Free Deryni Checkmate by Katherine Kurtz Page B

and Corrigan. It’s no secret that they consider him a backwater priest, a country simpleton of sorts. We could play on his resentment—whatever it takes to keep the Interdict from falling. What do you think?”
    Morgan nodded. “It might work. Go make yourself presentable and tell Derry to saddle a fresh horse for you. While you’re doing that, I’ll write a second letter to Tolliver asking for his support. It isn’t going to be easy.” He rose and crossed to his desk, where he drew out parchment and ink. “Somehow I must strike just the proper balance between ducal authority, penitent son of the Church, and longtime friend—all without making the Deryni issue so strong that he feels he can’t in conscience go along.”
     
    A quarter of an hour later, Morgan scrawled his signature at the bottom of the crucial letter and added his paraph, the highly personal flourish at the end of the stroke to guard against forgery. Then he applied sealing wax in a bright green blob below his name, pressed his gryphon seal into the hot wax.
    He could have sealed the letter without the wax. With a little help, the Deryni signet was easily capable of imprinting without benefit of wax. But he didn’t think it would be much to the bishop’s liking. The Most Reverend Ralf Tolliver had nothing against the Deryni personally, but there were bounds beyond which even Morgan dared not go. A
    flagrant, or even minor, act of magic at this stage could entirely undo whatever good the letter, so painstakingly drafted, might accomplish. Morgan was folding the letter to seal it again when Duncan returned, a heavy wool riding cloak flung over one arm. Derry was with him.
    “Finished?” Duncan asked, crossing to the desk and peering over Morgan’s shoulder.
    “Almost.”
    He dripped sealing wax on the overlap to seal the letter closed and quickly stamped it with his seal. He looked up as he blew on the hot wax to cool it, then handed it to Duncan. “Do you have the other letter?”
    “Umm.” Duncan snapped his fingers. “Derry, bring me that, would you?”
    He pointed to the letter on the central table, and Derry brought it, watching as the priest tucked it into the cincture of his clean cassock.
    “Do you want an escort, Father?” Derry asked.
    “Not unless Alaric thinks I need one. Personally, I think that the fewer people who know about this, the better off we are. Alaric, do you agree?”
    Morgan nodded. “Good luck, Cousin.”
    Duncan gave a quick grin, a nod, then was out the door and on his way. Derry stared after him for a moment, then turned back to Morgan. The duke had not moved from where he sat, but he seemed to be in a world of his own. It was with some hesitancy that Derry ventured to interrupt that world.
    “M’lord?”
    “Hmm?” Morgan looked up startled, almost as though he had forgotten the young man was there—though Derry was sure he hadn’t.
    “May I ask a question, sir?”
    Morgan raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Of course. You probably have no idea what’s going on right now.”
    Derry smiled. “It isn’t quite that bad, m’lord. Is there anything I can do to help?”
    Morgan briefly studied the young lord, his chin resting on one hand, then nodded tentatively. “Perhaps there is,” he said, sitting forward in his chair. “Derry, you’ve been with me for a long time now. Would you be willing to become involved in magic for me?”
    Derry broke into a broad grin. “You know I would, sir!”
    “Very well, then. Come over to the map with me.”
    Morgan moved to the tapestried map covering the near wall, then ran his fingers along a broad finger of blue until he found what he was looking for. Derry watched and listened attentively as the duke began to speak.
    “Now, here’s Coroth. Here’s the estuary arising from the two rivers. Up the Western River, which forms our north-eastern border with Torenth, is Fathane, the Torenthi trading town. It’s also a staging area for all of Wencit’s raiding