Free Camber of Culdi by Katherine Kurtz Page A

that, he reached slowly to his goblet and raised it in the air, nodding as his children stood and did the same. The toast was drunk in silence—a silence which persisted for several thoughtful minutes until conversation once more resumed, this time on more neutral topics.

C HAPTER F IVE
    Now the king sat in the winterhouse in the ninth month …
    â€”Jeremiah 36:22
    But neither neutrality nor sobriety were common at Court in Valoret, and certainly not on the night of Michaelmas. The young King Imre had done his reluctant duty by his people by day, had attended Mass and held formal Court and shown himself at the Lantern Gate, as was customary at that season.
    But the night belonged to Imre and his courtiers and friends. No solemnities at the Court of Valoret after the sun had set. Feasting past, the king had retired to change to even more resplendent garb for the dancing and revelling to come. Even now, the royal musicians were tuning shaum and sackbutt and tambour, trilling snatches of jaunty airs and stately pavanes in the music gallery. Imre’s favorites strutted peacock-proud in the now-cleared feasting hall where their master loved to entertain, exchanging small talk and gossip and awaiting the return of their gay young liege lord. Amid that gaiety, the dour Cathan seemed doubly out of place.
    Cathan MacRorie was well known at Court. Son of the famous Earl of Culdi and heir one day to all the MacRorie lands and titles, Cathan was a member of Imre’s council and a royal commissioner for the Tariff Court as well. He was also, as his father before him, a trusted personal friend of the king. Tonight, standing with one of Imre’s young officers toward the left of the Great Hall, many saw his father Camber in him, though the famous gilt features were distorted a bit in the great man’s eldest son.
    He was not so tall as Camber, and a little darker of hair and eye and skin than his illustrious sire, yet he was still unmistakably a MacRorie; and it was to Cathan that many now looked as a voice of reason to the headstrong young king. Even the privileged Deryni did not always approve of Imre’s excesses and his occasional fits of cruel humor. That Cathan alone had sometimes managed to temper the king’s wrath remained a source of constant wonderment. Whether he could be as successful tonight remained to be seen.
    Cathan glanced toward the doors through which Imre would shortly emerge, then returned his attention to his companion, Guaire of Arliss.
    D’Arliss was one of Cathan’s closest friends at Court, aide to the notorious Earl Maldred, who would be in charge of executing the fifty hostages, beginning tomorrow. Just now, Guaire was ticking off on his fingers the many virtues of his present employer, Maldred, compared to his previous master, Earl Santare. The latter gentle was glaring at both of them from across the hall, and obviously mouthing insulting comments to one of the junior officers at his side. So far, Coel Howell had not yet made an appearance, for which Cathan was distinctly grateful. His unctuous brother-in-law would be certain to be in league with Maldred and Santare when he did arrive.
    â€œSo, though I’ll give you that Maldred may be cruel, too,” Guaire was saying, “he does reward faithful service, and a man can keep his personal integrity. Tanadas knows, I like a tumble in the hay with a wench as well as the next man—but with a wench , mind you! Do you think that’s asking too much?”
    Cathan shook his head slightly and controlled a smile. “No, but apparently Santare does, or he wouldn’t have dismissed you. Besides, it’s Maldred I’m concerned about tonight. Do you think he personally supports the king’s policy on this matter?”
    â€œMaldred supports the king, whatever his policies.” Guaire frowned. “I don’t think you have much of a chance, Cathan.”
    â€œIt’s the hostages who don’t