Camber the Heretic by Katherine Kurtz Page B

though they did no more than hold their weapons at the ready. Camber still had not reached toward the sword at his knee—calmly sat his horse and surveyed the surrounding riders with grim expression, but without apparent alarm, forearms resting casually on the high pommel, the reins held easily in one gloved hand.
    His sobriety apparently touched some chord of response, for one of the riders jostled the elbow of another of his comrades and gestured urgently toward the black-cloaked figure sitting so calmly in their midst. The man so jostled took a hard look at Camber and then held up the riding crop in his hand. The sniggering and the catcalls died away immediately.
    â€œHold, lads. The old man thinks to outstare Deryni. What say you, old man? Why should we not have our way with you?”
    For answer, Camber let his shields flare to visibility, though he did not permit himself to move, even then. Apprehensive murmurs rustled among the men as the silvery mantle of his Deryniness glowed unmistakably in the twilight. Several riders lowered their weapons sheepishly and tried to melt into the shadows at the edge of the road, though most held their ground with undiminished belligerence. A few flashed their own shields to light momentarily, but they did not persist when their leader disdained to follow suit. That one stared across at Camber with stony defiance.
    â€œI see,” he murmured.
    â€œDo you? I don’t think you do,” Camber replied, barely trusting himself to speak. “The fact that I am Deryni like yourselves alters nothing. The shame upon you all is that so many should set upon so few of any race, who have done them nary a harm. Has the King’s Grace endeavored to protect the land and guard its roads only to have his nobles flout his laws for their own sport?”
    â€œThe King’s Law? Human law!” One of the men spat, a contemptuous, bitter gesture which was repeated by several of his colleagues as the man continued. “Our forbears ruled this land and helped to guard its borders. We were held in honor and esteem, as well we should have been. Now this human king gives over all our honors to his human toadies!”
    â€œAnd you play directly into their hands!” Camber retorted. “Don’t you see how you give our enemies precisely what they want?”
    The hand of the band’s leader tightened on his crop, and his dark eyes took on a cold, steely gleam.
    â€œHow dare you speak to us that way? Just who are you?”
    â€œWhy should that matter?” Camber countered, halting Joram’s indignant beginnings of protest with a sharp gesture. “You do our race as much harm as the very toadies you claim so to despise! What better excuse does a man like Murdoch of Carthane need than the irresponsible actions of the likes of you, giving the proof to his lies?”
    That accusation brought angry mutterings to more lips, and one brash soul spurred his horse hard into Camber’s to grab a handful of black cloak and attempt to pull its wearer from the saddle. A deft evasive movement on the part of Camber forestalled the intended result, almost transferring it to the perpetrator, but the move was also sufficient to throw the cloak back from that shoulder and expose the collar of golden H’s and jewelled pectoral cross lying on and across Camber’s chest. As their significance registered, several gasps of recognition rippled through the band.
    â€œGood God, it’s the chancellor!”
    Beside Camber, Joram allowed himself a tiny sigh of relief and lowered his sword, though he did not sheath it just yet. The four guards remained at the ready, sensing that their chances of survival had just shifted back in their favor, yet not precisely certain how that had been accomplished. Tension was sustained for several heartbeats, but then the leader of the band brought his crop up to his cap in salute and bobbed his head in slightly mocking