BY the time Kelson could be summoned, the royal pavilion was swarming with guardsmen. A hush descended as the king entered the chamber, accompanied by Morgan, Duncan, and Arilan. Then the only sounds were the forlorn sobs of Richenda, slumped in the center of the empty Portal, and Derry still struggling against his restraints. Several soldiers stood helplessly beside the lady, unable to offer any comfort, and others were attending to the unconscious Warin and untying the overpowered guard. Derry continued to make periodic shambles out of his side of the chamber, sometimes taxing the ability of five guards to hold him.

Kelson assessed the situation in a glance, and in the same motion waved the excess guards out of the tent. There were murmurs of consternation, but the men obeyed. When they had gone, Kelson and Morgan started to move toward Richenda. The lady looked up briefly, then turned her head away.

“Do not approach me, Sire. There is evil in this circle. They have taken away my son, and I cannot find him.”

“Brendan is taken?” Morgan breathed, remembering how, so short a time ago, he had lulled the boy to sleep.

Without hesitation, Arilan moved into the circle and knelt beside Richenda, assisting her to her feet and giving her into Duncan’s care. She wrung her hands as Duncan drew her away from the Portal, her red-gold hair tumbling around her shoulders and across her face in disarray. Morgan started to go to her, but Arilan shook his head, motioning Duncan to take her yet farther from the circle.

“Let her be, Alaric,” he said in a low voice. “A priest’s touch is better just now. Our more urgent task at present is to close this Portal before Wencit tries to use it again. I should never have left it open.”

“Can we assist you?” Kelson asked, watching with concern as the bishop sat back on his haunches and rubbed his hand across his eyes.

“No, your strength is needed for Derry. Stand back while I do what must be done.”

As they moved at his bidding, Arilan stared up at the ceiling for a moment and drew a deep breath, as though composing himself, then bowed his head and let his hands rest on the ground to either side of him. Light began to flare around his head, ebbing and flowing with his steady heartbeat.

Then, with a brilliant flash, it was over. Arilan reeled forward drunkenly on hands and knees, gulping for breath, but before Morgan could reach him, he shook his head.

“Leave me,” he rasped. “See to Derry now. This is finished. I’ll join you shortly.”

With a glance at Kelson, at Richenda and Duncan across the chamber by Kelson’s bed, Morgan focused himself and moved toward the guards holding Derry. The young earl’s eyes touched him as he approached, and the bound limbs began thrashing again as the Deryni lord came nearer. Morgan looked down at Derry for several seconds without speaking, then knelt down and began removing his gloves.

“What did you actually see?” he asked one of the guards who seemed to be more self-possessed than the others. “Someone told us that Derry carried the boy in here, wrapped up asleep in a cloak, and that the Lady Richenda came with him willingly.”

“That’s what it looked like, Your Grace. They’d been inside only a minute or two. I was on guard duty just at the perimeter when I heard the lady cry out. ‘Derry!’ she called.

“When we got inside, we could see her struggling with him over there, where the bishop was. And something happened to the boy, too. He was lying there on the furs, just where the bishop is sitting, and then there was a funny glow, and it looked like two more people were standing there.”

Kelson, who had moved closer to listen as the guard spoke, dropped to his knees beside Morgan and searched the guard’s face attentively.

“One of the guards who came to fetch us said that the men were Wencit of Torenth and the Earl of Marley. Does that agree with what you saw?”

“Well, I don’t know about Wencit, Sire. But the other one could have been the Earl of Marley. I’ve only seen him a few times, but—”

“What happened then?” Morgan said impatiently.

“Well, Lord Derry here had dragged the lady out of the circle by the time we could reach her, and then the boy and the two men were suddenly gone. I can’t explain it, sir.”

“Don’t even bother to try,” Morgan muttered. He tucked his gloves under his belt as he gazed down at the still-struggling Derry. “Has he been this way ever since?”

“Yes, sir. He wanted to get back into that circle. He kept yelling something about not closing it—that he had to get back. We had to gag him so we could hear ourselves think.”

“I can imagine,” Morgan muttered.

He scanned Derry from head to toe, eyes downcast as he ran both hands close above Derry’s body, then glanced up at the guards. “All right, remove the gag and the bonds, and hold him. This is not going to be easy.”

“But, what’s wrong with him?” Kelson murmured, as the guards obeyed. “Morgan, are you sure it’s safe to untie him? He acts like a man possessed.”

