Ghosts of the Past

[Jerusha]

Darcy Cameron did not need his fledgling Deryni powers to know something was amiss the moment Duke Kelric, Washburn and Aliset re-entered the hall, followed by the Corwyn guards and Lord Buckley.  The bloodstained hem of the duke's tunic would have been disconcerting enough, but the bloodied sword in Washburn's hand drew the eyes of the entire room.  All those in the hall rose and bowed as the Duke of Corwyn entered; Darcy used the moment to quietly move forward to take his place beside Aliset.  He did not allow his hand to hover over the hilt of his sword; an aggressive move on his part could ignite the tension in the room like a flame ignites a tinderbox.  Instead he took a towel that rested beside the fingerbowl on the high table and handed it to Washburn to wipe down his sword.  The tension eased slightly once Washburn had returned his sword to its sheath. 

"Lord Buckley." Duke Kelric turned to look back at the manor's lord, demanding his attention as well as effectively blocking him from signalling to any of the others in the hall. "Although I greatly appreciate the hospitality you have extended to us this evening, especially without notice, we must continue on our journey.  We will depart at once."

The expression on Lord Buckley's face shifted from consternation to guarded relief.  "The hour is late, your Grace, would you not prefer to wait until first light?"

"Thank you, Lord Buckley, but no.  We have a full moon to travel by and should make good time.  Lord Jaxom, have your men assemble our mounts in the courtyard."

Lord Jaxom bowed, looking puzzled but asking no questions.  He motioned to his men to carry out Duke Kelric's orders. Darcy noted that one or two of Buckley's men shifted warily as Jaxom's men passed.  Duke Kelric did not linger in the hall and Darcy and the others followed, joined by Jaxom and Father Columcil.  Father Columcil retrieved his staff as they left the hall and returned Darcy's dagger.  Darcy noted that several of Buckley's men also rearmed themselves as they left.  It did not please him.

It did not take long for Jaxom's men to bring out their horses.  Except for the jingling of harness, the courtyard remained eerily quiet.  Darcy appreciated the duke's foresight in having the horses brought out to them, avoiding the possibility of someone trapping a large part of their group in the stable.  More by instinct that conscious thought Darcy retrieved the dark leather cap from his sea bag and pulled it over his hair.  He mounted quickly and brought his horse into position beside Aliset. 

This time Duke Kelric lead their party out of the manor gate.  The archers brought up the rear, bows strung and at the ready as one would expect of a party travelling at night.  At least Darcy hoped Lord Buckley took it that way.  No blessing was said as they departed, no wishes for a safe journey.  Darcy was glad to be gone.

[Laurna]

Lord Buckley was glad to see his guests gone!

As soon as the lord of the manor was certain all thirty-two of the king's men were down the road, beyond his sight in the dark, he ordered the manor gates closed and bared. He spared no time in rousting the house. He ordered his chaplain to see the mess in his withdrawing room. He ordered the captain of the guards to make the castle ready for abandoning. He ordered his wife to prepare the family for leaving. They were to only bring the most essential items and the items of most value. By the midnight hour, wagons were loaded, guardsmen were mounted, and no one but the lowest servants were to stay behind.

Lord Buckley would escort his family to his wife's grandfather on the boarder of the Connait. Then he and his men would turn north and join the rebellion in Meara.

[revanne]

When all was ready Lord Buckley drew one of the mounted guards aside and spoke in a low voice:

"Ride as fast as you can - but safety is of more worth than speed- to the priest at Trillshire and give him this letter. He will get it safely where it needs to go."

The man bowed his head in acknowledgement but needed no further instructions. He had made this journey before. The summer nights were short and it was not yet mid-morning on the second day when he dismounted before the church just as the priest was coming out from Mass. He slipped from the saddle then, somewhat stiffly, to his knee. He spoke loudly for the benefit of any within earshot.

"A blessing father, of your charity, for a weary traveller who is unsure of his road"

The priest's hand touched his head in blessing then slipped down his arm and smoothly, for this too had been done before, palmed the letter marked in the corner with the stylised letter M that the supplicant held out.

"You'll be glad of something to sup and a bite to eat. I'll have my man bring you something out, and then if you tell us where you are bound, he can set you a pace or so on your way."

"Culdi, Father."

"Why then you are in luck for Jehan has kin there and is always pestering me for leave to visit. He'll do more than set you on the road, he'll ride with you." With the bluff good humour he affected he pulled the man to his feet and turning shouted, "Jehan! Hey there, Jehan!"

Soon the two were on their way, but there was only one who rode later into Culdi, for once they were out of sight of habitation Lord Buckley's man had turned east and ridden by little known tracks that led at length into the heart of Meara.

Jehan made his way to the Rose and Crown, where he made sport of the soft touch of a priest for whom he worked who could always be swayed into giving him leave to visit his kin. "You'd a thought e'd a sussed me Nan would 'a bin 6 feet unner be naw, the times ah've visited 'er on 'er death bed. Soft as butter, the old man is!" Guffawing he downed his ale. "Ah well, best be on me way to a good meal an a soft bed at our Mam's." Catching the barmaid's eye he stumbled, as though outside of one ale too many, and she, good-natured lass that she was, put out her hand to steady him, deftly palming the letter that he slipped from his hand to hers. Then he was gone and she went to see if her master had anything more he needed with his dinner. Bobbing a curtsey she placed the letter by his plate then went out. What she did not know she could not be asked, and her master's business was none  of hers.

