Afterward, Kenneth and Sir Tiarnán spent an hour with the captain of lancers and the captain of the archbishop’s household guard, familiarizing themselves with the interior of the cathedral and discussing possible security issues for the morrow, for Brion was still an uncrowned king, protected neither by the mystique accorded an anointed sovereign, as God’s representative within his kingdom, nor by the fullness of his Haldane legacy, abbreviated by Alyce’s untimely death. Awareness of the latter part of this vulnerability had made Kenneth doubly uneasy about making the journey to Valoret, but Brion had been insistent.
Meanwhile, with the king’s men thus occupied, the king’s squire found his opportunity to make contact with Rhydon, who had arranged to meet Jamyl in the cathedral’s sacristy. The vast building was mostly deserted at that hour, with physical preparations already completed for the morrow’s ceremonials. Jamyl could hear the distant voices of Kenneth and the others walking the galleries high above the clerestory aisles, but nothing moved in the nave below, where the only illumination besides the votive lights in the various side chapels came from a few torches left burning for the inspection party. Above, he could see more torches moving along the galleries, which would keep him aware of their whereabouts.
The sacristy door was standing slightly ajar as Jamyl approached it, gliding from shadow to shadow. He paused just outside for a moment, briefly rehearsing his cover story, should there prove to be anyone inside besides his expected contact; he dared not risk a psychic probe, since their adversary was another Deryni. Then, with a softly indrawn breath, he gently pushed the door open far enough to slip inside and softly close it. He was startled, nonetheless, to find Rhydon all at once standing in the center of the chamber, pushing back the cowl of a monk’s robes and laying one finger across his lips to caution silence.
A second gesture seemed to lower a veil around them, deadening the distant sounds of the voices far outside. Another beckoned for Jamyl to approach, as Rhydon moved toward the center of the chamber to bend and grasp a corner of the fine Kheldish carpet covering the floor before the altar, walking it back to expose the tessellated floor beneath. In its center, barely visible by the light of the altar’s Presence lamp, Jamyl could just make out a vaguely circular design.
«Come closer», Rhydon whispered, crouching down on his hunkers beside it. «You need to know about this».
At once Jamyl did as he was bidden, for the faint tingling just discernible at his feet told of a Portal matrix embedded in the mosaic design. At the other’s gesture of invitation, he shifted onto his knees to lay both hands flat on the center of the tiled motif, closing his eyes to extend his senses, grasping the psychic prickle of the Portal’s unique energy signature and setting its pattern deep in memory. As he looked up with a nod, dusting his hands against his thighs, Rhydon smiled faintly and got to his feet, Jamyl also rising so that the two of them could turn the carpet back over the Portal seal. With a glance at the door, Rhydon drew his younger companion back into the shadows nearer the vesting altar.
«Take special care tomorrow», Rhydon murmured, «and stay close to the king, if you can». His voice was hardly more than a whisper of breath against Jamyl’s ear. «I’ve seen no further sign of Zachris, but I know that he is about. I did see one of his henchmen here at Mass this morning, which is very out of character for men of his ilk. It could well be a prelude for Zachris to make an appearance tomorrow, possibly by means of this very Portal. He certainly would know about it; there are Portals at many of the cathedrals, from the old days. I’ll have a man stationed nearby, but if you can keep the king away from this end of the church, that would probably be wise».
Jamyl nodded. «I understand. Sir Kenneth is already planning to bring him and Duke Richard in by a side door», he said. «They’ll be sitting in the choir, close against the choir screen — not visible from the nave. You really think that Zachris Pomeroy would come here?»
Rhydon’s lips tightened. «What better place and opportunity, to strike a blow for Prince Hogan’s cause? Killing the king before he can be crowned would throw the kingdom into turmoil, and give Hogan a unique opportunity to seize the crown before the succession can be resolved».
«But — Prince Nigel is the heir, and Richard after him», Jamyl began.
«Nigel is nine years old. Nor is it at all certain that he could wield the Haldane power, even were he grown to manhood. Richard fares no better in that regard — nor Brion himself, for that matter. Whatever preparations Donal was able to make, he did not expect to die with his heir still so young; and he had not reckoned on Alyce de Corwyn dying at the same time. God alone knows whether her son will be able to function, when he is old enough».
Jamyl closed his eyes briefly, in vain attempt to shut out even the thought of the struggle that could follow.
«Go and get some sleep now», Rhydon ordered. «I was able to arrange for your brother to be included in the choir coming down from Arx Fidei tomorrow. I have it in mind that he should complain of feeling ill, just before things begin, and be sent to sit in the sacristy while he recovers».
«To guard the Portal?» Jamyl only barely managed to keep his voice to a whisper. «Rhydon, he’s only twelve years old — and if there’s trouble, it could cost him his chance at the priesthood».
«If there’s trouble, and Zachris has free access to this Portal», Rhydon replied, «it could cost the king his life».
Jamyl swallowed hard, unwilling to consider either outcome, flinching as Rhydon laid a hand on his shoulder in commiseration.
«Perhaps I should not have reminded you that the stakes were so high», Rhydon offered, faintly apologetic. «But be of good cheer. With any luck at all, we shall see no sign of Zachris Pomeroy or his minions, and everything will go smoothly».
All through the following morning, that seemed to be the case. Final preparations began just after Matins, with the principals assembling in the chapter house an hour before noon to robe and receive their final instructions. Meanwhile, the supporting clergy began gathering outside with all the trappings of the Church’s highest ceremonial: the monks in their habits and church capes, the clergy in cassocks and white surplices, and the bishops wearing sumptuous copes and miters behind the grand processional cross, with acolytes bearing the matching candlesticks — the set said to have been given by the great King Bearand Haldane, encased in sheets of beaten gold and studded with rubies and pearls; the golden thuribles and aspergilla, the great Gospel Book with its jeweled cover depicting serried ranks of the blessèd who gave their patronage to All Saints’ Cathedral, the bright silken banners of the various saints associated with Valoret and with Gwynedd.
It was a bright, sunny day, if still bitter cold, so the various masters of ceremony were able to line up the processions of choir and cathedral chapter and supporting bishops in the cathedral square instead of in the smaller cloister garth within the abbey walls. The fine weather had also encouraged a good turnout from the local townsfolk, eager to see their new archbishop enthroned, for whom the spectacle of the cathedral at work provided periodic and welcome diversion from their workaday lives. Well before the noon Angelus, people began converging on the cathedral square from all directions, gawking at the processions lining up outside as they shuffled inside to jostle for the best vantage points.
The king and his uncle came over from the abbey guesthouse only minutes before the ceremony was to begin, both still dressed in mourning for the late king, slipping in through a side door to take their places in the choir; with luck, they would be taken for minor clergy, amid so much other black, as would Tiarnán and Jiri, who attended them, along with Jamyl Arilan.