"Kurtz, Katherine - Deryni Chronicles 02 - Deryni Checkmate 1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)
"Hmm?" Morgan looked up startled, almost as though he had forgotten the young man was there though Derry was sure he hadn't.
"May I ask a question, sir?"
Morgan shook his head and grinned sheepishly. "Of course. You probably Have no idea of what's going on right now."
Derry smiled. "It's not quite that bad, m'lord. Is there anything I can do to help?"
Morgan studied the young lord, his chin resting on one hand, then nodded tentatively. "Perhaps there is," he said, sitting forward in his chair. "Derry, you've been with me for a long time now. Would you be willing to become involved in magic for me?"
Derry broke into a broad grin. "You know I would, sirl"
"Very well, then. Come over to the map with me."
Morgan moved to the tapestried map covering the near wall, then ran his fingers along a broad finger of blue until he found what he was looking for. Derry watched and listened attentively as the duke began to speak.
"Now, here's Coroth. Here's the estuary arising from the two rivers. Up the Western River which forms our northeastern border with Torenth is Fa-thane, the Torenthi trading town. It's also a staging area for all of Wencit's raiding expeditions along this segment of the border.
"What I want you to do is to ride upriver toward Fathane, on the Torenthi side, then loop west along our northern border and back here. Your mission is to gather information, and there are three areas I'd like you to concentrate on: Wencit of Torenth's plans for the war in this area; anything you can find out about this Warin rascal in the north; and any leak of the threatened Interdict. Duncan told you about that, didn't he?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. You can choose your own disguise, but I think a fur trader or trapper would be good cover. I'd rather you weren't recognized as a fighting man."
"I understand, sir."
"Good. Now, here's where the magic comes in."
He reached along the side of his neck until he found a slender silvery chain, which he then proceeded to pull outside his emerald tunic. As the last of the chain emerged and Morgan slipped it off over his head, Derry could see that there was a silver medallion of some sort attached to the chain. He bent bis head slightly so Morgan could loop the long chain over his head, then looked down curiously at the medallion which now dangled at mid-chest level. It seemed to be a holy medal of some kind, though Derry couldn't identify either the figure depicted or the legend inscribed around the edge. Morgan turned the medallion to face forward, then leaned back against the bookcase beneath the tapestry map.
"All right, now I'm going to ask you to help me establish a special kind of Deryni rapport. It's akin to Mind-Seeing, which you've seen me do a number of times, but not nearly as tiring because you remain in control. Just relax and try to let your mind go blank. It's not unpleasant, I assure you," he added, seeing Derry's momentary discomfiture. Derry nodded and swallowed. "Good. Now watch my finger and relax." As Morgan held up his right index finger, he began moving it slowly toward Derry's face. The young man's eyes tracked the finger almost until it touched the bridge of his nose, then fluttered shut. He exhaled softly and relaxed as Morgan's hand rested on his
forehead.
Morgan held that position for perhaps half a minute, nothing outwardly happening, then reached out and enclosed the medal in his other hand, closed his eyes. After another minute he released the medallion and looked up, dropped his hand from Derry's forehead. Derry's eyes popped open with a start.
"You talked to me!" he whispered incredulously, his voice tinged with awe. "You " He looked down at the medallion in amazement. "I can really use this to communicate with you all the way from Fathane?"
"Or farther, if necessary," Morgan agreed. "Just remember that it's a difficult operation. Being Deryni, I could call you any time it became necessary though it would take a great deal of energy. But you have to confine your calls to the times we agree upon. If I'm not trying to reach you, you haven't the strength to summon me yourself. That's why it's important that you keep track of the time. I'll expect your first contact about three hours after dark tomorrow night. You should be in Fathane by then,"
"Aye, m'lord. And all I have to do is use the spell you taught me, and that will put me into rapport?" His blue eyes were wide, but trusting. "Correct."
Derry nodded and started to tuck the talisman into his tunic, then stopped and pulled it out to look at it again. "What kind of medal is this anyway, M'Lord? I don't recognize the inscription or the figure "
"I was afraid you'd ask," Morgan grinned. "Ifs a very old Saint Camber medallion dating from just after the Restoration. It was left to me in my mother's will."
