Ghosts of the Past

[Laurna]

((Take note I did have to edit Washburn's prior scene to show that he was sent to the cell with only brais to wear (medieval underwear) ))

((warning: this scene is rated PG13 due to suggested sexual content and violence))


Frigid like a glacier, cold and unmoving, Washburn's nightmares were forged in a void of black that could only be likened to the grave. Some senses sharpened like hearing and smell. Most others, like sight and touch, disappearing as if they had never been. It was the fresh scent of flowers that drew him out of the darkness. Every time the flowers wafted near, he felt a warmth over shoulders and arms. Like a warm cloth rubbing him all over. He instinctively snuggled toward the warmth, when doing so a soft hum of pleasure was his reward. Warm palms rubbed his arms, active fingers kneed his shoulders. The void dissipated slowly, filling in its stead were dreams of heaven and light.

It was a gentle progression from cold oblivion to understanding the comfort of a woman gathering him in her arms as she first rubbed warmth back into his being and then she quietly fell asleep at his back, her bare skin pressed firmly against his, allowing her warmth to encase him. Thick waves of ebony curls tickled his neck and fell over his face. The touch of a woman was a heavenly respite from his frozen state. As Wash awoke, he recognized the touch of femininity, the touch of human healing for a man that had nothing to do with magic. Fearing to wake her, as she slept, he listened to her breathing and enjoyed the softness of it. The girl, Ellia had come to him with pity and likely the allurement of his station to say nothing of his unclothed masculinity. She might even be bidding for him to raise her up from her low born servitude.  When her fingers began to brush his arm again, Washburn whispered so she could hear, "I am sorry for your having choosen me. Tis a poor picking, madam. I am not a man who can free you, I can not take you away from here, I can not set you up in a home of your own, I wish that I could, for you deserve more than this cold cell for saving my soul this night."

"I thought you would die, you were so cold," she murmured, her concern evident in her voice. "Your breathing became so shallow, it frightened me. I did what I thought would help you stay alive."

"Against all my warnings that you should have saved yourself and left?" he turned to look at her, at his angel. "I thank you, but you are now locked in here as I am. In another place, in another time, I would reward you for your compassion, but I am a condemned man, my lass. What you see of me is nothing but a rind. Like the rind of a fruit that still looks whole but the inside has fermented and turned to vinegar."

"Not aged into a good wine?" she teased him her lips coming very close to his.

He sighed, doing his best to not take advantage of her closeness. "What would you have of me?" He asked her plainly, "My mind is tainted, my body is not my own, I no longer even have clothes to place on my back."

"A fine back that does not need covering," she whispered. "a body and mind that need to be reminded what it is to be free." Her fingers turned to kneading his shoulder, his chest. "What I would give you is longing to regain the freedom you had before your soul hardened from this captivity. Here and now we two are free of your punishers. Will you chose to regain the will to live? I think you lost that will some time ago."

"I did," he admitted. "I felt hate like I had never felt that emotion before. With the urge to kill what I hate. I do not like myself for it. It shouldn't be who I am, yet it is all that I have."

"You have me!" the woman said, decisively her lips teased his. He took her offer and pulled her body closer to his.

"This is very unwise of us." he said trying to give her one last out.

"You protest too much, sir knight." Protesting for both of them came to an end.

In the darkness of their cell, after the moon light had set and the sunlight had not risen, a man and a woman cuddled into each other's warmth. "You have given me light where there was only darkness," he told her long hours later. "How can I save you. You can not be found with me in here when the morning comes."

"Few are brought to these cells, but of those who are, no one ever escapes." she nestled into his chest feigning that she felt no fear now that the four close walls were beginning to lighten with the new dawn.

"You must tell them that you were beguiled by my powers, those brief powers I had before I was given the wine. If you think on it now, how do you know I did not force you to come here against your own free will?"

She suddenly slapped him across the face, "No one forces me, I make my own choices. If I say what you tell me to say they will hang you."

"You are a woman of your own mind, that much I see," he said rubbing his check. "For me, do this thing, one last favor. You can not fall into Hell with me. Feyd will see that I'm not hanged. He has worse plans for me than death."

Reluctantly she agreed, "Tell me what to do."

"Take the wine goblet. Knock on the cell door. Tell the guard you came in here earlier to retrieve it and then found yourself locked in. You were afraid. You drank what was left of the wine thinking it would ease your nerves. You didn't know the wine was sedated until it was too late. You fell asleep in the corner over there." Wash pointed to the corner by the door. 'I've never moved from this cot, I've remain drugged and unconscious. That should get you out of here with only a small scolding."   

Ellia thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "I would not undo what I did for death or for riches." she whispered, her fingers brushing his lips one last time.

Having nothing on him, the knight looked at his hand and pulled off his two rings. The first was a thick silver band, his tournament ring. "Sell this and get far from Meara." He than handed her the gold ring with an engraved rearing stag. "I don't trust my brothers and I don't trust my king, Lord, I wish that I did. But I do trust my sister, Lady Grania Morgan Haldane. She will understand what this means if ever you are in need. Tell her I was happy for one night." He gave her the rings which she tied into the string of her shift which she then pulled the fabric over her figure, the rings falling in next to her heart.

"No matter the consequences, I am glad it was my warmth that kept you alive. Don't die!" was the last thing she said to him.

Then she stood, picked up her clothes and redress; plaiting her hair back with a ribbon. His eyes never left her until she was done.

She picked the goblet from the floor. She touched a drop of the wine to her lips and then poured what remainder down the front of her gown.  Wash turned away then, curled on his side away from the door and willed himself into a fake slumber. He heard her timid taps on the door and in moments it opened. A guard, not the one she had been afraid of, exclaimed at what in the world was she doing in here. She said just what Wash had told her to say. And she pleaded with the guard to not tell anyone. For a moment, Wash heard the heavy footsteps come close to him, someone watch him in his unmoving form, and then the guard and the lass Ellia left.  The door closing firmly with a lock. Relieved Wash relaxed, wishing he could leave this cell just as easily and join her.   

Dawn light was barely in the window slit when a crash and a curse filled the guard room. Chairs were broken and a man yelled, "Nothing could have happened, Otis. Leave it be." 

"You gonna give me those keys or am I going to break your arm to get them." Another bang and a jingle of keys followed by a thump as the door to Washburn's cell was kicked open. 

"Master Feyd will kill you if you kill him," the guard behind yelled.

"I'm not going to kill him, but he will wish that I had." Otis had a stick in his hand. Looked to be a long piece of a broken chair leg. He rounded on Washburn smacking the wood against his palm. "Devil shit filled Deryni! I saw you touch her hand last night!"  He swung the chair leg before Washburn's face testing it in the air.  The nobleman pulled himself up as it passed wishing the dizziness from his sudden move to go away.  "You made her come to you didn't you?"

"I did!" Washburn lied. "What good did it do me; I fell unconscious before I could force her to come to me." he wanted to be sure no blame befell her. He was glad to see that she was nowhere in sight.

((Otis attacks Wash, 2d6 because Otis is a guard and trained in swinging sticks. 5 or 6 hit.  /r 2d6  @Laurna: 2d6 = (3+6) = 9))

Full of jealous anger, Otis swung the chair leg with the full might of his arm. A good aim at Washburn's neck.

((Wash gets a defense Save Test at disadvantage because he is sitting and still feels the drug. Success on  6. /r 1d6 @Laurna: 1d6 = (6) = 6  Yes! Does that give me a XP, for being in combat?))

Washburn's training and his reflexes served him well. In quick defense, the knight absorbs the blow in a block with his left arm.  The continuation of the move was one trained into the knight's repertoire, Washburn twisted the weapon around to free it from his opponent's grasp. ((Disadvantage to twist the stick away from Otis, success on  6. /r 1d6 @Laurna: 1d6 = (4) = 4)) The maneuver was hindered by the drugs still influencing him, he missed his chance, leaving time for Otis to jump at him, yelling as he came on. "You touched my girl! She says it was her fault, but I saw your fingers touching hers when she gave you the wine. You possessed her, scum! You made her come back to you. You don't even deny that you did it!"

Washburn moved to stand to get in a better defensive position. "I have no free will of my own. You imagine powers I do not posses." Washburn claimed. "Your master has seen to that."

"No powers, now? Too bad for you, no powers, no defense!" braved the second guard. He joined the first, balancing another chair leg in his hand. While his coming distracted the knight  ((Otis striking Wash again with the stick. /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (5+2) = 7)) Otis slammed he chair leg hard into the knight's jaw.

((Wash defense save test /r 1d6 @Laurna: 1d6 = (2) = 2)) Wash thought he was prepared, he attempted to block the swing, but his footing on the straw mattress was not as well placed as he thought. He slipped, the jarring force across his jaw, sent him backward against the wall. Otis laughed meanly, his second strike quicker than the first.(( one more roll for Otis /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (2+5) = 7)) The strike skimmed across the knight's temple, leaving him dazed and unsteady. The guard stepped back surveying the damage he'd caused, he laughed again as the nobleman staggered forward and tried an attack. ((Wash attempts to attack Ottis /r 1d6 @Laurna: 1d6 = (4) = 4)) between the two hits and the drugs, Wash was no match, Ottis easily sidestepped out of his reach.

Seeing his opportunity to join in the fun, the second guard attacked. ((Second guard attacked  /2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (3+3) = 6)) but his strike was clumsy, not having the anger of jealousy in him as Otis had. ((Otis attempts to kick Wash  /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (4+2) = 6)). What the second guard did do was mess up Otis's next attack. The miss allowed Washburn to stagger out of reach of either  man to brace himself in cell's farthest corner. There he tried to clear his head for the next bout.

((Does someone come to break up the fight? /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (5+4) = 9, Yes))
The seneschal of Baron du Chentel's estate had heard the commotion and now marched into the dungeon angered by what he perceived. His aura flared his power. His control of his men complete. The two guards backed off of the prisoner. Otis stayed his attack, turning to verbal accusations to give credence to his abuse: the prisoner had possessed the serving girl, Ellia. He was devil spawn and deserved to die.

Exasperated, the seneschal determined he would clear the matter, to which Washburn quickly learned the man favored his own men over the truth. The Deryni turned his Truth Say on the weakened prisoner, Wash had no resistance, no more than any abused human. But unlike a human he knew what was being done to him and he hated the lie of the ability that was supposed to determine truth not enhance the lie. Eyes of earth brown locked Washburn in his stance against the wall. "Did you touch my servant Ellia when she gave you the wine to drink?"

"I touched her," Washburn answered unable to say falsely.

"Did you speak to her in your mind during that touch?"
"I told her, im sorry..." he started to explain.

"A Yes, or a No! Nothing more! Did you speak to her with your mind?"

"Yes,"  the prisoner answered under compulsion. Desperately, he  wished he could say more in his defense.

"Did you take her against her will?''

"No! I did not!" Wash managed to force out. In the corner of the room Washburn could see the seething eyes of the guard. A hand touched his head and a deryni mind read what he had done this night.

"The girls honor is upheld," the seneschal lied to Otis.

"They were locked in this room together, for hours." Otis retorted.

"Yes, but they were hours where both were drugged and unconsciousness, " the seneschal said,  resolving the matter with a known lie.

"He defiled her, and I want restitution." the guard yelled. Grudgingly, the Deryni turned his Truth Say back on Wash, posing his question in a way he thought would clear Feyd's prisoner. "Did you posses Ellia and force her in any way."

