The King’s Justice

  EARLY BIRD BOOKS

  FRESH EBOOK DEALS, DELIVERED DAILY

  BE THE FIRST TO KNOW—

  NEW DEALS HATCH EVERY DAY!

  Also by Katherine Kurtz

  The Deryni Novels

  The Chronicles of the Deryni

  Deryni Rising

  Deryni Checkmate

  High Deryni

  The Legends of Camber of Culdi

  Camber of Culdi

  Saint Camber

  Camber the Heretic

  The Histories of King Kelson

  The Bishop’s Heir

  The King’s Justice

  The Quest for Saint Camber

  The Heirs of Saint Camber

  The Harrowing of Gwynedd

  King Javan’s Year

  The Bastard Prince

  The Childe Morgan Trilogy

  In the King’s Service

  Childe Morgan

  The King’s Deryni

  Other novels

  King Kelson’s Bride

  The King’s Justice

  The Histories of King Kelson, Volume Two

  Katherine Kurtz

  For

  Cameron Alexander MacMillan

  What a Neat Kid!

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  And the king shall do according to his will.

  —Daniel 11:30

  I With arrows and with bow shall one come thither.

  —Isaiah 7:24

  II Shall I give my firstborn for my transgressions, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?

  —Micah 6:7

  III For they have begotten strange children.

  —Hosea 5:7

  IV This is the faithful and prudent steward, whom the master will set over his household.

  —Luke 12:42

  V He shall direct his counsel and knowledge, and in his secrets shall he meditate.

  —Ecclesiasticus 39:7

  VI Thou hast given a banner to them that fear thee, that it may be displayed because of the truth.

  —Psalms 60:4

  VII For they have consulted together with one consent; they are confederate against thee.

  —Psalms 83:5

  VIII The horseman lifteth up both the bright sword and the glittering spear.

  —Nahum 3:3

  IX She entered into the soul of the servant of the Lord, and withstood dreadful kings in wonders and signs.

  —Wisdom of Solomon 10:16

  X I have multiplied visions.

  —Hosea 12:10

  XI Now a thing was secretly brought to me, and mine ear received a little thereof.

  —Job 4:12

  XII Then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions.

  —Job 7:14

  XIII The king’s strength also loveth judgment; thou dost establish equity, thou executest judgment and righteousness.

  —Psalms 99:4

  XIV The snare is laid for him in the ground, and a trap for him in the way.

  —Job 18:10

  XV Behold, I know your thoughts, and the devices which ye wrongfully imagine against me.

  —Job 21:27

  XVI He hath also prepared for him the instruments of death; he ordaineth his arrows against the persecutors.

  —Psalms 7:13

  XVII And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering and to conquer.

  —Revelations 6:2–3

  XVIII The skill of the physician shall lift up his head.

  —Ecclesiasticus 38:3

  XIX As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.

  —Proverbs 25:25

  XX So he overcame the destroyer, not with strength of body, nor force of arms, but with a word subdued he him that punished.

  —Wisdom of Solomon 18:22

  XXI He hath stripped me of my glory and taken the crown from my head.

  —Job 19:9

  XXII But ye shall die like men, and fall like one of the princes.

  —Psalms 82:7

  Preview: The Quest for Saint Camber

  Appendix I: Index of Characters

  Appendix II: Index of Places

  Appendix III: Partial Lineage of the Haldane Kings

  Appendix IV: The Festillic Kings of Gwynedd and Their Descendants

  Appendix V: Partial Lineage of the MacRories

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  And the king shall do according to his will.

  —Daniel 11:30

  “I tell you, he isn’t going to change his mind,” the Deryni Bishop Arilan said, slapping the ivory table with both palms for emphasis as his gaze swept the three men and three women seated with him in the vaulted chamber. “Not only will he not change—he refuses to even discuss it.”

