You can put a damping spell on this, while I pry? Seisyll asked, as Michon laid his hands flat on the coffin's polished top.
Give me a moment, came Michon's reply.
The pale eyes closed. A slowly released breath triggered a working trance. Soon a faint, silvery shimmer began to crawl outward from Michon's hands, gradually covering the lid of the coffin and then spilling down the sides. After another slow-drawn breath, Michon opened his eyes, moving his hands apart but still touching the coffin lid. At his nod, eyes vaguely unfocused, Seisyll applied his pry bar and began to work the nails out of the oak.
There was no sound save Seisyll's increasingly labored breathing as he prised each nail free. Michon collected them as they were removed, dreamily laying them beside the flowers on a nearby tomb-slab, keeping the muffling spell intact until the coffin lid moved under their hands.
Together, he and Seisyll slid the lid partway toward the foot of the coffin, exposing the shrouded body nearly to the waist. The waxed linen of the cerecloth had molded itself to the dead man's profile, and retained something of its outline as Michon reverently peeled it aside. A whiff of beginning corruption joined the stink of wilting flowers and the dank tomb-scent of the vault, and Seisyll drew back a little in distaste.
You're welcome to go first, he whispered in Michon's mind.
Michon merely gazed on the dead man's face, obviously still deep in trance. In repose, Sief’s features were sunken and yellowed, bearing little resemblance to his appearance in life, but Michon's touch to the dead man's forehead was gentle. Again his pale eyes closed.
For a long moment, only the gentle whisper of their breathing stirred the silence of the tomb — until a little gasp escaped Michon's lips.
«Jesu!» came his breathy exclamation, quickly stifled.
What is it?
Read with me on this, Seisyll, Michon ordered, shifting back into mindspeech. There isn't a great deal left, but I'm not liking what little I'm seeing.
Without comment, Seisyll put his repugnance aside and laid his fingertips beside Michon's on the dead man's forehead, extending his Deryni senses for a deep reading. His first impulse was to recoil, for Sief had been dead for several days, and physical decay had left little in the way of a matrix to hold his memories to any coherence. But he mastered his distaste and made himself delve deeper, following the pathways already broached by Michon's probe — and began touching on fragments of memory that he liked no better than Michon had done.
For images from the time of Sief’s death showed disturbing glimpses of Sief’s wife and her infant son — and the king's presence, as well — and harsh words exchanged between the two men, though Seisyll could not pin down the sense of them.
Far worse was to follow. Harsh words had quickly escalated beyond mere anger. The clash had never reached the point of a physical exchange, but the result was just as deadly — and unexpected. Little to Sief’s credit, he had started to lash out at the king with his magic — and was answered by Donal's response in kind, summoning magical resources of a magnitude they had not dreamed him to possess.
Very quickly the king's reaction had pressed beyond any merely physical defense both to rip at Sief’s mind and close a psychic hand around his heart. Nor had the king relented, even as the damage went beyond the level of any possible repair, dragging Sief through an agony that was at once physical and psychic, down into unconsciousness and then beyond, into death, until the silver thread was stretched to the breaking point — and snapped.
Seisyll was gasping as he surfaced from the probe, turning blank, unfocused eyes on Michon, reeling a little in backlash from what Sief had suffered.
«That isn't possible», he whispered, lifting shaking hands to look at them distractedly — and shifting back to mindspeech. Donal did it? He has the ability to mind-rip one of our own number? A member of the Council?
Apparently he does, Michon returned. Setting aside the question of How, the further question is, Why? The presence of Jessamy, and the fact that she apparently made no effort to interfere, suggests that she condoned the attack — or at least had cause to allow it.
Shaking his head, he drew the cerecloth back over Sief’s face and began pulling the coffin lid back into place, Seisyll belatedly assisting him. The nails he drove back into place with his mind, silently, letting his anger and horror defuse with each one.
You're certain of what you saw?» Dominy asked, stunned, when Michon had reported back to the Camberian Council later that night.
«I am certain of what I saw», Michon replied. «I am not necessarily certain of what it means».
Oisín Adair, their previously absent member, drummed calloused fingers on the ivory-inlaid table, blue eyes animated in the darkly handsome face. His eyes were a startling sapphire hue above a neatly trimmed beard and somewhat bushy moustache, the night-black hair drawn back neatly in the braided clout favored by Gwynedd's mountain folk. By his attire, clad in oxblood riding leathers and with a whiff of the stable about him, he had come but lately from the back of a horse.
«It would appear that the canny Donal Haldane has gained access to the powers anciently attributed to his Haldane forefathers», he said quietly, the soft burr of the north softening his words. «Can none of you venture a reasonable surmise as to who might have helped him?»
«The daughter of Lewys ap Norfal», Vivienne said, venom in her tone.
«We don't know that», Barrett reminded her. «There is always the possibility that it was someone else entirely, in which case, we have a far greater problem on our hands than we could have imagined — though the thought of Jessamy following in her father's footsteps is sobering enough».
«Which 'someone else' did you have in mind, dear brother?» Dominy asked. «Given that it's unlikely to have been Sief, that leaves only four other Deryni with regular access to the court of Gwynedd — and I believe we can eliminate the two sitting at this table».
«And I point out, in turn, that both of those remaining are the children of Lewys ap Norfal», Barrett said.
«Yes, and we began grooming Morian ap Lewys well before his father's death», Seisyll said sharply. 'That was before some of you were out of leading strings, but I assure you that our predecessors did not take this responsibility lightly».
The grudging silence that met this declaration was broken by Michon clearing his throat.
«It appears I should remind everyone that Morian was squired to the court of Gwynedd at the age of ten, even before the death of his father. Never has he put a foot wrong, in all the years since then. I can, of course, bring him in for examination, if that is your wish, but I assure you that his loyalty has never been in question, to the crown or to his blood».
«I think that none of us question either loyalty», Oisín said. «Where is he now?»
«In Meara, on the king's business, as he has been for most of the past year», Seisyll supplied. «In truth, he has never spent much time at court — or in his sister's company. I think it highly unlikely that Morian was involved, or even knew».
«Which brings us back to his sister, who perhaps has had more access to the king than the rest of us combined», Vivienne said coldly.
«That does appear to be the case», Oisín said. «I find it disturbing that she was present when Donal killed her husband. There can be no doubt that she is of a powerful bloodline, whether or not she shares her father's aberrations. That should have given her the ability to protect Sief, even from a Haldane. Unless, of course», he added thoughtfully, «unless there was some other bond between Jessamy and the king that was stronger than her duty to her husband, the father of her… children…»