The Worlds of Katherine Kurtz

Luckily I knew what was coming so was careful not to be eating anything squidgy.

I'm pleased to see that the blood of the Dukes of Claibourne runs true. Old Ewan of Kelson's era would be proud of his successor.

Cinhil has a good way with words, his dignity and courage are tear-jerking, no wonder poor Colin is so gutted by what he knows must be. As I read it, he has come to terms with the fact he will be King, Catalina has helped with that, and even with the changed relationship with Mellie, painful though that is, but he hasn't even begun to come to terms with finally losing his older brother.

Added for Chapter Twenty-Eight:

The House of MacEwan

Previous chapter: https://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php/topic,3255.0.html


Chapter Twenty-Eight

September 10, 1464
The City of Rhemuth
Evening

The mixed Jouvian and Nördmarcker troops had managed to evade Prince Camber's army by moving well east of the Eirian, but after putting a safe distance between themselves and their pursuers, they bore southward towards the Molling before following that river westward, intending to complete their loop at the Kingdom's capital. In the meantime, the Eistenmarckers had disembarked in Concaradine and Desse, each group of soldiers commandeering smaller craft at these port towns to move further upriver towards Rhemuth, since the Eirian wasn't navigable by the larger seafaring ships north of the confluence with the Molling. The contingent landing at Desse had a slightly longer delay in proceeding upriver, as those ships contained fewer men but more valuable cargo which would need to be brought upriver by means of barges.

But now, the forces had combined, setting up their breastworks a short distance from the Rhemuth city walls and moat, and were setting up their war camp behind the protective ramparts they had erected.

While the gathering enemy had still been few in number, soldiers from the Rhemuth garrison had ventured forth, engaging with the newly arriving Jouvian forces, hoping to reduce their number while they were still hungry and tired from their forced march and before they could set up their own defensive positions. It soon became clear that the incoming forces would swiftly outnumber the men of Rhemuth who had ventured out from the safety of the city gates to meet them, so after a short while the men of the garrison fell back, the archers on the watch towers above Bishopsgate giving them cover as they retreated once more to the safety of the city walls, the gate being shut and barred behind them.

Now the city waited with bated breath to see what nightfall would bring, or whether the expected attack on the city walls would begin closer to dawn instead. Thus far, all seemed relatively quiet, if by 'quiet' one simply meant that no fire or stones were falling from the sky yet, and no enemy troops with scaling ladders had been seen approaching any of the walls. The city watched, waited, and grew more filled with anticipatory dread as those who stood guard over them heard the ominous sounds of men speaking in strange tongues, horses whinnying, camp fires crackling, metal clanging, and wood being sawed and hammered at various locations in the dark distance, a little beyond the range of bowshot. The main encampment was to the northeast of the city, blocking access to the Via Rûmana, but as the barges began to arrive, newer encampments were set up to the northwest, across the Eirian from the river docks. Not long after that, there were sounds of screams and a skirmish outside the Millgate, on the southern side of the City, in the adjoining borough of Millbridge just across the River Molling from the City proper. Normally, the garrison would have responded promptly, but with the walls surrounded by enemy forces, they dared not open the gate and risk letting the invaders in. The good citizens of Millbridge had been warned ahead of time to cross the Molling and seek shelter within the Rhemuth city walls before the enemy arrived. Most had heeded the warning. Those who had not were learning at great cost why the evacuation orders had been given.

Warding the entire city would have been impossible. Even if they'd called upon every Deryni in Rhemuth to assist, there was only so long they could maintain sufficient energy for the wards to hold for any decent length of time. But they could magically reinforce the gates. Hopefully that would prove sufficient until dawn's light.


September 11, 1464
The City of Rhemuth
Two hours past midnight

The aerial bombardment began in the middle of the night, shortly after the uneasy citizens of Rhemuth had managed to either overcome their anxieties long enough to fall asleep, or sheer exhaustion had ensured they'd fallen asleep anyway. The enemy took advantage of the darkness to send small groups of black-clad archers out in brief sorties to send fire arrows over the walls before retreating to the breastworks before Rhemuth's archers could spot them and return answering fire. The Night Watch responded quickly, putting out the flames that had managed to start where the arrows had landed on targets easily set aflame, though that task managed to keep them occupied for some hours. All counted it as fortunate that the City had passed a law after the Great Fire of 1366 to ban thatched rooftops within the walls of Rhemuth, though of course there were still many old wattle and daub homes in the poorer parts of the city that were not as well-maintained as they ought to be, and which therefore were more susceptible to catching alight than the brick and stone buildings in the more affluent parts of the City, especially if the flames happened to catch some patch of exposed dry wattle on a wall where the daub had cracked and fallen off.

