The Worlds of Katherine Kurtz

Nezz, that was excellent, and I wish you would at least finish it to get what was left of Morgan's escort to Saint Mark's.
I am glad that you clarified that Morgan expected to be recalled by Brion before the winter storms forced him to bed down in Cardosa for the winter. I was never sure if Brion posted him there so that he could be there to hold the fortress come spring. But I do not see how his presence could have stopped Wencit from taking it. Perhaps it would have delayed Wencit but it would not have stopped him.

Love your fan fic, Nezz.  Welcome to the club.

Looking forward to more from you, Nezz!

Yeesssss, welcome to the Dark Side Fanfic Writing Circle! 

I really liked this Nezz, I so hope you write more Deryni fanfic.

Well done Nezz. Will be interesting to compare your take on that ride from Cardosa with KK's

"He paced, for his time and talents could be put to better use in a number of other places; in almost any other place, now that it came down to that. For it hardly required a general to oversee troops that were already well-trained, and he could hardly use his powers to bring the supplies up faster"

That did bug me about the first book, so thank you for coming up with an explanation. Fortress defence does require some effort, I gather, but not as much as field operations like supply lines, maneuver, scouting, ambush, site selection, and everything else.

Back in 2020 when I first heard that KK was going to release a new anthology, I spent some time thinking about what I wanted to write, and then began writing about some of the events that took place between the Prologue and Chapter 1 of Deryni Rising. I thought that the ride from Cardosa to Rhemuth would have plenty of excitement and interesting things to write about, so I began work on "King's Ride." I was about halfway through the story when I heard that Katherine would include a story in the anthology about this very same event. I stopped working after that because of course KK isn't going to include two stories about the same event.

So anyway, this story has sat, unloved, on my computer for the past several years, until I decided that I'd go ahead and submit it in its current unfinished, rough-draft form. I figure since we all know how it ends, no one is going to complain and ask "what happens next?"

So please forgive the errors and unfinished nature of this story, and I hope you enjoy my take on "how it might have gone down" of an event we all know about.

King's Ride By Estey Nesmith

Nov 4, 1121
Cardosa, Gwynedd

Something was wrong.

Alaric Morgan, Duke of Corwyn and King's Champion, paced the walls of Esgair Dhu, the fortress defending the mountain city of Cardosa. That in itself was enough to warrant a certain amount of disquiet, for it was early November and he'd been here since September. The snows that were likely to begin this month would block all passage to and from this critical mountain city, and supplies had not finished arriving.

He paced, for his time and talents could be put to better use in a number of other places; in almost any other place, now that it came down to that. For it hardly required a general to oversee troops that were already well-trained, and he could hardly use his powers to bring the supplies up faster; not even a Deryni could force the supply train to move faster.

A Deryni. And that was the problem right there. As one of the few open Deryni in the kingdom of Gwynedd, humans had a certain amount of distrust in him already. And now, with those rumors circulating about him wanting to steal the throne from his best friend, the distrust in Rhemuth had grown more hostile, and so—-for the sake of peace—-King Brion had sent his best general to far-off Cardosa while things could cool down at the capital.

Still, the rumors of Morgan's attempts at treason didn't account for the anxiety creeping at the back of his mind: it had been there for days and yet he couldn't shake it. His mind-calming techniques could pacify the feeling for short periods of time, but it always returned.

And now it was twilight and the last haul had yet to make it up the mountain.

Why hadn't the king recalled him yet?

"Riders, m'lord!" Derry called out to him. Sean Lord Derry, thank heavens, had taken on the brunt of organizing the trains as they came in, freeing Morgan from that tedious duty.

As if there aren't a half-dozen men who could keep the trains moving as well as--well, almost as well as Derry. Why hasn't Brion recalled us yet? Morgan came over to see what the marcher lord pointed at.

"Four of them," Derry said, handing the glass to Morgan. "They've been riding hard the way the horses are lathered." Derry's face hardened, "Harder than necessary, considering the pitch of the mountain."

