Deryni Checkmate

IT was edging on into the evening of that fatal day—as Kelson mourned, and Morgan and Duncan rode unwittingly toward the place of mourning—and the Gwynedd Curia in Dhassa was still in session.

Loris had assembled his bishops in the great Curia Hall at the center of the episcopal palace, not far from where he and his colleagues had performed the rite of excommunication the night before. But though the session had begun shortly after dawn, with but a short break for a noon meal and attention to personal necessities, the discussion still dragged on, no closer to resolution than it had been when they started.

The principal reason for this seeming deadlock was in the person of two men: Ralf Tolliver and Wolfram de Blanet, the latter of whom was one of Gwynedd’s twelve itinerant bishops with no fixed see. Tolliver had begun the dissent with the opening of the session; it was, after all, his diocese for which Interdict was threatened. But it was Wolfram who had finally brought the matter out into the open.

The gruff old prelate had arrived midway through the morning session with seven of his colleagues in tow, appalled to find that the Interdict question was being seriously considered. He had made a noisy entrance—as ill-bred, itinerant bishops were wont to do, his enemies would have said—and had straightaway declared himself unalterably opposed to Loris’s intended sanction against Corwyn. Corwyn’s duke, as Arilan and Cardiel had agreed the day before, undoubtedly deserved censure of some kind for his actions at Saint Torin’s, as did his Deryni cousin who had been masquerading in the guise of a priest for lo, these many years. But to punish the entire duchy for the sins of their master, especially when that master had been adequately dealt with already—why, that was nothing short of preposterous!

And so the debate had raged. Cardiel and Arilan, hoping to gain some insight into just how far the peppery old Wolfram would go, had held themselves aloof through much of the discussion, being careful to say nothing that might tip their hands before they were ready. But both realized that Wolfram could be just the catalyst they were seeking, to make others bolt in their support—if the timing were right. It simply required a proper paving of the way.

Arilan folded his slender fingers on the table before him and scanned the assembly while old Bishop Carsten droned on and on about some obscure point of canon law touching the matter at hand.

Wolfram, of course, would support anyone who was against the Interdict. Which meant that he could be counted upon to follow Cardiel’s lead when the time came. Of Wolfram’s seven uncommitted colleagues, Siward and the dull-witted Gilbert would probably follow suit, with three more on Loris’s side and the remaining pair undecided. Of the senior bishops, Bradene and Ifor would remain carefully neutral—you could tell just by the looks on their faces as they listened to the debates—but de Lacey and Creoda would follow Loris, as would the wheezing old Carsten.

Corrigan, of course, was Loris’s man from the start—which left only Tolliver among the senior bishops. Fortunately, there was no question where his loyalties lay.

That made eight in favor of the Interdict, four neutral, and six against. Not very encouraging odds, Arilan realized. For the four neutral men could not be counted upon to stay that way, and in any case would probably never break with the Curia if it actually came to that. Which meant, in effect, a count of twelve to six, unless someone had the courage to remain truly neutral. So if the six bolted, they would be cutting themselves off from the Church—self-imposed excommunication, in effect—possibly for good.

Arilan glanced across the table—it was large and horseshoe-shaped, with Loris seated between the arms of the horseshoe—and caught the gaze of Cardiel. Cardiel nodded almost imperceptibly, then returned his attention to Carsten’s closing remarks. When the old bishop had taken his seat, Cardiel stood. It was time to make their move.

Cardiel’s voice, though low, cut through the whispered dissension Carsten’s words had evoked, and heads turned toward the bend of the horseshoe table where he stood. He waited quietly, knuckles resting lightly on the table in front of him as the dissidents took their seats and gradually calmed down, then nodded toward Loris.

Cardiel bowed slightly in Loris’s direction. “Thank you, my lord. I have been listening to this railing and dissension among Christian brothers for an entire day now, and as host bishop I wish to make a statement.”

Cardiel controlled a smile and allowed his gaze to sweep the assembly, noting the positions of his chief targets and touching the glances of Arilan and Tolliver as he passed. Corrigan’s secretary, Father Hugh, looked up expectantly from his note-taking as Cardiel paused, lowered his head again as the bishop drew breath to speak.

“My lord Bishops, Brothers,” he began coolly, “I speak to you this evening as brother, as friend, but also as host to this Curia. I have held my peace for the most part today, because the Bishop of Dhassa should, in most matters, remain carefully neutral, lest he sway those of lesser stature. But I believe that things have progressed to the point where I can no longer keep silent, when I must either speak or else betray the trust I assumed when I was consecrated bishop.”

His eyes swept the assembly, and he could feel Loris’s gaze boring into him. Hugh was scribbling furiously, his lank hair falling partially in his eyes as he wrote, but all other eyes were locked on Cardiel.

“Let me state it in my official capacity—and I hope that Father Hugh is inscribing all of this—that I, too, am opposed to the Interdict that our brother of Valoret has proposed to lay upon Corwyn.”

Cardiel waited patiently, watched as the protestors gradually took their seats, as Loris’s fingers tightened on the arms of his chair, though the archbishop’s expression did not change. Cardiel held up his hands for silence, got it, scanned his listeners again as he continued.