As many times before a cloaked messenger took the same letter to a house elsewhere in Culdi, where he handed over his message and waited only to receive his usual coin before disappearing into the darkness of the night.  The recipient read the letter, swore under his breath then went into a inner room, carefully locking the door behind him and equally carefully setting wards. Then, and only then, did he allow himself to swear long and fluently in a tongue which was not that of Gwynedd. He blew out the candle he had brought with him and opened his hand to release a ball of silver handfire. Then he unlocked the chest which stood in one corner of the room and withdrew an amber coloured stone. He would have to make his report to his Lord, but terror seized him. The Grand Duke's anger was known and feared even by those who served him best, for his punishment of the most trivial failure could be swift and cruel. And his anger now must surely be beyond bounds. How could those fools have had the two cursed Morgan brothers within their grasp and let them ride out unscathed? He tried to focus and could not ((1+3=4 3sfs3lvxfq)); he wiped his sweating face with the sleeve of his robe and tried again. Still he could not focus ((2+4=6 356h5mkkrd)). He might be marked for death, but if he failed to pass on the message that death would be slow and agonising. He went to the little altar which stood at the side of the room and prostrated himself in anguished supplication. Finally he rose, crossed himself and taking a deep breath managed to still his thoughts enough to allow the shiral crystal to draw him into a deep enough trance to reach out to his Lord((6+4 =10)).

"My Lord Duke. There is news." As their minds touched he gave way to his fear and prostrated himself once more upon the floor in abject submission.

[Jerusha]

Darcy Cameron scanned the night around their party as they travelled south along the road.  The full moon shone brightly, lighting the way ahead.  Nevertheless, they were not travelling as fast as they would have in daylight. They had been travelling for almost an hour, and Darcy was feeling the fatigue from a day that had stretched far longer than it should have.

Not too long after they were away from the Buckley manor, Duke Kelric had motioned Sir Washburn forward and turned the lead over to him.  He had moved back to position himself beside one of his barons riding several horses ahead of Darcy and Aliset, who was still disguised as her brother.  Darcy wondered how much longer she could maintain the ruse.

As he had several times since they resumed their journey, he looked over at the rider beside him to check how she was holding up.  There had been no discussion about what had happened in Lord Buckley's withdrawing chamber, but Darcy could see that she was very tired.  More than once he saw her rub her forehead and then sit a little straighter in the saddle.  He would have to ask her later about that; the movement was too consistent to not have a purpose.

This time when he looked at her, her head had fallen forward, and he saw her grip on her reins begin to loosen.  Immediately he moved Sigrun closer, reached across and gently gripped her arm.  Startled, she jerked upright.

"Do you want me to ask for a halt?" Darcy asked her quietly.  "We might all appreciate a short rest."

"No, please, I'll be fine."  Aliset would have reached toward her forehead again, but Darcy held on to her arm.

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes really."  Aliset saw the concern on his face and managed a small smile to reassure him. "It can't be much farther to Arx Fedei."

Darcy released her arm and studied the stars above them.  "I think it should be just beyond the next rise in the road."

"I will definitely be fine, if we are that close."

"Aye, I hope so.  I don't want to have to throw myself on top of you if you fall off to protect you from the horses."  The minute he said it, Darcy realized it was not exactly the right thing to say.  Aliset looked aghast.  "No, no, that's not what I meant," Darcy said hastily.  "I mean, I would protect you, of course, but...oh bloody hell!"

Aliset started to laugh and Duke Kelric turned to look at them.  "Is everything all right back there?" he asked.

"Aye, your Grace," Darcy responded, hoping the duke did not notice how red Darcy was sure his face was.

"It's my fault, your Grace. Master Darcy was doing his best to keep me awake.  His tales from his life at sea often make me laugh, except for the ones that horrify me."  Aliset smiled serenely in Darcy's direction.

Darcy sighed inwardly. Eventually this day, now night, would have to end.

[Laurna]

The man leading the Corwyn and Trillshire men, was a man filled with self-reproach and exhaustion. Yet Washburn dearen't let either show, for the danger was not fully over, and the day was not fully closed. Every fatigue banishing spell had less and less effectiveness and that in itself was troublesome. 

((10:08 ArxFidei Rolling for Wash being able to sense if they are followed.
10:08 ArxFidei !roll 2d6
10:08 derynibot 3, 6 == 9))

It was fortunate that he still had enough energy to seek if anyone followed on the road behind them. The scene they left behind could have been brutal. Lord Buckley could have ordered an ambush on his unarmed elite guests at dinner. If it hadn't been for Darcy's discovery of Rayne, would Buckley have ordered an ambush while the king's men slept? They might have had their throats slit by now. Wash was rather disturbed by his part in the outcome, yet he would take that over whatever Rayne's intentions had been. Still, given everything that had happened in the last week, he was in awe that they actually got out of Buckley Manor with nary a scratch.  Wash doubted Buckley's men would attack them on the road; especially once the duke's men were fully armed and anticipating trouble, but it didn't pay to let his guard down. Would Buckley have them followed to see where they would go. As yet Washburn had sensed no one on the road behind them.

What if danger lurked ahead?
((10:23 ArxFidei Rolling for sensing the road in front of them.
10:23 ArxFidei !roll 2d6
10:23 derynibot 5, 4 == 9))

Wash was happy indeed to once again sense no one on the road ahead of them. For this night was getting on, and the full moon was starting to lower in the sky.

