Session Thirty-Six - April 15, 2006

[Matt]

Kelen 16, 731 TR

As Sir Baris Tyrestal strides back to Gray House from Lady Peresta Bastune’s posh residence, he reflects upon his amorous evening with the older noblewoman, wondering what novel – yet ripe – fruit this acquiescent gambit will yield him in his social debut in the fair city of Tashal. He has been invited back again by the lady, who had explained this morning that she would be hosting her own soiree in a few days’ time and expected him to attend. But she had insisted upon Sir Baris bringing “the elf” with him as well, leading the young knight to briefly wonder who, in fact, was the chief object of the lady’s interest.

Rejoining his bemused and better-rested companions in their new domicile in the south-western quadrant of the city, the breakfast conversation centers upon speculation as to whether the Earl of Osel kept a residence in the city prior to his disappearance eleven years ago. Tabling the issue until tomorrow, however, the knights and squires repair to the East Common after the meal is complete to exercise their mounts and train in anticipation of the upcoming tourney, while Imarë satisfies her desire to window shop and Bevan turns her attention to the proper drilling and disposition of the new household staff.

Kelen 17, 731 TR

Sir Baris is pleased to receive a missive from the Baroness of Kolorn, delivered to Gray House by a liveried servant, inviting him to attend her party on the following evening. Beneath the scribe’s flowery, elegant lettering, a different hand has added, “Don’t forget the elf!” Sir Baris shakes his head ruefully.

Acting on the conversation from yesterday, the party commences a pleasant real estate tour of their immediate neighborhood in search of Osel House. Sir Ewen describes the heraldic arms of the missing Earl, gleaned from his studies in Rahel’s library in Golotha, and he also proves capable of identifying some of the other heraldic devices they encounter upon their perambulation: the Earl of Neph’s residence on Chidena Street, and the Earl of Vemion’s home farther down by the tower. They quickly locate Osel’s arms on a lot west of Vemion’s on Maranos Way, but find it long closed up and the perimeter wall impenetrable to prying eyes.

Later in the day, Sir Baris and Sir Ewen proceed to Kesyme’s brothel to check up on Elsa, who has become one of the most popular girls in the establishment. Sir Baris has to wait in line to take his turn with the blonde acrobatic prodigy. When finally alone with her, he learns that she has decided it might be best if she were to seek out greener pastures in which to ply her trade. A tavern called The Busted Nut is of particular interest because the madam there, Perla, runs all of the prostitutes in the city, whatever their establishment, for the Lia Kavair, and Elsa feels that this might afford her greater exposure and the chance to gather information more useful to the group. For the present, she finds herself mostly servicing local laborers, and has only a young Peonian novice who is likely being blackmailed by Kesyne to report to Sir Baris.

The two knights then make their way to The Spurs, an establishment built along the wall on the southeast side of town near the Ternua Gate, boasting a swinging wooden tavern sign depicting a set of silver spurs on a green field. The common room proves to be large and bustling with rowdy, rough-looking patrons. As they approach the bar the proprietor, Halime of Falish, greets and serves ale to the two knights while the other customers cast skeptical eyes upon the well-dressed interlopers. Halime is cordial enough, however, suggesting that two gentlemen of quality looking to slake certain appetites might do worse than to make a visit to Galopea’s Feast here in town. As Sir Baris and Sir Ewen wend their way to a table with some free chairs, they glimpse Halime making a hand-signal behind them. A patron at the table named Polk engages them in surprisingly amicable conversation given the initial evident suspicion which greeted their entry into the barroom. Sir Baris admits that he is a knight, but otherwise the conversation is remarkably bland given the odd circumstances of the encounter. Polk thought this ‘knight’ thing an awfully sharp dodge, and wished he thought of it himself.

Kelen 18, 731

The day’s hours fly by in giddy anticipation as the group members powder and preen in preparation for Lady Peresta Bastune’s soirée. The four guests are admitted at the appointed hour to the grounds by liveried guards bearing the badge of the Baron of Kolorn. As they enter the house and begin to mingle among the assembled guests, Lady Peresta takes notice of their arrival and announces loudly to all, “She’s here!”, clapping her hands and gesturing grandly in the direction of Imarë. The elf, privately nonplussed but philosophically resigned to the odd ways of humanity, greets her with impeccable savoir-faire in Sindarin before dozens of straining eyes.