No sooner had the city started to relax again, those awakened by the first attack falling back into slumber in the pre-dawn hours, than shouts from the watchtowers alerted those within the walls of fresh peril as here and there, round stones began to rain from the sky. These volleys were of fairly short range, most falling within fifty to a hundred feet of the perimeter walls, but where they landed they holed roofs, knocked chunks out of walls, and occasionally severely injured or killed those who were unlucky enough to be where the stone could strike a direct or glancing blow.

Thus began the first morning of the siege, with each fresh onslaught beginning just as the people within the walls were beginning to think they were past the worst of the previous one, though few were optimistic enough to think that the siege would not eventually grow far worse than how it had started off. If the enemy meant to keep the people of Rhemuth mostly sleepless and demoralized, thus far their campaign was proving to be a success, though whether such effort could be sustained through all hours of the day or night over the longer term was still anyone's guess.


September 11, 1464
The Duke of Carthmoor's command center
City of Ramos
Dawn

Lord Geoffrey Arilan woke up from a dream that Rhemuth was under siege. As he drew a deep breath to collect his thoughts, he felt an inner certainty that it was not merely a dream.

Prince Nicholas came bounding down the stairs, only half dressed, still fastening his belt as he rounded the corner to speak to his intelligencer. "You dreamed it too?" he asked without preamble.

"Rhemuth?" Geoffrey asked, already knowing the answer.

"Khadasa!" The prince dragged his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair. "I was hoping it was just a nightmare. I'll inform Cassan and Alarikos to make ready to head out. All should be nearly in readiness already; we just need to move out a couple of days earlier than planned. I've already spoken with them about the need for them to lead the march to Rhemuth, since we'll need to arrive ahead of them to serve Cinhil's need."

"Do they know why we need to go ahead of them? Or just that we do? And what of Corwyn?"

Nicholas shook his head, his eyes bleak with frustration. "No, I haven't told them that the King plans to offer himself up as a sacrifice for the land, as if this wasn't the bloody Year of Our Lord Fourteen-Hundred and Sixty-Four. They'll find out soon enough. And as for Joss, he's the King's Champion. If I don't at least bring him into Cinhil's plan, he will never forgive me. Maybe there's still hope he can talk Cinhil out of it."

"Not that I want to see Cinhil's end any more than you do, Colin, but what would that serve except to buy him a few more days of increasing misery?" Geoffrey quietly asked.

Cinhil's heir slumped into a chair.  "You're right." He looked up at Geoffrey, his expression defeated. "But I don't have to like it."


September 11, 1464
The Royal Hunting Lodge
Candor Rhea
Dawn

Prince Camber had not gone to bed the night before in the best frame of mind. The Jouvian troops had been leading them in a merry chase throughout the Duchy of Haldane, eventually circling on themselves and forging a path that Camber knew would lead them back directly towards Rhemuth. He had hoped to intercept them before they got there, but then he had received word of the attacks on Concaradine by Eistenmarcker ships. If they had gone as far upriver as Concaradine, then Camber knew they had likely hit Desse as well in the time it had taken for the message to get to him, and were almost certainly encamped around Rhemuth by now, quite outnumbering the combined forces led by him and Prince Philippe. Camber had no desire to lead his troops directly into the center of the pincers, thus they had retreated to Camber Rhea instead to regroup and figure out the best approach to joining up with Colin's men, who would almost certainly be heading towards Rhemuth as well by now.

There was another reason he wished to return to Camber Rhea. It had a known portal. Camber knew this because he had helped to put it there.

Camber had explained to his new brother-by-marriage that once the summons came, he would need to return to Rhemuth by means of the portal immediately, which would mean that Philippe and the Earl of Jenas would need to lead their troops to join up with Colin's without him. That also would not have been part of Camber's ideal plan, had the decision been left up to him, but short of knowing any magic that would allow him to be in two places at once, it would have to serve.

