“Come, my brother, we have work to do this night. If you truly mean to receive Morgan and Duncan back among us, then they must be told, and preparations made. Also, there remains the matter of our recalcitrant brethren of the convocation, who will be wondering what makes us so long overdue. They must still be persuaded, though I suspect they’ll follow your lead readily enough.”

Cardiel ran a nervous hand through steel-gray hair and shook his head incredulously. “You do move quickly when you want to, don’t you, Denis? You’ll pardon me if I seem to react a bit stupidly for a few minutes, but this is going to take a little getting used to.”

“Of course it is.” Arilan chuckled, guiding Cardiel back to the center of the room where a design embossed the floor. “And we might as well start by getting back to your chapel. The guards will be getting edgy.”

Cardiel glanced apprehensively at the floor. “The Transfer Portal you spoke of?”

“Indeed,” Arilan replied, moving behind Cardiel to place his hands on the other’s shoulders once more. “Now, just relax and let me do the work. There’s nothing to it. Relax and let your mind go blank.”

“I’ll try,” Cardiel whispered.

And the floor tipped out from under him and Arilan in a soft, black blur.

IN the next hour, Morgan and Duncan were told of the bishops’ decision.

It was not a cordial meeting; all were too wary, too guarded for that. The former fugitives had been outcast from the Church for too many months not to feel some mistrust of a pair of that Church’s most powerful prelates; and the feeling was somewhat mutual.

But the bishops’ attitude was not hostile. It was as if the two were testing the penitents, probing their reaction to the decision. They had, after all, been charged with the spiritual well-being of these dissident sons of the Church.

Cardiel was markedly silent and said little, which Morgan thought a bit strange when he remembered some of the brilliant letters that had come to Kelson from the man’s pen in the past three months. The Dhassan bishop kept glancing at Arilan with a strange, questioning expression, which Morgan could not interpret: a look that sometimes raised the hackles on Morgan’s neck, though he could not say just why.

Arilan, on the other hand, was now relaxed, witty, and seemingly unaffected by the gravity of the situation. He was also quick to point out, however, just before the four entered the room where the convocation waited, that the real dangers were only beginning. There were still half a dozen bishops in the chamber who must be convinced of the innocence and penitence of the two Deryni lords—and then the eleven grim men in Coroth. And all of this must be resolved before they could even think about any confrontation with Wencit of Torenth.

There were a few mild protests when the four entered the chamber. Siward had gasped; Gilbert had crossed himself furtively, his small, pig-eyes darting to his companions for support; and even the peppery old Wolfram de Blanet, staunchest opponent of the Interdict, had gone a little white. None of them had ever knowingly been in the presence of even one Deryni, much less two.