The Harrowing of Gwynedd (9 page)

“No.” Tavis smiled sympathetically and held out his hand in a gesture of peace. “Well, I'd best go on to my meeting with Prince Javan. And I believe you had important work to do, before I interrupted you. I shall look forward to studying with you further.”

“And I shall look forward to having such an apt pupil,” Queron replied, clasping Tavis' hand briefly but warmly. “God bless you and keep you safe, my son.”

Grateful, Tavis crossed himself in echo of the Healer-priest's blessing, then turned and went out of the chapel, closing the door behind him. And Queron, when he had gone, barred the door and then returned thoughtfully to the table before the altar, where a charcoal brazier, a small, razor-sharp knife, and a coiled Gabrilite
g'dula
awaited his attentions.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

Shall not they teach thee, and tell thee, and utter words out of their hearts?

—Job 8:10

At least an hour had passed since Compline, by the time Javan finally was able to slip away safely and head for the Portal secreted beneath the King's Tower. As he left the turnpike stair and headed along the curve of a final, dimly lighted corridor, he reflected that Tavis probably had come and gone several times by now, checking periodically for either Javan's presence or some message that the prince was not coming. Since royal princes had little business in this part of the castle, especially at this hour, Javan hoped he would not have to wait too long for the Healer's next appearance, for guards did patrol these corridors.

But he was nearly there now, and thus far he had not been challenged. He tried to tread very quietly as he approached the shadow of the Portal cubicle, but his pace quickened with anticipation as he sensed a whisper of movement inside. Just as he came abreast of it, however, some sixth sense cautioned him not to speak. To his utter horror, he found a guard using it for the garderobe it appeared to be.

More than a little rattled, Javan started to ease on past, hoping he would not be noticed, but the guard finished and turned at that moment, as startled as Javan.

“Your Highness,” the man murmured, hurriedly adjusting his clothing before sketching Javan a sheepish salute. “An' am I glad ye weren't the officer of the watch. Ye took me totally by surprise. Anything I can do for yer?”

The man was big, armed and lightly armored, the red ram's head badge of Rhun of Horthness on the shoulder of his cloak and on his breast. He did not look or sound suspicious—yet—but Javan knew that what the man was really asking, as he got his wits together, was: What the devil are
you
doing down here? Fortunately, Javan had already thought of a plausible excuse.

“No, I—ah—was just stretching my legs,” he improvised. “It's snowing like sin outside, but I thought I'd better walk a little before going to bed—clear my head.” He raised a hand to his forehead in what he hoped was a gesture of faint dismay. “I—ahem—had a little too much wine at the wedding feast.”

“Ah, well then,” the guard replied, apparently satisfied. “That's what a wedding feast is all about, ain't it, sir? I mean, even them of us as drew guard duty tonight got our extra wine rations, for when we go off watch. The Lord Rhun's a generous master, he is.”

“Aye, he is that,” Javan murmured, mentally cursing the man for a loquacious fool and wondering whether he dared try his developing powers on the man, in an attempt to discourage him. He had an idea …

“Well, I don't suppose I should keep you from your—oh, damn, I've got something in my eye,” he muttered, knuckling at his right eye and wincing, blinking rapidly, pretending distress. “It's probably just an eyelash, but—damn, it feels like a rock!”

Apparently taking the bait, the man moved in amiably and set his hand under Javan's elbow to draw him under a nearby torch, taking off his gloves and tucking them into his ample belt.

“Here now, sir. Ye want t' pull the lid down a few times an' wash it out with tears. Let's have a look. My little lads get things in their eyes all the time.”

As he tipped Javan's face up toward the light, peering intently into the grey Haldane eyes, Javan knew he had him. He was amazed at how easy it was to stretch out his powers and take control, so that all at once the man was simply—
his
.

“What's your name, soldier?” he asked softly, raising his hands quietly to take the man's hands from his face and retain them for physical contact.

“Norris, sir,” the man whispered.

“Excellent. Go to sleep, then, Norris, and remember nothing of this.”

