Deryni Checkmate Read Online Free PDF

amended. “He’s the only son of Baron Fulk FitzWilliam, up in the Kheldish Riding. I’d planned to knight him and a dozen others before we begin the summer campaign. His father will be pleased.”
    Nigel nodded. “He’s one of the best. What news of Wencit of Torenth, by the way? Any further word from Cardosa?”
    “Not for the past three months,” Kelson replied. “The city has a strong garrison, as you know, but they’ll be snow-bound for a few more weeks at least. And once the high passes are clear, Wencit will be hammering at the gates again. We can’t possibly get relief troops there until the spring flooding is done, and it will be too late by then.”
    “So we lose Cardosa.” Nigel sighed, gazing into the depths of his cup.
    “And the treaty dies, and war comes,” Duncan added.
    Nigel shrugged and began running the tip of his finger along the rim of his goblet. “Hasn’t that been apparent from the start? Brion certainly knew there was that danger when he sent Alaric to Cardosa last summer. And when Brion died and we had to recall Alaric or lose you, Kelson—well, I still think it was a fair exchange: a city for a king. Besides, we haven’t lost Cardosa yet.”
    “But we will,” Kelson murmured, lowering his eyes. “And how many lives will be lost in the exchange?” He twined his fingers together and studied them for a moment before continuing. “I sometimes wonder how to weigh those lives against my own. Sometimes I wonder if I’m worth it.”
    Duncan exchanged a troubled glance with the king’s uncle, then turned a more reassuring one on Kelson. “Wise kings will always wonder about such things, my prince. The day you stop wondering, stop weighing the lives that hang in the balance—on that day, I shall mourn.”
    The young king looked up with a wry grin. “You always know what to say, don’t you? It may not save cities or lives, but at least it soothes the conscience of the king who must decide who survives.” He lowered his eyes again. “I’m sorry. That sounded bitter, didn’t it?”
    Duncan’s reply was cut short by a knock at the door, followed by the immediate entrance of young Richard FitzWilliam. Richard’s handsome face was tense, even perplexed, and his dark eyes flashed as he made an apologetic bow.
    “Begging your pardon, Sire, but there’s a priest outside who insists he must see ye. I told him ye’d retired for the night, that he should come back tomorrow, but he’s most persistent.”
    Before Kelson could reply, a dark-cloaked cleric shouldered past Richard and hurried across the room to kneel at Kelson’s feet. A stiletto had appeared unobtrusively in Kelson’s hand as the man first burst through the doorway, and Nigel half rose from his chair, also reaching for a weapon. But even as the man’s knees hit the floor, Richard was straddling his back, one arm across the intruder’s throat in a choke hold and a knee in the small of the man’s back, the other hand with a dagger at the jugular.
    The man grimaced under Richard’s rough handling but made no move to defend himself or to threaten Kelson. Instead, he screwed his eyes shut and extended his empty hands to either side, doing his best to ignore the pressure of Richard’s arm hard across his windpipe.
    “Please, Sire, I wish you no harm,” he croaked, grimacing as Richard’s cold blade touched the side of his neck. “I’m Father Hugh de Berry, Archbishop Corrigan’s secretary.”
    “Hugh!” Duncan exclaimed, leaning forward anxiously as he recognized the man and signaling Richard to release him. “What the devil? Why didn’t you say so?”
    Hugh had opened his eyes with a start at Duncan’s voice, and now he stared pleadingly at his brother priest, his eyes betraying his fear but also his resolution. Richard released his stranglehold and stepped back a pace at Duncan’s repeated gesture, but he did not relax his vigilant pose, nor did he sheath his dagger. Nigel warily took his seat again, but