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DerynifanK

March 17, 2024, 03:48:44 PM
Happy St Patrick's Day. Enjoy the one day of the year when the whole world is Irish.

Ghosts of the Past

Started by Bynw, November 21, 2017, 09:26:09 AM

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Jerusha

King Kelson of Gwynedd and Prince Javan descended the stone stairs down to the Rhemuth Castle dungeon.  The steps had been worn smooth over hundreds of years, so care had to be taken not to slip and fall.  More than one prisoner over time had fallen down the stairs; one could never be sure if it was by accident or design. 

Two guards in Haldane livery proceeded the king and his heir and two more followed.  Water could be heard dripping as they reached the bottom of the stairs.  The air was damp and musty.  It was not healthy to be here; but then, it wasn't supposed to be.  The depressing atmosphere helped to put prisoners in the proper state of mind for questioning.

Lord Jaxom had been put in a cell closer to the stairway where conditions were marginally better.  The Moorish prisoner had been placed in a cell farther down where little light penetrated except for that provided by the torches that were lit beside some of the cells. 

The guard outside the cell door snapped to attention.  "The prisoner has been pretty quiet since he was given the merasha," the guard reported. "Except for the initial cursing and swearing." 

"Did you find anything when you searched him?" Javan asked.

"A fair amount of coin, a crystal amulet on a leather cord, a belt knife; nothing else out of the ordinary.  They are wrapped in that cloth on the floor beside the door.  Duke Dhugal advised us not to touch them with our bare hands.  The guard unlocked the door and swung it open for the king and his party to enter. 

The Moorish tradesman huddled on the floor with shackles secured to his wrists and ankles.  Stout chains further secured him to a central ring in the wall.  He did not look up as one of Kelson's guards entered with a torch; nor did he stir as king and prince entered.

"Look at me," the king commanded.  The man on the floor before him did not move.  At a nod from Kelson, the second guard came forward, grabbed the man by his hair and forced him to look up.

The man was not a pretty sight.  The blood that had gushed from his nose had dried and caked the side of his mouth and jaw.  The eyes had trouble focusing, whether from the merasha or from Dhugal's punch to his head Kelson could not be sure. 

Will Kelson set off a death trigger when he begins to question the prisoner?
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:41   derynibot   1, 1 == 2
(Failure can be a friend.  With snake eyes, Kelson may not be able to shut him up.)

Will Kelson be able to force the prisoner to tell him the truth?
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:42   derynibot   4, 2 == 6
(I'm reading a 4 as success, since Kelson is ritual trained due to the Haldane Potential.)

"You will answer all my questions with the truth," Kelson said, sending the Truth-Say compulsion to the merasha soaked mind.  He could not read the man's mind directly because of the merasha, but he could send the compulsion with minimal distress.  He drew back from the mental disruption as quickly as possible.

"What is your name?" Kelson asked.

The man glared at the king and spat.  "Jabir Ibn Habib." 

The king noticed that the man had lost both front teeth.  "Where are you from?" he asked.

"Khasifa."  Jabir looked at the king blearily.  "What if I make you a bargain?  What if I tell you what I know, and you release me after?"

Kelson barked a short laugh.  "You know I will not let you go.  But tell me what you know, and I will decide how swift your death will be."

"How do I know you will grant me that consideration, if I tell you all?"

Kelson looked at him coldly.  "You don't.  But you have my word I will at least consider it."

"I will tell you what I know."  The change rattled as Jabir shifted his position on the hard floor.  At a nod from Kelson, the guard released his grip on the prisoner's hair.

"I was contracted to capture your Lady Aliset and move her by Portal to a destination in Meara.  I was not told the destination; I would be told after I captured her successfully.  I discovered two men best able to assist me, whose affections for the lady were plain to see if one looked closely enough.  My first choice turned out to be unavailable, having left Rhemuth in the morning, but the second played right into my hands."

Kelson let him continue, keeping his face expressionless, as did Javan.  When he reached the end, Javan spoke for the first time.  "I have questions I would like to ask."

Kelson nodded and spoke directly to Jabir.  "You will answer Prince Javan's questions as if they were my own."

"What poison was on the ring?" Javan asked, studying the prisoner's face carefully.

"It is an old recipe, carefully guarded by those who know its power."  Jabir's grin displayed his missing teeth.  "I do not know the formula."

"Where did you get it?" Javan asked.

"It came with the ring." 

Javan decided to try a different approach.  "How were you to be told the location to take Lady Aliset?"

"I was to contact the man through mind speech," Jabir responded.  "He would tell me once we made contact, and my possession of the lady was confirmed.

Was Javan imagining it, or was the man becoming nervous?

Will Javan's closer questioning set off a death trigger in the prisoner?
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:43   derynibot   5, 5 == 10
Sigh....

"Who gave you the ring?  Who was it who contracted you to kidnap Lady Aliset?" Javan demanded.

"Stop!" Jabir cried out, but it was too late.  He gripped he head with both hands and collapsed, his body jerking in the throes of death until it lay still.

"Damnation!" Javan exclaimed.   

"I expected it," King Kelson replied calmly, laying a hand on his son's shoulder.  "We are dealing with someone too cunning not have covered his tracks with a death trigger.  We should have a careful look at that amulet."

As they left the cell, the guard was staring at the cloth bundle as his feet. "It was the oddest thing, your Majesty," he said.  "All of a sudden the bundle sort of jumped a bit.  I'm sure I didn't imagine it."

Prince Javan looked at his father and then crouched down by the bundle.  He drew his dagger from its sheath and carefully unfolded the cloth with its tip.  The inside of the cloth was blackened.  The coins, belt knife and the leather cord were still there, but small shards of crystal were all that remained of the amulet.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

revanne

#451
Dhugal led Richard at a rapid pace through the castle towards the library and the portal which would lead them back to Ballymar and away from the nightmare of the last days. He spared a thought for his blood brother, the king, for whom there could be no such escape but he knew he would be grateful to smell the fresh sea air and rebuild his relationship with the man keeping pace with him as they set in motion the ships which would sail to protect,  or God forbid, relieve Laas.

His first inkling that it would not be so simple came when he went to grasp Richard''s hand to take him through the hidden veil protecting the portal. The seaman pulled his hand away as though burnt , ((Dhugal takes control of Richard to take him through the veil. 4+1=5 d9bsn2692p))

"I'm sorry Dhugal, I don't think I can do this! There's no offence to you, but I cannot stop thinking of what that man did to me."

It was a sign of his deep distress that a man normally so punctilious with the public use of honorifics should use his first name in the presence of three Haldane guards for, in addition to Andras who had accompanied them, there were two archers on guard in the library. Dhugal understood but he had to struggle to keep his own calm. What had Alaric said to him all those years ago?

"It's not the power that is good or evil, Richard, but the man who wields it, and when have you ever seen me use my power for evil?"

"Never, and I'm not sure whether it's you I don't trust or myself. I just know I don't want anyone else controlling me."

"Maybe, if I was to blur what I told you?"

((Dice roll 3+1=4 same verification as above. Nice try Dhugal))

Richard made an obvious attempt to calm himself as he replied more formally,

"I know you mean well, your Grace, but no!"

"Well yer canna ride to Ballymar, an' I canna manage oor ships a'  ba mysen."

"Well knock me out then, and take me through like that!"

Dhugal breathed deeply to calm himself, though he was sorely tempted to take the other at his word.

"Don't be ridiculous! How does assaulting you help?" He snapped. "There must be something we can do."

He beckoned to the guardsman who had accompanied them.

"Andras, isn't it? Fetch us some strong ale!"

Andras bowed but there was obvious hesitation in his manner and Dhugal felt his patience slipping perilously through his fingers.

"Well! The order was obvious enough and I daresay we can just about manage without your protection. Perhaps you would be good enough to explain your failure to obey an order"

Andras flushed at the sarcasm but stood his ground. "I'm not disobeying your Grace but if I go to the buttery and ask for best quality ale  for your Grace there'll be a right kerfuffle as they send down to the cellars and it'll be the best part of an hour before I'm back here. Always supposing I'm not questioned as to what I'm doing in the buttery at this hour when I'm on duty. I was only going to suggest that, if your Grace would so condescend I can fetch you some ale from my quarters."

"Thank you, but I doubt that watery stuff you get as ration would serve the purpose."

Andras reddened even further but replied easily enough,

"It's not exactly what I had in mind Your Grace!"

