Byren woke to screaming horses. Forgetting where he was, he rolled to his feet, driving his head and shoulders through the roof of their snow-cave. It collapsed on the others. Snow muffled their confused cries and the brazier hissed like a trapped beast.
He leapt over Piro's snow-shrouded form, ploughing towards the horses. It was a cloudy night and the stars were hidden, but he knew the layout around their camp. A horse shrilled, then went ominously quiet. The others squealed, their hooves drumming on the ground as they tore at their pickets. He could imagine the scene from the sounds. As for the predator, he guessed it was a big one or a pack desperate and bold enough to attack their camp.
Manticores? He dreaded finding out.
He shouldn't charge in alone.
Behind him he could hear Orrade organising Garzik and Piro to protect each other. A glow of flames illuminated the night as Orrade lit torches.
'What is it?' Orrade asked, coming up behind Byren and handing him a burning brand.
'Watch my back.' Byren forged through the branches they'd stacked to form a windbreak for the horses. None of their mounts remained, only the churned snow where they had reared and fought for their lives.
Byren sniffed the air, recognising the scent. 'God-touched beasts.'
'Manticores,' Orrade confirmed.
Byren's stomach clenched. Had Piro been right? Had he misheard Lence's warning and led them into trouble?
He scouted the clearing, studying the tracks in the snow, confirming that it was a pride of manticores. 'One large male. Two females and at least five half-grown cubs from last spring.' A large pride. He indicated blood-smeared trails in the compressed snow. 'This is where they dragged the unlucky horse off. The wind has dropped. Our mounts must have caught their scent and been able to avoid their first strike.' Manticores preferred not to expend too much energy hunting. Ideally, they liked to creep up on their prey, paralyse it with the poison barb on the end of their chitinous tails then drag the body somewhere to devour it in safety.
'Let's get back. We've a long walk ahead of us tomorrow,' Orrade said.
Byren nodded. The other three horses would be running through the forest, safe enough since the manticores would glut themselves on their prey. But one kill between three adults and five juveniles was not enough to sustain the pride.
'They'll come back for us,' Byren whispered.
'Tomorrow night,' Orrade agreed.
'Are you all right?' Piro called as she ran up to join them. 'What happened?'
'Fine,' Byren told her, seeing Garzik in the clearing behind her. The boy lifted his hands helplessly as if to say, I couldn't stop her. 'Orrie told you to stay with Garzik, Piro. Next time do what you're told. We've lost the horses. Manticores — '
'The pride Lence warned us about?'
He shrugged. There were plenty of them up on the Divide, more on the other side on the spars than on Rolencia's borders. It was rare for them to come down this far into the valley. 'They must have woken early this spring. I wonder if there's another new seep. That could've disturbed their winter sleep. At any rate, they're here and they're hungry.'
Byren waited, but no one accused him of nearly killing them by mistaking Lence's warning. For once Piro held her tongue. The thing was, he hadn't misremembered it. Had he?
'What'll we do?' Garzik asked, eyes searching the circling trunks as if expecting further trouble.
'Sleep up a tree for tonight — '
'They can climb,' Garzik insisted.
'True, but they'll be gorging themselves on that poor horse.'
'And tomorrow?' Garzik asked.
Byren glanced to Orrade.
'We'll need shelter,' his cousin muttered. 'They'll pick up our tracks and follow us. If we climb a tree we'll be trapped. They could out-wait us, pick us off one by one — '
'Eh, it's not that bad,' Byren interrupted, seeing Piro's pinched face. She turned to him hopefully. 'If we leave the horse trail and march across country to Lake Sapphire — '
'But we don't have skates,' Garzik pointed out.
'They do at Narrowneck tradepost.'
'Good idea,' Garzik agreed. 'We'll be safe there and we can borrow skates.'
'See, Piro, there's nothing to worry about.' Byren squeezed her cold little hands. 'Now, gather your things and we'll sleep up a tree just to be sure.'
She nodded. Trusting him, she began sifting through their collapsed snow-cave to find her belongings and repack her travelling kit. Orrade caught Byren's eye, his expression grim. It was not as cut-and-dried and Byren made out. It was debatable whether they'd make it as far as the tradepost before the manticores attacked.