As the four companions begin to circulate through the room, they note that Lady Cheselyne Hosath is in attendance, as are both Dariune brothers accompanied by Scina’s Royal wife Erlene. Sir Prehil Firith, is present. Worton Harabor, kingdom-wide master of the Innkeeper’s Guild and a relation of some sort to Sir Maldan, is seen with his wife Jayal. At one point in time or another all persons of consequence make a particular point of approaching Imarë and chatting with her prior to the call to dinner, with the elf clearly proving to be the celebrity of the season. Lady Peresta shows herself capable of running a lively party, hovering and flitting amongst the guests while making occasional sidetracks to Sir Baris for the purpose of squeezing his muscular … arm and whispering salacious innuendoes. The Baron of Stimos, attended by Para Harkthorn, arrives conspicuously late in the proceedings.

Sir Baris broaches the topic of the upcoming tournament with Scina Dariune, asking whether his lordship is to appear in the featured jousts, and attempts to pump the young nobleman for information. The Dariune scion glances in Lord Roulon’s direction while suggesting that Sir Baris will need to discover these things for himself in the lists. In spite of this mild rebuff, Sir Baris does learn that most of the great lords of the kingdom will be present, that the tourney is run by the Laranian church, and that the contestants are apportioned to either the King’s team or the Laranian team, with the Baron of Stimos and the two Thardan knights to join the latter side. Sir Karison, the younger Dariune, asks Lord Roulon whether Tharda will be offering a prize at the event, and the ambassador defends the chivalric honor of his kingdom by assuring the Dariunes that this will be the case. Sir Karison drolly inquires whether the magnificence of the prize will be commensurate with Tharda’s grandeur, and Stimos confidently asserts that, naturally, it shall.

Meanwhile Bevan has buttonholed Scina’s wife, the princess Erlene, finding her poised but warm, and learns from her that she has attended the tournament annually ever since she was a little girl. Erlene has already bore her husband an heir, and is hoping to produce another in the near future. Erlene inquires about Bevan’s background, and while she seems reasonably conversant about Coranan and Heroth she presents a novel conversational complication to Bevan by asserting that she is absolutely unfamiliar with Bevan’s father. Bevan handles this unforeseen development graciously, however, and privately takes some passing notice during the conversation of a certain coldness between Princess Erlene and the Lady Cheselyne.

Sir Ewen, meanwhile, engages Sir Prehil Firith in a conversation about the tournament, but the topic quickly turns to the politics of Ewen’s native country and King Arren’s venture into the land of Orbaal. Sir Ewen makes mention of having witnessed the captured King of Orbaal being paraded, caged and in irons, through the streets of Golotha, and this draws the fascinated attention of the nearby knights of Kaldor, who are eager to hear the astonishing details of the flank charge which led to the monarch’s capture. The Kaldoric men are also keen to learn the Thardans’ opinion on the campaign up north, and Sir Ewen and Sir Baris speak about the monumental task ahead of Tharda in subduing such a sprawling territory, while taking care to allay any impression that Tharda would have unfriendly designs upon Kaldor. When the listeners raise this very concern, however, the Baron of Stimos steps in smoothly and furnishes politic reassurances of Tharda’s lasting regard for their neighbor to the east and confirms the anticipation, mentioned by Sir Ewen as well, that Tharda will be occupied in the north for many years to come.

At this point in time a man intrudes abruptly upon the gathering with a lovely young girl on his arm, and is immediately met with firm disapprobation by the evening’s hostess. While her male guests look on abashed and the ladies in the room appear gravely affronted, Lady Peresta sternly dresses the young man down, stating firmly that he was not invited and must take his leave at once. Sir Danyes Bernan attempts to placate her, suggesting smoothly that they make an effort to be good neighbors, but he is rebuffed by the imperious Lady and is forced into an ignominious retreat and unceremoniously shown the door. Sir Ewen remarks discreetly upon this extraordinary exchange to the nearby gentlemen, and is quietly apprised of Sir Danyes’ infamy for throwing outrageously lewd parties with which a number of the embarrassed noblemen are clearly personally familiar. Ewen learns that a greater scandal surrounds the ostracized knight, however, involving the sister of the Baron of Setrew who died at Sir Danyes’ house, allegedly due to a large stone falling upon her head from the roof. This Lady Amersyn, who perished scant days away from professing her vows at the Temple of Peoni, evidently suffered from a clouded past, according to Sir Karison, who indicates that she had participated as the “centerpiece” in Sir Danyes’ parties prior to reforming her ways amongst the Peonians. Sir Baris, playing the gallant with Lady Peresta, steps aside and volunteers his services in keeping the reviled knight at bay, but the lady assures him that her own men will duly communicate her wrath to her interloping neighbor.

