High Deryni (24 page)

“Have I any choice?” the bishop retorted. He was pale with fright, but he appeared resigned to his fate. “Just show me what I'm to do.”

Morgan nodded. “The entrance is a goodly distance down, directly below and ahead of you there. Do you see it?”

“Not really.”

“Never mind. Just do what the others did. I'll dive with you and propel you along. The main thing to remember is not to breathe until we're on the other side. All right?”

“I'll try,” the bishop said doubtfully.

With a silent prayer to whatever saint protected inept bishops, Morgan beckoned his light closer and made a pass over it. The light dimmed as Morgan touched Cardiel's shoulder in signal to go. With an audible gulp, Cardiel screwed his eyes tightly closed, held his breath, and tried to dive, Morgan right beside him.

But it became immediately obvious to Morgan that this was not going to work. Though Cardiel kicked with all his might, and flailed earnestly with his arms, he could not go deeply enough. Morgan grasped the bishop by the waist and tried to propel both of them downward toward the sought-after passage, but it was no use. Cardiel simply did not know enough about what he was doing.

With a slight shake of his head, Morgan began tugging Cardiel back toward the surface. The light had gone out as they dived, and thus they surfaced in total darkness, Cardiel thrashing his arms in a panic until Morgan could put reassuring arms around his shoulders and buoy him up.

“Easy, my lord, you're all right.”

Cardiel panted for breath, his breathing ragged and labored as he trod water beside the young Deryni.

“Did we make it through?” he asked.

Morgan was glad that Cardiel could not see his face in the darkness.

“I'm afraid not,” he replied, trying to sound more positive than he felt. “But we'll make it this time, don't worry. You need to kick off harder this time.”

There was a short, painful silence, and then Cardiel coughed, the only sound in the echoing cavern save for the occasional splash from them treading water.

“I am sorry, Alaric. I—I warned you that I was no swimmer. I don't think I can go that deep.”

“You're going to have to,” Morgan said in a low voice. “Either that, or I'm going to have to leave you behind. And I can't do that.”

“No, I suppose not,” Cardiel agreed in a weak voice.

Morgan sighed. “All right, let's try it again. This time, I want you to take a very deep breath and then let out most of it before you dive. That will help you to get the depth we need. I'll help you get up the other side.”

“But if I breathe out all my air before I dive, won't I drown?” The bishop's question had a plaintive ring to it. Morgan could tell that the man was more frightened than he would ever admit.

“Don't worry. Just don't breathe in,” he murmured, grasping the bishop's shoulder. “Now, a deep breath, exhale—and go!”

He heard the bishop's gasp for air, the slow exhale, and then Cardiel was sinking, making a feeble attempt at a proper dive into the darkness below. Morgan grasped his shoulders and propelled him along, guiding him toward where he knew the opening to be, but as they reached the near side opening of the passage, he felt Cardiel begin to panic.

With a resigned shake of his head, he forced the bishop's body into the opening and propelled it on through. But as he followed him out the other side, he felt Cardiel cease his struggling and go limp. With a silent call to Duncan and Kelson, he began towing Cardiel toward the surface where he could see a faint light, praying that Cardiel had not inhaled too much water.

But however much or little water Cardiel had breathed, he was quite unconscious when Morgan brought him to the surface. As Morgan's head broke the water, he simultaneously shook the hair from his eyes and shouted for Duncan and Kelson to assist him.

The two were already in the water and were grasping at Cardiel even as he called out, but even so, it took them precious seconds to drag the limp bishop to the edge of the pool and haul him out of the water. Morgan turned him on his stomach and began pressing the water from his lungs with strong, rhythmic movements, shook his head as water poured from the bishop's mouth and nose.

“Damn!” he cursed, as the man refused to breathe on his own. “I told him not to breathe down there! What does he think he is, a fish?”

He turned Cardiel face-up, but the bishop's chest was still motionless. Muffling another curse under his breath, he began slapping the man's face, Kelson chafing at his wrists while Duncan blew directly into his lungs.

After what seemed like an eternity, Cardiel's chest heaved once out of sequence with Duncan's breathing, and the three resumed their efforts. Eventually they were rewarded by a faint cough, which erupted quickly into a wracking paroxysm of uncontrollable hacking. Cardiel rolled onto his side and spewed out more water, then finally opened his eyes and turned his head to gaze up at them weakly.

“Are you sure I didn't die?” he croaked, “I was having the most terrible nightmares.”

“Well, you almost did die,” Morgan said gruffly, shaking his head with relief. “Someone must surely favor you in Heaven, my lord.”

“Pray God they always do,” Cardiel murmured, crossing himself quickly. “Thank you, all of you.”

He struggled to a sitting position with a little help from Duncan and coughed again, then gestured for them to help him to his feet. Without a word, but with a pleased smile at the bishop's pluck, Morgan held out his hand and helped Cardiel to rise. Within a few minutes, the four of them were standing at a fork in the rough stone corridor. Darkness lay beyond in the corridor to the left, but the one to the right was blocked by a dense fall of rock. Probing it gingerly with hands and powers, Morgan straightened resignedly and dusted his hands together.

“Well, that's unfortunate. I had hoped to use that passage to get us to my quarters, after we clothe and arm ourselves in my tower room.”

“Can't we get to the tower room from here?” Kelson asked.

“Oh, certainly. But we can't get anywhere else from there. We'll have to go into the regular corridors and risk being spotted. Come on, now. We've got a bit of a maze ahead of us, and then some steps. Be quiet, as our voices may carry.”

After a few yards, Morgan led them up a long, extremely narrow stairway, no wider than a man's shoulders. The stairway spiraled gently to the right, a steep, stony passageway that seemed to go on forever. But finally Morgan came to a halt and motioned them to silence.

