Free High Deryni by Katherine Kurtz Page B

must be.”
    Bran moved nearer the table and picked up a cup to inspect it, a wry smile twitching at his lips as he returned his gaze to Wencit.
    â€œYou play the perfect host, sir, but I think not. The hostages you sent did me the honor of drinking with me,” he glanced lightly at the steaming cup, “but then, I told them what was in the cup they drank.”
    â€œIndeed?” Wencit’s fair brows lifted. And though the voice was gentle and cultured still, it was suddenly tinged with steel. “I am led to surmise that it was not simple wine or tea which passed their lips; and yet, you would hardly have been so foolish as to harm them and then boast of it to me in my own house. Nonetheless, you have piqued my curiosity, if that was your intention. What did you give them?”
    Bran sat down, the cup still in his fingers, but set it gently on the table in front of him. “You will appreciate that I had no way of knowing whether your emissaries might be Deryni, instructed to work mischief in my camp while I exchanged pleasantries with you. So I had my master surgeon prepare a simple sleeping draught for them. Since the gentlemen assured me that they were not Deryni, and did not intend me mischief, I doubt not that they will be safe, if somewhat drowsy, when I return. It is no more precaution than you yourself might have taken, had you been in my place.”
    Wencit put down his cup and sat back in his chair, smoothing his moustache to cover a smile. Even when he picked up his cup to sip again, a trace of the smile lingered on his lips.
    â€œWell played, Earl of Marley. I admire both prudence and daring in those with whom I wish to deal. However, allow me to reassure you that your cup holds no such additive. You may drink without fear. You have my word on it.”
    â€œYour word, Sire?” Bran ran a gloved fingertip around the rim of the cup in front of him and glanced down at it, then gently pushed it a few inches away. “Forgive me if I seem rude, my lord, but you’ve not yet given me a satisfactory reason for this parley. I cannot help wondering what the King of Torenth and a rather minor lord of Gwynedd have in common.”
    Wencit shrugged and smiled again as he studied his guest. “On the contrary, my young friend, I think the notion at least bears further exploration. If, once you have heard me out, you have no interest in what I have to say, nothing is lost except a little of our time. On the other hand—well, perhaps we shall discover that we may have more in common than you think. I feel confident that we will discover a number of areas of mutual interest, if once we put our minds to it.”
    â€œIndeed,” Bran replied, a trifle incredulously. “Perhaps you would care to be more specific. I can think of a number of things you might do for me, or for any other man you chose to favor. But damn me if I can think of a single thing I have that you could want.”
    â€œMust I want something?” Smiling faintly, Wencit made a bridge of his fingers and studied his guest through shrewd fox-eyes. Bran, for his part, sat back in his chair and returned Wencit’s gaze unflinchingly, a gloved right hand resting patiently under his chin, silent. After a moment, Wencit nodded.
    â€œVery good. You know how to wait. I admire that in a man, especially a human.” He studied Bran for several seconds more, then continued.
    â€œVery well, Bran Coris Earl of Marley. You are correct, in a way; I do want something from you. I shall exert no undue coercion to bend you to my will; I do not coerce those with whom I hope to be friends. On the other hand, you could expect to be handsomely compensated for any cooperation that you might render. Tell me: what do you think of my new city?”
    â€œI care little for your use of the possessive,” Bran observed dryly. “The city belongs to King Kelson, despite its current occupation. Come to the