Read Online The Bishop’s Heir by Katherine Kurtz - Free Book Online

security. And with the king planning to campaign in Meara next year …”
    At Morgan’s still-doubtful expression, Cardiel spread his hands helplessly.
    â€œThere isn’t going to be a perfect candidate, Alaric—not one who will please every faction. And we could certainly find a lot worse than Istelyn. Incidentally, when is the king due back? Naturally, we’d like his concurrence before we go ahead with any formal announcement.”
    Morgan raised an eyebrow, still unconvinced. “I had word this morning that he expects to be back in a few days. He’s headed north to see the Earl of Transha.”
    â€œTransha—that’s The MacArdry?” Cardiel asked.
    Arilan nodded knowingly. “I remember when his younger son was fostered at court a few years ago: a bright lad, about Kelson’s age, as I recall. What was his name?”
    â€œDhugal,” Morgan replied. “In any case, Kelson apparently ran across him over Trurill way, so he’s decided to ride back to Transha with the boy and pay a courtesy call on the old man.”
    â€œWell, I suppose a few days won’t make any difference, one way or the other,” Cardiel said. “There are still details to work out on Istelyn—such as finding out whether he’s even willing to take on Meara. This assumes, of course, that Kelson has no objection.”
    Before Morgan could reply, a sharp cry and the sounds of a scuffle in the corridor outside suddenly intruded, punctuated by a mental scream: Duncan’s. Morgan was on his feet and moving before the others could even glance in that direction. As he burst into the corridor, he saw Duncan struggling with someone at the far end, but by the time he could reach them, Duncan was letting the body of his attacker slide to the floor. There was blood everywhere.
    â€œAre you all—”
    â€œDon’t touch me,” Duncan gasped, cradling a bloody right hand against his equally bloody cassock and wobbling to his knees. “There was merasha on the blade.” He glanced woozily at his motionless attacker. “Christ, I’m afraid I killed him.”
    Merasha . The very word took Morgan back for just an instant to a chapel that was no more, and a barb on an altar rail gate, and the terror of being in the drug’s grip, helpless to use his powers, at the mercy of men who would have killed him because of what he was. Duncan had gotten him out and nursed him through the worst of the physical effects of the ordeal, but the memory had never been fully exorcised, especially that final, haunting image of the stake wrapped with chains, which they had passed as they made their escape. It had been intended for him.
    â€œNever mind him,” Morgan replied, stepping over the body to crouch cautiously beside the wounded priest. “Where are you hurt? How much of that blood is yours?”
    Drawn by the disturbance, others were congregating in the corridor to gawk, servants and priests and even a few guards from the courtyard outside, forcing Cardiel and Arilan to push their way through to reach Duncan’s side. White-faced, Duncan only shook his head and drew in his breath between clenched teeth as he gingerly eased open his right hand. The palm was slashed almost to the bone where he had tried to ward off his attacker’s knife with his bare hand, but more terrifying, by far, was the wave of queasy disharmony that he radiated as Morgan reached out in instinctive mental probe and as quickly recoiled.
    â€œCareful of the blade,” Morgan warned, though Arilan had already stopped with his hand poised above the knife as he, too, sensed the drug’s effects.
    Taking care to avoid the blood, which might carry traces of the drug to affect them as well, the two Deryni turned over the dead assassin. Bright scarlet stained the front of the blue Cassani livery and steamed where it had pooled on the cold stone beneath the body, welling from a second