“This puts an entirely different light on matters. Alaric, you and Duncan were made liable for challenge by any full Deryni—and for the reasons your visitant stated. I sit on the Council; I was there when it happened, though I could not prevent it. But who could have come to you in that guise? Who would even have a motive? It simply does not make sense.”

Arilan looked up at them, at all of them in the room, and realized he had been rambling on. Warin and Cardiel were staring at him with wide, faintly frightened eyes, unable in their humanness to comprehend; and even Nigel was regarding him in stunned confusion, only partially understanding the implications of the Deryni bishop’s words. Morgan and Duncan measured him carefully, trying to reconcile what he was saying with all they could remember of their encounters with the stranger in Camber’s guise. Kelson alone remained aloof, the sudden uncertainty of the situation seeming to isolate him, to infuse him with a cold sobriety, a logical detachment that enabled him to assess the growing crisis with a semblance of objectivity.

“Very well,” Arilan said, shaking off his sense of foreboding and returning to the matter at hand. “Alaric, Duncan, I cannot explain the visitations you have had, but I intend, at least, to find out whether Wencit really has been in contact with the Council and coerced them into arbitrating a Duel Arcane. I know of no such ruling, and as a member of the Council directly involved in this matter, I should have been consulted. However, I have missed a few routine meetings lately because of our forced march, so it is possible. Morgan, do you possess a set of Ward cubes, and do you carry them with you?”

“Ward cubes? I—” Morgan hesitated and Arilan shook his head.

“Do not be coy with me; there isn’t time. Do you or do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then, get them. Duncan, I shall need eight white candles, all about the same size. See what you can find.”

“At once.”

“Thank you. Thomas, help Warin and Nigel roll back the carpet to expose bare earth. Kelson, I shall need something from the old times. May I borrow your Ring of Fire?”

“Certainly. What are you going to do?” Kelson asked, pulling off his ring and watching, mystified, as the carpet was pulled back to expose bare, matted grass.

Arilan slipped the Ring of Fire on his little finger and motioned for Morgan and Duncan to be off on their own errands. “I intend to construct a Transfer Portal, with your help. Happily, that is one of the old talents that has not been entirely lost. Nigel, I shall need a different sort of help from you and Warin and Thomas in a few moments. Can all of you obey me without question?”

The three exchanged apprehensive glances, but even Warin nodded. Arilan flashed them a fleeting smile of reassurance as he stepped onto the patch of grass and dropped to his knees. After raking through the grass with his fingertips and removing several small stones and bits of brush, he held out his hand for Nigel’s dagger, which the prince handed over without a word. Then, with the four of them looking on, he began cutting a six-foot octagon in the turf.