"And quite a distance," Morgan said, observing the four horsemen, "I recognize Baron Evering."

"Lord Ralson?" Derry said, "I thought he was in Rhemuth." Morgan handed the glass back to the younger man as he headed towards the stairs."Oh yes, I see him now. And Fianna's younger son is with him."

The baron of Evering, Gerard Ralson, had indeed been in Rhemuth but four days previous, along with Colin d'Auxerre of Fianna and their two-man escort. Their rush to Cardosa in such a short time had been precipitated by such an awful event that the news still hadn't truly sunk in to the hearts and minds of either men. But the King had personally sent them on this mission to recall General Morgan, and they had both accepted, glad for the chance to help. They rode up the last mile to Cardosa, kicking their mounts to use their last reserves of energy for that final steep ascent to the city. And at last they were through the gates, into the camp of the garrison.

General Morgan came to meet them, followed by Lord Derry, Morgan's blue shadow. Now that they were here, Ralson was loath to pass on the news: Morgan and Brion were good friends and Morgan would not likely take the news well. But there was no help for it.

"Gentlemen, I hope you're here with good news," Morgan said as they dismounted. Colin looked to Ralson; as one of the king's men, it was the older man's responsibility.

"Alaric, it's... the king sent us... he's recalling you immediately. Brion is..."

"Thank heavens," Morgan said, "Has he quelled those ridiculous rumors about me?"

"It's not that... Brion, he..." Ralson couldn't force himself to say the words.

"Morgan, Brion's dead," Colin said bluntly. "It's Kelson who's recalled you. Brion's funeral would have been yesterday."

"Brion-- what?" Colin's words didn't make sense for a few moments. Brion couldn't be dead, Morgan had received his most recent missive just three days ago. Their jest was in poor--not to mention treasonous--taste.

"It was during the hunt, he was on his horse, hale and healthy as ever, and then he fell," Ralson finally blurted out. "Some say it was his heart and others say it was a magical attack, but he's gone and Kelson needs you back in Rhemuth as soon as you can get there."

Brion... dead? Brion Haldane, king of Gwynedd, friend since Morgan's childhood. Dead? They had to be mistaken. They must be lying. Brion was not dead, could not be dead...

And then Morgan was running, running through the courtyard, running to the southwest tower, up the stairs, three at a time, coming at last to the highest lookout. He reached out with his mind, looking to disprove the impossible.

Brion! My king! My friend! Hear me, answer me!

Nothing.

Morgan gripped the silver medallion hanging around his neck and pushed farther, further than he'd ever extended his thoughts. Brion! Brion Brion Brion... If Brion were anywhere in Gwynedd west of the Cloom mountains, Morgan would be able to feel it... if he were among the living.

His call echoed into the void. No contact. No answer. No presence. It was as if Brion had never existed.

How long he stayed in the tower, Morgan couldn't say. Time seemed to stand still. But at last he noticed the length of the shadows. The sun had already begun to set.

Morgan sighed. There was still much to be done before they left, for Morgan intended to leave as soon as preparations were made.

Derry waited for him at the base of the tower, mounted with another horse in tow. He looked subdued. "I've got your gear," he said, indicating Morgan's saddlebags and pack. "Your riding leathers are on top. Gregory Summerville and Chauncy Smith are preparing themselves as escort. Baron Seymore's cook is arranging rations, and Colin, Gerard, and their men have been rehorsed; they insist on accompanying us back to Rhemuth.

"Thank you," Morgan said. "Let's get Lord Parawan to join us on the road." He didn't want Lord Parawan trapped in Cardosa the entire winter and falling into Torenthi hands come spring.

Ten minutes saw the nine of them gathered at the western gate of Cardosa. The sun was sinking too fast for Morgan's comfort, but he wasn't going to wait until morning. "Can you get us off this mountain without breaking our necks?" he asked Gregory.