'We'll be defenceless, easy prey while we're walking.' Garzik frowned. 'If only I'd brought my hunting bow.'
Byren forced a hearty laugh. 'Planning on killing yourself a manticore, Garza? You trying to outdo me?'
The boy grinned and relaxed, but Orrade held Byren's eye. They both knew the dangers.
'Sylion's curse,' Byren muttered, 'I should have listened to Piro.'
'Why should you have listened to me?' Piro asked as she rejoined them.
'You said Lence warned — '
'A slip of the tongue. That's all it was. Horse trail, canal.' She shrugged this aside. 'What do I do with my pack?'
'Garza can climb up, toss a rope down and haul it up,' Orrade told her.
Had it been a simple slip of the tongue on Lence's part? Byren cleared his throat. 'Piro, are you sure Lence said he and Cobalt saw the manticore spoor on the horse trail?'
She frowned, thinking back. 'Cobalt didn't mention it. He arrived at Dovecote with Lence but he went on ahead to Rolenhold to let them know about Lence staying at Dovecote. When I was about to leave, Lence told me to take the canal.'
And Byren was certain Lence had told him to take the horse trail. He felt sick at heart.
'What?' Piro asked, reading his expression.
But he shook his head and cupped his hands. 'Step up. Climb as high as you can.'
For a moment it looked as if she would argue with him, then she sprang into the branches, climbing like a monkey, dislodging snow on his upturned face.
'Here, watch it!' he called.
She giggled, sounding so young and unaware of the danger that he vowed he would get her safely back to Rolenton, even if he had to kill the whole the manticore pride to do it.
But then what would he do? Sit at Rolenhold waiting for Lence to find another way to kill him? His whole body revolted at the thought. He could not accept that Lence had sent him into the path of danger. Lence didn't need to kill him. All he had to do was accuse him of being a Servant of Palos.
'Do you mean to stand there all night?' Orrade called down. Byren hadn't even noticed him climb the trunk.
'What? Here, catch.' He tossed his pack up to Orrade and climbed up, settling in the crook of the tree on a horizontal branch, three body lengths from the ground. This tree had branches like the spokes of a wheel. His was twice as thick as his waist and Orrade settled onto the corresponding branch beside him.
'Tie yourself in, Piro. You don't want to fall,' Byren called up to her, suiting his actions to his words.
'I'm not afraid of heights.'
'Tie yourself in anyway,' Orrade told her. 'You too, Garza.'
'I'm not a child!' Garzik insisted from a body length above them.
Byren could not summon up a smile, as his mind circled back. Even if Lence had deliberately sent him on the dangerous road… 'What were the chances of the pride finding us?'
He didn't realise he'd spoken aloud until Orrade answered.
'They're hungry. We crossed their path…'
'But there was a chance we'd miss — '
'I did not mention it before…' Orrade whispered reluctantly. 'But I dreamt of a manticore with Cobalt's head.'
Was it a dream or a vision? Byren didn't want to ask and it was clear Orrade didn't want to make the distinction.
'Even if Lence sent Cobalt on ahead,' Orrade continued, 'how could Cobalt ensure the manticores would attack us?'
'He couldn't,' Byren decided. Clearly, Orrade had come to the same conclusion as him — Lence's misdirection had been deliberate.
Orrade leant closer to be sure they could not be overheard. 'At best someone could have lured the pack down into the valley with cuts of meat and tried to keep them in the vicinity of this camp. But that would be incredibly dangerous and — '
'And it would only work if Lence was sure we were going to use the horse trail back to Rolenton,' Byren admitted, forced to consider the possibility. 'I know Cobalt's cunning, but I don't see how he could have lured the manticores to this camp site. Their attack was just bad luck.'
'Can you be sure?' Orrade asked softly. 'Lence believed Piro was going back to Rolenton with Garza so he told her to take the canal. Then he deliberately directed you towards the horse trail. I think that — '
'If he planned to kill me he was taking a gamble on the manticores doing the job for him,' Byren snapped.
'True. But his plan had one advantage. No blame would ever find its way back to him.'
'Lence is not that devious.'
'Cobalt is.'
