"Kurtz, Katherine - Heirs of Saint Camber 01 - The Harrowing of Gwynedd" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)
chapter one
Every purpose is established by counsel.
ЧProverbs 22:18
"I have to tell you that burying those three men was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do," Joram confessed to their Dhassa compatriots an hour laterЧthough he tried not to think about that fourth body he had just left, hidden beneath the chapel where the other three lay. "I know we must put our grief and outrage behind us now, and move on to the more constructive measures we all know they would have wished, but I won't even pretend that can happen overnight. For now, we're going to have to take it a day at a timeЧand maybe even hour by hour, when things get particularly difficult."
He was pacing back and forth beside a table in Bishop Niallan's private quarters in besieged Dhassa, drawn and gaunt-looking in monkish black instead of the now-dangerous blue of the MichaelinesЧthough he had worn his former habit the day before, to honor two of the three men he buried. The pale cap of his hair, tonsured now in the manner of any ordinary priest, shone like a halo as he paused where a beam of weak winter sunlight filtered through an east window. Niallan, seated at the head of the long table, resisted the urge to cross himself in awe at the pent-up power smoldering in Saint Camber's son, though he, like Joram, was Deryni and fully capable of not a little power himself.
So were most of the other men ranged around the bishop's tableЧall, in fact, save the younger man at Niallan's immediate left, who also wore episcopal purple. Dermot O'Beirne, the deposed Bishop of Cashien, had thrown in his lot with Niallan on that fatal Christmas Day a fortnight before, when everything else seemed to fall apart. The regents' assault on Valoret Cathedral, given color of authority by the young king's active presence and participation, had put an end to Alister Cullen's brief tenure as Archbishop of Valoret. It had also put an end to any subsequent hope of tempering the regents' increasingly anti-Deryni policies via the established Church hierarchy. Indeed, one of the most notorious of the regents now occupied the primatial throne, and had suspended and excommunicated both bishops at Dhassa as one of his first official acts.
The rest of Niallan's now-renegade household were under similar bans, for standing by their master and refusing to surrender his See of Dhassa to his designated successor. At Niallan's right sat his chaplain and personal Healer of many years' standing, Dom Rickart, the Gabrilite priest's white robes a startling contrast to the bishops' purple and the shades of mourning that everyone else wore. Rickart was of an age with Niallan, but the long hair drawn back in the tight, single braid of his Order was glossy chestnut, where Niallan's hair and neatly trimmed beard were steely grey.
Another, younger Healer sat across from Rickart, next to Dermot, though nothing in his demeanor or dress declared his Healer's calling today. Both his tunic and his nubbly wool mantle were a dull dust-umber, the color of weathered stone. Nor did he look old enough to be a Healer, though up until a few weeks ago, he had been personal Healer and tutor to young Prince Javan, the king's clubfooted twin brother and heir. The talented and sometimes headstrong Tavis O'Neill was not exactly a member of the bishop's household, but Niallan had given him refuge when he was forced to quit Valoret. He remained their one reliable contact with the prince.
Tavis was also, so far as they knew, the sole possessor of an apparently unique Deryni talent that held up some hope of preserving their Deryni race against evil times to comeЧthough the ultimate cost of such salvation might be dire, indeed. His dark red head tipped downward in close-shielded reverie, the pale eyes moody and unreadable as his right hand absentmindedly massaged a handless left wrist.
And at the far end of the table, looking gloomily preoccupied, the seventeen-year-old Ansel MacRorie turned a dagger over and over in his hands, his pale golden hair proclaiming him close kin to Joram, even if all in the room had not already been aware that he was Joram's nephew. Though Ansel should have been Earl of Culdi by right of his birth, as heir to Camber's eldest son, he, like Joram and everyone else in the room, was an outlaw in the eyes of the established government.
The rest of Niallan's principal household officers and functionaries occupied stools set along the rest of the table, two men to a side, his chancellor, comptroller, provisioner, and garrison commander, the latter still wearing the dark blue tunic and white sash of a Michaeline knight.
Sighing, Niallan slowly shook his head, not in negation of anything Joram had said, but in grim resignation.
"Aye, 'tis an incalculable loss," he murmured. "Alister, Jebediah, and Rhys. And unfortunately, I'm afraid we have to expect that things may get worse before they get better. To assume anything less would be to leave ourselves open to even greater disaster than we've already suffered."
"Which is precisely why I want you safely out of Dhassa, sir," Joram said quietly.
"I will not even try to gainsay you," Niallan agreed, "but do try to accept my position. When I became Bishop of Dhassa, I was made shepherd of all her people, human as well as Deryni. I have Deryni responsibilities, that is true; but I cannot desert my human flock when they need me most.''
"No, but you must not wait so long that you let yourself be taken," Joram retorted, setting his hands on the back of Ansel's chair. "That does no one any service except the regents, who you know seek your death."
Niallan smiled, toying with the bishop's amethyst on his right hand. "Then, I am in good company," he said lightly, "for you and Ansel have even higher prices on your heads than I. But don't worry, my friend. There is no martyr's blood in these veins. I shall stay here in Dhassa as long as I may, but only to ensure that nothing will fall into the regents' hands that ought not."
