Camber shifted the folds of his mantle to a more comfortable arrangement as Joram looked up. One of the cathedral monks was fastening Joram's ca.s.sock, a second standing by with his white sash. Joram's eyes were hooded and unreadable.

"I meant to speak to you before this, Joram, but I thought you would want the time alone," Camber said. He was well aware that he dared not speak too openly in front of Joram's dressers. "I'm sure you're aware of the Grand Chapter. I fear it may seem precipitate, but I knew that you would be occupied with family duties for the next few days, and scheduling this meeting for today seemed the only way to permit your attendance. I value your counsel, you know."

Joram averted his eyes as he fastened his own cloak at his throat. "Thank you, Father General. I appreciate the thought."

"Will you accompany me?" Camber continued, laying his hand gently on Joram's elbow and gesturing toward the door with his eyes.

Joram, helpless to resist under the gaze of so many curious observers, could only murmur a.s.sent and move with him. Though Camber knew that Joram must be yearning for some time alone, under the double burden of grieving the loss of Cullen and pretending to grieve for his father, there was simply no help for it. Camber dreaded facing his first Cullen-encounter with the Michaelines without Joram at his side, and Joram must leave in the morning to escort "Camber's" body back to Caerrorie.

Just outside the sacristy, Gellis de Cleary, the acting precentor, was waiting to conduct them to the chapter house. Reentering the cathedral by a north door, they made their way along the ambulatory aisle and across the south transept, exiting through the processional door into the warm brightness of the cloister walk. At least a score of Michaelines, clergy and knights mixed, were milling outside the entrance to the chapter house, catching a last breath of cooler air before joining their brethren in the closed, circular hall. The stragglers picked up their pace as they saw their vicar general approaching, the sc.r.a.pe of sandaled and boot-shod feet shuffling and echoing on the tiled floor.

As Camber appeared in the doorway and was seen, a respectful pathway opened before him and the chamber began to quiet. Those already seated rose at his entry, crowding together on the tiers of stone benches to make room for their more tardy colleagues. All conversation ceased as the tall, gray-haired figure moved among them.

Smiling faintly, nodding greeting and recognition to those whose eyes he met, Camber made his way through the center of the hall, knowing in a flash of dual memory that he had always come this way among his brothers in faith, reaching out to touch a hand here, a shoulder there in comfort, fingers moving in benediction above numerous bowed heads.

He was aware of Joram following a few paces behind- comfort to the part of him which was Alister as well as to himself-and then another jog of memory brought a wave of unexpected sorrow: for it was Nathan who approached to conduct him to the abbatial throne, not the beloved Jasper Miller, who had performed that function for him almost from the beginning of his tenure as vicar general.

A part of him knew that the real Alister had never faced the emptiness of Jasper's absence, and that Alister himself had died only minutes after his friend fell in battle. But there was also no doubt that another part of him was responding to the knowledge of Jasper's death as though he were Alister in fact as well as in form. His dual memory seemed to be functioning forward as well as backward in time, progressing almost as if there had been no ending to Alister at all. He had not expected that.

He faltered for just an instant as he mounted the three low steps to the chair which was temporarily his, vividly aware of the sea of royal blue around him, of the brightly muraled walls, the high, hammer-beamed ceiling, the smudge of rainbow light cast from the windows far above his head. His eyes met Jebediah's, staring down at him hopefully from the right of the chair, the grand master's strong hands resting steady on the quillons of the sheathed sword of the Order.

Camber spared him a weary, rea.s.suring smile before turning to face the others. To the left, Nathan stepped up behind a narrow table where two clarks were shuffling sheets of parchment and checking lists of names. Johannes stood directly behind the chair, and Dualta beyond, in place of a knight named Lauren, who had been slain. Joram moved quietly to his accustomed place beside Jebediah, eyes downcast.

Camber waited until all of the stragglers had found places around the sides of the chamber, then sat, signaling for the last man in to close and bar the door. The dull shuffle of feet and sheathed swords against stone briefly disturbed the stillness of the chamber as the rest of the company took their seats and settled down.

"Dearest brethren." Camber let his hands rest gently on the arms of the chair, trying to scan all of them by vision and intuition. "I apologize if the timing of this meeting appears to follow too closely on an event which has touched us all profoundly." He took a deep breath. "Except for the urgency of our own situation, and the familial duties which will call one of our most beloved brethren to other responsibilities for a few days, I would have risked delaying this speech for yet a little while." He glanced at Joram. "However, under the circ.u.mstances, I do not feel that any of us would be well served by further postponement of the inevitable. I apologize that my recent ill health did not permit any earlier meeting."