Gregory Summerville, born and bred to these mountains, peered down the trail, then held up several fingers against the sun. "Aye, m'lord," he said, "if we move sure and don't stop for anything, I can get us to Llyndruth Meadows before full dark.

The pass through the mountains was narrow and treacherous, and Morgan questioned his own decision to attempt this trail so late more than once, even as some of the others begged for caution. They followed the dry river bed, then switched back down to the canyon when the river became too steep, and finally made it to Llyndruth Plain before he allowed the men and horses a rest and sleep that only lasted until midnight before he pushed on.

* * *

Morgan had no conscious memory of old King Donal--he'd died that same winter as Morgan's mother--but his first memory of King Brion came while a four-year-old Alaric knelt next to his own father, who placed his hands between Brion's to renew his oath to the young king. Morgan remembered thinking that this new king had so much more life than the old one, and he seemed friendlier as he ruffled Alaric's hair, and was much less intimidating than his father had been.

And later, after Morgan's fascination with the king had become full-fledged hero-worship, Morgan had been so pleased to be allowed to assist with fastening the spurs, symbol of Brion's rank of knighthood. Followed by the years of acting as Brion's page, and then squire.

And, as they often did, Morgan's memory wandered towards the time he helped Brion slay the Marluk. And towards the Marluk's daughter, who'd witnessed her father's slaying.

This was Charissa's doing. It had to be. Even in Cardosa, the rumors of The Shadowed One, as she occasionally styled herself, spoke of her moving to take her vengeance for her father and reclaim the land of her Festillic forebears.

Morgan moved his horse between Colin and Gerard. "Tell me again about what happened," he said. "What exactly did you see? What did Brion say? There is no detail unimportant enough to be left out."

The two lords began telling of the hunt, the hapless dogs flushing the rabbits, of Colin sharing a jest and a drink with the king. Gerard had to tell the story of the king's death alone as Colin had dropped behind the main hunt to help the Earl of Eastmarch with a broken stirrup. Gerald spoke of Duke Ewan's growing temper with his dogs just prior to the king clutching his chest and falling from his horse. He had only been able to stare helplessly from the sidelines with the other men as the dying king called for his son and spoke words that only the young prince could hear.

Morgan slapped his reins in frustration, causing his horse to shy. "If I had been there to see..." If I had been there, I could have defended him... I could have saved him.

"Your Grace, I am given to believe there is a way you can see much of the events of that morning," Colin said.

Morgan shook his head. "Not unless someone wanted to..." He looked up sharply to see Colin staring at him. "Are you suggesting that I Mind-See you to see what happened?"

Colin smiled enigmatically at Morgan. "I am from Fianna. We don't fear the Deryni as so many in Gwynedd do. If it would help you figure out the king's murder, then yes, I would allow you to Mind-See me."

It wouldn't be as useful as witnessing the event for himself, but viewing Brion's death through a human's eyes might be worth a try. He called a halt to rest the men and horses.

Morgan sat himself upon a stone and had Colin sit on the ground before him. He rested his  hands on Colin's shoulders and verbally eased Colin into a relaxed state, conducive to Mind-Seeing.

"Let's go back. Back to the morning of the hunt. It was cold, and you were awakened early..." And in his mind and through his eyes, Morgan sees Colin emerging from his quarters, joining the rest of the men in the courtyard. Horses and dogs are brought out, and riders mounted, a colorful feast for the eyes as blues, greens, and yellows jostled for positions near the royal scarlet. As they pass through the street, a stunning blonde woman with astonishing attributes gifts him with a flask of wine, a gesture of tribute for the king's hunt.

And the hunt itself, a comedic excursion of young dogs with little experience and not enough sense to know a deer from a nest of rabbits. The pleasure of sharing a drink with the king, who promises a seat next to him at the royal table that evening. And staying behind with the Earl of Eastmarch, whose broken stirrup has caused him to pull up short. And then...

And then... nothing.