Wash could not help the smile that came across his swelling lips and blackening jaw. "I kissed her hard as she fell asleep."  he dreamily said, wishing a second later that he hadn't admitted even that much pleasure.

((Does Otis get one last hit in? /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (5+2) = 7))

Otis howled in a jealous rage. He firmed his grip on the chair leg, grasping it like a two handed sword. His charge at the prisoner was swift. His thrust of the blunt ended wood into Washburn's lower ribs gained him the satisfaction of the sound of ribs cracking under the blow. The prisoner barely yelled, his breath stolen from him. The guard was pulled away as Washburn clutched his side and slump to the floor, the pain taking him to unconsciousness.

The last thing he saw was the arrival of Master Feyd. The assassin announced himself with an angry command to desist. The Guard was pushed back with Feyd's powers, the seneschal was shoved to his knees with the same power unleashed.  Under Feyd's orders everyone was forced to submission. An infermian was called. This put a serious dent in Feyd's well constructed plans.

[Bynw]

Master Feyd kneels down and looks over the damage done to Washburn. Seeing that most of the damage will heal itself with rest he stand back up and picks up one of the broken chair legs, fidgeting with it. He first speaks to the Baron's seneschal and learns from him what has transpired. He grants permission to the seneschal to rise and stand.

Without a word or preamble Feyd goes over to the guard who jumped into the fray for a bit of fun. Feyd takes the broken chair leg and strikes it hard against the man's skull sending teeth flying.

(( <bynw> !roll 2d6
<@derynibot> 4, 6 == 10 ))

"Fun is dice and love play. Not beating a helpless prisoner who has been left under your charge for one night." His anger rising, "Get out of my sight. If I ever see you again, I will kill you. GO!"

The guard holding his jaw and bleeding and hoping he is not hit again runs from the dungeon room. Tripping and falling once on his way out the door. Feyd tosses the broken chair leg to the floor and goes and gets directly in the face of Otis. "And you. "Your task was to bath him and dress him. He was under compulsion to obey every command that you asked. Force was not necessary nor was it permitted under any circumstance." Feyd quietly pulls out his dagger as the man in just inches from him and thrusts it upward just under his ribs. (1 Hit Point of damage)

With a grin on his face, Feyd gives the blade a good twist (another point of damage) before pulling it out and placing it back in its sheath. "Do not cross me. The role of a servant is to serve his masters. Failure has but one recourse to take."

The guard drops to the floor and starts to having convulsions. The blade obviously poisoned. The man bleeds, not only from the wound but also from his eyes and is in intense pain. For the next few heartbeats no one moves or says a word. Seconds seem like minutes.

((<bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 1, 1 == 2
<bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 1, 3 == 4
That's a total of 4 hit points and he probably only has 3))

After just a short period Otis stops moving. "No one is to harm Washburn. See to it seneschal that his wounds are properly bound. Have him cleaned up and dressed and brought to the Portal within the hour. And I will speak favorably of you to His Grace, the Arch Duke and future King of Meara." Feyd walks from the dungeons at that to begin his own final preparations before going to see the Arch Duke Valerian.

***

An hour later, Washburn who is washed, dressed and bandaged the best that could be done. He is awake but in obvious pain. Labored breathing and unsightly bruised. Feyd himself is dressed well, clean shaven and has even dyed his hair with lighter tones, not blond and no longer black. But a muddy brown color.

Feyd himself makes sure that Washburn's sword belt is fastened around his waist. Ensuring that the blade is still securely tied into its scabbard. He places the wine skin with the green cap under Washburn's shirt gently and carefully not to further bruise or aggravate the wounds hidden there. "A man must always have a drink when the time is right." Feyd says to him while placing the small wine skin. Washburn knows it is the Blue Fyre concoction.

Feyd inspects his work and the work of the others. "Now you look like a Duke's brother. And in proper Corwyn green I might add. Very well done." 

Washburn says little as even the slightest bit of moving causes him pain currently. Feyd has a goblet of wine brought over. "I did prepare this for you. It will help ease the pain and yes it will do more than that. But you need to conserve your strength and get past these unjust injuries. The man responsible was executed. And the girl has apparently fled in the night. Perhaps she went home where she will be safe. There was no sign that he did anything to her. He would have suffered greatly if he had."

Feyd helps Washburn drink the contents of the cup. And gently escorts him to the Portal square. And then Feyd balances the energies between the Baron's chateau and the Mountain Fortress of Brioc, and Grand Duke Valerian.

[Jerusha]

Darcy Cameron studied the sky as they rode toward Arx Fidei.  The faintest hint of dawn was along the horizon.  This was the time he had been waiting for.  He signaled for a stop and reined in Sigrun.

"Is there a problem? Father Columcil asked as he slowed the big stallion he was riding to a stop.

"Nay," Darcy replied.  "this is the same time of morning as the sky in the image of the fortress we seek.  I want to check our position now to use for comparison later."  Darcy dismounted and secured Sigrun's reins to a sturdy bush at the side of the road.  He looked around for the best view of the horizon and finally decided the middle of the road was best.

"Try to make sure no one runs me down while I do this," he said.

"We'll think on it," Columcil replied.

With no worries that his companions did indeed have his back, Darcy quickly found the star he was looking for above the horizon.  Carefully, he extended his arm, holding his fist upright at the horizon.  He extended his left arm with his left fist on top of the first and then moved his right fist until it was above the left.  He moved the left back on top of the right and nodded, sure of their position.  He started to turn back to the others.

"Lord Darcy," Robert asked, a puzzled look on his face.  "What did you just do?"

"I confirmed our latitude," Darcy responded.  "We're just above 40 degrees North.  Rhemuth lies at 40 degrees. Do you understand latitude?"

Robert nodded.

"Come down a minute and I'll show you."  Curious, Robert dismounted and joined Darcy in the middle of the road.  Although he continued to watch the road, Father Columcil followed the conversation.

"That is the North Star," Darcy began, pointing above the horizon to a star.  "How far it is above the horizon tells you your latitude.  Or at least give you a good estimation."  He seemed to warm to his topic as he continued.  "The length of an average man's fist, not that I am the average man, of course," Darcy said with a wink at the squire, and the priest snorted, " represents approximately ten degrees at the horizon. So if you start there and stack you fists until you are even with the North Star, that's the degrees of latitude you are at.  Try it."

Robert followed Darcy's directions, finding it a little difficult not to drop his arm a bit with each change of fist.

"It takes a bit of practice," Darcy said encouragingly. "If I had the Captain's sextant, I could be more precise."

"You don't has your own?" Robert asked.

Darcy stared at him in disbelief.  "Have you any idea how much coin a sextant costs?"

Robert shook his head.

"A lot more coin than I have readily available," Darcy said, a touch of wistfulness in his voice.  "The captain kept his under lock and key, and he had the only key."

"But he trusted you?" Robert asked.

"Aye, he did.  But the crew all knew that if I fell overboard while using it, they were to save the sextant!"

The sky was getting brighter, and Darcy could see father Columcil roll his eyes heavenward. 

"I don't think we'll stop again before Arx Fidei," Darcy said.  "Best take a moment to look after any personal needs."  Following his own advice, Darcy moved to the side of the road and began to adjust his clothes.  Robert hesitated a moment and moved farther down among some bushes that offered a bit of privacy.  As Father Columcil dismounted from Shadow, he wondered briefly at the lad's sudden shyness.

[Evie]

Feyd surveyed the room's surroundings as he stepped off the Portal stone with his captive. The Grand Duke Valerian was known to him and instantly recognizable. Next to him, wearing garments that ostentatiously showed off his rank and wealth, if not any measure of good taste, was a man Feyd surmised must be Lord Brioc. There was the expected contingent of guards standing around the periphery of the room, and he could sense the presence of more men--probably archers--peering down at them from an upper level. Feyd smiled inwardly at their precautions.

One guard standing behind Valerian caught Feyd's eye almost immediately, despite his efforts to remain inconspicuous. Oh yes, Feyd had seen that man before. They were hardly allies--far from it!--but he knew and respected the man's abilities nonetheless. He was a man to keep an eye on, a more worthy foe than most. Feyd wondered whether Valerian and Brioc were aware they harbored an enemy in their midst. Ah well, not his concern. No need to share that knowledge with them, unless of course they wished to pay him for the additional information.

The prisoner stood resplendent at the center of everyone else's attention, in fine raiments of emerald green and black. Green and black were the bruises beginning to form all over his person also, and one of his eyes showed fair promise of acquiring a similar palette as well. Valerian raised a dark eyebrow at Master Feyd. "Gave you a bit of trouble, did he? Or how did our young lordling here acquire such spectacular injuries?"

"Unfortunately one of the Baron's guards proved to be...overly zealous, shall we say? But the Seneschal brought the situation to a swift enough end, and I did the same to the guard." Master Feyd flashed a smile of grim satisfaction at the memory. "The captive should still prove sufficiently whole for your purposes. I don't imagine you'd get any less ransom for a somewhat banged-up Morgan than you'd get for a completely healthy and hale one. Unless you were planning on sending him home piece by piece?"

Valerian chuckled. "Tempting though the thought is, no. Not while he is still useful, anyway."

"And now," Feyd said, steering the prisoner towards Valerian without quite releasing him just yet, "I must take my leave of you. But before that, we have business to settle."

"So we do." Valerian angled his head towards his would-be father-in-law. "Brioc?"

Lord Brioc took a hesitant step forward, studying the subdued prisoner with a growing scowl. "He's damaged goods, though, isn't he? Hardly worth the exorbitant price you're asking for him. But here is your payment nonetheless. Take it and be gone."

Brioc was becoming most tiresome. Valerian might have simply allowed Brioc's stupidity to run its course, if it were not for the fact that having Feyd, and indeed his entire Order, become their lifelong enemies was a complication that neither of them could afford. He shot Brioc a warning glare.Brioc...'tis a dangerous game you play. Enough!

Brioc's greed overcame what little sense he had, apparently. The purse he handed over to the trained assassin was smaller than it ought to be to hold the amount of gold that Feyd had specified as his ransom price for Wash. Valerian could tell the difference at a glance, and what's more, he could see in Feyd's frozen features that he could also, even without opening the pouch or using his powers to assess its contents. Bloody hell, Brioc! You never intended to pay him in full, did you? Do you have any idea who you are toying with, you fool?! Only a brief, annoyed glance in Valerian's direction gave any indication that Brioc had heard and taken note of Valerian's mental warning.

The brief stoniness in Feyd's demeanor dissolved into a charming smile as he stepped forward to accept the payment. "This is the first part of the payment for services rendered?" he inquired, his voice deceptively mild.

"You've brought me a mere duke's spare son, not a Haldane, and a damaged one at that, haven't you? I think we both know that's fair enough payment for your services, Master Feyd." Brioc gave the man a supercilious smile.

Valerian had worried this might happen, though he'd hoped Brioc would not be quite this idiotic. "I beg to differ, Brioc." Reaching into his sleeve lining, he pulled out a leather pouch. "Hopefully this will be enough to make up the difference, Master Feyd. If not, it will take but a few minutes for me to pull together the full amount."

Feyd's smile widened. "Ah. How very kind of you. For a moment I had feared I would need to bring Lord Washburn back with me and secure his full ransom from elsewhere."

