Immediately, he recognized the problem. In spite of his long absence, he was being recognized and connected with the wild Deryni rumor. Someone had certainly gone to a lot of trouble to taint his name. These people actually believed him to be the evil Deryni sorcerer of the legends!

Very well, let them stare. He would play along. If they wished to see the suave, self-assured, vaguely menacing Deryni lord in action, he would oblige!

With a slight swagger to his movements, he paused on the threshold to slap the dust from his clothes, deliberately positioning himself so that his sword and mail glittered balefully in the sunlight and his hair glowed like burnished gold. His audience was suitably impressed.

When he was satisfied that the act had achieved its desired effect, he allowed his gaze to sweep across his audience one more time, slowly. Then he turned on his heel like an insolent boy and swept into the hall. At his back, Derry glided along like a watchful blue shadow, his face enigmatic beneath the thick mane of curly brown hair.

THE hall was immense. It had needed to be. For Brion had been a very great king, with many vassals, and he kept a court that rewarded faithful service well.

The high-ceilinged hall with its oaken support beams and dozens of silk-embroidered battle flags was almost symbolic of the new unity that had come to the Eleven Kingdoms in the twenty-five years of Brion’s reign. Banners of Carthmoor and Cassan, of Kierney and the Kheldish Riding, the Free Port of Concaradine, the Mearan Protectorate, Howicce, Llannedd, the Connait, the Hort of Orsal, episcopal banners of most of the Lords Spiritual in the Eleven Kingdoms—all hung alike from the high oak beams, their silken and gold insignia and devices gleaming in the half-light that poured from the clerestory and from the three immense fireplaces that heated the room.

On the walls, rich tapestries vied with the armorial banners for color and splendor. And above the main fireplace, dominating the hall, the Golden Lion of Gwynedd glittered darkly from its background of deep crimson velvet.

Gules, a lion rampant guardant or, the heralds would blazon the Haldane arms on the hanging. But mere heraldic jargon could not begin to describe the rich embroidery, the priceless artistry and jewel-work that had gone into its creation.

The panel had been commissioned more than fifty years before by Brion’s grandfather King Malcolm. Times were harder then, and it had taken nearly three years for the nimble-fingered weavers of the Kheldish Riding to complete the basic design alone. Another five years passed while the gold and jewel artisans of Concaradine plied their arts. And it had been Brion’s father, Donal, who had finally hung the masterpiece in the great hall.

Morgan remembered the reaction of a small blond boy on seeing the Lion for the first time. For that first impression was indelibly etched on his memory with his first glimpse of Brion, the shining king who had stood before the Lion of Gwynedd and welcomed a shy young page to the royal court.