He paused to take a swallow of wine, carefully choosing the next part of his story. Knowing that Alyce had at least begun awakening Brion’s ability to Truth-Read, he knew he dared not lie outright, but he could be economical with his details. Everything had happened very quickly.
«After that, it was a matter of getting downstairs to you as quickly as I could. As I threaded my way down that ridiculous internal turnpike stair at the transept, afraid that I was going to get stuck, it occurred to me that only a Deryni could have subverted any of our men in the space of only a few hours — and that maybe he’d gotten to more than just the two I’d killed. That’s why I ordered the ones on the ground to drop their weapons. When the one in the back broke and ran, I figured he had to be our infiltrator».
«And Jamyl had gotten down by then», Brion said eagerly, still smiling at the image Kenneth had conjured of getting stuck in the turnpike stair, «so he was able to corner him there by the baptistery chapel». He flashed his squire a pleased grin, eliciting a raised cup and a wan, answering smile.
«He very nearly crushed me to death, Sire», Jamyl allowed, seizing on the opportunity to embroider on the humor Brion was finding in the story. The king was only fourteen and a bit, after all. «He was wearing mail and a breast and back under those monk’s robes. The only place I could get at him was above the neck — though that certainly sufficed».
Brion shivered deliciously, though Richard looked thoughtful — and he was the one to be convinced, Kenneth realized, though the prince’s next comment suggested that he was not questioning the story.
«I didn’t teach you that», Richard muttered, «though it’s a good move. It would certainly stop a man quickly. Did you learn that in King Illann’s service?»
Jamyl only shrugged and lifted his cup to the royal duke in salute, then drank again, hoping the assumption would suffice.
«Humph», was all Richard said, though his tone was thoughtful and not at all suspicious. «I wonder if we’ll ever know who he was — or the other one, who was tossing lightning at us. The armor is Torenthi; at least the breast and back are. Very fine workmanship — and the other man’s sword is worth a small fortune. Someone is going to miss them…».
«Aye, and they’ll have friends», Kenneth said. «I’m sure the word will get out. Whoever they were, they were enemies of Gwynedd».
«Aye, that’s a certainty!» Richard retorted.
But Kenneth knew precisely who one of the dead men was, and by whom he had been sent, thanks to Jamyl — whose Deryni identity had been a complete surprise.
As for any connection between Jamyl and Sé Trelawney, other than their shared Deryni heritage…Kenneth took a long pull at his wine, well aware that Deryni were very good at keeping secrets.
They had considered leaving Jamyl behind for a day to rest with the monks, but he woke the next morning declaring that he was fit enough to travel. During the night, while checking on his wounded «associate» — who would always bear the scar of the day’s misadventure — he had also learned of another body found in the cathedral sacristy, armored like the man he had killed, and with not a mark upon him. Hearing that, he asked about the boy chorister who had taken ill before the ceremony; but the monks assured him that the boy had rejoined his choir immediately after Mass, long before trouble erupted. Jamyl suspected that the story’s full telling might only be revealed when he had talked to his brother, but he kept his suspicions to himself as he retired at last to his bed and a restless night’s sleep.
Thus reassured, he was, indeed, fit to travel the next day — and he was fit enough for other things as well. Before leaving for Rhemuth, Kenneth and Richard took the opportunity to interview all the remaining lancers, lest some remained under the influence of the mysterious attacker Jamyl had slain; but there were none. It was Jamyl who brought the men, one by one, into the room set aside for that purpose in the abbot’s apartments; but even the brief transit down the corridor to get there was sufficient for him to satisfy himself that no one else had been tainted.
Kenneth quietly accepted Jamyl’s subtle assistance, and managed to convey the impression to Brion and Richard that his confidence in the questioning was due entirely to the interrogation skills of Richard and himself.
Despite Jamyl’s protestations that he was fit, they spent three days traveling back to Rhemuth instead of two, though that still would leave them with nearly a fortnight before the coronation. They had sent a pair of lancers on ahead to advise the queen and crown council of their imminent arrival.
All of the royal household were there on the great hall steps to greet them as they rode into the castle yard, the queen coming right down onto the muddy forecourt to grasp at her son’s stirrup, clinging to him as he swung down to embrace her. Prince Nigel and the king’s two sisters were also waiting to greet them, and Brion spared each of them a hug and a few words of cheer before mounting the great hall steps to receive the welcomes and good wishes of his ministers of state.
Seeing Seisyll Arilan there among them, nodding greeting to his nephew as they all dismounted, reminded Kenneth that Seisyll, too, must be Deryni like his nephew, though he found himself taking comfort in the realization that at least one more Deryni secretly served the House of Haldane. He did not know whether Jamyl would tell his uncle of confiding in Kenneth Morgan — he hoped not. The elder Arilan had always made Kenneth vaguely uneasy, though he had chalked it up to personality differences; now he knew the real reason. But he also knew that he would do his utmost to protect both these courageous Deryni who were pledged, like him, to protect the king and the royal house of Gwynedd.
But there was one person missing from the welcome home, whose well-being now became Kenneth’s focused concern. The first thing he did, when he had seen his horse looked after and taken his leave of the king and Duke Richard, was to seek out his son.
Hurrying inside, he made his way down the great hall to the stairwell that led up to the apartment he had been assigned before the present mission. Sir Llion was waiting for him just at the entrance to that stairwell, with a small, towheaded boy in his charge. Young Alaric gave a squeal of joy as he saw his father, breaking away from Llion’s grasp to come racing across the stone flags as his father knelt on one knee to receive him.
«Papa! You’re back!» the boy cried, flinging himself into his sire’s embrace to shower him with kisses. «Papa, Papa!»
«I take it that you missed me», Kenneth replied, hugging the boy in return and glancing up as Llion sauntered nearer, smiling faintly. «Will Sir Llion tell me that you’ve been good?»
«Of course I have!» Alaric replied indignantly. «I promised Mama. And I can write all my letters now; Llion helped me practice. I can even read — well, some», he added, at Llion’s look askance.
«Well, then, you shall have to show me», Kenneth said, standing with the boy in his arms to exchange a handclasp with Llion.
As the two adults climbed the wide turnpike stair, Alaric riding happily in his father’s embrace, Llion gave a sketchy report of his young charge’s activities in Kenneth’s absence, and Kenneth, in turn, gave the young knight a bare-bones account of what had transpired when the new archbishop was enthroned.
«We got at least two of the instigators», Kenneth told Llion, «but it was a near-run thing. We have Master Jamyl’s clearheadedness partially to thank for it». He did not add that, without Jamyl’s assistance, both the king and his royal uncle might have returned from Valoret as the subjects of a funeral cortege, and that the nine-year-old Prince Nigel might now be King of Gwynedd.