The guests finally sit down to a lavish dinner replete with roasts, fowls, suckling pigs, and venison in numerous courses, with marzipan, honeyed sweets and treacle tarts brought forth later in the lavish meal. Imarë receives several invitations to future parties from various guests who clearly covet the honor of having the elf grace their own social events of the season. Sir Baris asks one of the ladies about the abandoned Osel House, and learns that the Countess Thilisa comes to Tashal occasionally, but has done so less frequently in recent years. The assertion is made that she is fondly regarded by the ladies of high society, who would never dream of turning the poor dear out, and Sir Baris nods sympathetically. Lord Scina’s wife piously opines that her Royal father has never considered the tragic eventuality of what should be done if the missing Earl were declared dead. The facetious toast to the absent Osel is duly announced, and bumpers are downed all around the table.

The evening concludes with Sir Baris remaining behind with Lady Peresta, while his companions return to Gray House in the wake of a very interesting evening.

Kelen 19, 731

Sir Baris again returns to Gray House in time to participate in the regular breakfast strategy session. Imarë reviews her increasingly crowded social schedule, having received new invitations from Erlene Dariune, Jayal Harabor, and Lady Cheselyne Hosath the evening before. In the midst of these reflections upon her new-found role as the belle of the Kaldoric ball, a gift arrives at the door from Lady Bastune. “To my favorite elf – thank you for coming to my party,” Imarë reads dubiously from the enclosed card, prior to pulling a worsted wool cloak, trimmed in fine silk, in an interesting shade of green from its packaging. Last year’s color, they all agree, shaking their heads in mock horror. But the joke may well be upon Lady Peresta, as Imarë harbors a shameless fondness for all shades of green independent of transient human mores, and seems content enough with the unlooked-for gift.

The conversation then turns to the odd scandal surrounding Sir Danyes, and the consensus is that the matter may be well worth investigating on the principle that all information is potential power, and the group can little afford to pass up any opportunity to accrue useful knowledge in Kaldor. Sir Ewen recalls that the Peonians worship on the 20th of each month, and so the group formulates a plan to visit the temple on the morrow to see what information might be gleaned about the late, lamented Lady Amersyn.

And so the knights practice with their erstwhile squires on the Common again, taking advantage of the seasonable weather, while Bevan and Imarë go for an uneventful but pleasurable ride through the local countryside.

Kelen 20, 731

The Temple of Peoni in Tashal is quite an impressive edifice, two to three stories in height and rather monumental for such a humble religion dedicated to the meek and the meager of society. Bells are pealing joyfully today, calling the faithful to worship, and the four highborn companions merge uncomfortably into the press of unwashed citizenry filing through the central door into the cool interior of the temple. Four large columns to either side flank the main aisle, while the apse is open to the second story where a balcony encircles the worship area below. The four maneuver their way through the malodorous throng of simple folk to gain a vantage on the raised dais dominating the tableau, and they observe the numerous priests, segregated by gender, lining the rear periphery of the apse.

The celebrants, male and female, meet and bow to each other, calling forth the blessings of the goddess, and a female priest, the Pelnala or handmaiden of renewal, delivers herself of what proves to be an interminable sermon extolling the virtues of seasonal renewal and the annual emergence of the tender shoots. After an eternity of excruciating tedium along these lines, the donation basket is finally passed and the congregants begin to file out. The four companions, prominent in their mismatch with their surroundings, linger awkwardly until they catch the curious eye of the Ebasethe while the temple slowly empties out.

Presently this priestess comes over and greets the new worshippers with complacent understanding that they are not of her flock. She thanks them for attending the service, has evidently heard of Imarë already, and soothingly reassures the purported ‘elf’ that Peoni loves her in spite, she implies, of Imarë’s patently deluded condition, and praises the virtues of the excellent physicians available in the temple. Imarë accepts all of this with a slightly pained forbearance, smiling blandly.

The priestess mentions the munificence of the Princess Erlene, whose virtues appear to include her comprehension of the important work the temple does amongst the poor and needy. Sir Baris inquires about a tragedy regarding a woman who was about to become a priestess, and the Ebasethe sorrowfully acknowledges that he must be referring to the Lady Amersyn, who was evidently well-liked among the Peonians. She describes the lady’s death as a terrible thing, and states that the sisters mourn for her still. She acknowledges that the noble-born novice had been late in hearing the calling of the goddess, evidently misguided by her brother the Baron in the days of her youth, but assures the group that Lady Amersyn had burned with the true fire of the reformed prior to her untimely death. She suggests that the Baron of Setrew perhaps dabbles in dark affairs, with some whispering of an affiliation with the violent followers of Agrik. The Lady Amersyn, however, had shown true compassion among her other late-burgeoning gifts, as evidenced by her taking in a simple man, not right in his head, whom she names Digger, who to this day apparently labors for the Peonians on the temple grounds. With prompting, the Ebasethe opines that perhaps Lady Amersyn incurred the wrath of that wicked man, Sir Danyes, and she admits that she has taken some effort, to no avail, to interest the crown in investigating the lady’s death. She adds that Sir Danyes is the Constable of Kyg, but thinks that he embezzles from his lord and will not long be in the post.

