The Madness of the Wicked  

Chapter  3  

Dhugal did manage to round up a set of Connaiti armor for Kelson, which was ill-fitting compared to his own custom-tailored suits, but Dhugal had been right, they would brand him visibly as a lowland royal. At least these eclectic pieces seemed serviceable, and allowed enough freedom of motion. One of Dhugal’s own broadswords added to the costume, slung between Kelson’s shoulder blades in its great scabbard. To complete the look, Dhugal had selected a spotted border pony for his blood brother’s mount. Kelson took one look at it and burst out laughing.

“What’s sae amusing?” Dhugal asked with mock indignation. “’Tis from the same stock as my own!”

“Aye,” Kelson guffawed. “Would that be the stock that produced the spotted pony you had when we were children?” “Och, just because he threw ye a half dozen times! That beast had the devil in him!” Kelson declared, knowing that Dhugal had chosen this horse for just that reminder. Still laughing, he held out his hand for the pony to smell his scent. “Let me see if this one has a better nature.”

Securing the reins, Kelson swung up into the low saddle. The pony pranced and snorted violently, obviously having inherited the same temper that had landed Kelson on his backside nine years ago, but his riding skills were much more expert now. The spirited beast stilled at Kelson’s sure, insistent control. Dhugal mounted himself, motioning Kelson to join him as he rode to the head of his men.

“MacArdry!” he called easily over the band of forty or so. “My brother an’ your clansman Kelson is come tae join us. Will ye welcome him?” The borderers cheered, pumping their fists in the air. “MacArdry men!” Dhugal yelled. “We ride!”

They whooped, and Kelson’s mount reared at the noise and sudden excitement. He slapped the beast hard on the neck, reaching out with his mind to control the animal better through Deryni means, squashing any equine thoughts of rebellion. It did give him a rather showy exit as the pony leapt after Dhugal, racing out Transha’s gate.

Conor looked nervously at the horizon. Occasionally he thought he caught a hint of motion, and when he had mentioned it to his father, Geoffrey just scoffed. There it was again, though, and they were about to enter a steep gully that would hinder visibility.

“My lord father, could we not at least send a man or two ahead off the road as a scout?” he asked Geoffrey. “It would prove that you are correct, and I am only jumping at shadows.”

“I need no proof, and neither should you,” Geoffrey returned, angered. “I will not have a coward for a son. You will drop this insolence at once!”

“Aye, father. I apologize, I meant no insolence.”

Snorting, Geoffrey turned his hard-set face back to the road. Conor looked around him in dread as the land started sloping up on either side of them, and he wished to God with all his might that he had also inherited the Deryni powers that were gifted to his sister. Then perhaps he would be able to see if there was real danger ahead.

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