"No hard feelings, I hope?" Valerian asked. "As you can see, Brioc and I have had some differences of opinion as to the matter of what is owed to you, but I trust the matter is now settled satisfactorily?"

With a small wave of his hand, Feyd summoned the additional pouch into it, using its weight as well as a psychic assessment of  its contents to determine the full value of the combined payment. "Most satisfactorily indeed." Releasing Washburn from his grip at last, he sent him with a gentle psychic shove into Valerian's arms. "It has been a pleasure doing business with you." Feyd glanced towards Washburn. "I hope you find him useful, Your Grace. He should serve well as bait for the rest of his kindred. Once he becomes the "duke in exile" by means of attrition, you can always marry him off until he breeds, then dispose of him once he's outlived his usefulness. A young, malleable heir of Morgan blood would be a strong asset to your royal Mearan line. For that matter, you can see for yourself how Lord Washburn has been mistreated by his kin. Consider how you might use that to your advantage. You might not even need to wait a full generation to have a loyal Morgan by your side, if you can win the man over. Think about it." 

As Valerian briefly placed his hands on Washburn's head to Mind-See for himself the extent of the familial rift Feyd had alluded to, clearly intrigued by the prospect the assassin had presented, Feyd took advantage of his momentary distraction. Making a small show of pouring the paltry amount of gold from Brioc's purse into the larger pouch that Valerian had offered him, he fastened the leather pouch to his belt, then bowed towards Brioc as he took a step back onto the Portal stone. "And my lord, I should think a man so sparing with his expenses might wish to have this back. It's quite nice, isn't it?" He held up Brioc's empty pouch.

Brioc's frown deepened as he tried to work out whether the mercenary was being deliberately insulting or not. He took a step forward to reach for his pouch.

Like a striking snake, Feyd's hand shot up to grab the front of Brioc's tunic even as a wrist stiletto suddenly appeared in his other hand. The point of the weapon impaled Brioc's torso just below his ribs. The action happened so quickly, Brioc's household guard were slow to react and were stopped altogether by the commanding wave of Valerian's hand ordering them to stand down and not escalate matters further. A lone arrow loosed in Feyd's direction was magically deflected into the mortar of a nearby wall.

"A point of advice, if I may, Lord Brioc. It is generally not considered good form to attempt to cheat a member of the Black Order of Death. Advice you might do well to heed in future. Should you have a future, that is."  Feyd straightened, meeting Valerian's eyes. "I trust we understand each other?"

"We do indeed." Valerian gave the assassin a respectful nod.

"Then let us hope that if we meet again, it will be under more congenial circumstances." With that parting advice, he balanced the energies between Portals and vanished from sight.

The moment Feyd disappeared from view, all chaos broke loose. Brioc began to convulse, writhing in agony as blood began to leak from his eye sockets and other orifices.

Valerian cursed under his breath. Deftly taking mental control of the prisoner, he hastily implanted a compulsion in Lord Washburn's mind. You are mine now, do not disobey me. You are to follow the commands of this guard until I say otherwise. Shoving the prisoner into the keeping of a nearby guard, Valerian turned away, taking a hasty assessment of Brioc's condition.

((1d6 + 1. Rolled a 3.  3+1=4. This is how many turns the poison will last. For each turn, Brioc needs to make a 2d6 test. Failure results in 1 pt of damage each time. First test roll: 2d6= 2, 1. Not looking good for Brioc so far. How many hit points does Brioc have in total?))

Bloody hell! We don't have time for this! Valerian thought to himself as he tore off a swatch of Brioc's tunic and held it over the bleeding stab wound to stanch the flow, careful not to let any of the man's blood touch his own skin, for he suspected it was poisoned. "Summon a physician at once," he yelled. As one of Brioc's men, a soldier with some knowledge of field surgery, dropped to his knees beside the fallen lord, Valerian handed him the wadded rag with a quick word of caution about his suspicions that the wound was almost certainly poisoned. "See to Lord Brioc; I need to secure the Portal so our visitor can't return the way he came in." Glancing around the room, he caught sight of Washburn and grimaced. "You had better be worth all this!" he muttered. Directing his attention to the man holding him, he shouted, "You! Archer, is it? Take the prisoner to his "guest room" and secure him there until I have time for him!"  As the guard bowed, taking the captive in hand and leading him from the room, Valerian fixed his steely gaze on two other retainers. "And you two. I shall have need of you. There is hard work to be done here."  Drawing upon their not-altogether-willing energies, he focused his will upon trapping the Portal Feyd had used to gain entry.
((roll 3d6.  2, 6, 5.  Portal successfully Trapped.))

[Jerusha]

Cedric Archer stood with the other guards behind Grand Duke Valerian and Lord Brioc, waiting for the arrival of the "special guest."  How thoughtful of the grand duke to show him the location of the fortress Portal. Perhaps he would thank him one day.

Archer was not surprised when Sir Washburn Morgan materialized on the Portal stone, but the man who brought him through shocked Archer to the core.  It took all his years of training with the cleverest of King Kelson's spies to maintain his composure. Master Feyd!

He had no doubt that Feyd recognized him, just as he recognized his former adversary.  There had been no need to take another form on that long-ago mission in Andelon.  Archer's pale hair was now covered by his cap, but Feyd had not lived this long without knowing to commit the face of a former enemy to memory.  It was a perfectly natural reaction for a guard's hand to grip the hilt of his sword at the sudden arrival of others, and Archer was no exception.  But if Feyd sounded the alarm, it would be nearly impossible to fight his way out.

Master Feyd give no sign of recognition and turned his attention to his host. Archer relaxed slightly.  One never relaxed completely in the presence of Feyd; not unless one had no desire to live until tomorrow.

Archer studied Sir Washburn.  His injuries were evident, and he showed some signs of pain, though not as much as Archer would have expected given the prominent bruising.  He moved passively beside Feyd as they stepped off the Portal and then stood unmoving beside him.  Probably drugged as well as under tight control.  He showed no signs of having been given merasha, but Feyd carried a wide arsenal of Deryni drugs he could use to his advantage. 

"Mistreated by his kin?" He knew he had heard correctly, but what was Feyd up to?  Sir Washburn might not have turned out exactly as his family had hoped, but he was certainly not mistreated, at least not that Archer was aware of.

Archer was not surprised when Feyd planted Washburn in Valerian's arms, nor was he surprised at Feyd's attack on Brioc.  Feyd could never resist settling a score.  A fact Archer would do well to remember.

Archer grabbed Washburn's arm as the man was propelled toward him.  With a bow to the grand duke, he led Washburn from the room.  He guided him down the two flights of stairs to the ground floor of the keep.  Washburn said nothing, but he appeared to be alert.   Archer risked a slight probe for shields and found none. 

The senior guard was standing beside the open door to the guard room.  "Take his lordship on down to the guest suite," he said with a sneer.  He stuck out a foot to trip Washburn, who would have tumbled through the open trap door if Archer had not still had a firm grip on his arm.  "You should have let go, Archer!  You need to learn how to have fun!" 

Washburn turned slightly to glare at the senior guard, aware of what had almost happened.  Archer shoved him roughly through the opening and guided him down the slope to the landing.  Piers stood waiting for them.

"I'll go down first," Piers said to them.  "You try anything," he said with a sneer to Washburn, "and your friend 'ere will kick you down the shaft.  It's a long drop."

Archer hoped he would not have to do that.  Fortunately, Washburn, perhaps with some command in place not to harm himself, descended the ladder without mishap.  Once at the bottom, Washburn lifted a hand to his face as if to ward off the smells.  Archer grabbed his arm and propelled him toward the cell that was "reserved" for him.  Once there, Piers unlocked the door and Archer shoved Washburn inside, following behind him.  Piers remained in the doorway, ensuring Archer was not left alone with the prisoner.

The fetid smell inside the cell was only slightly improved by the open door.  The cell was narrow, no wider than a man's outstretched arms.  The only light came from the doorway. 

"Sit against the wall!" Archer commanded.  Washburn hesitated a moment and then obeyed.  Archer reached for the first of the iron cuffs that would secure Washburn's hands to the chains hanging from the wall, intentionally shielding Washburn from Pier's direct sight. 

Can Archer read what's been done to Washburn's memories?
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
10:33   derynibot   4, 6 == 10
Success!

As he fitted the cuff to the right wrist, Archer made direct contact with his hand and reached into Washburn's unshielded mind.  Hatred, resentment and anger for family and king surged across the link.  Washburn held nothing back.

"What's taking so long?" Piers asked, sounding annoyed.

"Damn lock is stiff," Archer said over his shoulder, disengaging himself from Washburn's mind.  "There, that's got it now."  Quickly he secured the other cuff.  "Try not to get your clothes dirty," he said as he joined Piers at the door.  "They may have to last you for a while."

Piers chuckled as he closed the door and locked it.  Now the only light that penetrated the cell was through the small window in the door.  As he turned to go, Archer could just dimly make out the prisoner's expressionless face.

"Your turn to be down; I'm going up for some air.  Rattle a few cages while you're 'ere," Piers said.

Sir Iain Cameron nodded and watched him go.  What had been done to Washburn's mind was as deadly as any of Feyd's other poisons.  He would need to report to King Kelson as soon as he was able; the king would not like what he had to tell.

[Bynw]

Feyd rested from his travels of the last week. He had gone to Meara through Gwynedd and back Meara. All the time while at first hunting a target for Grand Duke Valerian. One Washburn Morgan, son of the late Alaric Morgan and the brother to the current Duke of Corywn.

Since having Washburn in his captivity, Feyd learned a good deal about the young knight. He would be a worthy addition to his Order if he could be persuaded to join. Of course he would have to go through an initiation. Unlike members of Feyd's family where membership is hereditary, Washburn would have to earn his place among them.

The spark was there is all that Feyd knew about. So he took the opportunity to make it possible that Washburn would survive his captivity with the Grand Duke Valerian and have the tools to make good his escape. But Washburn himself, even drugged and controlled would have to break free to make that escape. A testament to his abilities and potential.

And there was Baron Iain Cameron, pretending to be a guard and working in Valerian's fortress. Feyd laughs at the thought that Valerian hasn't a clue that his guard is a loyal Gwynedd King's man. Feyd remembered well the man Iain. His order wanted him. His skills as a spy were very good. He would have been a great agent. Even though he refused to join. His loyalty to his King was too great to overcome or abandon for a higher calling. The Order let him go with full knowledge of the existence of the Order. Promises were made, he would keep his as long as the Order kept there's. Kelson Haldane and his family would be immune from being a target of the Order. And Iain would never let the knowledge of the Order known to anyone. A truce that was paid on both sides with blood.

But of course Feyd had other things to do during his rest. He must concentration on other contacts. He had 2 at this time. He fiddled with the large ruby plucked from the Lendor sword. The rubies would be his payment to keep Aliset safe from Oswald as he promised Washburn. A contract is a contract and he would see it to its end.

A few inquires would be made to his agents in Ratharkin at the appropriate hour. He would know soon enough if the Lady Aliset was there or not. If she was, he would prepair to go there next and insure there would be no wedding between the lady and Oswald. Besides Feyd didn't like Oswald anyway. He was a buffoon and ill mannered. He was also quite Human.

Of course if the Lady Aliset was not there, he would attempt to find her location through other agents. But then there is the problem of his Ward Cubes, scattered about the old Michaeline ruins when he and Wash left in a hurry. Recovering those would have to be a priority especially after insuring the Lady was safe from Oswald. During the 2nd contract he would needs those Ward Cubes.