Morgan nudged Colin's memories, which had suddenly gone dim, then dark entirely. He pushed harder and found himself in Colin's memory of riding with Gerard Ralson and their escort on the road to Ramos, just past the convergence of the Eirian and the Eleyder, on a road Morgan knew well: their mission to find Morgan and inform him of King Brion's death.

That... was not helpful.

Morgan went back, trying to find the rest of the hunt, but his mind slipped past Colin's memories once again, returning to Colin's search for a spare strap for Ian's stirrup. He pushed into the hidden memories, refusing to slip over them. Morgan suddenly felt sick and Colin winced, breaking the bond between them.

* * *

"This was my first time dealing with Deryni magic first-hand," Colin told Derry later, after they'd resumed their ride. "What do you think about it?"

"Never done it, myself," Derry said.

"Ah. You hold with those border suspicions, do you?"

"No," Derry replied, "I'm not averse to Deryni magic. I'd be happy to help him out if he ever needed it, but it's never come up."

"It was strange," Colin said. "I remembered that morning, and I could feel that he was there with me, but whenever I tried to remember the events surrounding the king's death, I started thinking about our ride to Cardosa instead. Or Ewan and his hounds. But as soon as we broke contact, I could see those memories clearly. And I could tell that he was frustrated with me because I couldn't quite remember what the beautiful lady who gave me the flask looked like."

"You? Can't remember a beautiful face?" Derry chided, "I've heard you claim to be the expert on beautiful women."

"I'll be honest," Colin laughed sheepishly, "It wasn't her face that I was paying attention to. Her dress was..." He moved his hands, indicating a shapely woman. "Let's just say it was a dress worthy of convincing a single lord to settle down."

"Say no more," Derry said, laughing, "I know the type well."

"But the strange thing about the memories of the king," Colin continued with the earlier, serious part of the conversation, "is that after we broke contact, I could picture them in my head quite clearly. Of course, I wasn't there when he had his heart attack--or whatever it was that struck him down--but I very distinctly remember looking down at him while the Bishop spoke the sacred rites, and the Prince--God bless him, but you could see Prince Kelson become King Kelson in the space of mere moments. We bundled up the ki--we bundled up King Brion, and Prince Nigel carried him back on his horse. I tell you, I'm glad I didn't have to be the one to tell Queen Jehana the news, I understand she didn't take it well at all. Not that you can blame her."

"Did you volunteer to be in the party who came for the general?" Derry asked.

"I would have if asked," Colin said, looking back at Lord Ralson, "but Gerard "volunteered" me to accompany him, and so here I am, riding for five days now in the freezing cold and sleet instead of snuggled up in front of a fire with mulled wine and a woman in an amazing dress. But it's worth it to be of service to the new king."

Colin was not the only lord to be of service to King Kelson. Further down the line, Gerard Ralson and General Morgan spoke in low tones.

"It had to have been Charissa," Morgan said. "There's no doubt she's been planning her revenge since Brion defeated her father in fair combat. And now that she's got Brion out of the way, there's nothing to stop her from calling out Kelson. And Kelson has no defenses whatsoever."

Morgan liked Gerard, and trusted him to be fair-minded, despite his friendship with several men  who had vastly different beliefs than Morgan. The older man sighed. "I know you would rather cut off your right arm than see any harm come to the boy, but I must tell you, there are plenty of people in Rhemuth who will not be happy to see you there."

"Well, there's nothing new about that," Morgan said. "Brion's widow first among them."

"Yes, there's that," Ralson said, "but there's more. Before we left, I was already hearing rumors of how you personally had struck down Brion using 'foul Deryni Death magic.' And while I know that to be patently absurd, you know you have enemies at court who would be perfectly happy to spread those rumors, and possibly even convince themselves that they believe the rumors."

"Really? They think that I killed Brion? What would I possibly have to gain from killing my greatest benefactor in the entire kingdom?" Morgan couldn't believe anyone would believe a tale so ludicrous.

