helping either, he realized. As he stopped before the fireplace and held out one hand, he realized that he was still shaking in a delayed reaction to what had happened earlier.
Why?
Taking hold of himself sternly, he passed a hand above the kindling laid ready in the fireplace, bringing it to flame, then crossed to Alaric’s desk and unstoppered a crystal decanter there, poured himself a small glass of the strong red wine that Alaric kept for just such emergencies. He drained that glass and poured another, then took it over beside the fur-draped couch. Unbuttoning his cassock halfway to the waist, he loosened his collar and stretched his neck backward to get the kinks out, then lay back on the couch, the glass of wine in his hand. As he rested there, sipping the wine and forcing himself to review what had happened, he began to relax. By the time the gryphon door opened and Alaric entered, he was feeling much better—almost unwilling to get up or talk at all.
“Are you all right?” Morgan asked, crossing to the couch and sitting down beside him.
“Just now, I think I may survive,” Duncan replied dreamily. “A little while ago, I wouldn’t have been so sure. This thing really disturbed me.”
Morgan nodded. “I know the feeling. Do you want to talk about it?”
Duncan sighed heavily. “ He was there. I was riding along, I rounded a bend in the road a few miles from here, and there he was, standing in the middle of the road. He was wearing a gray monk’s habit, holding a staff in his hand, and—well, his face was almost identical to those portraits we’ve found in the old breviaries and history books.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“Oh, yes,” Duncan agreed heartily. “Just as clearly as you and I are speaking right now. And not only that, he knows what I am. He called me by my mother’s name—Duncan of Corwyn. When I objected and said I was a McLain, he told me that I was also a Corwyn—‘of my sainted mother’s right,’ I believe he put it.”
“Go on,” Morgan said, getting up to pour himself a glass of the red wine.
“Ah . . . next he said that the time was approaching when I would be sorely tested, and would be forced to either accept my powers and begin to use them out in the open, or else forget them. When I objected and told him that as a priest I was forbidden to use those powers, he asked if I were really a priest. He knew about the suspension, and he—somehow knew what you and I discussed earlier this afternoon. Remember, when I said that the suspension didn’t really matter that much, that the more I used my Deryni powers, the less important my vows seemed to be? Alaric, I’ve never told that to anyone else, and I know you didn’t. How could he have known that?”
“He knew what we talked about this afternoon?” Morgan said, sitting down again in amazement.
“Almost verbatim. And he didn’t Truth-Read me, either. Alaric, what am I going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Morgan said slowly. “I’m not sure what to think. He’s never been that talkative with me.” He rubbed his eyes and thought a minute. “Tell me, do you think he was human? I mean, do you think he was really there? Or just an apparition, a visual phenomenon?”
“He was there in the flesh,” Duncan said promptly. “He put his hand on the bridle to keep from getting stepped on.” He frowned. “And yet, there were no footprints where he walked. After he’d disappeared, there was still enough light to see my tracks going back the way I’d come, and the horse’s. But none of his.”
Duncan raised up on one elbow. “Now I really don’t know. Maybe he wasn’t there at all. Maybe I imagined all of it.”
Morgan shook his head and stood abruptly. “No, I’m sure you saw something. I wouldn’t even presume to guess what, at this point, but I think something was there.” He stared at his feet for a moment, then looked up. “Why don’t we sleep on it, eh? You can stay here, if you like. You
Why?
Taking hold of himself sternly, he passed a hand above the kindling laid ready in the fireplace, bringing it to flame, then crossed to Alaric’s desk and unstoppered a crystal decanter there, poured himself a small glass of the strong red wine that Alaric kept for just such emergencies. He drained that glass and poured another, then took it over beside the fur-draped couch. Unbuttoning his cassock halfway to the waist, he loosened his collar and stretched his neck backward to get the kinks out, then lay back on the couch, the glass of wine in his hand. As he rested there, sipping the wine and forcing himself to review what had happened, he began to relax. By the time the gryphon door opened and Alaric entered, he was feeling much better—almost unwilling to get up or talk at all.
“Are you all right?” Morgan asked, crossing to the couch and sitting down beside him.
“Just now, I think I may survive,” Duncan replied dreamily. “A little while ago, I wouldn’t have been so sure. This thing really disturbed me.”
Morgan nodded. “I know the feeling. Do you want to talk about it?”
Duncan sighed heavily. “ He was there. I was riding along, I rounded a bend in the road a few miles from here, and there he was, standing in the middle of the road. He was wearing a gray monk’s habit, holding a staff in his hand, and—well, his face was almost identical to those portraits we’ve found in the old breviaries and history books.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“Oh, yes,” Duncan agreed heartily. “Just as clearly as you and I are speaking right now. And not only that, he knows what I am. He called me by my mother’s name—Duncan of Corwyn. When I objected and said I was a McLain, he told me that I was also a Corwyn—‘of my sainted mother’s right,’ I believe he put it.”
“Go on,” Morgan said, getting up to pour himself a glass of the red wine.
“Ah . . . next he said that the time was approaching when I would be sorely tested, and would be forced to either accept my powers and begin to use them out in the open, or else forget them. When I objected and told him that as a priest I was forbidden to use those powers, he asked if I were really a priest. He knew about the suspension, and he—somehow knew what you and I discussed earlier this afternoon. Remember, when I said that the suspension didn’t really matter that much, that the more I used my Deryni powers, the less important my vows seemed to be? Alaric, I’ve never told that to anyone else, and I know you didn’t. How could he have known that?”
“He knew what we talked about this afternoon?” Morgan said, sitting down again in amazement.
“Almost verbatim. And he didn’t Truth-Read me, either. Alaric, what am I going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Morgan said slowly. “I’m not sure what to think. He’s never been that talkative with me.” He rubbed his eyes and thought a minute. “Tell me, do you think he was human? I mean, do you think he was really there? Or just an apparition, a visual phenomenon?”
“He was there in the flesh,” Duncan said promptly. “He put his hand on the bridle to keep from getting stepped on.” He frowned. “And yet, there were no footprints where he walked. After he’d disappeared, there was still enough light to see my tracks going back the way I’d come, and the horse’s. But none of his.”
Duncan raised up on one elbow. “Now I really don’t know. Maybe he wasn’t there at all. Maybe I imagined all of it.”
Morgan shook his head and stood abruptly. “No, I’m sure you saw something. I wouldn’t even presume to guess what, at this point, but I think something was there.” He stared at his feet for a moment, then looked up. “Why don’t we sleep on it, eh? You can stay here, if you like. You