  “But, he must discuss it!” Laran ap Pardyce, wizened and frail-looking in his black scholar’s robes, was clearly appalled. “No Haldane king has ever done this before. Surely you’ve warned him what might happen.”

  In the wan, purpled light filtering through the room’s great octagonal dome, Arilan leaned his head against the high back of his chair and breathed a forbearing sigh, praying for patience.

  “I have—repeatedly.”

  “And?” the woman to his left asked.

  “And if I continue to press the point, he may cease to confide in me at all.” He turned his head to look at her wearily. “You may not think that likely, Kyri, but it could yet come to that. God knows, he certainly doesn’t trust us as a group.”

  The group was the Camberian Council, of course; and the subject of their discussion was the seventeen-year-old King of Gwynedd: Kelson Cinhil Rhys Anthony Haldane, now more than three years on his murdered father’s throne.

  Nor had the last three years been easy, for Council, king, or kingdom. Any boy-king might have fostered uneasiness among those designated to advise him—and despite the fact that few outside the room even knew of its existence, the Camberian Council considered itself so designated for the House of Haldane. But Kelson, unlike most sovereigns come prematurely to their thrones, had fallen heir to magic: the puissant and forbidden Deryni bloodline of his mother, Queen Jehana, her heritage unknown even to herself before she was forced to use it at his coronation, and the equally powerful Haldane potential for the assumption of magical abilities from King Brion, his father.

  In anyone but Kelson, the combination might have been deadly, for Deryni were almost universally feared throughout Gwynedd, and hated by many. Before the Haldane Restoration two centuries before, Gwynedd had lain under Deryni domination for generations, Deryni sorcery enforcing the will of a despotic line that had not hesitated to advance Deryni fortunes over human in whatever way was most expedient. So had Deryni magic come to be despised as well as feared; and few knew or remembered any longer that Deryni as well as humans had fought to overthrow the Deryni tyrants, or that a discredited Deryni saint, besides giving his name to the Council that met in this secret chamber, had first triggered the magic of the Haldane kings.

  Kelson knew, of course. And like generations of Haldanes before him, he had managed to represent that magic as an aspect of his divine right as king, walking a narrow balance between impotence, if he did not use his powers, and heresy, if he did—for much might be overlooked in the protection of people and Crown. Such a ploy was vital camouflage in a land where many humans still sought retribution for the years of Deryni persecution, and where any extraordinary power not demonstrably come of divine favor was regarded with fearful, often deadly, interest by a hostile and jealous Church.

  Nor had the Church’s suspicion of magic arisen only with the coming of the Deryni. Extraordinary or seemingly miraculous o
ccurrences outside the limits denned by Scripture had always fallen under the wary scrutiny of those whose function it was to guard the purity of the faith; and irresponsible use of magic, either by or in the service of the new overlords, only tended to reinforce the belief that magic was very likely evil. As reaction set in after their overthrow, ecclesiastical restrictions followed close on civil reprisals, and the Deryni themselves came to be regarded as evil, even though there had been Healers and holy men among them. The Church’s hostility toward the Deryni as a race continued to the present, even though civil restrictions had begun to abate in the last two decades. Outside the Council, not a dozen persons knew Bishop Denis Arilan’s true identity as Deryni—and he was one of only two Deryni priests he knew.

  Nor was that other Deryni priest free of controversy, though his Deryni blood was almost as well kept a secret outside the Council as Arilan’s. Father Duncan McLain, recently become Duke of Cassan, Earl of Kierney, and also a bishop, was Deryni only on his mother’s side—a half-breed, in the eyes of the Council—but they held him at least partially responsible for the king’s continued reluctance to accept Council guidance.

  For Kelson had been assisted to power, both civil and magical, not by the Council, with its emphasis on “proper” training and formal recognitions, but by Duncan and his equally half-breed cousin Alaric Morgan, the powerful but grudgingly respected Deryni Duke of Corwyn, both of whose mastery of their powers had come largely from chance and their own hard work.

