Free The Bishop’s Heir by Katherine Kurtz Page A

How many feet in the door does it take to produce a Charissa or a Wencit of Torenth? Or an Interregnum? Alaric knows what I’m talking about, don’t you, Alaric?”
    Grudgingly, Morgan had to agree, though sometimes Arilan’s scruples seemed to him to be rigid almost to the point of crippling. But in front of Cardiel was not the place to pursue that old argument. Cardiel himself required additional persuasion, but eventually he, too, had to admit that forcing Judhael to the question was premature.
    â€œI still think Kelson should be told what has happened,” Cardiel said stubbornly. “And I don’t think it should wait until he gets back in three or four days, either. That was fine when we were only talking about Istelyn, but now—”
    For that, at least, Morgan had a Deryni solution.
    â€œNot all of our powers are forbidden, Excellency,” he said quietly. “It’s possible I might be able to reach Kelson in his sleep, later tonight. He won’t be expecting it, but I can try.” Cardiel nodded happily as Morgan went on. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll leave for Transha in the morning, after I’ve seen to Duncan—unless you have a better idea, sir?” he queried, glancing at Arilan.
    The Deryni bishop shook his head. “No, none. Given the bond I know binds you and Kelson, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if your plan works. However, I also know how difficult it is to make the link at such a distance and without preparation at both ends. If you don’t succeed, we’ll make the time you need to get there physically.”
    Arilan’s confidence in his ability helped to take the edge off Morgan’s earlier resentment at having to back off on questioning Judhael, but now that his own course was set for the next few hours, he needed some time alone. When he had assured himself that Duncan was resting more easily, and slipped briefly inside the priest’s mind to deepen his sleep, he took his leave of the two prelates and headed for his own quarters. He tried not to think about how close Duncan had come to death, or the mortal helplessness Duncan had suffered under the influence of merasha , concentrating instead on the calm he would need if he hoped to succeed in reaching the king.
    But distraction in the form of Judhael of Meara met him as he passed the open door of the chapel in the guest wing. Morgan stiffened as he saw him, mentally berating himself for even having glanced inside. Judhael and another vaguely familiar-looking priest were just coming out. The temptation at least to test whether Judhael had heard about the attack on Duncan was too enticing to resist.
    â€œYour Grace,” Judhael murmured, as Morgan loomed in the doorway and blocked his exit, all diffidence and courtly courtesy to the king’s champion.
    â€œFather Judhael,” Morgan acknowledged. “I wonder whether I might have a word with you in private,” he said, glancing pointedly at Judhael’s companion. “Perhaps we could step back into the chapel.”
    Judhael looked puzzled and a little uneasy, but he agreed readily enough. When one aspired to high office in the confirmation of the king, one did not decline the invitation of the king’s friend and confidant. He watched dispassionately as Morgan closed the chapel door behind them, inclining his head and preceding him down the short aisle when Morgan gestured toward the front of the chapel. Both men genuflected and signed themselves when they reached the altar rail, Morgan and then Judhael easing onto the kneelers which lay along its length. Morgan bowed his head for a moment as if in prayer, letting Judhael’s curiosity and apprehension grow, then glanced at the priest sidelong.
    â€œYou’re acquainted with my cousin, Father Duncan McLain, I believe,” he said softly.
    Judhael cocked his head and stared at Morgan in surprise.
    â€œWhy, I’m aware that he is