He glanced briefly at the signet on his hand as he searched for words to tell them what he must. He could hear no sound but guarded breathing in all the packed chamber. The air was close already, tight with antic.i.p.ation. A part of him wished he were anywhere but here.

"My brothers and friends, I personally face as grave a responsibility in the next few weeks as has ever come to me; for I must leave you in another's care at a time when change will be but one more disruptive factor in a year already fraught with tragedy for our Order.

Beginning with our decision to support the Restoration, with its concurrent dispersal of you all to places of safety; continuing through the capture and subversion of our lamented brother, Humphrey of Gallareaux, may his soul rest in peace-" He crossed himself, a movement which was mirrored immediately by his audience. "-and not ending with Imre's wanton retaliation against us, because we would not abandon our just cause-we have given much for what we believed. The cost has been high, yet I think we could not have done differently, even had we foreseen the eventual outcome as it is."

He sighed. "Perhaps the highest price has been paid in human lives. Our battle casualties alone were staggering. Most of you are aware of losses as individuals-the friends and comrades you have lost-but some of you may not be aware of what these losses mean to the Order: yet another legacy of our dispersal to separate places. Jebediah, would you please give us your latest estimation of our precise losses in men?"

Jebediah's face did not change expression-he was too good a soldier for that-but Camber could see his tension in the whitened knuckles on the sword beside him.

"More than forty knights were killed outright in the fighting or died on the battlefield of their wounds, Father General," he said in a low voice. "Another score lie at the brink of death even now, with surgeons and Healers battling to save their lives. Some who will live will never fight again. Our present battle-ready strength, including those on light duty because of still-healing injuries, is perhaps one hundred ten, of nearly two hundred who rode out to Iomaire."

There were murmurs of surprise and consternation around the chamber. Camber kept his eyes averted until conversation had ceased, then resumed without looking up.

"Barely half our previous strength, brethren. Nor is our domestic situation much better.

Nathan, please report on the state of our lands and properties."

Nathan stood and moved to stand beside Camber's chair, resting a hand lightly on one turned finial as if to underline his support of his superior.

"Of the twelve major establishments functioning before Imre began his hara.s.sment of the Order, ten were looted, burned out, and razed. Even the foundations were uprooted, in some cases. The lead was stripped from the roofs and windows, and most of the usable stone and timber at each site was carried away by Imre's men for his aborted building project at Nyford.

"What little remained after the soldiers finished has been well scavenged by the local peasants, and can currently be seen in scores of cottages and walls and sheep pens. In order to rebuild at any of these sites, it would be necessary to bring in almost all new materials."

He consulted a page lying at the end of the table. "Further, we estimate that some forty- five hundred head of cattle, sheep, and horses were appropriated by the Crown or, in some cases, slaughtered and the carca.s.ses left to rot. All standing crops were seized, the stubble burned and ploughed under, and the whole sown with salt. If any of these fields yields a crop in the next fifty years, I will be very much surprised."

There were rumbles of anger and bewilderment, until Camber held up a hand for silence.

Porric Lunal, one of the men whose name had appeared on Jebediah's list, stood in his place, eyes blazing.

"Father Nathan, you've accounted for ten of our twelve houses. What of the other two?"

"They are somewhat better off," Nathan conceded. "After being stripped of their lead and timber, Haut Eirial and Mollingford both were burned out and salted, but their wholesale dismantling was interrupted by the Restoration. Though some scavenging took place, the basic fabric of the stone buildings appears to be intact. Our masons feel that sufficient stone remains to rebuild smaller establishments on these sites, but I personally believe we would be better off to build elsewhere. The salted fields could not support even a small community for some years. We would be totally at the mercy of anyone who decided to cut off our supply lines."

He glanced down at Camber, his last words and his expression leaving little doubt, at least in Camber's mind, just to whom he was referring, but Camber chose to overlook the intended implication. Nathan, like many other Michaelines, was weft aware of the tenuous balance currently in effect between Deryni and the king; and the Michaelines were Deryni, in large part. Wearily, Camber dropped his forehead against one hand and closed his eyes, in a typically Alister gesture.

"I share your concern, Nathan," he murmured.

"What about the Commanderie?" another voice called, from somewhere on the right.

"Jeb?" Camber replied, not looking up.

