"And sixte on seconde," Joram continued, picking up the black sixte and putting it on its white counterpart.

"And septime and quarte on tierce and octave," Camber finished, suiting actions to words as he put the final two cubes into place. "Now," he said, looking at Joram discerningly once more. "We have a cube. What does that tell you?"

When Joram started to shake his head in bewilderment, Camber brought the flat of his right hand down on the altar with a slap.

"Look at the cubes, Joram! Look at the altar! What do you see?"

Joram looked, then took a step backward and looked again, this time at the altar itself.

Camber watched with a satisfied nod as his son made the connection at last.

"I see-a cube made of eight alternating black and white cubes," Joram finally whispered.

"And the- altar is also made of eight black and white cubes." His eyes sought his father's.

"Are you saying that the altar cubes are part of a giant Ward Major matrix?"

Camber sighed and scooped up the little cubes in his palm, letting them fall, one by one, back into the black velvet bag. He did not look up or speak until he had retied the bag and tucked it back into his tunic.

"That I don't know. I don't think it's a Ward Major matrix, but I'm beginning to suspect that it is a matrix. At very least, I think the altar may be symbolic of the cubes we use. In fact, the very appellation of 'Ward Major cubes' is probably a misnomer. I've found sketches of a full dozen additional cube matrices already, and there are logically dozens more possibilities. Unfortunately, I haven't yet figured out what any of them do, including this one-which appears to be the only one worked in three dimensions, by the way."

"A dozen different matrices!" Joram whistled low under his breath. "Have you tried any of them yet?"

Camber shook his head. "I'm afraid to. I haven't a notion what might happen. This one especially." He laid his hand on the altar once more. "And if the altar is symbolic of the power of the particular spell evoked by this pattern, which I think highly likely, then it must be powerful indeed-perhaps at the very heart of our Deryni abilities. We already know that there was great power a.s.sociated with this altar, if we can still detect its traces after hundreds of years. Who knows what we might unleash if we go experimenting without suitable preparation? We've time to go slowly."

Joram glanced apprehensively around him, casting a furtive look into the shadowed s.p.a.ces above their heads, then turned back to Camber with a shudder.

"I'm glad you're the one who's insisting on caution this time," he murmured. "I was beginning to think I was the only one to get occasional attacks of the shivers. Let's get out of here, can we? I suddenly feel really uneasy."

With a slight smile, Camber turned and led the way out of the chamber, across the rubbled, dust-covered floor and through the ruined doors. Down the collapsed pa.s.sage they walked in silence, stopping finally in the plastered alcove where the Portal had brought them through before. Again Camber took a place behind his son, this time only laying an arm around his shoulders. Immediately he felt Joram's mind go slack and open, inviting a blind, trusting link such as he rarely permitted.

With a comforting surge of affection and protection, Camber wrought the Transfer link and pushed the two of them through. Both men blinked as they emerged in the day lit tower again, Joram stumbling a little in the transition back to reality. They surprised an unsuspecting Guaire, who had just been leaving what he had thought to be an empty tower chamber.

"Your Grace!" Guaire's gasp was involuntary, the young man immediately settling as he realized what must have happened.

With nonchalant ease, as if he were in the regular habit of appearing out of thin air, Camber signed for Joram to refill their abandoned wine cups, blocking Guaire's view of his son so that Joram would have time to recompose his expression. Camber's manner was casual and disarming, confidently proclaiming the everyday as he nodded acknowledgment to Guaire's astonished bow.

"Oh, there you are, Guaire. Sorry if we startled you. Joram and I were just reminiscing about the old days, and got a little, carried away, I'm afraid. Frivolous, perhaps, but we seemed to have the time."

Guaire bowed again, his expression shifting to one of amused understanding. "No apology necessary, Your Grace. I only came to tell you that we will be able to leave in the morning, after all. Apparently the seneschal antic.i.p.ated Your Grace's summons far better than we thought."

"Excellent," Camber said. "And the supper arrangements for this evening? I don't know about Joram, but I'm starved."

"In preparation, Your Grace. And hot baths are being drawn even now."

"Thank you. We'll be down directly."