Neither Dhugal nor Richard could entirely hide a smile, and Dhugal felt a real sense of gratitude to the soldier who was prepared to quibble with a Duke to do what he could to help.

"Do so then, and you have my thanks. And I promise neither of us will have any idea where it came from."

Andras saluted and left. True to his word he was soon back with a leather flask. Dhugal took it and drank, then with an appreciative noise handed it to Richard.

"Here. Drink this, and see if that will help you relax enough to get us through that damned veil and the portal beyond."





God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
(Psalm 46 v1)

Jerusha

The old tinker felt that luck had been with him today, and that made him nervous.  He did not trust luck; that elusive lady was likely to turn her back on you just when you thought all would be well.  He preferred to make his own luck.  He was not inclined to trust his fate to a roll of the dice if he could avoid it.

Nevertheless, when a kitchen servant had arrived at his lodging in the early morning hours with the news that he was needed in the castle kitchens to repair several pots, he had readied his cart and immediately made his way to the castle.  Even the castle kitchens had not escaped damage in the revolt, and pots needed to be repaired in time for the dinner to be held in the pretender queen's honour that night.  As the tinker worked on a large pot with a deep depression in it, he wondered who's head it had collided with.

Fortune had smiled further when Mistress Baker arrived later in the day with fresh white bread and sweetmeats for the dinner.  Although they did not exchange words, she gave him a slightly crooked cherry tart, and the tinker knew that Gelsey fared well.

Last night, when it was late enough he was sure no one would be looking for a tinker, he had moved along the hidden castle passageways to gather what information he could.  Loud voices had caught his attention; Oswald and Brioc were arguing about sending reinforcements to Ratharkin.  Oswald wanted more men as soon as possible; Brioc responded they were needed elsewhere.  They had been silenced by the third man, the man who held the true authority here.  He advised Oswald to be patient, and that when the reinforcements arrived, they would also be bringing the bride he so desired.  For her sake, the tinker hoped not.

He had made full report to King Kelson after he had returned to his lodgings.  He suspected that Ratharkin was to be used as bait to draw the king's forces here while the main force of the rebellion struck elsewhere.  The likely target to him was Laas, though it was not certain.  King Kelson did not advise him of the identity of the Torenthi; perhaps Bishop Arilan had not yet determined who it was.  The more the tinker knew about the man, the better prepared he would be.

Now he sat at a table at the back of Ratharkin Castle's great hall, treated to the leftovers of the earlier removes with some of the other tradesmen in appreciation for their services.  The high table was now being served Mistress Baker's sweetmeats and other tasty treats.  The tinker noted that while Queen Sidana seemed attentive enough to the men and ladies around her, she did not engage in much conversation.  She picked at her food and had not taken more than one cup of the fine wine that was being served.  Her father and Oswald consumed more; the Torenthi was more moderate. 

The tinker could not hear any of high table's conversations; the hall was too noisy.  Still, he studied them carefully without being too obvious; he had learned to read lips long ago.

Most of the conversation revolved around the "Meara-to-be" the rebellion would provide.  True independence from Gwynedd, return of lands forfeited in the last rebellion, prosperity for all. All the standard promises. But several times, in unguarded moments, the Torenthi had been addressed as "your Grace," and once addressed directly by the queen as "Valerian."  Could he be one of the sons of Teymuraz?  That would explain much. 

The dinner was over.  The tinker rose with the rest of the hall as the queen was escorted from the high table.  The tinker would not haunt the castle passageways tonight.  The queen was leaving in the morning, and Sir Iain Cameron needed to prepare.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

revanne

#453
"I'm sorry, Sir. I should have left you to do the questioning. There's nothing left in this amulet to give any clues as to whom he was serving, though it was by means of this that he was receiving his orders unless I miss my guess very badly."

Javan straightened and looked apologetically at his father who sighed but clasped his son's shoulder.

"Don't blame yourself, the question had to be asked and it was almost certain that a death trigger would have been set. I would  like to know whether our late friend was working with the fiend who took Washburn but either way it doesn't  help us to find him. I hope Alaric forgives me for not making more effort to find his son but after what happened to Sextus I cannot risk any others."

Kelson looked as grim as his surroundings, there in the dungeon corridor and Javan's next words were a seeking for what comfort there was, as much for his own sake as his father's.

"At least we know now that Jaxom is no traitor."

"I still want to thrash him for his obsession with Aliset. Did the man not realise his open lust for her put us all in danger, and provided enough distraction for Washburn to be captured."

"I don't suppose so" Javan replied reasonably "and you can't thrash people just because it makes you feel better." Then with a sidelong  look at his father he added, " Not that that stopped you when I was growing up."

Kelson growled but his expression lightened as he replied,

"You got far fewer beatings than you deserved, and you know it. Especially once you and Araxandra came up with that scheme for her to always take the blame."

"Until you worked out what we were doing and beat her as you would have me. I have never felt so much of a mean wretch in my life hearing her cry with the pain - it worked, though, I grant you. I watched my step a bit more after that. "

"If it makes you feel any better your mother wouldn't speak to me for a week. I'm not sure why being reminded of my sins as a father should have helped me feel better, but oddly it has. Thank you, Son."

Kelson smiled gratefully at him, feeling grateful for the adult Javan's concern for his father in this pass and recognising his reference to his childhood for what it was, an attempt to lighten the mood."

"Well let's go and see what stuff Jaxom is really made of, and I'll keep my hands to myself."

Father and son moved back towards the stairs and stopped outside another guarded cell.

"No sound at all until a few moments ago, Your Majesty," The guard reported, "and then only a low moaning. The healer came and bandaged his wound but thought it best not to heal him without your Majesty's say so. He said he seemed to be in some sort of a trance."

At a nod from Kelson, the guard unlocked the door and went in. The King waited until he heard him say roughly "On your feet!" Then he and Javan entered the cell, preceded and followed, as before, by the two pairs of archers in Haldane livery.

This cell was somewhat less menacing than the other. There was more light for one thing, from a narrow slit in the corner above a hole in the floor acting as a simple garderobe shaft, far too small to allow a means of escape but allowing for basic dignity. Along the far wall was a stone shelf allowing a prisoner at least to lie above the floor but there were still iron staples along the wall to which chains could be attached, and the rattling which they heard as they entered made it clear that Jaxom was shackled.

Jaxom was being hauled roughly to his feet looking pale and bleary eyed, but when he saw who he had entered he shook the guard's hands off him and fell to his knees, the movement clearly paining him. He looked up first at Kelson and then Javan and begged,

"Your Majesty, your Highness, I beseech you, have mercy and at least tell me for what I am being punished."

Kelson looked at him with hard implacability and replied,

"I suggest that you tell me."

Javan whispered to his father, do you want me to use Truth Say on him ((1+4 = 5 d9bsn2692p)) but the king replied "No, I want to see whether he will tell the truth of his own accord."

"God help me, Sire, I cannot. The last I remember I was walking along towards the Queen's garden and then a few moments ago I woke here, with this wound and these shackles." There was desperation in his eyes and he raised his hands, awkward because of the chains which bound them together, and scrubbed at his head as if trying to force a memory. Finally he continued hesitantly, "There was a man, I think, a foreigner he would be, who spoke to me, but as to what he said...." His voice trailed off and he let his hands fall, his head hanging with them in desperation.

"So far so honest," Kelson commented quietly to Javan, "let's see if he continues."

"What was in your heart as you walked towards the Queen's gardens, which it may interest you to learn are her Majesty's private preserve?"

Jaxom flinched at the ice in the king's voice and did not attempt to raise his head or to say anything for a long moment. Finally he buried his face in his hands and said something, too quiet for any to hear. One of the guards went as if to force his head out of his hands but Javan shook his head and crouching down by Jaxom firmly but gently took Jaxom's hands away from his face and said,

"Only the whole truth can save you. If it shames you, well, better men than you have endured shame and lived. Speak so his Majesty can hear you."

Jaxom looked as though Javan's gentleness would utterly unman him but swallowing his tears he said,

"I intended to use Darcy's",

"Lord Darcy," the king interrupted in no less a glacial tone.

"I intended to use Lord Darcy's absence as a chance to speak to the Lady Aliset. I...I thought that perhaps I could threaten to publically expose her unchaperoned journey to force her to agree to my suit. I acknowledge that I am dishonoured as a knight by that thought, and not worthy of the touch of your Majesty's sword on my shoulders. But I swear that I remember nothing else and I cannot say how I came by this wound," he touched his side and grimaced, "nor earned these shackles nor your Majesty's such extreme displeasure."