"The Commanderie cannot be salvaged," Jebediah said. His voice was bitter, and Camber could visualize the expression on his face without even having to see it.

"Imre's butchers were thorough, especially since Cheltham was the first of our houses on their list. I see no hope of ever restoring Cheltham to its former prominence, had we twice our numbers and five times our present financial resources, which we do not."

There was silence as Camber raised his head to face them all again. Every eye was on him now, waiting for him to tell them that it was not true, for him to make things right. That he could not do-though he could give them hope. But once he had done that, he must turn discussion to his real reason for calling this meeting, and hope that he could read them all correctly.

"You have heard the reports by our esteemed brethren, my friends," he said, in a voice which penetrated to every corner of the chamber. "I wished you to know the whole of it, that you may harbor no illusions as to where we stand.

"On the other hand," he continued more confidently, "we are not totally bereft of resources. We still command more than one hundred knights-some of the finest in Christendom." He glanced at Jebediah, who lowered his own gaze in bitter acknowledgment. "We have nearly three hundred professed brothers and priests, albeit most are presently scattered to places of safety and refuge across this wide land.

"Also, I have in my possession certain new grants of land, made to us by King Cinhil before ever we gathered for battle a few weeks ago." He held up a hand for silence as reaction threatened to interrupt his speech.

"We have two superb choices for the site of our new Commanderie: Cuilteine and Argoed, both of which will be handed over to the Order by royal charter upon the succession of your new vicar general. Which brings us to the most important reason for this meeting."

chapter thirteen.

For though I be absent in the flesh, yet am I with you in the spirit, joying and beholding your order.

-Colossians 2:5 The sun had set, and the cathedral bells were ringing Compline, when Camber finally adjourned the Grand Chapter. All afternoon he had listened to their discussion, with various candidates and their adherents advancing and refuting numerous opinions and concerns. By the time Camber thanked them for their attendance and dismissed them, he had a fair comprehension of the consensus of the Order, and a clear picture of the task facing him in the next few days. Already, in his own mind, he had narrowed the field of possible successors to three. He would rely upon private interviews in making his final selection. A few of them lingered when most of the rest had gone, making it clear that they would have liked to stay and talk further, but Camber did not encourage them, and they soon departed. Not even Jebediah tried to force further communication after the long day; besides, he had duties in the hospice where some of his men lay a-mending, and that was foremost in his mind just then. Joram had been among the very first to leave-to join Evaine and Rhys and bolster himself for the trip to Caerrorie tomorrow, Camber suspected.

And so, when he had sent away even his own attendants, Camber was able to slip into the solitude of the cloister garth for some much-needed quiet. Leaning his back against the rough bark of one of the trees, so that he blended with the lines of the spa.r.s.e grove there, he gazed sightlessly at the night sky and let the afternoon sift into place. Only when the last of the Michaeline voices had faded from hearing did he stand away from the concealing tree and reenter the cloister walk. He headed purposefully toward a postern door in the south transept, for his quarters lay on the other side of the cathedral.

The murmur of chanting voices met him softly as he slipped inside. He melted back against a column to survey. Aside from the monks in the choir and a few people kneeling in the nave, the cathedral was deserted. Far across the transept, he could see brighter candlelight streaming from one of the north chapels, filtering softly through the carved wood screens, and he reasoned that they must have laid his alter ego's body there for the night.

Drawn by a need to bid one final farewell, he moved across the dim nave with bowed head, soft-soled shoes making no sound on the glazed tiles. No one marked his pa.s.sage, but he felt a profound sense of relief when he had crossed that expanse of vaulted openness. Slowing his pace, he glided along the back of the chapel toward its doorway, trying to appear nonchalant as he glanced through the wooden screen.

At least he would not have to look upon that face again. During the afternoon, the monks had laid the body away in a plain oak coffin, sealing that within the traditional wrapping of leaden foil. The MacRorie pall lay over the coffin now, the sword and chased coronet of the Earldom of Culdi resting near the head, closest to the altar. At the corners, four fat candles stood flickering vigil, taller than a man in their bronze holders. Two royal guards whom Camber did not know stood watch outside, reversed spears at rest, as much to protect the valuable sword and coronet as to keep watch over him who slept within. Now that the formal obsequies were over, the Earl of Culdi was no different from anyone else who had died in the faith and received the blessings of the Church on his pa.s.sage to the Nether realms.

The guards did not move as Camber approached, but as he started to step through the doorway, one of them turned slightly toward him and caught his eye.

