“God keep you, my friend,” he said in a low voice. “I should hate to see you perish before your time. We have much work to do, you and I.”

Cardiel nodded gravely, not trusting himself to speak, and Arilan smiled.

“You do know why it is you who are going instead of I, do you not?”

“I understood that you are to aid Prince Nigel, should the need arise. Someone has to be here to assist him, should anything happen to Kelson, God forbid.”

Arilan smiled and inclined his head slightly. “That is part of the reason. However, has it occurred to you that, of the four going on this mission, you alone are fully human?”

Cardiel stared at his colleague for a moment, then lowered his eyes. “I had gathered that it was because I am at least the outward leader of the rebel bishops, and that the others might listen to me. There is another reason as well, though, isn’t there?”

Arilan clasped his friend on the shoulder in reassurance. “There is, indeed, another reason—but no sinister purpose, I assure you. I am merely hoping that you will have the opportunity to observe some very fine Deryni practitioners in action. And while I know that you believe what I have told you about the Deryni, at least with your mind, I want you to see it at first hand, and believe with your heart as well.”

Cardiel raised his eyes to meet Arilan’s and smiled a wan smile. “Thank you, Denis. I—I shall try to keep an open mind—and heart.”

“I ask no more,” Arilan said with a nod.

Nodding in return, Cardiel turned his horse’s head and followed after the others at a trot. Even as he rode, he seemed to melt into the flickering shadows cast by the myriad campfires. Arilan continued to smile as he turned back to Nigel, who still waited in the entryway to the royal tent.

PERHAPS half an hour later, the five riders drew rein in a deep defile southwest of Castle Coroth and dismounted. They had ridden far to the west initially, then had cut in a southerly direction until they could make their way along the shelter of the rocky coastline.

Now, perhaps half a mile from the outermost defenses of the city, Morgan motioned for silence in the slight moonlight, fastening his reins to the saddle of another horse and then repeating the process until all four of the extra horses were in a single line. When that had been accomplished, he returned to the head of the line, where Duncan was giving young Conall a leg up, and handed him the lead rein of the extra horses.

“Godspeed, young prince,” he whispered. “Be certain you don’t cut inland until you reach the place where we entered on the way here. I don’t want you spotted from the castle.”

“Aye, Your Grace. Take care.”

“And you. Off with you, then,” Morgan whispered, slapping the flank of the boy’s horse in acknowledgement and stepping back. “Duncan, my lords, let’s go.”