The Lendour Knight turned to the nobleman riding beside him. "Lord Jaxom, you know this road better than I. Will we make the abbey before the moon leaves  us in full darkness?"

"Aye, we are close. The path will be to the left, just ahead."

"Good, I will trust you to make sure that I do not bypass it up." Wash tried to make it a jest, but his tired expression was too obvious to the man riding next to him.  Once more the knight brush his hand over his eyes.

"Are you having trouble seeing my lord?" the Trillshire heir asked.

((10:39 ArxFidei Fatigue banishing spell
10:39 ArxFidei !roll 2d6
10:39 derynibot 3, 6 == 9))

Surprised to find the spell still worked, Wash returned an energized smile. "No, no trouble at all. I just don't want to be looking the other way and canter right past our destination, only to be embarrassed by you pointing it out after the fact."

"I would never dream of causing embarrassment to you, my lord." Jaxom said sincerely.

"Than I can count on you. Good! Now, find us that path."

True to his word, a short time later Jaxom pointed out the crossing in the road that would lead to the abbey on the hillside. The stone walls were a heavenly sight, the shale roof lines gleaming in the last of the setting moon. The gate was dark, the torch there, burned out for the night. Sir Washburn dismounted, found the bell-pull rope at the side of the gate and gave it a strong pull. A small bell rang out somewhere on the far side of the wall. A long silence and nothing. The horses mulled around behind him unsettled in the delay. Washburn pulled the bell again. A small gate-grill opened and a monk peered out. "Who ever goes there, you should know well that these gates will not open until dawn."

"It is the request of the Duke of Corwyn that we seek shelter under your holy roof. Do not turn us away, I plead of the, as we have been seeking your sanctuary for what has seemed to be the longest day of our lives."

"The Duke of Corwyn? He just left here this last morning."

"Aye, and he seeks you hospitality once more." Wash stood aside to let the gatekeeper see the duke sitting patiently on his sorrel steed just behind.

The grill closed, the sound of the bar on the gate lifted, and on well-oiled hinges the double gate into Arx Fidei opened wide. A welcoming sight indeed. Washburn stepped aside, letting all the travelers ride into the courtyard. Lastly, he led his stallion into holy refuge. When the gates shut close behind him, he wanted very much to go to his knees and collapse. Not quite yet, he told himself, not quite yet.

[Evie]

Aliset was so, so tired!  She had kept up her energies by using fatigue banishing spells, but each had been less effective than the last, so by the time the company rode through the gates of Arx Fidei, she struggled to maintain consciousness.  Yet although guest rooms for the travelers were quickly enough acquired, there was one thing necessary for her to do before she could finally seek her rest.

Approaching the Duke of Corwyn, she waited until she caught his eye before giving him a respectful bow.  "Your Grace," she murmured softly so as not to attract the attention of those around them readying beds and pallets for slumber, "Before we retire for the night, there is something you must know. It concerns what I was able to glean from Lord Buckley's steward's mind as he was dying. I would simply wait until morning, once all our energies are restored, to share what I learned, but what I learned seems urgent enough that I feel I ought to share it with no further delay, especially if you have made arrangements to contact His Majesty tonight." 

The man standing before Aliset neither confirmed nor denied her supposition regarding any plans of communicating with King Kelson, but he held out a hand in invitation.  "If you feel it is that urgent, then let us not delay any further. Show me."

((13:53   Aliset   !roll 2d6
13:53   derynibot   1, 1 == 2
13:54      Aliset mentally utters unspeakable language her mother never taught her))

Even as Aliset was reaching forward to lay her hand upon the Duke's, her shields beginning to roll back to allow the mental sharing, the last vestiges of her fatigue-banishing spell wore off with a suddenness that caused her to stumble, falling into the startled Duke's arms, almost knocking him into the wall behind him. Had Aliset still been conscious, she would doubtless have been mortified, but as it was, she fell limp in his embrace, sound asleep.

[Jerusha]

Father Columcil knew he should not find the scene playing out before him amusing; it must be the exhaustion he felt permeating his entire body.  Aliset had turned to speak to Duke Kelric and suddenly collapsed into his arms.  It was Darcy and Jaxom darting from opposite sides of the courtyard at the same time toward the young lord in the duke's arms that was amusing, as well as alarming.

Roll at a disadvantage due to exhaustion to see if Darcy gets there first.
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
15:24   derynibot   6 == 6
Success and a hero point, too!  Woo hoo!

Darcy reached her side first, said something to Duke Kelric and lifted Aliset up into his own arms.  One of the monks motioned for Darcy to follow him, presumably to one of the guest rooms.  Father Columcil quickly caught up with them, mummering something about lending Darcy a hand.  As had become their custom, he would share the room they were assigned as chaperone, and Darcy would sleep on a pallet across the inside of the door.  Lord Jaxom stood to one side looking dismayed but saying nothing.

A little less drama and a bit more discretion would have been preferred, but tomorrow was another day.  Or was tomorrow today? Sweet Jesu, he needed sleep!

[revanne]

Father Columcil was both touched and dismayed by the tenderness with which Darcy laid the limp and exhausted Alister down. He knew, with no need to even touch the other's mind, that, as far as Darcy was concerned, it was Aliset that he held and Columcil's heart ached for the man who had become his friend. Surely he must know that nothing could come of this. Darcy gently wrapped the blanket around the sleeping form and made as though to bend down and kiss its forehead but thought better of it or perhaps sensed Columcil's warning glance. Without a word the men laid themselves down on their pallets and were themselves soon themselves in an exhausted sleep.

