Free Camber the Heretic by Katherine Kurtz

harass us, until they recognized His Grace.”
    Queron clucked his tongue and slowly shook his head. “A sorry business. I do apologize, Father. And to you, especially, Your Grace. What of the other party you mentioned?”
    â€œBaron Manfred, the brother of Bishop MacInnis, his wife and chaplain, and about ten or twelve retainers,” Camber replied. “All angry but unharmed, and horseless now. I told them you’d bring fresh mounts and escort them to their destination.” He sighed. “I hardly think I need warn you how MacInnis is going to react, when he learns of this.”
    â€œIndeed, not. Excuse me a moment, please.”
    At Camber’s nod, Queron turned away from them and conferred briefly with a number of his monks, several of whom disappeared immediately in the direction of the stables. After some further discussion with more of them, Queron returned to Camber and bowed again. The second group of monks went to meet the first, who had returned with horses and weapons from the stables.
    â€œThe baron and his party will be rescued immediately, and some of our brothers will drive off the marauders, if they are still in the vicinity, Your Grace. I am told that this kind of incident is becoming far too frequent on the roads around the capital. I regret that our kind are being driven to such acts.”
    â€œI regret it, too, Dom Queron.”
    â€œAs you say.” Queron sighed. “But, no matter. It will be taken care of, you may rest assured. In the meantime, you will stay long enough to see our shrine, will you not?” He glanced back and forth searchingly between Camber and Joram. “Father MacRorie, I especially understand your reluctance to come here before now, but ours is a shrine of the Blessed Sacrament, as well as of your sainted father, you know. Besides, the rest of your escort will not return for some little while. Surely you will not leave without paying your respects.”
    Though Camber had, for a moment, considered doing that very thing, he heard Joram’s minute sigh of resignation and knew that he, too, realized they dared not. This time they must play out the charade or else risk offending Queron and the many Camberian brothers and sisters waiting expectantly in the background. As Bishop of Grecotha, Camber could not refuse to visit any shrine unless there were very pressing reasons. Alister Cullen would never have considered such neglect of duty.
    â€œVery well, then, Dom Queron,” Camber said quietly. “We may not stay long, for we have pressing business with the king, but we shall pay our respects. One favor I would ask, for Joram’s sake. May we have some privacy inside the shrine?”
    â€œOf course, Your Grace,” Queron replied with a bow, turning to make a hand signal to one of his monks. Then he looked long and compassionately at the younger priest.
    â€œPoor Joram,” he murmured. “After all these years, you still cannot accept his sanctity, can you?”
    With difficulty, Joram swallowed, would not meet Queron’s Healer’s gaze, and Camber knew he was remembering how he had been forced to face Queron’s questioning in another time and place, when the legend of Saint Camber had yet to be proven.
    â€œIt is very difficult to be the son of a saint, Dom Queron. If only you knew how difficult.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œPlease, Dom Queron,” Camber interjected, sensing a long, involved disputation if he did not get Queron and Joram separated. He laid a comforting arm around Joram’s shoulders and urged him toward the doors. “I’ll—see your people when we come out, and give them my blessing then.” That was the Alister part of him talking.
    â€œFor now, though, let’s go inside, son,” he said, drawing Joram toward the plain, metal-studded doors.
    Very soon they were alone, standing quietly at the rear of the nave with their backs against the doors and