“This is even worse than I feared,” Kelson finally murmured, when the last grim details of the rout had been told. “First the archbishops and their hatred of the Deryni, then this fanatic Warin de Grey…. And the people support him, Derry! Even if I can stop Warin, reconcile with the archbishops, I can’t defeat the entire duchy.”

Derry shook his head emphatically. “I think you misjudge Warin’s influence, Sire. His appeal is powerful when he is nearby, and after a few miracles the people flock to his side. But the tradition of loyalty to kings is older and, I believe, stronger than the lure of a new prophet—especially one who proposes holy war. Once Warin is removed, and the peasants leaderless, their impetus will be gone. His fatal mistake was to take up residence in Coroth with the archbishops. Now he’s practically counted as one of the archbishops’ followers.”

“There’s still the matter of the Interdict,” Kelson said doubtfully. “Will the common folk forget that so quickly?”

Derry flashed him a reassuring smile. “Our reports indicate that the rebels in the outlying areas are poorly armed and only loosely organized, Sire. When they have to face the reality of a royal army marching through their midst, they’ll scatter like mice!”

“I didn’t hear of them scattering like mice at Jennan Vale,” Kelson said with a snort. “In fact, I still fail to understand how poorly armed peasants were able to take an entire patrol by surprise. Where is my uncle? I should like to hear his explanation of what happened yesterday.”

“Try not to be too hard on him, Sire,” Derry murmured, lowering his eyes uncomfortably. “He has been with the surgeons and his wounded since he rode in this morning. It was only an hour ago that I was able to persuade him to let the surgeons see to his own injuries.”

“He’s hurt?” The king’s eyes were suddenly concerned. “How badly? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He ordered me not to, Sire. It isn’t serious. His left shoulder is badly wrenched, and he has a few superficial cuts and bruises. But he would rather have died than lose those men.”

Kelson’s mouth twitched in sympathy and he forced a wan smile. “I know that. The fault is not his.”

“Be sure to remind him of that, then,” Derry said quietly. “He feels he has personally failed you.”

“Not Nigel. Never him.”

The young king stood wearily and flexed his shoulders in his white linen tunic, stretching his neck backward to gaze at the ceiling of the tent a few feet above his head. His straight black hair, cropped close above his ears for battle, was disheveled, and he ran a tanned hand through it once again as he turned back to Derry.

“What further news from the three armies in the north?”

Derry stood attentively. “Little you haven’t already heard. The Duke of Claibourne reports that he should be able to hold the Arranal Canyon approach indefinitely, so long as he isn’t attacked from the south simultaneously. His Grace estimates that Wencit will make his main drive farther south, probably at the Cardosa Pass. There’s only a token force readied at Arranal.”