He looked around wildly, "I will swear on whatever holy relics there are, that I am telling the truth."

For the first time Kelson's expression softened and he said less coldly, "There will be no need for that. I have been reading the truth of what you say ((5+1+2 =8 6vjm016gt2)). You are absolved of the worst suspicions against you. Nevertheless you have been the tool of great harm. Look at your hands, do you see something you do not recognise?"

Jaxom did as he was bid and gasped. He made as though to remove the ring but Kelson stopped him with an abrupt command.

"No! don't touch it - it may still be dangerous although the man who put it there is dead, and I would guess that it was only then that his spell on you was broken. Guard, take a cloth and remove it without touching it. Gently though, he is no traitor."

The guard did as he was bid, hearing that he had been suspected of being a traitor having shocked Jaxom into utter passivity, and gave the covered ring into Javan's outstretched hand as the King continued,

"That ring has been the instrument of great harm and as your folly and dishonourable intent put you in the way of being used by another's evil it is meet that you should hear what has been wrought. But I do not think that you need any longer to be shackled. Guards see to it."

Jaxom still remained passive as the chains were removed from his wrists and ankles though he rubbed at his wrists once they were free. He made no attempt to rise from his knees though he made a movement as though to reach for the King's hand to kiss it. Kelson knew that the pardon symbolised by the offering of his hand would have to come, though it would be far more grudgingly offered than the pardon freely given to Richard Kirby, but he could not quite manage that yet and kept his hands firmly folded at his waist. Javan wisely said nothing.

As the tale of what he had wrought while he was bespelled was unfolded by the King's unexpressionless voice Jaxom looked more and more horrified. He blenched at the account of his kissing of the helpless Aliset, and his fight with Washburn, touching his wound at that moment as though glad of the pain it caused him. As Kelson began to speak of Aliset in the arms of her would be abductor he was interrupted by Javan's cry,

"He's fainting, Sir." And indeed Jaxom had keeled over, his face now completly grey. Javan beckoned one of the guards to bring the earthenware jug of water over but did nothing to rouse Jaxom while he spoke to his father,

"Maybe go a little more easily on him, Sir. You are utterly terrifying when you are angry" he held his hands up to ward off Kelson's retort, "justified I know but don't leave him without any hope. Dhugal has Sent to me that Columcil spoke well of his loyalty, though Dhugal had to drag it out of him. Give him a chance to prove himself. I think that he will fight all the more eagerly for you now. With your permission, of course, I'll take him and his men under my command."

Kelson reflected that his son would make a good king one day, he just prayed God that Javan would have the chance. He gestured to the guard to help the now rousing Jaxom to sit up and give him some of the water to drink and when the latter would have returned to his knees motioned to him to remain where he was.

Far more gently than he had yet spoken he was beginning his account again, "It is not good hearing I know," but the naked pleading in Jaxom's eyes caused him to stop and silently grant permission for Jaxom to speak.

"Please Sire, is the Lady Aliset safe?"

"Yes, though I cannot say she is well. Lord Washburn, who came to her rescue, was taken and as yet we have no idea where."

Jaxom seemed as though he might faint again and Kelson, even without Javan's look, knew that in mercy he must bring this to a close. Though it cost him an effort of will he held his hand out to Jaxom who scrambled up onto his knees and kissed it, wetting it with his tears.

"You have paid dearly for your folly, as have others, but the treason is not yours to atone for, neither are you to blame for the evil use made of you. Your behaviour towards the Lady Aliset I advise you to take into confession, and accept whatever penance is required from you. The recompense that I demand of you is that you publicly and humbly beg her pardon. I am also going to forbid you to seek healing for your wound, though you may continue to have it dressed, God alone knows what Lord Washburn is suffering in captivity and I think it fitting you should suffer too.  Once you are ordered to prepare to march out from Rhemuth you may have it healed to be fit to serve his royal Highness Prince Javan who is willing to have you and your men in his company. You will now be escorted to your quarters where you will remain until you are summoned to make your apology."

Javan was right, as he so often was, Kelson reflected. Jaxom was at the end of his tether. He knew he was. He allowed Jaxom to kiss his hand again then ordered two of the guards to escort Jaxom to his quarters, while he and Javan followed the two remaining guards back up the stairs. When he would have headed straight back to the council chamber Javan stood in his way.

"I will go and talk to Grania about Aliset, and the apology you have so kindly imposed on her," but his smile took any sting out of his words. "And you, my dearest father, will return to mother and allow her to look after you for at least the next hour. The council have more than enough to keep themselves occupied and you are too precious to wear yourself out."

Javan bowed over his father's hand and turned and went on his way followed by one of the guards. Kelson turned to the other, and said "As his royal highness has commanded." But there was no irony in his tone.






















God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
(Psalm 46 v1)

Laurna


Four men all sharing the same facial features yet expressing those features in varied shades of decades in age gained admittance into the king's withdrawing room. The council meeting had now been going on and off for the entirety of day and well into the night. At the time that the Arilans entered, the king himself was not in attendance. Neither to was Prince Javan and gone to was Duke Dhugal, who was said to be returning to Ballymar after much delay. The six men who remained were mixed about the room either signally or in pairs. All working on various scrolls and counting sheets, piecing together the details required to move large numbers of men and arms to the northern Province of Meara. The sideboard was laden with trays of food, mostly uneaten. A few small trenchers of hand picked items were scattered about the main table within the reach of councilors to assuage their hunger as they worked. More importantly, half filled goblets of wine were near each councilor's hand. A squire with a decanter was ready to ensure that no goblet went empty.

Upon seeing the casualness of the moment, the four Arilan men collapsed in chairs around the main table, each readily accepting the goblets of wine and plates of food that royal squires scurried to place before them. The six men watched the four with interest and concern. None but one dared to speak, knowing full that the news would not be good. The one was Brendan Earl of Marley who put his quill down and moved three seats over to sit next to Denis, the elderly Bishop of Dhassa.

"Your Grace," the earl bowed his head in reverence, "pray tell me, even if the news is poor, what of my brother?"

Denis sighed, taking a long drink of wine. The bishop's eyes didn't meet Brendan's until he had placed the goblet back on the table.  Every man in the room held their breath to hear what Denis would say. With sympathy the older bishop began to speak.

"We found the Deryni Underground Movement Portal of two centuries ago, down by the river docks. The trap on it is a nasty one. Not lethal, thank the Lord, but not easily broken either. Attempts were made, only to be meet with failure. We left guards at the Portal site and around the building. Brendan, you must hold faith that your brother is still alive. Sextus saw him in that place at mid afternoon. We can only presume that our blundering into there caused him to be moved quickly there after. Not much was left near the Portal to give us clues as to where, or by whom he was taken. The food we did find there has been sent to the apothicaires to see if they could help determine what drug, if any, lay upon it.  As for the signature of where Wash was taken...? We still have have some 20 hours of the 24 hours left to discover it. After that you know as well as I that the coordinate signature for Portal jumps tend to fade beyond recognition. We will try again at dawn, when we have regained our energy."

"Damn it all." Lord Angus cursed before Brendan could protest, "Ye' a man of God's Magic. How it be that this evil has beaten the?" The duke stood up and walked over to stand next to his earl, supporting Brendan in this time of stress. "And what's this about Kelson forbidding anyone from taking that Portal jump until he deems 'tis safe. How you supposed to know it's safe if you don't test it. I don't even pretend to understand this fangled magic of travel. But surely something can be done before dawn. And then I 'ear tell, that damnable Moor up and died before 'e could' answer 'or his crimes."

The bishop's eyebrows went up at the news, but he nodded, knowing full well what Angus meant. A death trigger was not unheard of when dealing with Deryni from the east. "I am sorry, Brendan." The old bishop meant it. "At the moment, your brother is beyond our reach."

Despite Brendan Coris's devastating paternity of a man who had committed treason four decades ago, Brendan, Earl of Marly had become one of the most highly respected men in the kingdom. His strong Deryni training and ferocious loyalties to the Morgans and the Haldanes were proof enough to Denis that some traits did not pass from father to son. Yet the Deryni trait from mother to son was passed on in full. Proved again and again, half-blood Deryni were capable of learning as much as full- blood Deryni. The old prejudices of half-bloods were unfounded. What seemed to matter most was the family blood-lines of at least one parent. Some families were simply stronger in the arcane than others. And Richenda's blood lines were among the highest. As had been Alaric Morgan's mother's blood lines. That was why Alaric and Duncan as half-bloods had surprised the Cambarian Council back in the early days. It was the half of Whose blood that counted which made a men as good as another.