But in the stillness of the morning, Feyd sets pen to paper and drafts a lengthy letter that would be sent before nightfall.

[Evie]

((Brioc's poison effect test--2nd of 4 test rolls: 2d6, 2,5=7. Success--no HP lost))

Her father lay still, his chest barely rising and falling with irregular breaths, but thus far his physician had managed to keep him on the mortal side of death's door. Sidana sat in a nearby window seat, rosary in hand, damp tendrils of hair plastered to her cheek, although for the moment she had no tears left to shed. Before her stood Valerian, as handsome as always, although slightly rumpled garments and disheveled hair betrayed some disruption hidden beneath his outwardly calm demeanor. Though from what reports had been brought back to Sidana about the events earlier that morning which had brought her father and her proposed bridegroom to this pass, there was little wonder that the Grand Duke stood before her with somewhat less than his usual composure.

"This...Portal stone?...it is locked now, I assume? Or destroyed?" Sidana asked.

"It is Trapped, Your Majesty, yes." Valerian answered. "We would not wish to destroy it outright except at greatest need, because it takes a great deal of energy to create one in the first place, and once destroyed, they can generally not be restored. And while the war is going in our favor--and I have no reason to believe we will have any reversal in fortunes--having a functioning Portal would make it easier for us to escape to a safer location quickly, should the Haldanes turn up unexpectedly at our gates."

"I see." Or did she? Sidana was not certain she followed what he had just told her, but it would not do for the Queen of Meara to betray her ignorance of the situation. But then again, surely he did not expect for her to be privy to every nuance of unfamiliar Deryni jargon, did he? "So, what does being 'Trapped' entail, exactly?"

"It means that should Feyd attempt to re-enter our stronghold by that means, he would be stuck on the Portal stone, unable to enter any further into our fortress without our leave. Which, of course, we would fail to grant. And he would also be unable to leave in the same manner in which he came, so he would eventually die there, I suppose."

"And this Order of Assassins he belongs to, they would not take exception to this?" Sidana raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Valerian smiled. "Ah, well, I suppose they might, were we actually in residence at the time to see him Trapped there but refused to lend him aid. But it's unlikely Feyd will attempt to return, and should he try, it's equally unlikely that he would try to do so while we remain in residence here. He has been paid in full, after all, and as for his attack on your father, he doubtless considers that lesson learned. However, I felt it best to ensure the Portal is secured against his return just on the off chance that he does try again. It's better to show undue caution than be careless. Once our forces overcome the Haldane's attempts to roust us from Ratharkin, we will focus our attentions on their remaining forces in Laas. You will be crowned in due splendor and ceremony in one of your ancestral palaces soon enough, Your Majesty. At which point, who would be left here to discover some hapless intruder lying cold upon the Portal stone, should Feyd decide to return? Even his own Order would chalk his death up to his own lack of caution, I should think. Hardly our fault, that."

Sidana turned away briefly, gazing out the window towards Ratharkin in the valley below. "If he does try to return, I want him eliminated. He should pay for what he did to my father."

Valerian raised a dusky eyebrow. "That would hardly be wise, my lady, given his colleagues in the Order in question. Besides, his attack on Brioc, while regrettable, was hardly unprovoked. Or have you not heard the entire story yet?"

The young pretender Queen turned her face back up to him with an annoyed scowl. "I have heard. And I agree Father ought not to have tried to cheat him. But that hardly warrants...this!" She flung a hand outward towards Brioc, caught in the grip of another convulsive spasm. "It would have been more merciful just to kill him outright!"

Valerian shrugged. "As you say, my lady, but on the other hand, outright death does have the downside of generally not being survivable. At least Brioc seems to have received a fairly light dose of the poison, and his physician bled him promptly. He is a strong man, he might yet survive."

"But you cannot guarantee that. And neither can his physician."

"No. Only time will tell."

Sidana sat back, still fuming. At last she muttered, "Exile, then. If that...that scurvy piece of noisome offal dares set foot in my Kingdom again, he shall be banished for life!"

"Banished for life." Valerian nodded, managing somehow to keep a straight face. "Should I happen to encounter him again, I shall be certain to inform him of your decree. Although I should warn you, he might not choose to heed it."

The Queen's eyes flashed. "Then his life shall be forfeit, if I have to lead the armies myself! Don't think me such a fool as to think I would send only one man or even two after a trained assassin. But can he fight off an entire force of loyal Mearans singlehandedly, I ask you? Is his Order so numerous that they can subdue an entire army? I think not!"

"I think not also, my Queen," Valerian placated her, squeezing her hand gently. "Yet it would be difficult to mount a siege against an entire Order if you don't even know where they hide, now wouldn't it?"

Sidana's shoulders slumped, and the tears she had managed to hold at bay began to flow once more. Valerian pulled her close, cradling her face against his chest. "There, there, my lady. You are angry and upset, and most understandably so. But don't worry yourself about Master Feyd. Your father is still alive, and you are both safe. And even if the worst were to happen--if we were to lose your dear father--you still have me. And we have Meara."

She sniffed, straightened proudly. "Yes." Sidana favored her suitor with a watery smile. "Indeed, I am most fortunate to have you by my side through all this."

Valerian kissed his lady's hand, the picture of solicitude, and sent her spiralling into deep slumber. "And I am most fortunate indeed to have you, my dear little Mearan Queen," he murmured. "Brioc is expendable; you are not. At least not until the Kingdom is ours at last, and you've given me the heirs I need to hold it."  Gently, he tucked a light shawl around her sleeping form and went to check on her father.

((Third test roll of four, 2d6.  6, 6=12. Outstanding success, darn it!))

Brioc's breathing was steadier now, a healthier flush beginning to replace his earlier pallor. Valerian briefly toyed with the idea of smothering him with a pillow, but thought better of it. Tiresome or not, the man had not yet completely outlived his usefulness to Valerian's cause.

[Laurna]

((Did Richenda find all 8 of the Ward cubes? I am going to propose that she had 8 tries to find the 8 cubes. Every success is a cube found. Any cube not found might be so well hidden that only Feyd would be able to find them because he can feel his own set of wards cubes.
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (5+3+4) = 12
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (6+4+3) = 13
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (3+6+2) = 11
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (3+5+5) = 13
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (6+1+2) = 9
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (6+2+1) = 9
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (5+5+5) = 15
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (3+5+2) = 10
That is eight successes in a row, amazing))

It had not taken the dowager duchess as long to find the eight ward cubes as Seisyll had imagined it would. She found all eight of them by sensing their locations and fairly quickly too. She hadn't even used her hand-fire much to find the pesky ones that had slide into cracks of stone.  Seisyll had to admit he was impressed.  And a little distracted by her. He wanted the  portal trap to be completely disarmed before she came back. ((Seisyll to remove the portal trap while Richenda looks for the cubes. Need a 9 or better. /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (2+4) = 6)). But sadly his need for speed distorted the quality of his magic and he found himself failing miserably at the task.

Richenda had returned with all eight cubes and she knelt down beside him at the portal. "May I offer assistance. I promise I will not use the portal to follow my son. I shouldn't have even come here. But I just, just, had hope." She brushed her eyes to the sleeve of her gown.

"I know, my lady. We all did. But there is more to be found out. Like what were those men doing here and why." He looked up at the two unconscious men on the tower floor. "Let's do this quickly before the man who dropped those cubes comes back for them."

Richenda put her hands on the portal and pushed her energy to remove the trap that was there.  ((Richenda to remove the trap /r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (3+5+1) = 9)) She feels the resistance and then feels a snap as the resistance releases. "I think that did it," She said sitting back the strain of it showing on her face. She had felt the naked fear in her son as he had been taken through to somewhere else without his permission. Fear mixed with Hate. that shook her up. Washburn wasn't a man to show his fear and he had hate for no one.  This taste of raw emotions was unnerving for his mother.

Putting Richenda's distress to the back of his mind, Laird Seisyll leaned over the Portal stone and set a new trap of his own. Not one as good as he had hoped, but at least it was one that would keep anyone from portaling out through here once they had portaled in; An Arilan or a blood relation of Richenda's were the exceptions. ((/r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (2+6) = 8 New portal trap of the ruins set at )

Almost instantly proving it, Lord Sextus Arilan portaled in with two guards. "We'll secure the tower," Sextus stated. "Know that the king is beside himself with worry for you two. You need to return soon to placate him or he will send an entire army here. We should gather up the assailant's leavings too." Sextus pointed to the items left behind.  Then he moved to the two men lying on the floor. Studying their positions, Sextus deduced the narrow crack in the wall that could barely be seen. He entered it to see where it lead, only to find himself clutching his chest feeling a sense of Terror that he knew could not be real.((Sextus save test of the 3rd fear ward /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (1+4) = 5)) He returned to his brother looking wide eyed. "This place is haunted!" he exclaimed.

"No! It is magiced, not haunted, dear brother." Sextus gave his brother a disgusted look. Knowing the fear ward is there in the crack. Seisyll used his advantage to take the fear ward down. ((Seisyll taking fear ward down. /r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (5+1+4) = 10)). Seisyll crawled up the crack in the stone, hands firm on both sides to allow him the climb. At the top of the rubble, he found a third young man unconscious, one with blood on the back of his head. He put the youth over his shoulder and climbed back down to the tower. He laid him beside the other two men.   "I'm taking the dowager home. Secure the area. I'll be back with a healer for the three of them."

____

In another part of the ruins, a farmer struggled to free himself from the tight space he had squeezed into. It was John who succeeded in pulling the pitchfork down out of the way. Which ultimately freed up its owner. (( John 1d6= 6 and Cletus 1d6= 5). Cletus squirmed back down into the tunnel, breathless. The three men: John, Cletus and Matt, sat themselves in the dark, afraid to go forward up through the hole, and afraid to go back, through the 2nd fear ward.  They decided they would wait until daylight.

[Laurna]

Litany of curses crossed Washburn's mind. He swore at his brothers, he swore at his king, he swore at the men who dumped him here in this malodorous, fetid, moldering cell. Don't vomit! he yelled at himself. Don't! The instinct to gag at the smell of this place hurt his ribs almost to the point where the pain overwhelmed this horrid sense of smell! Almost! The jarring of that trip caused by the gate guard on the floor above had set his ribs to screaming. If not for the escorting guard who held him firm, he would have fallen with a harsh tumble down the ramp and possibly even though the trap door. Not able to see the bottom of the shaft in the darkness, put Washburn on full alert. In his current state of total compliance, he could have done little to prevent that fall. The guard who held him from the fall must have been thinking of the Grand Duke's payment amount and the cost to himself if he let the prisoner die. One guard had already died on Washburn's account and a noble man was just wounded. At least a Morgan was worth more alive than dead, at the moment. Soon enough he would see just how much more alive was his value. "Returned to Rhemuth piece by piece," was foreboding and possibly eminent if and when the King of Gywynedd shrugged off Valarian's demands. Pain or no, he was alive. You should be thankful for the little things, Wash teased himself.  He used to be an optimist, he wondered when and how he had lost the ability to find good in the world. Somewhere in the last three days his world had slide into the cesspit of the Devil's anus. There is no climbing out of a world this low, not in one piece, he thought.