The foursome offer to lend assistance and the priestess admits that the temple is always short on patrons, but cautions the group to put themselves to no danger in the matter. When the party thanks the Ebasethe and offer up a pound’s worth of shining silver from their purses to the temple, the priestess is overcome with breathless gratitude, and is more than willing to satisfy their curiosity in showing them the man named Digger.

In the yard behind the temple proper, then, the group is led to a bent, shambling ruin of a man, stooped and ragged, almost a hunchback, who struggles with a lame leg as he toils at arranging stacks of firewood for the Peonians. The Ebasethe whispers that the man had been found by Lady Amersyn, almost dead of numerous injuries, somewhere on the streets of Tashal between the home of Sir Danyes and the temple grounds. He had been savagely beaten, one ear torn mostly away, and remains skittish, shy, and profoundly addled to this day, but the priestess assures them that Digger is a good soul, a hard worker, and a blessing to their community. She proceeds to gently introduce the four companions to the man, and then discretely withdraws back into the temple proper.

Bevan leads off the questioning of Digger, gently engaging him in conversation to reassure him that no harm is intended to him. They find the man to be fearful nonetheless, childishly simplistic and confused in his answers, and plainly miserable when asked to reflect upon Lady Amersyn, whom he understands to have been killed by a very bad man. He becomes agitated easily and repeatedly throughout the interview, and the four settle down to a patient, painstakingly simplified cross-examination, coaxing, reassuring and probing the damaged man by turns. While Digger seems increasingly amenable to helping the four, he clearly wishes to avoid thinking about the events which led to his own terrible injuries, groaning and cowering at times in his agony of confusion and terror under their questioning. They begin to break down their queries to more manageable items of personal description, learning that the bad man who harmed Digger had dark hair, for instance. Digger is able to slowly clarify that his assailant was not Sir Danyes, but some other man. When they hazard a guess and ask Digger if the man who hurt him had pictures upon his clothing, referring to heraldic devices, the poor wretch confirms this, but is unable to describe the arms in spite of much coaxing. Sir Ewen, hoping to begin a slow process of elimination, describes the achievement of Lord Dariune, but Digger shocks the four by absently shaking his head and firmly stating, “that’s Balim.”

Startled by the implied familiarity of the reference, glancing incredulously at his companions, Ewen lowers himself onto one knee beside Digger and says, in a soft voice, “yes, my Lord, that’s Balim.” But Digger remains perplexed, failing to respond to Ewen’s gambit. The four continue the interview with renewed interest, however, wondering whether the travesty of a man before them could possibly be an earl himself. Bevan patiently describes the arms of Osel, but Digger remains agitated and confused, and further encouragement and comforting ensues. Ewen remains where he is crouched, one hand upon the man’s shoulder, while Digger manages to stumble his way through statements which appear to suggest that the “bad man” who harmed him is not associated with Sir Danyes, but with the Earl of Balim himself. Sir Baris asks further questions, exploring possible heraldic associations, and Digger is finally led to acknowledge that the bad man is linked to the symbol of a black lion, which Sir Ewen suggests may very well represent Sir Maldan Harabor. This guess seems confirmed by Digger’s rambling, confused remarks, and he dwells for a time upon his memory of running from harm, his receiving shelter at the hands of Lady Amersyn and the Peonians, his grief at Lady Amersyn’s death, and his sense of safety at the temple.

Finally, the hour grows late and the group concludes that little more seems forthcoming in their interview of the broken man. As they reach the point of thanking Digger and dismissing him to return to his work, Sir Ewen lingers for a moment, crouched down at the man’s side, hand upon his shoulder. He seems to grow strangely pensive and inward for a time, appearing to concentrate deeply, while Bevan, Imarë and Sir Baris look on silently, exchanging occasional glances. And then, frowning and rising slowly to his feet, Sir Ewen gently thanks Digger for his help, and quietly suggests that he return to his work of stacking the cordwood over by the temple building.

Staring for a long moment at the crippled man’s retreating back as he limps painfully across the empty yard, Ewen turns slowly to his companions, eyes wide with wonder.

“That’s him,” he says softly. “That’s Osel.”

[GM: With this startling moment, the formal session ended, but continued on the forum, which I’ve repeated with some minor edits as follows.]

The walk back home to Gray House, clear across Tashal from the Temple of Peoni, is brisk and silent. Sir Ewen of Ravinargh measures long strides across the cobbled streets of the bustling city while Bevan Palliser matches his determined pace, an expression of mock incredulity playing at times upon her face. Sir Baris Tyrestal and Imarë Taërsi follow close behind, exchanging glances but biding their silence until the threshold of Gray House is finally crossed. The four companions sweep into the great hall as the household servants appear, lingering on the periphery.