With both Alaric's and Richenda's bloodlines mix together, their children had been a pleasure to teach. Brendan, Kelric and the girls especially. With shame, Denis realized he was as much at fault as anyone else's for thinking Washburn immature and spoiled. He had not offer Alaric's youngest son the lessons of advanced magic and had even discouraged Duncan from wasting his time in that effort. After the first few tries to keep the young page Washburn in his lessons, Denise simple gave up. If the rumors were true, that Washburn had the gift of Healing like his father, so much more guilt did Denis feel for not offering a challenge to the boy to do better. 

But at the moment that was neither here nor there. Denis noted the rebellion in Brendan's eyes. "The first Portal jump was a warning, son. The closer we get, the more likely the next traps will be lethal. Kelson has put a halt on finding your brother in that way for good reason."

Brendan bit his lip than said to the bishop under his breath, "You have certain connections. Can they not find Wash?"

"There has been some Rapport between us," Denis failed to mention who the us was, knowing full well that Brendan knew they were talking about the secretive Camberian Council. "As yet, no one even knows who is behind this rebellion. We need more answers before we can make rash accusations."

This please Branden not at all. He slammed his palm on the table, took a deep breath, murmured "Forgive me." and then stalked over the the side board and the food only staring at the food without really seeing it.

For a long while after the room was quite. The Arilans ate sparingly and the others worked on their scrolls. At length the doors open and the king was announced.  Everyone stood and bowed at his entry. "I was informed of  your return. Your grace, I would have your report and I wish to share an item which I am in hopes you have enlightenment." Kelson waived to the others, "at ease my good men." and then the king step with purpose to a far window embrasure, beckoning the Bishop of Dhassa to join him.

With all attention given to the two men, Brendan took the moment to catch Lord Jamyl's gaze and signal him to join him at the side board. With trencher in hand, Jamyl came over and picked a particularly plump breast of fowl.

"Don't react, but I implore you to take me to that portal," Brendan begged very quietly.

"Against Kelson's orders?" Jamyl mouthed back, a bit shocked.

"This is my brother we are talking about. I swear, I won't make the jump that the king forbids, but I have to know what the portal signature is to where he was next taken. Every hour wasted and that signature fades more. If we wait too long it will be impossible to find it. You have to help me."

Jamyl looked over Brendan's shoulder seeing his father and uncle in heavy conversation with Dukes Angus and Albin. Grand uncle Denis was in deep Rapport with the King in the far corner. No one else was looking their way.

"If it was one of your family, you know you would do it," Brendan encouraged.

The younger Lord Jamyl had to nod with agreement. "Better that we leave separately. Give me twenty minutes after I leave to get the horses ready. Meet me at the gate house when you can get away."

"Thank you," Brendan breathed. "I knew I could count on you."

Jamyl returned to the table to eat what he had picked up. After a few minutes, Brendan slugged down his wine, ate a meat roll and then returned to Duke Angus who was counting up the levees.
May your horses have wings and fly!

Bynw

"Rest young Morgan." The statement by the Scholar was more of a command than a suggestion. "In the morning, you will be well rested and famished. You will eat the food and drink the wine I have prepared for you. And come the setting of the sun we will leave these ruins."

He doesn't bother to check on Washburn, knowing full well that the controls are well established that Washburn will have no option except to obey his commands. Although before sleeping himself, the Scholar rechecks the Wards that surround the ruins that will warn him of unwanted guests. And also the Wards Major that are covering the Portal itself. An age old trick to make a Portal hidden and unacessable even if those in Rhemuth managed to get its unique signature. They would not be able to reach out to it. And given the distance as well, few are skilled in long distance jumps as he was. The Scholar has a peaceful rest.
President pro tempore of The Worlds of Katherine Kurtz Fan Club
IRC Administrator of #Deryni_Destinations
Discord Administrator of The Worlds of Katherine Kurtz Discord
Administrator https://www.rhemuthcastle.com

Laurna

"Rest young Morgan." Even as the irresistible command caused Washburn's eyes to ease from their stare at his tormentor and for him to find himself easing to his right side, the pain in the cut on his left arm was really beginning to bother him. The jump for the beam and the subsequent tumble to the floor had re-openind the cut Jaxom's sword had made. Wash would not complain about it, yet fresh blood ran down his arm. Under his black tunic, in the darkness of the ruins, Wash doubted the Scholar noticed it. Wash could not reach the gash with his hands tied. and he could not fight the need to sleep long enough to say something about it. If only he had that Healers gift of his activated. But the Healing energy was the furthest of all arcane energy from his use. Healing required such a delicate balance. He wounder then if he would ever be able to heal again. If the wound festered and he sickened what did it matter.   Washburn fell asleep on the furs with a horrid sense of nightmares filling his future.
May your horses have wings and fly!

revanne

The ale was good with a rich malty aroma and a smooth nutty flavour. Dhugal had to remind himself that he had given his word not to question where this had come from. Besides, there was no sign that Andras or his colleagues were anything other than punctilious in the carrying out of their duties and he knew that Kelson, as indeed himself, saw no reason why those who served him should not enjoy the good things of life appropriate to their station.

More to the point it appeared to be serving its purpose with Richard. He was drinking slowly and appreciatively - and Dhugal could not help but be amused that despite all that had happened and his current fear the seaman's taste for a good brew, as for a good vintage, was untainted - and gradually the fear began to fade from his eyes. He stood up, gave a deep belch and handed the skin back to Andras with a nod of thanks, then turned to Dhugal.

"I don't know how long this will last but there is enough good magic in that ale to counter my jitters so let's be done with it."

Dhugal hoped he had not heard a stress on the word "good" but there was no time to waste. Still anxious, he pulled out his St Camber medal from within his tunic and grasping hold of it prayed that the saint who was reputed to be the protector of both humans and Deryni would come to their aid. (( 5 + 3 + 6 = 14, 4l88zvrwf8 - thank you Sanctus Camberus.)) Then he put his hand on Richard's forehead and took control as he led him through the veil into the room beyond and onto the portal square. Grasping the energies with his mind he had rarely been so glad to see the familiar outline of the portal room in Ballymar.

Their feet had barely touched the ground when he released control of Richard's mind though he was careful to keep a hold of the other's arm lest he should still be disorientated.

"Thank you, My Lord, but it will take more than a skinful of ale to put a seafarer off balance." Richard's tone was deliberately jocular, if somewhat forced, and with a smile Dhugal released his grip and replied in kind.

"I'm glad to hear it, else there's few boats would ever come safe to port!"

Richard clearly did not want to speak about his fear, and now was not the time to raise it, though Dhugal did wonder if Mirjana might be the best person to help him. Though she was Deryni she too had suffered unspeakably at the hands of one who abused his power. That was for another day though. Please God they could both make for their beds and at least sleep through what was left of this night in comfort and undisturbed.

The hope was vain. As the two men walked back through the castle, Dhugal being greeted with deferential bows, and both men with warm relief, word spread that "himself" was back and Master Kirby with him. As they entered the Great Hall, Dhugal to go up the solar stair into the ducal appartments and Richard out across the Bailey to his own quarters the Master-at-arms met them. Barely taking time to bow he all but grabbed hold of the Duke and blurted out,

"Ships, Yer Grace. And comin' along at a grand rate. The wind tha's blowin' them, it's no natural. The wind doesn'a blow like that from the East this time o'year, nor just out at sea. There's many o'the men speirin' it's the work o' the de'il himself. And I'd no say they were wrong." He crossed himself fervently as he finished speaking.

((They could well be right at that. Valerian does some weather working to aid ships from Tolan. Only rolled 2d because although Valerian is extremly skilled, he is also preoccupied.  6 + 4 = 10, 6qt2x19d6b))

Dhugal grabbed the man by the shoulders and barked, "How many ships? And where are they, have they passed the castle?"

"I canna just say how many, M'Lord, twice or thrice times ten mebbe. Yon crofters along the coast are canny enow at lighting the signal fires but no so braw at figurin'. But gi'en how they've bin comin' I'd say they'll 'a' dropped anchor in the mouth of yon sea loch ahint yon brae," he pointed to the east, "and if they gan their road wi' first light they'll be here afore Father Aidan has finished sayin' his morning prayers. The ships are gey prepared to sail and the men aboard, but it's fer yer Grace or Master Kirby ta gie the order ta leave port."

