«So she is», Morian agreed, seeing what the other three could not. «Far gone with child. I wonder that they would risk her in such an enterprise. But I cannot imagine what other pregnant woman it might be, desperate enough to ride with the royal party».
«It is said that she and her husband dote on one another», Richard offered.
«So I have heard», Donal replied. «That would account for young MacDonald's presence. Seek out such other details as may be useful», he said to Morian. «How is it that he means to assist us?»
After another long moment, Morian smiled and lifted his head, returning his focus to the king.
«It appears that our Master Nidian can deliver what he promises, Sire».
«Show me», Donal said softly.
With a nod, Morian glanced aside at Josquin, who was putting the finishing touches to his map, at Ahern, then gestured toward the remains of their meal, stacked nearby on a silver tray.
«If Sir Ahern would be so good as to clear the supper things off that tray, we'll see what can be done», he said. Keeping one hand on the kneeling and entranced Nidian, he reached across to touch the scout Josquin lightly on the shoulder. «Have you finished, Master Josquin?»
The scout looked up with a start and smiled faintly, setting aside his quill.
«I have, my lord. Will it serve?»
«I'm sure it will serve very well», the king said, rising to delve into a pouch at his waist. «Here's a silver penny for your trouble, Master Josquin — and my thanks for a job well done». He pressed the coin into the scout's hand and clapped him on the shoulder. «Now, go and get a meal and some sleep. I shall need you on the morrow».
As the scout withdrew, grinning sheepishly at this tangible sign of the royal favor, Donal glanced to where Ahern was clearing the supper tray, then moved the campaign chest closer and sat again on his camp stool, picking up the new map. Morian, meanwhile, had hauled the entranced Nidian to his feet and guided him to the stool just vacated by the scout, pulling another stool near and sitting knee-to-knee with him. At his gesture, Ahern set the silver tray across both their laps and moved back to stand behind Morian.
«You will be familiar with the basic principles of scrying», Morian said to Ahern, at the same time directing Richard to stand before the tent flap. «This will be a demonstration of a military application, for gathering intelligence».
He nodded to the king, who leaned back to snare a flagon of wine from a camp table behind him. As he unstoppered it to pour some onto the tray, the reflected torchlight made of the silver tray a blood-dark mirror.
«Nidian, I want you to imagine that you're looking through the wine and the tray», Morian said very softly, setting both the other man's hands on the edge of the tray and holding them there with his own. «Imagine that you can see your feet through the tray. Don't try to focus; just relax and drift, let it happen. I give you my word that you'll come to no harm».
The Mearan's eyelids flickered, but his gaze did not waver from the shallow wash of wine. Cautiously Ahern set his hand on Morian's shoulder, trying the most tentative of contacts, so that he could better monitor what the more experienced Deryni did — and deepened the contact as Morian allowed it.
«Now recall what you've just told us, Master Nidian, and what you saw», Morian urged softly. «Don't speak. Simply allow your memories to flow, and try to focus on every detail you can remember».
A faint sigh escaped the man's lips, and his head sank a little lower as the tension eased into expectant silence. After a few seconds, as Donal and Ahern watched and Richard craned his neck to see past their subject, a faint miasma seemed to rise from the surface of the wine, clouding the flat expanse of burgundy with a silvery sheen reflected from beneath, resolving then into misty images of stone ramparts, bartizans with conical roofs, portcullises barring sturdy gates, and defenders massed along the battlements of distant Ratharkin.
The colors of old Meara fluttered above the walls of the ancient city, rather than the scarlet and gold standard of Donal's royal governor. And camped before the walls of the city were the Mearan levies — far more than anyone had thought Judhael could assemble.
At Donal's gesture, Richard came softly closer and the two brothers studied what was shown, noting the troop deployments and encampments, estimating numbers. After a silent interval, Richard withdrew to one side to make notations on the map. When it became clear that no more was to come, Donal tipped the contents of the tray onto grass at one edge of the tent while Morian adjusted Nidian's memory of what had just occurred.
«What will he remember of this?» Richard murmured, as Donal wiped off the tray with a cloth.
«Only that he was asked to report again on what he saw, and that he did so, while notes were taken. That is what happened», Donal added, cocking an eyebrow at his brother.
«As you say…» Richard murmured.
When they had given Nidian back into the custody of Sir Kenneth, still waiting outside, the king recalled his officers and spent another half hour advising them of a revised strategy for the coming day before settling down for a few hours' sleep.
They rose before dawn, to prepare for a battle Donal hoped they would not have to fight. After hearing Mass with his officers in the open air before his tent, the king broke his fast while Kenneth armed him and he gave final instructions to his brother. Morian listened silently, already armed and ready, the roundels and martlet on his green surcoat gleaming in the early morning light. He did not ride with the king when the royal party mounted up to make their way to Ratharkin, departing in another direction with a squadron of Claibourne cavalry and orders of his own. Dukes Andrew and Ursic likewise had their orders.
An hour later, the king was drawing rein before the gates of Ratharkin beneath his royal standard, his brother at his side. Ahern and his Lendouri cavalry rode behind him, and a herald rode well before him under a white flag of truce, to carry his terms to the city.