“I believe we’ll be requiring some refreshment,” Bevan calls drolly to the major domo, one eyebrow raised as she considers Sir Ewen, who has silently claimed the seat at the head of the large table – hitherto her seat.

Sir Ewen smiles at Bevan, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, as Imarë glides to her own chair with quiet composure and Sir Baris throws himself into another. “Yes, by all means, my dear Bevan, some refreshment. A little brandy, a little wine.” Ewen’s smile fades. “And perhaps something even more satisfying…”

After drinks are poured and the servants have withdrawn, Sir Ewen breaks the silence, addressing the other three in soft, measured tones.

“As you have no doubt concluded, the time has come for us to speak frankly about events which transpired in Golotha last year, and about my particular role in those things.” He surveys them calmly. “Now that we are embarked upon our work here in Kaldor, it has become essential that you understand a number of things which have heretofore gone unexplained. No doubt you will have many questions.”

Ewen rises, considering the amber liquid swirling in his glass thoughtfully, and then meets the gaze of each member of the party in turn.

“I propose the following. That I summarize for you, as best I can, how and why events in Golotha took their course, and how they bear upon what you have just witnessed. After we have discussed these things sufficiently, I propose that Para Harkthorn join us at her earliest convenience for a second meeting, wherein we discuss our present strategy in Kaldor and our plans for the future. I think, as well, that you may find the lady able to confirm or expand upon any number of the things which I am about to say. That may prove of interest to you.” Sir Ewen pauses. “I presume we are then agreed?”

To which all, taken aback, do.

Ewen frowns, as if embarking upon a distasteful task, and begins slowly. “As you may have perhaps already concluded, I only became aware of my Deryni heritage after our arrival in Golotha last year. Before then, throughout my life, only the occasional odd intuition – some uncanny presentiment perhaps – hinted from time to time of my latent … talents.” He glances around the table. “One of those moments of intuition occurred that evening in the common room of the Bridgetower Inn, when I witnessed Sir Felkar Uldseth stealing down the stairs and out the public door laden with the good Baron’s appeasement money. I was seized then with the fleeting conviction that Sir Felkar posed some threat, was a danger of some sort, and it was with this eerie conviction lingering in my mind that I followed him up Nemiran Street, witnessed the work of Mogger’s men, and made the rather precipitous choice to finish the job then and there. It became, in retrospect, a momentous decision.

Imarë made a point of looking at the ceiling.

“I thought for a brief time to use the letters I found upon Sir Felkar’s person to put the person he was expecting to meet in Nemiran Square to some calculated … inconvenience. Yes, Bevan, the letters were indeed addressed to an identifiable person, although I elected to withhold that portion of the information from you in Sir Auram’s chamber. At, I might add, Sir Auram’s suggestion – mainly to prevent our becoming sidetracked, I think. Sir Auram seemed little concerned at the time with the role of Sir Blors Manfrungtane in Sir Felkar’s little affair. Of course, Sir Auram most likely knew quite a bit more than I did about the good sheriff, and I was certainly content at that point to leave things be.” Ewen smiles unpleasantly.

“At any rate, events after Sir Felkar’s death proceeded at a very rapid pace indeed. Rahel, whose men were monitoring the activities of the Baron – an inconstant supporter of the Crown if ever there was one – seized the opportunity of his flight from the city to seize his person and … detain him. At the same time, she was surprised to encounter at dinner an intriguing young man,” Ewen pauses ironically, “with rather strong … shields, as it turns out.” Ewen glances at Bevan. “You have heard your father speak of shields, I believe. For even those like myself, whose talents have remained latent since birth, the shields are always there, protecting the mind from intrusion. And so, Rahel probed at dinner, found her results inconclusive, and then invited me back for a more direct test of my blood. The aquavit, tainted with the substance your friend Ardeth researched at Gelimo, confirmed at least one of her suspicions. And that, as well as the question of her prisoner the Baron of Quste, prompted her to contact the man whom she serves, by much the same manner as she has arranged things for me here in Tashal of late.” Ewen paused. “And that is how Lord Morgan of Darring came to Golotha.”

He waited for the others to digest this bit of information. Bevan hung her head, understanding perhaps better than any of the others what this truly meant.