Somewhat to Javan's dismay, the guard's eyes immediately rolled upward and disappeared under the lids and he buckled at the knees. Javan gasped and managed to ease him to the floor without too much of a clash of armor, but the effect was not exactly what he had planned. He was trying to decide how to get the man on his feet and on his way again when he suddenly became aware of another presence behind him.

He whirled on his heels in alarm, utterly panic-stricken until he saw that it was Tavis stepping from the Portal cubicle.

“Sweet
Jesu
, don't
do
that!” he whispered. “You nearly gave me heart failure!”

“Imagine how your friend would feel, if he woke up and remembered what you just did to
him
.” Tavis glided to Javan's side and knelt beside the unconscious guard, laying his hand lightly on the man's forehead. “Fortunately, you'd got that part right. He wouldn't have remembered your involvement in all of this. But he would have had a hard time explaining why he fell asleep on watch down here. No point drawing any more attention to this area than we must.” He paused briefly, apparently working his own magic on the sleeping Norris.

“All right, then,” he murmured after a few seconds, shifting his hand to the guard's shoulder. “Let's have you up, old chap, and back on duty. That's the lad.”

Javan stood back as the man roused and, with Tavis' help, got nimbly to his feet, apparently no longer even noticing Javan's presence. Without further instruction or even a backward glance, he turned and headed down the corridor in a slow, casual guard pace. Tavis was grinning as Javan turned to stare at him in question.

“I just finished up what you'd started,” the Healer said with an amused shrug, gesturing toward the Portal cubicle. “Now let's get out of here before any of Norris' chums come along. I've told him to make whatever excuses he needs to, to be sure they don't, but we wouldn't want to push our luck.”

Nodding, Javan let himself be ushered into the Portal cubicle, his mind churning with a dozen unasked questions. He forced himself to still them as Tavis stepped into place behind him, though, for he knew he must clear his mind for the Healer to take him wherever they were going tonight.

“It's the Michaeline sanctuary, this time,” Tavis whispered in his left ear, answering that question, at least. He set the end of his stump just beneath that ear as his other arm encircled Javan's shoulders, the
vee
of his thumb and fingers lightly bracketing Javan's throat over the pressure points at the carotid arteries. “Now, am I going to have to
take
control, or can you give it up this time?”

Closing his eyes, Javan took a long, deep breath and let it out softly, ignoring the sour stench of urine, feeling himself begin to center. He still had not learned to like Portal travel, especially from
this
Portal.

“I think I can do it, but I'm not proud. Help me out, if you need to.”

Tavis' answering breath, in and out, helped Javan go deeper as well, and he felt his link with Tavis open even wider, faintly sensed the tingle of the Portal under their feet; but he knew he was still too slow for Tavis.

Just a little help, this time
, came Tavis' thought, softly flowing into his mind.
We mustn't be here too long
.

Resigned, Javan gave up trying and bowed his head a little, welcoming the blacker darkness that rose behind his eyes as Tavis compressed the pressure points. A ghost of awareness still played at the edges of his mind as Tavis wrenched the energies, though, and Javan recovered almost immediately as the Healer released him in another Portal chamber that did not reek of the garderobe.

“Well done,” the other murmured, pushing open a panel that opened into a dimly lit corridor. “If you hadn't still been a bit shaken up from tackling the good Norris, I think you could have done it on your own that time. What
am
I going to do with you?”

Javan grinned as he followed the Healer into the corridor.

“Keep teaching me how to do better, I hope,” he said. He sobered quickly, however, as he remembered the ill news he had brought. “I—don't think I'll be much use as a student tonight, though. Did you know that the regents—that they've killed Father Alister and Jebediah?”

Tavis stopped stock-still in the corridor and threw back his head to take a deep breath and let it out explosively.

“So, the news has finally reached Valoret, has it? I'll bet the regents loved
that
!”

“Oh. You already knew.”

Sighing, Tavis nodded, not looking at the prince.

“We buried them with Rhys, a few days ago. Evaine and Joram brought the bodies through, after they got the Portal at Saint Mary's working.” He glanced aside at Javan, still bitter in his own sense of loss. “Would you like to pay your respects?”

