he Hidden Kingdom

The secret things belong to the LORD our God - Deuteronomy 29:29

Chapter One

Oh, how I wish that God would speak,

that he would open his lips against you

and disclose to you the secrets of wisdom,

for true wisdom has two sides.

- Job 11:5-6

It was a beautiful morning, the day when the news came. The air was crisp and cool in Rhemuth, and the wind swept strong through the city, filling it with the scent of wood fires and hot spiced wine. Alaric Morgan and Father Duncan Maclain rode into the stableyard that morning in fine high spirits, their faces pink with the cold.

"Eighteen, at most," Morgan said as he swung down from the saddle. He brushed down his black brocade doublet, which looked dusty and weatherbeaten. "Not a day older."

"She certainly looked young," his cousin observed mildly, "but experienced. Very experienced." Duncan removed his boots and sat on the water trough while his horse drank thirstily. He stretched down, reaching gloved hands towards his feet, and felt his back creak. God, I am getting old, he thought.

Sean Lord Derry, Morgan's lieutenant, had come out from the stable carrying blankets for the horses and a flask for the riders. Grinning, he handed the wine to Morgan. "I don't even want to know what kind of girl gets discussed like this by a married man and a priest." He paused for a beat. "Never mind, I do want to know." He lifted an eyebrow, surveying Morgan's stallion. "How far have you ridden, m'lord?"

Morgan recognized the look and hastened to reassure him, "Not too far," he said, "we had a bit of a gallop on the way back, so they're a little winded. They'll be fine."

Derry's brows contracted, and Duncan quickly changed the subject. "And the young lady," he said, leaning back against a post, "was experienced in protecting her virtue. And in the use of a blade."

"And language," Morgan added, "I didn't know all the words she used."

This was interesting enough to take Derry's mind off the careless handling of horses. "She attacked you? What did you do?"

Morgan made a gesture of wounded innocence. "Us!? What do you take us for?" He took off the saddle and began to brush his horse down in a mollifying manner. "We were just passing through."

"We were supposed to meet Dhugal at Lord Ralston's stables," Duncan explained, "He's buying one of his yearlings and wanted to show it to me. We were a little late, though. When Dhugal saw someone asleep in the loft he thought I was napping in the middle of the day. He disapproves of such indulgences – he says it's a sign of old age – and he decided to wake me a little exuberantly."

"Jumped on her and tried to pull her down, actually," Morgan chuckled, "She took it the wrong way."

Derry covered his eyes with one hand. "He confused you with a women?" he asked. With an impatient gesture he shooed his lord out of the way and started grooming the horse himself. "He must have been drinking in the middle of the day."

"The indulgence of the young," Duncan agreed gravely, "But apparently not. She was wearing riding clothes, and her cape looked a lot like mine. Hair much the same color, too. Apparently she was curled away from him. And who knows if he was really fooled? Dhugal wouldn't have qualms about grappling a girl in the hay.

"Anyway, when they disentangled, she went for him with a dagger and a short sword. He's lucky he has quick reflexes, and even luckier we arrived on the scene. She wasn't bad, for a woman, and he was too flustered to defend himself properly."

Both Morgan and Derry were almost doubled over. "You should have seen it," Morgan wheezed, "She was swearing a blue streak when we pulled her off, half in a language I've never heard, and he was just stammering, 'Miss… milady…I….I mean…I thought…forgive me…" Morgan's voice took on a high tenor of panic. Derry wiped tears from his eyes.

"Good lord," he managed finally, "I had no idea the Ralston daughters had that much spunk. They've always been shy as new-born fillies to me."

"As would any good girl who knew your reputation," Morgan shook a finger at him. "But this wasn't one of the family. I've never seen her before. She broke free – nearly took off my fingers with her dagger – jumped on a horse and took off. Dhugal was still trying to apologize, so he took Festrier and galloped after her. God knows what he'll do if he ever catches up. We chased them a while after we stopped laughing, but they had too much of a start and we lost them after a while."

"I would have liked to find out who she was," Duncan said dreamily, "She was a striking-looking girl. Not pretty, exactly. Pale as a ghost, freckled as an apple and the darkest eyes I've ever seen. I'd guess she was gentle-born, as well, for all her clothes and manners. She held herself very well."

