Table of Contents
Praise for In the King’s Service
“Kurtz is one of the best of those fantasy writers who use medieval-like settings for their novels, and this is one of her better books.”—
Chronicle
“Kurtz’s fidelity to the customs and mores of medieval Europe gives a richness of detail to her alternate medieval world.”—
Library Journal
“Exquisitely detailed . . . the scenes of daily life at court, plus the usual church versus magic conflict, will keep fans turning the pages.”—
Publishers Weekly
“The novel sparkles with Kurtz’s attention to detail . . . can be enjoyed by fans and newcomers alike.”
—
RT Bookclub
(Top Pick)
Praise for King Kelson’s Bride
“Katherine Kurtz’s triumphant return to the magical medieval realm of Gwynedd . . . Exciting and intriguing.”
—
SF Site
“Kurtz’s strengths lie in her patient accumulation of telling detail, well-articulated plots, and believable magics. Should bring the fans flocking, and attract newcomers, too.”
—
Kirkus Reviews
“The author remains just as polished and expert as ever . . . Kurtz, one of the founders of modern historical fantasy, after nearly thirty years continues to be one of its most accomplished practitioners.”—
Publishers Weekly
“Ms. Kurtz creates compelling characters, a byzantine plot, and magical wonder for a beguiling reading experience.” —
Romantic Times
“A good choice for most fantasy collections.”
—
Library Journal
“This Deryni yarn should satisfy all the fans the series has accumulated during its thirty-year run.”—
Booklist
“One of the happiest . . . books in this series.”—
Locus
Praise for Katherine Kurtz’s
Deryni novels
“An incredible historical tapestry of a world that never was and of immensely vital people who ought to be.”
—Anne McCaffrey
“A rich feast of medieval chivalry, romance, and magic—the book that all Katherine Kurtz’s fans have been awaiting.” —Marion Zimmer Bradley
“At her best Kurtz’s love of history lets her do things with her characters and their world that no nonhistorian could hope to do.”
—Chicago Sun-Times
“Kurtz has created a fascinating idealization of the Middle Ages and infused it with a kind of magic one can truly believe in.”
—Fantasy Review
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
IN THE KING’S SERVICE
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2003 by Katherine Kurtz.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN : 978-0-441-01209-1
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With Love and Thanks to
Andre Norton,
Great Lady of Many Wondrous Tales
Prologue
“Set not thy heart upon goods unjustly gotten; for they shall not profit thee in the day of calamity.”
—ECCLESIASTICUS 5:8
“I HEAR that you have a son at last,” Dominy de Laney said to Sir Sief MacAthan, as she settled beside him at the heavy, eight-sided table in the Camberian Council’s secret meeting chamber. “Congratulations are surely in order.”
Across the table from them, Vivienne de Jordanet was absently twirling a dark ringlet around one forefinger as she read over the shoulder of the man to her right: Lord Seisyll Arilan, one of the Council’s two coadjutors. Both of them looked up at the other woman’s comment, and Vivienne gave the new father an indulgent smile.
“Well done, Sief.”
Sief’s face brightened, a boyish grin creasing his still handsome features as he basked in this affirmation of his male potency. After nearly thirty years of indifferent marriage, four living daughters, and a sad succession of stillborn or short-lived sons, he had all but given up hope of a male heir. This birthing had been difficult, for the child was large and his wife was no longer young, but the new babe was hale and lusty, if disappointingly unlike Sief in appearance. Of course, most infants were inclined to look like wizened little old men so soon after birth. Hopefully, the pale eyes would darken—and as yet, the babe had too little hair to tell what color it would be.
“I must confess that I am pleased,” Sief allowed. “I’ve decided to call him Krispin. There was a Krispin MacAthan a few generations back. His sisters adore him already. I suppose it is a natural reaction of young girls, anticipating children of their own.”
Dominy de Laney smiled and patted his hand, kindly mirth in the sea-green eyes. “Young boys, as well, Sief. In truth, most children seem to like babies. My own are constantly begging for another sister or brother. And well do I remember when Barrett was born. I’ve always wondered whether our poor parents had him to achieve some respite from me and my sisters. Especially after Cassianus died, we were determined that there should be another boy for us to pamper later.”
The comment elicited a chuckle from Vivienne, who sat back in her chair just as the great doors to the chamber parted to admit the scarlet-clad subject of Dominy’s comment, one of his graceful hands resting on the arm of Michon de Courcy for guidance. Barrett de Laney’s hooded robes were those of a scholar at the great university of Nur Sayyid, but his emerald eyes gazed into eternity, sightless—not through any infirmity of age, for he was only two-and-thirty, but through blindness, incurred when he was hardly grown to manhood, willingly accepted in exchange for the freedom of several dozen children.
Those who had taken his sight had intended to take his life as well—a probability Barrett had been well aware of, when he submitted to the hot iron that bought the children’s release. In memory of that day, he still wore his thinning hair sleeked back in a soldier’s knot: faded red, where it was not streaked with white. He had not expected to leave that place alive, or that another would lay down his life instead, to secure his escape.
The man who guided him now, of his father’s generation, had fostered him as a child of promise, helping to hone his natural talents, and had taught him to adjust to his lack of physical sight—a task made far easier by the powers they shared in common with the others in the chamber. For all of them were highly trained Deryni, members of that long-vilified race of sorcerers and wise men who must coexist with mortals not so gifted, in whom fear and perhaps even jealousy bred intolerance that often killed.
Even other Deryni did not know the composition of this elite and highly secretive body now gathering under the purple dome of the Council’s meeting place, though most with any formal training had at least some inkling of its existence and the policing function it carried out for the good of all their race. A few individuals were believed by some to have the Council’s ear, but none would ever confirm or deny. Only rarely did it intervene directly in the affairs of other Deryni, and even less often were its rulings challenged.