But, though he was more tired than he could ever remember being, Columcil woke while it was still dark. Although Aliset was young enough to be his daughter, and he had truly come to think of her with a father's affection, and though he was and always had been very content in his celibacy - listening to the confessed sins of marital disharmony for half-a-lifetime had left him on many occasions going home in great content to his solitary bed - he was not unaware of female beauty. "I'm celibate, not dead!" he muttered to himself, though he had no doubt that both Washburn and Darcy would have laughed themselves silly at the thought of the old priest being discomfitted by the close presence of a young woman - though they would be far too kind and well-mannered to be so rude to his face.

But that was the least of his worries- and in truth one he could have laughed at himself, muttered a prayer of apology to St Melangell for an old man's foolishness, and gone back to an untroubled sleep. His real fear was how long he could keep his true identity hidden in the presence of two Morgans. Sir Washburn had been worrying enough but his brother the Duke was another matter entirely. He had assumed that his dislike of Lord Jaxom was evidence of a dislike of the nobility in general - Sir Washburn's diffidence and courtesy being the exception - which would create a psychic barrier between himself and the Duke behind which he could hide. O sweet Jesus! Why did the man have to be so honourable and considerate so that Columcil found his respect, at first given grudgingly and out of duty, had turned to real honour and even liking. The Duke said little but he watched and Columcil worried about what he thought behind the few words. Ah well, it was in the hands of the Good Lord, though He too saw all and said little, and His plans were not necessarily in accordance with His servants' intentions. Tossing and turning was not going to resolve this and risked waking his companions for all that they were sleeping like the dead to all appearances. He rose as quietly as his aching body would allow and, taking his shoes in one hand and his pack in another, he stepped carefully over Darcy and went to find St Jorian.

[Jerusha]

"What do you think, Goodwife?"  The old tinker finished polishing the edges of the cooled solder he had poured inside the tin pot to cover the gaping hole.  He then pried out his tinker's dam of mud from the outside and held out the pot for inspection.  The gaping hole in bottom of the pot was now repaired and the pot was ready for the goodwife to scorch another batch of pease porridge. 

"Bless you, Master Tinker," the stout woman said.  "It's as good as new."

The tinker smiled and accepted the coins the woman counted out into his hand.  She was pleased enough at the repair work that she added a small piece of meat pie for the tinker to take with him.  The tinker thanked her, packed up his tools, and returned to his modest cart parked outside of her door.  He untied the reins of the old horse, waved farewell to the Goodwife and moved on to seek his next customer. 

As the tinker munched on the meat pie (he had eaten worse and he had eaten better), he studied the small knots of men and boys that gathered in doorways or around the town wells of Ratharkin.  In the week he had been in the town, the gatherings had become more numerous.  Talking among themselves in low towns, glancing up at the tinker but taking little notice of him.  He was not a stranger in Ratharkin; he visited the town periodically plying his trade. 

It was the new men on the town walls that troubled him.  Not many, but enough that he noticed they were not the same ones that often greeted him when he arrived, asking if he had a good dagger or two or a length of harness chain. 

It was late enough in the afternoon to pay a visit to the tavern near the city walls, the tavern that served the soldiers when they went off duty.  Or sometimes before.  The tinker halted and secured his cart at the side of the tavern and entered.  He was no stranger here, and the proprietor's wife greeted him warmly.

"Good to see you, Master Tinker!" she called as he entered.  "You have been long absent."

"Aye, that I have," the tinker answered.  "I caught a rheum in the spring, it laid me up for weeks.  Only now am I back on the roads of Meara."

"Glad you are now well, Master Tinker.  I've several pots that could use your mending."  The woman set a mug of ale on the table before him.

"My pleasure to be of service," he replied.

Settled on his stool, the tinker took a long drink of ale.  If you wanted to ensure the patronage of the local garrison, you served good ale, and it was good.

A middle aged man approached him.  Ah, Tinker," he said.  "This is not the Meara of the old days."

The tinker took another drink of his ale, giving him time to decide how to reply.  "Aye," he said.  "Not like the old days."

"Rightly spoken," the man said.  "Those were the days we had our own true queen!"

The tinker looked sorrowful.  "Aye," he said.  "I was there when Queen Caitrin gave up her crown to the Haldane."

The man gripped his shoulder and said, "Never fear, old man.  We will have our queen again."

The tinker nodded, noting the man's appearance for future reference, then returned his attention to his ale.

Not too long afterwards, he retrieved his cart and returned to the room he had rented in a conveniently located inn.  He had paid fair, but not extravagant, coin for the corner room that gave him a good view of the gate of Ratharkin's castle.  He was not as concerned about a breach of Ratharkin's town gate as he was that of the castle gate.  Every instinct told him something would happen soon.

He stood by the windows of his room after darkness fell, watching the town below.  While he could not see the city gate from this location, the increasing groups of men moving toward the castle told him the plan was in motion. At least fifty men stood outside the castle gate.  He saw a lone torch shine briefly; then the main gate of the castle was opened, and the men poured inside.

The tinker sighed.  There would be death in the castle this night, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it.  He moved back from the window and reached inside his battered tunic to retrieve his ward cubes.  He performed the familiar ritual and the protective arc rose above his head.  He sat and grasped a medallion that was attuned to the man he needed to reach.

