Very deliberately, not taking his gaze from Derry’s, Wencit closed his hand around the silver disc and wrapped the chain around two fingers, pulling it taut around Derry’s neck until their faces were but a hand-span apart.

“Art thou Deryni, then, youngling?” Wencit whispered harshly, his words chill as ice. “Thou invokest a Deryni saint, my foolish young friend. Dost believe he can protect thee from me?”

Derry’s stomach did a slow, queasy roll as Wencit gave the chain a slight twist.

“Wilt not answer, Sean Lord Derry?”

The terrible eyes seemed to be boring into Derry’s, and the young Marcher lord wrenched his gaze away with a shudder. He heard Wencit’s snort of disgust, but he would not permit himself to be drawn back into that potent glance.

“I see,” Wencit breathed softly.

The pressure on the chain around Derry’s neck lessened slightly. But then Wencit’s hand was moving in a lightning blur, snapping the chain and jerking Derry’s neck with the sudden tension before one of the metal links gave. With a gasp, Derry stared at the sorcerer again, at the broken chain spilling from between long, white fingers. The back of his neck stung where the chain had burned him with the friction of passing, and he realized, with a sinking sensation in his stomach, that Wencit now held the Camber medallion.

Now he could never hope to stand up to Wencit. His link with Morgan was broken. The magic was gone. He was all alone now, and Morgan would never know.

He managed to swallow, though with difficulty, and tried, unsuccessfully, to calm his pounding heart.

AS the long prayers ended in Dhassa Cathedral, Morgan dragged himself from the depths of trance and forced himself to open his eyes. He must be very careful, for in a very short time he was going to have to get to his feet and proceed with the ceremony, make coherent responses. There must be no sign that the past five minutes had been in any way out of the ordinary. No one must suspect.

He thought, though, that he had briefly touched Derry’s mind. He wished he could be certain. He had been left with the distinct impression that Derry had tried to reach him but had been interrupted. And then, just now, he had been nearly overcome by a mind-numbing flare of fear as he tried to extend even further; and he very nearly had been unable to come back unaided.

He made himself draw a deep, settling breath and slowly let it out, applying one of the Deryni aids to banish fatigue, and forced himself to lift his head, to rise to his knees as the priests lifted him up. He caught Duncan looking at him as he stood to be divested of the violet robe covering his white tunic, and tried to flash him some sign of reassurance; but Duncan knew that something was wrong. He could sense the tension in every line of his kinsman’s body as the two of them knelt again before the high altar. Morgan tried again to gather his wits about him as Cardiel began another prayer.