So now his men had set up a temporary encampment just outside the village, more welcome than the Jouvians had been, but still not wishing to outstay their welcome, for the Jouvians had wreaked havoc on the village's remaining provisions and those in their own baggage train were beginning to run low. Camber and a small entourage of knights and men-at-arms ventured up the road leading to the royal lodge, the prince wishing to assure himself that the enemy had not left the property in too much disarray or, more importantly, somehow rendered the portal inoperable. He wasn't entirely sure Prince Rémy would even have had the knowledge of how to destroy a portal without killing himself in the process–and wouldn't that have saved them all a lot of time and grief!--but that didn't mean he didn't have access to others in his army who did.

The upside of his investigation was that the portal was still fully functional, although the stable still resonated disconcertingly of death, so Camber had had to deal with cleansing that, lest it spook any horses that might be stabled there in future. Entering the lodge had also put him off the brief notion he had entertained of spending the night there. He could sense Rémy's former presence there as if it were some form of haunting requiring exorcism. At least during his previous two visits, when it had simply been Colin's love nest, the worst Camber had had to endure was the need for a cold bath afterwards.

He had finally returned to his pavilion outside the village long after dark, falling exhaustedly into his camp bed and hoping to sleep until Terce, not that such a late awakening seemed all that likely. Instead, he was awakened at dawn by visions of Rhemuth burning and the clamor of an overly eager rooster crowing loudly at the dawn's first light.


September 13, 1464
Rhemuth Castle
The King's bedchamber
Morning

"Have you spoken to the Camberian Council yet, Lord Geoffrey?" the King asked between labored breaths.

"I have, Your Majesty." Geoffrey studied Cinhil's pale face and heaving chest with concern, hoping they had not left matters until far too late. "They have agreed to send representatives to arbitrate in the duel as soon as they receive my signal that all is in readiness for their arrival."

Cinhil nodded. He glanced at Alixa, who finished stirring something into a goblet of wine and brought it to him. The King ventured a few sips before leaning back into his pillows, his breathing easing slightly. He smiled up at his wife gratefully, giving her hand a slight squeeze before continuing on. "And Colin?"

"He's on his way," Geoffrey assured him, "and bringing the Duke of Corwyn with him."

They heard the outer door open, and a moment later the King's squire announced the arrival of Prince Camber. Camber stopped just inside the door, examining his ailing brother in consternation. Cinhil's health had declined markedly in the short time he had been away from Rhemuth. "Jesú, Cin, you look ghastly!" he blurted out before his mind caught up with his tongue.

Cinhil's eyes gleamed with amusement as he took in his youngest brother's appearance. "And you appear to be trying to shapeshift into a bear. Are you certain you're not one of the Eistermarcker's bear-sarkers here to finish me off?"

Alixa giggled as her brother-by-marriage grinned sheepishly. "At least I took a proper bath before entering your august presence, even if I didn't stop to visit a barber along the way," Camber said. "I figure if I can pass myself off as a Biblical patriarch, maybe I can call down a lightning bolt or two to smite the enemy. Worth a try, anyway."

"They'll likely call on Thor, hoping to do the same, so why not?" Cinhil joked. "Since they're already hitting us with fire and stones anyway." Glancing at Alixa, he asked, "Have we received any updates on the damage reports yet?"

"The Shambles was hit pretty hard," she told him, "and an entire row of butchers' shops are completely ruined, but the damage in other parts of the City is fairly light thus far, and mostly confined to the neighborhoods closest to the walls."

Cinhil nodded. "Not too surprising. They haven't had time to erect the heavier trebuchets yet, so that sounds more like they were using lighter catapults with less range. Of course, the longer they sit out there assembling their siege engines to use against us at their leisure, the worse we can count on their attacks becoming, though not if I can help it. The last thing we want is to find ourselves still under bombardment in three or four months, with a siege tower ready and waiting for use outside our walls."

The outer door opened again, and this time the duty squire announced the arrivals of Prince Nicholas and the Duke of Corwyn.

"Sorry for the delay," the prince said after the two of them had made their greetings to the King. "We decided to arrive via the Cathedral portal to get a better sense of how the City has been affected by the siege so far on our way up to the Castle. I'm assuming the Castle has been spared any damage thus far, since it looks to be mostly concentrated on the opposite side of the City from here."

"The rivers are wide enough to have afforded us some protection, plus they will need more range to send missiles vertically over the motte into our curtain wall," Cinhil said, "though I expect that will change before too much longer. I've been hearing the sounds of something under construction outside my window throughout the night and day."

"That must be awfully annoying for any of their off-duty soldiers attempting to catch up on their sleep," Camber remarked.