"You may not want to meet her kinsfolk," Morgan warned him. "I couldn't place the accent, but the language was some kind of border dialect. And the one thing I did understand was her promise that her brother would carve your son up and serve him for dinner. Savage thing. And like I say, maybe eighteen years old."

"Twenty-three." Both men stopped reminiscing and looked up in surprise. Derry's expression had turned grim; his jaw was clenched and his fist held the horse's mane in a death grip. "She's always looked young. Little idiot!" he murmured. Then, feeling their astonished gazes, he swore and walked into the stable without a word of explanation. A few minutes later the marcher lord emerged on the back of a doughty piebald stallion, his favorite horse, who he insisted could outrun any thoroughbred at court. "Don't worry, Father" he called to Duncan, spurring the animal towards the gate, "I'll try not to kill him. But you might want to pray I find my sister before he does."

oooooooo

Shannon O'Flynn dropped a low curtsy, keeping her face down in a futile effort to hide her blush. She felt as if the whole court was laughing at her, and she was not too far wrong. Certainly the queen was having a hard time controlling her smile. "You are welcome to Rhemuth, Lady Shannon," Araxie said warmly, "Your mother wrote to say that you were coming, but we were not expecting you for another week at least."

Her new lady-in-waiting turned, if possible, even redder. She had been lent a simple white gown, whose slender sleeves reached almost to her fingertips, and her flaxen blond hair was tied back under a white lace cap. Her cheeks seemed to glow all the more scarlet, being the only trace of color on her. "I'm very sorry, sure, m'lady," she murmured, twisting her fingers. Unlike her brother, Shannon had spent little time outside the March, though she had been tutored at home, and her accent was light and charming. "I had no thought to arrive so soon."

In fact, she had not expected to be caught so soon, and she had a horrible suspicion that everyone in the room knew it. She had left her much slower escort at an inn outside Caerlin. The note she had left told them to meet her in a week's time in Rhemuth. Aelwyn was a good man, and she had had little doubt that his company would find her before then. But she had counted on him being too proud to admit to Sean or their mother that he had lost her. At worst she would have had a few days of freedom and a stern talking to, before being handed over to court life.

Unfortunately, that was not how things turned out. Her brother's anger had been silent and frightening, though it was hard to tell how much of it was directed against her and how much against the young duke. He had found them sitting in a little woodshed, negotiating a wary conversation, and he had all but dragged her out by the hair. Her good clothes were still with Aelwyn. Worst of all, somehow the whole city seemed to have learned that she had arrived, and how, and she had no choice but to be presented that evening.

King Kelson was in high good spirits as he extended a hand to lift her. "Who can complain when a blessing is given early?" He said gallantly, as he escorted her up the steps to a low chair beside his wife's. "You are welcome, my lady. And thank you for taking it easy on my cousin. He is clumsy with ladies, but he would have been much missed."

There was a ripple of laughter in the hall, and for that instant Shannon hated the young king as much as she had hated anyone her life long. "Then I am glad he escaped, sire, for your sake," she said sweetly, taking her seat, "but I did no spare him. I would have killed him if I could."

Kelson blinked at her, nonplussed, but recovered quickly, "I believe you, lady," he said, casting an amused look at Dhugal, who was looking very uncomfortable in one corner of the room, "and I'll mind my manners in the future. I hope there will be no need for you to fight for your honor again."

"Nay, sire, sure. I'll have me brother for that."

Araxie was following this exchange with less approval than did her husband, but she laughed outright at that. "There's something like poetic justice, Lord Derry," she said, looking over at him, "in the thought of you as the protector of a young woman."

Derry was hovering at the foot of the dais, seemingly torn between concern and pride. He had changed from his groom's attire to more suitable raiment, and in his bright blue cloak and doublet looked far more like a nobleman than he had. He was also in better humor, having finally accepted Dhugal's countless explanations. "I haven't much choice in the matter, Your Majesty," he said, apologetically, "I fear no sword in the kingdom as I fear my mother."