  So might Kelson also have been counted—half-breed and, therefore, outside the pale of Council protection—were it not for his father’s Haldane blood, and the addition that made to his already powerful Deryni heritage. It was the former that concerned the Council today, as rebellion grew in one of Gwynedd’s western provinces and her king prepared to designate his uncle as his heir before going on campaign to quell it, having yet no heir of his own body.

  “Well, he does no service to Prince Nigel if he does succeed in what he plans,” old Vivienne said, shaking her grey head in disapproval. “Once Nigel has tasted even a part of the Haldane potential, he may not be eager to give it up.”

  “He will have to give it up, once Kelson has a son,” Arilan said.

  “And if he refuses, or he cannot?” asked Barrett de Laney, from Arilan’s right, senior member of the Council and Coadjutor with the older woman seated across from him. “I know you believe Nigel’s scruples to be as pure as your own, Denis—and indeed, they may be. But suppose Kelson can’t reverse the process. Will you be able to reverse it, if he cannot?”

  “I, personally? Of course not. But Nigel—”

  Across the table, Tiercel de Claron yawned indolently and slouched a little deeper in his chair.

  “Oh, we needn’t worry on that account,” he said, his voice edged with sarcasm. “If Denis can’t undo it, and Kelson can’t, I’m sure someone will find a way simply to eliminate our good Prince Nigel. That’s what will have to happen, you know,” he added, looking up, at several mutters of indignation. “After all, we can’t have more than one Haldane holding the power at once, now, can we?”

  “Tiercel, you’re not going to start that old argument again, are you?” Barrett asked.

  “Why not? Tell me what earthly harm it would do if more than one Haldane could hold the Haldane power at a time. We don’t know that it can be done, but what if it could?”

  As Tiercel leaned his head heavily on one hand and began tracing a slow, spiraling pattern on the inlaid table, Vivienne, the second Coadjutor, turned her grey head majestically toward their youngest member.

  “I’m sorry if we bore you, Tiercel,” she said sharply. “Tell me, is it your deliberate intention to stir up dissent, or have you simply forgotten to think? You know that the very notion is forbidden, even if it were possible.”

  Tiercel stiffened, and his hand ceased its idle movement, but he did not look up as Vivienne continued.

  “And as for Nigel, if circumstances demand it, Nigel will be eliminated. The terms and conditions of the Haldane inheritance were set down two centuries ago by our blessed patron. In all that time, they have not been broken. There were reasons for that, which I cannot expect you to understand.”

  Tiercel finally looked up at her last comment, his expression eliciting more than one raised eyebrow and indrawn breath. For though it was not unusual for the pair to spar at one another, older generation against new, Vivienne’s caustic retort struck perilously close to Tiercel’s chiefest insecurity: that, having less than half the years of nearly every other member of the Council, his experience, of necessity, must be somewhat less extensive—for he was only a few years older than the king himself. In fact, his theoretical knowledge was matched by few of them; but that reality did not always enable him to ignore what he perceived as attacks on his personal worth. As genuine anger glinted in Tiercel’s almond-colored eyes, cold and dangerous, the physician Laran laid a warning hand on Vivienne’s arm.

  “Enough, Vivienne. Tiercel, both of you, stop it!” he murmured, automatically glancing across at Barrett, even though the man had been blind for half a century.

  Barrett, do something, he sent mentally.

  Barrett was already raising the ivory wand of his office in a ritual gesture of warning, his emerald gaze locked sightlessly on Tiercel’s face.

  “Tiercel, let it be,” he commanded. “If we quarrel, we accomplish nothing. Every effort will be made to spare Nigel.”

  Tiercel snorted and crossed his arms across his chest, though he did not speak.

  “We must not forget Kelson’s part in this, either,” Barrett continued. “In sharing his authority with his uncle, he but answers his duty as he sees it—which is to leave his present heir with the ability to carry on, should he fall in battle. Surely you would not have Kelson abrogate his responsibility by failing to make the proper provisions?”