“Yes, and we have to find out exactly to what extent,” Morgan agreed. “This is apparently what he was afraid of, when he first came around this afternoon. I should have gone after it then.”

As he turned his attention back on Derry, the young man shuddered and closed his eyes tightly, inhaling sharply as Morgan touched his forehead. Then the eyes opened and gazed up at Morgan, sanity there now—and embarrassment, as his glance flicked out to touch the guards pinning his arms and legs spread-eagled. When he looked back at Morgan, the blue eyes were hurt and a little frightened. Of all the reactions, Morgan had not expected this.

“What—what did I do?” Derry asked in a small voice.

“You don’t remember?”

Derry blinked and shook his head. “Was it terrible? Did I hurt someone?”

Morgan bit at his lip to hold back an angry retort, thinking of the grieving woman across the chamber. “I’m afraid you did, Derry. You helped Wencit and Bran Coris to steal a lady’s child away. You also injured Warin and a guard. You really don’t remember?”

A crestfallen Derry shook his head, his eyes mirroring Morgan’s sorrow, and Morgan looked away, unable to bear Derry’s gaze anymore. He started to lay a hand on Derry’s arm in sympathy, but even as his hand touched the young man’s sleeve, Derry arched upward, out of the grasp of his guards, to lock both hands around Morgan’s throat.

“Get him!” shouted Kelson, throwing himself across Derry’s legs as the guards moved into action.

For perhaps three seconds, Derry’s grip held. But then Morgan was free, pressing him back against the floor, the guards sitting on his arms and legs. Even then, Derry continued to struggle and scream, “No! God help me, no! My lord, I can’t help myself! Kill me! Oh, please kill me before I—”

Morgan’s fist lashed out and connected with Derry’s jaw in a sickening crack, and Derry went limp. Breathing heavily, Morgan hauled himself back to his knees, motioning the guards to hold Derry’s limbs once more. Kelson straightened and peered at Morgan in concern, waving off several soldiers who had come bursting into the tent at Kelson’s shout.

“God in heaven, what happened? Are you all right?” he breathed, straightening his tunic and looking at Morgan with new respect. “I think he really was trying to kill you.”

Morgan nodded, rubbing his throat gingerly where marks were already beginning to show. “Quite probably. The only thing I can imagine is that Wencit must have placed a very powerful control over him, consisting of many layers. That would explain why I didn’t discover it this afternoon. I did neutralize the outer spell, but there was a level—or levels—below it. That’s what we must break now—either that, or kill him in the trying.” He drew a ragged breath and forced himself to relax again. “When he comes around, will you stay with me, be ready to come in and help fight whatever it is that’s holding him?”

Kelson nodded solemn agreement as Morgan turned his attention on the guards.

“And you men, hold him this time, dammit. I can do very little when he’s thrashing around like a fish and trying to choke me to death.”

The guards nodded sheepishly, tightening their grips as Derry moaned and began to stir. Before he could return to full consciousness, however, Morgan lifted his hands toward Derry’s head, a faraway look coming into his eyes. “Sean, listen to me,” he murmured.

His hands came lightly to rest on Derry’s forehead, but the younger man’s body contracted in a convulsive shudder, nearly throwing Morgan’s hands free, even with the holding of the guards. Shaking his head slightly, Morgan firmed his touch and exerted his will.

“It’s all right now, Sean. You’re safe. We’re going to release you. Now, relax and let me in, as you used to do. I’m going to free you from Wencit’s binding.”

Derry shuddered again, his body writhing under the restraints of his captors as Morgan concentrated. Then he went limp. Morgan remained motionless for a long time before raising his head slightly.

“Kelson, join me now. Follow me, and go where I go. And you men, don’t relax for even a moment, until I tell you it’s safe. He could go violent again without any warning.”

“Aye, sir.”

As Morgan bowed his head, his gaze unfocused, Kelson laid a hand on his arm and joined him in rapport. After a moment, there was no sound in the tent save the gentle sobbing of the Lady Richenda, still huddled in the refuge of Duncan’s arms.

Across the chamber, Duncan gazed past his weeping charge and watched the tableau around the now-silent Derry. Arilan, exhausted from neutralizing the Portal, had summoned up enough strength to leave the circle and move closer to watch Morgan and Kelson; and the only guards now in the pavilion were occupied with Derry. Now, Duncan realized, was the time to attempt easing Richenda out of her despair, to urge her to talk about what had happened.