"God save us," drawled the queen, "I had no idea Marcher women were so formidable. Tell me, lady Shannon, how fares the Purple March in these days? My grandfather, rest his soul, spoke very highly of the country."

"Well, I thank you, Your Ma-"

But Shannon had no chance to finish the thought. At that moment a rider burst in the hall, wet through. "Your Majesty!" he cried, as all faces turned to him, "I bear bad news."

oooooooo

"Both of them?" Kelson murmured, half to himself. He turned back to the messenger, who was sitting on a low stool cradling a large flagon of warm wine. After the initial announcement, Kelson had dismissed the court and convened an immediate war council. Fifteen men sat around the great table, some still looking numb with shock. "Are you sure they're moving together?"

"Aye, majesty," the man replied, wearily, "No doubt about it. They're camped separate, but there's a constant exchange of riders and men between them."

"What's the breakdown between the forces?"

He thought a moment. "Hard to say, exactly. Of the maybe twelve thousand swords, eight are in the Tolan camp, but the Tarlians seem to expect more men to arrive. Fully a third of them are on horseback."

"When would you guess they mean to march?"

"Soon," Morgan rested his eyes against his palms, "they'd be fools not to. A force smaller than that could take Mewyth easily, and from there they could entrench or continue as they will."

The messenger, a Mewyth man from his livery, nodded agreement. "I'd judge they could move within the week, at the rate their supply lines are forming."

"Uncle," Kelson said, "how long would it take an army that size to reach Mewyth?"

Nigel Haldane shook his head, "It depends on how stiff the resistance from the provinces. But they're vastly outnumbered and may think it more prudent to withdraw to the city. From where the enemy is, he could arrive in full strength, oh, three days later if he pushed. Mewyth could hold out at best a week, probably less. If they don't have assurance that we will make it on time they would be wiser to open the gates and forego a siege."

"It's a four day march from here. Then we have to be ready to move in ten days or less, and be ready to lay a siege or meet a standing army in the field. I don't know if that's possible."

"We could send out riders to Kirkelain and Ber, have them send men to reinforce Mewyth. Most of the counties could have some men here in eight days; the farther borderlands will just have to catch up. But even if everyone makes it, I don't think we'll have up to ten thousand."

Bishop Arilan had been pondering apart, his hands clasped in front of his face. "I wonder," he mused, "what Ratzin has offered the Tarlians. It would have to be substantial to make them put aside their old enmity and band against us. Tarlia has no quarrel with Gwynedd." Ratzin of Tolan, on the other hand, still claimed the Haldane throne, though his cousin Clarissa, the most recent pretender in his line, had been soundly defeated in the first year of Kelson's reign.

"Do you know their arcane strength?" Kelson sent his thought through to the Deryni priest, as not everyone in the room knew of his powers.

"Tolan is fairly powerful, as they've had a line of Deryni rulers. I don't know about Tarlia. But it's safe to assume we have a hard fight on that front, as well."

Kelson sighed. "That's enough for now," he said to the messenger, "go take your rest. You have our sincere thanks. I know you must have risked much to bring us this warning."

The man's expression darkened, "Nay, sire. It's odd. They were taking no trouble to hide themselves, and no one hindered me, though I'm sure I was spotted. It's as if they want us to know they're there."

After he left, Duncan spoke for the first time, "That is worrying. They must have assembled separately with some stealth. Why bother mustering at Balbery at all? If they had agreed to converge on Melwyth, we would have barely heard of it before the city fell. If they're trying to give fair warning, why not send an ambassador with a declaration of war?"

"That might still be forthcoming," said Arilan, "but I doubt it. Ratzin is not overburdened with that kind of scruple."

"The whole thing smells of a diversion," Kelson said. He could feel the tension building up in his shoulders. "But a diversion twelve thousand strong and growing cannot be lightly ignored. My lords, we have work to do. Send riders to all the noble houses as fast as possible; get their full numbers, no exceptions. They're to meet at Rhemuth or on the road to Mewyth, whichever is fastest. Nigel, I want the eastlands crawling with spies, in case there's another attack or a different target. No one rests until we're ready."