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almost groaned aloud as the guard went to do Rhun’s bidding, for Carmody, like Oriel, was a collaborator, albeit an unwilling one—a “Deryni sniffer,” in the vernacular—forced by threat of harm to his hostage wife and two small sons to use his powers at the regents’ bidding, even to the detriment of others of his race. For Oriel, the incentive was a wife and infant daughter. Unlike Oriel, however, Carmody still went about in chains. Rhun apparently still did not entirely trust his drafted “pet” Deryni.
    Carmody certainly did not look like much of a threat, however, as he was ushered in a few minutes later, light shackles hanging from his wrists. Though he was a man obviously in his vigorous prime, perhaps thirty or so, he looked cowed, weary and sick at heart—which was exactly how Javan felt. When the captive Deryni saw who had summoned him, he glanced only fleetingly at Manfred and the two knights standing with him, immediately dismissing them as threats.
    For it was Rhun who was the ever present danger—Rhun, who held the lives of a woman and two small children at his whim and had snuffed out the lives of others’ wives and children, even infants, without a twinge of remorse. In the early days of his captivity, Carmody had been forced to watch the slaughter of innocents more than once, and knew Rhun’s threat was not an idle one.
    So he dipped his head obediently in Rhun’s direction as the regent moved around behind Alroy’s chair to stand opposite Hubert, masking his hate, his plain face bland and attentive. Rhun, for his part, smiled mirthlessly and leaned an elbow languidly along the back of Alroy’s chair.
    â€œThat knight says that he saw two dead men,” Rhun said, gesturing toward Rondel with a negligent wave of his hand. “Do not harm him, for I believe Lord Manfred values his services, but we wish to know the names of those dead men.”
    As Carmody drew a resigned breath, lips set in a grim line, Javan had to admire the way Rhun had set it up to be certain the man did not just repeat what they wanted to hear. And since Rondel was telling the truth, he was in no danger whatever.
    Still, the knight did not look happy as Rhun crooked a finger for him to come closer to the Deryni—though he obeyed. He was trembling as Carmody lifted a manacled hand and laid it on his forehead. He closed his eyes tightly as the hand touched.
    â€œThink about the men,” Carmody was heard to murmur, also closing his eyes. “Picture them as clearly as you can.”
    Rondel apparently complied, for almost immediately Carmody gasped and drew back his hand as if stung, his eyes opening in shock.
    â€œWhom did you see?” Hubert demanded, leaning forward eagerly. “I can tell that you knew them, Carmody. Who were they?”
    With a little shudder, quickly controlled, Carmody dropped his hands back to his sides, manacles jingling discordantly.
    â€œAlister Cullen and Jebediah of Alcara, your Grace,” he said without emotion.
    Carmody was allowed to leave after that, and Rondel as well, the latter for a much appreciated hot meal and a bed, for he and his MacInnis masters, father and son, had been riding for three days. Manfred himself, though travel-stained and weary, took a place of honor between Rhun and his brother, for he was clearly the hero of the evening. Cups were raised often in the next few hours to toast his accomplishment—for the credit was his, since his man had achieved it—and the mood in the hall quickly returned to an even more riotous level of celebration.
    But Manfred’s news had plunged Javan into new depression, and watching an increasingly drunken Iver MacInnis leer and paw at the younger ladies of the court nearly made the prince physically ill. He tried to ignore Iver, but so blatant a display of lechery was hard to ignore. Eventually, Javan could not help noticing that Iver seemed to be