-of-doors are as free of anything suspicious as one could hope," Bede said as they went outside.

"Perhaps we should move on to where they found poor Alfie yesterday and see if there's anything to be seen," Airich said, and whistled for the guard.

He took one last look inside the mill. Now that he was warmed up, he could see more clearly that nothing else had picked up any kind of impression. Airich cast around one last time, touching on the guard's eagerness to be on their way, Bede's focused watchfulness¹, then skipping over to Edwin's...²

Shields?

Edwin had Shields?

Airich laughed to himself. You sly devil, I had no idea.

They gathered their horses and mounted up. Airich kneed Aran over to Edwin, who was checking his reins. He sent out a tendril of thought toward Edwin, just enough to announce his presence.³

Edwin gave a start, but continued preparing to ride. He sat up and made eye-contact with Airich, waiting to see what the other man would do. Airich gave him a nod of the head, turned his horse toward the city, and then withdrew his presence from Edwin.

Edwin supposed that what he had just sensed was by way of a friendly greeting from Airich.

Bede leaned over to Edwin and spoke quietly. "Ten-to-one he was doing magic Deryni stuff in there."

"I will not be taking that bet," Edwin replied, and kicked his horse into a walk.

---

¹ Airich skims over Bede's surface thoughts, Standard. 2d6: 5, 3 = Success
² Airich notices Edwin's Shields, Standard. 2d6: 5, 5 = Success
³ Airich says hello to Edwin, Standard. 2d6: 2, 6 = success

The men were gone from the infirmary, riding out into the fields and the woods beyond. Amy wished she had gone with them.  Just to be away from here.  Sadly, her cute little sturdy pony would have only slowed them down. She laughed, she likely could run faster than her pony could.  But not for the many hours trip that the men had planned for today. If she had done that, then most likely one of the men would have felt the need to share his ride with her. And though the thought of that tickled her fancy, she knew she was not ready to go that far. She was only just refinding the path her life could take, too soon to define it by stepping into someone else's path instead.

The path she longed for would lead her home– soon– back to her half-sisters home where she and her husband and many nieces and nephews lived their contented lives. That is where her heart sat.... If only... if only. He was happy and safe, her sister had said so in her last letter.

Why had her father been so mean and so angry? Why were sons and daughters treated so differently in life? She never could understand the inequality. Elspeth was such a strong female force. Proof that women could be educated and taught knowledge as well as any man. And better than some. Amy was conscious of the fact that her own education, though well enough for a Mayor's daughter, was still short sighted compared to men like Airich, Edwin, and women like Elspeth. But she planned to never stop learning. And right now great learnings were within her grasp, and she was going to jump at it. Take everything she could get and then go home and prove to her father that she was a good woman and could be a good influence for those she loved in the future. She would prove herself and now was the time.

Monks had come into the room and had told Elspeth that someone would be along to take her to the Great university library in just a short time. Elspeth had quickly taken the novice with her, to go back to the King's Arm Tavern and Inn to retrieve their packs and settle their bill. She would be returning here any time.

Amy stayed with Robert, she had helped him eat his breakfast and helped him wash up. In all things he was improving.  All things but that blasted shattered hand. No one seemed to know what to do about it. The current medicines were keeping the pain to a semi-tolerable level. And the wrappings were keeping the swelling down. But it was red and bones were very much disjointed. If only she had the power to Heal.  There were rumors that some Deryni could heal.  Just finding out she was Deryni...(she wondered if it had to come from her mother in some way, her father was in no way of that race)... if she was Deryni, could she heal?

Amy placed her hand over the boy's hand but there was cloth between them, so skin did not touch skin.  Then she moved her other hand under the boy's sleeve where she could touch his skin. She opened up her sensory input. Could she visualize the bones? Could she repair them?¹  Was she trying too hard, was she too nervous about this new power, was it just beyond her abilities? She could not find a cure for poor innocent Robert.

She wanted to cry, the injustice of it all. Her new presence in this world did not change the old doctrines of her culture.  But damn it, she was going to find a way to make a change. She was going to devote her life to improving the way women and children were treated.

1 ((Amy uses Empathy to look at each of the broken bones in Robert's hand. We are going to do this three times. 2d6   1 + 3 ,  2d6   4 + 4,  2d6   3 + 4, Failure))

Note:  the source for the information on the Willimites comes from the Codex Derynianus by Katherine Kurtz and Robert Reginald

The rector himself had come to the infirmary to escort Elspeth and Amy to the university library.  If he was dismayed by the idea of women within the university walls, not to mention inside the library, he kept his thoughts to himself.  He was an older man and probably thought he had seen it all, until now. 

Nevertheless, he was a courteous man, and had taken great pride in relating the history of the library as they walked openly across the quadrangle.  Elspeth had thought he would try to sneak them through a backdoor to avoid being seen, but the openness of their approach as they walked quelled any objections from the few students present.  It didn't prevent the horrified stares, though, and Eslpeth made sure her hood was in place.

The library was on the second floor above the Divinity School.  The rector explained that this arrangement helped to protect the library from the damp.  He stepped aside as they entered, allowing them a clear view of the vast room.  Elspeth stopped in her tracks.

The vast room took up the entire length of the building.  Oak bookcases stood at right angles to the walls, with monk's desks built into them for study. The three shelves above the desks were filled to capacity with books and scroll cases.  Huge windows located in the middle of each wall let in an ample amount of light.  Large, oak arches supported the ceiling, which was decorated with panels painted with the arms of Grecotha University.

Amy could not resist pinching her friend's wrist lightly to bring her back to the task at hand.  The rector was waiting for them to follow, a knowing smile on his face.

"Happens all the time on the first visit," he said kindly.  "Now where would you like to start?"

"First, we would like to review anything you may have on the Willimites," Elspeth said, keeping her voice low out of respect for her surroundings and the need for privacy.  "After that, any medical volumes you have dating from before the Regency."

"Information on the Willimites has been more popular than usual," the rector said conversationally as he led them to the correct bookcase. 

"Anyone in particular?" Amy asked as nonchalantly as she could..

"Canon Damian for one, a variety of students, and a young novice."  He indicated a desk at the end of the room.  "I'll be there when you are ready to move on to your next topic.  If you need any help, please don't hesitate to ask."  The rector smiled and moved toward his desk.

"Somehow Canon Damian doesn't surprise me, under the circumstances," Elspeth said as she scanned the volumes before them. 

The Codex Derynianus proved to be the best source.  It related how the Order of Saint Willim had been founded in the memory of the martyred saint, who had been a young victim of Deryni ill use.  The Order was sworn to punish any Deryni criminal who escaped justice.  This mandate had soon expanded to any Deryni they could find, whether guilty or innocent.  Several notable victims were mentioned. 

They had fallen out of favor under King Imre, but became active again during the later half of the reign of King Cinhil as a fundamentalist religious sect bent on forcing Deryni to give up their powers and live a life of penitence. The other sources they reviewed said much the same.  No mention was made of the Order expanding its mandate  to include humans who befriended Deryni.  This appeared to be a new development.

"I think that is all we can learn about the Willimites for now," Elspeth stated as she rose from the desk.  "Let us turn to the medical section now."

Elspeth led the way to the rector's desk.  Before it stood a young novice, speaking quietly to the rector.  ((Will Elspeth and Amy recognize the novice?  2d6, 4+4=8.  Nope.))  As they approached, the novice turned away.  He seemed familiar to both of the women, but the hood of his cowl was drawn up and they could not see his face clearly.  Elspeth knew her own hood served her in the same way.  Was there a reason he wanted to remain hidden?  The novice bowed to the rector and turned away, retreating to the far door. 

"The medical section next?" the rector asked pleasantly.  "Before the time of the Regents," he added.

"Yes, and thank you," Elspeth replied.

"So where do we start?" Amy asked.  The collection was too large to go through them all.

"We'll start with the herbals, concentrating on the oldest ones first.  I hope we can find the same one we found before," Elspeth added wistfully.  ((Will Elspeth find the volume with the talicil formula intact?  2d6, 3+5=8.  Success!))  She scanned the shelves and suddenly grabbed Amy's arm.  "I think it's this one!"

Elspeth pointed at the book and Amy lifted it down, placing it on the desk, propped up against the lectern. Elspeth closed her eyes and said a brief prayer before turning the pages.

"Here!  Oh, it's here!"  It was a challenge for Elspeth to keep her voice down, but she managed it. "The page is whole, and includes the full description and how it must be made.  We have it all!"  Elspeth hugged Amy out of pure joy.

"Too bad Edwin isn't here," Amy said as she extricated herself from her friend's embrace. "If we both copy it to our wax tablets, he should be able to make a fair copy between the two of them."

"Agreed!  Let's get to work," Elspeth pulled her tablet from her satchel, and Amy grabbed her own.

The light was fading as they packed their tablets into their satchels and returned the book to the shelf.  The rector reached them as they moved to the center aisle of the library.

"It is time for us to leave," he said.  "I'll escort you back. I hope your allowed time here has been beneficial."

"Allowed time?" Amy echoed.

"I was not given any direction about a return visit. You will have to ask the canon about that." The rector motioned toward the exit.

"I will, but we have learned a lot in the time we had today," Elspeth said as they walked with the rector to the exit.  She noted that there was no sign of the novice lingering anywhere.  "Please extend our thanks to Canon Damian."

"Master" the voice calls from the other side of the door. "It is most urgent."

He knocks again on his Master's door. "Apologies for disturbing your work Master. But the council has said to disturb you with this."

The bolt of the door is heard to be slammed and the door is opened. Master Feyd is tired looking and exhausted from his research and lack of proper sleep.

He responds to young page curtly. "What is it that is so important that I am to be disturbed?"

The boy knells and hands his Master a scroll. "Begging your pardon Master but they insisted."

Feyd jerks the scroll out of the pages hand without a word and Mind Sees the seal to authenticate the scroll's origin. Within seconds he breaks the seal and reads the scroll.

"They have crowned a king ..." he mutters and then raises the boy up. "Tell the council that I will personally see to this matter." With that he waves the boy off and shuts the door.

The guiding guard continued to lead the three investigating men through the forests outside the city of Grecotha. They no longer followed a road or a footpath or even the guard's shortcuts, but instead the trail of what might have been a handcart on a meandering, improvised course back towards the city. Signs of a struggle starting at the windmill had ended where the wheelmarks had began. As the treeline parted, the sun was high overhead, and they reached a split in the tracks, where the men had left the cart and begun dragging a small body towards the wall of Grecotha.

"This is where the men found the second lad," the guard stated in explanation. "We were too late to see his killers carrying him here."

"You did what you could," Airich said, riding up to the man to slap his shoulder comfortingly. Not that the man was visibly moved, but Airich felt he must be, or that he ought to be.

Edwin whispered cynically to Bede, "What they could do is not enough, to my sight."

"God..." was all Bede could mutter, grasping for something useful in all this civilized brutality. At rare moments of reflection, he almost believed that only Mearans could be so vicious, to as much pride as there was shame. He found little satisfaction in being wrong.

"Come," the guiding guard shouted while he roused his horse to motion. "Let us see where the wagon was destroyed and the footprints became obscure, and then end this exercise."

"It's already more obscure than a shiral," Edwin remarked.

((Bede looks around where Alfie was found 2d6 5 + 6))((Bede Perceives 2d6 6 + 2)) Bede let his gaze wander and frowned. "Hold, friends." There was something about the cool grass, besotted by beautifully dying leaves. But now was no time for poetry. A few yards from the base of the wall, an odd little displacement of such leaves. He dismounted Winnie with purpose and grace and stood low to the ground, gently brushing the area until he felt cold metal and glass. He lifted it like a newly baptized babe before a church: a scuffed pair of eyeglasses, tinted green like a false jade. "Come take a gander here, lads," he bid the other three dismount. "Perhaps poor Alfie got a lucky hit on one of his tormentors before his time was over."

Enthusiastically, Airich was the first to open his hands to receive them. He wheeled on his feet to face away from the other men and tried to focus. ((Airich looks at the glasses 2d6 3 + 3)) He frowned, though none saw it, for he felt nothing. "They must have been nice, a short time ago." He then proffered them to their guard. "What do you make of it?"

Their guard rejected the offer. "I know nothing of glassware, sir knight."

Airich pursed his lips. The least the man could have done was try. It is his city, after all. "Edwin?"

((With permission from Revanne, Edwin examines the eyeglasses with Education 3d6 6 + 5 + 2))Gingerly, the scholar took them in his hands and looked them over from every angle, in the sunlight and in the shade. There was something very familiar about them. "They're a genuine Fiannan pair, but that's beside the issue. I know the face and the name of their owner. He's a student, all right. I haven't spoken to him before, but I've heard his name called many times. Pale, for where he's from, but with dusky bags around his eyes, and with a serious stoop in his shoulders, like a vulture. Eustace of Bremagne."

Bede nodded approvingly, "Do you suspect he was involved? This is the scene of the crime."

"I don't want to rush to conclusions," Edwin shook his head. "Technically, the scene of the crime extends for some miles, does it not?"

"Aye," Airich agreed. "Let's head back into the city, then. We've gleaned what we can, I think."

((Bede is Vigilantly quick. 3d6 5 + 6 + 1)) Before any could move further, Bede took the eyeglasses back into his hand and dropped them into a pouch on his belt. He grinned and his nose seemed to turn like a magpie's beak when he explained: "Finders keepers."

As the afternoon wore on with no sign of the two women, Edwin began to fret. Canon Damian had charged him to accompany them, not go haring off into the woods. But the order to investigate had come from the Bishop so presumably he wasn't doing wrong in doing so. But still he fretted; what if harm had come to them?

Airich sat still and composed, and who knew where that archer fellow was. Airich seemed to trust him, and he would have trusted Airich with his life - hell, he probably was! - but still, even noble Deryni knights had been known to get things wrong.

Finally he could bear his fidgets no longer and reaching into his bag he took out his lucky dice. Strange-looking they were, four black and four ivory coloured, with the pips a bit unevenly placed, as though done in a hurry. He wasn't sure that they were especially lucky, though his grandmother had told him that "they would do well by him" as she gave them to him as a remembrance of his unknown grandfather. They felt nice to his hand, though, and as he idly tossed them he wondered if she had meant more than that they would bring him luck in his gaming.

Lost in thought, he started violently as he felt a hand on his shoulder "What the f...!" he managed in time to bite off the epithet, and turned his head to see Airich looking interestedly at the dice. "Christ above! Dinna do tha', I thought fr'a minute you was one o' them thugs." Then he remembered where he was and to whom he was speaking and added hastily, and in his most formal university voice, "I beg your pardon, My Lord".

Airich smiled at him "Nay lad. 'Tis me should ask thee fer pardon, tha' wert leagues awa'. And, for future reference," his voice became formal again and Edwin mentally quailed knowing he deserved reproof, "you are allowed only the one "My Lord" per day and you've already used up today's ration." He grinned and sat down beside Edwin, "Tthose look interesting, do you mind if I have a closer look?".

"Be my guest, they belonged to my mother's sire. He's long gone now, but my grandmother wanted me to have them. I've been using them in the hopes they'll bring me luck, but now I'm wondering if there's more to them than that."

Airich took the cubes and gently shifted them in his hands, feeling their energies, then he gave them back to Edwin, and asked, as neutrally as he could, "Do these feel like anything you recognise?"

Edwin had been put at ease by Airich's teasing and, making a conscious effort to relax, he did as Airich asked. Thoughts flowed through his mind; the grandfather he had never known but who had owned these. Had he been a gaming man? Edwin doubted it, living remote and quiet in the country as his mother's family did. Somehow, as he allowed his thoughts to wander, the noise and drunken banter of the student gatherings in dark corners of student drinking rooms seemed unfitting for these cubes. Then he had it. He put his hand inside his cotte and reverently touched the fabric of the precious shirt he now wore, then gently hefted the cubes again. God! What must Airich be thinking? He felt himself colour, but when he looked up Airich was smiling at him.

"Well done! That's a clever connection to make. These little beauties are for our protection too. Tell me, have you ever heard of warding?"

Edwin couldn't quite put aside his suspicion that any such praise was sardonic but there was nothing of the latter in Airich's expression, so he answered as honestly as he could. "I know that the folk at home who have the strongest gift o'the two sights do something o' the sort. Are these what you Deryni use for warding?"

He thought he saw Airich flinch at his words, but realised that he must have imagined it when the latter simply said mildly but with emphasis, "We Deryni."

"Are you suggesting that I would be able to set wards with these?" Edwin asked, managing out of respect to keep most of the disbelief out of his voice. Most, but not all.

"Yes, why not? It is a simple spell, and one that someone with your intelligence will easily be able to master."

"Oh, I'm intelligent enough but clumsy enough for three," Edwin could not keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Why do you think the old man was willing to spend coin on sending me here to study? 'Go and spill someone else's ink and waste someone else's parchment' were the words used so I recall."
((Dice roll d6 1)

Airich realised that he had touched a very sore spot and must tread gently. "There is no harm that you can do here; come on, man, these cubes have survived more than a few rough throws as dice, I'll be bound. The worst that will happen is that it doesn't work the first few times. Come, let me show you how it's done". Without giving Edwin time to object further, he reached out his hand for the cubes, motioning the other to be silent and watch closely.

Touching each cube, he said slowly and with deliberation:"Prime, Seconde, Tierce, Quarte, Quinte, Sixte, Septime, Octave." Then he carefully stacked the cubes into pairs, again speaking slowly and clearly:"Primus, Secundus, Tertius, Quartus." The eight cubes combined into four tiny rods. Then he carefully moved each pair to mark a quarter point on the circumference of a circle around an empty chair, before speaking for the final time."Primus, Secundus, Tertius, et Quartus, fiat lux!"

Seeing the light of awe in Edwin's face Airich wondered if he had done right; no use if the boy was even more convinced that such things were beyond him. Silently he deactivated the wards, then turned to Edwin. "Are you ready to give it a try?"

Edwin felt mulish obstinacy war with a desire to prove himself but, after all, what had he to lose? Airich seemed to have confidence in him. He took the cubes and laid them out, feeling the sweat prickle under his armpits and on his palms as he did so. He took a deep breath and slowly touched each cube "Prime, Seconde, Tierce, Quarte, Quinte, Sixte, Septime, Octave." So far so good, the latin words coming easily enough to a scholar; he could barely believe that it was he who had got the cubes to glow with power. He began to stack the cubes into pairs, and all went well until the third pair: his slippery hands lost their grip and the cubes shot across the floor, demolishing one of the other pairs. ((dice throw d6 2)). He felt like crying, though that shame, at least, he avoided.

Airich was reminded of gentling an especially nervous foal his father had bred. He said nothing for a moment or two, then spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. "You were doing well. Dry your hands on your cotte and try again."

Edwin knew he sounded like a sulky brat but that had always been his defence. "What's the point? I told you I'm too clumsy. You'll have to find someone else."

"It's you that are here and it's you that we need. Who knows what danger we face and none of us can afford to refuse to play our part. Come on, you had the words and the positions, just take it more slowly this time. They're not going to run away."

"Not like me, then!" Edwin smiled as he said it, and, drawing a deep breath, began again. This time he got almost all the way through, watching with awe as the cubes glowed at his touch then turned into rods as he successfully stacked them before moving them without disaster into place. Now for the final phrase:"Primus, Secundus, Tertius, et Quartus, fiat..." How the hell had he managed to forget that final word. He had been so focused, so calm, and then it was gone. Forgetting his respect for Airich, forgetting where he was, he let fly with a string of expletives. (( d6 4. These dice hate me)). Then, horrified, he looked up to see Airich grinning at him.

"Lucky none of the reverend clergy were around to critique your debasing of the King's Gwyneddian. Seriously, though, you were doing so well. What happened?"

"I forgot the last word. It's lux, I know it's lux, but it had simply gone from my memory." Then, self-consciously, he added, "I was doing all right, wasn't I?"

Airich wanted to hug him but knew that the other's dignity, precarious as it already was, would not have survived such comfort. Instead he said practically "Yes, you really can do this, it was only your nerves and that is quite normal. Do you remember how I just touched your mind on the ride back? I'm going to suggest that I do the same now just to give you that extra bit of confidence. Is that all right?"

Edwin nodded, not able to trust himself to speak, and began the process over again, this time feeling a sense of gentle reassurance at the back of his mind, like the encouraging smile he had often received from the nicer of his elder brothers. Again he touched the cubes, marvelling at the glow of power, put each pair together and moved the softly glowing rods into their final place. Taking a deep breath and grateful for the sense of Airich's pride and confidence in him, he spoke slowly and clearly: "Primus, Secundus, Tertius, et Quartus, fiat lux! . The wards flared around the chair and Edwin stared in awed amazement. Then Airich was hugging him and laughing and thumping him on the back. (( 2d6 1+6. Yesss!))

"Come on, there must be some ale to be had in this place. Let's go and find it"

What an amazing experience to have been inside the Grecotha Library– as a woman! Amy's footsteps down the hallways back to the infirmary were light and bouncy. She stayed one step behind Elspeth so that her mentor could not see her jubilance.

Yet Elspeth seemed to know it anyway. "It is a step in the right direction. But the battle is not yet won."  Elspeth finally said in admonishment. "We have to try and make this stuff and not all recipes give up their secrets on the first try. Only one more day." She frowned feeling pressed for time. "If we can not stop the infection, the hand is going to have to come off. I have to save Robert, his hand is secondary."

That stopped Amy's happy step like a cold storm. A builder of devices without a hand, what would become of Robert after? The two women who reentered the infirmary were sombre and focused.

As the term had yet to begin, they still had the infirmary to themselves. They had been told the real infirmarian was away visiting family and would return the week before the term would start. So those injured or ill were being seen at the city infirmary for now. They were glad they had the room for private treatments and hoped desperately that no more injuries would follow. Amy scanned the room just to be sure. The knight was at the injured boy's bedside. And the archer and scribe were talking together at the table. Their attention was upon a pair of eyeglasses before Bede and a set of black and white dice before Edwin. And the two were talking. What an odd conversation that must be. Their day's progress seemed to have drawn them together at the very least.

"We did manage to leave you some," Bede said, indicating the trencher with some stew still at the bottom of it.

Amy smiled at Bede in thanks, but her gaze fell over to Airich leaning forward over Robert.

Airich glanced up to see Amy and Elspeth return, but then returned his attention to the boy.

...Neither one of us knew what we were doing, but we didn't care. And then when we hit the water, the fish flew everywhere! We got into so much trouble. My father told Alfie's father that he was allowed to punish both of us. Neither one of us could sit down for a week, but it was worth it.

Airich saw the scene Robert shared with him and sent back his appreciation for the humor of the jape. He also felt Robert's weariness after an emotionally taxing afternoon talking about the loss of his friend. Fortunately, Elspeth and Amy took that moment to come over and see to the patient. Amy carried a bowl of thick broth, and Airich relinquished his chair to her while Elspeth took the other chair.

"I think you're looking much better this afternoon, Master Robert," Elspeth told him as she felt his pulse and checked his forehead. "How do you feel?"

"I'm not so bad as before," the boy croaked, his voice torn and raw, "except my hand still hurts something fierce. Maybe you could give me more medicine to help the pain?"

"I will soon, I promise. Meanwhile, eat some soup."

Airich smiled as he felt the boy's anticipation of attention from Amy. He grinned wider as Amy leaned forward with her first spoonful of soup, affording Robert a pleasant view of a lovely bosom. It was a good sign that Robert could still appreciate the simple pleasures of life. He suspected this was a calculated tactic on Amy's part to keep her patients malleable.

Meanwhile, Elspeth felt the skin at the wrist of Robert's wrapped hand. She frowned and looked up at the knight. It didn't require a Truth Read to know that she was still worried about his hand, a concern that Airich shared. 

Elspeth stepped over to the table and called Edwin to join her. From Airich's vantage point, he could see that she placed on the table two waxed tablets containing copies of the same script.  The penmanship of one was precise and neat, very easy to read. The other version was beautifully stylized and a bit more free. He could guess whose handwriting belonged to which woman.

"Can we make this?" he overheard Elspeth ask Edwin. "I'm still worried about fever setting in. If that happens, this could save his life. "

Edwin looked over the list of ingredients and detailed instructions. "Let us see if Brother Philip has an herbalist," he said. "He might have the herbs on-hand." Elspeth nodded and the two left the room, heading toward the Canon's office.

Airich stood behind Amy. He let one hand rest gently on her back. It wasn't skin contact, but he didn't need that anymore. He didn't actually think he needed any contact, but he didn't want to alarm her. What can we do? he asked her.

Amy continued feeding Robert without pause. One day. That is all Elspeth would allow for improvement.  He knew what she talked of without asking. And he noticed that she'd answered him without even realizing that she'd slipped into light rapport with him. He decided against pointing it out to her lest he startle her out of it.

I am not a healer, I tried, she said. He could feel her disappointment with herself.

Healers are very rare, he said. Woman Healers even more so. No one knows why. Even so, there must be something we can do.

Only if you know how to stop the infection, straighten the bones, and clean away the red lump on the side of his thumb. Not even a battle surgeon could do all that. She was repeating something Elspeth had said earlier that echoed in her head.

A battle-surgeon. Airich was no battle-surgeon, but he did have a basic understanding of battle wounds. Perhaps...

Would trying make it worse? he asked her.

She paused in her administration of soup, considering the question seriously. It could be more painful, but nothing can make it worse. The butcher's knife is by far the worst instrument a physick carries in her sac .

I have something else in mind I'd like to try, Airich replied and shared his idea with her. 

Elspeth and Edwin returned with a promise from the herbalist that their ingredients would be gathered for them. Then, after an appraisal of Airich's idea, Elspeth and then Robert hesitantly agreed. Elspeth dosed Robert with a stronger medication than normal, and he calmly slipped into a sound sleep. The others had been briefed in their roles, which, of a necessity, meant that all five knew of the three Deryni in their group.

"Are you sure I can't do more to help?" Bede asked hopefully.

"What you're doing is incredibly important," Airich said. "It's unlikely anyone will try to come into the infirmary tonight, but we need someone who's paying attention. And try to keep anyone from getting in to see what we're doing."

"It is the kind of thing the Willimites would love to catch us in, isn't it?" Bede remarked, leveling his gaze at the door to the infirmary and cracking his knuckles. "So be it. It's our door and no one else may move it."

Amy, meanwhile, turned to Elspeth. "I'm just glad you'll be with us," she said. "I don't think we'll need anything else, but I'll feel so much more confident knowing that you're there."

"You know what you're doing," Elspeth told Amy, her blue eye glinting. "I'll be watching carefully, and you can explain it all to me afterwards. If you wish to." Amy gave her hand a grateful squeeze.

Airich put a hand on Edwin's arm. "We're ready. It's up to you now." Like we practiced, he added for Edwin alone.

Edwin's dice—wards, he reminded himself—were in position. He could feel Airich's presence at the edge of his mind, watching and offering warm encouragement. Like Amy, he felt more confident having an expert watch him take his baby steps towards becoming a true Deryni. Would his father have been proud? He doubted it, but then again, you never knew with that man.

Touching each cube, he slowly announced: Prime, Seconde, Tierce, Quarte, Quinte, Sixte, Septime, Octave. All eight lit up with pure white or obsidian glows which gave Edwin a sense of pride that just about made his chest burst. Glancing up, he saw Elspeth trying to hide her intrigue with the mysterious lights.

Steeling his strength, he moved on to the next step, he stacked the pairs: Primus, Secundus, Tertius, Quartus. The eight cubes combined into four tiny rods with a vibrant internal light. He stopped to wipe his brow. This took a lot more energy working solo than it did with two people pulling the weight. After a minute he stood and placed each rod at the pre-directed locations far beyond the edges of Robert's bed. Another reassuring breath, standing at the foot of the bed, he was ready for the final step.

"Primus, Secundus, Tertius, et Quartus, fiat lux!"

For the first time in his life, Edwin Scrivener completed a spell on his own, and watched, pleased, as the wards flared around Elspeth, Amy, Airich, Robert, and himself. He looked up, grinning.

Excellent job, Airich sent him. I wouldn't want to attempt those wards.

I'd like to see those Willimites try to get to Robert now, Edwin said with satisfaction.

It would never happen, Airich said. If you're a praying man, we could use all the assistance you can send our way. This is new territory for both Amy and me. And with that, Edwin felt the other man's focus slip to another.

"How long will this likely take?" Elspeth asked. Amy didn't know the answer to that and looked to Airich.

"Less than an hour, I would think," Airich said. "Amy and I have never worked together, so it will take a certain amount of time to account for that. It will also depend on how many breaks there are, and how complex the breaks are. If we need anything from you, I'll ask; Amy will be in too deep to communicate with you."

Elspeth nodded. "Good luck, then. And may God give you strength."

Airich laid his hands on Robert's chest, while Amy laid one hand on Airich's hand and the other near Robert's collarbone. She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly and slipped smoothly into rapport with Airich.

This is getting easier, she said. What do we do first?

The first thing we need to do is move into a deeper level of rapport.

How do we do that?

You don't really need to do much of anything, he told her. You're pretty much open all the way down. I've been staying at your surface levels—basic etiquette, you know—but I'll need to move inward a few layers. I won't go any deeper than necessary, though.

You already know the most important things, she said, feeling a deep satisfaction welling up within her.

Yes, that's true. And I'd like to talk to you about that soon, but we have work to do. Right now, you're restricted to my surface levels only. I'm going to open up a little and give you access to more of my own self. You're free to look through anything you can find, you won't need to worry about finding anything too personal or embarrassing for me. Are you ready?

How do I look around?

You'll figure it out, it will be obvious. If it helps, though, just think of yourself as a fish swimming through deep waters.

She felt that odd swoop then, as he encompassed her being within his, penetrating deeper into layers she hadn't even realized she had. At that same time, this mental essence she'd come to know as Airich opened up on all sides of her, revealing a rich vastness she could never have dreamed possible. ((Amy's Rapport with Airich rapport  2d6  5 + 4 success)) Visions of knighthood and sword practice and jousting, of dreams for the future, of the joy of learning magic and growing ever stronger in his abilities. Memories of children of every age, playing, bickering and sharing familiar joys; of a beloved Mother and Father ever nurturing their brood. And horses, oh yes, horses were considered family in this home. Why, she could explore this immense ocean that was Airich for years without fully understanding him. She began to feel very small and trivial in the currents of his youth.

It was an unnecessary feeling, he assured her—and words were not needed in this place they inhabited—for he felt the same about her as she did about him. The glory and the beauty that was Amaryllis Aldan was a joy to behold and he felt honored to be allowed to experience her.

She felt herself merging with him, and it was an extraordinarily intimate thing. From him, she caught the impression of a thick-furred cat, writhing and luxuriating in the attention of many hands scratching his chin and stroking his fur. It delighted her that she was able to bring him such pleasure. And for her, she simply had no words to describe it. This must be what it truly means to be Deryni, she reflected.

After allowing themselves the self-indulgence of Discovery, he finally said with a near laugh We have work to do, let us not forget that.

And then all their focus was as if they were twins diving into tissue and bone. On a level akin to the size of tiny fish, Amy swam ahead circling around columns and boulders that made up the frame of the human hand. She circled each bone looking for flaws.((Amy finding the bones and working with Airich on Roberts's hand. 2d6   5 + 2 success)) When she identified one out of place she touched it and then so did her twin. With a talent she could never imagine, he achieved the impossible. Instead of a fish he was like a great tiny sea lion, he nudged the structures to where she told him they should belong. ((Airich working with Amy on Robert's hand. extra pip 2d6 4 + 3 success))

The landscape was not pristine: they swam around the rivers running near each column and the thick ropy structures running at the river's edge. They had to avoid marshy areas in places where multiple small bones lay splintered from each other. These bones were the hardest and took the longest to nudge out of the marsh and into a straight line like placing a puzzle back together. ((Airich bone setting with Amy, second set, extra pip 2d6 1 + 4 success)) They dealt with every splinter and break they found. Both knew this was not akin to healing, they would have to let time do that work. But what they did would allow the body to connect and reattach the breaks in the miraculous way that heaven intended. ((Airich bone setting with Amy, final set, extra pip 2d6 4 + 2 success))  As for the marshy areas neither of them had a solution. The hope was that Elspeth could immobilize the hand and wrap it tight, letting the body solve this by itself.

It might have been hours, or it might have been days, but eventually Airich brought them back up to a level where it was easier to think. I really don't like that swamp of tissue. I want to bring Elspeth into this link with us and see if I can show her our visions and see if she wants us to do anything about it.

Amy stayed like her tiny fish swimming around the edges of the marsh noting all the rivers and ropes and finding a spot furthest away from all of those. It seemed like forever to her before the sea lion declared that he had shared this blemished landscape with the physicker. I have shown her what you see, hold very still.

Thinking what was coming, Amy was still nervous, in the eyes of her twin she watched a lancet as narrow as a writing device puncture the skin and dive into the marsh. A little down and further in, she told her twin. There! Rinse there.  Whatever was happening in the real world, Amy could not say, but the marshland of the landscape seemed to drain away.  And with it, Amy seemed to lose her focus, she seemed to meander after that, not really knowing where she was and what was going on.((staying aware 2d6 2+ 2 failure))  And then Airich was praising her effort with his real hands on both sides of her face, his bloodshot red eyes looking deep into her own. "Amaryllis wake up now, we are done."

She found herself with her knees on the floor and her head on his knee. Elspeth was shifting around her to wrap a sturdy bandage over a cut and around splints holding each finger in place. Edwin was moving the gruesome contents of a bowl far away from everyone. It was a long moment of quiet, followed by a prayer, before Airich allowed Edwin to release the wards.


((Nezz and I wrote this in tandem.  It is a rewarding experience.))

Elspeth felt Robert's forehead for any sign of fever; so far, there was none.  God be praised!

She settled comfortably into her chair by the bed.  She had left the door to the little separate room open to allow in fresh air.  Unfortunately, it also let in the sound of Bede snoring from the main infirmary room.  He had escorted Amy to the boarding house and then returned to spend the night in the infirmary so that Elspeth was not left by herself.  He had seemed preoccupied, and after some desultory conversation, he had stretched out on one of the cots and quickly fallen asleep.   Elspeth wondered if his snoring would deter anyone from attempting to sneak by him. It was not something Elspeth would try; the man was too quick on his feet for anyone to get far.  And she doubted that Bede would have lived this long if he was a heavy sleeper.

Neither one of them had wanted to talk about the events that had unfolded earlier that evening, but as Elspeth watched over Robert, she had time to think of them now.

She honestly didn't know what to think.  A faintly glowing dome, anchored by glowing cubes, had risen over all of their heads at Edwin's command "Primus, Secundus, Tertius, et Quartus, fiat lux!"  The boy had stood there grinning as if it was the happiest day of his life.  That is until she  had tentatively reached out her hand to touch the translucence around them. 

"Mistress, don't touch it!" he had cried urgently. "It could give you a nasty shock!"

Elspeth had pulled back her offending hand and wiped it against her skirt. She had watched as Airich laid his hands against Robert's chest, while Amy put one hand over Airich's and the other over his collarbone.  The intimacy of that pose had made Elspeth feel a bit uncomfortable.

After that, nothing much happened.  It had been like watching a mime perform without making any movements; not an enlightening experience.  Yet Robert showed no discomfort; if anything, he was a bit more relaxed.  Or had it been simply that he trusted them completely.  Perhaps she should too.

One thing she had known all along was that the hand had abscessed, and it would have to be drained and cleaned.  She had boiled water and it was cooling to a safe temperature.  She had lit a small brazier to heat her lancet, and a bowl sat ready to catch the drainage.  She has prepared her preferred unguent to speed the healing afterwards.  She had waited for some kind of sign for her to proceed with the task.

It was not the sign she had been expecting!  A picture gently appeared in her mind that reminded her of a putrid swamp.  It was an odd allegory, but quite close to the truth when she thought about it now.

"We have found the abcessed area," Lord Airich had said into her mind.  Why had that not bothered her a whit? "We need for you to drain it.  Amy and I will show you where it is." 

She had best get on with it.  "Edwin, I need you to hold the bowl under the incision.  The process won't smell very pleasant," she warned him.

"I'll do my best, Mistress," Edwin had said bravely.

"If you are going to be sick, please avoid the patient," Elspeth had added briskly as she passed the lancet several times through the brazier's flame. 

For a moment Edwin had looked shocked, but then he smiled.  "I will do my utmost best," he had said as he picked up the bowl.