“My lady?” he said gently.

Richenda sniffled and swallowed noisily, lifting her head to wipe at her eyes with a handkerchief. Then she bowed her head miserably again, without looking up at him.

“I have done a terrible thing, Father,” she whispered. “I have done a terrible thing, and I cannot even ask forgiveness, because I would do it again, if I had the chance.”

Duncan’s mind raced back over the events of the last little while and tried to think what she could be referring to, totally forgetting, for the moment, that he was still suspended from his priestly functions.

“What terrible thing is that, my lady?” he asked. “I don’t see how you can blame yourself for anything that happened here tonight. Didn’t Derry lure you here, to try to kidnap you and your son?”

Richenda shook her head. “You don’t understand, Father. My—my husband was one of those in the circle, who stole my son away. And I—I tried to kill him.”

“You tried to kill him?” Duncan repeated, wondering how this slip of a girl thought she was capable of such a thing.

“Yes, and I probably would have succeeded if Wencit hadn’t been there and Derry hadn’t hindered me. You are Deryni, Father. You know whereof I speak.”

“I know?” Duncan broke off, suddenly realizing the implication of what she had said. “My lady,” he whispered, drawing her nearer the pavilion wall, away from the others, “are you Deryni?”

She nodded but would not look up at him.

“Does Bran know?”

“He does now,” she murmured, chancing a look at his face. “And I—oh, Father, what’s the use? I cannot lie to you. I think there was another reason that I tried to kill Bran. He—I—oh, God help me, Father, but I’ve come to love another man. I’ve come to love your Alaric, and he loves me. I’ve not betrayed my marriage vows yet—at least not in deed. But if Alaric kills Bran tomorrow—and such is likely—the law…Oh, forgive me, Father. I am not even thinking about Bran. But he is a traitor. What am I to do?”

She began sobbing bitterly again, and Duncan gathered her against his shoulder, easing them both to sit on the edge of Kelson’s great bed. Across the chamber, Morgan and Kelson still knelt motionless beside the enthralled Derry, Arilan and the restraining guards now watching impassively. Duncan could expect no help from that quarter. This was one cup that would not pass until he had drunk it in full measure. He bowed his head against the woman’s hair and tried to sort out his jumbled emotions.

Richenda and Alaric. Of course. It all came together now. He had been blind not to see it sooner. Knowing Alaric’s scrupulous conscience, nothing would have happened yet, so far as actual deeds were concerned. Richenda herself vowed that she had yet been faithful to her marriage bed.

But Duncan knew, too, the inward guilt the two must feel, the anguish over motives, and what tomorrow might bring. He wondered briefly why Alaric had not confided in him, then realized that there had really been no time—and even if there had been time, it was something that Alaric would have thought so shameful, so dishonorable, that he could not have mentioned it, even to his priest-kinsman. To lust after another man’s wife would be totally unacceptable to Alaric Morgan.

That realization brought the mantle of his priesthood upon him once again—and the reminder that he had, for a time, actually forgotten his suspension. Further, his discovery of Richenda’s Deryniness had brought back the other conflict that had warred within him for so many years. In appealing to him as priest, she had also struck the part of him that was Deryni. Could he reconcile the two at last? Who was he, really?

Very well, he was Deryni, first and foremost. He had been born that and had lived with that identity for nearly thirty years. The fact that it had been hidden from the outside world until recently had no real bearing on his present dilemma. He was Deryni.

But, what of his priesthood? He had been under technical suspension for several months now, and had obeyed that suspension since burying his brother at Culdi. Further, he had been cleared of the excommunication imposed upon him for his actions at Saint Torin’s—in fact, had never really been excommunicated at all, so far as many of the bishops were concerned.

But where did he stand as a priest? Was it, perhaps, possible that he could reconcile the two identities and be both, despite the ancient bans to the contrary? Could he continue to function both as priest and as Deryni?

He glanced at Arilan and considered the possibility. From the time he had taken his first vows, there had never been any doubt in his mind that his calling to the priesthood was genuine, or that he had been a good priest. And Bishop Arilan—Arilan seemed to have none of the doubts that had always nagged at Duncan’s conscience about the compatibility of the two identities, though the Deryni bishop had been careful to protect himself for many years, Duncan noted, so that the union of the two identities be not unduly endangered.