"They'll no' be coming here," Dhugal said grimly, "They've other prey in sight."

"Still, treble the guard and tell each man not on duty to sleep with his weapons. No man has ever taken this castle." He stopped for a moment in thought then added, "Late as it is, rouse the villagers, tell them to bring their bairns and their brychans and naught else. Thank God it's warm enough for them to sleep out in the Bailey tonight. We'll rouse the household to care for them at first light. And, well done! You've done a grand job in my absence."

Calmed by his master's presence and happier now he had definite orders to fulfill, he bowed, with more dignity this time and left. As soon as he was out of sight though Dhugal's calm left him.

"Damn him to the pit of hell, whoever he is! I need this, the King needs this, like a hole in the head! If only we could have been here earlier, when it was still light, we could have had them at anchor like rats in a trap." Dhugal was venting his frustration without thought for his listener and only Richard's silence warned him that he had misspoken. Turning he saw rage and shame in the other's face.

"Just say it, Your Grace. If I hadn't been such a bloody fool about the portal we'd have been here an hour since."

"And it would have still been too dark to set sail. This far north there's aye a glimmer on the water until nigh midnight but it's not enough to see by and I'll not risk men or ships without light."

"And if you'd left me be, as I deserved, and not wasted time healing me but come back by your own, you'd have them surrounded by now."

Dhugal grabbed Richard's shoulders as though to shake sense into him, then drew a deep breath and said with forced calm,

"Whoever our enemy is, he'll want nothing better than to have us at each other's throats. Nothing today has gone well, we must just pray that God is on our side for tomorrow. If we can't catch them sleeping, we must try to stop them as they come past. Send word that the men on board ship are to be roused before dawn, which is barely a watch away, and then for God's sake get a couple of hours sleep yourself."

Richard seemed to pull himself together, made as if to bow then clasped Dhugal in a rough embrace instead and made his way briskly out of the hall. Dhugal looked after him for a long moment, then, deciding he was not about to wake Mirjana at this hour went into the withdrawing room behind the dais, pulled one of the bear skin rugs on top of another, wrapped himself in his cloak on top of them and allowed himself to fall into a light trance.

Rousing himself well before there was any glimmer of light in even in the north-eastern sky from where the sun would rise he waited long enough to perform a fatigue banishing spell then moved out into the hall. Men were already rousing themselves, and out in the Bailey there were sounds of bairns greeting with fear and hunger and their mothers doing their best to hush them. Summoning two of the men who seemed most alert despite their disturbed night he ordered them to light torches and come with him down to the quayside, expecting that he would meet Richard already down there. There was, though, no sign of him, although all were following orders and all was being done with an air of calm, if tense efficiency. They would sail at dawn as planned.








God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
(Psalm 46 v1)

Laurna

#458
Kelson Haldane stood face to face with Denise Arilan. The king's black hair was only speckled with steel gray, while the man of religion, older by some twenty-four years, was completely white on top; neither man balding. Well, unless you counted the bishop's medium tonsure. Perhaps it had gotten a little larger than in his youth to disguise the thinning spot of old age. Few would notice. The two men had four decades of working together to keep dioceses and kingdom on a path of collaboration. Denise had at one time been offered the archbishopric of Valoret but had turned it down. He was a man best working behind the scenes to encourage others to do the right work for the right cause.  Both king and bishop were masters of the Deryni form of sharing. They each held the edges of the bishop's Prayer book in their left hands, and they each had their right hands resting atop the other over the worn leather bound cover. They looked to be in silent prayer, but those who knew better knew the two men were in full Rapport.

In quick bursts of information, the bishop shared all that had happened to find the Portal beyond the Rivergate. Kelson was not unfamiliar with the two-hundred and fifty year old legend of escape routes for Deryni in the years of the Regents. Yet the portal system had never been discovered. Some form of security would need to set in place now that it was found. And that trap would have to be broken with a new trap set by the king's men placed upon it. That would be the first thing on the agenda for the coming day. Following Washburn's captor would take more effort still. Kelson agreed the next Portal after that last one found would likely be more stringently trapped. He would not risk any man jumping into the devil's layer.

When Arilan's report was done. Kelson gave a full accounting of the prisoners. Jabir Ibn Habib from Khasifa, a man known to trade with Rhemuth for several years without ever an incident before this, was the man behind the forced induction of Lord Jaxom to steal Lady Aliset. The connection of this man to the man who'd attacked and took Sir Washburn was uncertain. The images that Dhugal had seen of both men escaping with their targets through the garderobe veil had not been clear enough to identify the one who had ultimately succeeded.  Denis could not Identify him either.

With a sigh, Kelson put those images aside. Perhaps you could offer me better assistance in identifying a more important man from two differing sources. I believe both images to be of the same man. Yet, I can not place the face, though I feel that I should.

I will do what I can, I am ready.

The first images sent were a cullage of the Lady Aliset's scrying of the first amulet that had been found on a pursuer just out of Culdi. Mixed scenes quickly passed from one to the other.
             "Who are you?" had been the question
             The answer came not in words, but in a series of scenes rapidly playing out before their eyes.  A hot clime, a majestic city in the Eastern style.  A palatial mansion that spoke of wealth and elegance. A long journey from faraway lands. A Portal hop from an unfamiliar place to one much more familiar, no more than a day's journey distant. Furtive meetings with a series of others, most unfamiliar to Aliset, although she detected Oswald's despised features among them. And central to one scene, a beautiful young woman seated on what appeared to be a throne.


Denis had stiffened at the sight of the palatial mansion. He knew that residents all too well.  The temple and home of the Byzantyun emperor. The place where Count Teymuraz had fled to after the killijalay of King Liam in the year 1128. Sources through the years had the count married to the daughter of Grand Prince Alexios of Byzantyun. Teymuraz was named Grand Duke and his marriage to the Grand Princess Justiniana produced three sons. First of which were two twin boys born in the year 1129. The eldest twin Grand Duke Iskander, Denis and Kelson had spys keeping track of. The younger twin, Grand Duke Imre was a little harder to follow. And the third son, younger by three years, Grand Duke Valerian, had been out of viewing from the spy network for several years now. The images of this man who ever he may be did have a likeness to one of these three men, but the images were not clear enough to tell which.

Kelson's next sharing was of another scryed image from Lady Aliset of just the face of a man in his prime. That face made Denis's blood run cold. Quickly following, having trouble containing his anger, the king bombarded his bishop with the newest images from his spy in Ratherkin. The Pretender Queen of Meara in the splendor of her subdued subjects with a tall man at her back.  The same man, a man just past the age of thirty, Denis knew the sight of.

Breaking their Rapport, feeling weak-kneed Denis sot-out the bench in the alcove window. "We have been following the wrong son." He said under his breath.

Kelson came to stand before him. "Which one is he!" he demanded in dis-humor.

"That would be the youngest, the unmarried one, Grand Duke Valerian Tiberios Hogan Marek ho Phourstanos/Furstan of Byzantyun. He is a devil that one. There was never proof, as both Imre and Valarian were seen on horse back together near where Alaric and Teymuraz had set their dueling wards, but it is suspect that one or both were the ones who murdered Alaric with that killing bolt, even as the wards died away and he had been proven the victor of that duel. The boys were only 12 and 15 at the time. No one thought them strong enough to perform such an act of violence. But since then, all other suspects have been proven innocent in that one deed.  And Imre has been seen to be a much less vengeful man than his father or his twin brother are. If I were a betting man, I would lay odds that Valarian was the one who struck Alaric down. He has kept a low profile for twenty years. Obviously stewing in his vengeance and planning this rebellion. I am sorry, sire. I missed the clues of this coming."
May your horses have wings and fly!

Jerusha

#459
Two days before the fleet of ships was spotted off the shores of Cassan, the lookouts of Isles had spotted them on the seas north of Isles.  The senior watchman made haste to Eagle's Keep, the northern tower of Castle Isles.

He knocked smartly on the wooden door.

"Enter," a voice slurred from within.

"Master Gregory, there is an unknown fleet making haste westward."

Gregory MacInnis, who would have styled himself as Lord of Isles, looked up as the man entered.  He was a bitter man.  He had married the Dowager Baroness of Isles and sold her youngest son to sea to secure the barony for himself.  She had contrived madness to deny him her bed and any heirs of his own.  Now after her death, he had no claim to Isles other than his extensive and wealthy merchant holdings.  They would have to be enough.

