Camber the Heretic (23 page)

“Before I have you drink that, let's just make certain that the effect works in you the way it did with Jeb.” He laid his hands gently on either side of her head. “If you can, give me a little resistance with your shields—a
lot
of resistance,” he amended. “Sweet
Jesu
, the triggerpoint isn't protected by normal shields at all! I can't get past your shields to any other part of you, but the triggerpoint is there, totally exposed. Can you feel me next to it?”

She whispered, “No,” and Rhys glanced at Camber and Joram.

“Do the two of you want to link with me and watch me do it, the way you did with Gregory? I don't think it's going to make a bloody bit of difference, but you're welcome to try.”

Apprehensively, Camber laid his hand on Rhys's arm, slipping into familiar rapport and feeling Joram do the same. With Rhys's guidance, they could sense the area to which he was referring, intertwined among the partially-exposed Healing pathways, but Camber knew that he could never have located that point on his own. Joram knew it, too. That aspect was almost certainly a Healing function—the ability to sense levels that other Deryni not so gifted could not. He wondered whether the triggering of that point was also a Healing function, and not for the first time wished that the Healing talent had been among his gifts.

“All right, this is what it's going to feel like, if it works through the drugs and cancels out their effect,” Rhys said softly, looking into Evaine's eyes.

Camber felt something shift, and it was done. Suddenly Evaine was psychically invisible. She blinked in surprise, trying to run a rapid mental assessment, as she had always been taught—but there was nothing to assess beyond the usual senses of sight and hearing and touch. She was Blind!

She swallowed and returned her attention to Rhys, who had not moved his hands from her head.

“It—works on me, too,” she whispered, staring into his eyes and seeing only eyes, instead of the psychic windows they had always seemed for the two of them.

Almost heartsick, he reached out and reset the triggerpoint again, then leaned down and kissed her hard on the mouth as normal Deryni senses came flooding back. She clung to him for a moment, then drew back and took a deep, steadying breath. At her nod, he took the cup from Joram again and put it in her hand.

“Are you sure you want to do it?”

“No. I don't like
merasha
, but I like what just happened even less. The sooner we get on with it, the sooner it will be over.”

She drank down the cup and made a face, screwing her eyes shut and shaking her head, then sat back in the chair and drew another deep breath.

“I've certainly got the bitter aftertaste,” she murmured, after a few seconds. “My tongue's going numb. My vision is starting to tunnel and blur, too. Nothing wants to focus.”

“Normal reaction,” Rhys replied, professional detachment restored as he laid a monitoring hand on her near wrist. “You're getting a slower effect than Jebediah did, because you're getting it gradually.”

She closed her eyes and grimaced, and he moved his free hand to her forehead.

“Easy, love. I know it's getting bad. Take another deep breath and flow with it. All right, read her with me,” Rhys said to the others. “She's essentially got the full effect of the drug now. Her shields are in tatters—not that this apparently matters, where my little trick is concerned. Her Deryni functions are still there, but they're mostly inaccessible. If she tried to use them, she might get a reaction, but it would undoubtedly be the wrong one. Control is gone. This is a classic
merasha
disruption, such as we've all experienced in training. I'm moving in to the triggerpoint now, and—there!”

As he spoke the final word, Evaine's eyelids fluttered and then she looked up at them, pain gone from her eyes, but also all trace of her Deryni powers. As they probed her mind, she looked around in amazement, astonished at the disappearance of the
merasha
effect which had been so excruciatingly apparent only a moment before. When the others had read in all the depth they cared to do, Rhys held another cup to his wife's lips and bade her drink. After she had drained it, he led her into the next room and laid her down to sleep in Camber's bed, not removing his block until he was sure the second cup had done its work. He returned to find Camber and Joram waiting by the fire, and settled in the chair between them without a word. Almost as an afterthought, and without warning, he reached out his right hand to touch Joram's forehead. Before the priest could react, Rhys had triggered and reset the triggerpoint in him, leaving Joram with an astonished expression on his face and Rhys shaking his head.