'We're arguing in circles,' Byren muttered, frustrated. 'Even Cobalt could not lure a whole pride of manticores to this camp site. Horse trail… canal… who says it wasn't a slip of the tongue on Lence's part? I can't believe my own twin would send me into danger. Back at midwinter he saved my life!'
Orrade said nothing.
The old seer's words replayed in Byren's head. She had been right so far, yet he had done everything he could to prove her wrong. He was not going to let things get to the stage where he had to kill Lence to save his own life. 'Before Cobalt — '
'Lence has always wanted Elina — '
'Yes, but before Illien came back, he was resigned to marrying the Merofynian kingsdaughter.' Byren debated telling Orrade about Lence's claim that the Merofynian throne should have been his. How many kingdoms did one man need? 'If I could just get rid of Cobalt — '
'What are you suggesting?' Orrade asked. 'Do you mean to take insult at something and force a duel on him?'
'No.' Though that wasn't a bad idea. 'I'm thinking of suggesting that he become Rolencia's ambassador to Ostron Isle.'
'But Rolencia already has an ambassador on Ostron Isle.'
'He's one of father's old honour guard. I think he's become a bit of a recluse. He didn't even tell us that Cobalt was marrying into the elector's family. Father could invite him back for Lence's wedding and Cobalt could be sent in his place.' Then Orrade would not get a chance to live where he would be accepted, but it would get rid of Cobalt. 'He knows the elector. He would be ideal.' If he actually had Rolencia's best interests at heart, that is. Byren suspected that Cobalt only had one person's best interests at heart and it wasn't Lence's. His twin was in for a nasty shock.
And he wasn't the only one. Back at midwinter his father had been certain Lence's betrothal was for the best. More recently, the king had begun to doubt his own judgement. What clever insinuations was Cobalt planting to undermine the king's confidence?
As for his mother, why couldn't she see what Cobalt was? She was usually such a good judge of character, almost as if she could look into a person's heart. Maybe, if he went to her before Lence returned home, told her of Lence's accusation and…
'Byren?' Orrade whispered. 'We can check around the camp site tomorrow, see if there are signs of one or more men, who might have lured the pride down here.'
'Manticores are intelligent god-touched beasts with wills of their own.'
'I know. But if Piro can control the unistag, then someone with Affinity could — '
'Are you suggesting Cobalt has Affinity?' Byren's heart rate picked up. That would explain much.
He heard Orrade shrug. 'We don't know why Cobalt fought with his father all those years ago or why he left Rolencia.'
Byren smiled. 'I could ask the castle's Affinity warders to test Cobalt.'
If he had Affinity he'd have to join the abbey or leave Rolencia. A load lifted from Byren. He would get rid of Illien of Cobalt, then warn his mother before Lence accused him. She would help handle his father.
Relieved, Byren tried to get more comfortable on the tree's broad branch. He was in for a long night.
Piro did her best to keep up, but her legs were not as long as those of the men, and the snowdrifts were deep. Every step became an effort, making her breath burn in her chest. Plus she hadn't had much sleep last night. Byren's casual question about Cobalt and Lence had made her wonder if Cobalt had gone on ahead to lead the manticores to their camp. She'd come to the conclusion that only someone with Affinity could have lured the pride into the camp's vicinity and even then it would be a dangerous thing to attempt.
That time she'd touched Cobalt, she had thought he felt no emotion. What if he was walled? What if her mother was right and Affinity ran in their blood through King Byren the Fourth?
She would tell her mother and the queen would make the Affinity warders test Cobalt, and then he would have to leave and everything would be right again.
Or would it?
She had not been mistaken. Lence had tried to send her home by the safe road. Either he had meant to warn Byren and he'd named the wrong trail or…
Before this she would have been absolutely certain that Lence would never send Byren into the path of a manticore pride.
Now, Lence believed Byren was a Servant of Palos. What was wrong with him? She felt heartsick every time she returned to worry over the point, painful as a loose tooth. And she'd had plenty of time to think as they walked.
They ate without stopping, pausing for no more than a few minutes if one of them had to answer the call of nature. While waiting for Garzik, she surreptitiously leant against a tree trunk, pushing her pack up so that its weight didn't drag on her aching body. Byren noticed and, without a word, he took her pack off her back, shouldering it along with his. She sent him a grateful look. Garzik returned and they continued.