Once the lancet was ready, Elspeth and Edwin had moved to Robert's side.  Airich and Amy had shifted a little to give them more room. 

"In spite of the sedative, he may still feel some discomfort," Elspeth had warned Airich.

He won't, Airich had responded.

All right then! Elspeth had thought and wondered briefly if Airich had been able to hear her thoughts. 

Elspeth had poised the lancet over the hand and then adjusted the angle based on a shift of the picture in her mind. She had pushed it in firmly, as the skin over the abscess tended to be thick.  The stench of the pus as it began to escape was not pleasant, but Edwin had put the bowl in position with only the slightest flinch. Once Elspeth was satisfied the drainage was complete, supported by an image in her mind of a clear pool of water, she had rinsed the wound and applied the unguent.

Now, sitting beside Robert,  Elspeth felt enlightened.  Could this be used again successfully in the future?  Could all Deryni do this?  The potential was extraordinary, though at the price of exhaustion for the Deryni involved.  What if...

Elspeth's tumbling thoughts came to a halt.  The mismatched eyes that had made her life perilous at times could get her into greater trouble if magic really was used.  Even if it was not her own magic.  Would it be worth the price of death and never being able to help anyone again with her own skills? Amy might be willing to travel this road, but would Elspeth be brave enough to follow?  She honestly did not know.

That same evening, young Eustace sat squinting down at his gruel in the Grecothan tavern called The Drunken Parchment. He was sitting a little straighter than usual. His movements, when he was confident in where they would take him, were bolder and brasher, even. If only he had his glasses.

It was dark and quiet in this particular tavern, with low candles and lanterns for lighting in key spots above the tables. Altogether it was like a library in which the code of conduct was considerably looser, as well as the lips of its patrons. Well that it should be that way, for this tavern was a favorite of the in-crowd at Grecotha University. Naturally, being a recently inducted member of the in-crowd, Eustace was hardly alone, flanked by stray women pushed upon him by colleagues who were all strange crosses between churls and nobles, temporarily embarrassed with the burden of scholar's dress. Altogether, the scene was as much a delight as it was a disgrace, and he knew it well.

Preoccupied as he was, he could hardly have recognized the maiden approaching him before she spoke, saying, "Eustace? I 'ardly expected ta see you here, boy!"

He rose with unusual respect and his milky dark eyes wide open. "Muirea of Meara? I could say the same!" He squinted and noticed that she still wore the accouterments of a barmaid, even here. "Are you fresh off of work at the old inn?"

"Och, no. I am yet a working woman. Now I just serve two masters," she explained with a professional curtsy. "Nevertheless, I have not been so free in some time."

"Oh? What changed? Did your ugly brother-in-law drop dead?"

"Na, I'll only say that I have been given a new lease on life." She and Bede had agreed not to speak of that night, and certainly not to boast of it. "Can I get you something?"

He sighed dramatically and rubbed the bridge of his nose out of habit as he sat down. "What I would not give for an Anvilian Tonic. Do not bother to look, ami. I would have a Confessor's Quinquet." He glanced at one of his new friends for approval, and found it only when he added "Make it a pint."

"Aye, will do. But what became of your eyeglasses? I rather liked them."

"I stepped on them getting out of bed," he said shortly, and awaited his drink amongst the lowspeaking revelers.

The woman at his shoulder had a delayed reaction, but eventually, she perked up at the mention of the Confessor's Quinquet. "Say, is not that the drink Archbishop Duncan gave to his cousin the duke as they fled St. Torin's?"

He scoffed. "Non, a northern priest could not have had such taste. And no true archbishop would ever use the powers of the Deryni, never mind burn a chapel. Even I could see that."

The dream began, as it always did, with the searing pain in his back as they snapped the shaft of the arrow. They sat on his legs and held his arms over his head as the surgeon's knife bit deep. He cried out, but didn't have the strength to fight them. He glimpsed the face of the man giving orders, and despaired; instead of finding safety, he had traded one enemy for another. He screamed again as they withdrew the barbed arrow from his back and then fell into a swoon, and from this swoon, the dream would shift and move one of two ways: either backward into stomach-clenching terror or forward into hopelessness and dread.

This time, the dream went backward...

Amy awoke with a start. Such an ugly dream. And so vivid! It took several seconds for her to convince herself that she was on a bed in a boarding house in Grecotha, rather than being stretched over a tent floor in the middle of a war camp. It took another minute for her heart to stop beating so hard and fast, but she was finally able to lie down again.

Where had that awful dream come from? Her dreams—even her nightmares—tended towards more domestic scenes where someone—

Airich. That was his dream.

She probed at the sliver of connection linking them. She hadn't been aware of it until that minute. But the echoes that returned from that link were terrifying. He was still dreaming.

She was out of her bed and running down the hall in her nightgown before she even knew what she was doing. She would bang on his door until he woke up and spoke with her, and she could confirm that he was well. But his door swung open the first time she struck it. Not thinking of who might see her, she entered, shutting the door behind her.

Airich slept on his bed, but he seemed to be caught still in the grip of that terrible nightmare. He was covered in sweat and his head tossed back and forth, brows knit in some unseen pain. He panted and moaned through clenched teeth, the sound heartrending.

Knowing full well she could be struck by a flailing fist, Amy didn't hesitate, but rushed forward to the knight's bedside. She grabbed him and shook his shoulders. "Sir Airich, you must wake." She used her best commanding-yet-soothing Elspeth voice. " 'Tis naught but a dream. Awaken and you will find life much improved over your nightmare."

At first she didn't think he was going to wake up, but then he sat up so fast she had to dodge to keep from getting her head smacked with his. She felt his Shields slam shut.

"Oh, Sir Airich, I didn't mean to startle you, but I saw..." She trailed off as she realized Airich didn't hear her. He stared, eyes wide yet non-comprehending, his breathing still ragged; his muscles were taut and he looked ready to bolt. Even with his Shields tight, he leaked blind terror.

This was not the civilized man who'd led her through psychic surgery on Robert. With his eyes as round as platters, his chest bared, and hair released from its usual knot, he looked more like a feral animal, cornered by the hounds and hunters.

"Sir Knight, you are not well," Amy said. "I will fetch Elspeth, she may have an herbal that—"

Like a striking snake, Airich's hand shot out and he grabbed her wrist. Amy knew he would not hurt her deliberately, but in this strange confused condition he was in, she didn't know what he might be capable of. He was still in a state of utter panic.

He looked at her fingers and touched her palm, as if trying to reassure himself that they were real. Then he looked away at nothing, the manner of someone in deep thought.

"...fish..." he said.

Finally, a sign of understanding. "Yes, fish, we were helping Robert."

He looked up at her, and she saw the barest hint of recognition. "Say the name," he whispered.

"You mean Robert?"

"Say my name."

"Airich."

"Again."

"Airich. Your name is Airich,"

He closed his eyes and his face relaxed. He put a hand to the back of his head and ran it down to his neck. "Yes. I'm Airich," he said, and it sounded like he was reassuring himself.

He still held her wrist. She gave it a little tug to see if he was ready to let her go. He didn't release her, but drew her close to him, then wrapped both arms around her waist. He buried his face in her side, and after a moment, he began shaking, violent shudders that she thought might break him. She set her hands on his head and stroked his hair comfortingly, feeling his fear as she did so: not the stark terror of before, but a deep, overwhelming dread that she sensed was his long-time companion.

Amy's fingers pushed his hair back from his eyes and she tried for that connection they used earlier. Sir Airich, please, it was only a bad dream.  but her mind-speech was not getting through to him. His shields were as solid as any castle wall.  He showed no sign that he even heard her. Again she tried leaning closer to his ear. She discovered her own voice vibrated from confusion for his current state. "Airich, look at me, listen to me. You are in your own room in Grecotha. Whatever that was, it was a dream!" Though in her life she had never experienced that vivid of a dream of her own. "Airich, please wake from it! Look at me!"

The knight was so tense, his shoulders still had a noticeable shake. His eyes looked up at her but he didn't seem to see her. He seemed clearly afraid of something.

Amy had the sudden fear that there truly was danger nearby. She opened up herself and searched as far as her senses would go. Was there some danger lurking in the halls? In the streets? Or in the earth under their feet? ((Amy using Perception looking for danger 3d6= 3 + 2 + 1 No))   After a long strenuous casting, she could find nothing of danger. There were only the sounds of Edwin's easy breathing in the next room, and down on the first floor the women who ran the boarding house seemed to be mending some bedding while sitting next to the low flames on the hearth. That was all.

Amy took a deep breath in and steadied her own nerves. What kind of nightmare was this? One that even happened with the man awake? This was not external, this was an internal struggle. Something Deryni. How could she get through to him? How could she get him back into the real world?

The first thing that came to her, she hesitated to do. Instead she tried massaging his arms, kneading his muscles with her fingers. This eased his shivers, proving he was sensitive to touch. But he still was not seeing her standing directly before him.  Fine then...! She took his face between both her palms, leaned toward him, and pressed her lips to his. "Wake up dear Knight, Wake!"  Then placing her knee on the bed, she leaned further into his body, and kissed him fully like in the fairy tales of old. Maman, always told this part of the fairy tale in the way that our roles were supposed to be the other way around. Strangely, it worked.

She had a warm smile for him when he blinked and focused on her. She certainly had his attention now. "Ah, there you are. Are you alright?" Whatever fear he'd been carrying with him had been set aside for this moment. No longer afraid of his lashing out, she shifted her knee and sat down on the bed's edge right before him.

Their faces were only a hand-span apart. A short lean forward and his mouth was hungrily devouring her mouth, her taste, her realness. Touch was proof of awareness. His hands burrowing deep into her thick, raven hair, capturing every essence of her reality. She too relished the moment and lingered with his lips on hers like they were an elegant dessert. But then when his fingers ventured lower, she smiled, pulled back, and gently captured his hands. "Steady, young man. I fear our connection from earlier today was still open, and I was getting the run off of what you were dreaming. That was not pleasant. I am glad you are now awake."  There was a shared urge of passion that young people felt, but Amy kept her hands up between them.

"I can not. Not yet," she said to him with an enigmatic smile on her lips. "Maybe I should go?"

There was a hesitance as he took a breath and then an edge to his voice as he requested,"Stay. Please." He looked at her entreatingly. "But, but maybe sit there," he pointed to the end of his bed.

With a smile that danced around her lips, she stood up, gave a small respectful bow, and then sat down again near his feet. Then she sobered asking, "Can you tell me about it."

"Which dream leaked over?" he asked slowly, then shook his head. "No, nevermind. None of them were sweet." He sighed and looked down, and suddenly seemed to notice his own state of undress, followed by Amy's own dishabille. He wrapped the bedclothes securely about his waist.

"Dreams are the mind working through stress," she said to him cautiously. "I fear today was harder on you than on myself. I wish I could have taken more of the burden. I wish my mother had taught me more about all this. But I do not remember her ever using magic herself. It was her mother who taught me what I know. You should not be the only one of us that is trained. I am sorry."

"My beautiful little minnow, how could you possibly be sorry?" He reached forward toward her but she sat just out of reach. "You didn't even know you were Deryni two days ago. You far surpassed any expectation I had for Robert's procedure."

"Minnow..." she giggled at the sound of the word and reached her hand forward so that both their fingertips barely touched.  Then looked up at him brightly, 'You know I saw you as a Sea lion.  Only this tiny little miniscule sea lion.  But maybe more of a real lion with a mane and tail, rather than the walrus kind." Again she giggled as he ducked his head. And both their hands were now clasped together.  He reached forward to embrace her. And she scooted forward to let him, their faces pressing into each other's hair. "Definitely a lion," she whispered as she moved the fullness of his border-length hair away from his shoulder. "Do you think you can sleep now? I will stay if you want me to?"

"Aye. I think so." He held her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. "I will need to spend some time alone tomorrow. I'll need to..." he rubbed his temple. "I have some things in my mind that I need to think on. It may take some time. I won't be ignoring you on purpose."

Reaching out with her own strength she could feel his pains and his turmoil. ((Amy feeling Airich's pain 2d6= 6 + 1))  All of this was real, an ominous portent of a problem greater than simple mental fatigue. Uncertain how to proceed, the only thing she could do was treat the effects and hope that a cure could be found in the future. Right now, his head pain was throbbing harder than when he had had his concussion. Right now, he needed someone to dampen the pain and see that he could find sleep away from his dreams.

Keeping the blanket between them, she shifted to lean back against the head of his bed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged his head into the crook of her neck.  And then she softly sang a lullaby she knew from long ago.  She would not let him fall back into his horrific nightmare.

The night was illuminated solely by the moon; it no longer displayed its fullest face, but it did hang higher in the sky at this hour than on a full-moon night. The pale white light shone on the road and on the tips of the trees tops.  Everything else lay in a deep shadow.

The group of six riders and horses continued in the direction that the sun would rise in a few hours' time. There had been a time when Lord Washburn Morgan might have missed the path that led north to Arx Fidei Abbey from the main road. But after four years, this path was as familiar to him as the entrance to his own manor. Turning up that path, Lord Morgan could readily see the dark rise of the Abby walls with its shale rooflines in the faint moonlight.

It was not often that he came this way at this hour, but need and an admittedly dark curiosity had drawn him from the comforts of his home to this appointed time: a time and place of his own choosing, not his adversary's.

Of the five persons on horseback who accompanied him, there was one he had wished had stayed home.  But then when did Lady Morgan ever do anything that did not place his own safety above her's.  He admonished himself, such protections should be wielded the other way around.  Her growing girth notwithstanding, their first yet months away, had caused him to argue that she needed to stay home, but she refused to be grounded by the argument. Instead she claimed that worry would just make her ill. Besides, this had become as much her fight as his own when she married him; she told him this quite admittedly so at dinner last night. 

Just now, Lady Morgan reached out and touched his arm, "We do not need to do this. We should return home, there is no need to expose yourself to this danger."

"Indeed, my lady!  I have refused this request before. But this is something different, I could sense it in the letter I received. This request is urgent. Something is happening and for the safety of the Kingdom, I need to learn it."

Fiona Morgan tightened her hand on his. "For the safety of the kingdom, my dear heart? Your safety away from this man is what keeps Kelson safe. Others can talk to him, not you."

Washburn could not refute what his lady said, he was ever on her side in this. But the air stirred with discontent, and from where it came, no one could say. This meeting might hold answers that Kelson would need.  And this man he would meet with was unwilling to talk to any other.  And that scared Wash, who kept his personal fears behind tightly placed shields. The last time they had a face to face conversation–rather, that was a mind-to-mind talk–his adversary had ramshackled all his protections into submission. And that had only been over the gifting of an old historically, yet unusually challenging, interesting scroll of notes and spells. After much research as to the origin of those notes, Wash would never dare to take what he had read beyond a cursory interest. His lady wife was far too important to him. Was this meeting about that? Or was this about something far more dangerous? Whatever the topic,  he must maintain his control.

His father's guardian inner-dragon spat fire and agreed.

Kevin McLain, Washburn's second, pulled the bell rope at the side of Arx Fidei Abbey gates. The gate keeper was quick to open the grill. Upon seeing the Lord and Lady of Morgan Manor sitting their horses in his view, he opened the gates without a word. The abbey had been forewarned of their coming this early before dawn broke.
 
Washburn could have come by Portal; his own portal at the hospital was working now. But the last thing Wash wanted was to be trapped from leaving if magic was his only means of escape. That was his nemesis' mode of travel. Washburn and each of his party needed their own way out of this if all collapsed into a great heap of a mess.

Two of Washburn's guardsmen took the horses as they dismounted, while his captain searched the walls around the courtyard. The monks of the abbey had not yet begun to stir. As Washburn had requested, there was no one in sight but himself, his group, and the gate guard.

Kevin nodded that things appeared as they should, and the young McLain led the way up to the Abbey cathedral. At the great bronze doors, he greeted by the Abbot's chaplain, who then welcomed the Lord and Lady of Morgan Manor into their house of worshop. Washburn's captain took up guard stance outside the cathedral doors and the two other guards remained at the stables with the horses ready to leave at any instant.

The Chaplin led Washburn and Lady Fiona up to the boundary of the chancel of the cathedral, bowed toward the altar and then moved to a side transept chapel. There they were met by the waiting Abbot. Both knelled before him, both imparted their request for protection for themselves while under this sacred roof. The Abbot,  agreed to offer sanctuary, then he said a word of prayer over their heads. They bowed low in reverence and kissed his ring when his blessing was complete. Kevin remained ever watchful. But all as yet seemed as it should.

Then Washburn stood, and thanked the abbot. He was a man that Wash had gotten to know quite well in the last few years. They worked well together, keeping his hospital staffed at all times with members of the monastery and nunnery who had the talent of working with the injured and sick. The hospital had become a great boon for the community, and indeed, for a large portion of this part of the kingdom. Wash knew well he could not have done it on his own.

"I would like the presence of Saint Jorian in this thing that we do," Wash told the abbot. "Saint Jorian's chapel is large enough for us to be well apart from each other and private enough for us to talk in normal tones. We are to meet the hour between the service of Lauds and Prime. That should give us time to say what needs to be said before the brothers begin to assemble. Can I have your word that this man I meet is not to be restricted on either his coming or his going? For unless my person, or my lady's person is in danger, I wish this man gone after he has said what he will say, with all due haste. He is not a man to be toyed with and certainly not one to be threatened."

"I am aware of him, my lord, from what you have said," the abbot replied. "And as long as your party's safety is clear, no one will interfere."

On that, they all walked back to the Nave and over to a large side chapel with the marble carving of exquisite delicate likeness of a young priest in ordination robes. Washburn shivered at the saint's eyes. His father's story of what he had witnessed gave him great pause. Meanwhile, Kevin entered the chapel, holding back the others, and opened his mind to any and all magics that might lay in the smaller space. This was something that Washburn was not allowed to do. The one concession he had agreed upon with his wife and good friend is that he was not going to drop his shields for any thing or any one. They were as strong as he had ever made them. Not until he was home would he dare to let them drop. All communications from him were verbal or by the use of hand signals. And in no way was he ever to leave Kevin's sight. Any talk other than verbal in this meeting was to be refused. This seemed the only precaution against a man who could defeat a foe with only a single word of magic.

Collos Feyd d'Chameaux of Vezarie, a Master of the Black Order of Death, sorcerer supreme of mind bending and tricks of disguise, was not to be given any advantage in this meetup.

A pair of monks in hooded robes enter the chapel through a side door. They stop and knell before the alter and give thanks in prayer. Once they rise they turn towards Washburn and close the distance between.

One drops the hood shows an unfamiliar face. The other, drops his hood and the face is all too familiar for Washburn. It conjures up memories of 4 years past. From the time he was abducted in Rhemuth until he was given over to Valerian. The face of Feyd is well imprinted on Washburn's memories.

"You came with more than two. A violation of our agreement. But nothing I wouldn't have done if the roles were reversed. It is good to see you again my friend." Feyd says with his ever present smile.

"My companion is Father Malcom. An ordained priest and Deryni like ourselves."

"Congratulations on your coming child. But we are pressed for time. Small talk can be had at another date if we are to be gone before the monks here awake."

"I'm sure you know about the Willimite attacks on the Deryni across Gwynedd? They are being spurred on by the Custodes. An order of the Gwynedd Church that was officially disbanded centuries ago but actually continues in secret. That order was infamous for keeping the Deryni out of the priesthood. They handled the merasha laced wine used for ordaining to detect Deryni."

"And this is why we are here today. Meeting with you."

"Our Order has tried to infiltrate the Custodes on several occasions in past but they always find those who are Deryni. And a Human just wont do. We need a Deryni on the inside of the Custodes otherwise we are always hours to days late working against them."

"They crowned a King of Gwynedd in Exile yesterday. But we have no idea who he is at this point."

"So I have come to the one man in all the Eleven Kingdoms who can help us. And that is you Wash. Will you help us?"

"Lord Feyd. It is not the violation of our agreement of two persons that you deem it is. Since marriage makes Man and Wife one entity. You may consider us one. Or at least two halves of one. Baroness Fiona MacIntire Morgan, may I introduce to you Collos Feyd d'Chameaux of Vezarie. Feyd by the name most familiar to myself. But I suspect that you two have already met by another name."

Ever the strength behind the man, Fiona gave a slight curtsey to the person who requested this meeting. "We have met before. Though your appearance is much changed. Good to see you again, Father Paulos."  Wash let slip a smile. He himself had not seen Father Paulos with his own awakened eyes. But he was fully versed on the events in the far away town of Windenburg. "I love you Fiona" he yelled behind his tight shields where no one could hear him.

"My second, whom you acknowledge upon arrival, is Keven McLain. And I know you know a king's man when you see one. Unless things have seriously changed, I believe you have an understanding with Earl Iain Camoreon that King Kelson is out of your jurisdiction in this game you play."

Washburn watched the eyes of the man in front of him and wondered for the first time if he had enough standing in the Kingdom of Gwynedd to finally be on equal footing with the man standing before him. Those eyes were still unnerving. Experience had taught Wash some semblance of how Feyd played his deals, and also how broken deals were dangerously repaid. So it was all in the negotiations from the outset.

"I see that you have not found another who could do this Blocking of Powers." No response was as good as an affirmation. "Now I must ask if you have finally grown out of your need to subjugate me into obedience and hold me prisoner to your will and needs at any given moment. I assure you, I will never be a part of your Order. I saw your invitation at the ancient dried-up water well In Windenburg, and I declined it.  I still do decline." Wash waited happy in this moment that Feyd could not read his mind.  Now to dealing.

"It seems you need my ability, I have talked to my king, and I am allowed to offer you some services. I hope we can come to an agreement that does not require me to break my vows to my kingdom or my wife." Again only Feyd watched him with cold eyes. But that little glare actually gave Wash a little more solid ground to stand on.

"Since you have come to me it appears that you are willing to deal as well. Information has always been your coin and it is good to learn these little gossips and not so little troubles. The Willimites crowning their own King of Gwynedd in Exile could be of Important to the health of the kingdom-- Truly that is pure insanity.-- But... it is knowledge that can be traded for and my king will be most interested in the details you can supply. But I must temper what I am willing to trade for it." Washburn stood taller much taller than the man before him. At least with my shields closed, I can not feel his strong magical Aura Wash mussed to himself.

"Know that I require more from you than just a few key gossips. If I am going to do this thing you request, which is strictly set in moral codes." and Wash seriously looked Father Malcom up and down. "I need assurances that it is I who decide if my gift is to be bestowed and it is I who need to determine when it is to be unbestowed."

Even Father Malcom seemed to suddenly take exception to that.

"I assure you I do not take this gift lightly. And I do not trade it lightly.  I will not give it to you to behead your enemies. That is not what it is for. But if I make a deal with you, on a one-by-one per situation. I give you my full word of honor that I will reverse what I have done, but sometimes it might be at my convenience and not yours.   And I require your full word of honor that you will not threaten, harm, blackmail, or poison any of my family, my loved ones, my king, or myself to subvert the deal originally made between us. And so long as you do not threaten myself or my loved ones, I will refrain from giving you my gift, directly. As much as I wanted to share it with you in the past. I will let the past stay in the past."

"On all these things can we agree?" There was a long pause and Fiona squeezed his arm showing her own agreement. Now what about the Master of the Black Order of Death?  "Are you ready to settle on a single situation that we have in front of us at this hour?"

"You came with an armed escort. But like I said I would have done the same if the roles were reversed so it's a moot point anyway. It is just myself and Father Malcom."

"The Order would do well having you as one of it's members and you would go far indeed within it. But that choice is yours and yours alone. I have no desire to force you to do anything against your will."

"I believe I addresses the reasons for what happened previously between us. If things could have worked differently I would have welcomed that path but sometimes we are forced to take a path we do not wish to take."

"As for your King Kelson. I have nothing against him personally. And we do have an agreement when it comes to him. I would not like to see a usurper take his crown. No matter how legitimate they make it out to be. Kelson is the rightful King of Gwynedd."

"The Order wishes to infiltrate the Custodes. We have found this to be a difficult task as our Deryni spies are eventually detected and executed. The Custodes are strictly a Human organization. Hell bent on destroying the Deryni."

"We wish to destroy the Custodes. And we need someone on the inside in order to know their plans in a timely manner."

"Father Malcom has graciously volunteered for this assignment. We want 2 things from you."

Feyd pauses for a moment before he continues. "The first is that you block him. And the second is that I am to be linked with you during the procedure. With assurances that you do not block me. And there are no tampering from either of us with one another. You will be in full control of the link between us. I just want to See it happen. To feel what you feel, nothing more."

"It is a lot to ask given our history. But we will be able to get Father Malcom into the Custodes once his Deryniness is undetectable. And in return. We will give over what we find to either yourself or to Lord Iain. I am sure King Kelson would welcome such information before things get worse."

"And the Custodes certainly are planning on making things worse for Kelson and every other Deryni in or out of Gwynedd."

"I assure you no harm will come to you or your family. And we fully accept the condition that you will restore Father Malcom when it is convenient for you to do so, even if that makes it difficult for him for a time."

"Your second term is off the table. That point is unconditional. If you have a problem with that, then good day to you, sir."

Washburn pulled Fiona's arm closer into the crook of his elbow on his far side away from his adversary. And he took steps to walk away, nodding to Kevin to keep a stern eye on his nemesis. 

"I see that you do not trust me. I understand completely. You do not wish to link with me at all." He sighs. "It is regrettable. But the first term is the only term that is chiseled into stone. Father Malcom must be blocked and you are the only known Deryni to be able to do it."

"May I be in Rapport with Father Malcom as a concession since you and I cannot be linked? Rest assured you will be able to sense my presence in his mind and you would know instantly if I were to try anything."

"You have my word that I will not. This is as binding as the confessional and as a sovereign oath. This is a contract between you and I. And the Order takes it's contacts very seriously. Even I cannot revoke the terms of a sworn contract."

Washburn knew there was truth in Feyd's words without having to Truth-read those words himself. The Master of his Order was striking a deal and if Wash took that deal then neither of them dared to break it. And in a way that was more assuring to Wash than any other explanation of troubled times for Deryni and the Order's concerns about them. Wash knew that once he took this deal it was a lifetime commitment. It meant that he would be the source of blocking persons of Feyd's choosing from now until someone else was discovered to have this gift. Of course he was reserving the right to refuse certain people that Feyd might bring before him. But he had better have good cause to refuse them. This is where King Kelson's intelligence would be crucial for him. Without that backing Wash would never have the nerve to make any such agreement with this man. Thankfully, the men of the Tre-Arilan castle were very good at what they did and Iain Cameron, a master spy, was a very close reliable relation, being his wife's cousin whom Wash could count on to keep him advised on the current affairs of the kingdom.

Wash did not yet turn back to look at Feyd or Father Malcom; instead he looked at Kevin who was but a step in front of him. He opened his eyes as if to ask Tell my your opinion.

Kevin, unconcerned that Feyd heard every word, said "I have been truth-reading Master Collos Feyd, and he is being as forthcoming and truthful in this matter as he can be. That aside, there is not much more that I can read from him. His aura is complex and quite unyielding. Now that I am meeting the man, I can fully understand your reservations.  He appears to be everything you have said he is in the past and currently in the present. But I do believe that he will hold this bargain once made. But how often your one-on-one situational event will happen is impossible to tell."

Washburn then looked at his wife, her lovely face showed her concern.

Fiona grasped her husband's hand tightly as she gazed into his eyes. "I understand the need to stop the Custodes from attacking and killing innocent Deryni, and if this is the only way it can be accomplished, I support you. I am afraid that when you drop your shields to perform the blocking, you will be vulnerable to harm."

"My dear, I'm sure—"

"Therefore," Fiona put her finger to Wash's lips, "I insist that I also be in the link to protect you and prevent any unexpected attempts by Feyd or anyone else to try to enter the link or cause trouble. I do believe that Feyd will keep his bargain. I do not agree that Feyd should have unlimited access to the power. There needs to be limits for the safety of all involved."

Fiona grasped his hands. "I am also concerned that Father Malcom will somehow be discovered and forced to reveal your role in this. If the Custodes were to find out, they would surely try to kill you. Protection from revealing this memory needs to be made for both your sake. And I do not mean a Death mind-trap set on the father here; I have seen that and I will have NO part to play in that for myself or my husband." She said this last directly to Feyd.

Wash was so proud of his wife, That protective lynx-cat trait in her was stronger than ever. He took these concerns into his consideration.  Slowly he turned back to look Feyd square in the eye.

"My wife raises a valid point, I trust you will remove this certain memory of our meeting tonight from Father Malcom until such time as his powers are returned." Feyd gave a nod, even the priest gave a nod, and Wash knew well that Feyd was a master at memory concealment so he was assured they would attend to that point.  "I will not put a number on the times that you may ask this gift from me, for there may be events when several people may need it at one time. But I will request that you are judicious in putting forth this request to me for those moments of most importance. And again, I reserve the right to use my own judgment."  Wash looked at Feyd to see if this little added portion could be amended to the deal now forming.

"I am certain that this will be quite rare. And very limited."

"Very well then," Wash nodded in agreement.  "Just remember that my loved ones and I are protected by this deal, and that includes my children, if ever I have a Healing child who may receive this gift from myself and from God. Is that Understood?"

"As long as that same child holds the same honor and moral code that goes with this talent," Feyd declared. "You are a man of honor and there is much trust bestowed upon you by your king, your fellows, and myself. If ever a child with your talent is found to not hold this same honor, then I would consider it a break from this agreement. Are we clear on this?"

Wash took in a deep breath, he had much responsibility to raise his children properly, even more so than the average lord of the kingdom. Wash looked at Fiona and grasped her hand, her belly was only just showing, but she too knew the responsibility that they shared and she squeezed his hand back in agreement.
 
"Very well, I will take your vow and give you mine." Vows were made, not quite in the normal way, hands did not touch but eye contact was strong. It was enough for them both.

After a long silence when they knew that time was running short before the morning service of Prime, Wash turned to the most immediate task. "As for today, I will accept that you may link with Father Malcom and I will link with M'lady Fiona. And Sir Kevin will look on protecting us all from outer trouble and call upon the abbot and my captain if trouble does descend. But not until then."

"Father Malcom, please step forward, and tell me that you are cognizant of what is being asked  of you, and that you are a willing participant and not being coerced into this act. Once you are without your natural protections you may feel disorientation and have trouble coping. Being human is not an easy task. The blocking itself is painless, but after, I will give you a few minutes to compose yourself at which time you may request from me to be returned to your normal state. And I will do so.Feyd will have to find another willing recipient. I never want to be accused of doing harm, I am a Healer first, a knight of the realm second, and then a person with Blocking Power. The Healer is the strongest part of my center."

Malcolm nodded his agreement, knowing what was to come. "I am fully aware of the outcome. I request having my Deryniness blocked so that I may enter the Custodies without concern of Merasha exposure. I thank you for giving me the time to become oriented, but I assure you it will not be necessary, I have taken the drug that you were once given and I know the effects that it has on my powers."

Wash looked up at Feyd abruptly, unwillingly grimaced at his own memory. Some things were very hard to lay behind and leave in the past. Feyd could easily see that this was still the cause of the hard line between them. But Feyd did not respond.

Wash then gestured to the candle rack and placed coins for himself and Fiona in the offering box and he indicated that Feyd and Father Malcom should follow in kind.  Then he and Fiona stepped up to the statue of Saint Jorian, they lit their candles and placed them at the saint's feet. They genuflected, side by side, bowed their heads, and waited. The two in monks robes followed and did the same. When all four were kneeling, Father Malcom said a prayer, his voice far stronger than Wash believed his would have been if in the same position. Then all four persons crossed themselves and looked up.
 
Fiona scooted over to kneel just behind her husband, and she placed one hand on the back of his neck beneath his hair. Wash saw that Feyd followed suit, yet he placed both hands on the back of Father Malcom's head.

Wash hid his smile and wished Feyd good luck in trying to follow this. Wash had shown this procedure to enough people to know that none of them appeared to grasp what was happening. It truly seemed that if you were not born with this rare ability that understanding it was impossible.  But then, Wash never wanted to underestimate the master of the Black Order of Death.

Wash took a deep breath and found his Healing center. He had done this before without going that deeply internal, but he decided for this demonstration it would be better to appear that such a state was necessary. He placed one hand over Father Malcom's eyes. "As you know what is about to happen, I will ask that you willingly open your shields to me. Our rapport need not be that deep, but it does help to reduce the shock you will feel at the moment that it happens. If your shields bound back up, then I will take that as you are not a willing participant."

"My shields are down and they will stay down," the priest said. Wash knew that any man working for Feyd would indeed have this level of control.

It was a major Trust that Wash had to extend to Feyd that the master was not going to leap across the link with his priest to slam his own controls over Wash the moment Wash opened his shields. Fiona was there for that uncertain event. Fiona was strong after her years of training, but in a duel of strength, Wash did not wish his mind to be the battleground. "I will make this concise, but it will be fast." Wash said aloud, and then he deftly lowered his own shields, letting rapport flow from himself to Fiona and then back to Father Malcom. The strong presence of Feyd was a hard taste he had to let his mind ignore.

Malcom, let us go a little deeper so you can know that I do not hold any animosity toward you and that this thing that I do, I do for your protection and that I will undo when it is requested of me.

All four in the link closed inward into closer awareness. Wash took but a moment to find the trigger point. He even waited a minute for Feyd to try and catch up. Then he touched it and the change was so abrupt that Malcom would have cried out if not for the deep rapport. ((Washburn performs blocking. This roll is to see if Wash can do it without Feyd truly understanding what is done.  3d6= 6 + 2 + 5 ))

Washburn backed out very quickly after that, allowing Feyd to be the one to help Father Malcom recover. Fiona gave her husband a very reassuring, You are safe, my love before she backed out too. And then Wash was raising his shields to firmness once more.
 
"I will come to Arx Fidei Seminary, south of Valoret, as I think that will be closer to where you will be, if and when you request me to undo what I have done," Wash said. "I have a certain faith in working before the eyes of Saint Jorian and that location is as good as here for our next meeting.  Any information that you can pass along to my king, it would be best to contact Earl Iain rather than myself. He has a better understanding of these things that you will learn than I have time to deal with."

((I wish to thank DeryniFanK for joining me with Lady Fiona in this. and for Bynw in adding a bit if Feyd.  and Nezz for some much needed suggestions.))

Feyd, after seeing to Father Malcom, who is still a bit shaken from losing his Deryniness, turns to Washburn. "Thank you for coming. You may have helped us to save every Deryni still left in Gwynedd."

He offers his hand to Wash.

A handshake was as old as ancient Rum and adopted by the Byzantyuns as a ritual gesture of good faith when making an oath or a promise. In olden times, it represented bare hands, without weapons, bearing no ill will toward one another. Even the up-and down motion of a handshake was symbolic of dislodging daggers that might be hidden in the sleeve. A truly human expression of proof that their word was their sacred bond.

For Deryni a handshake was of far deeper trust. For their weapon was not metal but the mind that could so easily slide across the link in the grasp of the hand. Wash in particular was not one to often extend his hand in a handshake. He knew the fear in the eyes of those who knew his rare talent, most of these people's fears were from ignorance. Most assumed he could not truly use his talent in that benign appearing moment of the handshake.  But Washburn knew differently. His experience had proven that a simple handshake was all he needed to find the trigger point, and because of this, he almost never shook a person's hand.  Healing was a different trust altogether when touch was essential to bring health back to a person. The song of the Healers was a vow to do no harm. That vow was now a very strong part of Washburn's soul. Friends who knew him well never questioned the hand grasp or arm grasp, but Feyd? He was showing a trust and a securing of their vows in a gesture that Wash had not expected.

Very well, If he has the courage for this, then how dare I not rise up to the same courage.

With a strength of will that Wash had not shown in four years. He extended his bare hand forward, he suppressed the instant feeling of a knife jetting forward and slicing his hand from his wrist; a one handed Healer would be a destruction of his internal balance. But he mussed to himself,  I do not need two hands to Block a Deryni's Power.

Washburn Alaric Morgan grasped Collos Feyd d'Chameaux  hand with a distinct firmness and gave it one shake. Both their eyes looked up from their hands and met straight on. Their agreement was sealed. 

"Until we meet again." Feyd had said as he released Wash's hand. And then the two Deryni raised their hoods and become mere monks again. Stopping before the Alter and kneeling in silent prayer as monks ought to do. Then they departed through the side door that the entered from earlier. Leaving no trace of their passing within the chapel save for the memories that Wash and his campions have of them.

