“That may well be,” Morgan replied neutrally. “Such is not for me to judge—or you, I think. But, tell me. What is your understanding of the gift of healing?”

“My—?” Warin blinked and hurriedly glanced at the others, but could discern no hint as to the purpose of the question. “Why, Holy Scripture tells us that Our Lord healed the sick, as did His disciples after He was gone. Surely, even you are aware of that.”

Morgan nodded. “And my Lord Bishop Cardiel, do you concur with Warin’s answer?”

Cardiel, who by choice had remained in the background until now, started as his name was spoken, then moved hesitantly into the firelight beside Morgan. The flickering light caught a heart of amethyst in his ring as he fingered the wooden crucifix around his neck and gazed across at the rebel leader.

“It has always been my belief that Our Lord and His disciples healed the sick and the lame,” he agreed cautiously.

“That is my belief as well,” Morgan said, turning back to Warin. “May I take it, then, that both of you would agree that healing is a God-given gift, one not to be trifled with?”

“It is,” Cardiel said.

“Certainly,” Warin replied, not batting an eye.

“And your personal power of healing,” Morgan said softly. “Would that also be considered a gift of God?”

“My pers—”

Kelson allowed himself a perturbed sigh and crossed his legs in exasperation. “Come now, Warin, don’t be coy. We know that you can heal. We saw you, minutes ago. We also have certain knowledge that you healed a man in Kingslake last spring. Do you deny it?”

“I—certainly not.” Warin reddened a little as he held himself more erect, chin lifting. “And if the Lord has appointed me to be His instrument, who am I to question His word?”

“Yes, I know,” Morgan said, nodding impatiently and holding up a hand for silence. “What you are saying, then, is that healing is a sign of God’s favor.”

“Yes.”

“And that only those favored by God can heal?”

“Yes.”

“Then, suppose that a Deryni were able to heal?” Morgan asked quietly.

“A Deryni?!”

“I have healed, Warin. And there can be no doubt that I am Deryni. Do you suppose it is possible, then, that God does favor at least some Deryni by giving them the healing gift? For that matter, perhaps the healing gift is actually a Deryni power….”

“That cannot be,” Warin whispered.

His men stood stunned, and Warin himself had turned as pale as whey, his face so blanched of color that the blank, uncomprehending eyes were the only things even remotely alive in the frozen face. There was a flurry of furtive whispering among Warin’s men at their leader’s reaction, quickly cut off when Warin suddenly reeled against one of them and had to clutch at his arm for momentary support. Then the rebel leader, no longer quite so rebellious, was blinking life back into his face, staring disbelievingly at Morgan with a look almost of terror on his face.