The Bishop’s Heir by Katherine Kurtz Read Free Book Online

Only a small percentage of Deryni had the healing gift, even then.”
    â€œBut that Warin fellow can do it?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd he isn’t Deryni?”
    Kelson shook his head. “Not so far as we’ve been able to tell. He still insists his gift comes from God—and maybe it does. Maybe he’s a genuine miracle-worker. Who are we to say?”
    Dhugal snorted and resumed his work. “That sounds more capricious than being Deryni, if you ask me—working miracles! For myself, I think I’d gladly settle for being able to do your trick.”
    â€œ My trick?”
    â€œTo knock out a patient painlessly before trying to work on him. From a battle surgeon’s point of view, that’s a blessing, no matter where the ability comes from, though I suspect ecclesiastical opinion would argue the point. No reflection on friend Bertie’s courage, but if you hadn’t done—whatever you did—he wouldn’t have been able to hold still for me to do this. I suppose it was some of your … Deryni magic?”
    Almost hypnotically, Kelson watched the bloody hands move up and down, drawing the wound closed with Dhugal’s own almost magical ability, and he had to shake his head lightly to break the spell.
    â€œI think you have your own kind of magic,” he murmured, looking across at Dhugal in admiration. “And thank God you don’t seem to be intimidated by mine. You have no idea what a relief it is to be able to use my powers for something like this—which is what they were intended for, in the beginning, I feel sure—and not have you be afraid.”
    With a smile, Dhugal tied off the last of his sutures and cut the thread, then looked up at Kelson with the keen, frank appraisal of the borderman.
    â€œI seem to recall that we once swore a blood-oath to live as brothers all our lives,” he said softly, “and to do whatever good we might. Why should I fear my brother, then, simply because he has been given the means to do greater good? I know you would never harm me—brother.”
    As Kelson caught his breath in surprise, Dhugal ducked his head and returned to his work, sluicing clean water over the sutures and then binding a handful of dried sphagnum moss over the wound.
    That, at least, Kelson felt he understood, as he washed his hands and dried them on a corner of their patient’s tunic. He was not sure he understood the other kneeling across from him, but he did not think he cared to question what had just passed between them. He had forgotten what a comfort it could be to confide in a friend of his own generation. Conall was his age, and Payne and Rory only a little younger, but that was not the same. They had not been tempered with adult responsibilities the way he and Dhugal had. Morgan and Duncan understood, of course, and perhaps his Uncle Nigel, but even they were somewhat removed by age and experience—and they were not always around. He found himself heaving a sigh of relief as Dhugal finally rinsed his hands and dried them on a blood-stained grey towel.
    â€œThat’s it, then,” Dhugal said, peering tentatively under one of his patient’s eyelids and glancing at Kelson inquiringly. “I think I did one of my better repair jobs, but only time will tell for sure. He’s still lost a lot of blood. Best if he simply sleeps through the night.”
    â€œWe’ll see that he does, then,” Kelson said, touching the sleeping man’s forehead and making the necessary mental adjustments. “I’d have someone rouse him every few hours to drink some wine—Duncan says that helps to restore the lost blood faster—but otherwise, he shouldn’t stir until morning.”
    As the two of them stood, Dhugal gathering up his sword and plaid, Kelson signalled one of his men to attend. Dhugal gave brief instructions, but then he and Kelson moved off slowly toward the edge of the camp which