((Written with a little guidance from the whole gang!))

The bells of Grecotha Cathedral chimed Lauds, and Bede rose accordingly, wearing yesterday's clothes instead of a blanket. The blanket that came with the cot was draped over Mistress Elspeth, dozing over some parchment he could not understand at the desk in her room. With a wince, he reflected that the ground had often been gentler to him than the cot, and yet it still seemed improper for him to try and move her like a child to the cot and take her place in the chair as a guard should. The blanket was a compromise. He cleared his throat, gently stirring her from her well-earned slumber. "Good morning, Mistress Elspeth."

"Morning, Bede," she yawned behind disheveled chestnut hair. "What time is it?"

"Dawn on Sunday," he answered as he rolled off of the cot and onto his feet, absently scratching his stubble. "I reckon we can all catch the earliest mass if we get moving promptly."

She shook her head slowly. "I need more ..." she was too tired to say rest. "... you go ahead and find the others if they're able. I'll try for a later service."

He bowed his understanding, collected the last of his effects, and swept out like a dignitary. It took him a little thinking, but he recalled the way back to the boarding house, where he and Edwin were rooming together once again. He was less gentle with awakening the scholar, simply striding into the room and beginning to shave with a mirror. ((Bede tries to hold his breath 2d6 3 + 2)) Edwin said something, but Bede could not hear him, for he had then stuck his face in a washing basin and was holding himself under for a grand total of five seconds. "What did you say?" he gasped when he surfaced.

Edwin stood there in his nightshirt looking sulky, annoyed that Bede was showing as more devout than himself. He knew that he was being unreasonable but that just made him crosser. "You could have woken me earlier. You've got a nerve supposing I don't want to come to Mass."

"I would not keep ye from it intentionally," Bede apologized. I'm not your manservant, you weaning pup, he thought. "I am ashamed to ask, but would ye have something for the smell I can borrow on short notice? There's no time for a bath."

Having said his piece, Edwin felt kinder now. He groped amongst his things until he produced a hollow pewter bauble with a fastening red ribbon. "Take this until you come back," he instructed the man, who sniffed it and was repelled as well as awed.

"This must be why the room smells so nice, eh?" Bede marveled as he fastened it to his belt. "What is it called?"

"A pomander," answered Edwin. "Where were you all night long, anyway?"

"With Elspeth," Bede answered as he strode back out of the room. Edwin did not like that answer one bit, but he assured himself he might mean nothing by it. He did not, of course.

Bede's next destination was Airich's room. Completely soundless except for his knocking, but of all of his new allies, he was most confident in the impassioned knight's ability to handle himself, so he moved on to Amy and Elspeth's room, hoping to find the former. "Mistress Amy?"

She opened the door, dressed smartly in flowering shades of purple, with a thin lavender veil draping her raven hair, now tied back. She seemed quite refreshed after the stress of the last several days, perhaps by the consolation of Sunday. "Hello, Bede," she nodded. "How may I help you?"

"Mistress Amy," he bowed with less bravado than usual. "Today you are like something found in a stained glass."

She almost smiled. "It is better when you are honest.... Did you need something?"

He narrowed his eyes and tried to seem unphased. A cogent stab at my character, yet is she dazed? "I simply have been making a round to collect our little band for mass, yet you are the only one I find ready for it. May I walk you to the cathedral?" She did not stop him from following, at any rate. On the way to the cathedral proper, he made a few attempts at idle talk, about the weather, the city, the investigation, yet with each attempt she seemed further withdrawn. It is as Muirea said, he thought. I have dug a moat between myself and this lass. Normally I would laugh and run, but it's not pleasant to be stuck at the scene of the crime. Yet I find it easier to confess to God than to a woman, no matter the content of the confession.

He did not believe she could read his thoughts, yet she asked him, "Do you hope Muirea will be there?"

"Aye," but he could hardly think of a rationalization in the haze she had transmitted to his mind. He thanked God when they finally reached the doors of the cathedral and went over his knowledge of sanctuary law in his head to move on, little knowing that Amy had other things to think about beyond his transgressions.

He ensured that Amy was safely and comfortably seated in the sanctuary before scanning in search of a priest. ((Bede looks for(Perception) a priest 2d6 5 + 2))His search took him throughout the first floor, wandering from section to section. He finally found Airich, quietly praying in a chapel, and Bede was relieved to see somebody at peace. Then his search continued, until he found himself confronted by another familiar face, unhappy to see his. But he would do, and so Bede bowed and addressed him with respect. "Brother Phillip?"

The churchman nodded. "Bede Archer. You are shaved and washed? What for?"

"I have heard it said that physical impurity is unsightly, in God's eyes. This is the best I can do. Could you shrive me, Father?"

There was a contemplative hesitation on Phillip's lips, but he ultimately said, "Come, child," and motioned for Bede to follow him into the confessional.

There, with a contrite sigh, Bede began on his knees. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a month since my last confession." Phillip remained silent, so Bede continued. "I have lived a life of rebellion and provocation. I do not regret all of it, but more than enough. I took up arms against the king in the war. I saw the lord of Ratharkin beheaded and I laughed, although it troubled my heart. I dinna care for murder, father, but I worry I am guilty of that. I believe I have my virtues, but they are hardly why anyone comes here, no?"

"They do not come here to recount old sins either, son," Phillip pointed out. "Most of those things I am already aware of, and they happened more than a month ago, did they not?"

"Ah, you wish for me to return to the murder. I was not Bede Archer for many years. One time when I was running for my life, I was taken in by a troupe of entertainers, and then I became Spotted John, playing off of my hideous injuries earned around the end of the war. But I longed for a new chapter in Carbury, and so I said my farewells and made towards the abbey to pray for a clean slate with an old nun who once saved my life. On the way over, I was roughly taken by sailors in need of a new pair of arms on their deck. They mistook a jester for a fool, and I managed to cut my way away from the harbor with everything but my rags retained. Yet their first mate blocked my path, and so I pierced him good, with finality, and without so much as a warning, and continued to flee until somehow I wound up here.

"Personally, I see it as murder to shoot a man in the back without considering what else may be done. The church knows many of my sins, as you say, but not this one. I felt it was pertinent before they believe I have done the duty earning the ... pardon you have promised. I seek God's forgiveness and from you, Father, counsel, penance and absolution."

They sat in silence for so long that Bede began to wonder if he was free to go, or if Phillip had insolently fallen asleep. He flinched when the priest finally spoke. "Where are these injuries, son? Who gave them to you?"

"A member of the Haldane Archer Corps, scourging the woods of rebels who did not accept the surrender. These archers were good. Better than me, even," he said, suddenly burning with wounded pride. "The scars are all over my body, wherever a shirt would hide them. Please, do not make me show them to you."

"I will not. Do they hurt?"

"Sometimes."

"And you are now on a quest for the power to heal."

Bede shook his head. "No, it's the Carbury women that seek that. I just need some coin and direction back home."

"Home," Phillip mused. "I've always thought that to be a nebulous concept, myself."

"A what?"

"Something hard to define, and changing. I do not believe it is a coincidence that you have found yourself amongst these people. Perhaps God took you off of the path to the abbey that night."

Bede was befuddled. "So He put the first mate in my path?"

"It may be, but He did not make you shoot him. It's the way with these things. It was a test, and your failure has led you here. Your wounds may be sometimes self-inflicted, but you already suffer, and seek redemption." Father Philip unexpectedly smiled, "You are now headed in the right direction and I would not turn you off that path, but remember that an incomplete list of virtues is not enough for any man."

Then he stood and making the sign of the cross said gravely,
"Ego te absolvo in nomine Patris, Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
Go in peace my son, and pray for me who am also a sinner."

Edwin resisted the urge to get back into bed after Bede had left. He was still feeling annoyed, but with himself rather than the archer. Yesterday he had felt an adult, on equal terms with the others in their group, proud of his skill at providing protection. This morning, even to himself, he had sounded like a whiney brat. It was no one's responsibility but his own to get himself to church.

He dressed quickly but neatly, there was still time to get to Mass. It occurred to him to wonder why Bede had been in such a hurry; it was always possible to join with other last-minute worshippers and slip unnoticed into the back of the nave. As he left the house the Cathedral bells were still ringing their call to worship, and the service was only just beginning as he entered the building.

He dutifully stood and knelt with the other worshippers, managing to cudgel his thoughts appropriately for at least some of the time. He was somewhat surprised not to see Bede here towards the back of the nave where the less devout tended to congregate. He even wondered whether Bede had come to worship at all. As the time for Communion drew near, Edwin remained on his knees, he knew that though it was only a few days since he had been confessed by Canon Damian, his thoughts this morning showed how far from a state of grace he was.

He heard the quiet sound of those who did go forward for the sacrament, and in an effort to focus his thoughts he raised his head and looked towards the altar. He was startled to see Bede amongst them; even more startling was the look of serenity on the man's face as he returned from receiving Communion. He realised Bede must have been to confession and felt ashamed of his arrogant judgements of the man. Maybe it was time to try to get to know him.

As Elspeth watched Bede depart, she realized she still had mixed feelings about him.  He had conducted himself well these past few days, yet Amy remained convinced there was something he was not telling them.  Something he talked around without ever revealing the truth.  Espeth stood, folded the blanket and laid it on the cot.  He had given it to her with a gallant bow the night before, slightly overdone.  And very typical. 

A novice entered the infirmary carrying a bowl of steaming broth.  Elspeth pulled up her hood as he approached the door to the inner room where Robert lay.  "For the patient, Mistress," he said with lowered eyes. "I'm here to feed him."

"Thank you," Elspeth replied and held her hands out for the bowl.  "I was going to check on him anyway, so I can feed him as well."

The novice gave her a perplexed look, but handed her the bowl.  "As you wish, Mistress," he said and made a hasty retreat.

Hopefully God won't mind a small lie on a Sunday,  she thought.  Sleep was calling her urgently, but she would rather not leave Robert alone with the novice.  She had no way of knowing if it was the same novice she had seen in the library.  I am being over cautious, she chided herself. 

Robert awakened as she entered the small room.   His color was much improved, and he fidgeted himself into a semi-sitting position against the pillow.

"Careful," Elspeth said gently.  She set down the bowl and helped him to sit the rest of the way up.  Robert gave her a grateful smile.

Elspeth smiled back, and the boy's smile widened.   "Let me have a look at your hand while the broth cools a bit."  Her examination was brief but thorough.  "You are making good progress."  She sat in the chair beside him and began feeding him the broth. "You are going to want something more substantial than this very soon, I think."

"Very much so, Mistress!" he replied quickly.  In between spoonfuls of broth, he asked quietly, "Will I be able to use my hand once it heals?"

"I cannot promise you that," Elspeth replied, setting the now empty bowl down and taking his good hand in both of hers.  "But there is a good chance you will, if you are willing to give it time.  Once the bones are healed, you will need to do exercises with the hand to regain as much mobility and strength as you can.  You are young and have a good chance at recovery."  Elspeth was careful not to say complete recovery.  "Try not to spend your time worrying about it," she added.  "Concentrate on getting better, a little bit each day."

"Thank you, Mistress," Robert said fervently.

"You are welcome."  Elspeth released his hand and retrieved the bowl.  "If you need anything, there is a monk here to assist you until I return."  She smiled at him again and took her leave.


After two hours of deep sleep at the boarding house, Elspeth felt better.  After a warm bath and fresh clothes, she felt much better. She gathered her and Amy's wax tablets  and was feeling positively lighthearted as she entered the common room to find Edwin, Bede and Amy seated at the table, a trencher with bread and cheese, mostly eaten, set before them.

"Good morning Mistress/Elspeth," they all said at once.

"We saved you some," Amy said, looking at Bede and Edwin. "It was a close call, though."

"Why am I not surprised?  And none left for Airich when I'm through," Elspeth quipped.  Edwin, would you be willing to write a letter for me, plus make two copies of the talicil formula?  I want to send one copy of the formula with the letter to my stepfather for safekeeping. I need to explain our delay in returning, in general terms without great detail, and make sure he is willing to extend his original agreement with Bede."

"And a letter for me?" Bede quickly asked.

"Certainly," Edwin replied, rising to retrieve his satchel, which was never far out of his sight.

"I will pay you, of course," Elspeth said as Edwin laid out parchment, pen and ink.  "And for Bede's as well, since he is still in my employ.  Whatever the customary rate is will be fine."

"No, no," Edwin replied, shaking his head.  "I could not accept it.  Not after all that you have done for a fellow student."

"Nonsense,"  Elspeth said firmly.  "That would not be right or fair.  And goodness only knows how long Bede's letter will be," she added.

"Not fair!" Bede interjected, and Amy grinned.

((Dice roll for haggling:  Edwin  2d6 2+2=4.  No success for Edwin))

"I absolutely will not take payment!"

((Dice roll for Elspeth for haggling:  1+2=3.  Oops.  Well at least they are evenly matched!))

"And I absolutely insist you must!"  Elspeth was beginning to feel her earlier peace of mind fade.  "Other scribes will not thank you if it becomes known you will work for free!"

"Perhaps you can compromise," Amy said reasonably before either of the two might become angry.  "Edwin can charge half the rate, and you both come away having gained something."

Elspeth might have continued to haggle, but she wanted to get the letter done in time to attend Mass.  Edwin could copy the formula without her.

"Very well, if that is acceptable to you, Edwin," she finally said.

Edwin nodded his agreement.  "I think it is fair enough."  He picked up his pen and straightened the first sheet of parchment on the table.  "Shall we begin?"

Once again this is a joint effort, with thanks to all the gang, especially Laurna and, of course, Katherine for her beautiful Healers' song.

Elspeth finished dictating her letter for Edwin and Edwin gave it a final flourish. Then showed it to her. She was quite pleased to see he wrote with a perfectly stylized hand of fine craftsmanship; and ne'er  an error. Elspeth gladly put her name to the bottom of it.  Then she pointed to the two Talicil tablets which he nodded he would take care of as soon as Bede's letter was complete. With that duty delegated, she turned to Amy who had been curiously watching the entire time.  Elspeth gave her the first smile that Amy had seen that day. "What is the message from the celebrant of mass today?"
"Sorry that I did not hear most of it," Amy admitted with guilt. "but I did catch something about honesty and the lord's love of all men. I wish more people took it to heart."

"Maybe your inner turmoil should have listened better," Elspeth said with a touch to Amy's hand, "You want to go listen to it again with me?"
For a minute Amy was tempted, Airich might still be there. But no, he had asked for privacy, she would let him fight his inner demons and then see how he managed tonight. "No, but let Bede escort you there. I do not think you should be walking the streets alone."

"None of us should," Elspeth agreed.  Soon, Bede was done dictating his letter and then he was escorting her out the door.

With all the letter writing going on, Amy considered sending a letter to her half-sister. What could she really say? That she had discovered something about their family that had not been shared? Why had it been hidden? Speaking of things that were hidden... Could she inquire about the twins and see how they were growing? Three years old, they were.  If only...? No she did not dare. Better to not write that letter and let it be. For now.

"Mistress Amy?" It seemed that this was not the first time that Edwin had called her, but it was the first time that she heard him. "Can you help me with this? There is a word on this tablet spelled this way. And on this tablet it is an entirely different word. Which should I use?"

Amy leaned over the table and looked at both tablets. "Oh dear me, what was I thinking?  Definitely not that word.  Use the one from Elspeth's tablet." She laughed at her own homonym. "I will never be a scribe such as yourself," she said with a hearty laugh.

She sat at the chair next to him watching his lovely calligraphy.  "Being Deryni, and knowing it all your life, do you feel different from others? I mean I didn't know I was, so I didn't know I was different. You see, the second-sight is not that special in the Culdi Highlands."

"I am from Culdi, ye kenned that, aye?" Edwin smiled at her, realizing she was a border lass. "My family did not consider it a privilege to be Deryni. They did not hide it quite the way my great grandparents did, but we certainly do not flaunt the knowledge to our neighbours."

"I don't understand," Amy said. "I thought that only the nobility were Deryni. It seems the only people I ever heard of being Deryni are high nobles. How can there be Deryni families like your own, and apparently mine, that are merchants and common folk? If you have that kind of power that Deryni control, then how can they not use it to their own advantage. I need to know this, so that it does not take advantage of me. What is the secret?" And Why is Airich fighting this battle by himself without his family supporting him? She wanted to scream.

Edwin felt honoured that this lass who had seemed so calm and competent should be asking him for his opinion though he was far from sure that he could answer her.

"I can only speak for my own kin," he began hesitantly, "but I'll make a guess that there are many other folk with similar stories. During the bad years when it was death to be Deryni then I'm thinking that those with more wealth and position, the nobility and gentry, had maybe more ways of escape, could flee abroad or at least send their wealth to safety for when better times came. And when it was safe to do so they could come out into the open, and they are the ones you speak of. But other folk, those that survived, that is, many didn't, went into hiding and tried to forget that they ever had anything that made them different. They lived like everyone else, I guess, just trying to get along as best they could, doing nothing to draw attention to themselves."

He stopped and excused himself "Sorry, I'm rambling. I've never really thought of this before, shall I shut up now?."

To his surprise Amy smiled at him and said, "No, sometimes it's easier to think things out loud. Please, carry on."

"Well, I think it was easier for us border folk, to hide Deryni gifts as Second Sight and be safer that way. My father says that's all that being Deryni is, 'a fancy name for the gifts that the Good Lord gave to border folk', though whether he really believes that or it was what was taught to him I don't know. And maybe some folk, like yours, really did forget who they truly were, and others, like mine, made it of no account. Either way it was a way of keeping safe and keeping your head down. Power and money make enemies, and Deryni don't need those, God knows."

Edwin could not suppress a shudder at the thought of the enemies who were within the very gates of Grecotha and Amy, catching his thought, was silent too for a moment before saying.

"That all makes sense but you haven't answered my other question; how can Deryni stop from using this power, to gain advantage and control over others?"

"Well, many did use their power wrongly," replied Edwin somberly. "My great-grandsire on my father's side was one who fell foul of one of the most evil, Wencit of Torenth. He was killed alongside our good Duke Jared, may God rest all their murdered souls." His face hardened as the often-told horror rose again in his throat with the raw grief unsoftened by the passing of the years. Then he got a grip of himself and said more evenly, "But there are others who see things very differently. Those who believe that their gifts come from God and they will be answerable to him for their use or misuse.

"Have you ever come across the ancient hymn that the old healers used to sing? I had to copy it out once and it stuck in my mind somehow. We came across a fragment of it the other day, Airich and I, and I found the whole thing in the library and copied it out." Edwin looked a bit sheepish, as though caught out in something soft and foolish.

"I'm no healer, God knows, brawling not healing has been more my style, but something in this spoke to me. Maybe it will answer you better than I can, how understanding that our powers are gifts can help protect us from becoming monsters." Edwin reached in his satchel and pulled forth a parchment folded precisely in thirds, tied with a green ribbon like a personal letter. He laid it open on the table and bid her to sit close to him to read it along with him. As he sang the words in a soft flowing voice, Amy sat enchanted reading with him.  And when he got to the"Here am I, Lord" on the second chorus she began to harmonize her voice with his. This was heart reaching and soul fulfilling. The song touched her spirit.

Here am I, Lord: All my talents at Thy feet I lay.
Here am I, Lord: Thou art the One Creator of all things.
Thou art the Omnipartite One 
  who ruleth Light and Shade,
Giver of Life and Gift of Life Thyself.
Here am I, Lord: all my being sealed unto Thy will.
Here am I, Lord: sealed unto Thy service,
   girt with strength to save or slay.
Guide and guard Thy servant,
Lord, from all temptation,
   that honour may be spotless and my gift unstained.

The bells had but recently rang Sext when Bede returned with Muirea following closely. Amy, her head still ringing with the healing hymn that she had sung with Edwin, could not help but think they were up to something or looked like they could be at a moment's notice. Yet despite their frequent and strange association, she was fond of the woman. They had much in common, even beyond their means of earning their keep. She even hoped that the lass would approach her table in the common area so they might reconnect, but instead, she walked to a solitary table in the corner and Bede gently pulled out a chair for her. With a heavy nod shaded by Muirea's dark red locks, he was the one to begin a lead-footed approach toward Amy's table.

"Mistress Amy," he doffed his cap slowly. "May I sit?"

"You may." She subtly gestured towards the newcomer. "What brings her here?"

"Respectfully, I dinna think you'd believe me if I told you."

Understanding crept over her, and she gave her laconic riposte. "Not yet."

With a wincing sigh, he began to tell her the truth. He could see that Amy was more attentive and accepting as she heard the real story.  "I must have struck you as odd when we first met, but tell me, would you have trusted a painted fool accused of murder? Because that night in The Broken Mast, that is what I truly was."

He's not lying? "If he could explain himself."

He blinked stupidly, no longer used to the sight of understanding in unfamiliar faces, before he found himself and continued.

She asked questions as she needed to. "It rang true when you said a Torenthi Deryni killed your father. Sort of."

"I blame Valerian for exploiting the grievances of Talacara, my home. Along with the trust of our fair Sidana. He's why my father, Ulrich Archer, did not survive the war, and I know Valerian was Deryni, at least."

"But you're working with us to save Deryni? Would you do that even if there was no pardon for your crimes?"

"It sweetens the deal, aye, but I owe the Deryni a care or two." She understood that was not much of an answer. But he held no general grudge. Far from it.

She motioned him to continue but stopped him again shortly after. "A 'loyalist for the Haldanes'," she repeated skeptically.

"A complicated topic. We Archers of Talacara proudly marched alongside Kelson as part of the Haldane Archer Corps in the first repression of Loris, Warin de Grey, and their Coroth upstarts." He snarled like something was putrid. "To think they would treat their own duke with such disdain. Disgrace. Then we were there for the dash to the land by Cardosa, witnessing all of the horrors there, and Kelson's mercy for the Torenthi who glutted themselves on the murder of his allies. He got a crown, and we got blisters in our boots. Years later, Talacara Archers were torn between the corps and Prince Ithel's demands. When it was done and our fathers were offered the chance of renewed oaths, we could only remember those in our family who had ill luck in the decimation, so even the loyal ones quit to the homeland, the "protectorate," and that ended our service to higher causes than our necks. So when Sidana sang her song of independence and glory, what did we care who was pulling the strings? How shortsighted we were. It seems no matter who we fight for, we have a habit of witnessing the ruthlessness of mighty men when we are not meting it out ourselves."

"We'll have to agree to disagree on the viciousness of the king," she said. "Prince Ithel was no saint. In my hometown, he was a defiler of our nunnery." She paused as his face changed suddenly, his eyes widening in bewildered shock and his sunned face turning back to white. Then she continued. "King Kelson's justice was ruthless back then, so even my father has said, but not without cause. I thought the king had been merciful to the Mearans after. Even your young Sidana, the king has let live, though the rumors run high about just where she is now."

He furrowed his brow, considering arguing what is worth fighting for with this politically astute lass. Then he shook his head. "I dinna need you to take up the banner of the dancing bear. I just need you to know who I am, where I'm from, and where I've been."

"I can appreciate better now who you are than I could before. So, can I bet that you have never been farther into Torenth than the bordering mountains, have you?" she wagered. When he smiled, she felt satisfied with his confession. She gestured toward Muirea in the corner. "Your home is Talacara, just as is her home?"

"I have known Muirea since I was a child," Bede admitted truthfully.

"Now I understand how much she means to you." Before he could cause a reaction in her senses by splitting hairs and reminding her who gave him his earring, she continued, "Could you ask her over, please? I like her company myself, and we could use some more capable help in this work."

Bede stood, stepped over to Muirea, and whispered in her ear. Then his hand was helping her rise and he was pulling out a chair for her to sit across from Amy. Amy did not have to ask about any friendship between the two Talacarans, it was plain to see. "Mistress Muirea, I don't think you saw me more than a patron, the other day at the tavern. That was my fault for overstepping my position as Mistress Elspeth's helper. We are no longer just travelers and circumstances are getting more serious. Yet can I ask you one thing before we go further? Have you read this flier?" She pulled out the one that Bede had found in the streets. "How do you feel about Deryni? I imagine there were not too many Deryni in Talacara?"

"Why would you imagine that?" Muirea chuckled, reading the flyer as she went. "We have our share of strange folks, but you do have more, yeah. If I ever knew one, they never gave me reason to mistrust them." Bede nodded, agreeing with her assessment of the candidates for Deryni back home and here. She handed Amy back the flyer, just stopping herself from crumpling it and stomping it. "This is sordid, miss."

"I too have a confession," Amy said with a very open expression. "It seems I am Deryni. I hope that does not frighten you.  But I assure you I am really nothing more than a tavern wench, just as you are. I have worked as both a housemaid and a barmaid for several years."

"Bede says you are now working at the Drunkin Parchment.  Edwin told us that is where the most prominent students drink during any hour not occupied by study. Do you think you could help me get a job there too? I know something about service and how no one thinks twice about talking around barmaids. The two of us could protect each other and with luck, we might learn a thing or two about who supports these people"--she pointed to the flier– "and who does not."

"Yeah," Muirea said readily, the gears already turning behind her cunning eyes, and her face turning in greater respect for her fellow professional. "My thoughts exactly." She had come not only to support Bede, but to get involved herself.

Elspeth returned to the boarding house with Canon Damian as her escort a little later in the day.  She and the canon had been in the infirmary to visit Robert,  talking with and examining the boy. Both she and the Canon were pleased with the student's positive demeanor and improved health, and Canon Damian officially turned the boy's recuperation over to the monks who normally ran the infirmary.

No sooner had the canon departed the common room to return to his Sunday duties, than Amy pounced upon Elspeth. "Speth, tell me, where is Sir Airich? Did you see him still within the Cathedral? Why did he not escort you back?" 

Amy's mentor saw her friend's tension and wondered if she had missed something important while caring for Robert. "I saw him in a side chapel praying; he seemed at peace. I decided it was best not to disturb him. Is there some reason to be concerned, something that I am unaware of?"

"No! No!" Amy exclaimed far too hastily. "I, I  just....  Never-mind." Amy was suddenly very exasperated with herself. "If he returns before we do, please tell him.... No, just make sure he has dinner to eat. Please, for me!"

"Of course... But where are you going?"

"Oh, well you see, I decided we might need a little more money, and Muirea said she could get me a job working at that student pub a few streets away. It seemed like the perfect solution. We would be working together. Watching each other's backs and Bede could escort us back and forth. And if I learn a little something about all the troubles here at the university then all the better to help out in our investigations. Don't you think that is a great idea?"

The look on Elspeth's face showed that she thought a score of things but not that. But she dared not say this to Amy. Instead she nodded without saying a thing, then within a minute later she had cornered  Bede and was giving him explicit orders that he was in charge of both girls' well-being and she would tan his hide if anything happened. He seemed to take her threats very seriously.

"The pub is not open very late on Sunday's, only long enough for students to get an evening meal.  If Amy gets the position, then I promise we will be back in time to say good night to everyone. If she doesn't get it then we will be back sooner." Bede vowed.

"I will be sitting up, waiting," was Elspeth's solemn reply.

After a full day of fasting, prayer, and meditation, Airich felt that he might have finally regained the balance he needed to function properly. He'd spent hours in the cathedral, praying silently, listening to Mass, watching the other congregants partake of Holy Communion. It sometimes surprised him that the Lord did not strike him dead for daring to set foot in any church or cathedral, but it seemed proof that God still held out some hope for sinners that He let them enter His house and seek salvation, or damn themselves with their own pride.

Airich didn't think he was damned. At least, he hoped he wasn't damned. Of course, if he were to die suddenly, three years worth of unshriven sins would quite easily drag his soul down to the bottom-most pits of eternal darkness.

With evenfall, he'd returned to his room at the boarding house and supped upon a small bowl of soup, then continued his meditations and prayer. He knelt before the cross of his sword, as he'd done while keeping vigil to receive his spurs—hands on quillons and head resting against the pommel—and pushed through the aching of his head, sorting through the thoughts and images within his mind.

Last night had nearly done him in. Between those ghastly dreams and that terrifying loss of self, he'd almost given up hope of finding his way back to reality. But Amy had brought him back from the brink of madness. Amy had given him back his name and bestowed upon him a solid anchor to cling to. She'd aroused desires of the flesh to shine a beacon into the darkness and help him find his physical self once more.

Not unlike what she'd done for Washburn Morgan when she'd brought him back from the brink of death some years ago.

Airich let loose a slight chuckle. It wasn't a conscious effort on her part to keep her patients happy—he'd discovered that much for himself during their rapport yesterday. It was her empathy that let her feel the pain of those around her, and her compassion that gave her a need to soothe that pain, and if soothing required the use of her lovely young body, then so be it, that's what she would do.

Airich wasn't one to complain. It had been pleasant and it had done the job she'd needed it to. Just like when Robert got an eyeful of her curves while she fed him soup.

Malleable, indeed.

It was well that Amy had stopped them from taking their kiss to its logical conclusion. She had spent years worrying about Wash, a nameless figure from her past. Airich did not want to replace Wash as the man she would worry herself sick over for the next four years.

Of course, when it came to matters of love, no man in his right mind would want to try to replace Wash Morgan. That would be asking for a bruised ego for the man and massive disappointment for the woman. Or so the ladies in Rhemuth would have one believe.

Where had Wash gotten off to, anyway? It felt to Airich as if he'd been on the road for many months looking for the man instead of only half of the summer. Coroth, Rhemuth, Morgan Manor... Wash had been at none of the places Airich knew to look. It hadn't been a totally wasted excursion, though: he'd had an excellent visit with his good friend Kenric Morgan, Wash's nephew. And Kelsonie, Kenric's twin sister. Ah, Kelsonie, would that you were a little less noble than a King's granddaughter or I were a little more noble than an earl's youngest.

But it had been at the schola in Rhemuth where he'd stumbled upon a bit of information when he'd been looking through the library. It had implied that certain abilities—the existence of which was only whispered of in the back carrols of the schola library—could actually be learned, rather than inherited. And if Airich could discover the secret of ridding himself of his own Deryni blood, then he wouldn't need to bother one of the few healers in the entirety of the Eleven Kingdoms to find out what he knew about it.

Which was how he'd then found himself in Grecotha, following up on that research. And having precious little luck. And now he was sidetracked by those blasted Willimites. They weren't happy enough causing trouble in the south, no, they had to spread their ugliness here as well.

But that incident last night had reminded him that, Willimites notwithstanding, he had matters that required his attention. Airich didn't want to see anyone else beaten to death... or hanged... or burned... but he wouldn't be of use to anyone if he were lost in that nebulous place between memories and dreams. He had to get back to his quest.

Airich yawned and lowered himself to sit on his feet. His knees were sore. He rested his sword hilt upon his shoulder and considered whether he'd been kneeling long enough. Much longer and he'd be too tired to pick himself up off the floor.

He wondered if he would be able to talk Amy into returning with him to Rhemuth, where she could be tested for the Healing gift at the schola. Her sense of empathy was so strong, it might be a natural release for a healer unaware of her Deryni gifts. And finding another healer would be an asset to the kingdom, as well as raising Amy's status beyond that of a mere barmaid. Or physicker's assistant. Or daughter of a mayor. Her options in life would become much improved.

It had been a deep and satisfying rapport yesterday, he reflected. To be honest, *bad* rapport was rare: once you saw that far into a person, it was easy to accept the faults and sins along with the good. Amy had very little by way of bad, and a great amount of good. And that imagery with the fishes and the sea lion... . He smiled. He hadn't expected her to take him so literally when he'd suggested she try swimming through his mind. But the procedure had been successful, and Elspeth had seemed satisfied with the progress she saw in Robert's hand. And Airich had gotten the opportunity to share minds with a beautiful person, inside as well as out.

It was a shame he'd never get the chance to do it again.

Dammit, even thinking about such a deep rapport was beginning to throw off his mental alignment. He needed to focus, to balance, to continue sorting and packing away the thoughts and memories that grew heavier each time he used his Deryni abilities. Memories he had no business possessing. Memories he would do anything to get rid of, including sacrificing his own Deryni gifts.

His Shields were up now, and locked tight. Nothing would get out, and—more importantly—nothing could get in. No other minds to confuse him and upset the delicate balance between himself and his not-self.

If no one needed him tomorrow, he should probably repeat today's activities: meditation, prayer, fasting. He yawned, his brain growing foggy for more typically mundane reasons.

And sleep, he couldn't forget good sleep, that was often helpful for a head that ached. He needed to get to bed. Morgan would want to leave by sunup, and would not accept a hangover as an excuse for not having the horses ready.

It was before dawn, Amy snuck out of Elspeth's and her room to use the garderobe. She had worked later than she thought for a Sunday night. It seemed the students did not abide by Sundays and less entertaining drinking than she thought that they ought. She supposed it was because the university classes were not running Monday morning as they would be in another week. She just realized  that flier had claimed a burning of a Deryni would be held on the first days of the opening of the curriculum. What a horrible way to start the term. Neither she nor Muirea had learned anything last night. But then she had been busy learning the new ways of working the pub.  Quite a different clientele from the Broken Mast, much younger and much louder. She would have to temper her caustic remarks to the younger boys' lewd advances. They were not like the seaman she was used to dealing with.

A few steps out of the garderobe and she looked down the long hall. Airich's door was at the far end. Did she dare look to see how he was doing?  Elspeth had only said she had given him a bowl to eat, he had taken it to his room, and no one saw him again before everyone else went to sleep. Sneaking was a talent she had learned at a young age and she was proud that she had not yet lost her touch. ((Amy uses sneaky to go to Airich's room 3d6 5 + 5 + 3 success)) Down the hall, quiet as a fish swimming up stream. She giggled at the idea of it, then looked around suspicious that someone would have heard her giggle. So far, she was good.

She pulled the string to pull up the inner latch of his room door.  She was going to have to remind him that he was supposed to pull the string inside to keep someone from sneaking in like this. He was on his bed sleeping restlessly, she tried opening her mind to him, but she could feel nothing: no dreams, no emotions.  She was learning about shields and his was firm as stone. His sword was on the floor at the edge of his bed and he was still fully dressed. She was terrified to wake him. But she was afraid to leave him in this state of dreaming, for his eyes under his lids were moving in quick repeats.

Near his head she leaned down, not daring to touch him. She only whispered  "Sir Airich,  Airich O'Flynn, turn your dreams to pleasant days; flowers on the hills of your homeland. Sir Airich, be yourself and turn your dreams to warm nights before the hearth with your siblings." 

She sat back and waited to see if he would awake. But he did not.  But after a moment his eyes under his lids stopped moving and his breathing seemed to settle.

Satisfied, she snuck out of his room, and back down half the hallway and into her own room with Elspeth. If Elspeth had awakened and noticed her, she did not seem to show it. Amy slipped back into her cot and fell asleep praying the poor knight would start feeling better. ((Amy uses sneaking to get back into her own room unseen. 3d6 2 + 3 + 6 success))

A spark becomes a flame and then an engulfing inferno as it quickly heats up. It begins as a cry of mercy, it turns to a scream of agony and alarm both vocal and psychic before silence falls.

The light of the fire and the screams of agony and alarm awaken the city's fire brigade. They rush to put out the flames before any embers can threaten the city itself.

Fortunately no buildings will be lost to the flames as they are isolated to patch of ground commonly used for an outdoor temporary market place.

But in the dead of night a stake was raised and soaked with oil and a briar built around it. In what would have been the summer market place.

A man has lost his life. His burned and contorted body is not fully consumed by the flames as the crowd starts to gather in the time when it is the blackest, just before the dawn.

The city watch is calling for order as the flames are extinguished. Everyone is being kept away. The smell of smoke and oil is everywhere. Along with it the chocking smell of burned flesh.

A sight and smell no one should have to witness, causing many to cross themselves at the horror of the sight before them.

Amy screamed when the voice in her head screamed in agony.

After climbing in bed she had slept with her shields partially open, wanting to get a response, any response, from Airich. But what she was open to, now made her bolt out of bed and fall to her knees on the floor. Elspeth was up and kneeling beside her, looking at anguish marching across her friend's face.

"What's happened?"

"I'm not sure; Fire, it's horrid,"  Amy managed to say.

Both women bundled up with their bed blankets around their shoulders and were about to go out into the hall, when Bede and Edwin burst into their room.

"I heard you scream," Bede called.

"I heard what you heard," Edwin said, his own face stricken as he saw that Amy had experienced it too.