The Mearan answer was an arrow through the herald's heart, defying all conventions of honorable warfare and unleashing the cold relentlessness of Haldane justice: justice which Donal Haldane had the means to deliver. That the rebels were betrayed from within the city they had thought to hold was fitting judgment of their folly as, an hour later, the king's loyal subjects in Ratharkin infiltrated the rebel-held gatehouse and threw open the city gates to their royal deliverers, as Nidian ap Pedr had promised.
The next two hours saw heavy fighting in the streets of Ratharkin, quickly focusing on the rebel-held fortress of the city's inner citadel. Casualties were heavy on the Mearan side and light among the royalist troops. Judhael of Meara soon abandoned his position, seeing the futility of continued resistance in the face of Ratharkin's betrayal. As the vanquished prince fled deeper into Meara, Duke Andrew and his Cassani cavalry in pursuit, some of the junior Mearan royals made a dash southward toward the mountains of Cloome. Donal sent Richard after them, himself remaining in Ratharkin with Duke Ursic and an occupation force to restore order. It was in the great hall of the recaptured inner citadel that they found the body of Iolo Melandry, the city's royal governor, hoisted to the full height of one of the main hammer-beams.
«Damn them all», Donal said softly, as he gazed up at the bloated body and blackened face of the saintly little man he had called friend, who had upheld Haldane rights in Meara for more than a decade. «Damn them!» Running a trembling hand over his eyes, he turned to the men at his side, trying to put the image of Iolo's face out of his memory.
«Kenneth, get him down from there», he murmured. «Gently. Dear God, that man deserved a better end than this!»
The king lingered in Ratharkin for another week, for a new royal governor must be designated, at least for the interim, and a sharp lesson must be delivered to the Mearans, even though Ratharkin, in the end, had remained mostly loyal to their king. Calling a council of the great lords who had accompanied him on the Mearan campaign, Donal heard their recommendations and assessments of the situation, told them what he would have liked to do to the Mearans, then allowed his righteous anger to be tempered by the practicalities of those who would have to keep the peace once he departed.
«Very sadly, I am now short one royal governor, gentlemen», he told them. «At least for the interim, it will have to be one of you. Do I hear any volunteers?»
The men around him exchanged glances. Such an appointment was an honor and an opportunity for advancement, a chance to prove one's worth to the Crown, but it was also a virtual exile; and all were well aware of the fate of the last royal governor of Meara, lying in his coffin in the nearby chapel.
«I know what I'm asking», Donal said, when no one spoke up. «And I don't expect the post to be permanent. We all know that a Mearan is best suited for the position. But I don't know that I have any Mearans I can trust right now. And none of us can go back to Rhemuth until I have someone in place here».
Ursic Duke of Claibourne glanced around the table, then cleared his throat. «If I might make a recommendation, Sire», he said tentatively.
All eyes turned in his direction, for the advice of a duke always carried heavy weight. Donal merely smiled and gave a wave of his hand.
«All right, out with it, Ursic. Who's to be the lucky man?»
«Well, he is, perhaps, a bit young for such responsibility», Ursic allowed, «but he has been well tutored at his fathers knee. And that father would not be far away, if he needed assistance from time to time. Until a permanent royal governor can be appointed, of course».
By now, all eyes had turned toward the man obviously fitting Ursic's description: Duke Andrew's son, Jared Earl of Kierney. Though but five-and-twenty, Jared McLain was also a battle-seasoned soldier and a man exceedingly well schooled in the duties he would eventually take on when he succeeded his father as Duke of Cassan — which lands did, indeed, border on rebellious Meara. Said Duke of Cassan had raised one eyebrow at this nomination of his son for such an important appointment, nodding faintly. The prospective appointee looked thunderstruck.
«Well, what do you say, Sir Jared?» the king asked. «Are you willing to take it on?»
Jared's astonishment shifted from shock through consternation into pleased satisfaction. «I am, Sire — if you're sure I'm ready for it. I know that I am young».
Donal snorted and gave the younger man a grim smile. «Old enough to be husband, father, and widower as well as warrior. It occurred to me that you might value some worthwhile work to take your mind from your loss».
Jared glanced at his folded hands on the table before him.
«So long as it does not leave my young son fatherless as well as motherless, Sire».
«Well, we shall certainly endeavor to make certain that does not happen», the king said. «And when I have relieved you of this burden by appointment of a permanent governor, we must see about finding you a new bride. Meanwhile, I trust that you will not be aggrieved to be parted awhile from your infant son?»
Jared fought back an impulse for a grin, and Andrew covered a smile with his hand.
«Sire, I have considered taking a new bride», Jared allowed. «But even were I to remarry tomorrow, I would be hard-pressed to quickly reclaim my son from my mother and his doting aunties».
«'Tis true», his father agreed. «My wife and my sisters would be inconsolable, were young Kevin to leave my household just yet. And indeed, since he is my only grandson at present, I confess that I should be less than happy myself».
Sir Kenneth Morgan had snickered at the mention of doting aunties, and shrugged as the king looked at him in question, still smiling.