The King’s Justice (12 page)

But Arilan seemed unaware. As soon as he and Duncan had finished, Kelson dropped heavily to his knees once more beside the still unconscious Nigel and bade the others close the circle. If Arilan read that as confirmation of fatigue, so much the better, for it might forestall further questioning later on; and in the meantime, the ritual kept Arilan too busy to pay close attention to him.

Kelson tried to keep his mind mirror-still as Arilan and the others wound the ritual to its proper conclusion, and he began shooing them out as soon as the last glimmer of the wards had died. He doubted anyone had much inclination to linger in the chapel overlong, for the hour's working in so close a space had made the temperature most uncomfortable, but he especially did not want to be left alone with Arilan. A chapel sacred to Saint Camber was no place to try to hide a vision of that saint from a high adept like Arilan.

With that in mind, then, he signed for Arilan and Richenda to precede him out, himself lingering only long enough to help Morgan and Duncan get Nigel on his feet. He trailed behind them as they half walked and half carried Nigel back into the study, giving Dhugal a fleeting smile and a brush of hand on shoulder as he emerged from behind the curtain his foster brother held.

Arilan was waiting just beyond, Richenda moving with Morgan, Duncan, and Nigel toward the chairs by the fireplace. Fortunately for Kelson, passing into the relative chill of the study set him to sneezing before Arilan could do more than open his mouth. At once, Dhugal was laying a cloak around his shoulders and insisting that he join the others by the fire, solicitous and almost a little alarmed. The grateful Kelson played the scene for its full distraction value, making a show of bundling the cloak around his body and wiping his sweaty face on the sleeve of his shirt. By the time he had huddled down in the chair next to Nigel's, he was not having to feign shivering.

“Are you all right?” Morgan asked, turning from Nigel long enough to lay the back of a hand against Kelson's forehead.

Kelson nodded, gesturing back to Nigel with his chin.

“What about him?”

“He'll be coming around in a few minutes,” Duncan said, gently peeling back one of Nigel's eyelids. “The drug's almost worn off. He's going to want a lot of sleep, though.”

Arilan grimaced and pulled his cincture from one of the piles of clothing shed earlier. The grimace became a scowl as he began wrapping it around his waist.

“Does that surprise you?” he muttered. “Whatever he experienced, it hit him like a wall. I don't suppose any of you can tell me what happened in there?”

Kelson shrugged noncommittally. “We did what we set out to do.” He glanced at his uncle again. “And frankly, I would have been surprised if it
hadn't
hit him like a wall, as you so aptly put it. I suspect it's distinctly Haldane. Having been through it myself, I doubt anyone can appreciate the full impact unless he's also been through it. You can tell that to the Council if you like. That
is
where you're going when you leave here, isn't it?”

Arilan's mouth twitched in annoyance, though he tried to make it look like a grimace of frustration as he did up the collar of his cassock.

“Don't sound so accusatory, son. We may not have spoken of it directly, but surely you realized that I'd have to report on what you've done.”

“Forgive me if it seems a lot like spying,” Kelson countered. He nodded thanks as Richenda handed him a cup of pale wine. “They can't have it both ways indefinitely, you know. They've been vacillating for more than two years now, trying to decide whether I'm fish or fowl—and if
my
status is still in question, then Alaric and Duncan must still be in the insect category. God knows what they think of Dhugal!”

As he gestured curtly with his cup toward his foster brother, who was trying to become invisible before this increasingly heated exchange between king and bishop, Arilan glanced in Dhugal's direction, smiled wryly, and pulled his cloak from a chair.

“If we continue this discussion, we shall quarrel. And I'd have you at a distinct disadvantage, fatigued as you are.” He slung the cloak around his shoulders and glanced around the room speculatively as he tied the ribbons at his throat.

“Now, I seem to recall that you have a Portal here somewhere, Duncan. I should like to use it, if I may. I
am
going to the Council now, Sire, but I assure you that I shall be as objective as possible in my reporting.”

Kelson still had distinct misgivings, but there was no point belaboring the issue. Whether or not Kelson liked it, the Council was going to know about Nigel before the night was out. He had known that from the moment he even considered asking Arilan's assistance. And at least if Arilan left now, Kelson would not have to risk him learning about the Camber vision.

