Free The King's Deryni by Katherine Kurtz

you.”
    â€œI shall need to ride a horse, Papa. My pony would be much too slow!”
    â€œI believe Llion is organizing that as we speak. He’ll find you and Duncan some steady, reliable mounts. Your ponies can stay here, for now. I’ll send someone for them later in the summer, maybe even in the autumn.”
    â€œYou mean after Uncle Andrew is dead,” the boy said sadly, then sat up abruptly. “May I go tell Duncan?”
    â€œNo, you may not. Duncan and his da are having much the same conversation that you and I are having, except that it’s his grandfather they’re discussing, not my brother-in-law, and it’s Uncle Jared’s father. Jared and I plan to be on our way very shortly, so you need to get your sleep. Today was a busy day, and tomorrow will be even busier.”
    â€œCan I at least watch you leave?”
    Kenneth started to say no, but then relented and reached down to scoop up the boy in his arms and set him on the floor.
    â€œJust until we leave,” he agreed, “and you’re to do as Llion asks, once I’ve left, as though his instructions came from me.”
    â€œYes, Papa.”
    â€œNow, bring me my sword, so we can get down to the stable yard,” he instructed, with an affectionate swat to his son’s backside.

Chapter 6

    â€œNow a thing was secretly brought to me . . .”
    â€”JOB 4:12
    A little while later, when Earl Jared McLain and his elder son rode out of Rhemuth Castle, accompanied by Lord Kenneth Morgan and a small escort of their combined household knights, two kings and two princes were among those who gathered in the castle yard to bid them Godspeed, for Prince Ronan had gone to wake his father at the news. Atop the battlements above the gate, the young sons of Jared and Kenneth leaned out to wave farewell, watched over by Sir Llion Farquahar and his Kierney counterpart, Sir Tesselin of Harkness. Despite the late hour, news of Duke Andrew’s failing health had spread quickly, for the imminent passing of a duke had implications for all the Eleven Kingdoms. Accordingly, even the queen and her daughters and ladies had betaken themselves to the chapel royal to offer prayers for the stricken duke, and for the safety of those traveling to bid him farewell.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    G IVEN the unexpected ending to the evening, it was well after midnight by the time the king and his guests retired and Sir Jamyl Arilan could safely set about his other duties—duties not to the king but to a secret organization to which he was sworn by oaths far more binding than those he owed his sovereign. Ascending a spiral stair to an upper floor, he made his way quietly past the royal library and paused outside the door of a neighboring guest chamber to listen, setting his hand flat against the wood while his mind probed for a presence beyond.
    When he had confirmed that the lone occupant was deeply asleep, he slid his hand down to the door latch and exerted power, breathing a faint sigh as the latch lifted with a soft
snick
. A moment he paused to listen again, lest the sound had been heard; then he slowly pushed the door open far enough to slip inside, closing it behind him and setting the latch back in place. Beyond, from the direction of the canopied bed, he could hear breathy snores.
    He allowed himself a wordless prayer of thanks that his entry had not been detected, even as he tiptoed close enough to gently touch the sleeper on the brow, deepening the sleep and setting controls in case the sleeper should stir when he returned. He had performed this office often in the past, so that his late uncle and the even later Michon de Courcy might have safe access to the room and what it hid—the guest chamber was often in use when providing accommodation to visitors—but this was the first time Jamyl had facilitated his own use of the room. The estimable Lord Michon had passed two years before, his