“Rid me of Morgan and McLain,” Wencit replied, at once deadly serious. “As long as they stand beside Kelson, excommunicate or not, they stand a threat to us, both by the aid they can give him and by the powers they personally wield. Since we cannot predict their strength or their influence, we have no choice but to eliminate them. But it must be done legally. I want no trouble with the Council.”

“Legally?” Rhydon raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I am not certain that is possible. As half-breeds, Morgan and McLain are immune to arcane challenge by any other full Deryni. And the chances of having them legally executed by secular or ecclesiastical authorities are so remote as to be almost nonexistent. You know they are under Kelson’s personal protection.”

Wencit picked up a thin stylus and tapped it absently against his teeth, then turned to gaze thoughtfully out the window. “Yes, but there may be another way, one that the Council could not possibly fault. In fact, the Council itself might be the instrument of their destruction.”

Rhydon straightened attentively. “Do elaborate.”

“Suppose the Council were to declare Morgan and McLain fair game for arcane challenge? Suppose their immunity were taken away?”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that the two of them exhibit full Deryni powers at times,” Wencit said with a sly smile. “They have, you know.”

“I see,” Rhydon murmured. “And you wish me to go to the Council and ask them to entertain the motion? You know that is out of the question.”

“Oh, not you, personally. I know how you feel about the Council. Ask Thorne Hagen to do it. He owes me several favors.”

Rhydon hissed derisively.

“No, I mean it. Tell him, if you like, that this is not a request but a direct order from me. I think he’ll cooperate.”

Rhydon chuckled, shaking his head, then stood and straightened his sleeves with a flourish. “He has little choice, when you put it that way. Very well, I shall see to it.” He glanced around and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Is there anything else you require of me before I go? Perhaps a minor miracle or two? The granting of your heart’s desire?”

With the last word, he extended his hands and made a slow pass in the air before him, murmuring a few low syllables under his breath. As he completed the movement, a full, hooded cloak of softest deerskin appeared from nowhere to settle around his shoulders in a whisper of indigo leather. Wencit had taken an incredulous pose with hands on hips as his colleague performed the spell, and shook his head in consternation as Rhydon fastened the clasp.

“If you are quite finished playing with your powers, the one request will be enough, thank you. And now, I’ll thank you to be on your way and let me work. Some of us must, you know.”

“Ah, I am wounded beyond mending,” Rhydon said dryly. “However, since you request it, I shall go to see your good friend Thorne Hagen. Then I shall return to inspect this Bran Coris creature with whom you seem so enraptured. Perhaps there is some merit in him after all—though I doubt it. Perhaps I shall even endeavor to assess the danger for you: the danger you are convinced does not exist.”