“Lord Morgan was, of course, the intruder who stabbed Slakka in Borana’s house; Jelesa is his daughter. And the Baron was dispatched, and adorned with the convenient mascles, before Lord Morgan or Rahel knew who had been the author of Sir Felkar’s demise. But Rahel had divulged to her lord her suspicions regarding myself and, on the night of the 19th of Larane, his mind sought my own, and found me where I lay abed in Palliser House. I awoke in the small hours of Larane 20 from an intense, frightening dream – a dream unlike any other I have ever experienced. In the dream I walked in strange lands I have never visited, and saw people and spoke in tongues I have never known. But there were familiar people in the dream, too. Rahel. Jelesa.” Ewen’s blue eyes, wide and graceless, fall upon Bevan. “Trilime.” Bevan looked up sharply, her eyes now aflame, but her mind still filled with confusion.

Ewen looked away, and began to pace at the head of the table.

“On the morning of the 21st, after a day in which I had begun to comprehend some of the implications of the dream, I left word at Rahel’s gate that I would call upon her that evening, if it be her pleasure. That night, actually in the small hours of the 22nd , I left Palliser House surreptitiously – a practice I was to perfect in the ensuing months – and was pleased to be let in by Rahel’s men. Rahel was up, adorned in leathers but as lovely as ever, awaiting me before a well-appointed table. I came to my point quickly, relating the details of my dream to her. I had begun to tell her some of the conclusions I had drawn when sounds of activity reached our ears from the front entrance, and Rahel stood and called me sharply to her side, eyes wide. And then a dark knight, armored head to toe in plate, strode into the small hall as the very atmosphere of the room changed palpably. The smell of the crypt still hung about him, for he had just extracted Jelesa and Borana from the Temple of Morgath. He removed his helm.” Ewen’s voice drops to a hush. “And falling to my knee, I beheld the countenance of Arren of Melderyn.”

Ewen is silent for a moment, as if lost in thought, and then he continues in a more natural tone. “Lord Morgan was attended that night by Merin Sheld,” he glances at Imarë, “while Sir Harth of Hurlis performed the office of squire as he divested himself of the plate. When I mentioned the dream, Lord Morgan indicated we should wait until the others save Rahel had withdrawn, at which point he suggested that I consent to being read. Which, of course, I did. And so I knelt before him, and when the reading was done he turned to Rahel, and for a few seconds of silence they communicated in the fashion of Deryni who are well familiar with each other. And then Rahel turned to me in some shock and surprise, saying “You killed Felkar!” She had not guessed that, you see, which I confess pleased me not a little.”

Imarë leans over to Bevan and mutters “it sounds like we should sew a bell to Sir Ewen.” Then, in a louder tone “Pray, do continue Sir Ewen, this answers a slew of guesses we have been making. I am sure that Ardeth would be fascinated.”

Ewen gives a short laugh. “No doubt, my dear Imarë, no doubt.” Ceasing his pacing, he studies the amber liquid in his glass for a moment before continuing his tale in quiet, measured cadences. “Lord Morgan observed rather sardonically to Rahel that here, indeed, was a dangerous fellow, and wondered aloud what should be done with me. He turned upon me then and observed that I had not asked of him his name. That gave me some pause, as you might imagine, and I answered with some boldness that his name was his privilege to vouchsafe as he saw fit, but that he should know that this topic had been under discussion much of late among my traveling companions. Lord Morgan considered this not a trifling concern, cautioning me of its gravity, but went on to admit that while he is currently known as Lord Morgan of Darring, he had been known throughout most of his life as Arren of Melderyn. I nodded at this, agreeing that ‘Lord Morgan’ it was, and added, quite simply: ‘You are my father.’ To which he agreed, acknowledging me as a natural son of whom he had been previously unaware. The name Ravinargh meant nothing to him, after all, but he did recall my mother, Pela, with some evident fondness, and was sorry to hear of her passing. He troubled to emphasize that his habit had not been to neglect any children of his, and before the night was ended instructed Rahel to begin my belated training forthwith.

“We also spoke of affairs in Golotha; my murder of Sir Felkar had provided him the perfect cover for eliminating the Baron, and he admitted responsibility for the death of the hideworker as well. He said that he had adopted my ‘most mystifying’ use of the mascles on Felkar as a convenient form of misdirection, and indicated that if I had not turned out to be his son I would have ended my days at the end of a rope, a convenient scapegoat to cover his own activities in Golotha. In speaking of the Baron and the hideworker, Lord Morgan said that he was considering adding an Agrikan to the list, alluding to the Prophet, and asked me what I thought of the idea. I told him I thought it a splendid notion. When I suggested that the Agrikans had been a problem of longstanding, but that he was famed for knowing how to handle them, he chastised me for implying that the King had been somehow remiss in his duties. The King, Lord Morgan sternly explained, had found the Agrikans more manageable out in the open than he had their previous troublemaking as an underground religion, thus explaining the policy of tolerance. He went on to caution me never to forget: that the right one of his children sits upon his throne. He then spoke of his plans to provoke the Agrikans into open riot, stating that their days as an active power in the city were to come to an end, and went on to discuss a plan which, as you all now well know, played out just as he had explained it to me that night. He stated that he saw great irony in all of this, as it had been my murder of Sir Felkar which set the wheels in motion and made it all possible. He said that Sir Felkar, after all was done and unknowingly, had given his life for his kingdom.