“Yes, I would,” Javan said in a small, quiet voice.

“All right. We'll have to see if Queron's finished in the chapel, first. He was working a ritual in there, earlier, but I don't think he meant to be long.”

The chapel door was standing open when they reached it, however, and Queron nowhere to be seen, though the small table Tavis had noticed earlier was still there, empty now. A Presence Lamp above the altar and a rack of votives to the left were the only light.

Standing aside for Javan to enter, Tavis directed him across the Kheldish carpet to a row of three marble plaques set into the wall to the right of the altar. A strip of parchment had been wedged into the crack at the top joining of each, and Javan's eyes blurred with tears for the second time that night as he laid a reverent finger under the nearest one and tilted it toward the light of silvery handfire that Tavis conjured.

Rhys Malachy Thuryn, Healer, 877–917. “For of the Most High Cometh Healing
,” Javan read.

The second slip was Jebediah's:
Lord Jebediah of Alcara, Knight and Grand Master of the Order of Saint Michael, 861–918. “With the blessed Archangel, he shall stand at the right side of the altar of incense, defending the Light
”.

“There hasn't been time yet to have the markers carved,” Tavis said quietly, nudging his handfire to follow as Javan moved to the third strip of parchment. “Nor are the texts completely decided yet.”

Alister Kyriell Cullen, Archbishop of Valoret, Bishop of Grecotha, Chancellor of Gwynedd, Vicar General of the Order of Saint Michael, Priest and Knight, 838–918. “Nunc dimittis, Domine
…”

“
Nunc dimittis
,” Javan read aloud, recognizing the quotation. “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.”

Tavis nodded. “Bishop Niallan suggested the texts. Evaine isn't entirely happy with them, though, so she's looking for some better ones.” He glanced at his feet. “I'll—leave you with them for a few minutes, if you wish.”

He moved silently toward the door at Javan's stricken nod, quenching the still-hovering handfire as an afterthought, but the prince paid it and him no further mind. Sinking heavily to his knees, Javan buried his face in his hands and began to weep, thin shoulders shaking silently. Tavis paused uneasily in the doorway and watched for a few seconds, debating whether he really ought to leave Javan totally alone, then turned to see Queron watching both him and Javan.

He's only just learned, has he?
Queron sent, laying a sympathetic hand on Tavis' arm.

Aye
, Tavis returned.
A few hours ago, actually. He knew about Rhys, of course, but I gather that news of Alister and Jebediah has only just reached court
.

Well, perhaps it's best he goes ahead and works out his grief. The poor lad must have gone through hell, having to hear that news in open court and not react the way he really felt. He seems quite unsettled
.

With an ironic little smile, despite his sympathy for Javan, Tavis moved himself and Queron farther into the hallway and turned to look squarely at the older Healer, though he left the door ajar.

I'll tell you what's probably got him at least as unsettled as his grief
, he sent.
Let me show you what he did to the poor, unwitting guard who happened to be lurking inconveniently where Javan was supposed to wait for me …

When the older Healer had assimilated the report of Javan's work on the hapless Norris, he cocked his head and raised a half-disbelieving eyebrow.

But, that's a Deryni ability. Where in God's name did he learn to do that?

I'm not sure what role God had to play in it
, Tavis replied,
but shall we ask Javan?

I think we certainly should
, came Queron's reply.

They gave Javan a few more minutes, waiting until they saw him sit back on his heels and begin wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. When the snuffling sounds subsided, Tavis cleared his throat discreetly and pushed the door wider again, Queron at his side as he went back into the chapel. The boy looked up at their approach, awkwardly getting to his feet as he saw that Tavis was not alone.

“It's—Dom Queron, isn't it?” the prince murmured, eying the newcomer's white robes uncertainly. “I believe we met—last year sometime, wasn't it?” he finished lamely, apparently not wanting to call attention to the fact that it had been after Tavis' injury, when both he and Tavis had been afraid of the elder Healer's visit.