Hushing the hand-fire to a low, eerie glow, he stepped ahead of them for perhaps six steps, just far enough so they could not see precisely what he did in the stairway ahead of him. The remaining three caught traces of a low-muttered phrase that they could not quite understand. Ghostly lights played on the passage walls, shielded behind Morgan's body.

But then the lights died and Morgan was turning to beckon them after him. A door swung open ahead, giving direct access to the tower room: Morgan's private sanctuary, where no man might enter without his express consent.

The room was ghostly silent as they entered, lit only by the starlight and waning moonlight that filtered faintly through the skylight and the seven green glass windows piercing the tower walls. As Morgan padded across the tapestry carpet, bare feet making no sound, he gestured absently with one hand, blanking the windows and bringing the fire to life on the hearth.

As the others paused, blinking in the sudden firelight, Morgan scooped up a brand from the fire and lit candles on a free-standing candelabrum and on a small circular table near the fireplace. The flickering light winked and gathered in a fist-sized amber sphere in the center of the table, a polished orb supported by a golden gryphon. Cardiel caught his breath in wonder as he spied the sphere, starting toward it in fascination until Duncan's low-voiced call brought his attention away.

Then he and the others were rummaging in coffers and chests, stripping off wet garments and exchanging them for dry. When they had finished, only Morgan and Duncan looked as though they were properly dressed. Kelson had managed to find a short tunic of Morgan's that made a passable one of knee-length on him, and a dark cloak that trailed the ground only a little. Morgan completed the ensemble by handing him a plain circlet of hammered silver.

Bishop Cardiel had contrived to put together an outfit all of black, though there the resemblance to clerical attire ended. The tunic was tight in the waist, and the boots were a bit narrow for his feet, but a long black cloak covered a multitude of sartorial anomalies. He dried his wooden crucifix as best he could, then buffed his bishop's ring against his dry tunic and touched it to his lips for reassurance. Around him, Morgan and Duncan were buckling on swords and daggers from the store of weapons kept in the chamber.

Finally, Morgan cautioned for silence and beckoned them toward the main door: a wide, deep-carved thing of dark-stained oak signed with a great green gryphon. He put his eye to the gryphon's eye and peered through to the other side, then held a finger to his lips for silence and eased the door open. There was another door beyond that, and he listened at that second door for a long while before returning and closing the first one securely behind him.

“There's a guard out there, just as I feared,” he whispered. “Duncan, will you come and listen with me? If he's receptive enough, we may be able to control him through the door. Otherwise…”

“It's worth a try,” Duncan said with a nod, before Cardiel could think too much about what had just been said. So saying, he joined Morgan close before the door.

The two stood with heads and hands against the second door for a long time, eyes closed, their breathing light and controlled. But finally Morgan shook his head and opened his eyes, drawing a thin-bladed stiletto and testing its point against the end of his thumb. His lips mouthed
Ready?
to Duncan, and the priest nodded grim assent as his hand moved to the lock on the door.

As Kelson and Cardiel moved closer, drawn by morbid fascination, Morgan sank to one knee and ran the fingers of his left hand along the door until he found a narrow crack. The blade of the knife was put to the crack, poised for just an instant, then thrust through in a clean, sure stroke.

The blade glinted darker when it was withdrawn, accompanied by a faint moan and a sliding sound from the other side of the door. With a shake of his head, Duncan set his shoulder against the door and pushed it open against some resistance. Slumped outside lay the limp body of a rebel guard, blood welling slowly from a red-stained spot on his lower back. Morgan felt at the man's throat, then grasped him under the arms and began pulling him into the chamber. Cardiel's face clouded as the body was deposited on a portion of floor uncovered by carpet, and he signed the air above the man's head with a cross before stepping across to join the others.

“I'm sorry, but it was necessary, Bishop,” Morgan murmured, closing the door behind them and motioning them to follow. Cardiel said nothing, but merely nodded and did as he was told.

Five minutes of stealthy meandering took them to a series of ornately carved panels at the end of a hallway. A torch burned in a brass cresset beside the panels, and Morgan snatched it up in one gloved hand as the fingers of the other moved across the panels in a quick, agile pattern.

The center panel slid aside, receding far enough for them to pass through, one at a time. Morgan motioned them through, then followed and closed the panel behind them. He led them several dozen yards before pausing to turn toward them once again.

“Now, listen, and listen carefully, because I probably won't have time to repeat this. The place where we are now is the beginning of a series of secret passages that honeycomb the walls of this castle. The branch we're going to take leads to my personal living quarters, where I'd be willing to wager that either Warin or the archbishops have taken up residence. Now, stay silent until I say otherwise. Agreed?”

There was no dissent. Silent as the grave, the four began moving once more, coming at length to a portion of the passage that was heavily carpeted and hung with thick draperies along the walls. Morgan handed the torch to Duncan and moved to the left-hand wall, where he drew aside a fold of the drape and peered through a peephole. Carefully he scanned the room beyond, taking in all the familiar accoutrements of the chamber that had been his own until a few short months ago, then drew back with a look of grim determination. As he had suspected, Warin de Grey now occupied the chamber and seemed to be in conference with some of his men.

With a curt gesture, Morgan pointed out several other peepholes, then motioned for Duncan to douse the light. They would try to learn what the rebel leader was saying to his men before barging in unannounced.

“Well, we don't really know
what
he can do, now do we?” one of the men with Warin was saying plaintively. “I know we have a holy mission, and I'm prepared to die for our cause, if need be, but what if the duke conjures magic against us? We dinnae have any defense against that, save our faith.”

“Is that not enough?” Warin replied, sitting back in the chair beside the fireplace and lacing his fingers together.