"Father?" the man whispered.

Camber nodded acknowledgment.

"Father, there's someone in there, praying by the coffin. We didn't want to intrude, but he's been in there for several hours now. Maybe you could make sure he's all right?"

With a glance inside, Camber nodded and moved into the chapel, studying the mourner.

The still, kneeling figure would not have been noticeable to the casual observer. He was huddled at the left of the coffin near the head, cloaked shoulders shaking with silent sobs, hooded head bent in shadow. Grayed, trembling hands rested on the corbeled edge of the catafalque on which the coffin rested, moving occasionally to reach up under the velvet pall and touch the lead wrappings. The candlelight did not penetrate far enough to reveal any other details.

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Camber moved close enough to crouch down beside the man. From the way he started at Camber's touch on his shoulder, Camber knew that he had been so deeply immersed in his grief that he had not heard Camber approach.

"Be at ease, son," he murmured, trying to send a whisper of rea.s.surance into the troubled mind. "There is nothing you can do for him here. We shall all miss him, but the grief which you feel will pa.s.s, in time."

A pale, tear-swollen face turned toward him in the shadows of the hood, and watery eyes gazed across at him in misery. Camber's hand almost withdrew in shock as he realized it was Guaire.

"How can there be peace or ease when he is gone?" Guaire whispered, before Camber could, respond. "My Lord Camber was the architect of all which we now support in the king's name. Without him, there would have been no Haldane king. Without him now-"

As the young man broke into weeping again, Camber glanced up at the velvet-draped coffin, at the fringe of gold bullion, the earl's coronet resting near the head. How to explain to Guaire, without revealing all, that Camber had served his purpose, that he had fulfilled his outward work and must now serve in other ways?

Useless. He could not explain. He could only hope to comfort.

"I know, son," he said. "We shall simply have to try to carry on his work. He would have wished it thus. Can you not see a purpose in that?"

Guaire hung his head and swallowed hard, as though something constricted his throat. "I loved him, Father General. He was-very special to me, in ways I can't begin to explain. I would have died for him - gladly-and now-"

"Then now you must live for him," Camber said gently, trying to keep his own emotions out of his voice. "You can, you know."

"Can I?" Guaire laughed-a grim, humorless croak -then got to his feet. "Perhaps you're right, Father General. But right now I can't accept that. Now I feel only an emptiness and loss of purpose inside. Why couldn't I have been the one to die?"

His despair brought on another bout of weeping, and Camber rose to lay his arm gently around the young man's shoulders and begin drawing him away from the coffin. The guards stood aside respectfully as the two of them left the chapel, but Camber kept Guaire's face turned close in the protective circle of his arms, shielding him from the men's well-meaning but prying curiosity.

He tried to ease the troubled mind as they moved into the bosom of the summery night, but it was soon clear that Guaire's grief was far more profound than he had first imagined.

By the time he and Guaire had reached the comparative shelter of his own corridor, Camber knew he dared not leave him alone in this condition. On the other hand, he himself needed time alone after the day's strain. He could not keep the boy with him all night.

Continuing past the door to his own quarters, he walked Guaire farther along the corridor until he came to Johannes's door. Johannes was used to odd requests from his vicar general. He would take Guaire in.

Camber's light knock was answered almost immediately.

"Vicar General, what-?"

Shaking his head in warning, Camber drew Guaire into the room and sat him down in a chair beside the small fireplace.

"Johannes, this is Guaire, who was Lord Camber's squire," he said, stroking Guaire's hair in comfort as Guaire sobbed against the hand he would not release. "Can you fix a pallet for him, and let him stay the night?"

"Of course, Father General. Is there anything else I can do? Would a cup of wine help, do you think?"

"I'll bring some from my quarters," Camber said, extricating his hand from Guaire's and beckoning Johannes to come and take his place. "Sit with him while I'm gone, will you?"

Back in his room, Camber thought about Guaire as he gathered up a wine pitcher and hunted for clean cups. He supposed he had known, or at least suspected, Guaire's devotion to him as Camber. The boy had been a close friend of his son Cathan, though Camber had not actually met him until after Cathan's death.

But Camber had not realized the extent of the attachment Guaire made, even at that first meeting; and the attachment had grown during the long months of confinement in the Michaeline sanctuary with Cinhil. Now Guaire's earnest, faithful trust had turned to near hysteria at Camber's supposed death. Whatever was Camber going to do with him?