All four looked at each other.  "Airich?!" Someone called, and all four pounded down the hall and burst into the knight's room. 

Airich started awake at the noise of four persons bursting into his room. He relaxed when he saw who it was and rubbed his forehead. "What's a man got to do to get some uninterrupted sl—"

"Didn't you hear it?" Amy asked. The shaking in her voice told Airich enough.

He bounded out of bed and was across the room in two strides. He gently held Amy by the shoulders, "What did you hear?"

"How did you not hear it?" Edwin asked, and his voice sounded just as unnerved as Amy's.

"Elspeth, Bede, did you hear anything?"

"Just that unnatural howl from Edwin," Bede said.

"I didn't hear what Amy heard," Elspeth admitted.

It was a psychic cry, then, only heard by Deryni. And Airich, with his Shield closed tight, had heard nothing. He grasped Edwin's forearm and reluctantly dropped his Shields just enough to communicate with the two of them. Can you share it with me? he asked Edwin and Amy.

Amy tried to dampen her link with Airich, terrified that this would add to his nightmares, but how do you dampen physic terror? Edwin had no reason to down-play this mental agony of a man succumbing to a violent death. One could only allow that it was strong and abruptly ending.

Even expecting it, the intensity of the scream came as a shock. Airich flinched and shuddered, fighting the urge to gag. Dear God, is that what it's like to die in a fire? And he was only getting the impression second-hand: Amy and Edwin had just gotten hit with this full strength.

Grateful that he'd been sleeping in his clothes, Airich shrugged on his mail shirt and buckled on his sword belt. "I'm going to scout around. You stay, please. This could be a trap to draw out other Deryni." He was out the door before anyone could argue, bumping into Muirea, who'd been awakened by the noise.

"Stay with the others," he called back to her as he took the stairs three at a time.

"What's going on, why is everyone in—" Muirea began but found herself in the way of Amy, who was trying to follow Airich.

"Airich, stop!" Amy yelled, but he was already out the front door.

Elspeth grabbed Bede's bare shoulder. At least the archer had managed pants and a belt. "Follow him, keep him out of trouble. I am counting on you Bede." Bede stopped only long enough to grab his boots and a shirt but not shove them on. And then he was racing down the stairwell after the knight. Elspeth took Muirea and Amy in both of her hands and then looked straight at Edwin.

"Now tell me exactly what has happened."

[Brief introduction from Laurna and then without further ado...]

It took little effort to figure out in which direction to find the source of the scream. The smell of burnt flesh mingled with wood and oil. It came from the approximate direction of the cathedral. Running up the street, Bede chased after the knight, he detected the faintest glow from a side street up again. Airich stopped halfway there to let Bede catch up to him. "Looks to be in the Market square," he said before moving forward once more. Bede attempted to pull on his second boot before jumping into the unknown. Airich didn't seem to notice Bede's delay, causing the archer to curse a good round of words as he jammed his toes into his boot and then raced forward to be at Sir Airich's side.

Together they passed by Cathedral Square and rounded the corner into the market square, a large empty spot in the center of the city.

"Lord Almighty!" Airich exclaimed. Bede's interjection was more colorful. A roaring bonfire raged in the otherwise empty Market square. Flames leapt up around a center pole, the lower portion of a man's body was engulfed in those flames. A pair of guardsmen were using long poles to break the briar apart. They managed to tug a few boughs and branches away from the main mass, but it looked like a futile attempt. Airich ran forward, shoved his sword into the lower bunch of woodland debris, and hefted it out.  The burning wood loosely piled fell toward him. Bede grabbed the knight back, yelling "The sword is too short, put it away, use this!" and shoved another long pole into his hand. Bede had grabbed another pole from the stack of tent pieces that would make up a seller's stall in the morning. Both men worked on their side of the pyre shoving burning bits away as fast as they dared. The city bells were now ringing and soon more men were coming to help.

To Bede, the flames seemed like Satan laughing at them from below, chortling with an ill-gotten meal on a wooden tongue. And they were hot. He took a moment to wipe his brow before gripping his pole with renewed determination. As he and Airich stabbed at the briar logs like farmers pitching straw, the crudely formed, glowing pieces spun overhead like leaves in a dust devil, yet they fell like stones. While they were careful, they were not artisans in this terrible and strange circumstance, able to predict the fall of the logs, but they could react accordingly. ((Vigilance to intervene 3d6 3 + 6 + 3 = Success.)) Bede saw the hell-logs seemingly converging on him and the knight, and so with no warning but a shout of "Ho!" he turned the shaft of his pole on the knight while he moved, guiding them away from the flagstones where glowing splinters exploded, singeing their clothes. Airich said no thank yous, not out of ingratitude, but focused on immediately returning the favor. He twitched his head, and then Bede was pleasantly surprised to notice the smokey heat that came over their heads in the moment he took to breathe was cast aside at their feet, again leaving them singed but unharmed.((Telekinesis to keep a log from falling on Airich. Normal. 2, 6 = Success.)) Then they dove back into the work until it was soon completed, and the fire put out by locals the captain of the guard had commanded to return with buckets of water.

They leaned on their poles for support in the immediate aftermath, sucking in what air the fire did not consume. Airich pulled Bede close suddenly and told him, "I need your help. He may be dead, but there are still things a Deryni can learn if he's quick enough, like ..."

"Like smoke," Bede nodded.

"Or lines in the sand before they're swept to nothing," Airich decided. He would rather not be reminded any more of the smoke than he had to be. He slapped Bede's back, goading him towards the stake. "Bring him to me, please, and let us see what we can do for him still. Let me worry about the guards."

((Bede Sneaks up to the body 3d6: 3 + 3 + 2))Thus emboldened, Bede staggered up to the body, climbing with difficulty over the embers. He was quickly noticed, but true to his word, Sir Airich interceded before Captain Phineas and his men could stop the vagabond guard, flashing his warrant and assuring them that Bede had one just like it. At any rate, Bede reached the stake, where he got a good look at the charred husk. ((Bede tries Perception on the body: 2d6 1 + 6))

The hair had been the first to go, followed by the clothes he wore. Residual scraps of the leathers the man had worn had fused into the flesh. Although Bede was not sure he was looking at a man at all. All he knew was that beneath the fatally severe burns was evidence of earlier torments. The legs were broken at the ankles, the skull fractured mushily, and the arms seemed to have been the last to be broken, seemingly snapped by the very bindings Bede was cutting with Edwin's parchment knife. All other considerations aside, the body was surprisingly light in his hands as he carried it over to Airich wordlessly. All he could think about was how it reminded him of the war, and unpleasantly so.

Written with a nice contribution from Revanne.

"Dear God in Heaven!" Elspeth exclaimed and crossed herself as Edwin and Amy finished telling of their shared experience. She had dealt with women screaming in agony during childbirth, and that moment of horrible silence when it all went wrong.  But she could not fathom the agony of death in the flames, and again, the abrupt silence when life ended that Edwin and Amy had described to her.  It shook her to the core of her soul.

"Elspeth, we must do something to help Airich!" Amy cried urgently.

"And Bede!" Muirea added sharply.

Elspeth chose her words carefully, knowing they would not satisfy the two women facing her. 

"If we go charging after them, when we find them we will either get in their way, or divert their attention from what needs to be done."  She had been right; neither Amy or Muirea liked what she was saying.  "We could put them in danger they might otherwise avoid without our presence there.  And," Elspeth added gently, "we could be putting ourselves in danger.  Neither Airich or Bede would thank us for that."

"We can't just do nothing!" Amy looked at Edwin in desperation.

Edwin took a deep breath.  He was afraid to make this suggestion, but he would not slip back into the specter of cowardice by not making it. 

"I can follow them, but keep  a discreet distance away.  I'll watch for anyone who may show a keen  interest in what Airich and Bede are doing.  Or anyone who views what happened with satisfaction, or shows no emotion at all."  Edwin looked hopefully at Elspeth.

"You could be putting yourself in danger, and what I said previously still applies." Elspeth did not look willing to bend.

"Look at it this way," Edwin said urgently.  "I'm known as a student here, and it would be normal for me to be there to see what has happened.  I'm not known as a Deryni here; I'm just a border lad who gets into the occasional brawl in a student tavern.  Trust me, there is nothing noteworthy about that!"

"We're wasting time, Speth," Amy said, taking hold of the older woman's arm.  "If Edwin gets into any difficulty, he will be able to contact me."

"Not by normal means, I assume," Elspeth said dryly.  "But you are right; we are wasting time." 

She turned to Edwin.  "Go and be careful.  Keep Amy informed.  If you come to any harm, it will be me that takes you to task. 

"If anything would convince me to be careful, Mistress, it's exactly that!  Lock the door behind me."  Elspeth watched Amy and Edwin grasp hands for just a second, both with eyes looking into the other's. They must have formed some connection.

After they dropped hands Edwin stood hesitantly for a second then began to fumble with the ties of his cotte. Both Amy and Elspeth stared at him with amazement which quickly turned to irritation. "What on earth are you doing? Which bit of there's no time to waste don't you understand?"

Elspeth spoke for both women, and the sharpness in her tone was enough to bring Edwin up short. He coloured and stopped what he was doing before stammering, "I was going to take Airich's shirt off in case it got damaged but I'm being stupid aren't I? It's there so I don't get damaged." The reply to that was so obvious that none was needed.

Gathering his wits Edwin tried to think straight, he was still more shaken than he would ever have admitted by the horror of that scream. He had said that he was just going to watch but even that might be far more dangerous than he had argued. He felt for the archer's knife at his belt; it was in place. Good. He remembered that Airich had his sword, but Bede had run out of the room barely dressed let alone armed. Glancing around he saw the archer's bow and arrows propped in the corner of the walls and rather gingerly he picked it up, hoping that Bede would take this as sense and not presumption.

Then Edwin dashed out of the door before Elspeth could change her mind, pausing long enough to make sure that the door was indeed locked behind him and the women had pulled the latch string safely within the room.

Airich accepted the brutalized body from Bede and moved out from the center of the square. He didn't have his cloak and his tunic was underneath his armor, so he laid out the man's body as gently as he could on the flagstones. They wouldn't be in the way, here.

A loud crack sounded from the center, and a section of the wood pile fell in on itself, kicking up a massive array of sparks and embers, starting up part of the fire again. Enough people had gathered into the square now that Airich didn't feel the need to assist. He had other things on his mind now. And he didn't have much time to act.

Despite the darkness and the new activity from the fire, a few people had followed Bede and Airich and now milled about, looking at the body and exclaiming in horror. One man, who seemed more level-headed than the others, knelt beside Airich. "Is he a friend, my lord? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Airich paused only a moment before replying. "He is." He laid his hand on the man's chest, gruesome though it might be. We're kin, you and I. They killed you because of the blood we share. He looked at the man next to him. "Can you fetch a priest and bring him here? There must be one among those gathering, or will be soon."

"With a will, m'lord," and he was away.

"Bede," Airich said. He pulled his sword and handed it to the archer, hilt first. "You've got my back?"

"Anything you need." Bede took the weapon, handling as if he actually knew what he was doing.

"Thanks. Keep the onlookers away, if you can."

Airich forced himself to look at the dead man, at his charred skin and the anguished expression. He could list for himself numerous reasons why a Death Reading was a bad idea. For one thing, he'd never used this spell before. Oh, he knew how to do it well enough. But memories were a tricky business: one mis-step and... Well, there would simply have to be no mis-steps.

The Willimites might, even now, be watching for someone like him to do a Reading on this man, so they could pick out their next victim of the stake. And Airich knew there were Deryni within their midst, Deryni who'd forsworn their "evil ways," but might yet lay some sort of psychic trap on a dead man, and Airich would walk right into it.

It was also quite possible that the man had been drugged with Merasha or worse. Such drugs were not readily available, but the fingers of the Willimites stretched far and certain chapters of the cult were known to have many resources.

Airich gritted his teeth. If Merasha was in this man's body, he would discover it the moment he dropped his Shields, for the merasha would muddle his thoughts instantly. He would then have to waste a great deal of power to wrench himself away from contact with the body, and then take the time to control his own reactions. He honestly didn't know if he dared to afford such a waste of time and effort.

But—and this fact made these risks seem worthwhile—unlike those who'd beaten Alfie to death, those who'd killed this man had deliberately planned murder. They may not have hidden their faces and identities. And they were unlikely to be lackeys: these men would be leaders, fanatically dedicated to their cause.

He desperately hoped that this was what he might find. He found it nigh unbearable that this man should have died in vain.

Airich settled on his knees—bruised and protesting from yesterday's kneeling—and folded his hands over the dead man's chest. Bede should be able to pick up on the nature of what Airich was doing and intercede when the priest arrived or if anyone else tried talking to him.

Adopting an attitude of prayer for the sake of anyone watching, he reached out, reached deep, searching into the farthest recesses of the dead man's fading presence¹. He was rewarded by the feeling of a tiny, nearly indistinguishable pop within the man's head, followed a few seconds later by another. Good, he wasn't too late. Airich settled into the darkness and followed the pops down, further into the space of nothingness.

The tendrils of memories floated intangibly as smoke, wispy and incoherent. Threads drifted by, broken and torn, nothing to hold onto. Until... there. Airich felt it, a more substantial thread not yet burnt at either end. When he followed the thread, he came out into glorious spring morning...

The sun shines as Lucas Whittington, known as 'Leopold The Great,' leaves Nyford behind him forever. These Brothers of Saint Willim, as they style themselves, have grown bold, and Lucas wants no part of that, so he travels north. The farther the better, as far as he's concerned. And he's heard good things about summer in Grecotha....

..."feats of amazing dexterity," the barker calls out, and Leopold the Great uses his right foot to fling another dagger into the group of sharp cutlery he juggles. He uses his powers to help keep the blades aloft and stop the weapons from cutting him, and so he is able to throw them higher than any juggling act this audience has seen, and his complex patterns stun them. He finishes his act with a flourish and a bow, and his audience responds with applause and a pelting of coins at his feet....

...possibly a little bit too much to drink, but he's still able to continue the act. Not a cut on him. That cleaver hangs in the air a little bit too long, though, and the crowd seems uneasy. "Deryni magic, Lords and Ladies, just a small sample of Deryni magic!" They laugh and applaud and believe it to be a new part of the act. Those two men in the back didn't look particularly amused, though....

...the door breaks down and bodies burst through, one after another. They drag him from his narrow pallet and set on him with clubs and fists and boots. Voices in the hall, "go back to bed," "wanted criminal," "you'll get the same." Lucas is unarmed but if he can summon that cleaver, he might be able to... a heavy club connects against his forearm and he will never juggle again. Another club to the side of the head and the darkness takes him, even as they continue beating on him....

...he comes to as something cold and wet is sloshed over him, and he is outside in the dark on the cobbled street. The pain in all parts of his body cries out that they didn't entirely stop their beating just because he couldn't feel it. He is parched and licks some of the water they threw over him, but retches as he discovers it isn't water but oil. He can scarce understand why they would douse him in oil, but that quickly becomes a secondary concern as they lift him by the arms and force him down the street. He cannot stay conscious for more than a few seconds at a time as they push him on and finally resort to dragging him....

...They drag him until they reach a pile of brambles, and there they release his arms and he falls. Hundreds of needle-sharp daggers scratch his face and hands, and he hears the laughter behind him. They pick him up again and propel him forward, through a path in the briar. A chunk of thorn is caught in his hair over his brow. They come to piles of wood upon the ground and more briars and just beyond stands an upright stake and the true purpose of the oil has suddenly become far too clear....

...He begs now, where before he could only moan. Begs for his life, begs for a less horrific death, begs for a priest. More laughter follows, and curses spat at him. Through the pain he suddenly finds the strength to fight for his freedom, but it is too little and too late. They tie his wrists around the stake behind him and he prays for the pain from his broken forearm to take him to unconsciousness, but it is not to be. They wrap thick, hard rope around him and the stake, rope that won't burn quickly but will hold his body upright long after he has breathed his last....

...Mother of God, please! he begs them, and they respond by throwing more oil on him and on the surrounding wood. "Consider this a taste of the hell you will spend eternity in," one says, his voice low and distinct. Lucas tries to pray, surely a loving God will not refuse him heaven, for he has done no serious wrong, Our Father, Our Father, oh what are the words, Our Father Who art in Heaven...

The spark, then the flame, and the oil ignites and burns quickly and suddenly he is engulfed and the heat and the pain are more than he can bear and yet he has no choice and he has no breath to scream and the flame MOTHER MARY THE FLAME MAKE IT STOP and it doesn't stop but eventually he has no air to breathe and oblivion claims him sweet oblivion into thy hands o lord...

Airich gasped, a sudden intake of breath as his body realized it had stopped breathing with Lucas. He shuddered, trying to come to grips with the pain and terror of that hateful murder. It had felt so real, the dying. Even now, he could feel the sheer horror of what was to come, the pain of the beating, the intense heat that came with the flames licking body...

"...and if you can ever make it to rustic Gwernach, you would see that the shoe kicks just as sharply on the other foot. Isn't that right, m'lord?" Bede nudged Airich hard and Airich jumped, suddenly aware of his surroundings. A priest standing near Lucas' head was staring at him, as well as two other men close by.

"As you can see, Father, he's too distraught by his friend's murder," Bede continued, then turned back to Airich. "Can you tell the good father his name, m'lord?"

"Oh. Aye." Airich still struggled to get his breath back. "His name is Lucas Whittington. He came from Nyford."

The priest continued with Lucas' last rites. Airich whispered, "He preferred 'Leopold the Great,'" but the priest did not hear.

---

¹What the hey, let's do this thing: Death Reading, Normal 2d6: 1, 6 Success

[This is all Revanne's work. Unfortunately, she is preoccupied, but she asked one of us to post it for her. Hope you enjoy it!]

As soon as he stepped outside the house Edwin's senses were assaulted. From the direction of the Cathedral and the Market Square which lay beyond there was the sound of raised voices, shouting, baying and laughing - laughing at what for God's sake!  As he drew closer his stomach heaved at the smell of burnt flesh, a smell which in the circumstances of a hog roast would have been appetising, a thought which only served to make it a real struggle to stop his guts from emptying themselves. He stopped for a moment to steady himself, and his hand reached to the embroidery on Airich's shirt, a reminder of goodness and prayer before he turned to face the evil that inhabited the square.

The scene that awaited him was even more chaotic than he had expected. As far as he could tell in the half-darkness, lit only by the remains of the still smouldering fire, the torches of the watch and the last silvery glow of the setting moon, there appeared to be several different groups of people yelling and gesticulating at the fire and at each other. He tried to see if he could recognise any of them but it was impossible (perception 3+3) and he did not dare to approach any of them too closely (sneaky 3+1). The watch seemed distracted between tearing apart what remained of the burning brushwood and ensuring that the tension between the different groups did not escalate into rioting.

As his eyes became adjusted to the gloom he saw a small group of people gathered near to the fire, who seemed to be the main focus of the commotion. There was a man in priest's robes stooping over what looked like a heap of singed rags, and two others who he recognised as his companions. He considered trying to get to them (sneaky 2+4) but as he began to edge in their direction a voice rang out "So will all Deryni be purified in flame."

Edwin, Airich, Bede and the rest of the market's agitated inhabitants were shifted on the inside, in one direction or another, by that diabolical declaration, and they were joined by one present only in mind, not body: Amy. Like the men of the group, she did not like what she heard through Edwin's ears. The crowds were more divided: some outraged like her, others approvingly quietly or loudly now.  As the words were first uttered, Edwin looked around in bewilderment, not seeing what she saw.((Amy looking through Edwin's eyes. can she tell a bad guy 2d6 5 + 2)) A proud, portly man in poorly matched but well-fitted and common clothes had bellowed the words before thinking to fade back into the crowd, covered by approving arms like palm fronds. Did you see that? she asked Edwin from afar, her voice like a thought not his own.

I saw nothing, Edwin answered truthfully with his own thought as he shifted the weight of the weapons in his arms and closed the distance between himself, Airich and Bede. The archer could not believe what he was becoming, to have left his bow behind at a time like this, but he simply shook Edwin's hand in gratitude as he slung it and his arrows in their proper places. Leaning closer, he whispered a simple plan, for like Amy, he too had seen the agitator and had marked him well.((Bede Perceives the Taunter 2d6 6 + 1)) Edwin did not like it overmuch, but his condition was simple: "Promise not to shoot him."

"Only if I have to," Bede nodded ambiguously, and they set off, leaving Airich shifting his sheathed sword for better balance while glaring at the mob. Let a single member of this mob attempt to get through to Leopold's body and they would discover how quickly it could go from sheathed in its scabbard to sheathed in someone's innards.

((Bede Sneaks up on the Taunter 3d6 3 + 2 + 1 & Rolled for Edwin for sneaky 2d6 3+1)) They split up and mingled their way through the crowd, Bede guided by his instincts, and Edwin by the guidance of an unseen woman. While both of these methods were enough to get them in reach of their target, neither could keep the man from seeing them. That they looked little stranger and no more authoritative than any other at a glance worked to their advantage; their upset expressions did not. For a moment all froze, unsure of the other's intentions.

Meanwhile, more of the watch had relieved Airich of his vigil. He subtly banished his fatigue, ((Airich does Fatigue Banishing at Disadvantage (since he's already super tired (but not Exhausted) 1d6 6)) and successfully petitioned Captain Phineas to be ready to intervene to save his new friends. Warily, they watched.

Then Edwin remembered that he was a student first and foremost. Surely, an intellectual greater than any rabble. He crossed his arms, leaned back on his heels, and spoke, "So, you can tell the future, man? Are some yet unknown number of our neighbors to be burned alive?"

The man did not think twice. "No Deryni would long be a neighbor of mine!"

Amy whispered something in Edwin's head, and he countered with, "I believe you. The gifts of a Deryni are gifts of the mind. You would be dull company for one, indeed."

"If the Deryni are so gifted, then what need they of our city?" the man bellowed, now red in the face and no longer caring who looked at him.

"Good question!" Edwin admitted. "Maybe it is love for the people, including your wife if you've got one. A love not reciprocated by bile slurpers such as you, my choleric friend. Perhaps it is charity that they do not coalesce into a duchy or kingdom of their own."

The man stomped a foot and thundered, "It is the Willimites who keep them in check, not themselves! And leave my family out of this; they've been sullied enough by the tricky Deryni here!" An alarming number of people in the crowd murmured in agreement.

Bede had heard enough.((Bede Vigilantly leaps upon the Taunter 3d6 1 + 5 + 3)) He suddenly seized the man, who writhed resistingly like a frightened pig. A punch to the jaw and then one to the gut settled the matter, while the onrushing guards made it a decree. In the heat of the moment, Edwin surprised himself by staying exactly where he was.

Airich shouted, "Bring him here, lads! He talks as one familiar with our friend would." While they dragged the wretch toward the center of the square, Airich's face grew darker, yet sharper in its nobility.

Airich met them in front of the still-glowing remains of the fire. He didn't pause but pulled the choleric bile slurper from his captors' hands. He twisted the man's collar chokingly tight and brought him face to face, until the man barely remained on his toes. He held his dagger under his chin.

"You're afraid of Deryni, are you?" Airich asked, his voice quiet and eyes narrowed¹. He hid all trace of fury from his voice and demeanor. "Were you afraid of Leopold? Him and his little knives?" He lightly traced a line with his dagger just below the jaw. "What about a man with a big knife? Are you afraid of such? I can teach you to be." He stopped near the jugular and exerted just enough pressure to pierce the skin. The man's defiant expression changed to nervousness. Doubtless he could feel the trickle of blood running down his neck. It was twin to the trickle of sweat running from his forehead.

Airich continued, his voice still perfectly mild. "I can teach you to fear a man with a knife far more than you fear Deryni. I can teach you just how deep a knife can be inserted without killing. I can teach you how a shallow cut can still cause excruciating pain. I can even teach you how to skin a man; I tell you, my friend, it's a lot like skinning a chicken.

"And when I'm finished, the very act of looking at a knife will have you pissing yourself and sniveling as you crawl back into the hole you crawled out of. You will happily beg a Deryni healer to put you back together."

He was a little surprised by how dispassionately he was able to threaten this man. He felt no sympathy as the man lost all composure and began blubbering and pleading for mercy²; in his mind's eye, Airich saw him standing at the back of Leopold's final show, watching suspiciously and whispering to his partner before slipping out.

He twisted the collar a little bit tighter, and encouraged a second trickle of blood to flow. "Who is your contact with the Willimites?" he asked.

"P-P-Pietre de Guerra, milord, please don't—"

"And your name, friend?"

"Lewis Elmore, milord, I didn't know—"

"Lewis Elmore, your actions sent an innocent man to a hideous death. I suggest that you spend the rest of your days praying earnestly to your God for forgiveness. And thanking Him that I am not Deryni."

"Yes, milord, thank you, milord," he wept as Airich dropped him.

Airich turned to Captain Phineas as he signaled the men of the watch to take him into custody. "Do your best to find anything to charge him with, if you would," he said to the captain.

"I think inciting a mob towards more killin' should about do it," the Captain responded.

---

¹Hey Airich, think you can intimidate the dude with your Dagger skill? Advantage 3d6=4, 5, 2 Success
²Bileslurper's Saving Roll 1d6=2 Fail

Edwin owes most of his defiance and courage in this scene to Nezz

Airich turned back towards Bede and Edwin. Bede was full-out arguing with several men who insisted that Lewis had the right of it. "You all talk so mightily of catching a lone man unawares, but I'd wager less than half of you know what it means to march, or swing a real blade, or fight a man openly and honestly. You're not bears, or wolves, even. You're vultures, and you don't deserve a second thought." 

And Bede found himself wishing that the war had carried him here, to rid the world of this weakness calling itself strength. But it had been a defensive war, as he told himself too many times to count. He smirked, no longer able to take the men seriously so long as they knew not where he slept, and added, "Betrayal, hatred, and the murder of a Christian neighbor ... that's a tight packing of sins, no? How hot do ye want the coals under yer hell-pots to be? Don't think we won't send you there if you try this again." Then he was laughing like a jester and returning to Airich's side. 

Edwin thought Bede's argument had been excellent and was disgusted when the anti-Deryn folks started up again. He suddenly found his voice. "Is this Grecotha?" he cried out. "Is this the home of the greatest university in Gwynedd? No! The shining city of knowledge that the world looks up to? No! I look at you, and I see men too swallowed up in their own ignorance to be enlightened. You don't deserve this city, you don't—" 

A disturbing sight caught his eye: to his left, where most of the anti-Deryni mob had gathered, stood a smattering of learned priests he recognized all too well, by name as his teachers, as well as for their status of authority in the University. A dozen students stood by them, and all looked grim. Edwin stood stunned. That his own professors would join the ranks of these monsters, who would watch one of their own students burn. It was too much. 

Edwin jumped onto a nearby log from the outer edges of the fire. He didn't know where the thunder in his voice came from.  He turned his head towards the men who had been his teachers, who he had supposed to be men of prayer and learning, to whom he had looked up. He pointed his finger at them in turn as he spat out his accusations: "Ignorance! Prejudice! Fear!"

He looked up at the rest of the crowd, the pro-Deryni and the anti-Deryni, together with those who were simply drawn by the lust for trouble.  "As long as the likes of these are allowed to walk hand-in-hand in the cloisters and halls of this beloved university, I will not stay!" He ripped off the colours of the university attached to his cotte and threw them into the remains of the fire. 

He stood, watching the fabric smoulder into flame, and his heart sank, wondering just how much that bit of bravado had cost him. Another rosette suddenly sailed out from the crowd behind him to join its brother in the fire. Then another. Then three more. 

Edwin turned to face the crowd, eyes lit in triumph."Grecotha, clean the filth from your noble halls!" He stepped off the log and pushed his way through the crowd. 

In the mindlink Edwin had forgotten about, Amy whispered Wow. Bede looked at Airich, shrugged, then followed Edwin. Airich gave some final suggestions to Captain Phineas, then set out after the pair. 

Amy scryed the scene in the market square as if she were there, yet she sat here at the tiny table in her room, her chin leaning heavily on her propped up hands. She felt as tense as the warp thread on a loom. She heard in her own mind Edwin's mental yelling toward the crowd that parted before him. Have these idiots no backbone of their own, could these people not see past their own ineptitude? University study is about knowledge and knowledge is enlightenment. Amy flinched, she had never seen so many unenlightened faces in all her days. Edwin passed them up in his anger, tuning them all out, but Amy watched them keenly.

There to the left were two youths, students by their robes, pushing their way forward through the masses. One had his hand deep inside the opposite sleeve of his robe, clutching something he looked to bring forth. Amy yelled, "Edwin, look out!"  ((Amy 2d6= 4 + 1 Failure))  but had she said that only aloud and not in her rapport; had he not heard her? Edwin's stride did not miss a step.  The two youths were now at Edwin's side, one was reaching to grab him and the other was pulling something long and thin from his sleeve.

Amy panicked! Airich!Save Edwin! She screamed in Rapport ((Amy calling Airich  2d6= 4 + 6 Success))  The knight, no more than a few strides behind, bound forward and knocked his scholarly friend far off to the right. His dagger was at the throat of the man who had grabbed Edwin's arm and he was yelling at the other to drop whatever it was he was pulling from his sleeve. Bede jumped that youth and forced the instrument from his fingers. What fell to the ground clanged with the sound of metal against stone, it was long in a deep shade of gray. As Edwin stared at it, Amy realized it was not the dagger she had been certain it could have been.

"By the philosophy of Dom Edouard¹, what in the devil are you doing here?" Edwin accused the man in Bede's grasp. Then he looked at the man nearly in tears under the pressure of Airich's dagger. "You can let him go, Airich. He is a friend."

"You have strange ways of showing friendships," Airich murmured as he removed his dagger from the boy's neck and then pushed the boy a step before him.
 
The student-friend rubbed his neck and was surprised to find that his hand did not come away with a smear of red. Apparently the knight knew just the right pressure to not draw blood. More slowly, Bede let go of the student he held, but he did not let that student bend down to retrieve the grey metallic item on the cobblestones. The archer was swift to retrieve it himself. It was a long stylized writing instrument that resembled a feather quill but it was made of pewter instead. It could still be very easily used as a weapon and Bede refused to return it to the youth.

"Hide that!" Edwin instantly said, "I will explain later." The quill very quickly disappeared into Bede's tunic.

"You better explain this," Airich whispered between clenched teeth. Amy could see he was in no mood for niceties.

The youth eyed the disappearing quill a moment longer after it was hidden, then finally said, "We need to talk to our friend. But not here."

"He is not going anywhere without us," Airich declared.  A glance between the two students nodded their agreement to this, and then the two were scooting backwards through the crowd. Airich grabbed Edwin's sleeve. "What is going on?"

"That was the symbol of my fraternity. It is a signal that the leader wants to talk to me. We should really go."

Amy held her breath as she saw both Airich and Bede nod in agreement. The three men turned into the crowd and went the way the other two had.

Amy blinked to discover her hands were grasped tight in Elspeth's and Muirea was leaning close, staring at her white-faced and wide eyed. "What is going on?"

"It wasn't what I thought..." she sighed. "But I do not know what it is."

"Are they in danger?"  Elspeth plied.

"Edwin doesn't believe so, but I don't know."

"Don't lose him now, please, not now."

"Agreed."  Amy said her shoulders slumping from the effort to stay in full Rapport. ((Amy avoided fatigue to stay in rapport 2d6 5 + 4 success)) but then she found her strength and returned to her vigilance.
 
¹ Haut Arcanum -  by Dom Edouard, a Gabrilite philosopher

Once again a collaborative piece - posted by me because Edwin is the main character.

"...I figured that since they were the same students that Airich and I kept seeing in the library, that maybe they had some connection with my Literary fraternity," Edwin told Bede as the three of them marched toward the University, following Edwin's contacts. "So I sent the fraternity leader a message, asking for his help. Hopefully he'll have something for us."

"Your fraternity brothers need to find a better way of sending you a secret message," Bede said. "Those two lads came awfully close to being skewered."

Edwin shrugged. "We're students, and we read. We sometimes like to pretend that our lives are more interesting and meaningful than they really are. It isn't as if most of us have two bodyguards ready to kill anything that gets too close."

"Speaking of 'ready to kill'," Airich asked Edwin, "what do you know about Pietre de Guarre?"

"Ugh! What do you want to know about him?"

"The city watch says he's bad news."

"I'm sure the city watch has more experience with him than I do, thankfully" Edwin said. "I've seen him a couple of times, but heard plenty about him. You don't want to cross that fellow. He's a fencing master here at the University. And he's as likely to provoke a duel as look at you cross-eyed. "

"Mmm. He's been fingered as being a Willimite."

"Oh, well of course he would be! The best swordsman and the fellow with the rotten character and a magistrate father is the one we're hunting. It all makes sense." Edwin threw his hands up in mocking despair that was only partly jest.

The two students up ahead had led them directly toward the university library. But at this hour of dawn, Airich wondered if the Library was even open yet. The locked bronze doors at the entrance of the library answered that question. Instead, Edwin followed the boys to a small door at the end of the great stone edifice. The two students knocked and the door inched open and then both students slipped inside. The door shut tight after them.

Bede ran forward to catch the door but it was locked to him. He beat on it with his fist but the door did not shift open one hair. "Hold on, Archer!"  Edwin called forward, quickening his pace to stand beside Bede at the door. Airich turned around and watched for movement in the street behind them.

"Is this a trap?"  he asked, his tension once again rising.

"No, it is a test." Edwin replied calmly.  The scholar closed his knuckles and hovered his fist at waist height over the thick oak door. He hummed a rhythm to himself for a second to be sure of his timing and then repeated the rhythm in a very precise knocking order.

They heard the sound of the inner latch releasing through the wood. But just barely, and then the door slipped open one inch. Bede caught the door edge in case it decided to close on them again. Edwin gave a hardened glare; he hated these games, but he understood the need. "Let's  go." he said to his friends and they slipped inside the entrance corridor to the side of the library. There was a shuffling of feet and a door to the right quickly closed. Bede jumped after that door. But then Edwin grabbed his shirt sleeve and pulled him back. "Not that way." Instead he looked to the left at a narrow stone stair that circled down below ground.

Edwin started down without hesitation, but the archer and the knight paused at the top of the stairs looking down in the darkness below and then at each other. "A trap?" Bede asked. Airich nodded. "A trap that our scholar has the key to."  Bede first and then Airich stepped down following their key.

At the bottom of two full flights of stairs was a short hallway and a door. Only one torch stood in a bracket to light the fully stone room. The air seemed musty as though the room was little used. The door ahead had a grill and a strip of light came from a narrow opening in the grill. Edwin walked up to the grill. Took in a deep breath, exhaled and then in a very courtly voice, intoned to words from an ancient poem.

"Wanting to stay, we go,
all beings here on God's earth,
wherever it is written that we go,
taking our bodies from death's cold bed and up Falling Water from Valoret,
at last to the killing fields of Killingford
and then to an unbroken sleep
that follows life's feast."¹

The scholar finished the quote as modified from the ancient lore of the Bjornhund. Airich knew the words well and Bede had heard them told in the dark night at the fire light by his father.

The light from the grill disappeared abruptly with the closing of the grill door and long held breath by all three men and then they heard the latch release and the ancient oak door swung open.

¹ based on lines from Beowulf

Another collaborative effort. I posted this one because it is largely from Elspeth's point of view.

"They're in," Amy announced. "This looks like where they store empty barrels. It looks like one of the cellars of an inn though I can't imagine that they would keep full ones anywhere students have access." Despite her intense concentration her lips twitched in a smile before she continued— "oh, wait, I see a man in scholar's robes. He's sitting on one of the barrels; he looks very full of himself. He is asking for the token, and Edwin is telling Bede to return the pewter quill to this man."

"What could that man possibly have to say? We don't even know why they're there," Muirea said, looking over Amy's shoulder as if she might get a glimpse of what Amy saw.

"Shh." Elspeth put her finger to her lips and whispered, "She can't hear them if she's trying to listen to us."

"Oh, right," Muirea said, and waited for Amy to speak next.

Elspeth watched Amy's face with concern. Her friend's cheeks quivered, her eyes blinked, then Amy's gaze went from Elspeth's face to focusing somewhere far distant behind Elspeth. It was the first time that Elspeth felt a sense of awe and unease at someone else's eyes. Is this what others feel when they look at my eyes?