He pulled at the shackles surrounding his wrists.  He was bound to the wall by three feet of chain that went through a large ring in the wall at shoulder height, at least while he was sitting here. If he straightened one arm, the other was pulled to the ring. If he stood, one hand would have to be against the ring if he wanted to touch his face with the other. So this is the destiny of the Morgan Spare! A fitting destiny for a miserable life to rot way in a place worse than Hell.

"Optimism, " he snickered under his breath. "I used to have that. Thought if I trained hard enough and became the best, I would have a chance in life. Father, is this really what you meant for your youngest son to become?" He refused to shed a tear, his father said men don't cry, unless they had lost something dear to them. What had he lost? Freedom, but had he ever really had it to loss it? Remembering all the tortures he endured from his brothers and his king, he decided, "No" he had never really had any freedom, so losing it now was not enough for him to shed tears over.

Wash slide one hand under his tunic to rub his aching side. His fingers touched the wine skin there, a pain pierced his mind. "Not yet!" Feyd's voice echoed between his ears. That madness was for some other time, a time fitting into Feyd's pleasure. At least so Wash surmised, a pleasure not necessarily for his success at escaping. Wash still did not know what the master assassins motives were. The sight of Feyd stabbing that high nobleman had been shocking for everyone looking on. Even more shocking was that he had gotten away with it. Proving how strongly everyone in that room had feared the assassin. This gave Washburn a new respect for his abductor. Master Feyd was clearly not in this for anyone but himself. So what were his intentions? What did he plan to gain by putting the green caped wine skin under Washburn's tunic? Was Washburn to escape or was he to kill the grand duke? He supposed he would find out when the voice in his mind told him to drink the blue fyre. A time Washburn intended to refuse. Feyd had intimated that there were three maybe even four gulps in wine skin. Wash could certainly take it all at once to insure his success and happily go mad in the doing of it, or he could drink the tainted wine in separate gulps, improving his odds with one gulp and dramatically improving them with each successive dossing of the blue fyre there after. If all was all drunk by one person?... That is when Feyd had just smiled and said no more to elaborate on what Washburn knew would be the descent into madness.

His hand shaking at the thought, Wash pressed on his broken ribs, the pain was bearable, but only just.  Remembering well, how he had willed most of his pains away throughout his life, he concentrated on dulling the pain. Focused on the touch of his fingers over his broken ribs. ((rolling disadvantage for Washburn to reduce the pain of his ribs. /r 1d6 success on 6. @Laurna: 1d6 = (5) = 5)). No reduction of his pains occurred. He didn't hold the balance of energies he once had, heck he couldn't even feel the energy. There was also no recognition of the heavenly hand that used to rest atop his own. The hand that had knowledge and compassion, that assisted him in the few times he Healed.  Either angels of heaven did not come down into Satan's domain in this dungeon or he had in some way angered the Saint who had helped him in the past.

"Well, I don't blame you in the lest!" he called out to the hand that had not appeared. "I've fallen beneath even your assistance. I am on my own and I am not certain that I even care enough to help myself." Wash sat in the dark moldy cell. He could take just one sip of the green caped wine, just one sip to alight his powers of Healing. Would one sip drive him mad? Surprisingly, he found himself not that desperate in his current condition to tempt it. He had no desire to go mad, not even in this place.

"Desire!" he whispered.

"Don't die!" said this pretty girl who had stood before him.  Her dark hair in a mussed plaiting falling over her shoulder. Her smell as sweet as a spring rain. Her touch... caring... compassion... full of desire. If there was any optimism left in the world it was in her fingers, in her eyes. With a deep breath, Washburn pushed all his other thoughts aside. He would concentrate on what she gave him. What she freely offered to him, love and compassion, something no one asked her to offer, something she gave to him freely of her own choice. This optimism actually brought a small smile to his swollen lips, he put his hands over his sore jaw and again tried to will the pain there to subside. ((disadvantage roll for wash /r 1d  @Laurna: 1d6 = (6) = 6)) To his awe and his amazement another's hand brushed the top of his hand. An essence seemed to whisper to him then. Without truly hearing, he knew the words that were told to him. "If you hold to the light, I will be there." There was a surge of joy as small powers that he could not wild himself were guided through the essence and returned through his fingers to heal the deep bruised bone of jaw and temple.  The saint left him almost immediately after. Left him in a state of peace and joy, with a smell of flowers overpowering the stinky blackness surrounding his chained confinement. 

[Jerusha]

*My thanks to revanne for adding Columcil's dialect and Evie for guiding me to the correct abbey!*


Darcy Cameron, Father Columcil and Robert O'Malley rode through the double gates of Arx Fidei just before noon.  Unlike the previous time when they had arrived in the dead of night, the gates were open, and the courtyard of the abbey was bustling with activity.  One of the brothers recognized Columcil and came forward to greet them.  The three travelers dismounted as he approached, and Darcy left it to Columcil to explain their presence. 

"I'm headed back to Saint Melangell's, wi' Lord Darcy and Robert sent wi' me as escort in these troublous times," Columcil told Brother Augustus after they had exchanged greetings.  "I'll be gey glad ta be back hame tending to the needs of my own wee bit parish, but I had a mind ta tek the opportunity to visit Saint Jorian again on the way."

"You are always welcome to visit Saint Jorian's shrine, though we sincerely hope any trouble stays north of Arx Fidei," replied Brother Augustus.  "That's a fine mount you've acquired," he added, glancing appreciatively at the black horse behind the priest. 

"Och nay, he's no for the likes o'  a country priest like myself," Columcil said hastily.  "I'm just carrying oot a request to drop him off at a manor along the way.   Some nobleman wi' more money than sense fancied him for stud to his mares.  The price he paid would've kept my parish eating through the winter."  Columcil shook his head in wonder.

"Speaking of food, bring your companions into the refectory and share our noon meal," Brother Augustus invited.  "If you have any news about what's afoot, we'd be happy to hear it!"

"Father Columcil," Darcy said in a low voice as they followed Brother Augustus to the refectory,  "You never cease to amaze me.  Even I could not spin such an excellent yarn."

"I was worried he might recognize the horse as Sir Washburn's," Columcil admitted, "but wi' so much fine horseflesh here on that night, Shadow probably no' stood oot." 

"We'll stand out with him along with us," Darcy said sourly.

"Let be, son; there's nothing we can do aboot it now."  More loudly, he said to Brother Augustus, "The food smells gey guid. It will be most welcome to us all."

Their small group was invited to sit closer to the abbot than Columcil would have liked, but the abbot, like everyone else at Arx Fidei, was hungry for news.  Columcil could not freely tell much more than the fact that Prince Javan and Prince Albin were riding north, a fact the abbot already knew. 

"What of Sir Washburn Morgan?" the abbot asked at the end of the meal. "He is not with you on this trip?"

"Alas no," Darcy replied.  "He is off on other business.  I don't suppose anyone has seen him pass this way?  We wouldn't mind catching up with him for part of our journey."

The abbot had not.  He asked generally among the brethren, but no one had seen the tall, blond knight.  After that the abbot rose, as did the rest of those in the refectory.  The meal was over, and the brethren returned to their duties.

Father Columcil left Darcy and Robert at the refectory door and made his way to the chapel.  He entered the alcove he had visited before and spent time in prayer to the Deryni saint.  After crossing himself respectfully, he turned his focus to establishing contact with Archbishop Duncan.  He didn't think Saint Jorian would be offended.

***

Darcy and Robert wandered into the courtyard to wait.  Darcy sat on the low step at the base of the abbey's stone well, away from the main activities but able to see Columcil when he returned.  He looked thoughtfully at the Heir's Ring on his finger. 

"If you don't mind, Robert, I think I'll try to have a word with Lady Aliset.  I'm not sure if this will work or not."

"Of course, Lord Darcy," Robert said quickly.  "I'll have a look at the garden."  He waved generally in the direction of the brightly blooming flowers across from the well.

Darcy nodded, watched the lad move on, and turned his concentration to the ring.

"Focus," Aliset had said.  Darcy didn't want to be too obvious, but a quick look around reassured him that everyone was too busy to pay much attention to him.  Darcy focused his mind on the ring and, centering his powers as best he could, fetched an exact likeness of Aliset from his memory.

Focused dice roll;  1d6, success on 4, 5, 6 to successfully establish distant rapport with Aliset
<Jerusha> !roll 1d6
<derynibot> 4 == 4
Success!

Robert felt the ring on the chain beneath his shirt warm his chest.  He glanced at Darcy to see if he was watching, but his attention was focused completely on the ring on his finger.  Lord Darcy did not seem to notice the wisp of pale hair that had escaped his braid and looked like it should be tickling the tip of his nose.  Robert reached inside his shirt and touched the ring.

Aliset entered rapport with practiced ease. "Lord Darcy?"

"Lady Aliset!  Have I caught you at a bad time?"

"No, I'm just admiring the garden." Aliset thought it best to keep as close to the truth as possible. "Where are you?"

"We are at Arx Fidei.  We arrived just before noon and had our midday meal with the abbot."  Darcy was amazed at how clear the rapport seemed, though he did not have much experience to judge by.

"Have you fared well?  No problems along the way?"

"Nothing except having to bring along Sir Washburn's horse.  His Majesty arranged for one of the Arilans to meet us after the ferry crossing and insist we bring it with us.  His dagger was also given to me to bring.  That I can keep concealed, but a war horse!"

Aliset smiled.  Darcy was obviously not a man to let go of things easily.  "And Father Columcil?"

"He is in the church attempting to contact Archbishop Duncan.  Is there any news in Rhemuth?"

Aliset hesitated.  She looked across the courtyard and saw Father Columcil approaching.  Fortunately, perhaps sensing the distraction, Darcy looked up at the same time and also saw him.

"Father Columcil has returned," Darcy sent, feeling the link begin to break. "I'll try to contact you again tomorrow.   Stay safe...." The link was gone.

Robert slipped his hand out from his shirt and turned to rejoin Darcy.  Father Coluncil's face wore a guarded look.

"Lord Darcy," the priest said when he reached the well.  "A private word, if I might."

[Laurna]

Earl Brendan cursed the enemy. Fully understanding, Prince Javan finished forwarding his latest Rapport from his father. For Brendan, part of the news was dire. A spy had reported just an hour ago that the whereabouts of the youngest Morgan had been uncovered; somewhere in the mountainous high country of Meara, deep in the dungeon keep of the Pretender Queen. Also in the keep was the youngest son of the late Grand Duke Teymuraz, the self claimed Grand Duke Valerian Phourstanos -Furstan. Javan almost did not pass on the most confidential portion of this information. "The youngest son of Alaric has been changed. His memories are subverted. It is reported that he hates his family." The pain on Brendan's face hurt Javan's heart. "Brendan, my father has told me to withhold this from you. He decided it would be best if you were not the one to go after your brother. Your position between Prince Albin and I is assured. I will send others to seek Washburn and to bait him out if we can."

"Your Highness, you know I have to go. For my love of my mother, for Kelric, and for Washburn, I have to do this."

"Do you? Are you sure? His Majesty insisted that I refuse to let you go. Just short of making it an order, that is. Lord Brendan, You and the king are really close, We are brothers by marriage. You know right well and trust the instincts of my father. You might not heed my orders if I hold you back, but I think you will do as your father's best friend asks of you."

