Fyn found Rolenhold strangely empty without Byren. His brother had ridden out the day after midwinter with a Captain Temor, a dozen men-at-arms and his honour guard of twelve likely lads, Orrade and Garzik amongst them. Enough to deter treachery, but not enough to be a threat to a newly elected warlord, was how Byren had described it to him.
Several days ago his mother had taken one of her turns. Complaining of sleeping badly, she had retreated to her private solarium, which made his father worry. Lence went around like a bear with a sore tooth, while Piro hardly spoke and seemed preoccupied.
The four days of formal celebrations to welcome back the goddess Halcyon were finally over and, for once, Fyn was glad to return to the abbey.
'What will you do,' Piro whispered, 'now that you can't join the mystics?'
They stood to one side of the royal party, who were farewelling the abbot and the masters. It was early morning and the nuns of Sylion had already left Rolenhold, hitching the sails of their sled-boats to catch the breeze.
'Don't worry, I'll find a branch of the abbey to take me,' Fyn said. 'Maybe the clerics. Then, when I become abbot, I can send the weapons master to serve Lence.'
He expected her to laugh at this, but she nodded seriously. 'That way you wouldn't have to do the killing.'
No. He'd just send others to their death, he realised with a sickening lurch. How did leaders live with their decisions?
'Oh, Fyn. Last night I dreamed of Byren. He was running through the forest, running away from wyverns,' Piro whispered urgently. 'Do you think it was a vision?'
'That's silly. Wyverns live near water, not in the forest,' Fyn argued.
'They could have been freshwater wyverns.'
She looked so miserable he wanted to shake her.
'Byren will be fine. If you had a dream about a unistag confronting Byren, that might have been a vision. But not a wyvern.'
She managed a smile. 'You must be right. But, Fyn, I think my Affinity is getting stronger.'
Bitterness churned in him. He'd had to give up family and position because of his Affinity. He was the superfluous third son, when the king already had an heir in Lence, with Byren in reserve. Worse, his family didn't trust him. This midwinter at Rolenhold had convinced Fyn his place was with the abbey.
'Fyn?' Piro prodded. 'What's wrong?'
The weapons master blew the horn, signalling that it was time to go. Piro gave a little start of fright.
He hugged her. 'You'll be all right. Mother's been able to hide her Affinity all these years. You will too!'
Her tears felt wet on his cheeks as she kissed him.
'Oh, Fyn. I have such a bad feeling!'
He wanted to stay and reassure her but… 'Piro, I must go.' The abbey contingent was already marching, taking him with it.
'I know. Goodbye, Fyn,' she called, running a little way out the gates with him.
Then she fell behind as the masters marched the monks and acolytes down the steep road to Rolenton. They sang in time to their steps, the masters leading the chant. With the crisp morning air stinging his face and his fellow monks around him, Fyn felt a sense of belonging and realised, until today, he had not given up hope of returning home. Well, from now on the abbey would be his home. He had to forge a place there or be overwhelmed in the battle for position.
They were still high enough on Rolenhold's pinnacle for Fyn to look out across the fertile crescent valley of Rolencia. The Dividing Mountains curved away behind him, forming a half circle. In its hub was distant Mount Halcyon. The snowy-tipped peak stood like a beacon, glinting in the sun. In three days he would be there, safe in the abbey built into the side of the mountain.
As soon as they returned to the abbey, he would ask Master Wintertide's advice. As an acolyte, Fyn should have consulted the acolytes master, but he was a close friend of the history master. And that master had been watching him since they spoke on Midwinter's Day, smiling when their eyes caught. It worried Fyn more than he wanted to admit.
On Rolenton wharf they loaded up their sleds, strapped on their skates and prepared to set off across Sapphire Lake. Once across the lake they would travel the canal to Viridian Lake and Halcyon Abbey.
Because Fyn and Lonepine were the same height, they were usually paired together to pull a sled. Fyn helped his friend with his straps then turned so that Lonepine could buckle his.
'Don't bother,' Feldspar called, jumping down from the wharf to a snowdrift on the ice. 'I've been sent to find you, Fyn. Master Firefox wants you.'
'The acolytes master?' Surprised and a little worried, Fyn climbed back onto the wharf and wandered through the monks.
He found the acolytes master speaking with the history master and waited at a polite distance for them to finish. Farmer Overhill's son stood to one side, looking uncomfortable. Fyn felt sorry for him. It was bad enough joining the abbey as a six-year-old, but to be fifteen and to know as little as a six-year-old would be a nightmare.
The history master glanced once at Fyn, nodded in reply to something Master Firefox had said, then hurried away.
'There you are, Fyn Kingson,' Firefox greeted him, jovially. 'I can recall how troubled I was the year I had to find my place amid the priests, so I thought I'd put you out of your misery. This midsummer, when you give your vows, I will take you into my service. Training the minds of young acolytes is one of the most important tasks in the abbey.' He gave Fyn a friendly smile but his eyes were hard and meaningful. 'You could go far with me as your master. Few have the influence I wield.'
Firefox hinted that Master Wintertide's friendship would not further Fyn's career. But he had never expected that kind of return from friendship. Hiding his distaste, he gave the bow of an acolyte to a master.
'I thank you.' He didn't want to actually say no, the acolytes master could make his life miserable. 'I will think deeply on this.'
'You do that. Meanwhile, take this youth with you.' He nodded to the Overhill boy. 'Escort him to Master Wintertide when we reach the abbey.'
Fyn nodded. By ordering him to mind the new boy, Firefox was reminding him how little control he had over his own life.
Young Overhill shifted uneasily. Fyn took pity on him. 'What's your name?'
'Joff of Overhill, but… I suppose I'll have a new name at the abbey.'
'Not until you are ready to become a monk.' Fyn led him towards the waiting sleds. 'I haven't chosen my monk name yet. Come on. We'd better strap on the sled.'
'Ho, Fyn, what was that all about?' Lonepine asked when he returned.
'I'm to watch out for Joff,' Fyn explained.
'Good.' Lonepine grinned. 'We can take turns pulling the sled.'
'Will you take up Master Firefox's offer?' Joff asked Fyn.
'The master offered you a place? Why didn't you say?' Lonepine demanded.
Fyn shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it here, where anyone might overhear.
'It would be a wise move.' Lonepine winked. 'Then you won't have to compete with me to be weapons master!'
Fyn laughed and mock-punched him, but his heart was not in it.
Piro waited in her mother's private chamber down one end of the solarium. Listening for the distinctive chink, chink of her mother's walk, every second step punctuated by the heavy ring of keys she wore at her waist. Keys for chambers, keys for account cabinets, keys for chests and keys for cellars. She was hoping her mother had the key to her problems.
After taking off her head-dress and cloak, Piro sat in front of the fire to get warm. Her cheeks still stung from standing on the battlements in the cold breeze to see the last of the monks glide off across Sapphire lake.
Staring into the flames, Piro wound her cap's red satin ribbons through her fingers. Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep and loud sounds made her jump. The dream about Byren was only one of many nightmares. Since looking into the Mirror of Insight her dreams had been haunted. Every night as soon as she drifted off, she saw wyverns rampaging through the castle corridors, eating in the great hall, drinking and laughing while her people went in fear of them. She dreaded falling asleep.
Piro was desperate enough to turn to her mother. How did the queen hide her Affinity? How could she have let her own father ride to his death? The more Piro thought about it, the more she realised she did not know her mother, had never known her.
'What are you doing, sitting here all alone?' her old nurse asked, bustling in with an armful of freshly laundered linen. She began folding things, slipping lavender bags between the layers as she tucked them away in various chests.
'Where's mother?'
'With your father, entertaining the Merofynian ambassador. He'll be going back soon. When next we see him it will be the Jubilee and Isolt Kingsdaughter will be with him.' The old nurse frowned at Piro. 'You must be on your best behaviour next time you see Rejulas — '
'I can't face him, Seela. I don't know what to do. My Affinity is getting worse!' Piro gestured wildly, cap swinging by its ribbons. 'Rejulas handed me a slice of perfectly good sweet bread with cream but when I tried to eat it I nearly choked. Father later ate the whole loaf so there was nothing wrong with it. If the Affinity wasn't trying to tell me to beware Rejulas, what does it mean?'
'It means you can't trust what you see, hear or feel. Ahh, Piro!' Seela's face creased with sympathy. 'To be god-touched is not a pleasant thing. Your mother's had to live with it all these years, never knowing if the nightmares she has are visions or simply bad dreams. As for Rejulas, I know what you're like. You went into the trophy chamber all churned up with anger and resentment. No wonder you couldn't eat.'
'No. It wasn't me. It was a message from the gods. I'm sure of it.'
Seela rolled her eyes.
Piro put her hands on her hips, cap dangling. 'I'm going to ask mother.'
'No, don't trouble her.' Seela closed the chest and came over to Piro, taking the cap from her and smoothing the crumpled ribbons. 'I didn't tell her about your Affinity. Don't disappoint her.'
Piro's shoulder's slumped. 'I'm sorry if I'm a disappointment to her.'
'You misunderstand me. She'd be disappointed in herself. We'll keep this a secret, you and I.' Seela summoned a smile. 'From what your father says Rejulas is a brave, clever man.'
'I still don't trust him.'
'Words are cheap, deeds ring true. This is what I told your mother when she was fretting about coming here. She was only a little thing, eight years old. I told her, only by King Rolen's actions can we know if he is trustworthy. Give him a chance to prove himself. And she did and look what happened!' Seela took Piro's hand. 'The best thing you can do is close your heart and mind against the Affinity, just as your mother has done, and do your duty as a kingsdaughter.'
Piro sighed. Since this was also Fyn's advice, she nodded. 'All right, but I can't sleep for the nightmares.'
'We can banish those. A little sleeping draught will do the trick. Your mother has been taking it for years. Whenever it gets bad we say she's having one of her turns and she retreats to her private chamber so that I can dose her. I'll water down some dreamless-sleep for you this very night. You're worrying needlessly.' Seela patted Piro's arm. 'I know. Let's prepare a performance for the visiting nobles. We can get the costume chest out and do one of the midwinter pageants!'
Piro nodded slowly. Usually she enjoyed performing but now it all seemed so trivial.
Seeing her expression, Seela clucked her tongue. 'Dreamless-sleep will settle the nightmares. It works on your mother. You'll see.'
And Piro had to be satisfied with this as Seela bustled off. Alone again, she paced the chamber. It was all very well to say that Rejulas's action would tell her what kind of man he was, but what if she was already married to him when she discovered he could not be trusted? How would she escape him?
Fyn arrived at the abbey as the sun was setting behind the Dividing Mountains. After pulling the sled for three days solid, his thighs and shoulders ached. All he wanted to do was rest, but first he had to take Joff to the boys master. This happened to suit him, since he wanted to ask Master Wintertide's advice.
He dumped his travelling pack on his bunk and turned to Joff, who was standing in the acolytes' dormitory looking out of place while the others unloaded their packs, checked the work roster then shuffled off to line up for the hot baths.
'Come on, Joff.' Fyn headed for the corridor, pointing out the rooms as they passed them. 'This wing of chambers houses the acolytes in order of rank, oldest at this end, the youngest down here.' He passed that door and entered the spiral central stairs, gesturing upwards. 'The hothouses are high above in the crater's mouth, set on the shores of Lake Halcyon. That's where we bring on the seedlings so the farmers can make an early start with their planting. Otherwise they'd never get two crops harvested each summer.'
Joff nodded as they headed down the steps. As a farmer's son, he would be familiar with monks delivering hothouse seedlings.
'Fyn?' Lonepine called over the acolytes' balcony. 'You're rostered to work in the gardens tonight.'
Fyn cursed under his breath.
'But we've only just got back,' Joff muttered. 'How could you be rostered to work? That's not fair.'
'Who said abbey life was fair?' Fyn muttered, then took pity on Joff's confusion. 'No. It's not fair. But that's the way it is. The acolytes master is warning me.'
'Why?'
'Because I haven't accepted his offer.'
'Why not?'
Fyn sighed. 'You ask a lot of questions.'
Joff shrugged. 'If I don't ask, how will I ever learn?'
Fyn grinned. During the sled ride he'd discovered he liked Joff.
'This way.' Fyn continued down the stairs to the next level. 'This is where the boys live. They're aged between six and twelve, so you'll be the oldest. But don't worry, Wintertide is the best of the masters.'
He jogged down the corridor towards his old teacher's chambers, pausing in the entrance. 'Master Wintertide?'
'He's not here,' a small boy said.
'Do you know how long he will be?'
The boy shook his head. 'Is there a message I can give the master?'
Fyn hesitated. When he had been Wintertide's servant, bigger boys had offered him bribes to spy for them. He'd refused no matter how much they tried to intimidate him. He had no idea how many masters this boy served.
'The abbot called all masters up to his chambers,' the boy volunteered.
Fyn suspected the masters and the abbot were discussing Provings so far. He suspected his presence was like turning up an Unknowable card in a Duelling Kingdom games. If he was put with the wrong master, the balance of power in the abbey hierarchy would be disrupted.
The first prayer bell rang.
Fyn grimaced. He could delay no longer. The gardens master was easy-going, but if Fyn reported for work late he would be insulted.
'I'll leave you here, Joff,' Fyn said. 'Master Wintertide will be back soon.'
He headed for the corridor and the spiral stair.
But before he got there an arm snaked out of the boys' bathing chamber, catching him by the collar of his robe. Jerked off his feet, Fyn was hauled into the bathing chamber, his heels dragging across the damp tiles. Galestorm's face, among others, whirled past him as he was spun around and around, then shoved across the room. The tiles were slick with steam and he fell painfully to his knees, skidding.
The bathing chamber was empty but smelt of soap and small boys. In front of him, Fyn saw a familiar wall mosaic illustrating Halcyon's blessings, stylised grain sheaves entwined with the beasts of the fields. It was reflected in a bathing pool. Steam rose off the water which had been pumped up from the hot springs below.
Fyn's stomach lurched as he came to his feet, turning to face his tormentors. He'd only just returned to the abbey and they were after him already.
Galestorm was with his usual followers, Onetree, Whisperingpine and Beartooth, and this time there was no Byren to come to Fyn's rescue.
'Not so brave, eh, kingson?' Galestorm asked, prowling towards him. 'See, I told you he was a coward. Are you going to beg?'
Fyn did not know what to say. Nothing would satisfy Galestorm.
'Just look at this place.' Galestorm gestured to the bath chamber, then clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 'Filthy little boys. It needs cleaning. You can start in that corner.' He pointed to the far end of the chamber where grime had caught between the tiles. 'Clean it, with your tongue.'
Fyn stared at Galestorm.
'Are you disobeying a direct order, acolyte?'
Fyn swallowed. They weren't going to let him get out of this.
Galestorm stepped towards him. Desperate, Fyn darted forwards, elbowed Galestorm in the ribs, side-stepped Whisperingpine and shouldered past Onetree. He made for the door, only to be caught by Beartooth.
The big monk pulled Fyn's arms up behind his back and dragged him over to Galestorm, who rubbed his bruised ribs thoughtfully. 'You're going to be sorry you did that. But first I have some advice for you. I hear Master Firefox offered you a place?' When Fyn didn't answer, he nodded to Beartooth, who obligingly jerked Fyn's arms up behind his back.
Fyn bit back a cry. 'He did, but I refused.'
'Very wise,' Galestorm agreed. 'And you're going to keep refusing, because Onetree is going to be acolytes master, I'm going to be the history master, Whisperingpine is going to be clerics master, and Beartooth is going to be weapons master. But if you joined any of those branches that wouldn't be possible. So you go right on refusing.'
'I mean to.'
Galestorm smiled as if he didn't believe Fyn.
'Give him something to help him remember,' Galestorm said and walked out. Fyn ducked, trying to protect his vulnerable parts from the rain of blows.
A little while later, dripping wet and moving carefully, Fyn climbed the stairs. He ached all over and, he suspected, he would feel worse tomorrow.
Returning to the acolytes' bedchambers he changed into a dry smock and leggings, then went up to the hothouses. He was walking slowly as he made his way over to the gardens master, who took one look at him and led him to a quiet corner.
'You're late,' Sunseed said.
'I apologise, master.'
Sunseed studied him. 'They were careful not to leave any marks on your face.'
'How did…' Fyn began, then realised he had been tricked. 'I don't know what you mean.'
'Of course. And I'm not going to ask who did this. Take my advice. Stay with your friends and don't be caught alone. Do you want to go down to the healers?'
Fyn shook his head.
'Then follow me. We must check the starkiss buds. The mystics master thinks they will open tonight.'
Fyn's spirits lifted. Master Wintertide had never missed the blooming of the starkiss flowers and the beating had convinced him more then ever that he needed his old master's advice, for it wasn't possible to avoid being caught alone.
Byren tossed and turned, unable to sleep despite having pushed his men these past five days. Their camp, at the Upper Portal just over the border formed by Unistag Pass, was bitterly cold. The fire alternately cooked one side of him, while the other froze. He couldn't shake the feeling that Lence wanted him to fail on this mission and the thought made him sick at heart. If only he had never met the old seer, if only Cobalt hadn't returned to Rolencia to bring his views of foreign policy to Lence's ears. Of course, Lence would rather win power than marry power. Then, like a dog with a bone, Byren's mind would circle around to the other fear that ran under his every waking moment like a river running under the ice, waiting for spring to break free.
What could he do about Cobalt?
He couldn't confront Cobalt. There was a great deal of sympathy for him at court. And Byren had no right to reveal Orrade's secret. The dilemma was really Orrade's not his. It only became his problem if he was implicated. Frustration chewed away at the lining of his stomach. His instinct was to take action.
At last he rolled to his feet, wrapped his fur cloak tighter and went to check on the night watch. With his back to the fire, he closed his eyes for several heartbeats then opened them, sight adjusted for the night. The stars were bright enough to cast shadows now that he was out of the fire's range.
He sucked in a deep breath, but it left him unsatisfied. This pass was not as high as the Snow Bridge between Rolencia and Merofynia, but the air was thin. Even though Byren filled his lungs with each breath, he felt light-headed.
They were lucky, they hadn't run into any leogryfs, or centicores. And he hadn't seen any of the warlord's lookouts, but that didn't mean the lookouts hadn't seen his party. He had made no attempt to hide his arrival. This was an official visit, not a punitive raid. Here he was, at the Upper Portals, first camp over the pass and they still hadn't run into Unistag defenders. Odd.
He heard someone humming under his breath, recognising Garzik. Strange what men did to keep themselves awake. 'So, that's how you plan to warn our attackers of your presence?'
'Byren? Uh, sorry,' Garzik whispered, sounding shamefaced. 'I didn't think.'
'Not thinking can get you killed.' He didn't want to carry Garzik's dead body back to Dovecote estate. Not that the old Lord would let him in the front gate. Ah, Elina… somehow he had to make things right between them. For now he concentrated on the things he could control. 'Silence and vigilance. We are in the territory of a warlord who has not renewed his fealty oath.'
Garzik nodded and, with a touch on his shoulder, Byren moved on to the next man on night watch. Orrade's outline was hard to pick out against the rocks.
Creeping up as silently as possible, Byren whispered, 'No trouble?'
'Heard you coming,' Orrade muttered.
Byren could hear the grin in his friend's voice, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. He could never stay angry with Orrade.
'Couldn't you sleep, Byren?'
'I like doing extra night watches after marching all day.' He lowered his voice. 'Must keep an eye on your brother, Orrie. Garzik's a brave lad but he's got a lot to learn.'
Orrade sighed. 'I know. Were we ever that young?'
Byren laughed softly. He wished Orrade had never confessed how he felt.
Since they'd marched out of Rolenhold, Orrade had said nothing about his confrontation with Cobalt, even though Byren had made an effort to be alone with him on several occasions. Byren didn't know what to do. He couldn't believe Orrade would betray his plans to Cobalt, yet, considering the alternatives, he found it hard to think otherwise.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to broach the subject tangentially. 'It's a surprise to see Illien back, see him as Lord Cobalt.'
He felt Orrade stiffen.
'Do you know what he argued with his father over all those years ago?' Orrade asked.
'No.' Byren was surprised by the question. 'Lence and I were only seven at the time. The grown-ups never told us.'
'I think it would be worth knowing.'
'What are you saying, that Cobalt can't be trusted?' Tell me, Byren willed Orrade to speak, tell me so that I can help you. Though, in truth he did not know how he could help either of them.
'I did not say that. But I think it is odd that Utland Raiders risked the winter seas to attack Port Cobalt precisely when he was there.'
'He explained that. There were spies in Ostron Isle who knew he carried a king's ransom in jewels.'
Orrade let his breath out slowly. 'That sounds believable. But what of his bride? It's rare for raiders to kill women and girls.'
'An unlucky blow, I guess.' Byren didn't want to defend Cobalt, least of all to Orrade. He decided to throw caution to the winds. 'If you were in trouble, you'd tell me, wouldn't you, Orrie?'
'You mean apart from being disinherited and having the possibility of being accused as a Servant of Palos hanging over my head?'
'Eh!' Byren grinned, acknowledging a hit. 'But you're not a Servant of Palos, you're a…' He found he couldn't say it. The memory of Orrade in Cobalt's arms still made his blood boil.
Orrade snorted. 'A lover of men. Even you can't bring yourself to say it. And no one seems to be able to separate the two.'
Byren cleared his throat, aware that his face was flushed. He was grateful for the starlight that leeched colour from everything. 'I don't get it, Orrie. Many's the time you've gone wenching with Lence and I. What makes — '
Orrade turned to him. 'Many's the time you've bedded girls gifted by grateful villages, what made that last girl different?'
'I told you. Elina.'
'What about Elina?'
'I've given my heart and my body goes with it.' As the words fell from Byren's lips, he realised they were true.
Orrade said nothing with great eloquence.
Byren made the connection. Orrade loved him like that? He wanted to argue that Orrade's feelings for him were different, but honesty forced him to ask who was he to say? They had faced death together and lived. He had not shared that with Elina.
While Byren brooded over this, several shooting stars speared across the sky towards the pass. Star-rocks were highly prized by renegade Power-workers.
'What will you do when we get to Unistag Stronghold?' Orrade asked.
He had no idea. It all depended on how he found things. He gave himself a mental shake and checked the wandering stars. 'Almost time for the next watch. I'll go back and wake them.'
He would also check on the sentries on the other side of the camp. The path was narrow here with a big drop on one side. Jagged rocks poked through the powdery snow. The soft squeak of something heavy compressing the snow made him hesitate.
Whumpa.
Something collided with him, but because he'd hesitated he took a glancing blow to the shoulder and not the full impact. The foetid stench of a carnivore filled his nostrils.