“That's what I thought,” he said, slumping in the chair and looking at the flames on the hearth as he rubbed at his eyes wearily. “I'm getting tired—this
does
seem to be akin to the kind of energy outlay used for Healing—but there doesn't seem to be any kind of advance preparation necessary. We needed to know that, too. Joram, do you feel any kind of after-reaction?”

“It was just a—a blankness, for the split second.” Joram swallowed. “Jesus, you scare me, Rhys!”

“I know. I scare me, too.” Rhys took a deep breath, then looked up at Camber. “I suppose that to round out our knowledge, we really should see what this will do to your shape-change. If anyone else can do what I do, it could be a danger to you.”

Steeling himself, though he knew that would do no good, Camber returned the Healer's gaze.

“Only one way to find out, isn't there?” he said evenly. “Go ahead. I'm ready.” And he watched dispassionately as Rhys's hand moved unerringly toward his head.

He felt the touch of Rhys's hand on his brow, and he closed his eyes as the contact was made, knowing at least part of what was almost certain to come. For an instant more he continued to take in information with all his Deryni senses.

Then it was as if a light had been extinguished and there was only darkness and the psychic sensation of being muffled in heavy, shrouding wool, close and claustrophobic. Immediately he opened his eyes to search for Rhys and was startled, in spite of himself, to see Rhys still sitting where he had been a moment before. He knew where he was and what had happened, at least intellectually, but he could not remember how it had felt not to be Blind; only that something was lost.

At least his appearance seemed to be causing no alarm. He saw Rhys and Joram staring at him intently, and knew they must be reading him, but he could feel nothing. After a moment, Rhys smiled and nodded, brushing his temple with a fingertip, and full awareness came flooding back. With a quick sensation of vertigo, Camber shook his head and swallowed.

“I take it I stayed Alister,” he whispered, after a slight pause.

“You did that,” Rhys agreed. “Curiously enough, your dangerous alter-ego remained shuttered away, too, though if someone knew to look for it, he might be able to dig it out. That isn't likely, I don't think. At least we now know I can do it to anybody. And we know what
merasha
will do. Now we only have about half a dozen other common drugs to test, to see whether
they
affect blocked Deryni. I think we're going to have a busy week, not to mention that it's going to be hard on my volunteers.”

Neither Camber nor Joram could quarrel with that.

They continued their experiments throughout the rest of the week, drawing on Gregory and Jesse one night, Davin and Ansel another, Jaffray and then Jebediah again on a third, to finish testing all the substances Rhys felt needful. By the Feast of Saint Teilo, the day of Cinhil's state funeral, all of them were ready for a break—even a Requiem.

Cinhil's funeral was rich with all the pomp and dignity which the regents could muster from Church and State. Gwynedd had not seen a royal funeral of a reigning monarch for more than thirty years. Cinhil had been neither a great king nor even a greatly loved king, but he had been human and Haldane, and he had ousted the hated Imre and prevented Imre's sister from taking back the throne. No one could deny that these were all good things; and for these, at least, the people had been grateful.

They were grateful, in their grudging ways, but they did not understand him. They did not comprehend the personal piety and commitment which had made Cinhil long for a return to his priestly life, for the setting aside of the Crown won at such high cost.

What they did know and understand was that Cinhil, while not a brilliant or particularly wise king, had seemed genuinely concerned for the welfare of the people entrusted to his governance—even if he had not always known how to govern well or choose suitable advisors—and that he had been infinitely better than a child on the throne of Gwynedd.

Now they faced that latter situation, and knew that the kingdom would be ruled for at least the next two years by regents. The regents were fairly popular among their human constituents, but they were still regents, and many folk were aware of how some of them had already taken advantage of their positions at Court to gain offices and lands and titles. No, regents would not be the same at all as an adult king on the throne.

Still, the charm of three young princes was undeniable. No one knew a great deal about the children, since their father had protected them fiercely from too much public exposure during his lifetime, but it was said that at least the heir and the youngest were intelligent and engaging boys, though the heir was a trifle sickly.