“This is not a decision that is lightly made, my brothers. I have thought and prayed about it for many days, since I first learned what it was that our esteemed Primate proposed to bring before this Curia. And further discussion of the issue today has only strengthened my belief.

“The Interdict for Corwyn is wrong. The one whom the Interdict attempts to reach is already out of Corwyn, by last reckoning. He met the brunt of your personal censure last night when you excommunicated him and his kinsman.”

“You supported the excommunication, Cardiel,” Corrigan pointed out. “As I recall, you sanctioned it by your presence in the procession with Archbishop Loris and myself. So did Tolliver, Morgan’s own bishop.”

“So I did,” Cardiel replied evenly. “And as canon law is now written, Morgan and McLain were rightly proscribed. So they should remain, unless they can bring evidence that they are not guilty of the charges in the edict, or can justify their actions to this assembly. The excommunication is not the issue.”

“I make no such judgment as to their moral guilt or innocence, my lord. Indeed, they have done the things enumerated in the proscription read out last night. But we are speaking now of proscription for an entire duchy, proscription for many thousands of people who will be wantonly cut off from the sacraments of Holy Church for the actions of their duke. This is not just.”

“It is not just!” Cardiel repeated, striking the table with the flat of his hand for emphasis. “I will not condone it! Further, if you persist in advocating the lowering of this Interdict, I shall withdraw from this assembly!”

“Then do it!” Loris said, standing in his place, his face going red. “If you think you can intimidate me with threats to withdraw your support from this Curia, you are mistaken! Dhassa is not the only city in the Eleven Kingdoms. If the Curia does not meet here, it will simply meet somewhere else. Either that, or else Dhassa will shortly have a new bishop!”

“Perhaps it is Valoret that needs a new bishop!” Wolfram said, rising to glare at Loris. “And as for me, my lord, I have no diocese from which you can threaten to remove me! While I live, I remain a bishop. And not you nor any man can take away that which came to me through God! Cardiel, I follow you!”

“I am older than was Our Lord when he rebuked the scribes and the Pharisees,” Arilan replied coolly. “Siward? Gilbert? Do you stand with us? Or with Loris?”

“For disobedience?” Arilan snorted. “I hardly think that makes us anathema, my lord Archbishop. As for suspension—yes, that is within your prerogative, for we did promise obedience to you or your predecessor. But our actions will not be affected by your words. And we shall continue to minister to the people who depend upon us.”

“Say that we witness for our faith, my lord,” Tolliver said, “and that we attempt to preserve the rights of the flocks the Lord entrusted to our care. We will not see an entire duchy placed under Interdict because of the deeds of one or two men.”

Hugh’s face drained white as he stared up at Loris—he had long since ceased taking notes—but he pulled a parchment from the bottom of the pile with trembling fingers and handed it across to Loris.

“Now,” Loris said, taking Hugh’s pen and signing his name with a flourish. “I hereby declare the Duchy of Corwyn, with all its cities and inhabitants, under Interdict, until such time as Duke Alaric Morgan and his Deryni kinsman, Lord Duncan McLain, are taken into the custody of this Curia for disposition. Who will sign with me?”

Cardiel watched in silence as Corrigan’s signature rasped across the page. “Have you given thought to what the king will say when he learns of your actions, Loris?” he asked.

“The king is an impotent child!” Loris retorted. “He will not resist the entire Gwynedd clergy—not when his own condition is so highly suspect. He, too, will obey the Interdict.”

“Will he?” said Arilan, leaning across the table in defiance. “He was not so impotent when he took control of the Regency Council last fall and freed Morgan, seated Lord Derry against your protests. Nor was he impotent when he defeated the sorceress Charissa to keep his throne. In fact, as I recall, it was you who were the impotent one then, my lord!”

Loris reddened and glanced sharply at de Lacey, who had halted, pen poised over the parchment, as Arilan spoke. “Sign, de Lacey,” he whispered, returning his stare to Arilan. “We shall see how many support this young upstart and how many prefer to support the side of truth.”

As de Lacey signed, eight of the other bishops made their way to Loris’s chair to sit and add their signatures to the document, only Bradene remaining in his place when all had finished. Loris stared at Bradene and furrowed his brow, started to smile as Bradene rose slowly to his feet and made a slight bow.

“Nor can I join these esteemed gentlemen to my right,” Bradene continued. “For, while I do not support the Interdict for reasons of my own, neither can I bring myself to ally with men who would break with the Curia and destroy it—which is precisely what will happen if Bishop Cardiel and his colleagues carry out their threat to defy this assembly.”

Bradene shrugged. “I must abstain. And since abstention in this case is useless to either side, I shall retire to my scholastic community in Grecotha to pray for you all.”

As the entire assembly watched in amazement, Bradene bowed respectfully to both sides, then made his way out of the hall. As the door closed behind him, Loris turned to glare at Cardiel, his jaws working in fury as he began moving slowly into the horseshoe toward the six rebel bishops.

“Draw up your papers, Loris,” Cardiel challenged, leaning both hands on the table to return Loris’s glare. “Without a majority of the Curia to sign, neither your suspensions nor your Interdict are worth any more than just that: paper!”