Brendan was stunned for a momement, then he stammered. "My King, nay my friend, asked me to find my brother, your brother by marriage, just yesterday! Just this little bad news and you expect me to sit back; let other's handle this? What is the fear? That my youngest brother has turned against me, that I would not have the wherewithal to overcome him?" He stopped his pacing and stared at the royal prince for a hard moment. "At least I am motivated to not outright kill him, as others who have been sent out to find him might do. I presume this spy has orders to kill Wash, if it comes to the survival of the Duke of Corwyn vs the Corwyn Spare. Don't look so shocked. Yes, we always called him the Spare, but it was in jest. Wash knew that, he never resented it. I can not believe an assassin could manipulate that jest into a vengeful abhorrence."

It was Javan's turn to bite his lip, not wanting to fully repeat what the spy had said about Washburn's mind. "You have it right, the spy is under that order. The sons of Teymuraz are in no way to ever have influence over Corwyn. The survival of Gwynedd relies on our southeastern duchy. Kelson has already requested of Kelric to renounce Washburn from the line of succession."

"What!" the earl of Marley came closer to Javan. "He won't do that! There is no proof of treason in anything Washburn has done."

"Not as yet. The renunciation is meant to reduce any chance of a future betrayal. Look, Brendan, we are talking here, just you and I, no one else knows of this. If I force you to stay with the army, you will stay? You will get to Kelric's side that much faster."

Brendan chewed his lip, turned and paced the small wooded area beside where the army had chosen to rest for an hour before finishing their march to Cuilteine. The army had moved much faster than anticipated, with only one eight hour break in the last twenty-four hours. All the men seemed anxious to get into Meara. There were no complaints thus far about the walking distance or the speed. The army was fit and that was something to be said for the Kelsonian training centers.  Training centers to which Sir Washburn had been a leading member.

"If Kelric renounces, Wash, our young brother is lost to us. He will have lost his value as ransom. The Mearan resistance will either subvert him to act under their banner, or they will kill him outright. All efforts of rescue will be pointless." Brendan had hit on it, that is why the king had put a halted to his search. "No, I know Kelric better than that. He won't do it. Not without cause. I am going north on the Cuitreine road. I am going to find my brother and I am going to bring him home. We will work out his memory problems after he's back in Rhemuth."

The royal prince of the realm studied the earl for a long minute. In the background his guards were getting anxious about this long solitary conversation. "That is what I told my father that you would say. That is why he left the ultimate decision in my hands. I won't make an order you would be forced to disobey. That should not be on your conscience, too, not with all that you are going to need to deal with." Javan pulled the wine skin off his belt, he took a long swig of the good quality wine. When it was half empty, he took a small blue veil out from his pouch. He poured the contents into the wine skin, capped it, and shook it well. Then he handed it across to his friend. "I think you know what I just put in here. If you do find Wash, and he is deranged, have him drink from this. Meresha may keep you from helping him, but it will keep him from harming you. The orders from my father are that I insist upon this much. If it comes to choosing between you or Washburn, you are the one who must survive."

Brendan angrily took the skin from Javan's hand. "We will both survive! That is my vow!"

"A vow I will hold you too." The prince began walking toward the guards and their horses beyond. "When we reach Cuilteine. I am sending Lord Jaxom north to assess the ruins where Lord Sextus holds guard on the portal. The ruins lie on lands bordering Trillshire. Jaxom knows the people and they respect him." Unlike everyone on this march, Brendan could not help but think. Javan must have been thinking the same, for he gave a smile, the first one since his Rapport with his father. "Use Jaxom to help you find what you need. He is... well you know what he is... but at least he had some respect for your youngest brother. Those memories may not have been tampered with in Washburn, Jaxom may be the connection to finding the real Wash inside."

Brendan shook his head and gave an irritated laugh. "So you found a legitimate means of freeing yourself of that pompous loot."

"Why, yes, I believe I have!" Javan said, clapping the older man on the shoulder as they entered the company of the Haldane lancers.

[Jerusha]

*Again, thanks to revanne for Columcil's true words and to Evie for keeping Aliset...um...Aliset!*


"Lord Darcy," the priest said when he reached the well. "A private word wi' ye, if I might."

Darcy Cameron studied the priest's face for a moment; whatever Father Columcil's inner thoughts were, he was hiding them well.  He nodded to Robert, who looked puzzled as he arrived at the well.  What could the good Father have to tell that Robert should not hear?

"Perhaps we should go over by the stable," Darcy said. 

"I'll wait here, Lord Darcy," Robert said quietly.

When they reached the stable, Darcy wasted no time with preambles.  "What has happened?"

Father Columcil took a moment to order the news and instructions relayed by Archbishop McLain.  "Dowager Duchess Richenda just missed finding Sir Washburn when she portaled to the old Michaeline ruins south of Droghera."

"Bloody hell," Darcy said.  "How?"

Columcil explained what had happened in the ruins.  Darcy listened closely, committing every detail to memory.

"You'll have to explain Portals to me at some later time, but I think I get the general idea."  He looked thoughtful.  "Are we to proceed to the ruins?  I admit, I'd like to see them for myself, see if we can find anything useful."

"His Grace didn'a state tha'" Columcil said.  He realized he probably should have asked, but the ruins had been overshadowed by the next information his grandfather had relayed.  Columcil watched Darcy closely.  "There was more news; Lady Aliset had gone missing."

Columcil was accustomed to Darcy's normal pale complexion; he was not prepared for the young man's face to fade to a deathly white.

"Sweet Jesu," Darcy said.  "I have to go back."

Columcil shook his head.  "The king commands us to continue for'ard; you're no' to return ta Rhemuth."

"I will return to Rhemuth," Darcy declared, his face set, his defiance returning his face to a more normal colour.  "You and Robert can continue on, and I'll find you once I know Aliset is safe."  Darcy turned as if to enter the stable for his horse.  "I've faced the king's judgement before for Aliset, and I am willing to do it again."

Columcil laid a restraining hand on the younger man's shoulder.  He could feel the tension there.  "Aliset is safe," he said.

"How can you know that if she is missing?" 

"Squire Robert showed up in th' king's Council Chamber just after noon."  Columcil waited, knowing it would not take Darcy long to figure it out.  It didn't.

"She shifted into Robert, didn't she?"  He didn't wait for Columcil to answer.  "That's what was bothering me, but I set it aside."  He looked up at Columcil.  "She knew the name of your horse, and there was no way Robert would have known.  He only met you for the first time as we left Rhemuth, and you never mentioned Spean by name."  His face darkened as dismay turned to anger.  "How could she endanger herself this way?"

"We'll ask her," Columcil replied with a calm he did not feel.  "Mebbe it's best that I do the asking, rather than ye say words that ye can'ne aye tek back." Darcy said nothing and strode toward the well; Columcil hastened after him.

Aliset saw them coming, and could see by the angry look on Lord Darcy's face that the truth was known.   Aliset squared her shoulders; she did not regret the decision she had made and would stand behind it.

"Lady Aliset," Father Columcil began, "We have...."

Darcy cut him off.  "What in the nine circles of Hell were you thinking, woman?"  he said angrily, standing with balled fists on his hips and sounding dangerous.

"Easy, lad" Columcil admonished.  "And keep yer voice doon," he added firmly.

Aliset's brown eyes flashed and she looked at him squarely, although the ice blue eyes she faced looked as stormy as his northern seas.  "I was thinking," she said coldly, "that you needed my help, magical help only I can provide."

"I've managed without magic before," Darcy said hotly. 

"So, the time I spent training you was a waste?"  Aliset was becoming less calm. 

"Of course not!  But now I have the added duty to keep you safe on top of everything else.  You should have stayed in Rhemuth." Darcy was still angry but managed to drop his voice down a level or two.

"And I was safe there?"  Aliset asked. 

"That's because I wasn't there to...." He stopped and glared at her, unable to avoid the trap her words implied.

Aliset took a deep breath to calm herself.  "You did not object to my help when we travelled before, even after you knew I was a woman.  I held my own," she added, her voice firm.

"That was before I loved you!" Darcy snapped, and Columcil thought he heard a note of desperation in the voice.

"Then you know how I feel, you dolt!"  Aliset snapped back and stopped, startled at her own words.  They stared at each other.

"Peace," Columcil said, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.  "Breathe."

"I couldn't let you go against as skilled a Deryni as Valerian with so little knowledge," Aliset began, visibly making an effort to collect herself and trying to interject reason into the discussion. 

"I'm not going against Valerian," Darcy said, sounding a little calmer.  "I'm to find the fortress.  I'm still not sure what we are to do then; I wish I was."

"Exactly my point; you don't know, and anything could happen.  Look at all the harm he has caused so far."

Darcy sat down on the step he had vacated not that long before.  "Oswald had a part in all this too, as I'm sure you remember.  But he is allied with Valerian."  Darcy nudged a stone with the tip of his boot and looked up at Columcil.  "I'm forbidden to take Lady Aliset back to Rhemuth, that is what you really meant earlier, isn't it?'

"Aye, it is," Columcil admitted.

Darcy sighed and looked at Aliset.  "First I had to bring Washburn's horse; now I have to bring you."  He saw Aliset's eyes flash.  "Beg pardon," he added quickly, "I mean no offense.  But could this mission be made more complicated?"

"Aye, it could," Father Columcil said.

"I'd like to bloody well know how," Darcy said grimly.

"The two on ye are ta be betrothed," Columcil said.  Darcy's jaw dropped and Aliset gasped.  "The queen and the senior ladies of her court are concerned that Lady Aliset's reputation is now tarnished beyond repair."

"Now hold on a minute," Darcy interrupted, immediately protective, as Aliset snapped, "What bloody business is it of theirs?"

Columcil raised a hand to stop them.  "'Tis very much their business, I'm afraid, my Lady; you seem to have forgotten that you are now the king's ward.  Archbishop Duncan suggested that your betrothal was the only option, unless a'course, Lady Aliset, you would prefer the veil."  In truth, his grandfather hadn't mentioned that, but it had occurred to Columcil.

Aliset stole a quick glance at Darcy and shook her head immediately.  "No, Father, I would not."

"King Kelson agreed to the betrothal.  He'd read Darcy's letter wi' 'im stating his intention to put his suit forward for yer hand in marriage when he returned."

Darcy blushed as Aliset stared at him.  "I wanted to make sure I had a chance for it," he said.  "Father Columcil," Darcy said firmly, "God knows I am willing, but I will not agree to a marriage Lady Aliset  does not desire of her own free will."

Aliset hesitated; she had not prepared for this eventuality.  She had been worried that King Kelson would select a husband for her that she barely knew.   Someone years older who would expect a meek, compliant wife.  Someone content to raise children and stay in the background of her husband's life.  She knew now that would be very difficult for her.  She looked at Darcy, who had risen from the step and was regarding her with concern.  At least she knew this man loved her, deeply, and she did care for him, more than she had believed.

"I...well...um...Yes, damn it!"  She looked apologetically at Columcil.  "Sorry, Father, I meant I am willing also."

Columcil nodded.  "I aye believe it be for the best.  Mebbes though" he said, looking back toward the abbey church, "this'll no be the best place for it.  I'm thinking the both of ye'ud prefer fer Lady Aliset ta resume her true form;  I know I'd be more comfortable an she does."

Darcy managed a smile.  "That would be a bit awkward otherwise, now wouldn't it?  And we really should be away and heading north."

"What about the small church with the square tower we stopped at after Droghera?"  Aliset suggested.

"Oh, aye, I remember that place," Columcil said.  "I doubt I'll ever forget it."

