Ewan swallowed and nodded, then stood and cleared his throat apologetically. “To His Grace, Lord Alaric Anthony Morgan, Duke of Corwyn, and Lord General of the Royal Armies. From the queen and the lords in Regency Council in session this twelfth day of the reign of Kelson Cinhil Rhys Anthony Haldane, King of Gwynedd, Prince of Meara, and Lord of the Purple March.

“Your Grace: You have been summoned before the Royal Council of Gwynedd to answer to certain charges pertinent to your behavior toward the Crown. Namely . . .”

As Ewan began reading the charges, Kelson at last risked a glance at Morgan. He had wondered all through the proceedings why Morgan had not even attempted to clear himself, but he saw now that any defense, no matter how clever or true, would have been useless with the mood of the Council as it was today. In all the world, there was nothing a Deryni could have done or said to convince them of his innocence.

Now, the golden head was bowed, the gray eyes veiled by the long, thick lashes, and Kelson could see at a glance that the general recognized his plight. Even now, he was probably formulating some fantastic escape tactic, marshalling that awesome Deryni power to regain his freedom—that freedom which must be maintained at all costs, if he was to be of any help to his young king. Of course, he could not know that Kelson had a plan.

Kelson realized he now had a double deadline to work against. For if Morgan made his move before Kelson could make his—and Kelson could not, until the bells tolled out the hour—then all hope for a lawful settlement of the matter was lost.

Gingerly, Kelson eased his booted toe to the side, managed to bring it to within a hand-span of Morgan’s near foot. Then, as Ewan began the closing of the writ, Kelson shifted in his chair, at the same time nudging Morgan’s boot with his.

Morgan glanced at the boy, saw an almost imperceptible shake of the head, and nodded. The boy had a plan. He would let him try.

“. . . set before me this day, Jehana Regina et Domini Consilium.” Ewan’s voice rumbled to a halt, and he sat down expectantly. But even as he sat, basilica and cathedral bells began tolling out the hour.

One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .

Kelson listened as the bells tolled and mentally kicked himself when he heard the fourth hour struck. Four in the afternoon. He had been waiting for three, and that was already long past. He could have been acting long ago.

Silently, he stood at his place, still allowing no inkling of what he was about to do to show on his face.

“My lords, Your Majesty,” he began formally, bowing slightly toward his mother, “we have heard the charges against our general.” He saw Jehana’s sudden suspicious expression as she caught the royal we.