As Guaire bowed once more and disappeared down the spiral stair, Camber sat down beside Joram and took up the cup of wine waiting for him. Joram had already drained his own, and was pouring a second.

"That could have been tricky," Joram said, when he was certain Guaire was well out of earshot. "Does he suspect anything?"

Camber shook his head. "He's fairly used to my Deryni wanderings by now. There are several other Portals in the house. When will you next see Evaine and Rhys, by the way? I meant to ask earlier."

"They're at Caerrorie now, so I presume it will be sometime next month. I promised Cinhil I'd deliver you to Valoret first."

"Fine. That will give me time to get a few things together for you to take to Evaine. I'm going to need some help with the translation on some of the scrolls I've found."

Joram could not control a grin. "Are you sure you want to trust her with such things?

Remember what she did with the Protocol of Orin, the night you integrated Alister's memories."

"Ah, yes." Camber smiled in recollection-not of the incident itself, but of their three retellings of the event. "I really must ask her more about that some day. I've never heard of anyone taking another shape without a model to work from-and certainly not one of the opposite s.e.x." He shook his head.

"But, to answer your question, I see no problem. We're going to be working with disconnected bits and pieces for a while, at least-until we figure out what we've got. I'm not sure any of us could do anything with them at this point. It's rather like the difference between a sacramentary and a rubric book, one containing only the words, and the other giving just the movements. You need both to put together a proper ritual. And she's going to have to wade through translations that will make the Pargan Howiccan sagas seem like children's nursery rhymes-archaic language forms, some of which even I have never seen, and a devilishly difficult copy hand. If she can find the time to track down the more obscure references, that will be the biggest help."

Joram nodded. "You're probably right. She'll love the challenge. For that matter, let me and Rhys know what we can do to help. At the very least, we can probably make fair copies for you, as the work progresses. In fact, if you pull the proper episcopal strings, you could probably get me a.s.signed to your staff on a permanent basis. Allyn couldn't refuse you, if you asked."

"You'd want that?" Camber said, s.h.a.ggy brows lifting in surprise.

"To work with you? Of course," Joram replied lightly. "Serving as Cinhil's personal messenger is all well and good, but it looks as if things are going to get even more interesting from now on, and I don't want to miss out. There's no reason I couldn't be your liaison with the Michaelines, instead of the reverse-if you want me to, that is."

Camber's face beamed with a very un-Alisterlike grin. "Son, I would have asked you months ago, but I wasn't sure you wanted to come. I can understand if you'd rather work for the Order than for me."

Joram glanced down at his boots, a shy smile playing at his lips. "That might have been true, once. But we've come a long way in the past year, you and I. And if you'll have me, I'd be proud to serve you in any capacity I can, whatever the guise and the face you wear- Father."

As he looked up, Camber caught and held his son's gaze, searching the fog-gray eyes with an intensity which he had not allowed for some time. Then he merely reached across and laid a hand on Joram's shoulder and smiled, letting the warmth of his love surge across the bond of blood and mind. No words were necessary.

chapter nineteen.

Order ye the buckler and shield, and draw near to battle. Harness the horses; and get up, ye hors.e.m.e.n, and stand forth with your helmets; furbish the spears, and put on the brigandines.

-Jeremiah 46:3-4 Camber's return to Valoret and the king took less than two days, and would have been accomplished in one, but for heavy rain-a hardly unexpected feature of Gwynedd weather so close to winter. The deluge turned the road to a river of mud and drowned the hilltop Samhain bonfires and brought the season's first frost, all in the s.p.a.ce of less than twenty- four hours. It made the journey far less comfortable than hoped, but Camber hardly cared.

The antic.i.p.ated challenge of the coming months was tonic to his eager mind. He was anxious to see what his star pupil had been up to during their months of separation. All indications were that Cinhil had not been idle.

The Bishop of Grecotha entered Valoret near midday on the Feast of All Saints. He was greeted at the cathedral steps by a far more substantial welcoming committee than he had expected, given the rain and his hasty response to Cinhil's summons. Archbishop Anscom presided, of course, since it was his cathedral and his bishop; but he had been joined by Vicar General Allyn, a score of cheering Michaeline knights, and the visiting Archbishop Oriss, who had arrived the day before in answer to his own summons from the king.