"Yes, poor dears," Cinhil responded drily. "Though I'm sure you'll excuse me if I'm less concerned by their inability to sleep than my own. Though I suppose that won't really be an issue for me soon enough."

At that sobering reminder, they turned their attention to the night's work ahead.


September 13, 1464
Outside the City of Rhemuth
The Eistenmarcke war camp
Late Morning

"Bring in our distinguished guest, Björn," Ingrid the Konungamóðir commanded from her high throne at the center of her war pavilion. Beside her sat young King Haakon, sharpening his sword. He looked up to share an amused grin with his friend Prince Rémy, delighted to be reunited with his honorary brother after several weeks' absence. The Konungamóðir also shot the Jouvian prince a veiled look as she awaited Björn's return, for she had a less favorable view of Rémy's influence on her young and impressionable son, but for the moment at least, Renier's son was still useful. Ingrid hoped he could be gotten rid of at the earliest opportunity; to say she was not in favor of the Jouvian's views regarding women was a bit of an understatement. Haakon would need a proper wife someday, not merely a practice one but someone who would serve as a strong right hand for him and a Konungamóðir to future kings, and that was hardly likely to happen if her son grew up weakened by this decadent fool who thought that all women were mere disposable playthings.

Björn soon returned with their blindfolded prisoner. Ingrid regarded the once proud man before her. Captured nearly four months earlier, the aged Duke of Claibourne had certainly seen better days. His armor had been taken from him when he'd been captured, leaving him clad only in the arming doublet and breeches he'd worn beneath it, now stained and ragged from months of wear with no opportunity to change into anything cleaner. The man reeked.

"Torval, darling, please make His Grace of Claibourne more presentable," Ingrid purred.

"I don't specialize in miracles, but I'll do my best," King Torval replied. He stood, crossing to the center of the large space before Ingrid's throne, moving one of his nicer carpets out of the way before creating a warded space on the bare ground. Cutting an arched doorway in the warded circle, he had Björn lead the duke into it, leaving him at the center of the space as the other two men stepped outside of it, Torval closing the doorway behind them. He muttered a few words as he traced a glyph before the warded dome, and inside of it a sudden torrent of rain fell upon the startled captive, who dropped to the ground curled up in the fetal position under the unexpected onslaught. After a couple of minutes, the watery deluge ended, and a stiff breeze swirled around the inside of the dome, whipping at the man's hair and tattered clothing and evaporating the droplets from his damp skin.

"I suppose that's slightly better, but it still won't serve. He'll need a change of clothes before we send him back, otherwise they're likely to mistake him for a beggar, and that won't do at all," Ingrid said.

Torval dispersed the wards. Björn stepped forward to take charge of the prisoner again.

"My lady, if His Grace is meant to change into new clothing, he might have an easier time of it if we unbind him and take the blindfold off," Torval suggested. "Surely you can't imagine he'll be much of a threat in his present state?"

Ingrid shrugged. "Likely not. I'll allow it. You may remove his gag as well. And please delouse him; as much as I would love to return him to the Haldanes with the gift that keeps on giving, I would rather not have lice and nits in my pavilion carpets."

"Easily enough done," said Torval, passing his hands over the man's hair and clothing in such a way that made the duke's hair and beard briefly stand on end and his clothing crackle with static charge. He removed the blindfold and gag from the old duke, giving the man a few moments to grow accustomed to the sudden brightness of the sunlight filtered through the canvas roof and walls of the pavilion. "I will unbind you now, if you will give me your parole that you will not attempt to fight or flee," Torval told the duke.

Old Claibourne blinked rapidly as his eyes watered under the sudden brightness after months of dim or nonexistent light. "Y'r sendin' me back?" he croaked in a voice rusty with disuse. "I tak' it His Majesty 'as paid me ransom, then?"

"Not yet, I'm afraid," Ingrid answered, "but then again, I haven't asked him for it yet. I will be sending my terms to him later this evening. After that, we shall see."

"An' if he disnae meet y'r terms?" the duke asked.

She shrugged. "I am hoping he will have the good sense to do so, but if he doesn't, you have my word that you will be returned to him regardless. You are too old to serve me as a thrall."

"Sae if Cinhil has th' guid sense tae no' accept y'r terms, I can expect tae be returned in a pine box," the duke said with an unamused snort.

