«All right, who's there?» he called out, heading toward that corner of the room. «Anyone with half a brain would know that I've been at my nephew's wedding today».
A flick of his arm sent the curtain skittering to one side in a slither of fine rings against wire. The man waiting behind it was well known to Khoren: trim and comely, of somewhat middling height, casually clad in riding leathers of a rich oxblood hue. As a patient smile touched his lips, the calloused hands lifted in a gesture of guileless denial.
«In truth», the visitor said lightly, «I expected you'd be working on that manuscript I brought you; I knew how close you were to cracking the translation. I've not been here long, though — and even from here, I have enjoyed just taking in the peacefulness of your workroom. You should have been a monk, Khoren».
Khoren snorted and released the wards on the Portal with a wave of one capable hand, grinning as he opened his arms to the man who stepped across its boundaries.
«Oisín Adair, I might have known it would be you», he said as they embraced. «Seriously, what brings you here at this hour, when you knew what my day would be like?»
«Seriously, I've come on a mission of the utmost importance — though I'd forgotten that today was Mikhail's wedding day. Still, will you come with me for an hour or so? I mayn't tell you where».
Khoren drew back to look into the other man's eyes, feeling the rigidness in the other's shoulders that echoed the shields suddenly stiff between them.
«This sounds serious, indeed», he said quietly. «Can you give me no clue?»
Oisín 's bearded face settled into stillness, regret in the blue eyes.
«Sief MacAthan is dead, my friend. It's the Council that summons you. Will you come?»
«Sief, dead? But, how?»
«That is for another place», Oisín said firmly, refusing to be drawn. «Please, ask me no more questions. All will be revealed, in due course».
Briefly closing his eyes, Khoren made himself take a deep breath and slowly exhale, doing his best to banish the heady afterglow of the wine he had drunk, regretting that he had taken any drink at all. No Deryni looked forward to a summons from the Camberian Council, though he knew that his could be for no failing on his part. The news of Sief MacAthan's death made it likely that Khoren was about to be offered a seat on the Council — not altogether unexpected, given his abilities and his spotless reputation, but it was still a prospect both intriguing and daunting. Membership in that almost mythical body was never to be taken lightly, and forever changed those who accepted its burden.
Yet some there were, willing to take on that burden, for it offered an opportunity to enforce and reinforce the ethical precepts instilled in all Deryni of good formal training. Beyond the borders of Gwynedd, in Torenth and the lands to the south, these precepts were mostly followed — and when serious breaches occurred, the Camberian Council could and often did step in; but in Gwynedd, the heartland of the original Eleven Kingdoms, backlash from the failure of Deryni to police their own ranks had all too often been the death of innocent members of their race. To serve the Council was to place oneself in a position to possibly make a difference.
«I will come, of course», Khoren murmured returning his gaze to Oisín. «You do realize, though, that I'm in no fit state for any serious working? I've just come from a wedding feast, for God's sake».
«That will not affect your interview», Oisín replied. «Come».
He set his hand on Khoren's elbow and drew him onto the Portal beside him, turning Khoren away from him to set one hand on the back of his neck. The other hand reached around to cover his eyes as he continued.
«You will understand that it is not permitted that you should sense the coordinates of the Portal where I am taking you», Oisín murmured, «and once there, your physical sight will remain sealed until I release you».
«Of course».
«Then, open to me now».
With those words, his mind surrounded Khoren's, surging in behind the shields his subject obediently let fall. As all physical sensation receded into a gray void where it was too much bother to do anything at all, Khoren vaguely felt a gentle tugging at the edges of his consciousness, then a faint lurch in the pit of his stomach — and a subtle undulation of the floor under his feet, which immediately stabilized.
«Move forward with me now», Oisín murmured.
Though the hand across Khoren's eyes was withdrawn, he kept them closed, well aware that it would be disorienting to open them and not be able to see. He also kept his shields well down, cleaving to the discipline of only what physical senses might tell him as Oisín urged him forward and to the left, one hand grasping his elbow and the other arm curved around his shoulders. He could feel grit under his boots as they moved half a dozen steps away from the Portal, and caught the faint scent of sandalwood, a freshness to the air itself. It was cooler here than in Djellarda, but he had no idea where here was.
«I must leave you for a few minutes», Oisín said in a low voice, as he set Khoren's hand against a wall. «Don't move. I'll return shortly».
The other's footsteps receded. Khoren thought he could hear a door opening, and he definitely felt the stir of air, perhaps of the door closing again. The stone under his hand was smooth and cool, but he resisted the temptation to seek out further clues as to the room it contained, for even Oisín 's simple instruction might be a test of his obedience.
He waited. He could hear no sound save the gentle throbbing of his own heartbeat — until he felt as well as heard the whisper of the door again. Then Oisín was beside him once more, a guiding hand again set under his elbow.
«Walk with me», came the murmured instruction, as the other firmly moved him forward.
Khoren sensed a larger space as their footsteps took a more hollow tone. Very soon, he was brought up short against something that pressed along the tops of his thighs — a table, he realized, as he was made to sit in a chair of substantial proportions, with heavy arms. No sooner had he settled into it than someone pushed it and him closer to the table, containing him within the compass of the chair arms. He could feel the silence as an almost palpable presence as Oisín moved to his left side and sat, his controlling hand never leaving Khoren's shoulder. But it was not Oisín who spoke first.
«This room has been the meeting place of the Camberian Council since the time of Saint Camber himself», said a woman's voice ahead and to the left. «Before that, we believe that it served the use of the Airsid. Do you know of the Airsid, Khoren Vastouni?»
Khoren considered the question. It was not what he had been expecting.
«I do not know as much as I would like», he said candidly, for only the truth would suffice in this company. «I was taught that our high magic sprang from their teachings, at least in part. I have heard it said that the great Orin may have had Airsid teachers. Some say that they came from Caeriesse, before it sank beneath the sea», he added, a little less certainly.
An amused chuckle came from directly to his right — another woman's voice, lighter than the first.
«So some say. Would it surprise you to learn that some of the founders of this Council actually looked upon the mortal remains of Orin and Jodotha, his great disciple?»
Khoren found himself sitting forward more attentively, longing to open his eyes, for the Airsid and their teachings had long been his academic passion, and Orin and Jodotha were legendary.
«Here?» he managed to breathe.