"Including Dhassa's bishop?" Ansel said archly.
"Including Dhassa's bishop," Niallan repeated, favoring the boy with a fond smile. "But you must remember, dear Ansel, that such title applied to my person no longer means what it once did, now that one of the regents is our new archbishop."
"Hubert MacInnis will never be my archbishop,'' Joram stated flatly, as he started pacing again.
"If I'm given the chance," said Tavis O'Neill, speaking for the first time, "I shall kill him!"
"And betray your Healer's oath?" Dom Rickart gasped, obviously putting into words what several of the others also felt.
"Healer's oaths be hanged, if they protect a man like Hubert MacInnis!" Tavis snapped, the pale aquamarine eyes blazing as he glared across at the other Healer. "I am no Gabrilite, to submit meekly to the slaughter. I will not offer my throat to the regents like some silly sheep, as your brethren did at Saint Neot's. Nor will I allow Prince Javan to become their victimЧ not while there is breath in my body to prevent it!"
"Easy, Tavis, easy!" Joram murmured, jerking out a stool beside Rickart and straddling it as Niallan and Dermot also made soothing noises and gestures. "No one's asking you to sacrifice yourselfЧor faulting your defense of the prince."
"Certainly not," Rickart hastily agreed. "Prince Javan is our major hope that something eventually may be done to reverse what the regents have set in motion. But I beg you, Tavis, do not deliberately seek out MacInnis' life."
"Shall your brethren die unavenged, then?" Tavis demanded.
As Ansel and the Michaeline Knight at the end of the table muttered something between them about divine retribution, Rickart gently shook his head.
"My dear young friend, Hubert MacInnis shall pay for what he has doneЧnever fear. Not only to my Gabrilite brethren but to all innocent folk who have become victims of his avarice. But it is not our place to seek vengeance. 'Vengeance is mine, saithЧ' "
"Yes, yes, but the Lord generally works through mortal agents," Joram interjected, raising a hand in a fending-off gesture. "Please, Rickart, let's not start a theological debate. Tavis is not a Gabrilite or a Michaeline, so he's not arguing from the same assumptions. If the two of you want to take up this discussion privately, at a later date, that's another matter. Right now, however, I have more important things on my mind, the chief of which is the prince we're all trying to protect, in our own ways. Which leads me to ask, Tavis, is it tonight you're to see him again?"
Tavis sighed, a little subdued. "Aye. He doesn't yet know about Alister and Jebediah, either. At least I haven't told him. We'd just had a meeting when I found out, and I didn't want to increase the already considerable risk he runs every time I go there, by going back too soon."
"I don't envy you the telling," Niallan said quietly.
Shrugging, Tavis shook his head. УSomeone else may already have told him, by now. That kind of news travels fast. If it has reached Valoret, you can bet the regents won't keep it a secret."
"I'll say!" Ansel snorted. "There'll be dancing in the streets."
Joram, hushing Ansel with a hand signal, returned his attention to Tavis.
"Naturally, the regents' reaction will be of great interest to us," he said quietly, "but Javan's safety is our most important concern. I take it that we can expect a full report in the morning, provided all goes well?"
Tavis nodded, but said nothing.
"Well, then," Niallan said with a sigh. "I suppose we'll have to wait until then. But you've done right, not to endanger the prince unnecessarily. Whatever else happens, he must be protected. I wonder, though, if it will make the regents more or less vindictive to learn that two of their most bitter enemies are dead."
Dermot managed a sickly grin. "They'll probably use it as justification to step up their campaign against two more troublesome priests. I suppose we should be flattered that Rhun and his men are giving us so much attention, camped right outside Dhassa's gates."
"Which is precisely why I do not intend us to stay in Dhassa any longer than we must," Niallan replied. "And that brings us back to the subject of Saint Mary's. Joram, I know you've abandoned it for the time being. How long do you think we must wait before it's safe again? When I am ready to vacate Dhassa, I must have places to send my people."
"Then you'll do better to funnel them through Gregory's new Portal at Trevalga," Joram replied. "I'll have him show you the coordinates in the next week or so. From there, it's a relatively simple matter to disperse through the Connait, where folk are a little more sane about Deryni these days."
"Then for now, you feel that Saint Mary's is out of the question?" asked the Michaeline Knight.
Joram sighed. "If Alister and Jebediah hadn't been killed so close to there, we'd be fine. I think I told you all that one of their killers got away. The latest we hear is that Manfred MacInnis' men have been scouring the area, looking for some trace of the bodiesЧwhich makes it a less than desirable place for Deryni. Frankly, I'm not even happy that Queron is on his way there."
"You expect him soon?" Rickart asked.
Joram nodded. "Any day now, provided nothing else has gone wrong. The brothers know he's coming, but none of them can speak of it to anyone but him or one of us. Evaine and I made sure of that before we left. The compulsion won't stand up against anything stronger than a very cursory Truth-Read, but we're gambling on the probability that Manfred doesn't have a Deryni working for him yetЧand that no one will have cause to suspect that our monks have anything to hide."
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