Ingrid smiled. "Not exactly. But something like that. So do we have your parole, or shall we just send you back looking like that, unkempt, unshorn, and unrecognizable? You'll likely just end up getting buried in the Potter's Field, looking like that."

"Tha' seems unlikely, Madam. If ye've brought me tae th' gates o' Rhemuth, then chances are high tha' ye're currently camped upon it."


September 13, 1464
Bishopsgate
Northeastern Rhemuth
Early afternoon

The guards on the watch towers overlooking Bishopsgate and the Via Rûmana saw the mounted herald approaching from behind the enemy breastworks, his flag of parley held high. One called to their captain, who went to join those standing on the wall, peering out for a better view. They saw him stop at a point roughly midway between the enemy encampment and the gate.

"I'll meet with him," said the captain. "Have the archers make ready to loose their arrows at the first hint of any treachery."

A few minutes later, the guard captain rode out of the sally port to meet the herald. The two men conferred briefly at the middle ground before the herald gave him a stiff bow and rode back towards the enemy lines. The guard captain likewise returned to the safety of the city walls, bearing a sealed message and a small wooden box. He handed both to his lieutenant.

"It's a message for the King."

The lieutenant, already mounted with the expectation that was likely the case, saluted and immediately headed up the King's Way towards the castle.


September 13, 1464
The King's Bedchamber
Rhemuth Castle
Afternoon

"Thank you, William," said the King to his squire. "Send the man in."

The King sat up straighter in bed as the officer of the guard entered the room, looking nervous. "This was delivered by a herald wearing Nördmarcke livery about half an hour ago, Your Majesty," the guard said.

"All right, let's have a look," said Cinhil, starting to reach for the items the guard held. He was smoothly intercepted by the King's Champion, who stepped between the King and the guard.

"Nothing against you," the Duke of Corwyn reassured the guard. "I just want to make sure there isn't some sort of nasty surprise in that delivery meant to harm the King." He took the items from the suddenly pale guard's hand, running a hand over both to see if he could sense any threat emanating from either. He did sense something very unpleasant, but not deadly, at least not for Cinhil. With some reluctance, he handed over the sealed letter, continuing to hold the small box.  "We probably don't really want to see what's in this box, though I fear we shall need to anyhow, Sire. Maybe it would be best to read the message first."

Cinhil cracked open the wax seal, swiftly perusing the contents of the letter. "It's Ingrid's terms of parley, if one can dignify them by calling them that," he said with an unamused snort before reading the letter aloud. "Unto Cinhil erstwhile King of Gwynedd comes this missive from Ingrid Konungamóðir: Greetings." Looking up, he added, "Can you imagine that style of address catching on here? 'Soraya Kingsmother'... it has a certain flair to it, don't you agree?" With a grim smile, he continued on. "Enclosed are our terms of parley. All of Rhendall and Marley and the lands to the north thereof for Our especial use, to be handed down to Our sons hereafter in perpetuity. All lands east of the Eirian River and north of the Lendour and Dunedall Rivers for Our lord husband King Torval of Nördmarcke. All lands west of the Eirian for Our son and heir King Haakon Sigmundsson of Eistenmarcke. The lands south of the Lendour and Dunedall Rivers for Rémy, Prince of Joux."

"Rémy wants Corwyn? Oh, hell no!" said Corwyn's duke, laughing. "Let him come get it from me. I'll wait. And I'm pretty sure Colin will take a dim view of him trying to claim Carthmoor."

"In return, We will show mercy to any persons laying down arms to accept these terms of surrender, save to those of the blood Haldane, who will be granted swift and humane execution as befits persons of the blood royal. Signed by my hand this penultimate day of Tvímánuður, in the second summer of the reign of King Haakon Sigmundssøn, Ingrid R." Cinhil looked up. "Well, that's a comfort. Now that we know for certain the lady has no serious intent to parley, let's see what sort of a birthday present she's sent for me."

"Bit early, isn't it Sire? Your birthday isn't for another two days," Joss said as he cracked open the seal around the box's lid.

"If the lady has her way, I'm not likely to live that long," said Cinhil, "and if I have mine...well, I suppose we shall have to see."  At Joss's grimace, he added, "So what charming gift does the lady have for me?"

Joss took a deep breath. "It's Claibourne's signet ring. With his finger still in it." He shut the lid tightly. "Just take my word for it; you'll want that ring Cleansed before you take a closer look."