"The word is out that you're after the kingdom," Ralson continued. "Now that Brion is out of the picture, the way to Kelson is clear and that you're going to subvert him somehow and control Gwynedd through him. In fact," Ralson lowered his voice, as if there were spies to hear, "Before I rode out, I was given to understand that the queen herself hopes to gather enough votes on the council to have you up on charges."

Morgan was dumbstruck. He'd always known the queen hated him and his Deryni blood, but enough to believe this of him?

Ralson went on. "Fortunately, between your allies and me, we've got your back. She can't do anything without a majority."

* * *

The Lendour Mountains fought hard to keep them from crossing, but the Lendour Mountains were known for this kind of behavior. Rain, followed by sleet, followed by snow, followed by more sleet. By the time they neared the western side of Shepherd's Pass, they were riding over two inches of crunchy snow that covered the narrow, slick, icy path that overlooked Black Sheep Creek.

The convergence of Black Sheep with the Loring River lay just another couple of miles ahead, and Saint Mark's another three miles past that; they could rest for the night in the village there. That way they could bypass Valoret and Ramos, cities Morgan had no interest in spending any time in.

Morgan had banished his own fatigue more than once, but even he was nearing the end of his stamina when the path came level to the creek and the mountains opened ahead. Had he been thinking clearly, he might have realized that this was the perfect spot for an ambush; had he even suspected there might be an ambush...

The buzz of arrows was his only warning before something punched him in the left shoulder, deflected by his mail. Ahead of him, one of Ralson's escort collapsed and fell, an arrow through his neck, and Derry's horse reared, screaming in pain. Yells and curses from behind told a similar story of the men back there, but Morgan had no time to assess the rearguard; a line of mounted men galloped towards them from the other side of the creek. All brandished weapons and they outnumbered the loyal Gwynedd men, who were down by at least one by now.

Not knowing what kind of backup he might still have, Morgan ducked under the clumsy attack of the first man, following through with a deadly swipe across the man's midsection: that one wouldn't be lifting a war hammer any time soon.
The next two attackers--one helmed, one bare-headed--stood their ground against him, but Morgan spotted a weakness in the helmed man's defense before he even became a threat, and took down his horse first thing. He sparred with the bare-headed man briefly before thrusting his sword through his opponent's shoulder. Morgan then turned his attention back to the helmeted man just getting to his feet, and ran his sword through the man's neck; he fell atop his dying horse.

With no immediate attackers on him, Morgan turned and quickly assessed the situation: Smith was down, along with both of Ralson's escorts--dead, dying, or wounded. Summerville, Colin, and Parawan remained mounted, and Derry, unhorsed, fought like a demon protecting Lord Ralson, bleeding in the snow. Even as Morgan moved his horse to assist, Summerville took a fatal blow to the neck at the same time his foe fell.

Several unknown bodies also lay on the ground. The Gwynedd men would defeat their attackers, but at what cost?

Colin remained horsed, but he was one against three, so Morgan spurred his horse towards that skirmish to help even the odds. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Parawan move to take on the mounted attackers of the men on foot. The unprotected back of the man threatening Colin was too tempting a target to miss, and Morgan took him out without further delay. The other two, upon seeing their comrade fall, spurred horses and galloped back across the creek.

The battle was over by the time Morgan turned his attention to the last remaining group of Gwynedd men. Morgan was horrified to realize that, of his company of nine, only three remained upright. By the way Parawan was hanging from his horse, he, too, was now beyond Morgan's aid, and Derry was seeing to Ralson, so Morgan moved over to Colin, who remained horsed but clutched at his side.

...

...and that's where Nezz found out that KK was going to tell this story, and Nezz was far more interested in getting KK's take on the tale, so gave it up. I may finish it some day if I have the inclination, but.. *shrugs* At any rate, it was my first attempt at actual written fanfic, and I enjoyed doing it, and I hope y'all enjoy reading it.

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

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

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

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

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

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