After a minute, Amy blinked again and said, "The scholar has congratulated Edwin on knowing the code and said he could use the shorter one next time. Edwin's relieved, I can feel that much." A pause between a pair of eye blinks, followed by, "He says he has corralled the students whom the knight would wish most to talk to. Oh, he must mean those students Airich overheard in the courtyard, the ones who were talking about a burning at the stake. Mother Mercy, I hope they're proud of themselves! I hope they were at the square earlier and got a snoot full of what it smelled like."  This time when Amy blinked a tear rolled down her check, but she did not seem aware of it.

More silence from Amy, then, "Okay, A pair of fraternity men have brought forth a younger student. He might be a little older than Robert." That made Elspeth think about her young patient, and she thought that perhaps she might check on him later today.

Amy let out a deep sigh, her eyes suddenly looking straight at Elspeth. "This is a lot more tiring than it looks. I'm only going to relay the important parts."

"That's fine, Ams, don't wear yourself out," Elspeth said, touching Amy's cheek and brushing aside the dampness. "I'm here for you."  Amy let a faint smile part her lips but then her eyes again focused through her mentor and not at her.

Amy mouthed words, without unchanging her distant focus. Elspeth knew nothing about Deryni Rapport and did not know at what cost it was to talk and stay in rapport, but she knew Amy could not see or hear herself and Muirea at this moment. "Edwin and Bede are questioning the boy. Airich is standing at my back, I see his dagger flash between his fingers in the torch light."

"Bede'll get him to talk," Muirea whispered to Elspeth.

"My coin says Edwin makes him break," Elspeth replied.

"Oh, there he goes," Amy said, "He's crying. Bede told him about Leopold and the burning that just happened in the market square. I can't tell if he feels bad or if he's scared they're going to bring him in. Edwin's Truth-Reading him: the boy's telling the truth. He didn't know about it or who did it. He doesn't actually know anything about the Willimites, he's never talked to one so far as he knows."

"I wonder if any of these boys will know anything that might help us," Elspeth said, "or if they were all just going along with the crowd."

"Even if they don't discover anything with these boys, they do have a real clue," Amy said in the break before the next boy came in. "I think they said a man named Pietre de Guarra was likely involved."

"Pietre?" Muirea said, "How is he involved?"

"I think they said he was likely a Willimite."

"Oh, well that makes sense," Muirea said. "He loves harassing others. Thinks he's better than just about everyone, even the King. I imagine he'd enjoy threatening people and making their lives miserable."

"Do you know him well?" Elspeth asked the younger woman.

"Oh no, not well," Muirea said. "The other girls say that he's at the Drunken Parchment almost every night. A lot of the masters go there. What's funny is that he never drinks the wine unless someone else is buying for him. The tavernkeep holds a few bottles of Fianna red behind the counter that belong only to him, Guarra says everything else is swill. And—and this won't surprise Amy—he is incapable of keeping his hands to himself. The owner won't even let most of the girls go near him. There's an older woman who usually sees that he gets his drink."

"He sounds like a winner," Elspeth said, rolling her eyes.

After a few more minutes, Amy said, "They're bringing in the second student now. Same questioning procedure. Oh, that's smart, Bede pointed out how the smell on their clothes is from an actual person, not a roast pig. Oooh, he's describing Leopold's body. Yeah, that did it! Gag, I'm thinking that boy's never going to eat pork again. Oh, sorry, that was disgusting!" Amy looked green around the gills. Her distant viewing dissolved and hands fumbled for a glass of water; she took a drink from the goblet Elspeth handed her like she was a fish on dry land. "That boy's not the only one about to be sick. Edwin's apologizing to me and asks if I want to quit?" She closed her eyes, rubbed her forehead, and her lips parted as if to say, I'm fine. A moment later, her lavender eyes focused again on Elspeth. "Edwin does not seem to regret that I am there. He could close me out anytime he wants, but I think he wants us to be as informed as he is. It is the oddest sensation, but I admit there is a joy to being this close to someone else."

"The closeness is a gift," Elspeth said. "Hang on to it."

Amy sat back and rubbed her forehead again, this time her gaze lost its focus, which told Elspeth she was still in rapport. Still Amy managed to murmur, "My goodness, it's no wonder Airich gets headaches so often, if he's not used to doing this much."

"He gets headaches? He never mentioned it, but then, I doubt he would." She nodded resolutely. "I will make up a potion that will dull the pain, but not his mind. He would not forgive me if I left him helpless, even if it was for his own good."

Amy interrupted, "The last attester is coming in now. Oh, he looks like trouble, older than the others, they're not going to be able to scare him so easily."

[Thanks especially to Nezz for contributing Airich's intervention]

Edwin could tell that Amy felt it when he rubbed his eyes, just as he felt it when she cried. He could not afford any partiality of the mind just now, for his fellows in the fraternity were bringing in the third suspect, who looked most displeased. He was gaunt like the Reaper, something only apparent by looking closely at his concealing and heavy tunic. He was otherwise plain and unadorned in his dress, with a youthful face, varnish-brown hair cropped like he wished to be a monk but lacked the resolution for the tonsure, and eyes like a hungry fox. All three of the investigators subtly made ready for any outcome.

There was an open chair in the middle of the torch-lit storage room, but the man remained standing. With outrage, he demanded, "Do you know who I am?"

Bede Archer took the lead, like the actor in a dramatic play, "I have no notion of who you are. Tell me."

"I am Eddard de Nore, a blood relative of the Oliver de Nore, Primate of Gwynedd in my grandfather's time, and a credit to the family by my own work."

((Bede Perceives 2d6 2 + 4 inconclusive))Your work stinks but Bede could not determine what it smelled of at this distance. Edwin seemed wary even to Bede's eyes, and Airich pulled them in to hear him whisper, "Watch yourselves, lads. I don't know this one like Edwin might, but I know of Primate Oliver and his bloody legacy well enough. The entirety of Nyford's distaste for the Deryni was concentrated into the purest hate in that man."

Bede nodded and turned to say, "I'll take the lead on this one." He faced the man and tried to talk like Airich did. "We are the officially sanctioned investigators into the recent crimes against Grecothans of Deryni blood. Nothing more or less. Why would they bring us you?"

"I make no secret of my opinions," the man snorted haughtily, kicking the chair's leg disdainfully. Perhaps the chair was Deryni. "What happened this morning is only what I have been saying the church itself should be doing."

The trio shared indeterminate glances. Airich nodded. "It is a tradition in his family."

"Yes, indeed," Eddard approved of the knight's knowledge. "Whenever the people lose heart and falter, we are there to snatch the torch from their hands and seal the good work." All could see the fire in his eyes.

Edwin pounced. "Where would that place you this morning?"

Eddard's eyes hardened as he glared at Edwin. "I won't be taking any questions from a ..." Edwin could hear the word, spoken like a foul epithet before it was uttered. It was not to be uttered. "... saboteur. I saw your theatrics in the market square. I could forgive a human who lacked the sense the de Nores do, but I'll be damned if they get in the way, or shame the university like you did."

"If you say so," Edwin said flatly.

"Forget him," Bede tutted like a teacher. "You must admit, for those not steeped in the glory of stakes, it's a startling thing. Good, I have your attention. Now never mind that. Where were you this morning?"

"I was going for a stroll for my health, as I always do beneath the moonlight. I find it peaceful."

"And this morning was no different?'

"No, it was better. I got to watch Lucas Whittington die. Is that a crime in itself?"

Thinking quickly, Airich cleared his throat before Bede could say something regrettable. "He was identified by those who recognized him as 'Leopold the Great'. What makes you say otherwise?"

"Like I said: I saw him burn. His crimes were many, but there were two that damned him, in my view. Being a Deryni is bad enough, but I knew him from Nyford. Everything he did was outside of convention. Any profane communing he may have done as a Deryni was just another manifestation of his self-anathematizing ways. And you know what happens to those outside the light of the church."

"They're condemned to die by any means necessary. Is that what you mean, Ed?"

Eddard had a half-smile on his face now. "What else? And take care to call me by my real name."

"I'll tell you what else. I've robbed a priest and tramped around the Eleven Kingdoms with an anathematized man or two. I've seen Deryni good and bad that would make your friend Lucas look like a human. Most of them are still alive. Can you kill them? Are you in any position to kill me?" Bede was almost confident that failure to mention his feelings of regret or seeking of redemption did not count as false witness.

Feeling his capability challenged, Eddard glowered. "This is not where I would prefer to see you die."

"Och, of course! I'm sure you have other plans for men like me! Almost as severe as the ones you must have made for Lucas."

"You cannot prove that!" he sneered. He did not seem offended by the accusation, but he certainly hated the idea of legal censure of any kind.

"And you cannot prove that you are not surrounded by Deryni every day of your life! Men with a heritage more powerful than your own. How does that make you feel? So long after Loris' handiwork, I'm sure they've had enough time to recuperate their losses. You and your friends may have your damnable work cut out for yourselves."

Bede had struck a nerve. Like the uttering of a secret a man intended to take to the grave, the assertion that not only was Nore not special, but that he was surrounded by what he so despised put him on the defensive. "Be silent, you pretentious scum! The Deryni are everywhere, I know! But I won't let them enslave me."

Airich sauntered to stand before Eddard, whose glare jumped from the commoner to the nobleman with equal disdain.

"You're related to His Excellency Oliver de Nore, the former Archbishop of all Gwynedd of a generation past?"

"I am," de Nore stood taller. "He was my grand-uncle."

"You seem proud of your heritage."

"I am. Like I said, my family has been performing great work in this kingdom that needs to be continued."

"Oh?" Airich acted surprised. "You mean like murdering little boys?"

de Nore's face wrinkled in disgust. "There was no murder, Jorian de Courcy was a valid execution. My grand-uncle had every authority to oversee the justice meted out to him."

Airich waved his hand as if to push these facts away. "That's true. Jorian was a man who willingly risked his life and knew of the possible consequences when he joined the priesthood. No, I'm not talking about your grand-uncle Oliver; I'm talking about your other grand-uncle."

Eddard sputtered. "What do you think you know about any of that?"

Airich weighed his options, wondering how far he could go before the wannabe holy man either walked away or martyred himself in front of them. He was here of his own free will, but also at their pleasure. "My dear Eddard, you are not the only man who had a grand-uncle in Rhemuth that day. My Uncle Trevor was there when they found the body. So as it turns out, I know quite a lot about it. About all of your family's tendencies."

"The lies you allude to first came from the lips of a Deryni Witch. Her foul mouth spouted defamation against our family name. Even the king had to submit to penance in the end," Eddard yelled in heated defense. "Every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess the evil of the Deryni! It's not too late to at least show contrition, so be sure to tell them that while you're feeling glib."

Bede disliked the misuse of scripture. "It's already too late for you unless you give us something useful, Ed."

Eddard gasped with white eyes in his sockets. "'Us'? I should have known!  Fraternal brothers: I call you to witness the fate of these Deryni!" From a sheathe hidden up his sleeve, Eddard de Nore revealed a cruel, glimmering dagger. His hand worked quickly to send it toward Bede's ribs in a thrust like a spearman's. ((Bede's Vigilance feat. The Fray: How to stop a knife 3d6 1 + 6 + 5)) Before Bede knew what he was doing, he flitted inches to the side and put his attacker's arm in a two-handed vise, squeezing like he wished to feel Nore's bones beneath his fingers. With the rabid energy of a truly fearful man, Nore persisted vainly with his weaponless other hand and feet, until Airich put him on the ground in a well-practiced maneuver and Edwin bid him rest by way of a brawler's fist to the face.

Flexing the tension out of his fingers, Bede glanced around at the members of the fraternity. "Did you all witness him trying to kill me? We were just talking, after all."

Thanks to Revanne for letting me play with her character and making sure the words I put in his mouth are words he actually would say. Further thanks to Bynw who encouraged us to "lay it on thick."

They had the devil's own time wrestling de Nore up two full flights of the circular staircase that had led them down below the library. They hadn't even gotten to the steps before Bede had been scratched, Edwin kicked, and Airich spat on.

"That's enough of that," Airich declared, and pulled a length of braided cord from his belt pouch and whipped it around Eddard's wrists as the other man screamed.

"No, NO! Don't touch me! Get your Deryni hands off me, you'll pay! Help, I've got Deryni devils controlling my mind! You disgusting maggots, I'll make sure you burn—"

"Oh, shut it." Bede shoved a handkerchief Edwin borrowed from the fraternity leader into de Nore's mouth and Edwin tied it on. de Nore thrashed and screamed from under his gag, but at least no more discernible filth spewed from his mouth.

It occurred to Airich that this man could indeed be controlled by some Deryni somewhere else: it wouldn't be the first time for such a thing to happen, and these did not sound like the ravings of a man in control of himself. Airich risked a quick read below the surface of de Nore's mind, but jerked back from the sewage he found. One could make the case that de Nore actually was possessed, but it was only by his own rage and a hatred that bordered on insanity.

Even with these considerations, it took the combined efforts of all three to heft the struggling student to the next landing. "Leave off your squirming!" Edwin finally cried out after another kick to the ankle that made him slip down several stairs, bashing his shin against the edge of the step. "We're only trying to turn you over to the Purple Guard, not what was done to poor Lucas! If you'll just cooperate, we can stop manhandling you and get you out of our hair and we'll all be a lot happier!"

This was the impetus de Nore needed to cooperate with them, and the next flight took about one-quarter of the time it took for the first flight. Edwin then pushed open the small door and they exited onto the quad. A half dozen of the Bishop's own Purple Guard stood at attention nearby, summoned by one of Edwin's fraternity brothers. A growing crowd of students had gathered, curious about what was happening.

"Hold a minute," Edwin said to Bede and Airich, then walked over to the guard captain and spoke in quiet tones, then walked back.

"It'll be a couple of minutes before we can turn you over to them," Edwin told de Nore as he removed the kerchief. "They are waiting for their officer. Sorry about the gag, can we get you something to drink? You've got to be thirsty now."

"Drink?" Eddard's voice rose shrilly. "You think I would accept a drink from your demon-infested hand? You're a diseased rat!" He pulled back then abruptly head-butted Edwin in the chest. Edwin fell back while Airich and Bede wrestled de Nore back under control. de Nore himself shrieked and raved like a madman, thrashing in an attempt to get free. Edwin got to his feet again.

"Hold, friends," he said to Airich and Bede. "The man's scared, and with good reason. We are three to his one, and him bound. Sir Airich, please free this good scholar from his bonds, I think he will be more manageable."

Airich eyed Edwin as if he, too, were raving, but he understood that Edwin had a plan, and so he unfastened his cord and released de Nore. The frantic student threw himself to the ground, rolled to his back, and scuttled away several yards.

"You don't fool me! You have planted something in my head! They're Deryni fiends, I tell you!" he yelled to the amassed crowd, which was growing larger as de Nore's screams brought more curious onlookers. He got to his feet. "You have dared touch my person, I will now have to be purified to rid myself of your stink. I will not allow you to drag me down to hell with you."

Edwin put his arms out, palms forwards. "Eddard, there are no Deryni here who want to kill you. No one looking to drag you to hell—"

"You all want to kill me!" he shrieked. "I know your secrets! But you think I won't hesitate to strike the flint for you like I did for Lucas? By God I will, I'll anoint you with the oil myself and burn the damnation out of your soul! If that's what it takes to keep the likes of you away from me, then I will do it. And a thousand more like you." He looked wildly around at the gathered students. "And you... you can help me purify this school, or you can burn with it!"

It took the captain of the Purple Guard but a moment to have his men surround de Nore and take him into custody as the witnesses stared in shock at Eddard's open confession. It certainly came as a surprise to Edwin, Airich, and Bede.

"Well," Edwin said, then looked at the surrounding students and instructors. He put his hand out toward the retreating de Nore as if presenting him to them. "My friends," he said, "That is what it means to be a Willimite. They're both dangerous and mad. Ridiculous and terrifying. Delusional and convicted to their cause."

His voice rose in volume and he looked at his crowd. "Brothers, we cannot allow these people to infiltrate our halls. They will destroy all that we and our intellectual ancestors have spent centuries working towards. To join with them is madness. We must, as a school, turn away from their frenzied cult, and show the world the true light of Christ that shines through our acts and our studies.

"It will not be easy. They threaten us and our brothers and those we hold dear. But we can show these Willimite heathens that we do not fear them! We will walk the halls of this university and the streets of fair Grecotha and we will show them that they are powerless against us! We stand together, Human and Deryni alike, and reject their message of hatred!"

From the midst of the ever-growing crowd, three rosettes landed at his feet. Edwin turned towards the library and cried out as he had but hours before, "Grecotha, clean the filth from your noble halls! Teach your students that they can reject this false doctrine! Teach those others that they have no power here!"

There was silence followed by loud cheers; although it was clear that not all in the crowd were convinced, most seemed won over by Edwin's eloquence. Those cheering the loudest pushed forward to crowd around Edwin but he put up his hands in a gesture of denial. "Don't waste time here, my friends, all of us have work to do if we are to rid ourselves of this plague. It won't be done by standing here."

The last thing Edwin wanted was to become the leader of yet another faction in the university, taking the danger while a group of admiring supporters looked on. Reluctantly, those who had thrown the rosettes nodded and moved away, taking the rest of the crowd with them. It seemed that today's excitement was over.

Edwin returned to Airich and Bede, still a little giddy from the rush of energy that had flooded him as he spoke. Airich bowed before him. "Master Scholar, I had not realized that I stood before true greatness until this moment." Edwin couldn't figure out if Airich was mocking him or if he was serious. "But for now, shall we report our findings to Canon Damian?"

"No," Bede said. He put his hands on Airich's shoulders. "Sir Knight, I apologize for being the bearer of this news, but... you and I stink of smoke and death. And our Master Scholar is not much better," he glanced down at Edwin's leg, "not to mention the blood that seems to be oozing from his hose. So before we meet with the good Canon, let us get cleaned up. Believe me, he will thank us for the favor."

"Oh my, oh my!  Our boy really is a literary genius," praised the Carbury gal. Amy took in a satisfying breath, opened her eyes wide, and looked for the first time in a long time at both the women who were intent on her every facial movement and utterance that she had repeated while in rapport. "I don't know anything about lecturing, but I would say Scribe Edwin has the charisma of a magister."  Amy blinked at Elspeth's pleased expression and Muirea's look of amazement. Their appreciation made her smile. "He will be running this university before you know it." 

"What about that de Nore fellow?" Muirea questioned her. "Did he really say what you said he spouted?"

Amy's smile faded and her stomach reeled in disgust; she wanted to spit out the taste of him. "Vile wretched man.  How can anyone.... hate... I mean...  really hate... I've seen abuse, but him? He is beyond... my comprehension." Amy said at last winding down from the tension and rapid heart rate she had been experiencing while in Rapport. "and to think he kicked poor Edwin in the shin so hard, I could tell he was doing what he could to quell the pain."

"What?!"  Elspeth turned on Amy in alarm. "You did not say he had been injured."

"A booted foot took him straight on the shin, and then he slid back down two steps, scraping the same spot, decisively. He didn't tell Airich."

"Hell and high Water!" Elspeth exclaimed.  She was up and grabbing her basket of medicine and checking the contents for bandages.  Satisfied, she returned to Amy demanding, "Where are they now?"

"Um...  um."  Amy struggled for a minute to unfocus her eyes, but it lasted only a moment before she fell to the back of her chair exhausted. "They are heading to Cathedral square to the bath house at the side of the cloister. Bede is saying he wishes he had fresh clothes to change into after," Amy repeated.

Elspeth looked defeated. "It's for men only."

But Muirea stood up beside Elspeth. "Only for the clientele, not for the serving women who bring in towels and keep it clean," Muirea explained.

"Is it a brothel? So close to the Cathedral?"  Amy was appalled at the idea.

"Not at all. It's the oldest and best bath house in the city. Every man goes there at least once a week. The pool is fed by a natural spring and the ancient Byzantyun mosaics around the pool and colonnade are amazing. The king restored the bath to its ancient glory about a dozen years ago as a gift to the city. The laundry house uses their discarded water, and women trade the laundry with the bath house all the time. We will have to enter through the Wash house to get into the Bath house, but we should not be questioned once we are in."

Elsepth perked up at the idea. She had been resolved to bluster her way in; she knew from past experience that if you act like you belong somewhere, most people did not question your presence.  Muirea's solution was a good start, followed by a little subterfuge once in the bath house, which didn't seem to bother her if it got her where she needed to be. After she repeated this aloud, Amy gave her a good luck smile. "I don't have the strength to go. Muirea, you are in charge of watching Elspeth's back. You hear me. Nothing had better happen to either of you."

"I know people there. We will be fine."  Then Muirea was pacing toward the door. "Let me grab a fresh tunic and clean hose for each of our men."

Elspeth agreed and after a word to Amy to get some sleep, both women left the boarding house.

It was mid morning by this time. Amy could barely keep her eyelids from folding down. She pulled the curtains on the window and curled up on her bed. Her last thoughts were that she should warn Edwin that Elspeth was coming.

****

Water aqua and crystal with wavering creatures like great whales and large fish, mermaids with shimmering scaled tails; all far beyond the reach of hands dancing in the swirls of the distant sea. Not alone, closer, nearly within reach, are men of flesh and bone and not much more. The mermaid sings her serenade at the bottom of the pool and calls men down to reach her. Don't listen to her song, it's a deception. Her loveliness is but guile to lure men to drown.

Air? Surface? There! Splash! Gulp of hot tinted air! The song is a lute strummed in the tunes of the Forcinne echoing over the splash of the fountain...

"Father! No! Don't take him!" Her baby cries from the cold hands that have pulled him from her breast. A mother screams."Father, he is mine!"

"You'll not ruin our family name. I disown you! This child will grow to never know your disgrace."...

 Pain shimming from ankle to knee as a body brushes past, a voice giving his apology before swimming away. Clenched teeth under water, gasping and sputtering at the surface. Too many bodies swimming near. Rubbing the wound on his shin, his fingers can not relieve the pain. The heat of the spring waters should have helped the pain. But the sting of it is worse now. Above, the sun shines over a pool tiled in mosaics of blue and greens with images of yellow and orange fish in the old Byzantyun style. Surrounding the Health-waters are colonnades of carved stone pillars holding up blue roof-lines bowing toward the marble fountain at the head of the pool. The artistry of the fountain displays a pod of Mermaids rising up from the vapor of heated spring mineral water being steadily poured from scalloped sea shells into the pool....

The startling eyes of blue and burnished gold, a hand holding her own hand firm and confident. 'Its time. Push. Ams, Push."  Pain unbearable... "Amaryllis, you can do this. Almost there. PUSH!"  A scream and then "It's a boy!"...

Water, blissful water, wash away the detritus ilk of hate, wash away, fire and brimstone.

Shoulders relaxed, cool tiles of blue and burnished gold, under arms folded, where eyes only see small portions of nude bathers walking in and out of the pool. Strong hands kneading shoulders and back.  Warm oil tickles down the skin at the waist. Older brothers had once held him down and tickled him there, but now the kneading and molding of flesh by warm fingers is a pleasure seldom sought after and never given by family. Should do this more often. This was the primary thought that permeated the listener's mind as the images of mermaids and men blurred her vision...

"Someone is here to see you," said a very familiar voice. A view rising from the blue tiled slab he laid upon to the wide shouldered blond man before him.  The primary viewer made nothing of the sight. But the listener, more aware than before, saw tawny bare shoulders and strong bare chest with narrow waist and bare feet below a looped woven fabric tucked about the hips. The man, Bede Archer, was pointing to another. The primary viewer sat up abruptly grabbing fabric that had been over his backside and pulling it high, wrapping it around himself like a himation worn by the original builders.

"How did you get in here?" said the scribe's voice. Muirea holding a tall pile of similar folded cloth  giggled and said. "I showed her in through the laundry building. We are not the only women here."

Edwin sputtered,  "but I don't know any of them."

Mistress Elspeth ignored his discomfort. Instead she pointed to the wound on his leg. "At least you have washed it clean. But I can not imagine how many detrimentals have seeped into this wound through the water. If you're done getting wet, then it is time I gave you some healing salve and wrapped this injury as it should have been wrapped an hour ago."

Edwin stood from the slab by the side of the water and moved in under the cover of the colonnades surrounding the large communal swimming pool, passing the figure of Sir Airich recumbent on a green tiled slab with two pairs of hands giving both his shoulders and his feet ceremonious attention. The knight had paid for an alcove in the wall with benches and their items stacked on stone shelving at the back of the niche. "Wish I had fresh clothes," Edwin said dismally as he sat wrapping the loose fabric closer around himself. He made certain that only his injured leg showed as he stretched it out for Elspeth to see.

The physicker replied with  "Tsk, tsk," as she fingered his wound, "This might hurt, I need to dry it before I can treat it with proper medicine."

Elspeth was as gentle with her examination of Edwin's injury as she could be.  As was her habit, she described what she was doing as she proceeded.  Edwin focused on Elspeth's hood, drawn up as usual to shield her eyes, trying to ignore the pain the physicker could not help but inflict.

"The bone appears to be intact," she said as she felt along the length of his leg.  'Good news.  It's more of a deep scrape than a cut, so I think we can dispense with stitches."  She smiled slightly as she felt Edwin let go of the breath he had been holding.  "Though with a scrape like this, you would have been bleeding like a stuck pig.  I'm surprised they let you enter the bath."

"My hose soaked up most of it," Edwin volunteered. "So it was only dripping a bit when we arrived."

Elspeth gave an unladylike snort and reached a clean cloth.  She gently pressed it against the wounded area to soak up as much water and blood as she could.  Edwin sucked in air between his clenched teeth.

When Edwin's shin was dry enough to suit her, Elspeth reached for her satchel and basket of bandages.  She found the small stoppered clay pot she was looking for and opened it.  It gave off a strong smell of garlic. 

The older woman smiled at Edwin's slight grimace.  "The garlic is used to prevent suppuration.  The smell will disperse soon enough."  She began spreading the ointment over the injury.  "Although you may want to avoid any kitchens, lest the cooks serve you up on a trencher."

Edwin managed a small smile.  She's good, to make me smile in spite of the pain.  The pain began to lessen; there must be something in the ointment besides garlic.  Maybe it was better if he did not know what that was.

As Elspeth began bandaging Edwin's shin, Bede noticed they had begun to draw curious glances from some of the patrons.  Admittedly, a woman in a cloak with her hood drawn up was an oddity in a warm, humid bath house.  And Muirea was definitely pleasing to look at.  Bede positioned himself beside a colonnade, resting his forearm on it and trying to look nonchalant, while hoping his stance would dissuade anyone from approaching to satisfy their curiosity.

Elspeth tied off the bandage.  "Finished," she announced.  "However," she continued with a tone in her voice that forced Edwin to look directly at her.  "I suppose it would be foolish to think I can convince you to stay off that leg as much as possible for a while.  Should I try anyway?"

"I'm not carrying you around on my shoulders," Bede piped up.

Edwin hesitated for a moment and then answered truthfully.  "Under the circumstances, I can't promise I will.  But I will be mindful of it."

"I thought as much. However, if the leg feels swollen, or if the wound becomes more painful, you must inform me immediately!  There is no room for discussion on this point,"  she added while assuming her sternest look.

"That I will promise you," Edwin responded staunchly.

"And no chasing after anyone," the physicker added.  "Send one of us instead."

Try as he might, Edwin could not imagine Mistress Elspeth with her gown hitched up to her knees chasing someone down a street.  No, that image would not form in his mind!

She turned her attention to Airich, who stood up from his green tiled slab, carefully wrapped in a towel.  "We will do our best to keep reminding him,"  he stated with a sharp glance at Edwin.  "It may be the best we can do."  He shifted his glance to the pile of clothes Muirea still held.  "If those are our clothes, can we trouble you to leave so we can get dressed?"

"Of course," Elspeth replied, beginning to rise.  "Unless you need our assistance, that is."

Edwin's jaw dropped and Muirea giggled.

"It saddens me so to see my homeland and Kingdom in such turmoil. But what must be done so we can move forward in our plans and bring an end to the accursed Deryni and to restore the rightful Haldane line."

The King in Exile continues to speak to his council of loyal Bishops. "Then, we can build Gwynedd back better and stronger. Free of the Deryni taint and line of murderers and usurpers."

One of the Bishops responds, "The Willimites are spreading discord across Gwynedd. And they are encouraged to do whatever they think is necessary. Even the corrupted Church has a view brave priests speaking the truth of the Deryni again. It is a great blessing."

"We have reports of several Deryni being burned at the stake for their crimes. A fitting end for their heresy. We have also heard that a Willimite faction in Grecotha has something special planned for that wicked cesspool of Deryni education. Possibly at the beginning of the fall term."

Another Bishop enters the privy council. "Your Majesty. Let me introduce Father Malcom. He has been appointed to the position of King's Confessor."

"...faster than a snake striking, if you believe the rumors," Muirea told them as the five entered the boarding house. "Most of the girls don't believe it, but one of them said she saw him duel Martin Gardiner and it was like watching a cat play with a mouse."

"I heard about that one," Edwin added. "I heard Gardiner was bleeding from a dozen cuts before de Guarra deigned to finally put him out of his misery."

"The man sounds like a perfect Willimite," Elspeth said, sounding incensed. "Someone who enjoys tormenting others. And has the backing of a magistrate so can't be held liable for his misdeeds."

"You should challenge him, Sir Airich," Muirea said as they came to the cozy common room. "You could make mincemeat out of him, couldn't you?"

"Unlikely," Airich laughed. "I'm a soldier, not a bravo." He unbuckled his sword belt, then pulled off his tunic and armor and piled them together on the end of the bench, leaving just his long shirt covering his torso. "I'm good enough with a blade, but I don't spend my life practicing, as so many of these duellists will. I have no doubt he could cut through my defenses and have me bleeding my life out in the street in no time."

"If it comes down to it, bows beat swords at a distance nine times out of ten," Bede said. "If it comes down to it.." It was hard to say whether or not the archer was joking.

"Let's hold off murdering the magistrate's son for now," Elspeth said tartly. "In the meantime, you, you, and you. Eat!" She stabbed her finger at each of the three men, then pointed to a mound of bannocks on the table, sitting next to a platter of cheese. The men did not have to be told twice, and not just because they didn't want to risk Elspeth's wrath.

After several minutes of uninterrupted chewing, Airich turned to Muirea. "So you would expect to see de Guarra at the Drunken Parchment tonight when you go in to work?"

"Yes, probably."

"Do you think you might be able to get close to him? Without putting yourself in danger?"

"Depends. How close is close? Remember, they only let one or two of the older girls serve him because of his wandering hands."

"What about if you were to flirt with him? Or is he too unbearable for that?"

"Oh, he's actually quite good-looking. And charming when he's inclined to be." Muirea set her hands on her hips and cocked her head at Airich. "What are you thinking? What would I do if I got close?"

Airich placed his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together. "If there were any way that  you could acquire something personal of his..."

"Money? That would be easy enough."

"Not money, that changes hands too much and wouldn't have any residual aura from him. A button, possibly... maybe a clasp of some sort. A lock of hair would be great, but it would be hard for you to explain."

"I think between the two of us, me and Amy could double-team him and nick some kind of—"

"Don't involve Amy," Airich said quickly, "not if you can help it?"

"Oh? I'm expendable and Amy's not?"

"No!" Airich looked offended at the suggestion. "Amy's Deryni and you're not. If anything went wrong, she'd be in far more danger than you, spying on a Willimite."

"I'm not sure if I like the idea of either one of them doing any more than just listening." Bede frowned at Airich. "Deryni or not, they could get into serious trouble pinching a customer's belongings."

"I guess it's a good thing it's not up to you to decide how I help, then, isn't it?" Muirea retorted.

"The girls can do a remarkable job listening to the things people say in public, and it's a useful skill. But I'm hoping they find me the right type of object so I can spy on Pietre de Guarra while he's in private, and meeting with people he might not want others knowing about. Instead of picking up one Willimite at a time, we bag a gaggle of them in one fell swoop." Airich shrugged. "That's the theory, at least."

"Well now you've definitely convinced me." Muirea thumped the table with her fist. "I'm your woman."

"If she gets hurt..." Bede muttered, barely within Airich's hearing.

Airich smiled and looked over at Edwin, who'd watched all with nary a comment as he continued working on the buttery bannocks. Then he looked more carefully at Edwin. Were you aware that you have an open connection to Amy? Edwin nearly dropped a bannock at this unexpected communication, but then recovered himself and his breakfast.

I'd forgotten. She's still there? I thought she must have left because she's been quiet since they hauled off de Nore.

She's still there. I think she's asleep. Airich looked deeper at the connection. Have you two been linked since early this morning? She must be exhausted. Do you know how to disconnect a psychic link?

Er... I don't.

Here, let me show you. Airich demonstrated this simple procedure for Edwin, and his link with Amy dropped Do you think she was asleep while we were at the baths?

I don't know, I wasn't... oh no flaming hells!

Airich had to smother a mental laugh as the implications of this question occurred to Edwin and roared through their own connection. I'll let you drop our link so you know you can do it yourself.

Their connection dropped with a mental click.

Airich got up and went over to Elspeth. "May I check on Amy in your room? She's been connected to Edwin this entire time and I'd like to make sure she hasn't exhausted herself too badly."

Elspeth fixed Airich with an amber eye. "Do I need to come in and chaperone you?"

"No, ma'am."

"Don't make me come in there and break your nose. I'd just have to fix it again, and you don't want that."

"No ma'am!" That was threat enough for him to behave, even if he hadn't already planned on doing so.

Airich took his gear upstairs and dropped it off in his room. He also took the opportunity to change into his coolest summer hose, as the day had become sweltering. He didn't bother to put his tall boots back on, then padded quietly up the hall to the girls' room.

He lightly rapped on the door, in case she was already awake. No answer, so he tried the latch and found the door opened easily.

Amy lay on her side upon the big bed, legs curled up with one foot tucked behind the other. Her hands clasped each other under her chin. She was fully dressed but for her shoes. Airich knelt on the floor before her and touched her forehead, feeling for the psych underneath. Her Shields lay wide open as he'd expected, a standard consequence of falling asleep during rapport. Her fatigue seemed well within the bounds of normal from extended contact with someone else, especially for a novice. Her time spent using her natural empathy as a medical assistant had apparently built up an endurance for such work not usually seen in beginners. Even now, he could sense her transitioning to a lighter level of regular sleep. She would likely wake on her own within the hour.

Still, a small stress line appeared between her brows, and Airich feared she might be taking too much onto herself. But perhaps not. Amy was no innocent child, and had a life with the usual concerns and worry, and he really needn't feel as if her new abilities were the sole cause of her stress.

He mentally caressed a spot near the base of her Shields, to encourage them to close for her protection. They responded to his touch and rewarded him by sliding closed naturally, and not with the snap that would likely have woken her with an unpleasant start.

Airich sat back on his heels and took a minute, while no one was looking, to appreciate how truly stunning this woman was. Her hair, splayed gently out from her pillow, was as black and glossy as any Haldane's. Thick lashes rimmed her closed eyelids and her lips parted in a natural pout.

He gently touched her lips with a forefinger, thinking of the passion they'd shared two nights ago. He knew better than to take it personally; any two healthy young bodies might feel the same ardor for one another, it was only natural. Still...

Airich lowered himself to the floor and leaned against the bed, legs stretched out before him. He was not in a position to think seriously about any woman. If one didn't count the myriad of other reasons, the mere fact that he was a landless knight living on the generosity of his parents would prohibit him from searching for a wife of his own. His skills as a swordsman were perfectly adequate, but nothing that would set him apart from a hundred other such men, so it was unlikely he'd garner any special attention or accolades.

Once upon a time he'd thought to become a great sorcerer and discover the secrets of the universe, like few Deryni before him had. Whispers of some of the great men of the past had sparked his imagination, and names like Sé Trelawny, Stefam Coram, Lewys ap Norfal, and Azim ar-Rafiq had captured his attention: true Deryni masters whose powers had no equal and whose understanding far surpassed that of ordinary men. To study in Andelon and possibly even the Anvil had been Airich's goal, and his knight's training had suffered as a result. Of course, that was before the headaches and nightmares had begun.

He turned his head and looked at Amy again. He smiled. "Amaryllis Aldan," he said, "Give me the word and I will bring you Otis Turpin's guts in a silver charger. And ask nothing in return but perhaps to stand within the presence of your smile."