“Show him the Portal,” he said to Dhugal.

He turned his head away at Arilan's sardonic little bow of thanks, knowing it would irk Arilan just a little that even Dhugal knew of the Portal, where Arilan did not.

Arilan said nothing—merely acknowledged Dhugal with a curt nod and stepped onto the Portal when Dhugal had pulled aside the tapestry that covered the doorway; then he was gone.

Kelson sighed explosively and tossed off his cup of wine, stretching out his legs toward the fire to rest his boots on the raised hearth.

“Bloody Camberian Council!” he muttered.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, a little surprised at the king's outburst—though he quite agreed with the assessment.

“Come, now. This is hardly the first time Arilan has gone running back to the Council to report what we're doing.”

“No—though in all fairness to Arilan, he's made no real secret of it, at least to me. In his way, I suppose he's trying to be open-minded.”

“As an individual, that may well be,” Morgan said guardedly. “You're certainly in a far better position to know about such things than I. From my own observation, however, I can't say that the apparent attitude of the Council as a whole has been anything but disturbing.”

“I'd rather not talk about them,” Kelson said quietly.

Morgan and Duncan exchanged glances, and Richenda withdrew unobtrusively to perch on a low stool beyond them and Nigel. Dhugal, still a little rattled by Arilan's comments and departure, took up a cautious post to Kelson's right.

“Kelson, we know you'd rather not,” Morgan said quietly. “Unfortunately, your reticence to do so of late has hardly helped to reassure Duncan and myself. They may be courting
you
, but—”

“I don't know that I'd exactly call it courting,” Kelson countered. “I may have made some progress with a few as individuals, but as a body they're still very, very conservative.”

“I fear narrow-minded is nearer the mark,” Duncan said. “I can only agree with Alaric. As far as we know, we're still half-breeds and outcasts where the Council is concerned—and as you yourself have pointed out, God knows what they think of Dhugal.”

“Dhugal is a cypher,” Kelson said, almost shortly, “and I intend that he remain so.”

“And Nigel?” Richenda asked, speaking up for the first time.

Kelson set aside his cup, shaking his head. “Nigel himself can't have been any surprise to the Council. After all, they or their predecessors have been coping with Haldane heirs for two hundred years. Thank God that Arilan wasn't in the primary link, though.” He shivered and looked up at Morgan and Duncan. “You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?”

The glances the two exchanged told Kelson that they knew precisely what he was talking about. Clearly Richenda did not—which meant that Arilan probably had not caught any inkling of Nigel's experience either. Dhugal, who would not have been expected to read much detail from outside the circle, even if trained—which he was not—looked predictably mystified.

Richenda's expression of speculation turned to comprehension as she laid a hand on her husband's forearm to share his memory of the experience.

“Ah, Saint Camber,” she breathed. “I should have known.”

Dhugal gulped and looked aghast at all of them.

“Saint Camber? What is she talking about?”

“Nigel had a—vision during the ritual,” Morgan said, dragging his eyes from Richenda's to look at Dhugal. “Duncan and I caught a little of the spillover from Kelson.”

“A vision? Of Saint Camber?”

Duncan nodded. “We've—ah—come into contact with him before. I must say, I certainly wasn't expecting him tonight.”

“A—saint?” Dhugal only just managed to swallow.

Kelson sighed and gestured wearily toward Duncan. “Do you want to show him, Duncan?”

“Why can't
you
show me?” Dhugal asked plaintively, before Duncan could respond. “Unless you're too tired, that is. But I'm never going to learn if I only work with my father.”

The request could not have been made a few months before, for it was only with the new year that Dhugal had learned to lower his shields even for Duncan. He had grown far more adept since then, working with Morgan, Kelson, and occasionally Richenda, but rapport with anyone besides Duncan still required far more effort on his part than he thought it should. Kelson knew that. So despite his fatigue, he smiled and held out his hand.

As soon as their fingers met, he could feel Dhugal's shields collapse—saw the sun-amber eyes go a little glassy as Dhugal slipped firmly, if not easily, into rapport.

