He had done so, and the drug had done its work. When he awoke, powerless and confused, he had found himself prisoner of the rebel Warin de Grey and one of the archbishops’ retainers. Only Duncan’s timely intervention had saved Morgan from a slow and terror-filled death.

Nor had the rescue been without its price to Duncan. For in the course of the battle which ensued, Duncan had been obliged to reveal his Deryni identity, to use forbidden Deryni magic to make good their escape. In their flight from the death-filled shrine, flames had been kindled by falling torches, turning the ancient wood structure into a raging inferno.

It was this event, coupled with deeds before the burning, which had brought the winds of anathema howling about the heads of the two who now approached. And it was this set of deeds which they hoped to expiate, could they once reach the relative refuge of the Bishop of Dhassa’s presence, to throw themselves on his mercy.

The two men sat silently for a long while in the thicket, listening, sniffing the air, then easing themselves quietly from saddles to the ground. They had seen blue smoke rising in the noon heat beyond the ridge ahead: the smoke of many campfires. Now, as they listened and tested the wind with their extended senses, they could hear the sounds of animals tethered beyond the ridge, the murmur of voices in the valley far below, could catch the pungent scent of woodsmoke on the still spring air.

With a sigh of resignation, Morgan glanced at his kinsman and gave a wry smile, then tethered his horse and began slowly working his way up the slope toward the crest of the ridge, Duncan following. There was ample forest cover as they climbed the ridge, thinning to brush and tall spring grass as they approached the crest. For the last dozen yards, they crawled through the tall grass on hands and knees, gradually sinking to their bellies as they neared the edge.

Blinking like lizards in the brilliant sunlight, they raised their heads cautiously to peer over the edge. The valley below was lightly forested, but the trees concealed little from the two observing from atop the ridge. As far as the eye could see, to the south and to the eastern valley wall, the valley floor was alive with armed men and their encampment; with tents and pavilions, cook-fires and forges, picket lines of tethered horses, pens of animals for provisioning.

Heraldic banners stirred outside the more ornate of the tents, their colorful devices bright and shimmering in the noonday sun. A few were familiar to the two who watched, but many more could not be identified. Only the occasional banners of violet and gold, the rich pennants of purple surmounting the regular battle standards, identified this encampment as an episcopal army. From the condition of the camp, they had been there for some time; by all indications, they expected to be there a good while longer.