He found himself growing quite relaxed sitting against the bed in a comfortable women's bedchamber. He had too much to do to fall asleep, he needed to banish his fatigue again and get about his business. Or at least return to his own room for a short nap. But he would close his eyes for just a moment first...

A shift of dreams, no longer filled with friends talking... quiet now. Peaceful and easy, stillness. Warmth, a bit too warm, a small stretch searching for a cooler spot on the bed.  Amy rolled over, her hand brushed a tangle of hair. She pulled back, expecting a cat to slide up to her. But it wasn't a purr that she heard, rather a rushed inhale and a long guttural exhale. Silence and then a sudden inhale once more. Elspeth did not sleep like that.

Amy's eyes opened. Above the level of the mattress was the top of a head, face lolled into the mattress's edge. Hair loose with ringlet curls that had dried from the bath, but had not yet been brushed back into a boarder knot. Amy liked the fact that his hair was not as straight as he normally brushed it out to look. His head weaved up a little as he let out a low sounding breath. She smiled.

I guess I am not the only one who likes to look in on the people I care about. She stifled a giggle. How long had she been asleep. There was no way to tell.  Now that she did not feel Edwin or anyone for that matter, it could be any time during the day. She did have to work tonight and if Muirea came in to tell her it was time to go to work, she would see this. The woman would surely tattle to Bede about this, and that might anger the archer. He still considered the two women from Carbury under his protection.

Amy sat up slowly and shifted out of the lower part of the bed. Airich did not wake up.  Should she wake him and move him to his room? Yes. But did she dare to do that? He had to be more tired than she had been. His little nap at the bath had not been long.

The vision of his strong back glistening in the sun, not white and pasty like some men who hide from the sun, but lightly colored by what could only be several shirtless hours out of doors. Likely training to wrestle, she imagined. She longed to wake him but did not dare. Not in the mood this image had touched inside.  Instead, she tiptoed to the door, took one long look behind her, then slipped out to find a way to distract everyone from coming up here until he woke himself up.

With thanks, as ever, for others' contributions.

Edwin woke up with a start and a stiff neck, he must have fallen asleep over his plate. At least it wasn't soup. Looking around, he could see that the same weariness had overcome Bede, though the archer was still asleep with his head cradled on his arm. Amy, he noticed, was sitting in the corner of the room, absorbed in some mending. He stretched to ease the crick in his neck and was just thinking that he really ought to go up to his room to find somewhere more comfortable to have his sleep out when the remembrance of the morning's events came flooding back into his fatigue befuddled brain.

As he came fully awake, his first concern was to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged, as the sight and stench of the burning came back with its full horror. Breathing slowly and deeply, he managed to force the nausea back down, but the churning of his thoughts was not so easily subdued. What was happening to the university he loved, and had he made things better or worse with his heroics? And most of all, what were they doing sleeping like this when their first duty was surely to report to Canon Damian?

He pushed back his stool and jumped to his feet with a suddenness which shot a burning arrow of pain up from his wounded leg. He swore loudly, which woke Bede and earned him a disapproving look from Amy. Thank goodness Elspeth wasn't there to hear him. As he thought this, he could hear Elspeth speaking as she and Airich came down the stairs. He thought he heard her say something about Airich's nose being out of place like the rest of him, but, whatever that was about, they didn't have time for such nonsense. He was beginning to worry what Canon Damian would be thinking of his declamations, and there was only one way to find that out.

He did not dare tell the others to hurry up, but it seemed that they had all had similar thoughts, and in a very short time they were standing outside Canon Damian's office next to the University Library. Edwin waited for Airich to knock, only to find the latter looking impatiently at him.

"You're the student here."

"Not anymore."

"Oh. For heaven's sake," Elspeth pushed past the useless menfolk and knocked firmly on the door, which was opened almost immediately by the slight young novice, a youth who was old enough to have taken temporary vows, but surely didn't look any older than fifteen, if barely that– the same novice whom they had last seen in the infirmary. He looked inquiringly at them, but, seeing the women, at once dutifully lowered his eyes and waited to find out what this interruption to the usual routine of the monastic day was about.

"We are here to report to Canon Damian," Airich said calmly. The lad seemed unnerved by being addressed directly by one with such obvious authority and stammered out, "Ah'm sorry m'lord, but Father Damian is wi' his excellency the Bishop and canna be disturbed."

Edwin felt immediate sympathy for the novice's nervousness, faced with having to deny the request of someone so obviously his social superior. Before either Airich or Bede could respond and unwittingly unnerve the lad still further, Edwin spoke, echoing the lad's own border accent which he himself was beginning to lose but which he could still return to at will.

"D'ye ken when he's like ta be free ta speak wi'us?"

The lad looked up, startled, but obviously put more at his ease. He even managed a tentative smile in Edwin's direction as he shook his head and replied. "He was after saying that he'd no' be finished afore Vespers. I'm sorry sirs." There was a pause, then he added hesitantly, "and mistresses."

Elspeth stepped forward then, noting the tension in Edwin. It was apparent he had wanted to clear the air over his position at the university, one way or the other. Now his stress regarding the matter was to be extended. Edwin was trying unsuccessfully not to twist his sleeve in his fingers, but otherwise appeared calm before a serving young man of the church.  And the Novice was looking at Edwin in hopes that the University student would understand that the presence of women in this holy house of learning should be brought to as short a length of time as possible.

To Edwin's eye, it seemed Elspeth had misinterpreted the novice's discomfort as she asked, "What is your name, son?  I have worked with you, but I don't think we were introduced."

Edwin could sense the lad's unease with a woman of authority, at least in this place, and wondered how long the lad had been so far from home. He would be unused to speaking with women as a novice, but these were hardly usual times and if he was, as he seemed to be Canon Damian's assistant, then it was best he got used to the opposite gender presenting themselves in the office from time to time. He wondered how long it was since the novice had last seen his mother, and it occurred to him that Elspeth was likely near the age that his mother had been when he did last see her.

Maybe Elspeth's approach would be helpful, but still Edwin jumped in to make the introduction more comfortable.

"We're all o'us working wi' th'Canon so let's ken who we all are; I'm Edwin Scrivener of the Scrivener House of Culdi, with me are Sir Airich O'Flynn of Derry, and Mistress Elspeth Rowan, a physicker of Carbury also assistant at St Stefan's nunnery–her knowledge is worthy of the respect of Canon Damian's, you were witness to her ability in the infirmary a few days back." Edwin realized during this introduction his own opinion of his new friends had much improved since those first days.  "And these are our companions, Mistress Amy, Guardian Bede and his family's friend Mistress Muirea."

The church lad's tension relaxed. This seemed a good approach, the novice stood straighter and replied, "Ah am Aidan McLain, from St Machan's Abbey as was; that's in Cassan."

"A McLain?" Airich asked. "One of the McLains?"

"NO! No, no! Just one of the clan branches from generations back. My father's a cobbler. He did good work in his early years, but then... after a hand injury when I was very young, he was troubled to keep working. We were four boys in the house more girls too, My da sent us two youngest boys, to St Machan's Abbey. But then there was a fire..." Aidan swallowed and skipped what ever he was about to say.  "Ah have heard from other sources, that my eldest brother has taken on the Cobblery. Ah could go back, but that is not my desire. Ah have made vows, temporary for now, but I am working toward making them proper."

Airich nodded, but he still looked the boy over, obviously noting any family similarities to a certain Duke of Cassan. But if he saw anything, he made no mention of it.

The thought of injured hands reminded more than just Edwin of Elspeth's special patient. Before he could ask, Elspeth was already broaching the question. "How is Robert doing? I know he was moved to a new room, but I have not seen him since yesterday. Do you think you could take me to him?"

Novice Aidan's shoulders eased. "Sorry, Mistress Elspeth, but th'young student was met by his father just a few hours since an' has left th'university."

There was a sigh of much relief from all six persons standing before Aidan McLain. Sir Airich's eyes opened. "They managed to pass the road blockades? He must have brought several armed men with him?"

"No," Aidan corrected, "He came alone and left only wi' Robert."

Airich and Edwin both looked at each other, and Edwin could see a light suddenly shine in Airich eyes. "But of course," was all Airich would say. 

At Edwin's inquiring glance, he heard the knight's confident voice in his head, Portal transfer.

Mistress Elspeth thanked Novice Aidan for his time and requested if they could return after Vespers. Aidan agreed and all of them left the canon's office, but it appeared they had differing ideas as to what to do next.
Bede turned to Edwin. "Since we can't get in to see Canon Damian, shall we go pay a visit to that friend of ours?" He fingered a pair of green-glass eyeglasses.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Edwin replied. He glanced at Airich. "You with us again?"

Airich shook his head. "I've got a different task to see to this afternoon. But good luck to the both of you."
 

As usual, thanks to Laurna for Amyfying this scene.

"You look refreshed from your nap," Airich said to Amy as they walked behind Elspeth and Muirea, headed back to the boarding house. Regardless of his own errands, he would see the women safely home before he returned to the cathedral.

"The nap helped quite a lot, thank you," Amy said.

"I meant to speak with you before now," he said. He slowed his pace to give themselves some distance between the other two women.

"Oh? What about?"

"Nothing specific. I just didn't want you to think I was ignoring you. Or avoiding you. After the other night."

"You'd said you needed to take care of personal matters, so I didn't expect anything," Amy said. "And this morning has been... well, it's certainly been something, hasn't it? But it was nice to wake up and see that you'd been checking in on me." 

"Oh, well, I was concerned about you. Edwin said that you'd been in rapport all morning, and since he hadn't been controlling it, you must have been. I was worried you'd exhausted yourself."

"I seem to be well enough," she said. "Perhaps my mind isn't as sharp as usual, but I'm certainly able to serve customers and juggle drinks. And I've still got a few more hours to rest before I have to do that."

"Just be careful. Don't take any unnecessary risks." They continued walking. Then he asked, "Did you see anything... interesting while you were in rapport with Edwin?" He looked away as he asked this, his face as expressionless as he could possibly make it.

"Thank heavens, no. The worst of the fire was over by the time Edwin got there, so I didn't see the body, although I'm sorry to say I could sense the smell. I did hear Edwin's speech, which was impactful and expressive. Wouldn't it be nice if we could stop the Willimites just by turning all the students in the school against them? I suppose that's not likely if there are more people like that nasty Eddard de Nore out there." Amy was not an overly superstitious type but saying his name caused her to cross herself and mumble a word under her breath.  "What a relief that the Purple Guard heard his confession." She clenched her jaw, wishing, hoping, that his incarceration would bring an end to this mess. But she knew that was a false hope. 

"It's too bad de Nore managed to get such a good kick at Edwin's leg. I felt it when he slipped down the steps after." Amy almost told the knight of the scribe's pain, but decided that was not for her to tell. "It's a good thing Elspeth got there by the time—" Amy stopped suddenly, then began speaking quickly. "I told Elspeth about the injury, and she ran off almost immediately. Once I was alone, I think I fell asleep."

She looked up at Airich. He was watching her intently, but looked away when she made eye contact. "Asleep?" he asked.

"Must have been. Because, I presume, I lost the connection with Edwin, some time before I woke up. Maybe being asleep breaks the link. Does it? I guess I should have closed it sooner. I was so tired." Should she say anything about her dreams; they had not all been pleasant? Some of very personal nature, and others of... well. No need to share the pleasure of those. "I needed the rest, I will have to learn to shorten Rapport. Sleep must have ended it, or Edwin did," she said as they approached the boarding house.

"Or I did."

"Oh!"  She looked up at him confused, but then a smile caught in her eyes.  "The ancient mermaids were marvelous to see. I would love to see them some day with my own eyes." She giggled and then dodged into the boarding house door before Airich could say anything more.

I should have guessed you'd like the sea creatures, he sent her, getting in the last word after all.

Darn, she'd forgotten he could do that.

After saying their farewells and being wished happy hunting by the women and the knight, the Archer and the Scrivener began hunting their prey in earnest. Bede could only guess as to the hiding place of a man like Eustace at this time of the day, so Edwin took the lead in the tracking of this one. The obvious and correct place to look, he knew, was the Grecotha library. When they entered it, Bede was struck by a feeling of wonder and awe at something too many of the students already took for granted: the wealth of knowledge at their fingertips. Hundreds of books, and only some of them bound in chains. Hundreds of worlds I've never visited, or have and never truly known. He grimaced at nothing in particular and chided himself for such flights of fancy. His world was material. Not vellum, but stone, wood and flesh. Nevertheless, he had Edwin indulge him on this matter, wandering the shelves until they found a domesday book, about the length of his forearm and just as thick.

While the rector made his way over to them to unlock this particular volume, Edwin asked him, "What do you need a domesday book for?"

"I would like very much to see this city and the surrounding country from a perspective that is more ... civil than I seem to be able to get on my own." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "As things stand, I hate this place. It takes good people and beats them raw, giving vain promises in return, be they deryni or human."

"That's harsh to my ears," Edwin protested.

Bede was quick to point out, "It canna be that harsh, or else you would not have protested as you did today. You did well, I think." He accepted the book from the rector graciously and said to them both, "And thank you for this." It had a satisfying heft, in his opinion.

Then they split up, agreed that whoever found Eustace would wait for the other to find them. Edwin had his firsthand knowledge of what the target looked like and his habits to guide him, while Bede had the descriptions from the scholar and Muirea. She had told him much of this particular patron. The young man from Bremagne was sitting alone at the end of a table in the upper reading room, squinting at the inky innards of a book of canon law. That was where Edwin found him and made attempts at distracting conversation. He mostly got incendiary looks for his trouble, but it went on for long enough to achieve the desired effect.

Eustace's attention was finally gotten by a man in a guard's blue who otherwise looked the part of a sellsword. Strange enough on its own, but the man was wearing his eyeglasses and seemed to be struggling to read a volume on Grecothan history with them. He forgot himself, as was his way when slighted, rising to accuse the man. "Trou de cul!" he hissed. "You think I do not recognize my own eyeglasses?"

"Impossible," was the stranger's answer, and a flash of teeth. "Unless this is not the pair that you stepped on getting out of your bed." That was the lie that Eustace had told Muirea, when she so innocently asked him of their whereabouts.((Bede Intimidates Eustace 2d6 5 + 1))

Realizing who his betrayer was, Eustace cursed. "That loose-lipped harlot!"

"Watch it," Bede warned, slowly removing the eyeglasses. "Now, cooperate fully, and you may have these back and more, without a scratch. Otherwise, how far is it to the floor from over that railing, Master Scrivener?"

"None of us are engineering students here, Bede," Edwin shrugged.

"Peace, messieurs," Eustace spoke, needing no more convincing. "Keep your voices low and pray we are not seen. I will tell you what you want to know." In a stifled manner, as though he were embarrassed by the feeling of shame, he muttered, "I did not anticipate the severity of their methods, I swear on mon Dieu. First I must know: is young Robert alright?"

"We'll talk if you talk." Edwin's promise was a cautious one.

"Very well. Those two boys found outside the walls of the city? They were my academic enemies. Not rivals; enemies. I knew that they were stealing my work and presenting it as their own, with just enough variance between themselves to make me seem the thief, but I could not fathom how. How could any human have looked over my shoulder? Before today, I have been far more cautious and private about my studies. I could only conclude that they were not human, who humiliated me so. It has been a lonely time, since coming to this chilly university. I had everything in Bremagne but a future, one might say. Here, I had little besides the pity smiles of barmaids and the mockery of those more attuned to these Gwyneddian mores. If I fail out of Grecotha, or worse: walk a road of mediocrity, then I may as well die. But I came into the knowledge that the elite of the elite at this university, they too have contempt for the Deryni. I saw a chance to slash two straws in one stroke of the scythe, as my tenants sometimes told me. I convinced the boys that we could become friends out there, and even that they could join these esteemed fellows with me. Young Alfred," Edwin and Bede took him to mean Alfie. "He gave me a good blow for it, knocking my glasses to where I could not see them in the dark. I came back looking for them, but only found his body. I reported it to the guards, with some simple explanation for finding it. Mon Dieu, that was all too much! I only wanted to see them shout for mercy and admit what they were doing to me."

"You foolish, petty bastard," Edwin spat, eyes wide and brows furrowed. "Robert is going to live. Elsewhere. So, congratulations are in order, I suppose."

"What else can you tell us?" Bede asked. "We need to know who these friends of yours are."

"They are not my friends after this morning. I think I would rather be cold than look at a roaring fire ever again. You look for Henry Steinmeister. An engineering student, and my contact amongst ... those gentlemen."

"Oh? What's he like? Do ye know, Ed?" Edwin shook his head, but Bede could not fault him there. He turned back to Eustace and began carefully wiping the eyeglasses and nodding encouragingly.

Eustace rubbed his sharp nose, wiping the perspiration on his face from its epicenter, and anticipating the return of his eyeglasses. "I won't accuse him before the magistrate, but know this: he is a man unafraid to get his hands dirty. No, he revels in it. If you can get him to confess, not to a priest, but as freely to yourselves, then you will have come so much closer to the truth. Yet he is as likely to help you as kill you. He makes me seem calculating, so impulsive is he."

The temperature seemed to rise with this foreboding warning. Bede wiped his brow. "What if we fail there, eh? May the Lord forbid it, but if these former friends canna be stopped, what's next for them?"

Eustace gulped down his narrow gullet. "If you knew your history like a scholar, you would already know. They have tasted blood, messieurs. The blood of students and of an entertainer who would not be missed did they not give him so dramatic an exit. But they preach death to all Deryni, not just ones like them. Someone who is not a student, who is not an entertainer with no one to trust in the city, he could still tell himself that he will be fine, unless?"

"They prove their reach with something drastic," Edwin finished the thought with dread. ((Harmless Education roll on Edwin's behalf 3d6: 3 + 5 + 2)) He racked his memory and knowledge of the city's social order. Who was openly Deryni but untouchable? No ... unattainable? "This could still be a university matter while matching your suggestion, Eustace. Are you aware of the dean of literature's relations? Of course not. No offense," lest he provoke the irrational student. "He has a niece who stays in the city for seasons at a time. You'd not forget her if you met her, but good luck there, as he's very protective of her as well as his other kin. Fair, tall, inquisitive and brilliant. Her name is Gwendolyn, but the critics of the university call her the Grecothan Grimalkin, or simply the witch."

Bede was intrigued. True to his word, he returned the eyeglasses before he and Edwin left, pretending like they never met the man who had so bared his bitter soul.

Airich stood within the confines of a small chapel within the cathedral, and failed to avoid thinking of the appropriately vile word that fit his mood.

There had to be a transfer portal here somewhere. Damned if he could figure out where. No tell-tale octagonal tile patterns in the floor, nothing he could detect in any of the small chapels, and now the priests were staring at him with suspicion, wondering about this loiterer in their midsts.

The cathedral floor itself could take hours to search, and Airich just didn't have that kind of time to spend on a possibly fruitless task. He thought perhaps he might return to the library and search there. He'd initially thought to look there first, but he'd seen Bede and Edwin questioning a student there and didn't want to distract them. He felt a certain amount of guilt that he wasn't helping them, but his task was one that a limited number of people could do, and—if successful—could benefit the entire operation.

Airich left the cathedral and walked the increasingly familiar path back to the university library. He'd just come into the courtyard when he spied Canon Damian strolling across the pavers that outlined the grounds. He would know about the portals in the cathedral if anyone would.

"Father Damian," Airich called.

The Canon turned towards the voice that called his name and laid eyes on Airich. "Yes, my son?"

Long legs quickly ate up the distance between them. "Father Damian, have you finished with your meeting with the Bishop?"

Canon Damian shook his head. "No, we're simply taking a short break. I thought I'd stretch my legs while I had the chance. You're welcome to join me, Sir Airich. Tell me how your investigation is coming along."

A private conversation with Canon Damian was ideal, and Airich was surprised the man knew his name and face. He fell in with the older man's steps. "I assume you've been briefed on this morning's events, and that the Purple Guard has reported that Eddard de Nore has confessed to the murder of Lucas Whittingham. We've currently got people interviewing other suspects this afternoon and plan further investigations this evening.

"So at this point, we now have two murders and one attempted murder ascribed to the Willimites. Forgive my presumption, but I assume you have sent to the King for backup? Now that we know this cult is more than just talk?"

"Oh yes," Damian confirmed. "I sent some messengers a few days ago, before we brought your people onboard. I've sent additional messengers this morning to update them of our current situation. I hope to hear back from Rhemuth in a few days."

"Days?" It didn't require Deryni messengers days to carry critical information. "What about your transfer portals?"

"My what?"

"Your transfer portals," Airich repeated. "I would presume you have Deryni runners who can send and receive messages to the other diocese quickly. Messengers from the king would use them as well." Airich's hopes for a quick solution to the unknown portals were rapidly diminishing, but he had to ask. "I'd hoped you could tell me where they are so we can work more efficiently. I also think they might be necessary on the off-chance that we need to evacuate some Deryni to a safer location."

"I'm afraid I can't help you with that." The priest shook his head sadly. "We don't use Deryni runners between terms. Rhemuth and Valoret sometimes send us messengers, but I'm not privy to the methods they use to arrive in Grecotha quickly."

So much for saving hours of searching. Still, the Canon could help him with this task at least a little bit. "It's almost guaranteed that there would be at least one portal in the cathedral somewhere. Might I have permission to search there?" If he could keep the curious monks and priests off his back, the search would go smoother. "Of course a priest would need to accompany me so I don't go into any areas completely off-limits."

"That sounds reasonable," Damian said. "Use that warrant I gave you and tell Brother Francis that I said you had permission to search where you will."

"Thank you, I will do that shortly." Airich was relieved that at least one thing was going right. "In the meantime, who else do you have looking into these Willimites? I thought if we might coordinate with your other investigators and share information, we could cover more ground."

"I don't have any other investigators at this time," the Canon said. "When the King sends assistance, I should have more people to spare for this situation."

"No other people?" Airich stopped in his tracks, and the Canon paused as well.

No one else? Just the five of them against a growing horde of fervent zealots? "Where are your reeves who should be looking into this? Is anyone questioning Eddard de Nore about his fellow conspirators? Where is your spy network? You must have people who you can trust to bring you information, do you truly have no one who has infiltrated the Willimites and brought you word of their doings? How can the Bishop run this city with such a shocking lack of competence?"

Canon Damian's voice was ice. "Sir Airich, you forget yourself."

What are you doing, you dolt! Airich dropped to one knee and bowed his head before the irate priest. "Yes, Father. You have my abject apologies," he said as sincerely as he could. No matter how poorly he thought the city was being run, he had no business mouthing off to this representative of the Church.

Miraculously, the Canon did not walk away, but continued their conversation, although his voice had lost all kindness it had previously contained. "Our worst nightmares have not prepared us for the likes of these Willimites. Student brawls... petty theft... that is what Grecotha has been accustomed to, and we have had no need of a reeve in several years. The Purple Guard manages the university affairs, and the watch handles the rest of the city. I'm sorry that our setup does not meet with your approval."

Airich felt the blood rushing to his face in shame. He lowered his upraised knee and bowed low before the priest. "I humbly beg your pardon, Sir. I have been... distracted since this morning when we brought Lucas Whittington's body down from the stake. My words were uttered in haste and no small amount of despair."

After a moment of silence, Canon Damian said, "You have my forgiveness, my son. And my understanding." He put his hand out to raise Airich to his feet. "Have you been to see a priest since this morning?"

Airich's brow furrowed in confusion, "No, I had not thought to seek confession today."

"No, not for confession," the priest said. "For solace. You witnessed a truly horrific event this morning, and you might find peace of mind if you speak with a priest about what you have seen."

"Thank you, Father, I will do that soon. But..." He didn't want to press further, but he had to know. "Please reassure me... I am not the only trained Deryni in your arsenal, am I?"

Damian looked at Airich sadly. "My boy, my "arsenal," as you call them, have yet to arrive in Grecotha for the beginning of the new term. And, if I may be honest, I highly doubt to see any of them once word of this morning's debacle spreads." The older man sighed. "And so, I make do with what I have and pray for God to send me what I need. And what I need is great men. Brave and clever men. Like your father." The priest cocked his head and looked at the knight carefully. "Are you like your father, Sir Airich?"

Airich was taken aback by this question but answered truthfully. "Sir, no one is like my father."

The Canon smiled. "Ah, too true. And that was unfair of me to ask you to compare yourself; young men need to find their own paths, don't they?"

"I suppose so."

Canon Damian looked back the way they'd come. "I think it's time for me to return. And you have things to do as well. It was good to speak with you, Sir Airich."

Airich watched the man go. He hadn't told Airich what he'd wanted to hear, but at least Airich knew what he needed to know. And what he needed to do.

Washburn Morgan stood tall on the steps before the massive bronze doors leading into the great hall of Rhemuth castle. On the steps beside him stood Prince Javan and Archbishop Duncan. Behind them gathered several lords and magistrates, more from Duncan's era than of the prince's. These were the men who had not traveled with the king. Washburn considered this old guard was getting long in the tooth, and it was getting time that the king started appointing men closer to Javan's age if the capital was going to keep up with the times. And indeed, these times needed a thrust of youth to pacify the worst of the rumors, not the old faded glories of generations past.

The king was returning early from his two-month summer sojourn through Meara and Cassan. A quest to reassure his people that they were still beloved by him, even after their rebellion of four years ago; also to see the completion of the rebuilding of the cities of Ratharkin and Laas.

The preliminary reports proved that King Kelson's tour had been a success. The Western and Northern third of the kingdom were at peace and regaining their prosperity. As for the two thirds of the kingdom who spent the summer wrongly thinking themselves beyond the king's eyesight... well, they had become naughty children in need of their papa's firm attention. The most Eastern third of the kingdom was having road banditry problems that were barely held in check by the Dukes and Earls marshaling the roads. And the middle third of the kingdom was nearly in open rebellion of a far more pernicious sort than Duke Valerian had caused before the actual battle of Laas.

Wash heard the pipes and drummers of Cassan long before the royal procession came through the palace grounds gates. The skirl of the pipes had announced the king as soon as he had disembarked from the river crossing. The stirring sound had marked his passage through Market Square and then the Princes's Square before turning back toward the climb up the castle road. Prince Javan's operative in the lower part of town had told of the people coming forth in cheerful droves to welcome home their king. Amazingly, the pipers, still not out of breath from the hard climb, played their king's procession into the castle's courtyard and continued to play as the royal procession marched in through the gates. Behind the drummers, Wash watched the display of a dozen royal pennants flapping in the afternoon breeze; they entered the yard to circle the outer edge of the stone paved open grounds. Following the pipers and the colors were a dozen caparisoned horses of Crimson red and gold; the Haldane Lancers escorting a regal soul in full regalia of Royal Crimson on a magnificent white steed.

King Kelson Haldane was god-like in his presentation to his people. They who saw him, loved him; they who knew him personally loved him more. Those who truly loved him as a man, knew just how much he appreciated all this pomp and circumstance, not for his own pride, but as his gift to his people. And in return, their cheering was their gift to him. This giving was greater than any offering of coin.

A dozen of Cassan knights followed the king and, to Washburn's surprise, Duke Dhugal was among them. To shake Dhugal out of Cassan in autumn meant that the king was taking all these rumors with serious conviction. Three covered carriages followed the king and his knights. They entered the yard, jockeying for position to allow the ladies of court to disembark. Washburn knew first hand how much those wheeled vessels swayed, and wondered how many of the delicate ladies were road-sick. Should he offer them a healing hand as they stepped from their torture conveyances? But first he must greet and wait upon his king. 

Several dozen cavalrymen came last into the main yard; rather than mill around as the nobles did, they turned left to go straight to the stables and the barracks beyond. The stirring in the yard seemed to settle as the travelers found their rightful places to come to a halt. The drummers gave a resounding roll and the pipes sang a lifting charge. All watched the pipe major, but the pipe major watched his king. Kelson raised his hand and at the moment that he lowered it, the pipe major made some minute motion and all the sounds of pipe and drum came to an instant silence. The only following call was an order from the knight's captain, and all the riders came to resting ease. This brought a whole staff of young men from the sides to sweep forth and take the heads of the horses. Prince Javan and Baron Washburn descended the steps, coming to stand before their king with grateful bowed greetings.

"Sire," Prince Javan was the first to speak. "Your staff has prepared a banquet for this evening, your rooms are awaiting your refreshment from your long travel."

"That is not what I need, son. What I need is all my councilors to join us in the wardroom. I understand we have much that needs to be discussed."

"Aye, sire, but I fear you have arrived ahead of most of the council members. We did not expect you until tomorrow."

"I had no intention of lingering on the road at times like these. I will have what reports I can get today; send word that those who can arrive within the hour must do so. Reduce the banquet to a simple, hearty meal. I want my people to sleep tonight so that I can bend them to tasks tomorrow morning."

"Aye, Sire." Prince Javan said with a small bow. He placed his hand on his father's bridle and held the steed while the king dismounted.

"Lord Washburn, I am glad you are here," the king said as he turned to his baron. "I want to hear personally what happened at Arx Fidei."

"Yes, Sire. May I offer a warm hand to the ladies each before I come to you." He looked across at the first dazed ladies-in-waiting as they stepped from their carriages, attempting to appear fully aware, but not quite succeeding from their racing rush home.

The King gave a smile. "So that is how healers win over my court ladies so effortlessly."

"If only I had known about this advantage in my youth," Washburn lamented.

"Neither you nor your father needed that much more advantage than you already had in your youth. You are so much like your father, you know that?" The king commented, gesturing that Wash might proceed. Then he and the prince, joined by the Duke of Cassan, were marching up the steps to be welcomed home by the Archbishop and many noble retainers.

Wash stepped aside to the carriages, finding milling women gathering like a gaggle of geese. He offered a hand to each of them. And with surprising faces of gratitude, each willingly gave it, then straightened and went more about their business with purpose instead of illness. The last women to stand within the frame of the carriage door were Queen Araxie and Duchess Mirjana. Both women wore their hair perfectly placed, and their gowns brushed free of dust. The Duchess was once a beauty of the Festilic family, and now, with matronly elegance, she was a stalwart of the McLain Clan, a woman to be reckoned with if she detected danger near her loved ones. The queen who descended last from the carriage transcended all. She was a goddess! Not by her clothes, which were perfect but demure, rather by her emanating strength that flowed from her gaze. Not a Deryni aura, but a royal presence gained by love for and from her people.  If she had been a Healer she could have healed the enter land with just that gaze.

Araxie alighted from the carriage with a special grace. She accepted only a light touch of hands between herself and Washburn. That light touch was all that the Healer in Wash needed. With it, he sent her a warmth of energy and healing. She smiled at him gratefully. Then took his arm and let him escort her to her husband at the top of the stairs. Mirjana graced his other arm as they ascended the steps. Washburn was a man flying high at that moment.

"Where have you left Lady Fiona?" Dhugal asked as he accepted his wife's arm from the knight Healer.

"She will be along by portal this evening," with a light in his eyes, Wash said. "We both agreed she needs not to be traveling by horse at this time."

"This is your first," Dhugal stated. "We men all get that protective feeling before our first child arrives."

"And by the second and third child," the Duchess of Cassan interrupted. "The fathers do not even give it a second thought." Mirjana's smile was warm and teasing. She squeezed her duke's hand, and he squeezed it back.

The doors of Rhemuth opened to the rulers of Gwynedd, and all stepped across the threshold, gladdened to be home.

*****

While the king and his blood-brother bathed and changed in the royal apartment, Duncan and Javan also in attendance, Washburn gave a full reciting of his visitor of two nights back at Arx Fedei Abbey and the arrangements that had followed.

Kelson had already been briefed on this, just hours after it happened. This was the first that Dhugal had learned of the encounter, and he was a bit dismayed at the outcome. "You made a formal agreement with that man? How did you bring yourself to go that far? After what Feyd did!"

Wash grimaced at the memory. He was not the only one who had been tortured by the kidnapping. Every man in this room had dealt with the emotional sequences of those horrific days. "In this, the needs of the kingdom come first. I am wagering my life and my family's lives that the Master of the Black Order is on the side of Deryni and an enemy to the Custodes."

"The enemy of my enemy..." Duncan mumbled.

"...is not quite my friend." Washburn completed the old saying. "But has become an ally from this cause."

"If I find this is all from his own making just to trap you, his order will learn the true meaning of Cassan's anger." Dhughal hissed with his hands in fists. The king appeared calm and eyed his blood brother to return to the same calm. When Dhugal unclenched, Kelson allowed his squire to shift a simple red tunic pulled over his head and let him secure his belt with his dagger at his side. Talking before Squire Rhys Alaric, who helped his grandfather dress, was not considered a breach in private knowledge about Washburn's abilities. Prince Rhys Alaric Kelson Haldane, now the age of 15, was well on his way to apprenticeship for the crown someday. But everyone prayed, including the young prince himself, that that day would not come until his old age.

"Then has Iain received any reports?" Dhugal asked by way of taming his anger.

"Iain is waiting for one now. He promised to arrive here soon as he is able, to report directly to you, Sire."

"Good. Have him sent to me the moment he arrives, no matter what I will be doing."

"Aye, my king." Wash said with a bow.

"Very well. Dhugal if you are ready, it is time we go get the full story of this unrest in my kingdom. I intend to rectify what my absence has caused." What personal anger the king held, it was held in check. First, he wanted to know just who that anger needed to be aimed at before he let that arrow fly.

*****

"The band of banditry that has been harassing travelers along the Bearncoill Pass between Rengarth and Madras has launched another attack." Baron Sieur II de Vali, Steward of Coroth was here to speak on behalf of his duke. Wash listened intently to all the man had to say. "You will recall that Earl Tovias Genlis of Carcashale first accused Count Zygmunt of Medras for harassing Gwynedd's trade route over the mountains. Followed by Zygmunt accusing Tavias of starting this illegal enterprise to line his own pockets with bogus Travelers tax. Both crowns of Torenth and Gwynedd ended the accusations with a truce last month. To thwart the bandits, all the local nobility on both sides of the pass have formed up armed escorts for caravans to cross the pass in both directions. Lord Derry, Lord Genlis and Lord Zygmunt have successfully kept the road clear. That is, until yesterday."

Wash held his breath; he had not heard this part as yet.

"A large caravan was struck yesterday by a larger contingent of men, a nasty group of armed Coamar Mountain peasantry, yelling 'Die Deryni.' The group was beaten back and scattered into the hills, but not before it was discovered that the heathen attackers were using Merasha-tipped arrows. Seamus O'Flynn was leading this caravan, and he was injured during the attack." Breaths were noisily inhaled around the table as Sieur continued. "The caravan returned to Rengarth this morning, three members had been affected by the Merasha, and several humans had lesser injuries. Kelric dispatched himself and his men by portal to Rengarh immediately and met the injured there. He has seen to their needs; Seamus not yet healed, but was being cared for when I left an hour ago. My duke has ordered a full battalion of men to guard the pass. Earl Derry has ordered more men to join the duke's. With early snows in the higher elevation of the Coamar Mountains, it is thought to be a blessing—perhaps for the first time in peacetime history—that the snows will close the passes far earlier than normal and bring this banditry to an end."

"Not bandits, they're Willimites," said the Duke of Carthmoor. Albin Haldane looked very much like portraits of his grandfather Nigel, now that he had matured past the age that had troubled his father.

Washburn broke the silence of this revelation. "Sieur, does Kelric need assistance? If so many were injured in such a way, I can help."

"No!" was the instant comment from both King and Archbishop. But the shock of these refusals were downplayed by Sieur himself. "Your brother has everything well in hand. Seamus's drug influence was much reduced this morning, and Kelric was hopeful he could heal him soon. He will be fine after the full effects wear off."  Wash breathed a sigh of relief: the O'Flynn sons were among his closest friends. He would never forsake them. But he did catch the look from Kelson to Duncan, then Duncan sent to Wash a tight message, You may go nowhere without the king's escort.

Wash sighed and cursed this damn skill of his. What good was it if he could not use it for the purpose that it was formaly intended.

The king, meanwhile, had turned to Prince Albin to hear about troubles from Carthmoor and Carthane.

"What began at New Argoed quickly spread to Nyford. Nyford has always had an undercurrent of anti-Derynism. Perpetuated by the de Nore family—if ever there was a family I wished a plague upon—if only they were not successful procreators."

"Albin!" the King admonished his cousin. "That is not worthy of you."

"You are right, Sire. I correct what I said." At that he gave Duncan a nod asking forgiveness.

"Something must have happened to have topped your anger," Duncan asked.