He did not spare him, though. Cementing the link, he bore deep into Dhugal's mind and began to filter the memory through, beginning with Nigel's sensations as the drug took effect and his eyes began to go out of focus, and not letting up as the pain began to build along with other sensations.

Dhugal gasped and closed his eyes as the feed became more intense, inadvertently drawing back just a little, but Kelson merely shifted his hand around to grasp Dhugal's wrist and held the contact. As the link steadied, he fed the last set of images: the face against the fog, compassionate and kind; quicksilver eyes, silver-gilt hair; and the hand whose touch brought oblivion. With them he sent a montage of the other times he had seen that face, and the images of Morgan's and Duncan's sightings.

When he let the link dissolve, though not the physical one of hand to hand, Dhugal exhaled in a long, slow sigh and did not move or even open his eyes for several seconds. When he did raise his head to look at Kelson, his eyes were moist with tears.

“I—had no idea,” he murmured, after a few more seconds, finally raising both hands to wipe surreptitiously at his eyes. “Do you—really think it was Saint Camber?”

Duncan smiled sympathetically and exchanged a glance with Morgan.

“Well, at least we know it wasn't Stefan Coram this time, don't we?” he said. “And I don't think it was Arilan, either.”

“God, no!” Kelson said, sitting back with an explosive sigh and crossing his arms on his chest. “I don't think he caught any of it. Richenda didn't, after all. And after it was over, I was terribly anxious that he not pick up something about it from me or the two of you, before I could get rid of him. Somehow, I didn't want him to share that.”

“Perhaps because you knew he was going to the Council after he left,” Morgan ventured.

“Perhaps.” Kelson shook his head and sighed again. “What do
you
think, though? All of you. Was it Saint Camber?”

“Why not ask the man who saw it firsthand?” Duncan murmured, laying a hand on the forehead of the reviving Nigel. “Nigel, are you with us again? How do you feel?”

With a little moan, Nigel opened his eyes and turned his head toward Kelson, not fighting the light control Duncan extended to block any residual pain.

“Kelson,” he murmured. “God, what an incredible experience! I had no idea.…”

Kelson grinned and laid his hand on his uncle's, glancing briefly at Duncan to shift control.

“I know. You weathered everything well, though. Do you remember any details?”

Nigel's lips parted in a slow, lazy half-smile, the grey Haldane eyes dreamy and still a little focused in some other world.

“I thought I was going to die,” he said softly. “And then—you're not going to believe this—I think Saint Camber saved my life. Or at least my sanity.” He turned his head to look at the rest of them searchingly, then back at Kelson. “He did. And I am
not
going mad now—am I?”

Slowly Kelson shook his head. “No, Uncle, you're not going mad. I saw him too. Alaric and Duncan—have seen him before.”

“Somehow that ought to alarm me,” Nigel replied, “but it doesn't. Your doing?”

“In part,” Kelson admitted. “But in part, I think it goes along with what else has happened to you. Camber seems to have an affinity for us Haldanes. Now, perhaps, you understand better why I want to know more about him—maybe even restore his cult here in Gwynedd.”

“I shan't argue that,” Nigel answered, around a yawn. “'M too sleepy.”

“The expected response,” Kelson replied, giving the hand a squeeze and getting to his feet. “Are you ready to go back to your quarters?”

Nigel rose without help, if a trifle unsteadily, and gave another enormous yawn. “I think I'll sleep for a week.”

“No, only until morning,” Duncan said, grinning as he laid an arm around Dhugal's shoulders. “Dhugal and I leave for Kierney tomorrow, and you must see us off.”

“Oh, aye,” Nigel mumbled.

“Meraude's going to think he's drunk,” Morgan muttered under his breath.

“Then, best she have reason to think he's been drinking,” Richenda replied. Quickly she poured a cup of wine and put it in the swaying Nigel's hand. “Drink it down, Nigel. You'll sleep the better for it, too.”

Nigel obeyed without hesitation, setting the empty cup back in Richenda's hand when he had finished. After he and Kelson had gone, Morgan sat down in the chair Kelson had vacated and pulled his wife down on his lap. She laughed lightly, and Duncan poured wine for all of them.