But most important, and overshadowing all the rest, was the presence of a damp but exuberant King Cinhil, who had not been able to curb his eagerness sufficiently to wait for his new chancellor in the dry and warmth of the castle hall. Cinhil ran down the cathedral steps to meet his returned friend, bareheaded in the rain, talking incessantly from the moment Camber swung down from his mud-bespattered mount. Cinhil was fairly bursting with ideas he wanted to try out, projects on which he wanted his chancellor's opinion.

Camber could not remember when he had seen Cinhil in better spirits.

While they talked further over dinner that evening, it became more obvious how Cinhil had spent his summer and autumn. In the time between Camber's arrival and the actual convening of Cinhil's high court, Camber spent nearly every waking hour either talking with Cinhil or closeted with a clark to whom Cinhil had already dictated copious notes on what he wanted to accomplish. By the end of the fourth and final day, Camber finally began to feel that he had a grasp of the total picture Cinhil had envisioned. The plans were nothing if not ambitious.

On the morning of the Feast of Saint Illtyd, following a solemn Ma.s.s of the Holy Spirit to invoke Divine guidance, King Cinhil convened his high court and formally created Bishop Alister Cullen Chancellor of Gwynedd, himself reading the writ of appointment and investing him with the symbols of his office. Queen Megan laid the broad collar of golden H's over the bishop's purple-ca.s.socked shoulders, never knowing that it was her former guardian who kissed her hand dutifully in thanks.

But it was Cinhil who gave into Camber's consecrated hands the Great Seal of Gwynedd, newly redesigned with the golden Lion of Gwynedd replacing the lion's claws and ermine of the House of Festil. With these, Camber received a personal seal for the Office of the Chancellor, the arms of the See of Grecotha being impaled with the Cullen family arms and augmented with the badge of Haldane.

Camber bowed and thanked king and queen when the presentations were completed, then took his place at the king's right hand, beside the high-backed throne, as was now his right.

Nor was Camber's the only appointment to be made that day. Humans and Deryni alike received the royal mandate, as Cinhil settled down to the true business of governing his realm.

As recommended by Archbishop Anscom and a host of others, Lord Jebediah of Alcara was named Earl Marshal and was confirmed as field commander of the royal armies, second only to Cinhil himself, should he choose to exercise the royal veto-which was unlikely, since Cinhil knew very little yet of military strategy, though he was fast learning.

Jebediah, by reason of his appointment, would sit on the king's council with the life-rank of earl-an almost unprecedented honor for an ecclesiastical knight.

With Jebediah would sit Archbishops Anscom and Oriss and four of the new peers created at the ceremony which had made young Davin MacRorie Earl of Culdi. The four, two earls and two barons, were humans but for Baron Torcuill-to balance the three Deryni among the clerics, Camber suspected, though he did not disapprove. Later, Cinhil planned to create four additional council seats, but the eight would do for now, until responsibilities could be parceled out according to the talents and abilities of the men already chosen. Camber wondered whether the king would be able to maintain the balance of humans and Deryni thus far established. Remembering what Joram had told him about the human lordlings flocking to court in hopes of regaining lost lands and t.i.tles, he suspected not.

Following the conclusion of the formal court, Cinhil and his council retired to a private room to dine informally, just the nine of them, with no other attendants. There he made it clear that the appointments he had just made would not be empty honors; royal councillors would be expected to work, or they would be replaced. Before the servants had cleared away the last of the meal, Cinhil had begun to a.s.sign tasks to each man, with progress reports to be presented before the council reconvened on the Feast of Saint Andrew, nearly a month away. The opening of Christmas Court should set the wheels in motion for sweeping changes in the Kingdom of Gwynedd.

The ramifications for Camber were far-reaching, for he must mastermind the overall coordination for Cinhil's plans-and those ultimately touched almost all areas, from diplomacy to military preparedness to legal reform to social betterment.