"I don't think any of us will forget it, and it's just about where we should be stopping for the night."  Darcy looked at the priest and the squire.  "We're agreed?"

Within a short time they were riding through the gates of Arx Fidei and heading north.

[revanne]

Dhugal allowed Richard's men their moment of celebration as they crowded around the new knight. Their genuine delight in his honouring warmed his heart as he hoped fervently that Richard's sense of failure and betrayal could at last be put to rest. But true celebrations would have to wait for resolution of the plight in which the realm now stood, and after just a few minutes he sent the men about their business, to work or rest, and chivvied Richard back up to the castle, although in truth, with both exhilaration and fear now past, exhaustion had begun to set in and he came willingly enough. On entering the bailey Dhugal sent a man to bring food and drink to Richard's quarters and, putting aside Richard's protests, walked him there himself and waited until he lay down on his bed.

With a sternness to his voice that was only half in jest and giving his subordinate a long hard look he said:

"If you move from that spot, other than to use the gardrobe, before I send someone to rouse you, I truly will have you clapped in irons and you can explain to Rory in Laas why the captain general of my fleet needs a tether and is clanking like a blacksmith's forge."

The new Sir Richard looked back at him, the shadow brought by his forced treason gone from his eyes, and barely got out between his yawns,

"I'll be explaining to his Highness why I've not moved from my bed the entire voyage more like. I could sleep for a month". He smiled and reached out his hand towards Dhugal's and, when Dhugal responded by enclosing it in both of his, he brushed his lips against the back of Dhugal's upper hand and said simply, "Thank you, your Grace."

Satisfied, Dhugal nonetheless had a guard stand discreetly where he could keep sight of the door to Richard's quarters, and only then did he allow himself to return to the Ducal quarters and Mirjana.

Once again he marvelled at how gracious the fates -or God, as he supposed his father and son would have corrected him - had been in granting him such a wife out of what had been a time of terrible tragedy for them both. He had half thought that Mirjana would lose her calm assurance at the news that Teymuraz' wicked kin were again assailing the land that had become her sanctuary, but, though she paled and crossed herself murmuring a prayer for protection to St Michael, once they came out of their rapport, she at once set about caring for him rather than sapping his already far too deleted energy by seeking his comfort and reassurance, happy though he would have been to give it. She did for him very much as he had done for Richard, then sat on the edge of the bed and allowed the comfort of her caresses to sooth her husband. When his responses became more passionate, however, she kissed him hard on the lips and pulled away telling him to save his energy to fight with the king's enemies. Then she pulled a brychan up around him and left him to sleep.

Judging by the angle of the sun shining through the bedchamber window it must have been many hours past noon when a squire knocked at the door and entered, sent by Mirjana to rouse him and bearing a tray laden with bread, cold meats and ale.

"Her Grace says that all but two of the ships that left this morning with Master Seamus have just returned into the harbour and Master Seamus is even now making his way up to the castle."

Dhugal swung his legs down to the floor and made to rise, but found his way blocked by the squire's deferential but determined bow,

"Begging your Grace's pardon but her Grace says that you are to go nowhere afore you have eaten. Her Grace has sent a guard to intercept Master Seamus and will see him looked after."

Dhugal smiled at the young man and dutifully did as he had been bid, finding that once he began to eat he was indeed hungry and he made short work of both food and drink.

"Thank you, Sean, now please return to her Grace and tell her that I will be up on the battlements with Master Seamus."

Dhugal found Seamus in the buttery, but the food and drink with which he had been supplied sat untouched by his side and he was agitatedly looking at the door. As soon as he saw Dhugal he jumped up and  would have gone to his knee had not Dhugal grasped his hands,

"Seamus! Thank God you are back, and most of the boats with you. I feared you would have had sight of the enemy boats and gone after them. I'm afraid I wasn't thinking straight when I gave you your orders this morning."

"Nay, yer Grace, we saw nothing o' them, not out at sea leastways, an' wi'out a means of speakin' ye, an'  the Cap'n gone, I was thinking it would be small use to ye ta lose ye half yer fleet on what would most like ha' bin nought but a wild goose chase. (( Enemy ships are already out of sight of Seamus, yes 123, no 456. Dice roll 2 so yes. 6104kqwb8w)).

"I can only repeat, 'Thank God' for your common sense, and commend your actions though I fear that I shall still have to relieve you of your command as Captain General."

Seamus looked unsure for a moment then grasped Dhugal's meaning and his somber features lightened for a moment. "The Cap'n's alive! Mary Mother, how? Are all on 'em safe, or just himself? But I dinna understand after what the puir souls at Loch Mhir tellit us." Seamus' mouth twisted as though he was struggling with nausea before he managed to say,

"Ha'e ye seem himself, yer Grace?"

"Yes, and it's quite a tale. But best come from himself, I think, when he has slept. But it would seem that you, too, have a tale to tell which is maybe not as good as I first hoped. Come, let's go to the battlements where we can be undisturbed and look out at the sea. But first, we have time for you to eat."

"Thank ye, sair, but I've nae stummach fer food."

Dhugal looked anxiously at the man stood  before him. He did in truth look as though he wanted to be sick and Dhugal wondered what on earth could have upset him so thoroughly. He was well acquainted with the harsh life at sea, having both received and given out physical punishment, and in recent years, as trade grew and the boats travelled further and further afield, there had been more than one run in with pirates. He could well believe that Richard's fire boat had given rise to casualties, but again the sight of death and injury was part and parcel of life in these tough borderlands, and Seamus would have grown up hardened to such sights. Nor could it be fear of his own reaction. Seamus had faced that down in the hours before dawn when he had brought news of Richard's actions, and he had admitted calmly enough to having taken his own decision not to seek out any of the enemy fleet which might have escaped.

Here was not the place to question further so without further ado he turned and led the way out into the bailey. He noted that the local villagers were already dispersing, Mirjana must have interpreted the various bits of information while he slept and decided that the imminent danger of invasion was past. She had everything well in hand and once the fleet had sailed under the able leadership of Sir Richard, and the increasingly obvious competence of the man before him as second-in-command, he would be able to focus his attention on supporting Kelson in whatever way the king required. Pray God that they would lose no more of those close to Kelson ( for he feared that Washburn was truly lost) but if the worst happened then the king's blood brother would not be found lacking. But first he needed to find out what was ailing Seamus.

He ushered Seamus before him up the steep narrow steps onto the battlement walkway where they could be sure of being private, yet easily within call if he was required. Once they were out of earshot of the nearest guard, he stopped and leant out over the battlements so as not to force eye contact or exert any form of arcane coercion.

"Come on, man, out with it! What can have happened to you today that can possibly be worse than the display of temper you had to endure from me before dawn?"

His attempt at humour raising no response, Dhugal began again in more measured tones,

"I'm supposing that what you found in Loch Mhor was not pretty," but was interrupted by Seamus blazing out vehemently,

"Pretty, ma Lord! Wha' I saw there the day was a glimpse o' hell itself, tho' the de'il had made sairten he was no there ta suffer wi' his victims. They'd gone, all o'them, the captains o' the undamaged boaties, tekin' wi'em the hale from them that 'a' bin burnt oot and leavin' the burnt and broken bodies wi'out food or tendin'."

Still not looking at Seamus, Dhugal interjected gently,

"Sadly such things get overlooked in war."

Seamus muttered something that Dhugal had to strain to hear,

"Ye wouldn'a, ma Lord. Ye would'a tended to the wounded, even if ye had nae choice but to leave them. Ye would'a tended to them afore ye left." Then he spoke more strongly and half-turned towards Dhugal as though this would cost him a deal to say but he had to say it.

"Ye'll mind when ye had me flogged?"

Dhugal turned too at that and put his hand on Seamus' arm,

"That's long gone and set aside by the record of your service since. By me and Richard at least, and I dare now hope by you."

"Och, I'm nae sayin' this richt! I've nae held it against ye, ma lord, leastways no' since I got some sense into ma heid and kenned what danger t' all a young fool who wouldn'a do as he was bid would 'a' bin oot at sea. But I mind well that ye sent a body t' tend t' me, and offered a healer t'  tek away some o' the pain if I'd ask pardon of ye and Master Richard."

Seamus' voice trailed off and Dhugal saw that his pallid face was growing red and he finished gently for him.

"But you refused, enduring every last throb and then, once you had healed, came of your own free will, admitted your fault and sought pardon on your own terms."

Again Dhugal could hardly hear Seamus as he muttered,

"Arrogant wee gomeril that I was."

"If it makes you feel any better, I would have done exactly the same. But why are you saying all this?"

Seamus again seemed to force himself to speak but he lifted his head and looked at Dhugal.

"Because I ken well enow that those that do wrong desairve t' be punished, but no' in the way that was done t' those puir souls in the loch. Their lords had nae time nor thought t' tend t' the wounded, but they'd time t' tek the whip to them that were already burned, for no' being able t' stop flames from burnin' tha' came oot o' nowhere."

Seamus drew a deep breath as though willing the memory and the nausea it aroused back down and laughed bitterly.

"Ye ordered me to kill those that wouldn'a surrender. Aye, we killed a score or more this morn, gie'ing mercy t'them who were beggin' for it. I left twae ships back in the loch, wi' those who could care for those that mebbes ha'e a chance o' life. Guid help us all, ma lord, if these de'ils come t'rule o'er us here. If that's what they do t' those that fecht for them, what'll be done to us that fecht against them."

Dhugal tightened his grip on Seamus' wrist but could offer no comfort. Once many years ago he had seen Mearen brutality at first hand, and he knew, through what Kelson and Mirjana had said, and what Sean Derry had never said, of the unspeakable cruelty that was the dark side of Torenthi customs. Perhaps, if Seamus would be willing to allow him to read what he had seen, he could share it with Kelson, and the images of what their enemy was truly like could spread amongst those with whom they came into contact, especially on the borders of Meara where men might be in doubt who they should be fighting for.

"I will see what can be done for them, and if they will swear to live peaceably here find homes for them. I doubt most of them want more than a quiet life, and a lord to protect them. We could do with more hands to bring in the harvest with our men gone."

Dhugal stood for a moment then looked Seamus full in the face before speaking.

"You are fully free to refuse what I am going to ask of you; this is an asking between the two of us, and not an order from duke to captain. I think that the truth of the cruelty of our enemies, that you have seen today, should be shared with his Majesty and if report is spread by our armies as they go into Meara, might help to make men think twice before they join the rebels. Will you allow me to Read what you have seen direct from your mind."

Somewhat to Dhugal's surprise Seamus nodded his head immediately,

"Aye I'll do that, yer Grace and right willin'. To tell truth, it'd be a sight easier than tellin' ye more o' it. An' I hope I'm no' steppin' above ma'sen but if mebbes we could use ma wee bittie medallion here," he pulled the medallion of Our Lady, Star of the sea, out from under his shirt as he spoke, "t'would be a way for ye t' keep in touch wi' me on the Cap'n's behalf. Beggin' yer pardon if tha's presumptious o' me."

"That's not presumption, just the common sense I'm learning to expect from Richard's second-in-command."  He thought, though did not say, that it would also save him from having to suggest some form of arcane link with Richard which had always been his intention, but after the abuse of Richard's mind and will in Rhemuth would be out of the question.  He had always known that Seamus shared the mysterious "second sight" of the borderer, but the readiness with which Seamus made the suggestion about the medallion made him ask,

"Have you done this before?"