“Lord Morgan, finally, asked me if I would have some boon from him, and said that, if what I asked were within his power, he would grant it. I thanked him but said that I would not ask anything of him at that time – that the practice of careful consideration had long been a habit of mine. He laughed at this, and said I was indeed his son.

“With that he departed, instructing Rahel to begin my training by placing certain ... blocks ... within my mind to prevent another Deryni from learning of my parentage.” Ewen’s smile reappears, distinctly unpleasant this time. “You would do well to consider that as I tell these things to you; consider well Lord Morgan’s wishes in this matter, and the trouble he has taken to cover his tracks. As well, it was Lord Morgan’s own injunction that I tell no one of his presence in Golotha at the time. Most especially, he said,” Ewen’s eyes come to rest across the table, “not Bevan Palliser.”

Bevan looked down again as if she had already surmised her part in this tale.

“Now that you have told us this secret, it might be well to see if our minds can have a block placed on them as well. I recall that Lord Morgan did something similar himself when he sent us to deliver the message in Melderyn,” Imarë says.

Ewen nods. “That may well be prudent, Imarë, as these matters touch not just upon myself but upon my father’s concerns as well. But such a thing is not within the scope of my own abilities at this time. The Lady Para Harkthorn, however, may be willing to oblige, should it be deemed prudent. I propose that we raise the issue during the course of the meeting I suggested earlier.”

Ewen takes a sip from his brandy and resumes his seat, surveying each of his companions critically for a long moment. He seems somehow more relaxed now, as if the most trying portion of his story is behind him. He offers a wry smile, leaning back in his chair.

“A few minor mysteries, next, briefly expounded and explained. Sir Buell, the knight who occupied the Agrikan stronghold after Sir Zaurial’s injury, was an agent of Lord Morgan’s, a sleeper operative of longstanding within the Warriors of Mameka whom Lord Morgan told me about that evening. As you recall, Sir Buell recognized me for who I was when I revisited the vacant house. You all naturally took his cryptic remarks as indicating some connection to Lord Graver at the time, but his direct allegiance is to Lord Morgan alone, and I of course took his concern about Morgathian activity as reflecting the thoughts of his lord.”

“As for my debut in the Palace of Red Domes, I must say that my particular method of revealing my new-found identity to Lord Graver did not, I’m afraid, endear me to the man. I correctly calculated that the wishes of Lord Morgan, available to Lord Graver if I should drop my shields when he read me, would trump any desire on his part to, among other things, keep one of his ‘favorite agents’ informed, and so I fear I garnered a small bit of his enmity for a time. He felt that I had bearded the lion, as it were, in his own den. Rahel’s response, when I told her of Lord Graver’s assignment to kill Sir Peten Valgari, was instructive: “Sir Auram purposes your death.” And so I needed to go about the task, with you, of eliminating Valgari with the additional challenge of avoiding any chance of mental combat with an experienced Deryni whom Rahel, with an accurate degree of foreknowledge and concern, I think, expected to be quite capable of killing me outright.”

“And so, of course, when the group wisdom decreed that we attempt to capture Koltho Valgari alive and interrogate him, I could not risk the likelihood that he had inherited Deryni talents from his father, and would quickly discern my own shields and reveal that aspect of my nature. So I am afraid that I very deliberately killed him, right under your watchful eyes. The fact that this precipitated his father’s flight into the tender mercies of Sir Klyrdes Bisidril proved, I must admit, delightfully symmetrical to the murder of Sir Felkar which started the whole amazing process in motion.”

Bevan and Imarë exchanged glances. The elf realized that her friend was coming to grips with a monumental failure.

“Our misadventure in Selvos, as my friend Imarë has already deduced, concluded as it did due to a great deal of effort on my part to cast my mind in Rahel’s direction during our imprisonment. Only the fact that she, having sensed that something was wrong, was casting for me at the exact same time led to the unlikely success of that effort. Still, I had no idea that the tactic had worked until I opened my eyes in Caer Selvos. Of course, the fact that Rahel and I were already by that time joined in an, ah, intimate manner, explains the special circumstances of my convalescence in the keep. Rahel herself nursed me back to health. The intimacy of our relationship dated, in fact, from the evening of the very first dinner party at Palliser House; Bevan’s machinations to get us conjoined during the second dinner party simply gave us the opportunity, at long last, to make the affair public. And so, Bevan, I can safely say you need not trouble your conscience on that score.”

