Bran ran his fingers across the helmet and mail lying on one of the chairs, let his hand caress the fur draped beneath it.

“Who was the other baron with Lionel—the one who stayed mounted? Do either of you know him?”

“Merritt of Reider, my lord,” answered Campbell. “He holds sizeable lands to the northeast, adjoining Tolan. I’m surprised that Wencit would send them on a mission like this, especially if he plans something devious.”

“Precisely what I was thinking,” Bran said, continuing to stroke the fur absently as he stared at the wall of the tent. “It also occurred to me that this might be Wencit’s way of telling us that he is serious about this parley. So serious that he would risk a brother-in-law and a powerful ally as hostages to reassure us. Being realistic about my own value, I doubt that Wencit would risk the two out there just to capture or destroy me. If that were all he wanted, there are a dozen less dangerous and less expensive ways to try.”

Gwyllim cleared his throat uneasily. “M’lord, have you considered the possibility that Wencit might wish the hostages to do something here in the camp while you are away? If they’re Deryni, for example, there is no telling what kind of damage they could do. Perhaps not even anything we could detect until you were safely returned and they were on their way back to their master.”

“It’s true, m’lord,” Campbell agreed. “What’s to prevent the hostages from wreaking havoc while you’re away? I don’t trust them!”

Bran rubbed his hands across his face and stared up at the ceiling for a long moment while he considered what the two had said. Finally he turned with a sigh to face them again.

“I cannot argue with your logic—either of you. But somehow I have the feeling that there is no treachery involved, at least in this particular case. If Lionel and Merritt are Deryni, they have had ample time out there to destroy us, if that were their sole intent. And if they are not Deryni, they would be foolish to try anything devious, right here in our midst.

“Just to reassure you, though, suppose that I have Cordan prepare a strong sleeping draught to be given to all the contingent who remain behind. If Lionel will agree to this precaution, I think it would be relatively safe for me to proceed to the parley that Wencit requests. After all, their agreement will require no little demonstration of trust on their part as well as ours, do you not agree?”

Gwyllim shook his head doubtfully, then shrugged in resignation. “It’s still a risk, sir.”

“But a reasonable one, I think—and it may buy us some time. Campbell, find Cordan and see to the potion, will you? Gwyllim, you’ll be riding with me to Cardosa. Help me into my mail.”

Minutes later, Bran and Gwyllim stepped from the tent and moved toward the waiting Torenthi emissaries. Bran had donned his mail and a cloak of royal blue over his blue tunic, with his blue eagle device picked out in blue stitchery on the breast of his leather surcoat. Bright mail showed at his throat and below the short sleeves of the surcoat, and an ivory-hilted broadsword hung from a white leather baldric across his chest. Gwyllim followed half a pace behind him, Bran’s blue-plumed helmet under his arm and his master’s leather riding gloves clutched in his left hand. Bran’s golden eyes danced with cunning as he stepped into the sunlight.