HIGH DERYNI

INTERLUDE

THE first spring following the coronation of Kelson King of Gwynedd should have been a time of eager anticipation, as the land lay a-greening along with his newly begun reign. Sadly, he knew full well how precariously lay the crown upon his young head. Only fourteen when his father, King Brion, was slain by magic, the boy-king had immediately taken counsel of the controversial Duke Alaric Morgan, his late father’s close friend and confidant, along with Morgan’s cousin, Father Duncan McLain, who was also chaplain to the royal household. Both were now known to be Deryni, wielders of the same sort of magic that had killed King Brion—and all magic was forbidden by Gwynedd’s powerful Church. Its presiding bishop had suspended Duncan McLain from his priestly function, and the hastily summoned Curia of that same Church had now excommunicated both men.

Not that Gwynedd’s individual bishops presented a united front. While all of those present at the Curia convened in Dhassa had consented to the excommunication of the pair (albeit with varying degrees of enthusiasm), they remained sharply divided on whether further sanctions should be imposed on Morgan’s Duchy of Corwyn; so divided that Gwynedd’s presiding bishop, supported by a slender majority of the other bishops present, had declared the six dissenting bishops to be schismatic and threatened disciplinary action against them. The Six, in turn, had declared for the king and expelled Archbishop Loris and his adherents from the city. Rumor had it that the archbishop and his followers had fled southward and were taking refuge with the anti-Deryni rebel Warin de Grey while they sought support from bishops who had not been present at Dhassa. At least a few of Loris’s supporters had taken their master’s anger seriously enough to attempt more direct disciplinary action against the dissident Six.

“Someone attacked Wolfram?” Bishop Siward blurted, when a trembling and shaken household chaplain had repeated his disturbing news to several of the Six huddled in Bishop Cardiel’s private withdrawing room.

“Several ‘someones,’ apparently,” Bishop Tolliver replied, taking off his own cloak to lay it around the shoulders of their informant. He had been present when the young priest had burst into the stable yard, gasping for breath, and had been first to hear the news. “Father Jodoc tells me that they were in the service of Archbishop Loris.”

“They were, my lords!” the priest agreed. “One of the men even wore the archbishop’s badge under his cloak!”

“Dear God, has it come to this?” Cardiel whispered.

“At least we are fortunate in that Wolfram was not harmed,” Bishop Arilan said coolly. “What of the attackers, Father?”

“All dead, my lord,” Jodoc said promptly, nodding his thanks as a priest called Father Hugh, now secretary to the dissident bishops, pressed a cup of mulled wine into his hand. He indulged in a deep gulp before he continued. “One was killed outright, and another died of his wounds before he could be questioned. They say that a third was pulled to pieces by the crowd.” He looked away briefly before adding softly, “It must have been dreadful.”