The watchman gave a curt bow.  "We need to light the watch fires and warn Claibourne," he said urgently.

"There is no need," Gregory said as he gazed at his goblet of port.  "They are likely merchants; we need their trade."

"These are not merchant, Master," the watchman said urgently.  "It is Isle's duty to signal to the mainland."

"Isle's duty is to look after Isles.  There is profit to be had by making the right connections.  I'll hear no more."

The watchman looked to explode in fury, but he bowed curtly and withdrew.  The last senior watchman had died at the base of the Isle's cliffs.  He did not intend to meet the same fate.

The watch fires of Isles lay unlit as the fleet of ships sailed past.  A howl of despair seemed to rise above the wind, as if the long dead Baron Solveig Cameron mourned the loss of Isle's honour.

There would be hell to pay when Baron Iain Cameron returned home.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Laurna

#460
The hour was late. Kenric had made a stout effort to be attentive throughout the day's council meeting. He was good at assisting in the counting sheets and at coping letters that would go out in the morning. Uncle Brendan was proud of his half-brother's son. Time had come for the young man to return to family. Brendan was trying to think of the best way to excuse Kenric from the king's council and thereby excuse himself to escort Kenric back to the Corwyn apartments. He would come up with some other reason why he would not himself return to the council this evening. Perhaps he had letters to write to send home. Which he did, so that would not be a lie. Brendan was waiting upon the king and bishop to come forth, so that permission to leave could be granted. Brendan never thought the king would come away from his conversation with the bishop looking so pale. Nor did he expect the king's withheld anger.

"Lord Kenric Morgan, I would excuse you from your father's duty for the rest of this night. Lord Sextus, Lord Jamyl your dismissed as well. Will you please see Kenric to his family's chambers." Summarily dismissed, the three men left the room with bows and questing eyes to the others, but no one had answers to why. "Earl Stephen, Lord Seamus you are released for the night. Ready your packs and get some sleep, you shall both be leaving with Prince Javan when the army has been readied. If we haven't time to speak later, I wish you both success in the days ahead." Both lords came forward to kneel before their king. They touched his ring to their lips before they too left the council room. 

Kelson looked at the remaining five men. He gave a wave for them to come sit at the high end of the table. Prince Albin took his customary seat to Kelson's right.  Duke Angus and Brendan sat further down the table to the right.  Leaving the two chairs on the king's left to be filled by Bishop Arilan and Laird Seisyll.

"What I am about to tell you is for your ears alone. Not even Duncan, nor Kelric are to be told." The king looked squarely at Brendan. "It will be I who will tell them and no one else. Give me your word on this, each of you."

The king looked first to his cousin once removed. "I do swear to hold this information in strict confidence," Albin said with his palm open.

Going around the table each man made the oath with honesty and faith. Brendan was not least among them, though the king gave Brendan the longest appraisal before he moved around the table to receive the Arilans' oaths.

"Very good. I will hold your oaths in troth." The King took a deep breath. He did not sit himself on the throne, instead he rested both palms on the table. "Let me tell you what I have just learned. I know now the name of the man behind this girl-child who claims to be Meara's Queen. This man would marry this girl-child to be her consort, to rule over Meara and to be a constant thorn in our side." Without further hesitation and without emotion nor fluctuation in his voice, the King announced. "Our enemy is Grand Duke Valarian. Third son of Teymuraz." There was an intake of breath around the table. Brendan's fists clenched tight. He had been at that battle twenty years ago. He still vividly remembered the first and last time he had seen this man. 

"Think on it, find me the most successful way to squash this mewling pox-strewn villainous gundygut!" The king spit out the words, his voice rising with each insult. "This Whoreson shall not have that which is Ours!  And We shall make him pay dearly in this life and the next for every life that he costs us to defeat him."

"Gentlemen, I want his head and nothing less!" With that the king slapped the table, he stood tall, nodded to the five stunned men, and then excited the room. His guards in full attendance to see him to his chambers. Brendan did not envy the Queen the next few hours to calm the king's anger.

No one said anything for a long moment. If the others had their concerns, it was Brendan who worried the most about this revelation. Alaric Morgan had slain Teymuraz and very likely one of the sons had the power to slay Alaric in response. In this man's hands, Washburn had not a chance in hell of surviving. He had to get to Washburn before he was given into the hands of Valarain.  And that meant he had to find him tonight. More determined than ever. Brendan excused himself from the council room and made his way directly to the gate house.

As he had promised, Jamyl was waiting there with the horses. The guards let them out the gates with words that they were on the king's business.



((edited the time of Javan and his army leaving to be open ended, because the time is not yet chosen.))
May your horses have wings and fly!

revanne

#461
Dhugal did not at first concern himself about Richard's absence; there was an orderly bustle on the quayside which suggested that he had given the necessary commands and it was not yet dawn. It would be churlish of a Deryni who had just availed himself of a spell to banish fatigue to begrudge a human a little extra sleep, and perhaps that ale had had a rather more potent affect than the seaman had been prepared to admit.

But as the first glimmer of light began to shine along the north-eastern horizon and the sea turned from inky black, through iridescent purple to almost silver, his tolerance turned to irritation. Turning to the soldiers who had escorted him he ordered them to return to the castle and see what was keeping the captain general of the fleet on such a vital morning.

It could not be long before the lookout on the brae, which overlooked Ballymar on one side and the sea loch on the other, lit the beacon warning of the approach of the ships whose journey had been reported. The man had been entrusted with one of Richard's precious spyglasses, gifted to his family from their Morgan patrons, and ordered to give signal as soon as the convoy raised sail. There could be no doubt of hostile intent, even without the news from Meara, and Darcy's tale of cargoes of weapons. Merchant ships did not commonly travel in such numbers, and though anchoring in the mouth of the sea loch was a common enough practice to take advantage of the easily accessible fresh water burns,  ships travelling in any number would as a matter of courtesy send a vessel around to Ballymar to request permission. By all accounts there were at least a score, and maybe a half more, but no attempt to contact the coast had been made. Dhugal knew that he would have no hesitation in attempting to block their passage and if it came to a fight, well so be it. If the truth be told, he would welcome one.

Where the hell was Richard?  He could hardly bawl him out on the quayside in front of his men, but by God he would have words to say in private. As the light grew so did Dhugal's anger,  not helped by his feeling that the signal from the hill should surely have been given by now. And where were the soldiers sent to find Richard? Surely at least one of them should be back? The local clansmen might think that the seawind was bewitched, Dhugal was beginning to think that the whole damned morning was.

Seamus Graham, the captain of the Rose, the flagship of the fleet, watched all the activity with a growing sense of unease. As he realised what he must do, and soon, his bowels griped with fear and the scars on his back stung, though he knew that that, at least, was his imagination. A man of his rank was not going to be flogged when he had been obeying orders, though given the Duke's command of invective many a man under his command would have preferred a cut of the whip to the lash of his tongue. And his fear was making him unfair. The Duke might be fearsome when roused and his wrath to be fled from, but he was never unjust. He was not going to like this news, though, and small blame to him. Ah well, best get it over with.

As he descended from the ship he could see two others hurrying towards the Duke who was standing like a thundercloud on the quayside. One was on foot but the other on a stout mountain pony which looked lathered. He hastened his pace, it was best that he be seen to have freely offered his intelligence rather than wait to be questioned. He stood before the Duke and bowed low, then straightening, told his tale. It took all the courage he could muster, and then some, and all the discipline he had learnt through the years, to stand his ground before the storm that errupted.

"And not one o'yous had the wit to come and wake me?" Dhugal's voice cut like a whiplash. Though the target of his wrath stood stony-faced and rigidly at attention Dhugal thought he could sense resentment amidst the fear and immediately understood why. Seamus was a clansman, and one of those with the mysterious powers which borderers named second sight, in his case to such a degree that Dhugal suspected some Deryni ancestry. As such, he had resented the appointment of an outsider, and a human to the command of the infant fleet, and, with others, had sought to undermine Kirby's authority and curry favour with the Duke by refusing his orders unless confirmed by Dhugal himself. They had soon, and painfully, learnt the error of their ways and Dhugal had made it crystal clear that unless he himself was actually present Kirby's orders had Ducal authority behind them and were not to be questioned. All this was long in the past and Kirby had long since earned the obedience and love of his men for his own sake, Seamus amongst them. But the lesson had been learned, and too well it seemed.