Cinhil sighed. "I was afraid it was something like that." He was silent, thinking of his father's old friend. At last he said, "He'll know I can't accept these terms."

"Would you like me to deliver a reply?" asked the Duke.

"Sure. Just give me a few minutes to think of what to say that isn't just a list of various expletives and blasphemies."


September 13, 1464
Outside the City of Rhemuth
The Eistenmarcke war camp
Late afternoon

King Torval's herald unfolded the letter that he had been presented by the man wearing the black doublet with emerald embroidery, perusing the text quickly before reading it aloud to the assembled personages awaiting King Cinhil's reply. The herald shot his king a brief, nervous glance and began to read.

"Unto the King of Eistenmarcke and his bitch of a dam, from Cinhil, by the grace of God Rex Gwyneddae, come these greetings. With regards to the terms you have sent to us, We hereby accede to them with the following condition:  that each of you shall receive no more and no less than six by three by six feet of land in each portion of Our Kingdom that you have requested of Us. In exchange for this grant of land within Our borders, We shall request and require the immediate withdrawal of all Eistenmarcker, Nördmarcker, and Jouvian troops from Our Kingdom, save one-tenth of that number who shall be selected according to the heinousness of the crimes committed against Our people and sentenced according to the severity of said crimes.  May God have mercy on your souls, for We will not. Signed by Our hand this thirteenth day of September, in the Year of Our Lord Fourteen-Hundred and Sixty-Four, Cinhillus Rex."

He glanced around the pavilion, hoping Torval's Queen was not the sort to take her rage at such a reply out on the messenger. Ingrid sat stone-faced on her throne, her eyes blazing with aquamarine fire. Beside her, the young King, at first looking pleased to be directly addressed, had soon realized the grave insult that had been sent back to him, and now sat red-faced and sullen beside his mother. The Jouvian Prince looked outraged, though whether due to the tone of the message or the fact he'd been completely ignored in its contents was anyone's guess. Only King Torval laughed aloud with genuine appreciation at the message he'd just heard.

"I could almost like the man," Torval said. "It's a pity he has to die."

The injured captive with the bloodied bandage on one hand smiled grimly. "Aye, e's a braw laddie is oor Cinhil. Uthyr's get f'r certain sure. Ye lot'll get wha's comin' tae ye an' no' an inch more. I'll ne'er see it, but I'll die kennin' it, an' tha's guid enow f'r me."


September 13, 1464
The Autumn Equinox
The City of Rhemuth
The Northeast and Eastern sections
Dusk

Close to sunset, the guards upon the City walls saw wagons being drawn towards the catapults stationed just a few yards beyond bowshot range, which had pelted Rhemuth with rounded stones on previous occasions. Expecting more of the same, they had taken shelter as best they could within the stone watch towers, peering out through the arrow slits at the activity beyond the walls.

Instead, a steady rain of bodies and disembodied heads began, some fresh, others in various stages of decomposition, each a fresh horror, although at least none were recognizable as neighbors, which was at least a small mercy.  One particular missile was packaged in such a way as to draw extra interest, however, packed as it was inside a barrel which exploded as it landed on the cobbled surface of the Fish Market, just a short distance inside Bishopgate. The man's body had a missing finger only recently cut off, and he was dressed in the Duke of Claibourne's colors, with a note pinned to his tartan addressing him to His Erstwhile Majesty Cinhil of Gwynedd. A short time later, a similar barrel containing Claibourne's severed head landed in the lower bailey of Rhemuth Castle, in the parklands just beyond the kitchen gardens. That one needed no label to help it arrive at its intended destination.

The elusive magical Portal. A means by traveling from one location to another. As mythical in Amy's mind as a Unicorn or a Pegasus. Apparently, not requiring to be a virgin to attract one. Thankfully for that, Amy thought, or they would never find one. But still it seemed to Amy that there must be some other stipulation to finding one because they had not run across one yet.

Not that Amy truly understood what they were looking for, something that tingled under your feet and then allowed a Deryni to blip from one place to another. However, did some mad Deryni discover this ability? Two locations had been suggested by Charles Dugan, but being human, he was only going by diaries that he had read long time back. The Sacristy at the city Cathedral seemed the most obvious, but there were too many pairs of eyes watching the Cathedral, looking exactly for people of Deryni birth to use it. So it was determined to not even try that resource.