"Yes, indeed." Prince Albin went on to describe minor incidents at first about small groups of men asking overt questions in the local taverns. Innocuous questions at first, which led to the divergence of which families seemed to have more economic favoritism than seemed fair. "At first, my spies did not know what to make of this questioning. Of course, we have families that run very profitable trade businesses out of the harbor; businesses, I might add, that have nothing to do with heritage traits. Just recently, gatherings of men have started harassing these good merchants and accusing them of being the accursed devil's spawn of Deryni. Not all the families they are accusing have Deryni blood. Most do not. This has caused these wealthy merchant houses to hire Connaiti mercenaries as house guards." Albin shook his head in disgust.

"The men making the accusations have declared themselves the Brothers of Saint William. They have vowed to rout out the corruption of the devil and bring down any business known to be associated with Deryni. I have sent peacekeeping guards into the streets and around the harbor and profitable businesses, regardless of being Deryni or not. But now the accusations between the greater houses as to who is to blame for these Brothers of St William is heating up. I have denied them the right to fight amongst each other, but now I fear if something does happen, they will retaliate upon the common folk of Nyford instead."

No one dared to say a word on this civil disturbance. All looked at Kelson for answers. "I will consider this and let you know in the morning. Would a troop of King's men help keep the peace?"

"I do hope so, Sire." 

"As for the harbor shipping, it is necessary that we keep the flow of trade open in Nyford. Our fleet is currently harbored at Concaradine. I can order them to help watch the estuary and the harbor anchorages."

"That might put a leash on a few angry houses, Sire. I just pray that it will not be needed for very long." The king gave his cousin an agreeing nod, turned toward the council at large, then focus on one person in particular who had yet to speak.

"Any more news from Grecotha? More than the death of one student and another injured?"

"Aye sire. An informant arrived as we all were changing after our own arrival." This was Jamyl Arilan, son of Seisyll Arilan. Seisyll, Washburn knew, was out seeking even more dastardly information that could not yet be divulged to even this elite council; Information coming from Valoret, and its outlying town of Ramos.

"And you did not see fit to tell me what he has?" Kelson asked of the younger Arilan.

Prince Javan was quick to come to Jamyl's rescue. "I left orders we were not to be disturbed after you arrived. It is my error."

"I see." Kelson said giving his son one of those we need to talk later looks. "What is the news from Grecotha?"

"There was a burning before dawn this morning. A Deryni burning." Silence hung in the air as no one dared to breathe.

"Who was burned?" The question was very low and menacing.

"An entertainer by the name of Lucas Whittingham. One of the Willimites there has confessed to the murder."

"Who has confessed?" the king asked soberly.

"Eddard de Nore. Your Majesty."

The fist that slammed the table-top made every man jump.

With the Domesday book tucked under one arm, Bede briskly wandered the city until he came to the site of a building under development, with the scent of limestone and mortar heavy in the air. Once there, he let his blue eyes wander over the workers until he found one in hiked-up student's robes. He approached as casually as he could, as a man armed and equipped for trouble, hoping the book would make him appear to belong in such studious company. "Are ye Henry Steinmeister?"

"That I am," replied the laboring student, slapping the dust of bricks off of his hands and into the air between them. "And you are?"

"Bede Archer."

Henry looked him up and down, from rugged old boots to the end of his bow. "I can see that."

"Touche, stone master. What are you doing here?"

"Mere extracurricular work. Just because the term has not started does not mean I should be idle. Despite our troubles, this is a growing city."

((Bede Education roll 2d6 5 + 1))"Of course. I'm learning just that from this 'ere book. Have you heard of Bradene de Tourz? On top of everything else he did, he was a supporter of public works like this."

Steinmeister snorted derisively. "There are more important things than public works. Or rather, there are different kinds of public works. Take it from me."

"There's something else I would like to take from you," Bede muttered unthinkingly. ((Henry Perception Roll 2d6 1 + 4)) Lucky for him, Henry could not hear him clearly over the clangor of the hammers and other tools, and evidently did not recognize him as one of the impulsive assistants to the guards from the early morning. Bede switched his manner. "I could'na agree more. Whoever made that pyre, the one from this morning? Damn good work."

Steinmeister was surprised. "You have no love for the Deryni?"

"The Deryni have taken everything from me. Someone taking something from them is like the song of a bird to my ears."

Steinmeister smiled faintly. "Why don't you wait a little, and we can talk about this privately? You look like someone who could be of use."

"I hope so," Bede nodded. A short time later, Steinmeister took a break from his labors and led Bede into a secluded alley. None would see him pull his warrant out here. "Now," he said slowly as he put it away and tapped the book's hard spine, letting the gravity of the situation sink in for young Steinmeister. "We have good reason to suspect you were involved with not only the death of Whittington, but the brutalization of those two students last week. What do you have to say for yourself?"

((Rolling to see if Engineer assumes Bede is Deryni 2d6 6 + 3))"Only that it was foolish of you to choose to question me where no one will know you have gone, you damn Deryni." ((Engineer attacks 2d6 3 + 1(Good news!))) Steinmeister pulled a trowel from the belt at his waist. Judging by his girth, Bede decided that the man had cultivated much more strength than speed within himself, for the slash was a sluggish one. ((Bede Improvises 1d6 6)) Sluggish enough to be handily batted away with the Domesday book, with a clanging of metal against a stone wall. ((Bede strength test 2d6 3 + 4 vs Steinmeister strength test 2d6 6 + 3))

Bede pressed his advantage with a thrust of his open right hand, grabbing Steinmeister's robe furiously. Nonetheless, his strength was not the same as the Willimite mason's, who tore Bede's arm away with ease. ((Bede attacks 1d6 4)) But as long as Bede could pin the man's trowel arm in place, they would remain at an impasse. This must have been something that Steinmeister knew as well, since his next move was to attempt to break them up with a headbutt. ((Steinmeister attacks 1d6 5))((Bede counter roll 2d6 4 + 3))

Seeing it coming like the onrush of a mighty bull, Bede simply leaned back and thus received merely a rough bump on his nose instead of a concussive blow to his forehead. He staggered back, still clutching the book and now snorting up his own blood. "Ye lime licking scum," he growled.

Steinmeister simply smiled like a maniac as he came back for more, thrusting the weapon he thought he still held when in fact he held nothing at all. ((Steinmeister thrusts again 1d6)) He must have dropped the trowel with the book's rough encouragement. Bede wanted to cut off his hand with the knife he had borrowed but settled instead for trapping it in the middle of the Domesday book's pages. ((Bede and the Domesday Book 3d6 4 + 6 + 1)) ((Bede and the Domesday Book pt2: the bookening 3d6 2 + 3 + 5)) Bede's next move was simple: twist the engineering student's hand via the book's vise-grip until he was in a more compromised position. One knee fell to the pavers, followed by the other. Bede then moved his left hand to Steinmeister's shoulder, forcing him all the way to the ground. "It's na nice to scuff a man's nose and stretch his only good shirt, no?" He hoped that Edwin was having an easier time with the dean and his entourage.
((Rolling for book damages. Once for each impact. 2d6 5 + 5))

The two young men left the library discussing what they should do next. Edwin felt relieved that Bede had volunteered to interview the stonemason and, though he was unhappy with the role that had been assigned to him, he could see the sense in Bede's reasoning. An archer with a Mearan accent could hardly expect to be admitted to the presence of the Dean of students, whereas he at least knew where the man lived with his widowed sister and her daughter Gwendolyn. 

He turned for a last time to watch Bede walk out of sight, and was horrified to see that the wretch had the Domesday book still under his arm. Mother of God, had the man no respect for the time and effort that had gone into making such a tome?" He made to go after Bede, but in his haste he slipped on one of the cobbles and fell, painfully banging his injured shin. By the time he had picked himself up, cursing freely, Bede was gone.

None of this improved his mood, which was already sour. He had had no intention of sharing such humiliation
with a man senior to himself both in age and experience, but his previous trips to visit the Dean had been enforced occasions of discipline after he had been taken up in drunken brawls. Both visits had ended with bruises to his dignity, his back, and his purse. On the second occasion, he had been leaving, suitably chastened, only to meet Gwendolyn and her chaperone coming in the opposite direction. She had thrown a discreetly understanding smile at him, as though she knew exactly why students were summoned to see her uncle. No wonder she was called a witch. 

Edwin could feel himself descending into a sullen mood of self-pity, and forced himself rather to think of the reasons for his task. There was no room for childish sulks in the dangerous place that this city had become. He would indeed have welcomed a fine and a flogging if it was the worst that a man had to face. As he made himself think again of the morning's horror, he was suddenly struck with the thought that Elspeth, the woman who had so effectively tended to his wounded leg, had also had to endure being called a witch, and he flushed painfully with the remembrance of how casually he and his fellow students had likewise miscalled Gwendolyn. And for what? For the crime of daring not to hide what she was. Yes, a Deryni, but more shockingly - as far as the young men of Grecotha were concerned - a young woman who enjoyed all the opportunities for learning that her uncle was able to indulge her in, limited though they were.

He turned towards the house where the Dean lodged with his household. It was testament to the peaceful place that Grecotha had been that students were allowed free access to the man who was responsible for their welfare and discipline, and though Edwin's own experience had been of the latter, he knew of others who had been enabled to continue their studies through the Dean's own personal generosity.

Admitted to the Dean's presence, he found himself faced with a man who seemed unable to decide whether to exhibit approval or anger, though the Dean's initial remark was neutral enough, "I hear you are finding within yourself something of a talent for rhetoric!" Bede had seemed to think that Edwin might be able to actually speak to Gwendolyn herself and Edwin had not thought it worth an argument, but, faced by the Dean, he knew that such a request would be taken for the gross impertinence it was. As he stammered out the warning they had agreed upon that it might be best for Gwendolyn to be taken to safety out of the city, he saw that the Dean clearly regarded this as insolence coming from a student. 

With ice in his voice, the Dean replied, "You have been given a task, I suggest you confine yourself to it and leave off meddling in affairs that are none of your concern; I could add that, given your actions this morning in placing a target upon your back, you might properly be more concerned with your own safety."

There was nothing for Edwin to do but leave with as much dignity as he could muster. He only hoped that the others had met with more success.

So what is the point of having convictions if you're just going to cast them aside the first time there's trouble? Airich pondered this dilemma as he descended the narrow stairway of the Bishop's palace toward the small dungeon there.

What's the point of taking a vow to the king if you're not going to do everything in your power to uphold his law? his brain countered, and he had no good argument. His vow to give up his Deryni powers and live as a Human had been the promise he'd made only to himself. Isn't that why you're wading hip-deep through your Deryni magics? And planning on going further? You're not doing this for your own amusement.

Be quiet. He hated it when that side of himself won the argument. But his Human and Deryni sides were both interrupted by a frantic yelling from the cell at the end. "I demand you allow me to see Bishop Bernard this instant! He will not be pleased that you have placed me here! My father will make sure you are punished severely for this indignity! I was doing God's work, you have no business chaining me up like a common criminal!"

"How long has he been going off like that?" Airich asked.

"On and off since we brought him in," said Captain Hawthorne, who stopped before the door and loudly rattled the key in the lock. Airich heard another shriek from inside the cell, followed by a round of curses.

"I'm surprised you haven't gagged him yet," Airich said.

"Oh, where's the fun in that?" said Hawthorne's assistant Callum, who stood behind them, holding a tall stool. The door opened, and all three entered the cell.

"I see you're here to torture me some more," Eddard de Nore spat. Literally. Fortunately, he was chained to the wall by arms and one foot, and his spittle missed by a wide margin.

"Thank you for showing us where to sit," Airich said, indicating that Callum should set the stool just beyond the splash zone, and sat there. "If you'll stop your spitting for just a minute, we're going to release your chain from the wall so you can lower your arms," Airich said, "but feel free to continue cursing, I'm learning some interesting new insults I hope to use some day soon."

Captain Hawthorne took it upon himself to risk the spit-barrage, but apparently de Nore wanted his arms down more than he wanted to dampen Hawthorne's uniform and wisely kept his mouth shut. Once his arms were lowered and attached merely to each other by a small length of chain, he started up with his threats and insults once again.

"I will take great pleasure in making sure you personally pay for this assault upon my person. You and your strutting peacocks who wear their purple sashes with the pride of Lucifer himself. It's not too late for you to renounce your sins and ally yourselves with the Lord against the blasphemous Deryni devils."

"How are those shackles?" Hawthorne asked him, "Not too tight, I hope?" He tested them to make sure they weren't brusingly tight.

"Don't touch me, Deryni whoreson!" de Nore screamed, yanking his hands away. Airich took advantage of Eddard's distraction to slip smoothly within the confines of the man's mind. The Human had no Shields so this wasn't difficult.

"Stop fighting," Airich said. "If I were a Deryni who wanted to take control of you, I would have done it this morning while you were spitting on me." At least he'd missed the face. "I would have made you soil yourself or punch yourself in the face just to pay you back for that."

"Ah hah! So you admit you are Deryni?"

"Sure, why not? I'm Deryni. What about you, Hawthorne?" Airich looked to the captain.

"Oh yes. Deryni through and through. So are all my men."

"I was baptized Deryni when I was a wee tot," Callum added.

"I knew it! Well do your worst, fiend, you'll never be able to subvert me with your foul magics."

"Hell, why would we want to subvert you?" Airich asked. "Most of the university's students are already Deryni, and the few who aren't have already joined our cause. Along with the Bishop and the brothers and priests who teach, and the entire city watch."

De Nore's eyes narrowed. "You're mocking me."

Airich shrugged. "Perhaps a little."

"The men enjoy mocking you," Hawthorne added. "They come down here and check your shackles just for the excuse of making contact with you and hearing you squeal about how they're all Deryni and going to hell. They've been wagering on who can make you squawk the loudest without actually hurting you."

Derision was such a wonderful weapon against those who took themselves too seriously. Airich sensed de Nore struggle to find a properly outraged answer to this revelation before giving up and returning to his earlier rant. "You want my soul because I am a de Nore and my family is well known for hunting down your kind and giving them the fitting end they so richly deserve. If I were to recant my beliefs, that would be a severe blow to our cause."

"I promise, I don't want you," Airich insisted. "I personally think the de Nores are just a bunch of murdering child rapists. Just like good old Uncle Septimus." That struck a nerve, Airich felt the jolt.

"He did not—"

"Yes, I know what they say. They say that Septimus didn't actually bugger the little boy, he only killed another filthy Deryni. But let's be honest with each other." Airich decided to risk another dowsing and brought his stool closer to the prisoner. He dropped his voice lower as if sharing a confidence with Eddard. "Would a man like Father Septimus de Nore truly commit the worse crime of murder merely to cover up the lesser crime committed by a couple of guardsmen? I don't think he would. You must have thought about this yourself in those rare times you allow yourself to think of this black mark on your family's name. In all likelihood, Septimus de Nore was right there with the guardsmen, taking turns sodomizing the child before killing him to stop his tongue.

Airich felt the sense of horror running through Eddard as he carefully wove his narrative. Obviously the de Nore family had come to a similar conclusion themselves. "So you see, I really don't care about your vile family name and history. You're nothing but a common murderer—"

"I have had no trial!" de Nore interrupted, hiding his discomfort of Septimus' crime behind a curtain of outrage. "Put me before a fair and human judge and I will prove that I was in the right. In fact, I demand an Ecclesiastical trial, for I was doing the work of God—"

"You can demand whatever you'd like," Airich countered. "However, you have confessed to breaking the King's law in front of Hawthorne here and several dozen other witnesses, so it's highly unlikely you'll receive anything other than the King's justice. Tell me, Eddard, have you ever watched a man hang?"

"I'm not afraid of your Deryni king's justice! My death will bring hundreds or even thousands to the cause, and I will die with a clear conscience, knowing that I have done my duty unto God and will therefore rise to the highest ranks of the Heavenly elite."

"Yes, yes, I know you feel no guilt about murdering Deryni," Airich waved this fact aside. "But you didn't answer my question. Have you watched a man hang?"

"I have," de Nore answered triumphantly. "It's a quick death and quite painless. Not like Lucas Whittingham's death, he suffered the pains of hell before the devil took his soul to his eternal torment."

This was the first comment de Nore made that actually raised Airich's hackles, and he had to stop himself from angrily striking the words out of de Nore's vile mouth—which was what de Nore wanted: a reaction of any kind. But he kept his calm and began to focus on de Nore's mental state. "But have you ever seen the other kind of hanging, Eddard? When the drop doesn't break a man's neck, but strangles him slowly." And here Airich let a subtle sense of suffocation drift slowly into de Nore's mind. "Have you witnessed the legs kick in desperation for one more taste of air? Watched the tongue swell and protrude from his mouth? Seen the eyes turn red and bulge from his head?" He now exerted the slightest hint of pressure around the neck and eyes. "Just think about how he spends the last five or six or seven minutes of his life, suffering slowly. Knowing that at the end of that very long, dark tunnel is death, and you'd better know for an absolute fact, Eddard, that you will be praised by God and his angels, and that you are not about to be condemned by Saint Peter to suffer for the murders you have committed."

Airich sat back and let Eddard think for a moment. As he suspected, de Nore's conviction was solid, but held the tiniest bit of uncertainty that was prevalent in any man not the most devout saint.

"It seems to me," Airich finally said, "that the King himself might put a word in the hangman's ear as to what kind of death a condemned man might suffer. Depending on how helpful the man was before his death. In fact, conditional upon how cooperative the man was in preventing other deaths, the King might even consider commuting a death sentence to something else. Exile, perhaps... or maybe even a simple flogging. He might need to be convinced to choose that mercy by others who had witnessed the man's cooperation, but I'm sure that could be arranged.

"Master de Nore, why don't you tell me about the Willimites... ."

((Bede Strong test post upgrade 3d6 2 + 1 + 5)) Bede walked awkwardly but with determination, carrying the slightly used Domesday Book in the crook of his left arm and pulling Henry Steinmeister by a belt binding his wrists with his right hand. He was leading the murderous Willimite to the dungeon, but already the man was jabbering. Bede wondered if he hoped to be spared the trip. It would make no difference, but the facts as Steinmeister declared them to be still lingered in his head. He had claimed responsibility for the crushing of Robert's hand, so Bede was a little rougher with his guiding than maybe was necessary. When Bede told him that Robert was doing alright, Henry's only question was where, to which Bede had to say, "Somewhere better than where we're going, yeah?"

"It does not matter," Steinmeister stated matter-of-factly. "He can't have gone far." Bede was glad that his captive could not see his smirk at that incorrect assertion. Then they arrived. Henry became more stubborn in his resistance, but it mattered little after Bede turned him over to a pair of guards he had no hope of overpowering.

As the evil engineer was dragged away, Bede found a stone wall to lean against and opened the Domesday Book, trying to pass the time with reading yet instead taking in the full scope of the damages. The wooden covers would be fine, although one side was a little scratched. The pages toward the middle of the book, however, were torn at the epicenter and somewhat crinkled beyond that point. Angels an' demons. If Edwin does na kill me, the rector will. Still, it was all readable if one could forgive the wear. He had just begun the section on the labyrinthine world beneath the city, when he heard a great commotion from somewhere deeper inside the dungeon. Airich's voice was unmistakably a part of it. He shut the book.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And who is 'they'?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What's the point of taking a vow to the King if you're not going to do everything in your power to uphold his law?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Airich smiled at Bede as his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. "Don't let Elspeth see that bloody nose. She'll want to fix it." Then the darkness claimed him, with the taste and smell of de Nore's blood still on his face.

---

¹ Airich does Truth-say on Eddard, standard 2d6: 6, 4: success
² Truth-say, Standard 2d6: 4, 4: Fail
³ Tiring Save, Standard 2d6: 3, 1: Fail
⁴ Truth-say, Standard 2d6: 3, 4: Fail
⁵ Tiring Save, Standard 2d6: 1, 1: Super-duper Fail

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bede asked again, "What do ye know?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What did you guys do?" Amy demanded.

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

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

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

"Too much Magic," Bede tossed out.

"Fatigue Banishing," Edwin corrected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Got it."

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Earlier that evening...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Edwin looked puzzled. "A third set?"

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are the conditions, sir?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sighing with relief, he felt Elspeth grab his arm. "Hurry, we must go with the others." Airch turned to follow Elspeth and join the other patrons leaving the tavern.

---

¹ TK that darned button. Easy Standard. 2d6: 1, 1: critical fumble (Bloody hell!)
² Let's try that again. Easy Standard 2d6: 1, 5: Success
³ Amy grab. Standard roll. 2d6: 4, 6: Success

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now: Thomas."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aye, sir," Bede nodded, tiredly.

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

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

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

"Is it over?" she asked demurely.

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

"I should go back to the tavern"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Airich."

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

"Can I come in?" the voice continued.

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

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

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

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

"What is troubling you, Sir Airich?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nonsense."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No..."

That No was strong and reassuring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is all this? she asked.

The reservoir is full. The dam leaks.

What does that mean?

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

Can't you find someplace to put the excess?

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

What blocks the path?

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

What will happen if the dam bursts?

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

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

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

May I look at the dam?

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

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

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

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

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

They're not mine.

Where did they come from?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir Airich?"

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As the crowd melts away in silence. And the people start murmuring amongst themselves in smaller groups. A man named Jacob says to his companions. "I bet you a Royal that the stone cutter doesn't get past the bandits outside of the protection of the city."

They all nod in agreement and disperse going off in twos.

Henry Stonemason was numb, his feet were numb, his hands hanging at his side were numb, his head was as heavy as the bricks he preferred to lay.  His heart continued to thump in his chest and that was the only thing he could hear. The only thing he could see was the rays of sun gleaning off the small pebbles in the graveled road outside the city gates. Squishy, gross things of routing decay pelted off his back, and a good throw would force the vegetable upside his head. But it wasn't rocks. He expected to be dead 10 paces beyond the Grecotha gates. But he wasn't.

At first, he had not realized it. But pairs of feet matched his staggering pace. The first pair of feet belonged to his uncle. The man would neither look at him nor speak to him. But the man walked him toward his destiny. Other pairs of feet were booted.  Eight pairs in all, men of the purple guard. They would see that he was exiled from the kingdom. To a fate, he could not even fathom. Would it be better to let rocks slam his head and let him die here on the road. But the rocks did not come. And the bishop's guard would not let him stop.  They goaded him along down the hillside road, past the cross roads where Henry was certain his own death would come. People spat at him, even here in this desolate place on the roadside. People threw things at him. Things that hurt. But they didn't kill him. After a day and a night and then the coming next day. He was still alive, and he was still stumbling.  And then a thing happened, not from his uncle, who was furious with him and said and did nothing, but walk at his side. A child with an earthenware cup came before him and offered water to him. Henry drank, and drank, until the cup was bare. And then he looked up and saw the masts of the ships of the harbor standing up tall. And in that moment, he saw something more.  What it was that gleaned on the water, he could not say.

By night fall he was scrubbing the wooden deck of a ship and there was nothing but billowing sails and stars over his head. His uncle had paid for his one-year service to the captain. With the order that he not be allowed on land till the one year was done. And then only in some foreign land.

Another pair of men watched Henry being escorted out of the city. Watching for a moment that they could earn their silver Royal. But the moment never came. The Purple guard was with him the whole time. As well as his uncle. By the time they reached the harbor they could only see that Henry boarded a ship. And they returned back to Grecotha. They would have to report their failure to Jacob.

Although his anger would be harsh. It was better than the anger they would face if caught in a lie. It seems that Henry was indeed a lucky man.

As the people slowly dispersed from the cathedral steps, Amy, Elspeth, and Bede spoke quietly among themselves. Airich simply stood, staring at the top of the steps and considering the implications of the Bishop's words.

Eddard de Nore was dead. A Deryni-hating Willimite with the notoriety of his family name behind him. What was it he'd said? "One spark is all it will take, and the whole of Grecotha burns."

And Airich had handed them that spark.

He recognized the power of the Bishop's sermon as well as his reason behind his public words spoken before the steps of the Cathedral. He was basically setting the church and the city against the Willimites, declaring that sect anathema. Airich didn't know how far word of Alfie's murder had spread, but he doubted there was anyone who'd stood in this courtyard who was unaware of yesterday's fire in the market square, and there could be no doubt that this was one of the sacrilegious murders that the Bishop had railed against. Any righteous man who'd been previously undecided on the Deryni question must now turn against the Willimites and their goals, or accept that he was at odds with the Holy Mother Church. Obviously this wouldn't change the minds of any hardcore Willimites willing to murder, like de Nore or Steinmeister, but those who'd joined the cult for more social reasons would definitely think twice now, as would those people who'd merely considered joining that cult. 

Still, Airich couldn't help feeling sick from the knot in his stomach, knowing that he personally had been instrumental in de Nore's death. A seizure? Had he been struck down by God? Bled to death or drowned in his own blood? Or had the Purple Guard meted out some other punishment that had resulted in accidental death? Or... deliberate death?

Best not dwell on how it happened. Just accept the Bishop's statement as pure truth. Don't let it rattle you. It didn't keep Airich from feeling like people were staring at him, whispering behind their hands: He's the one, it's his fault, that awful Deryni killed the poor de Nore boy, Eddard died as a martyr for his beliefs.

He prayed the scrying they would attempt later this morning gave them promising leads. Once word of the Bishop's fiery sermon and spectacular speech reached the right ears, Airich didn't see how the Willimite leaders could avoid meeting today to plan how to neutralize the Bishop's words. If Pietre de Guerra were one of those leaders, then their job might be finished before more Deryni were made examples of.

"Oh, here he is now," Amy said. Airich looked up to see Edwin striding towards them, followed by a youth about the age of a squire.

He walked up to Airich and Elspeth and held a slip of paper to Elspeth. "We're moving," he said without preamble. "I've made all the arrangements. None of you three," he pointed to Amy, Elspeth, and Airich, "are returning to the house. Bede, give Airich your bow and quiver to carry, there's no hiding that he's a fighting man. I need you—"

"Hold on a minute," Amy said. "What do you mean, 'we're moving'? You can't just march up to us and insist we relocate just to suit your tastes."

"No, he's right," Elspeth said. She handed the paper to Airich, who opened it and read:


Sweet mother of mercy, they knew! And not just in a generic, someone-is-searching-for-us way, but actual identities. The only consolation of the note was the misspellings of their names, indicating that whoever the informant was, he didn't have access to Canon Damien's actual written records, but was going on hearsay only.

The imagined scent of burnt meat invaded his mind, the smell acrid in his nostrils. He felt the flames lapping at his clothing and searing his flesh as Leopold suffered and died again in his head. Heard the screams and the desperate prayers. Sensed hatred and glee intermingling as de Nore set fire to the oiled wood.

What a hideous way to die.

And unshriven.

Three years of unconfessed sins felt very heavy on Airich's shoulders at that moment.

Amy plucked the paper from his nerveless fingers and read it quickly, her brows knit in consternation. Airich looked at Amy, then back at Elspeth; his skin crawled when he considered what the Willimites might do to any women they suspected of being Deryni. Death would probably be considered a release compared to the evil such men might perpetrate against a woman's delicate body.

Edwin had continued telling of his plans while Airich was lost in a personal hell. "This is Charlie Duggan, you're going to follow him to the new lodgings."

Amy and Elspeth, backed up by Airich, were led through the heart of the city, a few turns and calculated circling around a building or two to confirm they were not followed. Before finally entering the craftsmen's quarter, past where furniture was built and silver jewelers by the sign above the door, the three followed the youth into a building where plants were crushed and fermented into pigments and inks.  Down stone steps to the cellar, then down again into another old Byzanthyne tunnel. "Do these tunnels crisscross under the whole city?" Elspeth inquired.

"They do. Many now are blocked in to keep the rats from stealing the city blind." Amy was sure their young guide Charlie Duggan didn't mean four legged rodents. "The house we are coming to fronts on to the merchant's residence block. But we don't want to be seen going in the front door. My older brother has vouched for Edwin and you all, and my father, Master Duggan is no friend of the Magistrate or any of the de Guerra family for that matter. Differing of opinion on guild rights and charters. We are here," Duggan said. Giving a double-cadence knock on a thick iron shod oak door. The sound of a bar lifting on the other side and the door soundlessly edged open. The hand opening the door belonged to the same scholar Amy had seen in her rapport with Edwin after the burning, whom Edwin at the time had attested as the leader of the literary fraternity.

"Your brother, I presume," Elspeth said.

"Kierran Duggan, at your service, ma'am,"  the older Duggan brother said with a polite head bow.

The three were led through store rooms, and then through a wine cellar that looked well stocked. There were chairs and a tasting table set near the far door, then up the steps past the kitchen. "We ask that you avoid the main rooms on the first floor. Either congregate in the wine cellar, or up in the servants' attic on the third floor, where most of the room's windows were bricked in during the Festilic invasion of 984. You can keep candles lit there deep into the night and no one will see."

There were four rooms, one filling each corner of the attic space. Cots rested on the floor, with the fresh smell of rushes stuffed into clean bed clothes and wool blankets folded on the corners. "This will do, thank you and thank your father for us," Elspeth accepted the hospitality for her people.

"Your young Scrivner knows the way in, he will bring the others up with your things. I have much to attend to at the university today. This stirring of events will split our foundations, if we who can, do not hold it together." Kierran Duggan bowed his head  to the noble knight, then to the infirmarian. He retreated down the narrow spiral stone steps. Airich noticed a ladder at the landing that allowed climbers to ascend to the tower above. Just now he felt he didn't have the energy for investigation.

Amy picked a room and immediately started sweeping the few dust devils out from the corners and tidying the room up. The women would claim this room.

Elspeth looked around for additional cleaning supplies, Airich stopped her with a touch. "Could I get your help now? What we discussed earlier?"

"Oh, didn't you want to settle into your room first?"

Airich shook his head. "It needs to be now."

"Can I help you?" Amy asked. "Either of you?"

"Just help me make sure Elspeth stays comfortable. Can you spread the blankets for us, there." He pointed to the furthest cot. "Fold your cloak for a pillow..."

Father Trevor O'Flynn sat on the plain stone bench in his garden at Caerrorie. The bench was usually sat upon by pilgrims visiting the shrine of Saint Camber, but most people who came to visit "the old man"—as Trevor affectionately referred to the statue—did so once the sun was a little higher.

It was another unseasonably cool morning, and Trevor pulled his cloak about his shoulders to keep out the wind. He looked up at the old man, noting the damage the statue had suffered during this past year. The worst of it was the face, where someone had broken off his nose, and a different someone had chiseled out one of his eyes. Both earlobes were broken off, and his chest had been vandalized with some sort of pigmentation that resisted all efforts to clean it off.

Trevor stood and patted the raised statue on its foot. "About time we replaced you, isn't it? You're beginning to look a little worse for wear, my lad." It was important that they keep up the pretense of the statue being the most important part of the shrine, for it made vandals far less likely to look for the entrance to the true shrine.

Trevor glanced off to the side where, some hundred yards off, a thicket of shrubbery hid the entrance of the actual shrine. The shrubbery, that is, in conjunction with certain enchantments which kept non-Deryni from noticing the shrine, let alone from entering it.

The old man had done his job marvelously for years, Trevor reckoned, giving the anti-Deryni faction a target to vent their wrath on. The thicket had never been broached, with such a tempting target as the old man standing on its pedestal in the garden, beckoning to the uncouth youngsters and ever-present Willimites to lob an over-ripe turnip at its face. And the old man's tormentors were happy to oblige every month or so.

As he sat there, basking in the peace, Trevor became aware of a presence at the edge of his thoughts, hovering there as if waiting to be welcomed in.¹ The presence was familiar, although one he hadn't felt in some time. The identity of the presence finally came to him, and, disbelieving, he opened communication. Airich?

Hello, Trevor, came the reply from his younger brother.

Airich! You're doing magic again!

Aye, so it seems.

Trevor could not have been more surprised by a call from their Human father than he was by this call from Airich. Years since, the youth had begun insisting that he was now Human and had given up the slightest hint of magic. No, not a youth anymore, Trevor told himself. He's been knighted, he's a man now.

Have you told Madre yet? Or Seamus?

You're the only one I've called.

I feel honored, Trevor said. And he could tell that Airich had not practiced such long-distance communication lately. There was a sloppiness to the transmission that a well-honed practitioner of Deryni arts did not allow himself, and Trevor was quite sure that Airich was not deliberately sending the array of emotion that Trevor was picking up: unhappiness, pain, tension.

What have you gotten yourself into, boy, that you need the non-heir brother to bail you out of? he mused, but kept that thought to himself. Instead, he asked, To what do I owe the privilege of this communication?

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been—

Wait, stop, Trevor interjected, standing. I didn't know it was going to be that kind of call. Give me a minute or two, I'd like to get back to the chapel. Trevor hurried back down the path. You're not home, are you?

No.

Where are you? Come on, don't make me pull it out of you one word at a time.

I'm in Grecotha. I've been doing research on getting rid of Deryni powers.

Trevor stopped in the middle of the path. The fact that Deryni powers could be blocked was not something that many people knew about. Neither Trevor nor Airich were even supposed to know of it or that Washburn Morgan was the sole recipient of this power. But several years ago when Wash had gone missing, Countess Celsie had come frequently to console her dear friend, the Duchess Richenda. And when news of his new power had emerged, Richenda's relief at her son's life and freedom had far overpowered such trivial concerns as "state secrets."

And secrets of any kind—state or otherwise—were not easily kept among the O'Flynn household.

What was alarming now was that Airich seemed to be attempting to duplicate this power.

Trevor continued down the path. You're not... suggesting... he started to say

I tried to find the man who knows how to do it, but he keeps not being where I look. Thank heavens for that. Not that Wash would be inclined to block anyone's powers without a very good reason. And Trevor didn't think Wash would find "Because I want to pretend to be Human" to be a very good reason.

I'm stuck in Grecotha now. The Willimites have become very active. They're planning to burn down the entire city soon. Eddard de Nore threatened me that I would be in the center of the inferno. He's dead now. But they know who we are, my friends and I, they know us by name. I don't know if they know us on sight yet. But if their numbers are as great as de Nore suggested they were, I fear they will find us sooner or later.

What the hell are you involved in, Airich? One of the de Nores?

He killed a man yesterday. Tied him to a stake in the middle of Market Square and lit him up like a torch.

Mother of Mercy, Airich—

I helped put out the fire and bring his body down while it was still smoking. I Read him afterward. He'd been alive and conscious when they covered him in oil and lit the fire. They'd beaten him, broke so many bones—

You did a Death Reading on the man? Trevor was growing more alarmed with every sentence. You've done virtually no magic in years, you can't just start doing that kind of complicated spell out of the blue, even if you are better at magic than the rest of us put together. Please tell me they trained you on the follow-up procedure for that spell in the schola.

I know the spell, Trevor, I did it perfectly.

That wasn't the question. Have you learned how to separate yourself from the feelings you can get after you've read a violent death? Trevor had the sneaking suspicion he already knew the answer to this. Is that why you're leaking so badly right now—

Please don't yell, Trevor, I've been in hell. I've felt the flames searing through skin and muscle. I've heard the fat crackle and smelled the meat char. I can still feel it burning. And Trevor... Father... I need to confess because these Willimites are merciless and I have a target on my back now and I don't want to spend eternity in the fires of hell.

Be calm, Airich, I'm almost back, we can do your confession and then I want you to tell me about everything that's troubling you.

Trevor, I'm scared. This was bad. That Airich would admit to fear told Trevor just how serious his situation was.

Trevor arrived back at the small chapel and collected his purple stole. He kissed the cross on the stole and hung it about his neck as he sat on a chair in his small office. Finally, Trevor took a deep breath to focus himself. He was no longer talking to his younger brother; he was now a priest, ministering to a member of his flock who was in extreme distress.

Be at peace, my son. All is well. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. You may begin when you're ready.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been... twelve hundred and forty-four days since my last confession.

Trevor winced. That was worth being worried about.

In that time, I have tried to be a good man, but I am selfish and arrogant by nature, you know this. I take what I want and I bully people to get my own way. Recently I forced a woman to acknowledge her own Deryni nature just to satisfy my own curiosity, and not once did I think about the danger I was putting her in. Last week, I started a brawl with no consideration for who might get hurt or how it might affect anyone else in the tavern.

And Father, I...

Airich paused, and Trevor sensed he was approaching a subject that troubled him. Go on... he encouraged.

Trevor! I need to know you will never speak to anyone of this!