Hoist by my own petard, thought Dhugal, but God, the man had some courage to come and tell a tale like that. And what on earth had been going through Richard's head? But that at least he thought he could understand, if not approve. He had been in too much of a rush yesterday, his father or even Father Col..., his son he corrected himself with a wonder that was a mixture of shame and awe, would have known better how to deal. He clenched his fists until the nails bit into his palms and willed his wrath to subside, then grasped Seamus' arm in a gesture which signified both acceptance and unspoken apology.

"It's alright, I see that you could not disobey such an absolute order.  But what a coil, what a damnable bloody coil! No, stay!", this as Seamus made to bow and withdraw as the soldier and the horseman, who had more or less fallen from his pony such was his haste, both came within speaking distance and stopped to make their reverences, "I have a feeling I shall have immediate need of a man of your courage."

((Modified to correct a couple of errors and to add a pony))


God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
(Psalm 46 v1)

Laurna


The Earl of Marley was not one to have spent much time along the river quay of Rhemuth.  Sure he had often enough use the ferry boats to cross the Eirian river, and a few times he had awaited on barges bringing goods up from Desse or down from Carthane. It would have been rare indeed for any goods that the earl would be interested in to have them secured in a local warehouse. Usually he would escort those goods straight up into Rhemuth Castle. So Brendan was none to familiar with the riverside district. To be fair, at least the building above his head was new with clean stucco and  wide-rafters, The mud and thatch buildings of ancient times having been replaced in the style of the modern Kelsonian architecture. Down in this ancient cellar, however, which lay under this new warehouse, the sense of newness did not exist. After a while the moisture seemed to clog up the lungs. A few times during the night, Brendan had climbed the ladder back up into the building proper just to get a breath of fresh air.

In the several hours he had been in the Portal cellar, he had made some successes but certainly not the success he was looking for. Lord Jamyl had explained in full detail how Lord Sextus had inadvertently set off the Portal's trap, one which had gone undetected from the Library Portal, and how that trap had been charged the an energy bolt to knock his poor uncle unconscious for more than two hours. Brendan was all too glad to hear the trap had not been lethal.  The fact that Sextus had tried it a second time, only to successfully deflect the second energy bolt was at least showing the man's stubbornness and his strong shields.

On hands and knees, Brendan felt and learned the cellar Portal's signature. This action, at least, did not trigger the trap. Having knowledge of the trap should have led easily into the act of disarming it. Brendan, however, did not jump right away into this task, The spell casting would take a bit of his energy, and it had already been a long day. He would only have one try at this, so he knew he had to give it all he that he had.  Knowing he had done everything he could to prepare, Brendan finally focused his energies deep into the Portal stone. He wrapped his mind around the trap that someone had set there in recent days; he cast a ritual of harmonic words to cause the traps disarming. ((10:47 Brendan- need the sum to be greater than 8. Here goes. 10:47 derynibot 5, 4 == 9))

When the spell was cast, Brendan leaned back with the knowledge that his attempt had not failed, however, to know if it truly succeeded someone would need to use the portal. Not so anxious to follow in Sextus's foot prints neither he nor Jamyl are readily willing to give it a try. Rather instead they decided the next move was to find what other Portals had been used in connection with this one.  The Library signature Portal was easy to detect. Twice this Portal had received users from there. Sensing furthur, Brendan was able to discover other activity of this ancient Portal within the last 24 hours. There were at least a pair of jumps to a Portal other than the library, and another Pair of jumps to a third. Could he discover the signatures to those Portals? and more importantly, could he detect and disarm any further traps?

He put effort into the first Portal location. Yet, came up empty handed. ((10:53 derynibot 4, 2 == 6))

He berated himself on his failure, If he couldn't find the signature, he might need to wait until the next day, and by that time the signature might have faded away. Was the Portal hidden from him? That outcome did not bode well. Concentrating  with even greater focus, Brendan tried for the third Portal Signature.  ((10:53 derynibot 3, 6 == 9))

Ah, now there was a signature he could capture in his mind well enough to jump there blindly. That is if he could check for that trap and disarm it too. ((02:34 derynibot 3, 3 == 6))

He felt certain that attempt was a failure, he could feel no trap at all, and he distrusted that completely.

"Jamyl let me share with you this other portal and see if you can detect a trap." ((11:11 Jamyl helping Brendan with the portal trap. 11:14 derynibot 6, 1 == 7))

Jamyl cast his mind into the stone as he had witnessed everyone else do that day. He came away with a surprised sense of success. "Honestly, I don't feel that there is a trap."

"You sure? Is that not what you said your father and uncle had said right before jumping straight into one?"

Jamyl twisted his lips and looked at the older Earl of Marley. "Maybe I better be the one to try it then."

((01:36 Laurna Which Portal does Brendan detect. 1,2,3 =city Portal, or 4,5,6=Micheline ruins.
01:37 derynibot 1 == 1))

Before we take that risky jump, try one more thing for me. See if you can feel the one Portal that I failed to find.  ((02:54 Jamyl seeking the one portal's signatures. 02:55 derynibot 6, 1 == 7))

With his hands on the stone the youngest Arilan smiled as he could feel the other portal signature.  But he frowned again when he tried to test if for a trap. It wasn't there!

"That is really strange," the young man said. "I sensed the location as it was being used earlier, but I can not feel it now." Jamyl willingly shared Rapport of what he sensed.

Brendan came out of the Rapport equally mystified. "I have no doubt that this is the Portal we seek. Somehow, Washburn's perpetrator has locked it from our detection.  We will never find my brother," the earl said with a feeling of defeat.

"Don't give up yet." The younger man said. "Let me jump to the place that does not feel trapped and perhaps we can find a clue there."

"That would go against Kelson's orders." Brendan said, not wanting anyone else to take the risk. "Look, we will wait here for morning, and report what we have found. Then when Kelson gives the go ahead, we will make an attempt at both portal locations."

"Very well." Jamyl agreed.

((This turned out to be a lot more dice rolling than I expected. I made the best I could out of it, but I am afraid it gets us nowhere.))
May your horses have wings and fly!

revanne

#463
Dhugal spoke first to the soldier, pre-empting what he was going to say.

"Captain General Kirby is not to be found in the castle, yes I know, since someone has finally condescended to tell me what has been going on."

He looked fiercely at Seamus but more in frustration than condemnation before continuing,

"Forgive me, friend, but go back as quickly as you can to the castle and put a stop to the manhunt which I have no doubt is in place. Tell any who argue that they can answer to me if they prefer. If her Grace has risen, tell her that I will be with her before long, I hope, and she will have as much explanation as I can give her. Tell Father Aidan that his Grace asks that he will say Mass as soon as possible for all those in peril on the sea. Have you got all that?"

"Aye, your Grace."

The soldier bowed once again as Dhugal added,

"And then take yourself off to the buttery and tell them that you are to be given a sergeant's rations to break your fast. You've earned them"

As the man went off yet again Dhugal turned to the other new arrival and, as he realised who he was, felt the anger rise in him again. The man hastened forward and fell at Dhugal's feet, still breathless from his haste but clearly desperate to explain himself.

"Forgi'e me Yer Grace, but I didna ken wha else ta do. I couldn'a light yon beacon afore I could spier wha' was afoot but I maun tell yer Grace some o'it."

Once again that morning Dhugal dug his nails into his palms, the pain helping subdue his wrath. He could hardly castigate one man for obeying orders and then bawl another out for having the wit to disobey them when the situation changed. God, if he could just get his hands on Richard, Captain General or no, friend or no he would be sorely tempted to put him on the ground with his bare fists. But O, God, if he could just know he still lived he would do no such thing, and he thought again of that final hurried embrace. Richard must have already known then what he was about to do.

Reaching down he pulled the watchman, for it was he, to his feet.

"No, you did well to come, but tell me what you saw."

"All nicht there were lights doun here on th'quayside. But nae surprise at that nor that there was naught to see in Loch Mhor. The moon was aye bricht but she set an hour or more afore daybreak. Then no' long after it was full dark, after the moon had set and afore there was a glimmer o' the sun's rising, there was fire in the loch. Fiery arrows that caught the sail cloths alight in the boats and spread gey quickly. You ken how the sound carries up in the stillness and there was clammerin' and greetin', though as fer wha' they were sayin' I couldn'a tell ye. Then a great bangin' and a sheet o'flame like hell itself had opened and I knew that I maun tell yer Grace."