Another old writing suggested a few portals were known to be in the Bishop's Palace, but getting into the main residence would not be a welcoming task. Now a portal in the ruined Byzantyun chambers beneath the palace... that seemed enticing enough to make a try for. And safe enough for them if it could be found.  Even Edwin seemed to be thinking this was the best possibility for an otherwise impossible task. The first hour was spent walking the floors in some old ruined chambers too closely resembling where they had traipsed the other night.

Disappointingly, they came up empty. Only Airich's certainty and magnetism kept them on the hunt. Now that they were deep in the bowels of the city, Edwin led them from the underground ruins down a long tunnel which he said would lead to the cellars under the Bishop's Palace. Not, thankfully, the same place where de Guerra had truly held his archery duel. That would have unnerved Amy even more.

She had come to the conclusion that she did not like having so much earth and buildings over her head. She had slept in basements when she had been a servant at a great manor house, but that wasn't the same as this. This was more like the time she and her older sister had wandered into the cave beneath her home village on a dare from some boys. Damp, slimy rocks and dripping sounds had led them to the horror of childhood stories: the carved statue of the Troll of Droghera. Chrysanthy had wanted to touch it to see if it would move. Amy had screamed when she did. In fascinated horror, the stone did not awaken. But then something did jump at them from the blackness. Both girls screamed and ran, practically dying of fear as they fell out of the cavern's entrance and rolled down the small gully, thankfully filled with soft autumn leaves. Horrific laughter echoed from the cave and out came two boys, Chrysanthy's friends, laughing at the girl's hysteria. Amy's sister yelled at them for being so mean. Cuddled up in her sister's arms, Amy was led back to the town gates. She never tried that cave again.

Why did Amy just remember that now, she wondered? Because they were deep in the tunnels of the old Byzantyun diggings, built long ago for who knew what purpose. This tunnel system was even more slimy and damp, with moisture dripping down the stone walls and pooling in crannies on the floor by the opposite side. Edwin's torchlight gave an orange glow to the damp stone under their feet, but its dim light was only better than full darkness. After a sudden grunt at her back, the radiant blue glow of handfire ignited to show the green slime and filaments hanging down from the ceilings above. They ended just over her head and she realized Airich was tall enough that he must have gotten slapped in the face by some of those, and he had to be certain what it really was, not rats and spiders at least. Though she was certain those were here too if she really looked. Imaginations could be daunting in the low torchlight. Thankfully, Airich's magic-fire remained hovering over his head, allowing him to duck away from the tendrils as they walked forward. It helped all of them move faster with more sure footing. Amazing that!

"Are you going to show us how you do that with the light?" She asked, thinking that it would be nice to not have to hold a torch.

"The handfire I showed you is enough for now," the Deryni knight said. "But even that would take too much concentration for you to maintain and still keep your senses open for a portal. I don't want either of you splitting your new abilities so carelessly." Even Edwin made a disparaging humph at that remark.

After a turn in the tunnels, they found a door ahead of them. Edwin held his torch up higher. "Oh good, if Charlie Dugan is right, this should be the door to the Bishop's Residence cellar. It is not a keyed lock, only a brace across the inside. I think I can slip my dagger through the door jamb space to lift it." Edwin stepped forward to do just that. Airich had placed his hand on the door, quietly trying to move the brace on the far side, but the scrivener's assurance toward the task seemed to abort his effort. ((lift barred door standard easy 2d6 3 + 4.))

The scribe did not notice the knight's attempt. Instead, with confidence in using small sharp objects, he slipped his thin dagger through the jamb and wiggled it in the tight space. Airich was getting fidgety, when Edwin pushed upward with extra effort ((standard 4&6, success)) and was satisfied with a clanking sound of a metal bar being freed and the door neatly opened. Edwin gave a very pleased smile to his friends and waved them on through with a flourish of his hands, as if inviting them to enter his own domicile.

They walked into a dry corridor with a stone stair at its head and a large door on either side. "I hope those aren't barred the same way," Amy commented.  Edwin tried one. It opened.

Airich walked first into the opened cellar room. It was stacked with crates and old furniture across the walls and in the center. A fairly large room, too.
"A portal would not be in here? Would it?  I thought it would be more dignified in a small chapel or a shrine?" Amy asked, rather daunted by the idea of searching in there. Spiders and rats indeed!