Sir Iain Cameron, still in his guise as the old tinker, reached across the miles to contact Kelson Haldane, rightful King of Gwynedd, to inform him that the Mearan rebellion had begun.

[revanne]

Columcil made his way out of the guest quarters of the Abbey and into the silent church. Matins was over by some hours and though there was the faintest of silvery glows over to the east he judged that there would still be the best part of an hour until full light when the brethren and students would fill the church for Lauds.

He paused just inside the door, feeling calmed simply by the lingering smell of incense and the faint glow of the presence lamp by the high altar. His fingers felt automatically  for the holy water stoop and he blessed himself then genuflected towards the Presence with a sense of home coming. Walking comfortably in the dimness he slipped into the side chapel dedicated to St Jorian and was dismayed to find that another supplicant had got there before him. St Jorian, for all he was barely a generation raised to the altars, must surely be a comfort to many a young man struggling with his vocation given that he had been a student here himself before being revealed as Deryni and suffering the cruellest of deaths.

Columcil began to turn making to move back into the nave, but even that slightest of movements betrayed his presence. The figure crouching before the likeness of the saint turned his head and spoke, "Don't go! There is grace and enough for both of us here. He never got to be a priest in life, let him bless us from heaven."

"Your Grace, forgive me! I would not have presumed. Pardon my intrusion I beg you." Columcil knew he was babbling but he could only think of getting out of there. He bowed and again made to go but was again forestalled as the Duke got to his feet in one smooth movement and reached out a hand to draw him closer in. "Please, save your obeisance for Saint Jorian. Here I am just a humble petitioner. "

Kelric sighed looking younger than Columcil had seen him, then smiled. "There are times I miss my father so much. He could have advised his Majesty, and reassured mother so much better than I. And it was he that first told me about St Jorian.'

Columcil should have felt honoured by the casually revealed confidence that the Duke had been in conversation with both his Majesty the king and her Grace the dowager duchess this night. His priestly instincts should have been responding sensitively to a soul revealing its vulnerability. But, O God, it was fear of closeness to this very man that he feared and had brought him from his bed. He would have damned protocol and simple courtesy and walked away but for the terrible dawning fear that this untimely encounter might just be an answer to his prayer. 

Kelric had returned to his knees and since there seemed no alternative -he could after all hardly stand while a noble Duke knelt- Columcil knelt beside him. It was not for him to break the silence, besides which he felt strangely at peace.  After a while the Duke spoke again in a low voice.

"They took my father to watch him burn. A warning of the fate that would befall a Deryni boy who stepped beyond his bounds. He was only a boy and Jorian wasn't much older. And then when uncle Duncan choose to go into the priesthood, the fear my father suffered...." Kelric spoke almost to himself and seeming to realise this he turned and smiled apologetically at Columcil, with the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

"Forgive me father, you came here to pray not to listen to my maudlin reminiscences. St Jorian's story has a meaning for you too?"

There was no compulsion in the question, either from rank or arcane power yet  Columcil felt strangely compelled, and began to speak with a like openness to match the Duke's.

"Aye it does. His story was told to me by my gr...His Grace the Archbishop. "

Columcil tried to cover his slip but it was too late and with horror he saw the light of realisation dawn in the Duke's eyes. What had made him be so careless after all these years and to this man above all? Except perhaps that it was the sense of kinship, felt more strongly kneeling together in the gloom that had led him to make so foolish a slip to one who could make sense of the clues. Well,  he had broken his most solemn oath and must abide the consequences. Maybe he had somehow offended in his years of priesthood and this was God's way of punishing him, although -sweet Saint Melangell!- surely there were easier ways of disciplining an erring priest, especially  one whose sin, whatever it might be, was unwitting.

Several things that had been nagging at Kelric had indeed fallen into place. Dhugal's son! With his father's eyes and manner of speech, without the court polish of course, but now he knew what to look for...Dhugal as he was surrounded by his border Clansmen. ...of course. And conceived doubtless before he left for court. Well there was little shame in that, whatever the churchmen might say, so long as the child so conceived was provided for and given a way in life, which Columcil clearly had.  And that made him what? Well some sort of distant cousin, though to what degree he had no idea.

Kelric came out of his reverie, a little shocked but mainly pleased to find the answer to an admittedly minor puzzle, to find the man beside him deathly pale as though he had received a death sentence. There was some secret here, something wrong beyond his illegitimacy. Were not illegitmates barred from the priesthood? But Colcumcil had spoken of at least one personal conversation with Duncan who must surely have recognised his grandson and therefore overruled the bar in his case.Whatever the cause the man deserved better of the Duke of Corwyn than his world should crash around him, so he had better set about righting the havoc he had clearly, though unwittingly, caused. Making no use of his Deryni powers, they would be out of place in so sensitive a situation, but putting into his tone the authority that would insist upon an answer, he asked gently,

"Unacknowledged? "

"He doesn'a even ken me ma fell wi' a bairn. His excellency the Archbishop,he that's my grandfather, knows and has been aye guid ta me. It's thanks ta him that I could be a priest despite that all knew I had nae father who knew me. And I swore ta him on holy writ that I'd no betray wha I am. An I never have, and I blab it noo to a Duke, of all people. Nae disrespect to your Grace. And I came here to pray that St Jorian would keep my secret safe. Guid has an aye strange sense of humour."

It all poured out and Kelric felt the anguish and the integrity. Well he was no priest but he too held men's secrets. Getting to his feet he moved to stand in front of Columcil and took his hands in his as though he were receiving homage.

