This present reissue of the original Deryni Trilogy is particularly welcome, since these books are most accessible to readers who have not yet been caught up in the convolutions of later books in the series, as my writing style has evolved and the Deryni universe grows more complex. And since the protagonist of Deryni Rising is only fourteen, the books also appeal to younger readers; indeed, many English teachers have found the books invaluable in encouraging their students to read.

Were I writing the first three books today, with thirty years’ more experience as an author as well as living on this planet, there are things I probably would have done differently—though hindsight is always twenty-twenty. In 1969, when I began actually writing Deryni Rising, the sub-genre of what I now refer to as historical fantasy did not yet exist. I was making it up as I went along, though at the time, I thought that all fantasy had to have magical creatures, rhyming spells, and special languages. Obviously, that perception changed as my own writing style and universe emerged, and as I continued my graduate studies in medieval history.

Many of the “magical” powers of the Deryni can, of course, be attributed to abilities usually regarded in our own world as the realm of parapsychology, with a healthy dash of mysticism and spirituality thrown in. Since western Christianity was an inextricable part of medieval life, I had already started thinking in terms of paranormal abilities yoked to a quasi-religious framework, which married nicely with the historical background. (Jack of Eagles, by James Blish, had already been a catalyst for my interest in more classic forms of occultism.)

I must also confess that Star Trek’s transporters sparked the original inspiration for Deryni Transfer Portals, though it took me several novels to nail down a consistent rationale for the magic behind the Deryni constructs, as I made the transition from technology to magic.

For some aspects of the early appearance of the Deryni universe—and I am a very visual person—I am much indebted to several historical films, especially in regard to costumes. El Cid made a profound impression; I still picture Charissa’s Moorish bodyguards—and, later, Prince Azim—looking a good deal like Prince Moutamin, one of the Moorish emirs who ally with the Cid. (In later books, Prince Sancho and his sister Uracca would provide a visual template for the incestuous Imre and Ariella, in the Camber Trilogy, and the name Uracca crops up in the lineage of Meara under a slightly different spelling.) The Richard Burton-Peter O’Toole film Becket also evoked powerful visual images, both for its costumes and for the taut interplay of king and bishop. And the interaction between Thomas More and his daughter Margaret Roper, as depicted in A Man for All Seasons, provided a vivid model for the relationship between Camber and Evaine.