"That would be a portal in the Cathedral complex. But here under the Bishop's Palace, a portal would be for private movements and bringing in goods. It would have to be on the lowest sub-basement floor with dirt or stone beneath and not another room level beneath. So I think this would be the best level to check first." Airich commented. But he, too, did not enter the store room, instead he crossed the hall to the other door. The floor dirt before this door seemed swept clean. More footsteps going this way than the other. Again, this door was not locked, merely closed. And it swung open, revealing racks of wines and ales in long lines going back to the far wall.

"Jackpot!" Edwin announced.

"Getting drunk will not help us find what we seek." Amy said, swishing past them, finding a torch on the wall sconce, which she then lit from Edwin's torch. It sputtered and did not light as cleanly. Nevertheless, she held it up high to get a good look at the room. It wasn't near the size of the other room.

"Here portal, portal, portal.  Where are you hiding?" She did as Airich had taught her and opened her senses to the floor beneath her feet.

Airich touched Edwin's wrist, getting his attention away from the treasure room. "Amy, you search this room and Edwin and I will search the larger storage room. Let us hope we can find what we need here without moving upward into the Palace proper."

With head high racks on both sides of her, Amy walked slowly down one aisle and then back up the next, she tried to feel under every footstep, her soft shoes made a scuff noise with every step. No feelings of magic anywhere around her. ((Amy opens her Deryni senses as she walks the cellar floor. Does she feel a Portal tingle? 2d6 1 + 2 Failure)) Her torch shone on bottles dusty and disused as she got to the back of the cellar. One row of bottles had an ancient rope netting over it. The netting was hung only loosely on one side, and the cobwebs had recently been brushed away.

She pushed the net aside and pulled out a green bottle from the rack. The Label read de Nore Private Reserve 1104. Something about it, likely the name, made her quiver and she hastily put the bottle back on the shelf. After 60 years, it would have gone bad by now. Why would someone have taken one of these bottles?

Amy was distracted from further searching when she heard Airich's voice in her mind. Mistress Amy, come join us in the storage room. I think we might have something, but we need to shift some furniture aside.

"Mistress Elspeth," Airich said, after the infirmarian had treated the worst of the next morning's hangovers, "With your permission, may I take Amy and Edwin out and try to find a portal? With three of us looking, we would cover more ground."

"Do you need my permission?" Elspeth asked, amused.

"You are Amy's mentor. She would not come without your say-so. Edwin respects you. I believe he would feel more confident coming if he knew you approved of this task."

"Oh, well if it's all down to me—"

"It is," Airich confirmed. "Every company needs a commander, and you have earned everyone's respect. Therefore..." he raised an eyebrow at her, "may I take Amy and Edwin with me? If they'll come?"

"You plead such a pretty case, how could I possibly say no?" Elspeth smiled, but then her tone became stern. "But I expect you to be on your guard at all times, and if your safety is in any way compromised, you are to return immediately, portal or no. Understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

Ten minutes later, the three Deryni stood in the tunnel, two of them learning how to recognize signs of a portal and detect its energy signature. And then they were off, searching for a magical needle in an enormous haystack.

Quote from: DerynifanK on October 23, 2024, 05:17:55 PMWouldn't it be war between the humans and Deryni that would concern the Council?
Hope they can get Airich safely from Grecotha to Rhemuth and that Wash can help him.
What is this itinerary of Wash's that the king is unhappy about? Is he still searching for another healer who can learn the blocking ability?

The Council is absolutely concerned about a potential war between Human and Deryni. Anyone with any sense would be concerned about such a thing happening and do whatever they can to prevent it.

I think the King is concerned with Wash's meetings with Feyd and his people, even though he can see how it will be useful in the long run. But I'm sure he's concerned about the safety of his old friend's son as well as that of the only blocker in the kingdom.

Wouldn't it be war between the humans and Deryni that would concern the Council?
Hope they can get Airich safely from Grecotha to Rhemuth and that Wash can help him.
What is this itinerary of Wash's that the king is unhappy about? Is he still searching for another healer who can learn the blocking ability?

A very scary situation in Grecotha and other cities.

I had to go back and reread the scrying scene. I had forgotten that Phillip was the member of the Purple Guard who was involved with the Willimites. He would certainly not want Eddard raving and giving away secrets.

Quote from: revanne on October 22, 2024, 12:47:38 PMGood to see Iain again though I had forgotten how good you are at gruesome scenes Jerusha.

Eating a purply red plum crumble while I was reading was not one of my better ideas.

I try not to disappoint.    (Sorry about the purply red plum crumble, though.)