  Only barely subdued, Tiercel shook his head, apparently still not trusting himself to speak.

  “And you, Vivienne.” Barrett turned his attention to the other. “You need not be so deliberately cold about Nigel’s fate. It is a solemn duty he accepts when he submits to the power that will be laid upon him. Our duty is no less solemn, should we be called upon to exercise it.”

  “He does not bear the blood,” Vivienne murmured, low and petulant.

  “Oh, Vivienne …”

  From across the table, between Barrett and Tiercel, faintly mocking laughter floated like the chime of precious crystal: Sofiana, the one among their number who had not yet spoken, the most recent but by no means the youngest or even the most junior member of the Camberian Council.

  More than twenty years before, when even younger than Tiercel, Sofiana of Andelon had served the Council brilliantly, resigning only on the death of her father without male heir. Now Sovereign Princess of Andelon for more than a decade, her children grown or nearly so, she had returned at the Council’s behest the previous summer to fill the seat of Thorne Hagen—threatened with suspension if he did not resign, for his connivance with Wencit of Torenth and Rhydon of Eastmarch in the Gwynedd-Torenth War. A second vacancy, more directly caused by the war, remained unfilled: the seat of Stefan Coram, Vivienne’s predecessor as Coadjutor, who, unknown even to the Council at the time, had chosen to play a doubly dangerous game of deception that eventually cost him his life—though it spared Kelson his crown.

  Sofiana’s record, and her lack of involvement with the intrigue and internal bickering that had marred the Council’s deliberations increasingly since Kelson’s accession, made her uniquely qualified for the position she now filled. She had also brought a breath of fresh insight and rare humor into the formerly stodgy assembly.

  “What does that mean anymore, to be ‘of the blood?’” she asked quietly, leaning her pointed chin on the back of one slender hand, lively black eyes turned on Vivienne in droll curiosity. “After two centuries of persecution, perhaps there are very few among our race who can truthfully attest to pure Deryni lineage,
even to the time of Camber.”

  Flame-haired Kyri, the youngest of the three women, raised her chin toward Sofiana in exception, her resentment at the newcomer’s more exotic beauty only thinly veiled.

  “I can so attest,” she said haughtily. “And for two centuries before that. Nonetheless, have we not always held that the proof of the blood is in the doing?”

  “I will grant you that,” Sofiana conceded. “However, by that definition, Brion himself was Deryni.”

  “That’s preposterous—”

  “And Nigel, like Brion, carries the Haldane blood—which may be just as powerful, in its way, as the purest Deryni—whatever that is. So perhaps Nigel is Deryni. And Warin de Grey. He can heal, after all,” she added.

  The ripple of their objection began to appear in outraged eyes, on parted lips, but she stayed them with a gesture of her free hand without even lifting her head from its resting place, coolly regal and assured in her desert robes of silver-shot purple.

  “Be at ease, my friends. I am the first to concede that we are not talking about healing at this juncture, though I know that is of abiding interest to our esteemed senior Coadjutor and the faithful Laran.” She smiled indulgently at both Barrett and Laran.

  “We are concerned here with the Haldane potential. What is it that makes this particular family susceptible to having Deryni-like powers placed upon them? For that matter, Wencit of Torenth, for all his villainy, apparently discovered a way to place similar powers upon supposed humans—witness Bran Coris. The late Duke Lionel and his brother Mahael also seem to have received this benison. Perhaps what is called the Haldane potential in Gwynedd, then, occurs elsewhere as well, and is actually a lesser degree of Deryniness—or a greater one.”

  “A greater one?” asked a surprised Tiercel.

  “It is possible. I say ‘greater’ because the Haldane power comes upon the recipient full-blown, fully accessible, even if not fully understood. In some respects, at least, that is surely superior to having to learn how to use one’s powers—which is what most ‘pure’ Deryni have had to do, from time immemorial.”