One thing the king would have immediately, and that was a cementing of alliances, or at least treaties, with Gwynedd's neighbors. While there had been no further threats of invasion during the months immediately following Ariella's defeat, this did not mean that there had been no military activity. Meara, to the west, though nominally a va.s.sal state since the death of the last male heir, nearly thirty years before, had always been a periodic threat to Gwynedd's integrity, as were the dual kingdoms of Howicce and Llannedd, which occasionally ceased their Internal bickering long enough to make troublesome incursions into the southern parts of Gwynedd. Mooryn, a powerful ally before the ouster of Imre, had been totally silent since Imre's fall, making no hostile moves, but sending no envoys, either. Cinhil had no doubt that all of these would be watching carefully for signs of weakness in Gwynedd's new master.

Of an even more immediate concern was the status of the petty princedom of Kheldour, to the north, formerly the holding of Imre's kinsman, Termod of Rhorau. Word of an anti- Deryni coup in Kheldour had reached Cinhil only a few weeks before, a wobbly cadet branch of the House of Festil having fallen to the forces of Cinhil's former ally, Sighere.

Now Sighere occupied Kheldour as well as Eastmarch, a human lord who was honest enough to recognize that he probably did not have the military or administrative ability to hold alone what he had won. The lake region of Rhendall, nominally part of the Kheldish princ.i.p.ality, was rumored still to be a hotbed of Deryni resistance, harboring two Festillic heirs and what remained of the Rhorau strength of arms. Cinhil was aware of Sighere's plight, and saw formal alliance with Eastmarch as a sure way to crush that Festillic remnant before it could reunite with its Torenthi counterparts and pose an even bigger threat. Baron Torcuill and Lord Udaut, the constable, would ride to the earl immediately to suggest a parley.

Nor was Sighere Cinhil's only concern. News of Torenth's King Nimur had been exceedingly spa.r.s.e following the ransom of his hundred captured knights. The Deryni king had redeemed them at the demanded price without even attempting to haggle Cinhil down -which might mean that he needed men more just now than he needed gold. Since Torenth faced no threat from any other of its neighbors, Nimur's Deryni abilities having been used long ago to cement unbreakable ties with the lands to south and east, might his apparent concern for his knights actually mean that he was contemplating a move of his own against Gwynedd at some time in the future? After all, a Festillic infant lived somewhere in Torenth, kin to n.o.bles ranking high in Nimur's court, those kinsmen quite willing to press the child's claim to Gwynedd's crown when the time was right.

And Nimur? Why, what king would refuse to support his subjects' annexation of new lands to enrich his crown? No one was fool enough to think that those who helped a Festillic king back to his throne would not be handsomely rewarded.

Accordingly, military reorganization must be high on Cinhil's list of priorities. He must have reliable troops to call up on very short notice, especially in the vicinity of the Gwynedd-Torenth borderlands adjoining Eastmarch.

Granted, there was little that could be done during the fierce winter months to train soldiers, since the peasant levies had returned to their farms for the harvest and could not be called again until after the spring planting. But there were many indoor activities which could be pursued in castle yards and halls, so that if Cinhil's fighting men were not better trained by spring, at least they would be better armed.

Accordingly, armorers were set to forge new blades and spearheads and helmets.

Apprentices began the tedious task of knitting mail and sewing metal rings and plates to leather hauberks. And everyone with armor of his own must see to its repair during the winter, so that all would be properly outfitted when the spring thaws came.

Fletchers feathered thousands of fine, polished arrows of seasoned wood which would not warp or split when the weather changed. Close-grained lengths of yew and hickory were cut and hung to season in the warmth of smoky rooms, to be planed and shaped and bent into longbows, the staple weapons of the Gwynedd yeomanry.

Tanners, with ample material available following the autumn slaughter of beasts against the winter, prepared caps and cuira.s.ses and shields and other body armor of leather, boiled hard and tough, wove cords and bowstrings of gut; crafted other harness of various sorts for men and beasts of war.

And on another side, Lord Jebediah and the other two earls of the council, Fintan and Tamarron, began to develop a long-range plan for the raising and training of well- mounted and well-armed hors.e.m.e.n, for Jebediah saw cavalry as the reckoning force of the future. While Jebediah and the earls worked out details of recruitment and training programs, Baron Hildred and several lesser lords began making the rounds of all the best- known stud farms in Gwynedd, inspecting stallions and their progeny and acquiring brood mares to begin a new breeding program in the spring-for Jebediah would have, his elite troops mounted on taller and faster horses than had hitherto been available. A number of R'Ka.s.san stallions had been captured in the war, for Ariella's Torenthi allies had been importing the swift desert horses for generations. Jebediah and Hildred saw the blood of these sires as a powerful factor in improving the Gwyneddan native breed over the next decade.

