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thrust one hand underneath the blood-soaked bandage, the other slipping
smoothly inside the front of the leather jerkin to monitor the pounding heart.
The man's struggles weakened as Kelson began to block the pain, but it
was as much from a deteriorating condition as any easing of his agony. Blood was
pulsing from between Morgan's fingers with every labored heartbeat-so much
that Morgan wondered how the man had lasted this long- and in a desperate
attempt to at least slow the inevitable, he eased his hand deep into the wound,
clear to the last set of knuckles, and began to call up his healing talent.
"It's no good. I'm losing him," Kelson whispered, closing his eyes as he
tried to force his mind past the barriers of fading consciousness that, even now,
were melting into the darker, more tenuous mists of death.
"So am I," Morgan answered.
He did his best to send healing across the link, and felt the power begin to
stir in him; but abruptly he came up short, gasping, as if he were a fish flopping
helplessly in a too-small container, and waterless besides. It was too late.
He stopped trying, and the sensation ceased. The man sighed softly,
twitched, and was still. Morgan did not attempt to intrude on what Kelson was
doing; only blinked and drew himself a long, steadying breath to reorient as he
raised his head, paying no mind to the reactions of the others watching.
"So," Kelson whispered, taut and just a little indignant as he raised his
head and blinked, focusing with difficulty on Morgan's face. "He was Grigor of
Dunlea's man. God, I didn't know he'd betrayed me, too!"
Sighing, Morgan pulled his hand slowly out of the dead man's body. The
stench of blood and sundered bowels made him particularly grateful for the basin
of clean water and the towel that Conall offered him, kneeling expectantly
between him and Kelson.
"Are you really surprised at that, my prince, given the border tactics we've
been seeing?" Morgan murmured, mechanically washing his hands as he
continued settling back into normal consciousness.
Duke Ewan crouched down beside the king and held out a piece of
bloodstained tartan.
"Aye, an' here's another border token. Sire. D'ye recognize the sett,
Alaric?"
At Morgan's negative, Ewan grimaced and tossed the bloody plaid
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r r
contemptuously over the dead man's face.
"MacErskine. An' one o' my scouts swears he saw old Tegan O Daire.
Sicard's recruited goddamn outlaws!'
"More likely, Brice of Trurill's recruited outlaws," Kelson retorted, getting
wearily to his feet. "He and Grigor of Dunlea were always like two kernels on the
same ear."
Morgan said nothing as he dried his hands and laid the towel over Conall's
arm with a nod of thanks, but he relayed his and Kelson's growing suspicions to
Duncan a few nights later, when they made one of their increasingly regular
contacts via deep Deryni trancing.
We begin to suspect the main Mearan army isn't in the south at all, he told
Duncan. So far, all we've met are skirmish bands-no more than a hundred men or
so at a time, and they never strike in the open. Sicard may have their main
strength in the north, hunting you.
While Brice and his minions slow you down? Duncan replied. That could
well be. We have yet to encounter an actual army ourselves, though we see
occasional signs that large bodies of men have passed. They can't afford to let our
two armies meet, though.
That's for certain, Morgan agreed. Where are you now?
South of Kilarden, well into the great plain. Like you, we're fighting a will-
o'-the-wisp enemy that strikes in the dark and out of the setting sun-Connaiti
mercenaries for the most part, though we see the occasional episcopal knight.
Jodrell's gotten it into his head that they're under joint command of Gorony and
Loris, though no one's seen them yet.
"Then, where is Sicard?" Kelson asked aloud, when the contact had been
broken, and he watched Morgan prepare to banish the Wards Major. "If we
haven't seen him, and Duncan hasn't seen him. ..."
Shaking his head to fend off further discussion until he was done, Morgan
blew out the candle set on the camp table between them and put on the signet
ring he had just used as a focal point for concentration. All around them, barely
discernible against the redder glow of a lantern hanging from the tent pole, the
dome of the warding he had raised to shield them glowed a cool, gentle silver. It
pulsed briefly brighter as he raised both arms to shoulder height on either side,
empty hands upraised, and drew a slow, centering breath.
"Ex tenebris te vocavi, Domine," Morgan whispered, slowly turning his
palms downward. "Te vocavi, et lucem dedisti." Out of darkness have I called
Thee, 0 Lord. I have called Thee, and Thou hast given light.
"Nunc dimittis servum tuum secundum verbum tuum in pace. Fiat
voluntas tua. Amen." Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, according to
Thy will. Let it be done according to Thy will. ...
As he lowered his arms, the doming light faded and died, leaving only four
pairs of dice-sized polished cubes set tower-like, white atop black, at the quarter-
points beyond their chairs. Two of the four sets toppled as Kelson leaned down to
retrieve them, too precariously perched, on the straw matting of the tent's floor,
to stand steady without the balancing effect of magic. Morgan sat back in his
chair and sighed, wearily rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and
forefinger, as Kelson stowed the ward cubes in their red leather case.
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r r
"It gets harder each time, doesn't it?" Kelson murmured, setting the box
beside the blown-out candle.
"No, I just get more tired." Morgan sighed again and managed a smile.
"It's never been easy, though, and this particular talent was never meant to be
used regularly over this kind of distance-at least not this often."
As he closed his eyes and began to run the beginning steps of yet another
fatigue-banishing spell, trying to will away his growing headache as well, Kelson
interrupted his train of thought with an explosive sigh.
"Damn Sicard!" the king muttered under his breath. "God, how I wish this
stupid war were over!"
Lethargically, Morgan nodded and tried to regain the track of his spell,
surrendering to an uncontrollable yawn. When, as he tried to keep from putting
head down then and there and simply passing out, he nearly knocked the ward
cubes off the table, Kelson reached across to seize a handful of his tunic.
"Are you all right?"
Morgan nodded yes, but he could not seem to make his eyes focus on
Kelson's face.
"Just a little after-reaction," he murmured, and yawned again. "It's been
building over the past week. I don't sleep well after these sessions."
"And of course you wouldn't dream of telling anyone, would you?" Kelson
released him only long enough to come around and hoist him to his feet, royal
hands set firmly under one elbow.
"Too much fatigue-banishing, isn't it?" the king went on indignantly, as he
read the evidence at close range and propelled Morgan toward the camp bed set
opposite his own. "And you were about to do it again, weren't you? Well, you're [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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