What was it that Arilan had said?—that he and Duncan were the only Deryni priests to be ordained since the Restoration, at least so far as Arilan knew. And there was certainly no doubt in Duncan’s mind that Arilan believed in his calling, considered himself a true servant of God. Duncan had always sensed the aura of sanctity about the man, from their first meeting nearly six years ago. There was no doubt in his mind that Arilan was faithful to his priestly vows, that his ordination was valid. Why should Duncan’s be any less valid, merely because he, too, was Deryni? Seeing Arilan’s example, why should Duncan not function as a priest and Deryni?

He glanced down at Richenda again as she stirred against his shoulder and saw that she was drying her eyes, had finally composed herself. But before he could speak, she turned wide blue eyes on him and searched his face.

“I shall be all right now, Father. I know that I cannot expect forgiveness for what I have done, but will you hear my confession anyway? It may make it easier to live with myself.”

Duncan lowered his eyes, remembering the one, last impediment, for Richenda’s sake.

“Have you forgotten that I am suspended, my lady?”

“No. But my Uncle Cardiel says that continuing the suspension is of your own doing, since Dhassa. He says that he and Arilan saw no reason at the time why you could not resume your priestly office.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow at that, for it was true. Arilan had, indeed, mentioned something about lifting the suspension after the excommunication had been revoked—except that Duncan had wanted it to be done by Corrigan, who had suspended him in the first place. But now, with Corrigan out of power and exiled back to Rhemuth, the question was largely academic. He realized that, for the first time in his life, he was truly free to make the decision.

“Does the fact that I am Deryni mean nothing to you?” he asked, in a last effort to reassure himself of what he wished to do.

She looked at him strangely, impatiently. “It means a great deal to me, Father, for you will, perhaps, be better able to comprehend my anguish. But you ask as though your identity should be a detriment, simply because you are now known for what you are. Do you not intend to practice your priestly calling conscientiously, in the same fashion as you have done in the past?”

“Certainly.”

“And you consider yourself to have been a good priest, in the years before your identity was known?”

He paused. “Yes.”

Richenda smiled fleetingly, then sank slowly to her knees. “Then, shrive me, Father. As a soul in need, I call upon you to perform your sacred office. You have been idle far too long.”

“But—”

“The suspension is lifted, so far as your superiors are concerned. Why do you resist? Is this not what you were born to do?”

Duncan smiled sheepishly, then bowed his head as Richenda crossed herself and clasped her hands. Abruptly he knew that he was doing what he was born to do, and that he would never doubt again. Serene and confident now, he listened as Richenda began her whispered confession.

ACROSS the tent, Morgan lifted his head and exhaled in a long sigh, signing for the guards to release their holds of Derry and withdraw. Derry lay quietly before him now, his eyes closed in natural sleep. As the guards drew back to the doorway, Morgan sat back on his haunches to contemplate a small circle of blackened metal in the palm of his hand. Kelson glanced at the ring, then looked up at Arilan. All of them avoided looking at Derry’s right hand, at the forefinger, white and chill, where the ring had been. The ring and its spell had been removed, but at great cost to all concerned. Morgan tried to suppress a yawn, then gave it up and let himself stretch and luxuriate in it. When he had finished, he glanced lazily at the others, all of them relaxing a little, now that the ordeal was over.

“I think the danger is past now. The spell is shattered, and he’s free.”

Kelson glanced at Morgan’s hand, which held the ring, and shuddered. “What he must have gone through, though. You shielded me from most of it, Morgan, but—aiie, what he’ll have to live with!”

“He won’t have to live with it.” Morgan shook his head. “I took a few liberties and blurred his memory of what happened at Esgair Ddu. Some of the horror will be with him always, but I was able to ease the worst of it. In a few weeks, all this will be mostly a vague recollection. And he’s going to be vexed he missed all the excitement tomorrow. He’s likely to sleep for several days.”

“He can have my share of the excitement tomorrow,” Kelson murmured under his breath.

“Um?” Morgan grunted. He had been climbing to his feet, and had not caught the comment.

“Never mind, it wasn’t kingly.” Kelson grinned. “We’d best get some sleep. My lady?”

He held out his hand toward Richenda, who had finished with Duncan, and the lady crossed to curtsy meekly.

“My lady, I am truly sorry for what has transpired this night. Be assured that I shall do everything in my power to see that your son is restored to you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

“Then, let us away—all of us,” Arilan said quietly. “The dawn will soon be upon us.”