His voice assumed a hollow tone as he prepared to let the memory of his ordeal surface in all its detail.

“Our way lay through Saint Torin’s, through the shrine as any other pilgrims—for even then, I was suspect, and could not officially enter Dhassa as Duke of Corwyn without Bishop Cardiel’s permission. I knew that he would never dare to give that permission with the Curia in full session here.”

“You misjudge him, but go on,” Arilan murmured.

Morgan swallowed and continued. “After Duncan had visited the shrine and returned, I went in. There was merasha on a needle on the gate. Do you know what that is, Bishop?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” Morgan whispered. “That will make this somewhat easier. I—I scratched my hand on the gate, and the drug overcame me. I passed out—and when I came to my senses, I was in the hands of Warin de Grey and a dozen or so of his men. With him was Monsignor Gorony. They told me that the bishops had decided to give me to Warin, if he could capture me, and that Gorony had been sent only to lend some semblance of legitimacy to the act—to minister to my soul, should I choose to acknowledge my ‘sins’ and seek absolution.

“They—were going to burn me, Excellency,” Morgan said haltingly, hardly able to force out the words. “They had the stake all ready for me…and the chains. They never had any intention of letting me clear myself. I—I didn’t know that at the time, however.” He paused to wet his lips again, to swallow painfully.

“They—questioned me; the substance of that interrogation is mostly a blur. Finally, Warin decided that it was time to kill me. I was helpless in his power; I could barely stay conscious, much less use my powers to protect myself.

“And then he said that I had this one last, partial reprieve: that though my life was to be forfeit, I was to be permitted to at least try to redeem my soul by confessing to Gorony. The only clear thought I remember in that instant of desperation was that I must stall for time, that if only I could stay alive long enough, Duncan would surely find me. So I—I…”

“And so you knelt to Gorony,” Arilan supplied.

Morgan closed his eyes and nodded painfully as he remembered. “And would have confessed to almost anything to keep death at bay, was ready to invent sins to prolong the time until…”

“I quite understand,” Arilan said softly. “What did you tell him?”

Morgan shook his head. “I had time for nothing. At that moment, God must have heard my prayers. Duncan came hurtling down through an opening in the ceiling, and his sword cut a swath of death through that place.”

IN the next room, Bishop Thomas Cardiel sat stiffly in a window seat, Duncan kneeling at his feet. Duncan, though his wrists were bound, had laced his fingers together in an attitude of prayer, his hands resting lightly on the cushion of the seat beside Cardiel. Duncan’s head was slightly bowed, but his voice was steady. Cardiel’s gray eyes were focused incredulously on the top of his head as he listened to Duncan’s tale.