“Oh, it is, is it? Selden, search him. Davis, what about the other one?”

“Nothing to identify him, sir,” a guard replied from Duncan’s side.

“Selden?”

Selden fumbled with the pouch at Morgan’s belt, then opened it and extracted a number of small gold and silver coins and a small doeskin bag with drawstrings. The bag was heavy in his hand as he lifted it from the pouch, and the guard officer saw something change in his captive’s face as the guard handed it up.

“Something more important than gold, isn’t it?” the officer guessed shrewdly, loosening the ties and opening the bag.

Two golden rings tumbled out into his hand as he turned the bag bottom-up. One was a heavy gold band set with an onyx, the black stone etched with the golden Lion of Gwynedd: the ring of the King’s Champion. The other showed an emerald gryphon set in an onyx face: the seal of Alaric Morgan, Duke of Corwyn.

The man’s eyes widened as he recognized the devices, his mouth going agape. Then he glanced down at his captive once more, squinting through the beard. A gasp escaped his lips as he recognized the man lying at his feet.

“Dear God, it’s Morgan!” he whispered, his eyes going wider still.

CHAPTER NINE

“Mine own conscience is more to me than what the world says.”

CICERO

“MORGAN!”

“My God! The Deryni among us!”

Several of the men crossed themselves furtively, and those holding the prisoners shrank back, but none of them loosened their holds.

Just then, one half of the double doors to the room opened, and a priest poked his head out. He took one look at the soldiers massed outside the doors, gasped as he saw the two men pinned spread-eagled on the floor among them, then ducked quickly back inside to return momentarily with a tall man in a violet cassock, with a silver pectoral cross gleaming on his breast. The face of the Bishop of Dhassa was calm and serene beneath the steel-gray hair as he, too, took in the scene with a glance, his pale eyes coming to rest at last on the officer of the guard.

“Who are these men?” Cardiel asked quietly. Gold and amethyst glinted as he rested his hand on the latch of the heavy door, and the guard officer swallowed nervously as he gestured toward his two prisoners.

“Th-these intruders, Your Excellency, they—”

Without further words, he came closer to extend a shaking hand holding the two rings he had taken from Morgan. Cardiel took the rings and inspected them, then glanced carefully at the two, who returned his gaze measure for measure. Then, abruptly, Cardiel turned inside to call, “Denis?” before stepping out into the corridor. Seconds later, Bishop Arilan appeared in the doorway, his face a study in control as he saw and recognized the two prisoners. Cardiel opened his hand to show the rings, but Arilan gave them only a perfunctory glance.

“Father McLain and Duke Alaric,” he said carefully. “I see that you have reached Dhassa at last.” He folded his arms across his chest, his bishop’s ring flashing cold fire in the stillness. “Tell me, have you come to seek our blessings or our deaths?”