He felt himself verging on the sleep-like trance that accompanied the spell, started to let himself slip into its cool depths—then tensed at the sound behind him of the door bolt scraping in its guides. Hinges creaked as the door swung back, and he could hear booted footsteps approaching. He controlled the impulse to twist his head around in an effort to see.

“Very well, tell him I’ll take care of it,” said a cool, cultured voice. “Deegan, did you have something?”

“Only this dispatch from Duke Lionel, Sire,” a second voice replied, an underling by the tone.

There was a murmur of assent, followed by the brittle crack of a seal being broken, the faint rustle of parchment. Derry’s stomach had begun a queasy churning as the voices spoke, for there was only one man in Esgair Ddu who would be addressed as “Sire.” As he registered this grim fact, someone stepped into the doorway with another torch, casting grotesque, misshapen shadows on the dungeon wall.

The hackles rose at the back of Derry’s neck, and he felt his heart begin to race. He told himself that the shadows did not reflect their owners’ true appearance, that it was a trick of the torchlight that struck such a note of mortal fear. But another corner of his mind whispered what he already knew: that one of the men had to be Wencit of Torenth. Now he would never get through to Morgan.

“I’ll deal with this later, Deegan. Leave us now,” the smooth voice said.

There was the rattle of parchment being folded, of leather creaking and harness jingling as someone withdrew. Then the door hinges were rasping closed, the bolt being shot into place. The torchlight began to intensify to his left, though he was certain that someone came from the right as well.

The faint rustling of the footsteps in the straw set frantic alarm bells clanging in Derry’s head.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Be not far from me; for trouble is near; for there is none to help.”

PSALMS 22:11

IN the cathedral in Dhassa, the ceremony of reconciliation for the two repentant Deryni was underway. After entering the cathedral in full procession, in the company of eight bishops and untold numbers of priests, monks, and other assistants, Morgan and Duncan had been solemnly presented to the presiding Bishop Cardiel and had formally declared their desire to be received back into the communion of Holy Mother Church. After that, they had knelt together on the lowest step of the altar and listened while Cardiel, Arilan, and the others intoned the prescribed formulae to accomplish their purpose.

It had been a time of concentration and of danger, for the two were required to respond often and intricately to the liturgy so sung and spoken. At last a portion approached when there would be little for the penitents to outwardly say or do. The two avoided looking at one another as each was led by two priests to the wide riser before the final approach to the altar and assisted to lower himself to the carpet, there to lie prostrate while the next portion of the ceremony continued.