“Eleven of twenty-two does not constitute a majority,” Arilan pointed out. “Of the eleven who have not signed, six are here to oppose you and will never sign, one has refused to play your game, and the other four are itinerant bishops with no fixed sees, out ministering to their flocks where they belong. It may take you weeks to find one of them, more weeks to convince one of them to sign.”

“That does not concern me,” Loris whispered. “Eleven or twelve, it makes little difference. This Curia will consider you outcast, and the people will seek out Morgan and deliver him to us to end this as soon as possible. And that, after all, is the object of this action in the first place.”

“Are you sure it is not to stir up a new Deryni holy war, Archbishop?” Tolliver said. “Deny it if you can, but you and I both know that when Warin de Grey receives word that the Interdict has fallen—which I have little doubt he will, if you have anything to say about it—he will launch the bloodiest anti-Deryni campaign this kingdom has seen in two hundred years. And he will have your sanction!”

“Am I?” Tolliver retorted. “Was it not you who told us how you had met with this Warin and given him permission to dispose of Morgan if he could? Didn’t you—”

“Warin’s fear and hatred of Deryni consumes him, just as yours consumes you,” Arilan said coolly. “Only the degree is different. Like you, he finds it abhorrent that, under Duke Alaric’s rule, Corwyn may have become a place of refuge for fugitive Deryni, where they can live quietly and unmolested, doing none any harm. But beware lest you stir a sleeping giant, my lord. I very much doubt that they will stand by and let themselves be slaughtered as they were in the past.”

“I am not a butcher!” Loris said disdainfully. “I do not prosecute without good cause. But Warin is right. The Deryni scourge must be eradicated! We will spare their lives if they repent, but their evil powers they must forever renounce.”

“Do you honestly think that ordinary men will be capable of making that fine distinction between Deryni?” Cardiel said disbelievingly. “I very much doubt it. Warin will tell them to kill, and they will kill. On that day, how do you intend to distinguish between those who have renounced their powers and those who refuse to give up their birthright? Many innocents will die, both human and Deryni!”

Loris nodded slowly, blue eyes blazing like coals in his snowy head. “Then it is war,” he whispered. “And all who side with the enemy shall be counted as the enemy. There can be no other interpretation.”

“Loris, I shall have you thrown out, if I must. Tolliver, you, Wolfram, Siward, Gilbert, be certain they leave. Tell the guards I want them gone by midnight at the latest. And watch them.”

Face white with rage, bearing stiff and restrained, Loris turned on his heel and stalked from the hall, followed by his bishops and clergy and Cardiel’s four dissident bishops. When the doors had closed, only Cardiel, Arilan, and Hugh remained; and Hugh was huddled down in the chair where he had sat through the entire confrontation, his head bowed fearfully. Arilan was the first to notice his presence, and motioned Cardiel to join him as he moved quickly to Hugh’s end of the table.

Hugh kept his gaze averted, twisted a fold of his robe as he studied his sandaled toes. “I am no spy, my lord,” he said in a small voice. “I—I wish to join you.”

Arilan glanced at his colleague, and Cardiel folded his arms cautiously across his chest. “What brings you to this change of heart, Father? You have been Archbishop Corrigan’s secretary for some years.”

“It is not a change of heart, Excellency—at least not a recent one. Last week, when I discovered that Loris and Corrigan meant to lower the Interdict, I warned His Majesty of the plan. I promised him I would stay to see what more I might learn. I can stay no more after today.”

“Good.” Cardiel held out his hand. “Welcome to our company, Father Hugh. We aren’t many, but as the psalmists tell us, our faith is strong. Perhaps you will be able to give us some insight into what Loris and Corrigan might do next. Your help will be very valuable.”

“Now, no ceremony.” Cardiel smiled. “We have more important things to do. If you’ll find my secretary, Father Evans, we can use both of you in about a quarter of an hour. We shall have some urgent correspondence to prepare.”

Cardiel sighed and sank down into a vacant chair, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead wearily, then looked up at Arilan. The younger bishop had perched himself against the edge of the table, and grinned down at Cardiel with a look of grim resignation.

Arilan shrugged. “It couldn’t be avoided. I pity Kelson, though. Loris will be after him next. After all, he’s half-Deryni, the same as Morgan, with that extra power from his father thrown in to boot.”

“Which simply means that Kelson will have to be living proof of how beneficent and pure a Deryni can be,” Cardiel said. He sighed, laced his fingers behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling. “What do you think about the Deryni, Denis? Do you think they really are evil, as Loris contends?”

Arilan gave a slight smile. “I think that there are some evil Deryni, just like anybody else. I don’t believe that Kelson, or Morgan, or Duncan are evil, though, if that’s what you mean.”

“Hmmm. I just wondered. That’s the first time I’ve ever gotten a straight answer out of you on the subject.” He turned to twinkle at Arilan. “If I didn’t know better, I’d sometimes swear that you were Deryni yourself.”

Arilan chuckled delightedly and clapped Cardiel on the shoulder. “You think of some of the strangest notions, Thomas. Come. We’d best get busy, or the real Deryni will be pounding on our door.”