"Aye, or leastways summat like it, as bairns wi' our Jamie. It was one o' the things that Grandda teached us, and then wished he had no' when we used it fer more mischief. No' wi' a Deryni like yer Grace tho', I'm no sure tha' I'll be able fer it."

"Do you trust me?" Dhugal realised that until today, though he had come to trust Seamus, he had been fairly sure it wasn't reciprocated. He had been wrong it seemed, either that or the experiences of the last twenty-four hours had made Seamus see things differently. At any rate Seamus replied, slowly but with certainty,

"Aye, I do that, yer Grace."

((Dhugal creates rapport with Seamus. Advantage rolled, Dhugal is skilled, Seamus is Deryni though with no real training, and both are eager for the rapport 2+3+6=11 4ps8gsk3ct))

"Come and stand in front of me then, here in the corner of the wall. Relax as much as you can, and let me do the rest."

Seamus did as he was bid and leant back against Dhugal who put his hands against the other's temples. As he entered Seamus' mind, it came as no surprise to discover the presence of shields, though they were undeveloped enough that he could have broken through them if need be. He would not have done that though, and there was in any case no need as, after a moment's hesitation, Seamus sank back further against his shoulder and the shields rolled back. The sights that had so distressed Seamus were right at the forefront of his memory and needed no sifting but hit Dhugal with the full force of Seamus' revulsion. Bodies floating in the water, blackened and raw and already beginning to bloat; boats sound enough below the waterline but all bearing witness to the ravages of fire in their rigging and on deck. And on the decks lay the injured moaning desperately for water and for an end to their pain. He saw the open wounds, with flesh hanging from heat flayed skin and gashes and broken bones where men had been hit by falling rigging. It was clear that, as Seamus had said, no attempt whatsoever had been made to dress or treat the wounds but the injured had been left behind like refuse on a midden. Worst of all, and what made Dhugal almost gag even in trance, were the men lashed to stumps of masts, their burnt skin clearly laid open by savage whippings. For his own peace of mind he probed a little further and Saw the men of his own fleet beginning to tend to the injured, giving mercy to those beyond help. This was not war, this was a massacre and, as Seamus had said, this was the treatment meted out to their own men. Any in Meara who saw Valerian and his ilk as a liberation could think again. Please God this could be used to deter at least some.

Although he had asked no leave, he blurred the worst of the memories for Seamus - he might have been able to show him how to shield them off but there was no time - and then taking the medallion in his hands murmured the words that would help to reactivate the link before taking his hands away from Seamus' temples and steadying him as he returned to normal consciousness.

Seamus looked momentarily startled and his eyes began to loose focus again as he obviously probed the edges of his memory and found that they were not so raw. Then he turned to Dhugal and with obvious relief in his voice said,

"Thank ye, yer Grace. I'll mebbes get some sleep noo." Then, recollecting himself, added hastily, "If yer grace has nae mair need o'me that is."

"The state you're in, I wouldn't trust you in charge of a coracle, let alone the pride of my fleet. Off with you, take some food if you can, then, for the love of God man, get some sleep. You need to sail for Laas on the morning tide. I'll have you and Sir Richard" - he smiled at Seamus' start at his use of the title but didn't elaborate -"woken before dawn. I'm no mariner but I've learnt enough to know what orders I need to give to have the fleet ready and waiting for you."

He held out his hand in dismissal and Seamus went to his knee and kissed it before turning and making his way back down the stairs. Dhugal stood for a long time, staring out to sea  wondering what the fleet would meet with in Laas and how Rory was fairing, before turning and making his own way back down.

[Laurna]

Ellia, a runaway girl from the servant quarters of a small barony hanging on the border between Eastern Meara and the Culdi Highlands, ran to escaped certain punishment from those in the walled keep that now lay a league behind her.  Her cheeks were wet, not from fear of what she had done, but for fear of what the future would do to man of ransom, like the one she left behind. He was so strong, yet so misused. If she could have helped him escape, she would have. At the very least, she helped him survive one night and she prayed he would survive into the days to come.  Why had she done it? It had been more than desire. True enough that physique of his was not one seen every day.  After his bath, the girls had laughed and teased each other over just who got to bathe which parts of him, but that really hadn't been the reason. No, Ellia was sensitive to people's needs, she always had been. She hid it well, but she could tell when someone was faking it or if they really were in need. This man needed an escape, of that there was no doubt, but more than this, he needed to remember to survive. His ordeal had brought him to a point where he had lost his will to live. She had seen in him a desire only for death before he caused betrayals to his honor. As she slept with him, she had realized the depths of his fear of becoming a betrayer. Only tight Deryni controls over his mind had kept him from harming himself in desperate efforts of escape. Those controls were unbreachable by her own small talents.

Ellia was not Deryni. She knew about those people and their ways. Not always God given ways as they would like to portend. Her grandmama had been the village seer, a woman who could  find water underground when droughts set in; who could warm her hands producing sparks to light a flame. She could sense people's emotions and know when they lied. Ellia had learned much from her grandmama. Some called it second sight but her grandmama called it the blessings of mother nature.

Ellia had not planned to slip into the prisoner's cell this last night. She had planned to spend the night gossiping with the other girls about the warrior in their midst. Then to dream about holding such a man as he. It was only supposed to be dreams, no more. But then she'd drawn the short straw that night to go to the kitchens to bring everyone back a pitcher of warmed mead, one that the chief allowed the girls every night. She never got that far. The seneschal had seen her in the corridor, he had called her over. Fear filled her mind only to find the seneschal placing a full goblet of wine in her hands and ordering her to follow him down to the cells in the dungeon. Was it really the Deryni prisoner's touch that had made her moments later slip back into the cell to see him? Yes it was. But not in the way everyone thought. He had not possessed her with that touch, rather he had provoked her need to help him. His sad melancholy words of forgiveness for her bringing such devastating drugs to his mouth had set her heart to pounding. How could she not have come back to him? How could she not.

The dawn was lighting the road ahead of her, she would have to be mindful of riders. Someone might send a search party after her. That brute Otis would for sure. He had been sulking around the female servant's room when she had tried to return in the predawn hours. He had been drinking and was full on jealous of the prisoner and the bath the girls had given him. When Otis  caught Ellia out of her room, he went into a rage. He didn't believe Ellia's story about fallen asleep in the prisoner's cell. Ellia's save came from the other girls who pulled her in their room, slammed their door in Otis's face, and bolted the door tight. Theirs was the one key not on the guards key ring, for obvious reasons. The girls had gathered around Ellia then to protect her. They heard her tale of going back in the retrieve the goblet, getting locked the prisoner's cell, and then drinking some of the wine only to fall asleep to the drugs with in it.

The girls had oohed and awed over that for a minute, just like they had after giving that warrior his bath. Not so gullible, the senior girl looked Ellia straight in the eye and asked, "Amaryllia Aldan, tell us what really happened!"

Ellia shied, but then she whispered. "I kept the him alive by keeping him warm, for I swear to you, he was on the brink of a cold death after what the Seneschal had given him."

The girls went mad with speculation then, Ellia said no more, but her blush was enough to give her away. "You're  getting out of here, before day break!. Before Ottis returns! He will kill you and you know he will. That warrior is a prisoner for ransom. He is a high nobleman, but he is in no position to lie for you, nor to protect you. And neither can we."

Quick as they could, the girls had bundled up Ellia's things in a blanket. They tied the bundle to her waist and threw a cloak over her shoulders. The senior servant girl and one other took her down the the pastern door. While the other girl distracted the guard on duty the senior girl stole the keys of the post and opened the heavy set door just a crack. The moment Ellia had slipped out the door, it shut hard behind her, the lock turned to its home. After which Ellia had no way of turning back.

She had two hours of running down the road,before the forest ways began warming to the light of the new day. Amaryllia slipped off the road and into the trees. It was rough country, but she had grown up here. She knew once she reached the creek, she could follow it down to the stream; this would wind its way to Droghera. That is where her sister lived with her husband. She could seek refuge with them. The cheese-maker had an attic room, they would surely let her stay in. A cheesery would not be as harsh a task master as the baron's estate had been.

[revanne]

Columcil mused that it was as well that he was comfortable with his own company for it was clear that neither of his companions was likely to be making easy conversation. Aliset as Robert had taken her usual deferential place at the rear as befitted a squire, but that had not been at all to Darcy's liking.

"How can I protect you riding back there, woman!" He had snapped.

"I'm not yours to protect !" Had come the equally barbed reply. "You've been dismissed from my service and we're not yet wed."

"Leave her be, lad.I doubt we're in any danger here." Columcil had advised and got a glare for his pains as Darcy swept by to take the lead. They had ridden in stony silence since, leaving Columcil praying fervently that once these two were wed the emotion which now could find its only outlet in anger would find its expression in mutual passion. Though he was celibate, he was neither naively innocent nor a prude, and he much preferred the thought of bedding down with the horses by night and ignoring what other sounds might come his way than riding by day in this icy silence.

After a while Darcy reined Sigrun in and came to ride beside Colcumcil on Shadow, slowing the pace to a walk. By the look on his face, he was looking for a target for his frustration, and it appeared that he had found one in Columcil.  Well better himself than the lady.

"I'm not sure that this is the right thing we are doing." Darcy began. "What if the king has someone else in mind for Lady Aliset. I know what my hopes are but I didn't  expect them to be granted like this. I don't want to get her into more trouble than she's got for herself. I can live with royal disapproval  for myself, but I'm not prepared for her to live under its shadow. I'm beginning to wonder if this is not all your idea and nothing to do with Archbishop Duncan or the King."

"I can assure ye tha' his Majesty..." Columcil was beginning reassuringly, but Darcy interrupted,

"No offence Father, but maybe our stay in Rhemuth has turned your head just a little? You're a country priest after all, and though his Grace the Archbishop has been kind to you, I doubt that you are as close in the King's counsel as you maybe think. I'm prepared to believe his Grace told you about Aliset but I'm beginning to have my doubts about the rest."

Darcy 's tone had moderated to a kindly condescension which Columcil found far more annoying than his anger. Why was it people only said "no offence" when they were intending  to be offensive. Darcy had a fair point though, and it spoke well of him that he was determined to do right by Aliset. There was really only one way to reassure him, it would mean breaking confidence but so much had happened that he hardly thought it would matter.

"Yer concern fer yer lady does ye credit lad, and it's no a bad thing t' be a wee bit wary - mebbes if we'd aul bin mair canny puir Washburn wad be wi' us noo. An' ye've nae dout the reet o' it tha' th' Archbishop would'na be sae open wi' me wi'oot good reason."

Columcil stopped to draw breath and realised that Darcy was staring at him. just stop  blethering and oot wi'it! he told himself.

"Look, lad, yer a Deryni, so read the truth o'this. I cannae prove it ta ye, but I swear 'tis God's own truth. Archbishop Duncan is ma grandsire and he's kennt o' me since afore I was ordained. His Grace o'Cassan sired me tho' he'd nae mair idea o'it than ye til these few days gone. So aye, y're in the reet o' it, I'm a wee priest from the country, but it's no ma swellit heid that's talkin' when I'm tellin' ye wha' ma grandda's orders for ye are."

With that Columcil let his pride and irritation with Darcy get the better of him. He whispered to Shadow and the stallion sprang with ease into a canter leaving Darcy staring with his mouth open.