They did not talk much about the middle son, clubfooted Prince Javan, who bore the mark of God's displeasure in every step he took. Some there were who felt sorry for the boy, but no one was sorry that it was Alroy and not Javan who was to be crowned in May, on the twins' twelfth birthday. It was not thought seemly that a cripple should sit upon the throne of Gwynedd—though law did not prohibit such a thing.

But, perhaps that, too, would change under the rule of the regents. It was said that the boy required a Healer at his side, day and night. Perhaps he would die, and save them all the further embarrassment. Had the regents been asked, and answered truthfully, they could not have argued with that rationale. Rhys Michael was a full year and a half younger than Alroy and Javan—with a correspondingly longer minority.

The princes' first public function after Cinhil's death, other than their brief appearances at the chapel royal beside the bier, was to walk behind their father's coffin in the funeral procession. From the castle, where Cinhil's body had lain in state for the past week, the procession wound its way out the courtyard and down the narrow, serpentine streets of the town, finally ending at the great Cathedral of All Saints, back near the castle.

Young Alroy, a royal prince's circlet of gold shining on his raven hair, walked directly behind the bier. Still a little pale, and very austere looking, he held his head high and looked neither right nor left; he had been well-coached by his tutors for the past week in royal deportment. He wore black, befitting the solemnity of the occasion, but the undifferenced shield of the Haldanes was blazoned bold on his chest and back to mark him as the heir. His brothers walked behind him, also in black, though without the shields, and wearing silver circlets.

Javan limped a little less than usual that day—a surprise to those who had never seen him, for many had thought him hideously deformed, to hear the common rumor. His manner was as cool and regal as his twin's; but those who watched would never know of the special ministrations given him by Tavis that morning, to block the pain of so long a march; nor would they know the price that walk cost him later that night, when the damage must be faced and Healed. For now, he was a royal prince and knew it.

And beside Javan, spritely and engaging, a sunny-dispositioned Prince Rhys Michael moved out confidently, in rapport with the crowd as only a natural-born leader could be, only barely able to refrain from smiling and waving to the people as he passed.

Next came the regents—all except Bishop Hubert, who would be assisting at the funeral and was already waiting at the cathedral with the other prelates. They walked four-abreast behind the princes, garbed in funereal black but by their bearing leaving little doubt of their own estimation of their importance in the future of Gwynedd.

Cinhil's Requiem Mass was celebrated by Archbishop Jaffray and Bishops Cullen and MacInnis—friends of Cinhil, all, though not universally of one another—a fitting farewell to a most pious king. It was attended by Deryni and humans alike.

When it was over, Cinhil was laid to rest in a crypt in the cathedral undercroft, near the tombs of the Festil kings who had once ruled Gwynedd. The regents had announced earlier in the week that Cinhil's body would be removed to Rhemuth later and reinterred with his Haldane ancestors, as, indeed, the entire Court would relocate to the old Haldane capital as soon as rebuilding was sufficiently advanced. The regents had even made inquiries to locate the graves of Cinhil's father and grandfather: Alroy, known as Royston, and Aidan, known as Daniel Draper.

The pronouncement was an auspicious one for the new regime. Such a poignant outward sign of piety and respect for the past touched responsive chords in Deryni as well as humans, and put the regents in a very positive light from the start. The veneration of the Haldane line, the planned retreat to the old human capital, with its associations of more fortunate days, seemed positive auguries for a more enlightened and responsive reign ahead.

Hence, for the first few weeks after Cinhil's funeral, the regents were careful to do nothing which might diminish their carefully nurtured first impression. While the Court was still in mourning, the regents occupied themselves with making quiet preparations for Alroy's coronation in May, the while setting out their long-term strategy for the months and years ahead. The council having been purged of all its Deryni members save one, it now became the regents' quiet task to ease out Deryni members of the royal household, the while rearranging staffs and quarters and schedules to extend even more rigid control over the three princes.