He found the cups he had been searching for, then took a small casket from beside his bed and began searching for a sleeping powder. A good night's sleep was first on the agenda. Unless he had greatly misjudged, Guaire's grief would not abate with the mere pa.s.sage of time. He was despondent, without comfort or purpose. His grief must be turned to more constructive ends. Rest would set the stage, but what then? Perhaps if he had it from Camber's own mouth: the message of hope, of courage to go on, even in his hero's absence ...

Camber sat thoughtfully on the edge of his bed and fingered a small packet of folded parchment as he reviewed how that might safely be done, concluding that neither the risks nor the difficulties seemed overly great. After a moment, he consulted his medicine chest again and took out another packet. The first he emptied into the pitcher of wine, for Johannes would have to be provided for, as well as Guaire. He slipped the second packet into his sash before taking up pitcher and cups and returning to Johannes's room.

Johannes was stirring the fire on the hearth and looked up worriedly. Guaire sat unmoving where Camber had left him, tear-swollen eyes staring sightlessly at the stone floor beneath his feet. Ruddy firelight danced on the finely chiseled features but brought no life to them. Had Guaire been carved of stone, he would have been a masterpiece of grief and dejection, but as a man, he was pitiful to behold.

"I've brought wine for all of us," Camber said. "I thought we could use it, after the day we've had."

He set three cups on the hearth and filled them, then casually took the packet from his sash and emptied its contents into one of the cups. What he did was shielded from Guaire's vision, but he knew that Johannes was watching with interest, and would think that that was the sleeping potion, not realizing that all the wine had already been doctored.

"You'll feel better when you've slept, Guaire," Camber said, glancing over his shoulder.

"Shall I heat yours?"

He did not wait for reply. He did not expect one. Swirling the wine in its cup, he pulled a hot poker from the flames. The wine sizzled as he plunged the glowing metal into it, and the spicy aroma began to fill the room. As he took Guaire's cup and rose to go to him, he saw that Johannes had taken up one of the others without prompting and was drinking deeply. Camber smiled gently as he put Guaire's warm cup into his hands.

"Drink this, son. It will help you sleep."

Though Guaire's hands closed around the cup, he did not otherwise move. With a slight sigh, Camber put one hand on the young man's shoulder and with the other raised hands and cup to Guaire's lips.

"Come on, son. Drink it down. You'll feel better."

Guaire obeyed, each automatic swallow loud and labored in the quiet room. When he had drained it to the dregs, Camber took the cup away and helped him stand. Guaire's eyes were already becoming heavy as Camber and Johannes walked him to a pallet which Johannes had pulled out from under his own bed. His knees buckled as he collapsed on the padded mat. Camber adjusted a pillow under the lolling head, then pulled a sleeping fur from the bed and tucked that around him.

Johannes yawned and sat down in the chair Guaire had just vacated, his own eyelids growing heavier and heavier as he watched Camber tending Guaire. Guaire seemed to be having trouble focusing.

"Sleep, son," Camber murmured, brushing hair back from the glazing eyes. "You'll feel much better when you've had a good night's sleep. Go to sleep now."

Camber had not dared to use his Deryni mind touch on Guaire before, for he had used it several times as Camber, and the young man might have recognized that touch. But Guaire was too far gone for it to matter now; and in the future, he would no longer be able to make the connection. Camber would see to that.

But for now, the drugged wine was doing its work, lulling Guaire into a deeply receptive mental state where Camber could move without fear. As the red-rimmed eyes closed and the breathing rhythm changed to that of slumber, Camber sat back and watched for several minutes. He could hear Johannes snoring softly behind him, oblivious to everything, and he knew that the monk would not stir for the rest of the night.

He smiled and gave Guaire's forehead a last, fleeting touch, then rose and glanced at Johannes, deepening his sleep as well, before tiptoeing silently out of the room. In a little while, when the drugs in Guaire's system had had a chance to take effect completely, he would return. Camber MacRorie would see that all was made right.

Guaire turned and moaned in his sleep, then became aware that, though his eyes were still closed, he was suddenly alert and aware of himself again-of the warm, drowsy comfort, snuggled under the sleeping furs, of the flickering firelight playing on his closed eyelids, of the faint smell of burning wood, the lingering aroma of spiced wine.

He remembered the wine, then, and was aware of the warm glow still permeating his stomach and, indeed, his whole being. Slowly the day's events began filtering back to him.

Strangely, they did not hurt him now as they had earlier.