Bevan could not bring herself to meet Ewen’s gaze.

“As for my knighthood, while I believe that ample proof of my utility to the Crown in the matter of the Serolan Iblis Milaka played some part, so I think did her scathing treatment of me when Bevan and I interviewed her, refusing to credit my right to even speak due to my supposed lack of bloodline. I think Lord Graver was suitably horrified that someone with Parkhurst blood flowing in his veins should be mishandled so. Thus, in all candor, the knighthood. And, I might add, the colors of my achievement ... Whether I believed Lord Graver’s claim that he prevaricated when asked by His Majesty the King about my shields following the ceremony, I leave for you to conclude.”

Ewen leans back in his chair, and then raises an eyebrow. “Oh, and one other item. Arnys.” He says the name slowly, lowering the pitch of his voice even further. “You will recall a curious comment he made upon our first encounter, to the effect that I reminded him of something or someone. Given what you now know, you will apprehend that I gave some considerable thought to the matter. What he didn’t say intrigued me even more than his cryptic comment did, and so I decided to recruit him to my service as a way of dealing with the situation. I explained this to Rahel while recovering in Caer Selvos, which explains the touching scene in the market square. I should state, however, that I have never troubled Arnys for an explanation of his comment, and do not, I think, intend to do so. I expect each of you to show him the same circumspection. Our friend Arnys, I think, has yet a role to play in all of this, and I would not see it interfered with.”

Imarë, pondering what she has heard, interjects, “Very interesting. From what you are saying, Lord Graver, knowing your lineage, decided to send you on a mission he thought would kill you. Would this make Lord Morgan unhappy? I would not, for one, like to be in this man’s displeasure. Does the King know of your connection to him? If you were to die, Bevan would also be in grave jeopardy of going the same way, which I do not believe would make Sir Theron happy. This does answer the question of whether or not Lord Graver knows of the existence of Lord Morgan though.”

“Now comes the key question: does this information change our position any? We came here working for Lord Graver to further the desires of Arren II. We now seem to be in the sphere of Lord Morgan, who is working for the desires of Arren II, albeit in a different manner. Can we serve both? If we cannot, who’s sphere should we continue in? I know where my choice would lie, but what do others think? Sir Ewen? Bevan? Sir Baris?”

Ewen suggests that the apparent conflict of interests here is largely illusory, although drawing that conclusion requires one to make assumptions about the motives of both Lord Morgan and Lord Graver, which is always an exercise fraught with hazard. Having said that, he explains that he believes Lord Graver saw the assignment to kill Sir Peten Valgari more as a win-win situation given Ewen’s monumental presumption in his chambers, with the potential of Ewen’s death being a risk that Ewen brought upon himself in playing such a high-stakes game with the Inquisitor General. Ewen also suggests that, should Valgari have slain the harper, Lord Morgan might well have viewed the outcome in a similar manner, although Ewen admits that this is pure supposition. Ewen reminds Imarë that Arren II’s throne was won at the cost of a brother’s life, and frankly suggests that both Lord Morgan and Lord Graver place the needs of the Crown of Tharda far above any single life, even the life of one with Parkhurst blood in his veins. Ewen is well aware of this, and this is consistent with Para asking Ewen whether he would be willing to kill Lady Cheselyne – the implication clearly being that Ewen may be asked to lose his life for Tharda.

Ewen does add one detail he neglected to mention, however. When Lord Graver read Ewen at the Palace of Red Domes, he made one point painfully clear in his fulminations: should any of Ewen’s machinations result in harm coming to Bevan Palliser, Sir Auram stated that he would kill Ewen himself, regardless of his parentage. Remember, Ewen had been plotting up to that point to avenge himself upon the Pallisers, prior to his audience with Arren of Melderyn. And Lord Morgan himself basically instructed Ewen to desist with those plans during their interview, although the impetus for Ewen’s plot had already evaporated in the wake of his learning about his actual bloodline. So, in actuality, I think Lord Morgan and Lord Graver are very much on the same page, and any question of choosing loyalty is really unnecessary, and can be safely put aside.

Bevan waves her hand as if to say that she never considered Ewen a real threat.

Imarë concludes, “I was not suggesting sending Lord Graver a nasty note or ceasing communication with him at all. My belief is that we cannot serve two masters and the time may come, in the future, where one must take priority over the other. I think we should make the decision ahead of time which of the two is our primary motivator. I myself have been more than impressed with Lord Morgan since our first meeting in Orbaal. The main reason that I believe we left his influence at the time was the stance of Sir Arlen that he could not serve Lord Morgan knowing what he did. It may just come down to the kingdom (which is Lord Graver’s primary concern) and the dynasty (which is Lord Morgan’s).”