Suddenly the tortured hand was like a thing alive and apart, transmitting its anguish to explode in his brain like sparks from a fiery forge, like the searing white light of sunlight on unprotected eyes. He felt pain lance through the hand like the thrust of a blade—hot, cold!—as he pushed harder, was aware of the shaft taking what seemed an interminable time to pass through skin, fascia, muscles—felt it glide between the tendons and small bones of his hand, saw the tip of the shaft, darker now, emerge at last on the other side.

An involuntary gasp escaped his lips as the brooch itself came to rest against the palm of his hand, seemed to sear into his flesh. He doubled over, stifling a moan as the hand began to throb with a rhythm of its own, closed his eyes tightly as lights began to explode inside his head, behind his eyeballs.

It was all Morgan could do to keep from reaching out to steady his young lord. Anguish was etched across the boy’s face, pain screamingly obvious in every taut line of the hunched body. Never had Kelson seemed so helpless.

But Duncan, too, had turned to watch. And his sharp glance reminded Morgan that he dared not try to assist.

As Kelson sank back on his heels, cradling the wounded hand against his chest, he began to glow with a pale, ghostly golden light. The glow increased, and then the boy suddenly stiffened and fell utterly silent. As his companions watched breathlessly, the young king’s eyes flickered open, glassy, staring, following things that only he could see.

Brightness . . . pain . . . swirling colors . . . pain throbbing . . . a cool shiver of—what? Pain subsiding . . . better now . . . a cool weight in the hand. . . . Look! Colors . . . swirling . . . faces: . . . light, dark . . . light fading . . . faces . . . growing darker . . . spinning . . . darkness . . . Father! . . . the darkness! . . . Father . . . darkness. . . .

“Father, the darkness . . .”

All at once the slender body crumpled softly to the floor, the light fading away.

“Kelson!” Morgan cried, frantically turning the boy’s face toward him and feeling for a carotid pulse. “Kelson, are you all right?”

As Duncan, too, knelt beside the still form, Morgan’s fingers found what they sought; and even as he relaxed, the pulse grew stronger. He lifted one of the boy’s eyelids, saw the pupil react to light. The pulse became stronger.

“ ‘The right hand of the Lord has struck him with power,’ ” Duncan whispered, crossing himself. “ ‘He shall not die, but live.’ ”

He reached for the boy’s left hand and gently removed the Lion brooch, then wrapped the hand in a handkerchief of white silk.

“Do you think it worked?” Morgan whispered, raising the boy’s head and shoulders and wrapping the crimson cloak more closely around him.