Progress continued more slowly on Camber's personal projects, but it did continue.

Within a few weeks, he had managed to arrange a schedule which allowed ample time with Cinhil and the court, yet still left an hour or so each evening for his own inner workings.

After very little string-pulling at all, Joram was appointed as the chancellor's confidential secretary, with the blessings of Crevan Allyn and the king's pleased approval, and was installed in quarters immediately adjoining Camber's in one wing of the archbishop's palace. So far as Camber and Joram were concerned, it was an ideal arrangement.

Evaine and Rhys, too, were actively brought back into the picture now-though it was through their own offices and those of the queen, rather than Camber's, that satisfactory arrangements were eventually made. Megan had been trying for months to persuade Evaine to accept a post as lady-in-waiting; and though there were several other Healers at court, many of them far older and with much more impressive credentials, the queen preferred Rhys above all others.

At length, when Evaine finally acquiesced, the court was treated to nearly a week of high spirits on the part of the usually mouselike little queen. Even Cinhil noticed the difference, and thanked Evaine for coming to Megan's aid. Soon, Evaine and Rhys had been a.s.signed semi-permanent quarters in the royal keep, where both of them could be near Megan's solar and the royal nursery. Evaine, when she was not required to attend the queen, began work on translating the vital doc.u.ments which Camber had brought from Grecotha.

Contrary to what Joram had feared, Evaine did not appeal Camber's prohibition against lone experimentation with the material she was translating. It was evident from the first that the information was too powerful to be trifled with. Camber said little, but he thought about it a great deal; and often he and Joram and Rhys and Evaine would sit and talk until the wee hours of the morning, pushing aside goblets and the remains of spare meals to manipulate unactivated ward cubes into different patterns on the table as they tried to make sense of what Evaine told them.

And so the Feast of Christmas came and went, and Twelfth Night, too; and Camber and his family thought less and less about their old lives, caught up as they were in the wonder of their own explorations and the intricacies of beginning to forge a new social order.

Evaine maintained correspondence with Elinor in Caerrorie, who kept her informed of the boys' health and mentioned in pa.s.sing that the winter weather seemed to have dampened the enthusiasm of the many pilgrims who had used to frequent Camber's tomb.

Only a few folk came there now, though they still left prayers and devotions. But Caerrorie seemed far from Valoret. And as winter deepened, those in Valoret thought less and less about the now-empty tomb and all it represented.

The first intimation that the matter had not died came in early February, but a few days before Camber was to make a month-long visitation to Grecotha. He would be there until the Feast of Saint Piran- long enough to inspect the work done by his staff in his absence, to direct further activities for the spring and early summer, and to perform those sacerdotal offices which could not be handled by other than a bishop. By the Ides of March, he must be back. The king planned to convene his Spring Court early, for Sighere of Eastmarch had sent word of his intention to parley in person. For that, the king would have his chancellor at his side, bishop or no.

But on this chill February morning, the Bishop of Grecotha was still ensconced in his apartments in the archbishop's palace-quarters somewhat more sumptuous than those he had occupied during his first sojourn, when he had been a mere vicar general. He was seated comfortably before a large but inefficient fireplace, with his head leaned against the chairback and his eyes closed and a towel of nubby gray linen draped close around his shoulders. Guaire had just finished lathering his face and was carefully drawing a razor across the stubble of the night's beard-a duty he had taken on himself ever since Camber's consecration.

Joram stood beside the hearth and read aloud from the bishop's schedule for the day, one blue-clad arm laid casually along the warm stone of the mantelpiece. His fur-lined winter cloak was pushed back off his shoulders, but he had not removed it even at that proximity to supposed heat, for he was well aware of the inefficiency of his father's fireplace at farther than an armspan. He had no intention of letting his backside freeze.