The man looked long at Dhugal with the straight look of the borderer and said, "But I'm thinkin' that 'tis nae surprise ta yer Grace and I shouldn'a have left ma post after all."

The man looked fearful again but Dhugal spoke in reassurance,

"I have not long been told of what was afoot, but you could not know that and you have done well. How long did it take you to come down on your brave little pony? You must be some horseman to have done it in the dark on those slopes"

"As fer that, yer Grace, we borderers have aye a way wi' the beasts." The man shook of the compliment as if it was of no account then considered.

"I reckon it took me the best part of twa hours coming down, in the light I could maybes get back up in something o'er one hour."

"It's most likely too late, and certainly too late for the beacon but go back up anyway and be ready to report what you see. Seamus!"

"Aye, your Grace,"

"Can you get him some rations and quickly"

"Aye your Grace, but only seaman's biscuits."

The man bowed his thanks but shook his head,

"Thank ye, yer Grace, and sair, but I've bread wi' me and a slab o' cold parridge. An' nae weevils!"

Neither Dhugal nor Seamus could hide a smile as the watchman mounted his pony with ease and urged the beast into a canter along the track that led back from the quay towards the brae but Dhugal's face was solemn as he turned to Seamus.

"It sounds as though some at least of his plan worked but I dread at what cost. A terrible way to die, and unshriven too, he and those who went with him. They did so of their own choosing you said?"

There was little comfort Seamus could give his master, but that fear at least he could assuage.

"Aye, Yer Grace. And no' unshriven neither. Father Nicholas at the wee chapel ahint the sea wall shrived them all an' gave them the Holy Sacrament afore they set sail. All lads from the Rose, and glad to serve. As were those who loaded the arrows wrapped round wi' cloth and the barrels of pitch into the wee boat. He told us that His Majesty the King is sore beset and we should be glad to gi'e our lives for him. I would ha'e gone wi' him but he said that Yer Grace would ha'e need o'me once ..."

Seamus looked abashed and faltered to a stop.

"Once I had stopped shouting? Richard knows me well." - he hoped, most likely vainly, that the present tense still held - "All he said is true though I doubt the King will be happy to hear of men sacrificing themselves in this way. And yes I have need of you."

Dhugal turned and looked long and appraisingly at Seamus, though there was no compulsion in his gaze. Then he smiled,

"We got off to a bad start, you and I, but I have had no complaints since and I know that Richard has none, or he would not have asked you to captain his beloved Rose. I need someone to take command, will you do so?"

Seamus had spent so much of the early hours in dread of what the Duke might do and say, most of which even at the time he had admitted to himself was nonsense born out of distress, that he was taken totally by surprise. After his early attempts to curry favour had ended in the shame and pain of a flogging before the mast he had had little to do with the Duke, and even as the captain of his flagship their relationship had never developed beyond the formal. He should have known though that the Duke did not bear a grudge.

He dropped to his knees and put out his hands for the Duke to take between his own. Weren't there words that he was supposed to say? He supposed that they did not matter, the ritual of taking service was enough but there were words that he needed to say if it was not impertinent to say them. Before he could speak though Dhugal covered his outstretched hands with his own and put into words the thoughts they both shared.

"I receive your service as Captain General of the fleet, gladly, but I think we both understand and pray that it is only until Captain Kirby returns."

((I considered having Dhugal Mind Speak to Seamus but the dice were having none of it.
1 + 3 + 2 = 6 258xrn7ddm. Hopefully that means there will be some good throws for matters of life and death.))

Seamus bowed his head and kissed the Duke's hands. Dhugal raised him to his feet with a smile then said,

"Go and gather the captains of all the boats at once and assemble them before me here. Some need to sail round to Loch Mhor to see what you will find there" - he resisted the urge to cross himself - "but we cannot leave the sea passage open so some must stay here too."

Seamus bowed again and went leaving Dhugal standing on the quayside, no longer angry but more desolate than he could remember feeling since Alaric had died. In the space of less than twenty-four hours it seemed that he had lost both close kin and friend. Where would this end?"
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
(Psalm 46 v1)

Jerusha

Darcy Cameron swished his razor in the bowl of water and then dried it on his towel.  Robert was rummaging through one of Iain's chests, probably looking for additional clothing for Darcy.  According to Robert, he and his brother were very close to the same size.

The evening before had not been unpleasant.  Robert had unlocked Sir Iain's apartment and handed Darcy the key.  While the squire had gone to arrange for water for a bath, Darcy had conducted a cursory exploration of the accommodation.  It was a single, large room, somewhat austerely furnished.  Darcy wondered how much time his brother spent here.  Across from the door was a single, shuttered window, which Darcy immediately opened to let in more light.  There was a curtained bed along the left wall.  A sturdy table and two chairs was positioned near the window to take advantage of the light; a rack of candles was ready to be used when the natural light faded.  A large, rectangular box was positioned along the back of the desk; an inkwell sat beside it and several quills.  Darcy wondered if his brother was naturally neat, or if he took care to leave nothing out to be seen.  Two large chests were positioned against the other wall on either side of the small hearth, their lids closed and secured with sturdy locks.  A tall wooden cupboard stood against the wall beside the door.  This had no lock and Darcy assumed it contained common items for everyday use.  A tub for bathing rested in the corner on the other side of the door.  There were no tapestries on the walls and no signs of any touches that might have been introduced by a woman.  Had Iain never married, or did his wife never come with him to Rhemuth?

The bath had been soothing, and Darcy emerged from the tub refreshed and very hungry.  Robert assured him there would still be food in the great hall and once dressed, Darcy followed the squire eagerly.  It was late, but during the long daylight hours of summer the evening meal was served later than in the winter months.  The high table was empty; Robert thought that the council meeting was either still in session, or the councillors were about implementing the king's decisions.   They found spots at a table that had a nearly full platter.  At a signal from Robert, a jug of ale was brought and two tankards. 

As they ploughed their way through the food on the platter, Robert discreetly identified the various men around them.  The woman usually ate separately; Darcy thought wistfully of Aliset, but his attention was brought quickly back to the food.  When they had eaten their fill, three tarts remained on the platter.  They each grabbed one and then both hovered over the last one. 

"Help yourself, my Lord," Robert said. 

Darcy grinned and drew his hand back.  "Nay, you've got more growing to do."  Robert snatched up the tart before Darcy could change his mind.  Darcy chuckled and downed the last of his ale.

Upon return to Iain's quarters, Darcy had turned down Robert's offer of assistance in preparing for bed.  "I can manage to get my own boots off," Darcy said.  "You have my word I won't wear them in the bed." Robert tried to hide a smile as he bowed and left, stating he would return in the morning.

The night had not been as kind.  Initially, Darcy slept well.  The bed was soft and comfortable; he could not remember sleeping in one so fine.  But sometime in the early morning hours, vivid dreams of roaring flames disturbed his sleep. Aliset was calling for him!  Aliset was trapped by the flames and was calling desperately for his help, and he could not reach her!  He was too far away in Meara and could not get there in time....

Darcy sat bolt upright, covered in sweat, gasping for breath.  Despite the warm night, he began to shiver.  His rational mind told him it was a dream brought on by the horror he had found in Desse and his guilt for not being in Rhemuth to protect Aliset.  He did feel the guilt; he could not deny it, even though he did not yet know if he could have prevented what had happened.  He needed to know so he could protect her now.  But what if the king commanded him to Meara?  Unable to return to sleep, he tossed restlessly until dawn.

Darcy's thoughts were returned to the present by a knock on the door.  Robert stood, and at Darcy's nod, opened the door to admit another royal squire.

"Lord Darcy," the new squire said after bowing.  "His Majesty, King Kelson, requires your presence in his withdrawing room."

"I'll dress and come at once," Darcy replied.  The squire left, and Darcy reached for his tunic.

"Not that one," Robert said quickly.  He shook out the tunic he had removed from the chest and held it out to Darcy.  The material was dyed a light blue, and the silver sea eagle volant of Isles was embroidered in white thread across the front. A sea green shirt was draped over the squire's arm.

"Isn't that a bit much?"  Darcy asked, recognizing the two colours as part of Isle's tartan.

"My Lord, you have been summoned before the king.  You must dress appropriately."

Darcy did not have the time to argue.  He shrugged into shirt and tunic.  He was relieved to be able to buckle his own sword and its serviceable belt around his waist, giving Robert little chance to pull and tweak before he strode out the door.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany