The King's Bastard (61 page)

As they dragged Fyn upstairs his heart sank. Master Catillum had made it clear he could not help him if he was caught. To have come so close!

Even so, Fyn did not struggle. Since he had nothing to lose, he would reveal his suspicions to the abbot. As they had the jar, all the abbot had to do was ask the mystics master to do the tests on Wintertide's heart. Firefox and his supporters might still be proven murderers.

'What I don't understand is why he wanted the jar,' Whisperingpine muttered.

Fyn tensed, but Galestorm was too busy gloating over his downfall to listen.

They drove him up the spiral staircase, through the passages, past the young boys headed into the dining hall to eat their first meal of the day, past the acolytes who were already leaving to learn their crafts. Behind many curious faces, Fyn recognised Feldspar's worried face. Without a word his friend took off, running towards the mystics' level.

'Should I stop him?' Whisperingpine asked Galestorm.

'Don't bother. No one can save the king's brat now.'

Fyn did not say a word as they herded him along the busy corridor towards the stairwell at the far end.

Master Firefox stepped out of his chamber, accompanied by Hotpool.

'What's this?' Firefox demanded. 'Where are you taking Fyn Kingson?'

'To the abbot,' Galestorm announced loudly, holding up the jar. 'We caught him stealing from the goddess's Sacred Heart!'

The nearest acolytes gasped and stared at Fyn, horrified.

When Firefox recognised the jar his eyes widened. Master Hotpool took a step back, going pale. He went to speak, but Firefox touched his arm.

'Well done, Galestorm.' Firefox recovered quickly. 'Give me the jar. We will take him to the abbot.'

No
, Fyn thought. If Firefox and Hotpool took over he would never get to the abbot. They would kill him, hide his body and replace the jar.

Galestorm hesitated, obviously torn because he wanted to see Fyn suffer, but obedience won out and he handed over the jar.

Fyn's head filled with a roaring noise.

'Yes, let's take Fyn Kingson straight to the abbot,' Master Catillum said, joining them.

A firm hand descended on Fyn's shoulder, urging him forwards. As Fyn strode towards the stairs, followed by Masters Firefox and Hotpool, the acolytes parted for them, whispering intently.

On the abbot's level they marched down the main corridor, past the archways that looked out over Rolencia.

Master Catillum thrust the doors to the ante-chamber open.

The clerics master leapt to his feet. 'You can't go in -'

'We must!' The mystics master insisted and strode right past him.

He thrust the doors open and marched in.

The abbot and weapons master looked up. The desk between them was littered with notes, paper weights, ink wells and maps.

'There you are. That was quick,' the abbot said. 'But you didn't need to bring Fyn Kingson.'

'Oh, but we did,' Master Catillum insisted. 'He's -'

'He's stolen something from Halcyon's Sacred Heart,' Master Firefox asserted.

Fyn realised the master was going to try to bluster his way out of trouble.

'He's been in the sacred passages. Sacrilege!' Master Hotpool announced.

'It's sacrilege to murder a master,' Fyn cried. 'I took Master Wintertide's jar to prove that he was poisoned!'

'The healers said he had a heart attack,' Firefox countered. 'Surely they would know better than a mere acolyte?'

'A simple test will prove one way or the other,' Catillum said softly. Everyone went still. 'A test I can do before everyone here, now. Shall I send for my equipment?'

'To prove what?' Firefox countered. 'Even if you prove Wintertide was poisoned, how will you find out who poisoned him? Search the mind of every monk?'

'I won't have to search every monk, will I, Fyn?' Catillum prodded.

Fyn swallowed. 'Master Hotpool told me that the boys master died of a heart attack, but this was before the healers had even examined him. Hotpool could only have known what the healers would say if he knew which poison killed Wintertide. And he would have got that poison from the healer, Springmelt.'

'And Springmelt is safe in the mystics' chamber, waiting to be called,' Catillum explained.

They all turned to Hotpool including Firefox, who took several steps back from him. Hotpool opened his mouth, appealing wordlessly to his partner.

Firefox shook his head sadly. 'I always knew you hated Wintertide, but poison?'

Hotpool looked so shocked by this betrayal that Fyn almost felt sorry for him.

But he recovered quickly, gesturing dismissively to the mystics master. 'Catillum may swear Springmelt was working under my orders but it is his word against mine. He'll lie to implicate me.'

Crack!

The weapons master slammed a paper weight on the desk top. 'Enough of this. Rolencia has been invaded!'

Fyn gasped.

The masters turned in stunned silence.

'A rider just delivered this.' The abbot pointed to a message cylinder which lay on his busy desk. Beside it was a roll of vellum which had been sealed with a red wax impressed with the royal foenix.

'Father's royal symbol,' Fyn whispered.

'King Rolen has called on us to defend Rolencia from the Merofynians,' the weapons master explained, then glared at Firefox and Hotpool. 'So your petty politics can wait!'

'But King Merofyn betrothed his daughter to my brother,' Fyn protested.

'What better way to buy time to prepare for an invasion?' Master Oakstand countered. 'Remember your tactics lessons, lad. Force wins battles, but so does guile and it costs less lives.'

Fyn shook his head. He'd had a vision of the king's daughter in Halcyon's Fate. If she was not going to become his brother's queen, why had he seen her? 'I -'

'I know what you're going to say. I must refuse, Fyn,' the abbot told him. 'Acolytes cannot take up arms.'

Fyn gulped.

'According to King Rolen,' the abbot continued, 'the Merofynians are commanded by an ambitious warlord, who has been named overlord of the army.'

'How did they get into the valley undetected?' Fyn asked.

'The traitorous warlord from Cockatrice Spar let them use his pass,' the abbot said. 'King Rolen is going to march out to deal with Rejulas. This will leave his castle defended only by a few old men and untrained boys.'

Fyn froze. His mother, old Seela and Piro were in danger. For a moment he heard nothing but the rushing of a stream running fast with spring melt.

'We must stop this overlord from marching across the valley and laying siege to Rolenhold.' Master Oakstand unhooked one hand from his belt to tap the map. 'We must hold him until King Rolen's dealt with Rejulas and can bring his warriors back.'

Fyn remembered convincing Piro not to go to the abbess. If he hadn't interfered she would be safe in Sylion Abbey now. What if the Merofynian overlord reached Rolenhold before the monks could stop him? 'Please, Abbot Halcyon, I must go home!'

'Well spoken, lad. But what can one acolyte do against a whole army?' the abbot asked. 'No, your place is here.'

Annoyance flooded Fyn, then relief. It was true, he was useless. Hot on the heels of this came shame.

He was a coward.

Even as he thought this, he could not stop himself imagining Piro in danger. 'My mother and sister need me, I have to -'

'Master Oakstand,' the abbot overrode him. 'Take every able-bodied monk. Only those over seventy will remain here. Overlord Palatyne must be stopped!'

The weapons master grinned. 'Six hundred abbey warriors should hold this Merofynian overlord long enough for King Rolen to return. Quality against quantity!'

Master Catillum rubbed his jaw with his good hand. 'The canals are still frozen. If we leave by mid-morning and skate all night we'll make good time. Time to find the best defensive spots, time to plan.'

'Good.' The abbot rolled up the king's message, nodding to the weapons master. 'Gather your warriors and supplies.'

As Fyn struggled to take this all in, Master Oakstand hurried out, closely followed by Firefox and Hotpool.

The room went very quiet and the door latch clicked behind them.

'If they are ready to murder Wintertide then they are ready to move against us, abbot,' Catillum said softly. 'You can't let them get away with this.'

'They won't,' the abbot assured him. 'But for now we have a common enemy. Until the overlord is defeated we need not fear them.' As the abbot studied Fyn, his warm brown eyes gleaming from a nest of wrinkles. 'You've made a bad enemy there, kingson. And you profaned the catacombs.'

Fyn flushed but held the abbot's eyes. 'I know. But Master Wintertide was murdered and I believe the goddess would want to see his murderer brought to justice.'

'Will Hotpool's disgrace bring back your old master?'

'No, but...' Fyn swallowed, thinking of Lonepine. Then his mind did a mental shift and his real motivations became clear. 'I didn't want to see Firefox become abbot. I think his rule would be bad for the abbey.'

The abbot's eyes widened. 'You are a deep thinker, Fyn. It is a pity you are not the kingsheir.'

Fyn blinked. He'd never given this a thought.

The abbot smiled and caught the mystics master's eye. 'If you are to be abbot one day, Catillum, you must watch your back. Many a warrior has been killed by his "friends" in the heat of battle.'

'Then why risk sending...' Fyn fell silent. It was not his place to question the abbot's decisions.

'D'you think me helpless because of this?' The mystics master lifted his withered arm with his good one. Fyn went to protest, but Catillum didn't wait for an answer. 'There will be renegade Power-workers with the Merofynian army, each with their own basket of nasty tricks. I must protect our people.' He frowned. 'I admit, I'd hoped never to see this day...'

Turning on his heel, he left Fyn alone with the abbot.

'As for you,' the abbot smiled at Fyn, 'I know your fellow acolytes will be chafing at the bit to go, but we don't send boys to war. You can rest assured Master Oakstand will stop those Merofynians.'

A wave of relief rolled over Fyn. Piro would be safe.

For Fyn the early morning passed in a blur of preparation as the whole abbey was turned upside down. Despite this, he was troubled by a niggling worry that he couldn't pinpoint. By mid-morning the monks were ready. The musicians played as the warrior monks of Halcyon assembled in the square around the sacred pool.

'Dreaming of battle, Fyn?' Feldspar asked, coming up behind him as he hesitated on the stair. 'Come on. Master Oakstand's ready to leave. We can watch from the gallery.'

Others had the same idea. The long corridor with its arched windows was crowded with boys, acolytes and the oldest of the monks. Fyn chose a window embrasure where he could look down into the abbey courtyard. It held the finest of Halcyon's warrior monks. They wore white cloaks so that they would blend in with the snow and each man carried his weapons strapped to his back, along with his food, his bedroll and skates. Every tenth man carried a small pot for cooking and a small medical kit, while every hundredth had a small forge. His task was to repair weapons. Halcyon's warrior monks were a highly disciplined fighting force, and ready to die for King Rolen.

Fyn's heart swelled with pride as he imagined the monks skating down the canals, racing faster than a horse could run through snow, racing to defend Rolencia.

And Fyn thought of the people who relied on his father and the monks to keep them safe. The farmers would be repairing their fences, getting ready to put their cows and goats out to pasture, and sharpening their plough shares. On the mountain slopes they would be repairing winter's damage to the terraces, eager to sow their crops. This was no time for war. The truth of an old saying hit him:
A summer spent warring meant a winter spent starving.

'They do look fine,' Feldspar whispered, wistfully. His hands rested on the window sill, knuckles white with tension.

Hawkwing leant closer, his four-fingered hand resting on the ledge next to Fyn. When Hawkwing spoke, his voice was too loud, and his eyes were bright with excitement. 'The best we can hope for is that the fighting lasts past spring cusp. Then we can prove ourselves!'

Fyn nodded, but in truth the thought of war sickened him. If he was lucky the warrior monks would hold Overlord Palatyne until his father could defeat Rejulas. Then King Rolen would march on the Merofynian army, who would surrender and their king would sign a new peace treaty.

He caught a glimpse of Galestorm and his friends, down amongst the warriors, along with Firefox and Hotpool. Although he felt relieved to see them leave, he had to wonder how many of them would be coming back. Hopefully, Halcyon would protect the mystics master and Oakstand. It would be too much to ask that only his enemies fell under Merofynian swords. But he could hope for Feldspar's sake. Then it hit him, if he ran away from the abbey now it would confirm the whispers. Even his friends would believe him a coward.