"So, after Ma.s.s and breakfast with Anscom, you have a meeting with His Highness and Lord Jebediah for the remainder of the morning," Joram explained. "I've transcribed our notes from yesterday, and Guaire drew up the revised map sections, so it should be only a matter of review-unless they want to start on something new, of course."

Camber grunted appreciatively, but did not move, out of deference to Guaire's razor.

"This afternoon, the Court is invited to go stag hunting with Baron Murdoch and his party," Joram continued smoothly. "It seems that Murdoch spotted a white stag in the forest yesterday, and insists on running it down. As coincidence would have it, his wife and sons just brought him five new couples of coursing hounds to show off."

Joram's last statement had been delivered in precisely the same noncommittal tone as the rest, but something nonetheless made Camber open one eye to glance at his son. As he had suspected, Joram's face wore a look of undisguised contempt.

Joram had never liked Murdoch. Nor had Camber, for that matter. Murdoch of Carthane was the scion of one of those old human families which had once ruled in Gwynedd, and whose lands had been confiscated when the first Festil seized the throne of Gwynedd almost a century before. In those intervening years and generations, Murdoch's ancestors had tried every underhanded scheme they could devise to regain influence with their Deryni masters.

Now that a new administration was in power, Murdoch was following in the family tradition. He had come to Cinhil's court almost three months before to pet.i.tion for the return of his family's lands-which Cinhil had granted, though he had not yet given back the t.i.tle of earl which went with those lands. In Cinhil's mind, Murdoch was earnest, loyal, and seemed to be sympathetic to Cinhil's personal situation. At one time, he had almost entered the same religious order as Cinhil-or so Murdoch said.

"Baron Murdoch, eh?" Camber murmured drolly. "Yes, he and his do seem to be much in evidence of late, don't they?"

"I think it no secret that Murdoch works toward a valuable and undeserved appointment at court," Joram replied, arching one finely defined eyebrow. "He may get it, too. I fear our king is sometimes too easily moved by a tale of past injustice and a pious mien."

With a snort of exasperation for court toadies in general and Baron Murdoch in particular, Camber shifted in his chair and started to make a sharp retort, causing Guaire to gasp and draw his razor hand away quickly. With a shrug of apology, Camber laid his head back again and sighed, silent as Guaire resumed his task. He was contemplating the self-seeking Baron Murdoch, and mentally reviewing how he might possibly broach the subject with Cinhil, when he became aware that Guaire seemed unusually withdrawn this morning, a trace of unaccustomed brusqueness clipping his movements as he laid aside his razor and wiped the last traces of soap from his master's face Camber wriggled into a more upright sitting position as Guaire began combing his hair, trying to observe Guaire un.o.btrusively out of the corner of his vision and wondering whether the apparent nervousness was just his imagination. His expression must have betrayed some of his curiosity just then, for Guaire suddenly glanced away self-consciously and began tugging at the thick, iron-gray hair even more awkwardly. When he had finished, far more perfunctorily than usual, he whisked the towel from Camber's shoulders and used it to dust off imaginary specks of lint and hairs from the violet ca.s.sock as his master stood. He did not seem to want to meet Camber's eyes.

"Is anything wrong, Guaire? You seem distracted this morning."

Guaire turned away momentarily to pick up Camber's skullcap of violet silk. His face was impa.s.sive as he reached up to set it ha place on the wiry gray hair.

"No, Your Grace. There's nothing wrong. Should there be?"

"I don't know."

Thoughtfully, Camber turned to slip his arms into a dull, wine-colored over-robe lined with fur, which Joram held ready for him. As he turned back to Guaire, to receive his cross and chain of gold, he caught Guaire's eyes again-just a flash of an apprehensive, almost haunted look. He tried to put on a more benign expression as he bowed his head to receive the chain around his neck.

Guaire swallowed and looked down at his feet as Camber straightened.

"Your Grace, there is something . . ." he began tentatively.

"I thought there might be," Camber said kindly, sitting down again and inviting Guaire to a seat on a stool to the right of his chair. Beyond Guaire, Joram had returned to the writing desk and was un.o.btrusively rearranging the scrolls, but Camber sensed that he was now watching Guaire as well. He wondered whether Joram had picked up the same air of uneasiness.