"Be comforted. I receive your secret, which you have kept with honour and asking nothing but the right to serve, and will hold it as under the seal of the confessional,  You deserve much more of me, but this at least I can and do give. You have my solemn word I will reveal none of this save that if Archbishp Duncan should speak of you I ask your leave to answer him openly. Read the truth of what I say"

The formal dispassionate language and the ritual gestures calmed Columcil, as they were meant to, and though in his heart he already knew that he could trust this man's honour, he did as he was bid and and raised his amber eyes shining with tears to meet the Duke's gaze and, impertinent though such presumption seemed to him, read there the truth behind the words ((4+6 = 10 1rkczmmrqd. These hero points are mounting up nicely )). He managed to whisper "Aye my Lord, thank ye^  before his precarious composure left him entirely as in a reversal of the usual form Kelric bent his head and kissed Columcil's hands before slipping back to his knees beside the priest and for the first and most likely the only time embraced him as a kinsman.

Columcil could not really take in Kelric's words but he could not mistake his intent. It seemed that he had been led to make that slip not for punishment but to calm his fears. He could not restrain his tears, and when Kelric knelt back down beside him and put his arm around him he found himself weeping into his shoulder, heedless of rank.

All too soon the light became noticeably brighter and columcil's inner sense of time reasserted itself and reluctantly he withdrew from the comfort of Kelric's arms.

"The brethren will be here for Lauds soon, I'll gang and leave ye to your prayers."

Columcil climbed awkwardly to his feet, wiping his face on his sleeve, then turned and bending brought one of Kelric's hands to his lips, though he could only manage to whisper, "Thank you, Your Grace.' Then he turned and made his way out of the Church.

[Jerusha]

Lord Jaxom Trillick closed the door of the room he had been sleeping in behind him. He hesitated for a moment, thinking that perhaps his plan was not a wise one.  The answer to a casual question to one of the lay servants had told him which of the rooms Lord Alister had been taken to.  Like everyone else in their party, except for Lord Alister who had collapsed into the arms of a very startled Duke of Corwyn, Jaxom had fallen deeply asleep as soon as he laid down on his own pallet.  Not too long ago, however, he had wakened and been unable to fall back asleep.  The question of whether the young Lord Alister was actually his sister Aliset would not let him rest.   So Jaxom left his squire soundly sleeping, and now found himself in the narrow corridor between the guest rooms of Arx Fedei.

Surely, Lord Alister's annoying man-at-arms and the old priest would not be sharing the same room with Lady Aliset.  If his suspicion was right, that would not be proper at all, no matter how well Lady Aliset disguised herself!  Would she be able to maintain her disguise as she slept?  Jaxom couldn't imagine how she would be able to.  He walked quietly down the corridor, reached the room he was seeking, and listened at the door, hearing no sound of movement.

Roll to see if Darcy will wake up as Lord Jaxom tries to enter.  Rolling not at a disadvantage as Darcy has now had some sleep.
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
14:12   derynibot   5, 5 == 10
(Success – sorry Jaxom!)

Jaxom pulled the door open and peered inside.  Only one pallet of the two he saw in the room appeared to be occupied.  In the dim light, he could not make out the features of the person sleeping on it.  He would go inside just far enough to get a better look.  As he stepped forward, he was not expecting to encounter a barrier across the door.  As he tried to step over whatever it was, an arm reached up, grabbed his leg, and toppled him backward.

As the man crashed to the floor with a startled yelp, Darcy Cameron was on his feet with his sword in his hand.  He laid the tip against the man's chest.  "I would be very careful how you move next," he said. 

The man froze, and Darcy smiled a grim smile.  "Why Lord Jaxom," he said quietly.  "This is a surprise.  Are you lost?"

"Let me up, you fool!"  Jaxom kept his voice equally quiet.  "I couldn't sleep and thought I should check on Lord Alister."

"Get up," Darcy said after a moment and sheathed his sword.  "Lord Alister still sleeps soundly.  And good for you he does."  Darcy watched as Jaxom stood, trying to recover his composure as best he could. Darcy stood in the doorway, his arms outstretched with his hands resting on both sides, blocking the view of the inside. 

"What's this?"  Father Columcil asked as came down the corridor and approached them. 

"I was just checking on Lord Alister," Jaxom replied.  "I'm afraid I startled Master Darcy."

"That is certainly true! Now good night, Lord Jaxom."  Darcy's stern look clearly indicated that no further conversation was welcome.  Jaxom turned and retreated down the corridor; Darcy turned aside and let Columcil back into the room, closing the door behind them.

"Checking on Lord Alister's well-being my...."  Darcy broke off his sentence.  "Sorry, Father."

Columcil edged closer to the pallet where Aliset still slept, blissfully unaware of what had just happened.

"I can't believe she is still asleep," Darcy said quietly.  "Is she all right?"

The priest observed her breathing for a moment and then nodded.  "What really did happen here?" he asked.

Darcy quickly told him, all the while looking at Aliset's even breathing.  "Do you think we should tell her in the morning?"

Columcil looked toward the shuttered window of the room.  Pale light was beginning to show along the edges.  "It's already morning.  Secrets can be a great burden, Master Darcy.  I suggest we tell her when she awakes.  Or rather you, since I wasn't here for most of it."

Darcy nodded, but was puzzled at the sense of peace the priest seemed to have acquired after the tension of the previous day.  It was not his place to ask; it probably came from being a priest.

Darcy adjusted his pallet and then sat with his arms crossed over his chest and leaned against the door. 

"You're going to sit like that, are you?"  Columcil asked.

"Aye. Until Lady Aliset wakes up, no one else is getting through this door!"

[Laurna]

Sleeping soundly in this safe place of refuge, Washburn experience a dream where he chose to go to seminary school instead of mastering the art of weapons. In this school, he locked himself into the study of books and manuscripts and the art of Healing. His studies allowed him to avoid the violence and bloodshed of the past days. In this dream, the knight came to the realization that he had matured beyond the need to be the best at swordplay and the best at archery, perhaps the time had come to focus his talents on more beneficial needs. Join a monastery and study.

Then the bells rang in his dreams, they rang even as he awoke to the sound. It was the early hour of Lauds. Washburn groaned at the thought of being forced to get up so early for worship. It was not in his bones to be that devout.  One service at Trece or even one at Sext was more than enough. "Sorry Uncle Duncan," he said to himself, I will promise to learn and to try to be a good healer, he thought but not to be a priest. Content with this new path that had opened for him, he rolled over on his cot and went back to sleep even before the bells finished tolling. Too many fatigue banishing spells; the mind was not yet done exacting its revenge for a spell to often used.

In his sleep, the knight was dreaming again. "Help us! Help us!" Cried out a feminine voice. "The castle is taken, the guards are killed," the voice wasn't a voice, rather a panicked girl's mind, a mind shouting as loud and as hard as it could, to whoever could hear her. "Their killing the servants now, they will find me! Help me! Help Ratherkin!" And then Washburn was instantly awake and there was not but silence in the room around him.  He sat up on his cot in a sudden cold sweat. It was only a dream, a cold harsh dream. Then why had if felt so real.  In his heart, he knew it was real.

A shiver ran through his spine.  In the light of the morning sun through the half open shutters, the Lendour knight noticed that the larger guest bed was empty. His brother was already awake and away.  As was the squire who had slept on the pallet by the door. His protective instincts kicked into full motion, in moments he was dressed in the fresh tunic that had been laid at the foot of his cot.  He shoved his feet in his boots and ran out the door into the narrow hallway, in need to find his brother and in need to know that Aliset and his friends were alright. Aliset was closer.

He barged into the room where he knew she slept. It felt like there was furniture blocking the door, so he shoved hard, stopping only when he heard a loud "OOWW!" As the door finally opened. 

[Jerusha]

Darcy Cameron stood glaring in the doorway, one hand on the hilt of his sword.  Was there no end to injury on this journey?  Recognizing Sir Washburn, he released his hold on the hilt and started rubbing his back as he moved out of the doorway. 

"You could have knocked or otherwise announced yourself, Sir Washburn," he said.

"I needed to check on your welfare," Washburn said.

"You'll have to get in line," Darcy said dryly.

"I think NOT!"

Surprised at the sharpness of the Lendour knight's tone, Darcy made a slight bow and winced.  "Beg pardon," he said, "but you are not the first visitor we've had trying to come through that door."

Sir Washburn took a deep breath.  "I beg your pardon, Master Darcy.  I had a most disturbing dream just before waking.  What do you mean, you had another visitor?"

"Lord Jaxom," Darcy replied, as Aliset stirred on the pallet and sat up, hugging the blanket around her as if needing comfort.

"Lord Jaxom?"  she asked. 

"Aye.  He stepped on me when he tried to enter the room.  Without knocking."

"What did you do, Master Darcy?"  Washburn asked, hoping it had not involved bloodshed.

"I tossed him on his head.  Least likely place he'd be injured."  Darcy looked smug.

"You did what?" Sir Washburn's eyes widened.

"Tossed him, just like a caber.  When he tried step over me I grabbed his leg and tossed him backward outside the door.  So not exactly like a caber, but close enough."  Darcy was grinning now.   

"What in the world did he want?" Aliset remained seated, the blanket still gripped tightly.

Darcy's grin faded.  "He said he couldn't sleep and wanted to check on Lord Alister. It was true enough, from what I could tell, but it didn't excuse trying to sneak into the room." 

"Master Darcy," Aliset said.  "We all had a very trying day.  Perhaps it was nothing more than he stated."

Darcy looked at Father Columcil, and Columcil cleared his throat.  "It might not be that innocent," he said cautiously, "except I realized last evening that somehow, he has figured out you are Lady Aliset and not your brother.  I took the liberty of letting Duke Kelric know and Master Darcy."

"And my brother told me, after we had retired to our room."  Washburn sighed; this day was not starting well.

"Lady Aliset," Darcy asked, finally noticing that she looked pale.  "Are you unwell?"

Rather than answer Darcy directly, Aliset looked at Washburn.  "You said you had a disturbing dream. What was it?"

[Laurna]

Sir Washburn took in  deep breath before answering the lady. "Ratherkin is besieged and a girl child was calling out for help." The knight didn't want to mention the killing that had been claimed, he didn't want to upset lady Aliset more, but from the look of horror across her eyes, he knew she had experienced the same dream.

