The Quest for Saint Camber by Katherine Kurtz Page A

sometimes the effects could be minimized or made to work somewhat positively, if the subject was familiar with them.
    Back in the supper room, Kelson was already seated at the now-cleared table before the fireplace, Nigel across from him—for they had agreed that the king’s uncle should be present, as regent, since the king would be incapacitated for the rest of the night. Dhugal glanced questioningly at Kelson as he sat down at Kelson’s left and his father sat beside him, but the king only shrugged as Morgan took a place on Kelson’s right. Arilan came back to the table with a tooled leather flask in his hands and an odd, tight expression on his face.
    â€œI apologize if this may seem a bit abrupt,” the Deryni bishop said, sitting opposite the two younger men and ignoring their expressions of apprehension as he set the flask on the table between them. “However, I have my reasons. Sire, I doubt you saw this flask on the day your father died—or that you remember it, if you did. You should, though. This is what killed your father.”

C HAPTER T WO
    Open thy mouth, and drink what I give thee to drink .
    â€”II Esdras 14:38
    â€œ This is what killed your father .”
    Arilan’s words pierced like steel in the hearts of the four present who had known Brion Haldane intimately. Kelson’s face drained of color, grey eyes like dead coals in a death-white mask. Nigel gasped soundlessly, stricken, in that instant looking uncannily like the beloved elder brother who had died in his arms. Duncan crossed himself in horrified disbelief. Only Morgan responded with action, half coming to his feet to lunge between Kelson and the bishop, an open hand stretching toward Arilan’s throat.
    â€œDon’t touch me, or you’ll regret it!” Arilan snapped, not even flinching as Morgan’s hand pulled up in a fist a hair’s breadth from his face. “Sit down. You’d think I killed Brion. Actually, neither did this—though it’s what enabled him to be killed in the way he was. Surely you guessed it was merasha that made him vulnerable—or do you think I somehow had something to do with it?”
    As Morgan drew back and sat down, not trusting himself to speak, Duncan slowly exhaled and glanced at Arilan, a hand staying Nigel, whose mouth was working, but without words coming out.
    â€œNo one is making any accusations,” Duncan said carefully, at the same time bidding the others, with his mind, to keep silent while he sought an explanation. “Though I think it occurs to all of us, now, that you could have done. I assume that’s the flask that Colin of Fianna shared with the king that day. We never learned how merasha got into it, however.”
    Arilan sat back with a snort of derision, crossing his arms on his chest. His lean, handsome face, blue-jowled this late in the day, looked a little satanic as the shadows came and went in the flickering firelight, and his deep blue-violet eyes were nearly the color of his cassock in the dimness.
    â€œDon’t be absurd. If you’ll recall, Nigel, it was I who first told you that Colin said he’d gotten it from a mysterious lady.”
    â€œThen, where did you get the flask?” Nigel countered. “We searched high and low for it, but we never found a trace. Colin said he guessed he’d lost it on the ride back from the hunt.”
    Arilan nodded. “And so he did. Only, I was the one who ‘lost’ it for him. I knew, the moment I reached Brion’s side and saw that he was dying, that he’d gotten merasha in him from somewhere—and I’d seen him drinking with Colin only minutes before.
    â€œSo I waylaid Colin in the courtyard after we got back, while everyone was milling around and seeing Brion’s body brought into the great hall, and I relieved him of the flask—which was, indeed, the source of the merasha . He never remembered that part of our