“Do you presume to rebuke your king?” Kelson snapped. “Warin, I have not the time nor the inclination to debate the Deryni question with you. Wencit of Torenth is poised on our borders, ready to invade—and he is an evil man, even were he not Deryni. The civil strife that you and the archbishops have raised must please him beyond all accounting.”

Loris shook his head angrily, striking a defiant pose. “Do not blame us for Wencit of Torenth, Sire. Wencit is not the issue. I will not compromise the will of the Lord, not even for the will of the king.”

“Then, you had best hear me as king,” Kelson said evenly. “As you have pointed out, I am lawful king in Gwynedd. You yourself poured the consecrated oil upon my head and crowned me; and what has been done in that manner cannot be undone by men.

“Therefore, by the authority which you bestowed upon me in the name of our Lord, I command that you lay down your weapons and surrender this city to its lawful lord. Later, when there is more time, we will discuss your differences in this Deryni matter.”

There was the rumble of dissent behind Loris, and the prelate shook his head. “I recognize your authority, Sire, but I regret that it is impossible for me to obey you in this matter. I cannot surrender the city. Further, I must urgently suggest that you and your party withdraw before some of my people anger at your words and shame us all by an attempted regicide. Much as I am forced by conscience to disobey you, I would not have your royal blood upon my hands.”

Kelson stared up at the archbishop for a full ten seconds, speechless with anger, then wheeled his horse sharply and began galloping back toward his lines. His companions rode hard behind him, keeping careful watch for some overzealous bowman such as Loris had warned of. Only when they had reached the safety of his own army did Kelson rein in and trust himself to speak. He did not seem even to be aware of his other generals and warlords crowding around to hear what had happened.

“Well, Morgan? What should I have said to that insolent priest?” Kelson pulled off his helmet in a furious gesture and threw it to a waiting squire. “Well, speak, King’s Champion. What ought I to have said? The sheer gall of that man, threatening me!”

“Peace, my prince,” Morgan murmured. Kelson’s horse was dancing and curvetting, reacting to Kelson’s anger, and Morgan laid a hand on the reins to still it. “My lords, pray, excuse us,” he said to the watching officers. “There is no immediate cause for alarm. Nigel, if you would continue to oversee the making of camp, my lord bishops, the same. Duncan, you and Arilan and Cardiel, come with us, please. His Majesty has need of our counsel.”

“I am not a child,” Kelson murmured. He jerked the reins away from Morgan and glanced at him sharply. “I’ll thank you not to treat me like one.”