The King's Deryni Read Online Free PDF

made today. Something about courtesy to ladies, as I recall. I daresay that queens fall in that category, and especially one’s mother.”
    He turned in the saddle to glance back at the reviewing stand and, as his mother rose, raised a hand in salute and then brought it to his breast and bowed over it. Duke Richard was smiling as he and Nigel led the king’s horse over to the sidelines for Brion to dismount.
    â€œWell, that’s settled happily enough,” Kenneth said, handing the pony’s reins to Llion. “Or maybe not.”
    Across the yard behind them, his attention had been caught by a cloaked, dark-clad figure sitting motionless astride a coal-black R’Kassan steed with bardings as black as his master’s garb. The lower part of his face was obscured by the veil of a black headdress worn in the desert manner, but the eyes were a piercing blue above the swath of black.
    â€œLlion, why don’t you take Alaric over to the watering trough to clean up a bit? They’ll be calling the pages for the prize giving soon.” Not taking his eyes from the newcomer, he plucked Alaric from the fence rail and set him on his feet. “Better collect your rings, son, and then go with Llion. I’ll join you directly.”
    He did not wait to see whether the pair obeyed him; only grabbed the reins of his waiting mount and swung up, the horse already moving as he settled into the saddle. He could sense curious eyes shifting in his direction as he set off briskly across the mostly empty field, obviously headed toward the mysterious black-clad rider, who did not move from his place. As he drew abreast of the man, halting stirrup to stirrup, the black-swathed head inclined in greeting.
    â€œKenneth.”

Chapter 3

    â€œBecause thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.”
    â€”PSALMS 63:7
    W HAT are you doing here?” Kenneth whispered, his gaze flicking warily around them. “Can they see you?”
    The black-clad man lifted one hand to pull down the veil from the lower part of his face. As he did so, Kenneth caught the flash of a dark tattoo at the inner wrist, of a small, equal-armed cross.
    â€œThey can now,” the man said softly, a faint smile moving in the close-clipped dark beard. “I shouldn’t want your companions to think you addled, talking to thin air. I’ve come to pay my respects to Gwynedd’s new premier knight—and perhaps cross lances with him, though I fear I may have arrived too late for that. Please ask if he will meet me in the center of the field, so I may offer the congratulations of my Order. Beyond that, the others need not know who I am.”
    â€œYou seem very certain he’ll agree,” Kenneth muttered, though he found himself already backing his mount to turn and head in the direction of the king. Instructions from Sir Sé Trelawney were not easy to ignore—and in all fairness, the Deryni knight had always been an unfailing friend to Gwynedd and its royal line, and to the kin of Kenneth’s late wife. Most recently, at least so far as Kenneth was aware, Sé had made an appearance at Brion’s coronation, apparently seen by only a very few, and then had held brief but intense private converse with the new king later that evening.
    Now Sé had returned, this time in view of the whole court, with yet another mysterious mission regarding Gwynedd’s king. For a Knight of the Anvil to make an appearance in the West was regarded as a singular honor, given the near-legendary prestige of the Order, at least in more eastern climes. During the reign of King Bearand Haldane, Anviler knights and members of the Order of St. Michael had held back Moorish incursions and policed the sea lanes against marauding pirates; and later, they were said to have given refuge to fugitive Michaelines after the suppression of that order, some of whom had been Deryni. No one knew how many of