"A Camber medal!" Derry breathed. "What if someone recognizes it?"
"You always have to take the fun out of everything, don't you?" Derry muttered, tucking the medallion inside his tunic with a grin as he turned to leave.
Darkness was approaching as Duncan guided his tired mount back toward the city of Coroth, and the night chill of the mountain country was already beginning to settle in the glens.
The meeting with Tolliver had been at least partially successful. The bishop had agreed to delay his answer to the couriers from Rhemuth until he could evaluate the situation, and had promised to keep Morgan advised of any further action regarding his eventual decision. But the Deryni aspect of the case had bothered Tolliver, as Duncan had known it would. And the bishop had warned Duncan to dabble no more in magic if he valued his priesthood and, indeed, his immortal soul.
Duncan pulled his cloak around himself more closely and urged his horse to a faster pace, remembering that Alaric would be impatient for word of the outcome. Also, he mused, there would be a state dinner awaiting him. And unlike his ducal cousin, Duncan loved ceremony. If he hurried, he should be able to make it in time for the main course. It was not yet dark. As he rounded the next bend, not really thinking about anything in particular, he was suddenly aware of a tall dark form standing in the road not ten yards ahead of him. It was difficult to make out any details in the failing light, but as Duncan drew rein to avoid riding the man down, he noted that the pedestrian was clad in the garb of a monk, a peaked cowl pulled over his head and a staff in his hand.
Something was not as it should have been, however. Almost unconsciously the warrior in Duncan guided his right hand to the hilt of the sword strapped beneath his left knee. The figure turned his head toward Duncan he could not have been more than ten feet away and Duncan jerked his mount to a halt, his heart in his throat.
For the face which gazed serenely up at him from beneath the grey cowl was one he had come to know quite well in the last months, though never in the flesh. He and Alaric had studied it a hundred times as they searched the musty volumes for information on an ancient Deryni saint. It was the face of Camber of Culdi.
Before Duncan could speak, or even react beyond a mindless shock, the man nodded courteously and extended an empty right hand in a token of peace.
"Hail, Duncan of Corwyn," the stranger murmured.
CHAPTER FOUR
And the Angel that spoke in me, said to me ...
Zechariah 1:9
DUNCAN'S THROAT went dry and he had difficulty swallowing. For the man had called him by a name he had thought known to only three living men: himself, Alaric, and the young King Kelson. There was no way that this person could know that Duncan was half Deryni, that his mother and Alaric's had been twin sisters, of the high Deryni born. It was a secret Duncan had guarded zealously all his life.
And yet the man before him had called him by his secret name. How could he know?
"What do you mean?" he managed to whisper, his voice a quarter octave higher than normal. He cleared his throat "I'm a McLain, of the lords of Kierney and Cassan."
"And you are also a Corwyn, of your sainted mother's right," the stranger contradicted gently. "There is no shame to being half Deryni, Duncan."
Duncan shut his mouth and managed to regain most of his composure, then wet his lips nervously. "Who are you?" he asked, holding his ground, but unconsciously letting his hand drop from the sword hilt he had clutched until now. "What do you want?"
The man chuckled amiably and shook his head. "No, of course you don't understand, do you?" he murmured almost to himself, still smiling easily. "You needn't be afraid. Your secret is sealed within me. But, come. Dismount and walk with me awhile. There is something I would have you know."
Duncan hesitated for an instant, a trifle uncomfortable under the man's serene gaze, then complied. The man nodded gravely.
"You may consider this a warning, Duncan not a threat from me, for it is not that, but for your own good. In the weeks to come, your powers will be sorely tested. More and more you will be called upon to use your magic in the open, to either accept your birthright and take up the fight as is your duty, or else to forever renounce it. Do I make myself clear?"
"You do not," Duncan whispered, his eyes narrowing. "To begin with, I am a priest. I am forbidden to practice the occult arts."
"Are you?" the man asked quietly.
"Of course I'm forbidden to practice magic."
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