"Then, it wasn't a dream," she whispered, ducking her face into the blanket for an instant. Then she too sucked in a deep breath, picked up her head, and bravely looked at the three men who would all do anything and everything that they could for her. "If His Grace doesn't already know, we need to tell him. And I have more to tell him too." Her feet slide to the floor at the side of the pallet, yet she didn't stand, not just yet. "Sir Washburn. can you find you brother and bid him to meet with me in a private place. Umm, Gentleman, ah rather, Master Darcy and Father Columcil? Pray excuse me for just a moment while I dress. If you guard the outside door, should be good enough."

Even though all three men were looking at the face of Lord Alister they all three saw the lovely features of Lady Aliset hidden beneath the guise. An embarrassed blush crossed all three men's cheeks as they made sudden haste to exit the room.

[Evie]

She had little enough to wear that was suitable for entering a Duke's presence, save for one undamaged outfit, but she could hardly appear before His Grace of Corwyn in Alister's guise wearing Aliset's spare clothing! Nor could she resume her own shape just yet, not with Lord Jaxom apparently peeking in doors in hopes of catching her out and confirming his suspicions about her secret. Sighing, she put together an outfit from the least damaged garments from Alister's wardrobe, promising herself that once they arrived in Rhemuth, she would make all haste to a laundry and a seamstress with her remaining gold, and not necessarily in that order.  But for now, illusion would have to suffice.

((16:45   Aliset   !roll 2d6
16:45   derynibot   2, 4 == 6))

Or maybe not.  Aliset surveyed "Alister's" reflection in her pocket mirror with a critical eye.  Yes, perhaps the illusion of more presentable garments she attempted to conjure up might hide the stains and tears in her clothing from the casual gaze of someone not expecting to see anything but a lord in his finery, but even as she attempted the spell, Aliset knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Duke Kelric would see straight past any such attempt at salvaging her appearance.  Ah well, at least she need not confess the sin of vanity to Father Columcil later.

Combing her hair and fastening it back in a neat Border braid, for she could manage that much without resorting to an illusion, at least, she took a deep breath and stepped out of her chamber.  Master Darcy stood just outside the door, waiting with Father Columcil to escort her to the chapel.  As they approached the sacred space, Lord Washburn's presence just outside the chapel door hinted that his mission to locate and bring his brother to meet with her had met with success.  Smiling at him in gratitude, she allowed him to open the door and escort her into the ducal presence.

Duke Kelric turned towards her, his gaze curious, as his brother retreated to the chapel door, still within view yet discreetly out of earshot.  As Aliset stifled the instinctive urge to curtsey and bowed deeply instead, the duke paused briefly, as if to sense that they were truly unobserved, before gesturing to her to be at ease.

"My Lady," he addressed her, his voice purposely kept low despite the lack of anyone else nearby who might eavesdrop on their conversation, "I am told you have urgent news you wish to share with me."

"Aye, Your Grace," Aliset confirmed.  "It concerns Lord Buckley's steward, the man who threw himself upon your brother's sword.  As he fell, I managed to catch him long enough to do a Death-Reading."  Her voice faltered briefly; some people--even among the Deryni--disapproved of that particular use of magic, and she belatedly realized she did not know what Duke Kelric's personal feelings on such usage. But his questioningly arched eyebrow seemed to betoken only curiosity, not anger.  Thus encouraged to continue, she added, "I was not able to learn much, but I did discover that he acted in the service of a lady he believed to be the rightful Queen of Meara, and that her name is Lady Sidana Quinnell de Paor."  At the Duke's thoughtful frown, Aliset added, "I am not sure how familiar you are with the baronial families on this side of the Kingdom, Your Grace, but before Sir Jass MacArdry was made Baron of Trurill, the previous Baron was Brice de Paor.  His lands were attainted after his treacherous actions during the last Mearan war, but he left a son who would have considered himself the rightful heir to Trurill--Brioc de Paor.  He evidently married a daughter of the late Prince Ithel, which is how the Lady Sidana comes by her claim."

"I see." The Duke pondered the information. "An illegitimate claimant, I presume, since Ithel of Meara died unwed?"

"It would seem likely, Your Grace, although a claimant nonetheless.  Or perhaps some sort of clandestine marriage is being claimed at this late date. I wasn't able to glean that much information, I'm afraid.  In any case, there are still enough discontents in Meara who would grasp at any straw to restore the Quinnell line to a Mearan throne, even if the pretender is baseborn and on the distaff side of that ancient lineage." Aliset gave him a wry smile. "My household's and my own personal loyalties to King Kelson notwithstanding, we Mearans breed strong Queens, you must admit, Your Grace."

Kelric smiled at that.  "So it seems, and strong ladies as well. I must confess I was a little taken aback to find my brother providing escort for a young lord when it was a lady I had sent him to protect, though under the circumstances I must admit your present disguise is probably for the best."

Aliset tried to stifle a blush, but the warmth in her cheeks informed her she had failed dismally. Seeking to divert the Duke's attention from her present unkempt attempt at disguise, she suddenly remembered the other thing she had managed to glean from the dying man's mind.  "Oh! I nearly forgot, there was one other thing I saw!"  Holding out her hand to him, she asked, "Might I show you? It's a visual memory."

The corners of Kelric's lips twitched in amused remembrance. "Only if you promise not to fall into a dead faint this time, Lady Aliset."

Embarrassment struggled with mortified amusement briefly. The amusement won, and Aliset found herself giggling.  Unable to meet his humor-filled eyes, she closed her own as she focused on the image she had gleaned from Steward Dolin's mind in those final moments of fading memories.  The Duke's hand warm in her upturned palm, Aliset called to mind the mountain castle silhouetted against the Mearan sky.