Of course. We are under the Seal of Confession, I cannot speak with anyone about this.

An additional pause as Airich seemed to work up the nerve to continue. Father, I have been careless in my use of magic. I have hurt people. And while I talk about not being Deryni anymore, in part it's because I should be stripped of my powers. I have proven that I am unworthy to carry this gift, and I see no other way that I can atone for my sins but to give them up. 

My son, it is not on us to choose our own penance. That is for the Lord to decide.

I don't know how He can possibly think otherwise.

Why don't you tell me what you have done, and we'll let Him decide.

Very well. I betrayed my own father. I stole his memories as he lay dying on his sickbed.

...

Father?

...

Trevor?

---

¹ 2d6 1, 6 = success

Trevor?

Yes my son, I'm here, Trevor managed to say. He tried to sound as if he'd just heard nothing out of the ordinary. I was just... considering certain aspects of this situation.

Trevor had to be very careful to make sure his Shields remained strong and did not let any personal feeling slip through. Because he quite definitely had personal feelings.

Airich had never spoken of whatever had spurred him into refusing his Deryni birthright. One of the theories among the brothers and sisters had been that their father's near death had affected the youth far more than anyone had suspected, and his rejection of his Deryni half had simply been an attempt to connect with his Human father. And so everyone had been patient with the lad, and not pressed him into unwanted Rapport or communication. They'd comforted their mother and helped remind her that her youngest wasn't rejecting her so much as embracing his paternal heritage.

Of course, everyone thought it was a phase that he'd grow out of, as so many other young men did at that age. But a year went by, then two, then three, and he'd given no indication that he'd ever practice magic again. And as close as the family had always been, it was hard to not take Airich's rejection of his Deryniness as a rejection of the family.

And to find out now that it was all because of guilt...?

Trevor took a deep, cleansing breath and made sure those Shields were firmly in place. He was a priest, and that meant more than simply acting like a priest. He had to be a priest to this man as he was a priest to any other member of his flock.

You say you betrayed your father.

Aye.

'Betray' is a powerful word. Perhaps you might elaborate and tell me exactly what you did, and why.

I'm not sure it would make any difference. I deliberately and willfully used a spell to take a memory for my own selfish reasons.

That was a serious charge he admitted to.

And those reasons were...?

He was very sick, no one doubted that. But by this time, all the healers had been pulled out and sent to the Mearan front. I have to believe the King didn't know how poorly Father was doing, because surely he would have spared a single healer for his senior-ranked councilor.

Nobody else was home that night, Airich continued. I think Madre was still in Coroth, so it was just me and the servants. He took a sudden downturn, and the physician didn't expect him to live through the night. He'd stepped away so I could say my goodbyes in private. At that moment, there was nothing I wouldn't do to keep him there, and I thought that if I could have one or two of his memories, then I might be able to bear his passing.

He was feverish. And delirious. And fully Human. But somehow, he noticed me there. He cursed at me and tried to throw me out, and then the spell... I don't know how to describe it, but the spell just blew up into something enormous, and instead of one little memory, I got... well, I acquired more than just one little memory.

And then he got better. And never seemed to recall what happened that night. And his own memory appears to be perfectly intact.

Yes, Trevor agreed, Madre would have noticed if Father's mind had been damaged in any way.

Trever was grateful he'd asked for the reasons. Good intentions might or might not carry much weight in a court of law, but they were everything to the Confession. As well as to the priest who would have to treat the penitent as if he knew nothing behind the Seal of Confession.

Are you still thinking, Father?

Yes.

What else did Trevor need to know about this? Airich had never been one to offer information freely, and sometimes getting the entire truth out of him was like pulling a tooth: both difficult and painful.

Is this why you stopped practicing magic? Or taking our calls? Or allowing anyone to form Rapport with you?

Aye.

Not very helpful. What else did he need to ask?

Did you take enough from his mind to make people think you were him? If you wanted?

No, not at all...

That was a relief.

...I can recall various memories, but even if I were to take his form, I wouldn't be able to fool anyone who's Scanned him. I still haven't been able to integrate the memories, although I've tried—what was that?

Nothing. Which wasn't true. It was the shock Trevor felt that slipped past his own Shields, discovering that Airich had gained enough memories that they required a full integration. How much of his history did you pick up?

Certainly not his entire life. I have no memories from the time his father was alive. Most of them begin around the time he received his spurs. And they only go up until the time I was still a boy. And obviously nothing from the past four years.

Trevor realized that his mouth was dry. Airich, you mean to tell me you've been walking around for four years with a lifetime of someone else's unintegrated memories?

It's really not his lifetime, I think it's maybe forty years at the mo—

Don't get pedantic. Tell me truly: you've been carrying maybe forty years of our father's memories stuck inside your head since the last Mearan war, and they still haven't been integrated?

That's the truth, yes.

And now Trevor was sick with fear. How are you still sane?

Airich's mental voice was very small. I'm... not sure that I am. I get confused lately, trying to remember who I am. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and have to check to see if my hair curls or hangs straight before I know for sure.

Do you get the headaches?

Aye.

Lethargy? Fatigue?

Aye. And nightmares.

Nightmares? Trevor hadn't heard that nightmares were one of the symptoms of unintegrated memori—Good heavens, not Father's nightmares! He dared ask, Cardosa? Esgair Ddu?

Aye.

Trevor heard the pain in that "Aye." None of the family except Madre knew much of what had happened to their father when he'd been a prisoner at Esgair Ddu so many years before, but they all knew it was bad. And now, here was Airich, having to relive those same experiences in his dreams.

Trevor took another deep breath to steady himself. Is there anything else you wish to confess? He hoped not. He wasn't sure if he could handle more.

No, Father. I know there must be much more, but I can't think of specifics right now.

Then let me think again. And pray.

It was a lot to think about. Obviously Airich deserved absolution, Trevor had felt his contrition throughout the entire confession. But he needed a lot more than that as well. He needed help, desperately. But he couldn't force his brother to seek help, nor could he send a Deryni healer to Airich to help him integrate those memories.

Trevor uttered a swift prayer, asking for guidance to know what to say. And then he spoke to his brother, uttering the words the Lord made known unto him. 

Airich, I would that you be granted absolution, but the Lord requires you to commit yourself to several steps. As soon as you may, you must seek help. You have carried this burden by yourself for far too long. There are Healing masters in Rhemuth who can help you, Healers who have studied the types of injuries you have suffered. And you are to cease searching for a release from your Deryni calling, and yes, I did say it was your calling, for the Lord has made known unto me that this is so. For you to continue to refuse this gift would displease the Lord greatly. 

Secondly, once your work in Grecotha is finished and you are healed of your malady, you must return to your home and confess your sin to your mother and father. In addition, you must ask forgiveness from them for shutting them out of your life and causing so much pain. I know that you are appalled most of all by the sin of casting that spell on the unwilling, but you did that out of love, however misguided. The far worse sin, which you do not seem to recognize, stems from the arrogance to which you have admitted. It was pride that led you to shut out those who love you and would have forgiven and helped you. You must face up to the needless worry and hurt you have inflicted. You must also apologize to each of your brothers and sisters for separating yourself from them, for you have hurt them all. 

Finally, you are to seek out the words to a song by the philosopher Orin known as the Healer's Hymn. You are to commit it to memory and recite it every day for one month, or until you have accepted the Lord's will in this without question.

To these conditions of penance, I add one more thing: you must keep in contact with me daily. I don't care where you are or what you're doing. You don't even have to speak if you are not inclined. But I need to know that you are alive and well.

Do you have any questions? Trevor asked. He was a little surprised at the words that had come from his mouth, but he thanked his Maker for His mercy for Trevor's own brother.

I have no questions, Airich replied, then took several seconds before beginning his prayer. Oh my Father, I have gone against Thy will and have chosen the path of pride, and for this and all my sins, I am truly sorry. I commit to doing these things that Thy mouthpiece has requested of me as penance, and will truly seek to sin no more, and to avoid those paths that may lead me into temptation. Have mercy on me, O God, in the name of the Christ Who died for us.

It was a good prayer, and offered sincerely. Trevor tamped down his own feeling of pride for his young brother. And now Airich, I bless you with the strength you need to continue through your trials and the wisdom to know how best to proceed. And to know that you can call upon others to help you; you do not have to walk this path alone.

Ego te absolvo in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. The Lord has put away your offenses. Go in peace.

***
Elspeth drifted back to consciousness on a strange cot. Someone was gripping her hand fiercely. And it felt damp. She turned her head to see Airich kneeling on the floor next to the cot, and it was he who held her hand against his face. He wept openly, made no attempt to hide it from her even as he must know she was awake.

"Airich, are you not well? Is your headache bad?" she asked, sitting up.

Airich looked up at her and smiled. The everpresent worry lines that always sat upon his brow were missing, and she realized these were not tears of sorrow.

Elspeth placed her other hand against his cheek and smiled back at him. "Dear Airich," she said, "You found what you were looking for?"

"Aye," he said. "I found hope."

"Alright, boys. That's all the swag of our group. Now escort the nice lady to our new home, will you?" Bede gestured to Muirea with a lean of his head.

"Why me?" she whispered, perhaps beginning to enjoy the frenetic chaos of this life.

"Because you are a shepherd. Think of them as lambs, why don't you?" Bede winked.

That made sense enough to her. As she backed away, she half-curtsied and soothed, "As you wish, Master Archer."

He stifled a smile at her teasing. He knew as well as any who bothered to know her that she did everything willingly or not at all, barring unthinkable forces that others had brought to bear against her. The previous night did not determine what de Guerra and Jasper may have thought it did. Or is it what I thought it did? Since when did I think? Nevertheless, the attention was more welcome than he realized. Before he could follow that feeling, Edwin returned, flying on inspiration. Bede did not expect this side of him, but the scholar's rationales for their actions today had been sound so far.

Spying Muirea bringing up the rear of a troop of youths carrying their possessions, Edwin nodded. "Good work, you two. Now if you would, Bede, follow me to Canon Damien's office. This cannot wait. He must be made aware of what we have discovered."

Several steps later, they found themselves standing before the canon's door. Between them and the door itself stood the young Aiden McLain, who seemed happy enough to see them. Especially Edwin. "What can I do for you, sirs?"

"We must speak to the canon, lad," Bede said with his Mearan simplicity.

"Not now," cautioned the boy. "He is exceedingly busy with his studies."

"Damn his studies, lad," Bede sighed. When he caught Edwin's glare, he quieted himself.

Edwin smiled at the boy like he was greeting an old friend. "Och, laddie ye mun forgi'e this gowk's cheek, forbye t'is a muckle important matter. I wouldn'a waste yer time, nae mair than I would waste the time o'oor beloved canon's."

The youth shook his head. "He will not see you. I think you should do something more productive with your time, Deryni sirs."

Bede frowned. "Now, just because we are looking out for a particular bunch'a folks this week does not make us one of 'em, no?" At least, that was true for him. "And what makes you so sure of his will? He put us to this in the first place."

The boy shifted his collar and scratched at his skin while effecting a stoic expression. "My master has other plans. Now, run along, please!" Both of the young investigators were dumbstruck by the change in him, too much to even admonish him.

The heavy door shifted open from the inside. The familiar voice of the canon came from within. "What's all this shouting, my boy? Bring my investigators in."

Wordlessly, the novice bowed his head and opened the door, revealing to the investigators the study. On his second visit, Edwin noticed details he had not before. The canon had a small collection of manuscripts and books all his own. Somewhere in his head, the voice of his father wondered if the canon needed some more. He and Bede both bowed, and with that done he began to explain, "Canon, I fear that we have found something terrible for us." To not keep him in suspense, Edwin handed over the letter from Jacob.

The canon furrowed his brows as he read at his desk, and quickly came to the same conclusions that Edwin had. "And what do you suggest we do, son?"

Edwin answered, "Father, I would never dare to tell you what to do. However, we did come not only to warn you of the danger, but to tell you that we have moved to a new, safer location. I pray it stays a secret, but I fear not to speak of it here. If the note had more accurate spellings, then I might have reason to worry, but alas. Only you and your closest associates should know how we spell our names, and they're inaccurate there. What do you suggest we do?"

"As you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, fear no evil, sons. Go, and God be with you."

Edwin remembered something on the list of required goods for the day. "If it is not too much to ask, our new abode is rather poorly lit. May we have a handful of candles to borrow, Father?"

The canon knew better than to question that, and he nodded givingly. "Seek and you shall find. Take what you need, with my blessing."

Edwin made to leave with half of a dozen candles in his arms, but Bede stood still. "I thank ye for your wisdom, Father, but before we go, I want to ask you something."

"What may that be, Archer?"

Bede stood with a posture of military discipline as he made his inquiry. "What do you think of my progress, Father?"

"I do not understand. Your progress in or towards...?"

"The forgiveness of my crimes, of course," Bede blurted out. "Father."

((Perception roll Canon Damian 3d6 3 + 6 + 4))The canon blinked and shifted in his chair, as if he were only mildly surprised at the young firebrand's impatience. "What is forgiveness without contrition? Did Ananias approach Saul or Paul? Did King Kelson and the Duke Alaric Morgan embrace Warin de Grey the rebel, or the loyal vassal? Will the church and its country wipe the record of a venerable Bede Archer, or a stalwart man with no law in his heart yet a wellspring of rationales for his misdeeds?"

"My deeds of late have been generous," Bede protested sharply, sounding like the child he once had been.

"So I have heard," conceded the canon. "Beneath a dark facade, you conducted yourself fearlessly and mercifully last night. Yes, young men: while we have not been able to infiltrate the Willimites yet, this is still my city. Whatever happened down there, you were right to think you had escaped the law's grasp, but God's servants see much. And Brother Phillip has kept me apprised as to the other happenings of late. In light of your relentless efforts, I will overlook your impatient question. Ask me again when you have saved as many cities as you have put to the sword or perhaps when you are ready to ask for forgiveness, not an indulgence. Remember: pride cometh before the fall."

Abashed and frustrated, Bede murmured, "Thank you, Father."

Edwin nudged him away, hissing, "Whatever happened to the people-wise player who kept me in line the last time we were here?"

"I cannae say," Bede said, trying to remember himself. "I suppose ye all make the honest life seem rather to my fancy. Maybe I want it too much now."

"Like a heathen baptized for the taste of the wine and the pillowing clouds above," Edwin rolled his eyes, not knowing how for once Bede was indeed ashamed without the threat of immortal damnation hanging over him.

Hope.

It was a tiny thing, a concept without form or substance. And yet, it was everything.

Airich thought about this as he lay in his cot, resting up for the ritual they'd planned for later this afternoon. He felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. No longer did he have to live his life in a shell, restricted by the consequences of a foolish decision he'd made while still a squire. He could look forward to a future where he could stretch his wings and become everything he'd wanted to be.

Mind, he had to be careful for now. He still had to find a healer who could help him integrate his father's memories, and figure out why his own attempts had failed in the past. And he would continue to have headaches and nightmares when he used his abilities too often. But careful planning and rigorous meditation to reinforce his Shields could keep much of that at bay. And he could be who he was meant to be.

He was Deryni. He'd been born with gifts and had honed them throughout his youth, and now, as a man with perhaps a smidgen of wisdom, he could finally continue his training. And he no longer had to hate himself for doing so.

And he truly had hated himself at the beginning. At that moment when the spell had gone wrong, his father had hated all Deryni, too. Hated them for everything they'd put him through. Not just the former King of Torenth, but even when his friends had mucked about in his head because they thought they knew best what he should be allowed to recall. As if he were no more than a child to them. And Airich couldn't bear the idea that Father would hate him so much, and had thought that if he himself were also Human instead of Deryni like everyone else in the family, then Father would know that he wasn't like them. That he wouldn't need to hate him anymore. 

He'd realized, after some years, that the intense hatred he'd felt was mostly the fever talking. But knowing something in his head was not the same as feeling it in his heart. It hadn't helped when his research had uncovered a theory by Agapios Pappas which suggested that he could lose the memories and their associated pains and weakness if he could rid himself of his Deryni blood.

No more. The theory that had driven that part of his life was over. It was time for a new direction.

He heard Edwin and Amy outside in the hallway, then they knocked at his door. Edwin poked his head through.

"Ah, there you are," he said when he saw Airich. He and Amy came in as Airich sat up. "We're concerned about this procedure we're about to do."

"Come in, sit," Airich gestured towards the other cot. "I will do what I can to assuage your disquiet."

Edwin looked at Amy—whose face was inscrutable—then back to Airich. "We've noticed that you've had some trouble with... um... well, you do magic, and it comes back and knocks you out cold or practically kills you with a headache. And someone said something about nightmares. I'm just... well, I don't know if learning to use magic is worth all that."

"Ah, I can appreciate such a worry." If Airich were the only sorcerer who Edwin had seen at work, he could see why the scrivener would come to such a conclusion. "Fear not; my ailments are unique, and not in any way typical of most practitioners of magic. What we are attempting is the whitest of magic, and I can think of no reason why you might suffer any ill effects, during or afterward."

"What if you are taken with that sudden fatigue again?" Amy asked. "If you should fall unconscious of a sudden, will the spell collapse? Or explode and kill us all?"

"No and no," he replied. "Five of us will be involved to share the load. I will not fall unconscious from fatigue. And if by some strange chance something were to happen to me, you can break the scrying spell by emptying out the wine. And the ward can be taken down by lowering the point of my sword and with focus the Fiat Fin I already taught you."

Both young Deryni looked vastly relieved by this news.

"Anything else?" Airich asked.

"I think you've answered our questions," Edwin said.

"Excellent," Airich said, standing. "Let's go make some magic."

Amy was carrying the small bottle of holy water and the secreted item in her pocket, surrounded by a kerchief. Elspeth had gathered incense from her mixture of herbs and carried it in a pouch. Bede carried the borrowed silver bowl from the kitchen treasury, borrowed was an equivocal term, but it would soon be returned before the hostess of the house realized it was missing. That along with the small incense burning pot. Also, Bede had insisted upon his bow and quiver of arrows, to which Airich considered to allowed, being as they were neither metallic nor cutting edged as all other's daggers, which were left behind. Edwin had in his hands five taper candles, acquired from the cathedral; the same place the holy water had come from. Amy did not ask how he acquired them. Muirea had scrubbed the floor to the small corner room that had held no furniture. It was the one of the four attic rooms that they were not using for sleeping. Airich brought up a small round table from downstairs, placed it in the very center of the room, then tossed a clean white covering over it. He left the room again, to return with his sword and two bottles of a deep red Bremagne wine that he had purchased from their host down in the cellar just a bit ago.

Their host and hostess must think they are planning to get stone drunk today and maybe follow it with an orgy. Three women, three men, how could the host think otherwise. There had been some strong warnings made by Master Duggan as he reluctantly handed across the two bottles in exchange for the coins. Amy had only muffled her amusement at the man's sharp words. If only he knew the liquor was not to be drunk, he might have had additional qualms about selling it.

Airich indicated the items should be placed on the table, he would get to setting them up properly in a few minutes. But now he went to each person and had them recite the words they had memorized. Each were slightly different, and he wanted to be certain each participant knew exactly which phrases he/she would be using. Wind and Water were the Elements of women, and two of the women would be reciting those lines. Fire and Earth-Knowledge-Death—all three one, as Amy had been taught by her grandmother—were Elements of men. Thus, two of the men would play those roles. The Soul-Life-Spirit in all its complexities would be the center and leader of this particular Ritual. This was not the way it was normally done in these times, Airich had told them. But in his current state of flux about his own magic, the knight sorcerer, a title Amy wanted to tease him with, but did not dare to, was taking the ritual forms from long ago to assure that the deepest well of magic could be formed.

What they wanted was to save people from death, to save knowledge from destruction, to save a city from burning. What they were attempting seemed so small when the hazards were so great. Their sacrifice had been food, so far not yet taken today; having gotten up before breakfast to hear the Bishop's condemning words and then to move to this new place of secrecy that they hoped would hold them safe and then to make all the necessary preparations. When this was over, Amy hoped there was a feast to be had, but she doubted more than bread and cheese would be available in the kitchen at this mid-afternoon hour.

Airich pulled a skein of embroidery yarn from his pocket: it was purest white wool.  He unwound the yarn and walked in a distant circle around the table, encompassing every one watching him. Before he closed the circle, he motioned to Muirea. She already knew her task in this and came willingly. He handed her his dagger to hold with her own. "Stand at the door. Give us warning if someone comes. Nothing we do will be heard from without, and nothing you hear out here will be heard by us from within.  If trouble comes, warn us best you can, then run. They would not be able to see us let alone harm us where we are as long as we stay there. But I would rather that we not be confined in this circle for overly long.

"Aye, Sir Airich. I will do my part."

"Good Lass."

Then Airich stepped within the circle and laid the ends of his yarn together with an underlying twist. He looked at his team, some curious, some apprehensive, and these emotions were not inline with their human or their Deryni self-awareness.  Airich lifted one of the tapers and placed it in a votive stand, then lit it with a small passage of his open palm over it. Amy considered this one more thing she needed him to show her how to do. Another time, if time did allow it.  "Those who attempt this specialty of magic are usually all of one race." The Deryni knight told them. "But for much of it, faith is more important, even humans who live in the borderlands can raise a ward, if they have the focus and spiritual inclination. So our race differences do not divide us. We all have a common concern: the knowledge that we seek binds us."

"Mistress Elspeth, you are our healer, a profession close to God's will." Airich moved her to the part of the room predefined to align with the rising of the sun, though no sunshine penetrated this room.  "I will ask you to start, stand here in the east, then walk southward and then around following our circle. Give us the Twenty-third Psalm so that we may settle our minds, and sprinkle the Lord's holy water to the quarters so that the space we occupy may have blessings upon it."

Elspeth's maturity showed in her face and in her voice as she slowly sang the words of prayer as she had learned it long ago as a child.  "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...."

When she was in the west and continuing her circuit. Airich turned to Bede and silently pointed to the incense and the pot on the table.  The archer tipped the herbs into the pot and then let Airich turn his burning taper to catch the leaves to the flame.  The herbs were prepared in oils and would burn slowly, but they let off a pungent smoke. "Master Archer, if you would please, start your circuit in the east and waft the incense around our space so that we may all cleanse our senses of the world without."

No one spoke further as both passes of the circle were completed. Then each of them was blessed in kind.  Airich took up his sword, pointed the tip of the blade downward, and touched his yarn circle.  His eyes closed, and his lips whispered a word of respect, and a thread ignited with a soft blue flame. With Eyes opening, Airich walked this third circlet.  The tip of the sword lit the thread beside him as he passed. When he came full circle, they were surrounded by a blue flame. It gave no heat and Amy could not tell if it was real or imaginary. She knew items soaked in alcohol would burn coolly, such as this. But she did not believe the yarn had been so treated.

All eyes and all focus watched Airich's every motion. He stepped near the center of their circle beside the table. He now held his sword hilt in both hands, and he slowly raised the sword upward, the tip guiding the height of the encircling flame until it was taller than they. Then he lifted the blade slowly in a high arch toward the ceiling. When the flames collided at the apex of the dome over all their heads, an energy flashed and then only a blue shimmer surrounded them. Amy touched both Elspeth's and Bede's hands: they had seen the flames, but after, when the flames had burnt out, all evidence of the warded dome had disappeared from their view. What they saw from Amy's perception was the energy of the ward that now surrounded them.

Airich took in a satisfied breath. "We are protected and fully warded. Please keep note of where the string still lies on the floor.  And do not try to pass beyond it. As with the wards Edwin created a few days ago, these can hurt you, but they are far more protecting for us than ward cubes by themselves."

Everyone breathed easier, Bede stepped to look at Muirea over by the door. He waved at her, but she did not respond. She only looked with a little awe in her eyes over the space they had occupied as if they were not there any longer. "She can no longer see us," Airich eased Bede's mind. "But I told her to expect this, she will be fine."

As if needing to prove this to himself, the archer pulled an arrow out from the quiver he had laid upon the floor.  Teasingly, he balanced the shaft in his fingers and rocked it back and forth. Getting no reaction, he swept the arrow full around with a swing of his arm. At the top of the arch, the feather tips suddenly blazed and came back to him singed. Bede was astonished.

"I told you." Airich said, shaking his head in mock disapproval. Amy giggled at him behind his back. But sweet Muirea just looked toward where they stood without expression or acknowledgment.

"What wonders ye let us have a hand in," Bede marveled.

Everyone relaxed for a few minutes in silence as Airich opened the wine bottles and then slowly drained them into the wide, low silver bowl: a soup tureen, if one thought about it. Don't make yourself hungry Amy told herself. If she was staring at the bowl filling with a deep red wine, it wasn't because she wanted to drink any of it. It rather looked more like blood to her than something drinkable, and it gave her a small quiver. Elspeth gave her friend a long look over the top of the wine bottle as if to say, Are you all right with this? Amy bit her lip then raised her eyebrows, as if to return the same question.  Elpseth tilted her head. She was most curious, indeed. Amy did not have time to look over the men, for at that moment Airich finished his pouring and placed the empty bottles under the table to be forgotten. He picked up the four tapers, catching everyone's attention, and motioned each of them to their places two steps beyond the table's edge. He walked around the table, giving each of them their own candle to hold bare-handed. Elspeth in the East, Bede in the South, Amy in the West, Edwin in the North. Then back at the table, Airich looked into Amy's curious eyes. "The button, if I may have it, please."

Amy nervously fished in her pocket, finding the cloth surrounding the hard-won object belonging to the magistrate's son. For a moment, she was terrified she would drop it, but she did not, and managed to place the kerchief and button in the knight's open palm. He placed these carefully on the table beside the bowl. Then he picked up the central burning candle, held it before him, and stepped to the East side of the table facing the healer. He gave her a nod, indicating she should begin. Her words were poetic prayer for summoning the Healer, and if she asked with honest faith, and with Airich as the focal conduit, surely he would listen.  She began to recite her implorement to the heavenly archangels, Airich tilted his candle over to set her's alight.

"I call the mighty Archangel Raphael, the Healer, Guardian of Wind and tempest. May thy winds blow cool and sweet this night, to send us that which we must know..."

 "May the Lord's will be done." Airich completed the phrase with due ceremony. He used her words to feel the warmth of his own powers growing in his center. He bowed to the healer among them, keeping his own candle steady, then he stepped to the side to stand before the only man among them who had been in battle.

Bede held his candle as a warrior would hold up his sword in salute. As the bearer of the Spirit, Airich tilted his candle to light the flame of the warrior's candle. Bede's voice was steady, but his words emphasized the third phrase with awe, as the flame seemed to give him an inner vision. 

"I call the mighty Archangel Michael, the Defender, Wielder of the Fiery Sword, to witness this rite and protect us in our hour of need, that naught may keep us from that which we must know..."

"May the Lord's will be done." Airich replied, feeling the flame of Justice rise to take balance within him. He brought his fist up to his heart in salute, still holding the candle in his left hand. Then he moved on to stand before Amy.

Amy found Airich's blue eyes focally looking deep into her own. She did not know if he had touched the others the way he was touching her now, she suspected he had not. He swam through her energy like it was an effervescent fountain of youth. And she gladly let him tingle every cell in her mind, and fill her with the warmth of a spring-filled pool. His hand wavered for a moment, and it looked like his candle might slip, but then he steadied and lit her candle. Nearly out of breath, she recited the words of request.

"I call the mighty Archangel Gabriel, the Herald, who didst bring glad tidings to Our Blessed Lady. As we are born of water, so let knowledge be born of water here tonight, that we may learn what we must know..."

"May the Lord's will be done." Airich bent and lifted her hand, placing a chaste kiss upon the back of it. His lips hovered there perhaps a moment longer than Amy might have expected, in their touch there was immense compassion that echoed in her own heart. He was magic and she felt it in his core being. Leaving her lightly bewildered, he was moving on to the scribe, to repeat the candle-lighting process one final time.

Edwin's voice was strong and no longer held doubt.

"I call the Mighty Archangel Uriel, Angel of Death, who bringest all souls at last to the Nether Shore. Mayest thou pass us by this night, and bring instead that thing which we must know..."

"May the Lord's will be done." Airich and Edwin clasped each other's wrists in a gesture of mutual respect. Knowledge and grounding bound their friendship. For indeed that is what it had become.

Then Airich was standing at the table's edge. He lifted his own candle above the bowl of shimmering liquid, and spoke the last words of the incantation.

"Air, Fire, Water, Earth, and Spirit. Now do we stand outside time, in a place not of earth. As our ancestors before us bade, the unity of humanity, Amen, So be it."

All five candles flared and sparked. There indeed was a spirit of energy in the air.

Airich placed his candle in the votive stand before him. He picked up the kerchief, folding the fabric back, and revealed the silver button from the tunic of the man who lately wore it. Gazing at the shining object with an intensity unequal, he cast his energy upon it. "We who stand here seek knowledge. We seek to save lives. Help us discover if danger lies in the path of the men and women of Grecotha!"

He dropped the button into the bottom of the bowl, it glittered for a moment as it sank, but then was lost in the depths of the wine.

As a motion, all four stepped forward and rested their candles in their right hands against the edge of the bowl. With their left hands, they reached out and clasped the wrists of their neighbor holding the candle. Thus, it was a ring of the four people and the four elements combined. Airich moved to stand in the small space between Edwin and Amy. He placed his hands to the outer edge of the bowl and rested his bare wrists, one over Amy's hand and one over Edwin's hand. He joined them all in a circle, a link that he could draw upon their power, and search for the information that he needed.

"Tune your awareness to the reflection of the still surface. Pacify your soul," his words were hypnotic. "Let the fragrance of the incense find you in a place of beauty and calm. I will be your guide from here. Let us be one."

They'd done their parts flawlessly; Airich couldn't be more proud of the four if they were his own students. He'd been the tiniest bit nervous that Bede might take the opportunity to improvise, and he'd been ready to modify his own part in response, but no: Bede had put his jester aside and spoken his summoning perfectly, down to the very inflection he'd used. And Elspeth, healer in body and spirit, if not in magic, summoning her archangel with the surety of her inborn calling. Young Edwin, who barely understood what it was to be Deryni, standing steadfast like a stone foundation. And Amy... Don't get distracted again, you have a job to do! Yes, Amy.

He was aware of all of them now, joined together with him in a psychic net, providing strength and support. He looked into the silver bowl before him. Within the bowl, hidden from his physical sight, lay a silver button. Airich felt the silver medallion that lay against his chest, attuned to him and his kin, and used the affinity of the silver to call forth the visions that would give them the answers they sought.

He let his body and mind relax as he stared into the bowl, his eyes focusing on nothing. He held his body firm and brought his awareness down to a deeper level, focusing his mind on the bowl as his physical eyes lost focus. Locate that delicate balance that kept his eyes focused on nothing and aware of everything, then sink even deeper, leaving behind all physical awareness but the tableau before him.

The silver bowl. The silver button. The silver medallion. Find the bond from the button to its previous bearer and trace it backward. Use the silver to call it forward. Airich felt the sensation of flowing through space as his vision darkened, and then returned. And as he watched, an indistinct scenario slowly came into view on the surface of the burgundy liquid.¹ It was distorted, like looking through decorative glass. The entire scene appeared blurred, and sounded as if it were underwater, but if he concentrated, Airich could bring portions of the scene into focus.

He viewed a dim and windowless room, not unlike the one they themselves stood in. Four men sat around a table, although one of them sat behind the viewpoint of the spell: this would be de Guerra. A glass of wine sat in front of each man, and they appeared to be arguing.

As per the plan, Airich now brought Edwin into closer contact. The two together would perceive and understand more than one man alone, and Edwin—with his greater knowledge of Grecotha and its inhabitants—seemed the logical choice.

He focused on de Guerra, as the other men seemed to be looking at him. The muddied voice became clearer. "...getting into. But with de Nore dead, who leads his faction now?"²

One of the other men seemed to answer him, but Airich was unable to focus on him quickly enough to catch his statement. There was definitely a trick to switching between the speakers fast enough, but he heard most of what the following man had to say. "...fall apart. De Nore couldn't have more than a dozen of his fanatics anyway, and honestly? We don't need that kind of crazed fervor."

With four speakers to focus on, Airich found it nearly impossible to catch the beginning of each man's piece. The next speaker, a man in priest's robes, enunciated clearly. "...be careful making such a statement, Marcus. De Nore might have been a fanatic, but he had a way with people." He held up his glass, looking into the depths of the wine before taking a sip. "He might have had a larger following than we think. But it's true, his disciples will be lost and looking for leadership without him, so our best course..."

Shock and distress emanated from Edwin as he suddenly recognizing this speaker, upsetting the calm Airich needed for this spell. He lost track of the conversation for nearly half a minute before he could figure out which man was speaking. And then he nearly lost focus again when he realized that this speaker wore the violet sash of the Bishop's own Purple Guard. "...keep your coin. But in the meantime, our other friends have been moved to different quarters. They're no longer at the boarding house Canon Damian placed them in, but are now hidden away in the Crafting district. My people should locate them soon, though."

Blast, they hadn't even been here half a day.

"Also, we'd suspect one of their number to be Deryni. Based on my report regarding de Nore's interrogation, the knight turned de Nore into a raving madman—"

"...can't give that as proof of being Deryni, Philip. De Nore was one step away from a raving madman anyway."

Philip slammed his palm against the table. "This isn't a joke! You think de Nore caused his own death? No, that's entirely on O'Flynn. And there may be other Deryni among them, we'll have to watch them carefully."

There came next a certain amount of cross-talk, which Airich couldn't make any sense of. But then he stopped on Marcus again. "...woman who hides under her hood? One of my spies has been trying to get a better glimpse of her, see if he recognizes her."

"I'll be sure to give them all a proper welcome next time they visit my table." De Guerra spoke up again now. He was the easiest to anticipate and hear. "I would so enjoy watching one of our oh-so-proud Deryni go into convulsions in front of the crowd. I'm sure my friends would make sure the poor man would be taken someplace where he would be well cared for."

Marcus spoke up again. "...men are concerned about Bishop Bernard's sermon this morning and making a public example of Steinmeister. He hasn't condemned us by name, but there is no question in anyone's mind who he meant."

"The Bishop is a fool, let him piss about." De Guerra's sneer made it quite clear what he thought of the Bishop and his message. "With de Nore gone, we'll see no more episodes like that foolish burning in the market square. We stay quiet for a bit, things will go back to normal."

Edwin still radiated anger at whatever had set him off about the priest, and it was becoming a distraction. Airich took a moment to loosen his close connection with Edwin, and then brought Amy into position to take his place. This, too, had been part of the plan, although Airich brought her in sooner than he'd originally anticipated. They lost a few seconds of de Guerra's pontificating by doing so, but he deemed it worth the effort.

"...protect the travelers in and out of the city. That means an increase in road tax. That way, they're safe from bandits, and we can monitor who comes and goes. And if any of those damned foreign Deryni students think they're going to attend this term, they'll discover otherwise. Bad enough Gwynedd's own Deryni think to come here, but those from other lands will be persuaded to leave.

Philip got to his feet and stretched his back, then took an at-rest military stance. "...time the new term starts, the Bishop will have lifted the weapons ban. It won't take long for the city to return to normal. The Purple Guard will keep things at the university well in hand, and the City Watch is being doubled. And since we no longer have de Nore causing panic, everyone will relax and the fine people of this city will be at their ease in no time."

The priest named Jacob spoke next, and both Airich and Amy realized they'd seen him in the library, and they missed at least five seconds of his talking. "Mark my words here, Philip: they are trouble. And they're the unknown element in our plan. I, for one, hope that some of de Nore's people take it upon themselves to rid us of these investigators, even if they do draw attention to themselves."

"Well said, Jacob," said de Guerra. "We all have our parts to play, even poor, mad Eddard, may he rest in peace. Get with your cells, make sure they keep those investigators off-track and away from us. Diversion or death, I honestly don't care. But make..."

Airich lost the sound again and couldn't get it back. De Guerra spoke for a few more seconds, and then all men lifted their glasses in a toast and drained them. The scene moved behind thick glass again, and Airich could see one man leave while the other three milled about socially, but then the surface of the wine lost its image and returned to its previous burgundy color.

---

¹ Ritual Scrying, Standard easy: 4,4=Success
² We had to make a lot of rolls for this scene, and I didn't think anyone wanted to scroll through several inches of text space in this post, so you'll just have to trust me about the rolls (although if you really want to see the notes, I could show you, but ugh, why would you do that to yourself?). :)