Today they went in single file, Orrade leading, then Piro, then Garzik and lastly Byren in the most dangerous position. It was easier without the pack, she found her second wind. But it was barely mid-morning and they had far to go.
Fyn debated if he should leave the abbey now, before spring cusp. It was hard living alongside his friends, listening to them boast and tease each other about becoming monks, knowing that he would desert them soon and they would not understand why. For many of them it would be confirmation of his cowardice. He was tempted to get it over with and leave now. His travelling kit was packed, ready to go. All he had to do was slip into the abbey's kitchen and take some food. But it was still a couple of weeks until spring cusp.
Fyn shivered as a chill ran over his skin. His stomach churned. He swayed and reached for a seedling tray to steady himself.
'Fyn?' Master Sunseed asked softly. 'Is something wrong?'
'Nothing.' He made himself continue potting up the delicate seedlings. 'Like this?'
The gardens master nodded. Today all acolytes helped in the gardens. If Rolencia was to harvest two crops before next winter, the abbey had to get the hothouse seedlings started early and distributed to the farmers.
All morning Fyn had been feeling ill. But then, he had been feeling sick at heart for days now. Feldspar would never forgive him for leaving. He was tempted to reveal his plan and ask his friend to come along. Lonepine would have agreed instantly, but Feldspar loved the abbey and everything it stood for.
Fyn's vision swam and this time he almost dropped the sprout.
Through the ringing in his ears he heard the abbey's bells toll out the death dirge. There were over seven hundred monks, acolytes and young boys in the abbey so the chance that the dead person was a friend of his was slim. Yet Fyn's throat ached with loss and his eyes prickled with a presentiment of tears.
Had something happened to Feldspar?
Alarmed, he met Master Sunseed's eyes. Around him the others had ceased work and were looking at the master, with varying degrees of concern and curiosity.
'Fyn, go find out who the goddess has reclaimed,' Sunseed ordered.
Fyn nodded. He wiped his hands once on his apron, fumbling as he untied it. As soon as he was out the door, he ran down the spiral stair, only to meet the history master coming up. Fyn stepped aside to let Hotpool pass, but the master paused.
His eyes held Fyn's, glistening with something Fyn could not interpret.
'My sympathy, Fyn Kingson,' Master Hotpool said.
His friend was dead? Fyn froze. He and Feldspar should have run when they had the chance.
'I believe you were close to the boys master.'
'M-Master Wintertide?'
'Oh, hadn't you heard?' Hotpool pretended surprise. 'Wintertide was found dead at his desk. The healers say his heart gave out.'
Fyn's mouth went dry. He didn't believe it.
'Don't put your faith in the mystics master, Fyn.' Hotpool leant closer. 'Catillum's supporters are not going to be around when he needs them. You would be much better to look elsewhere for a mentor. I could be very good for you.'
Fyn looked down to hide the anger that swelled up in his throat. He could just imagine what Hotpool meant, and he would be expected to spy on Master Catillum. 'I want nothing from you.'
'Do not be so quick to spurn — '
Fyn tried to push past him.
The master caught his arm.
'Let me go.'
Hotpool's lips pulled back from his teeth. 'You might be a kingson but that does not make you better than us!'
'No, it's what's inside a man that makes him better. And Master Wintertide was twice the man you are, or will ever be. He deserves his place in Halcyon's Heart.'
'And I don't?' Hotpool bristled.
Fyn instantly regretted his outburst. 'I'm sorry, master. I did not mean — '
'You meant exactly what you said.' Hotpool's eyes narrowed, then he smiled cruelly. 'I'll see you regret this when Firefox is abbot!'
Master Hotpool turned, marching up the steps towards the hothouse gardens.
Fyn's heart raced and he felt nauseous. While bending double to catch his breath he heard the history master's voice echo down the stairwell. He was announcing that the boys master was dead, and all work was to cease in his honour. By custom the whole abbey would pray and meditate while the dead master's body was prepared to take its rightful place in Halcyon's Heart.
He desperately wanted to say a private goodbye to his old master so he ran down the stairs, heading for Wintertide's chamber. But, when he entered, he found the bunk empty. For a moment he thought Wintertide's body had been stolen. Then he remembered… Hotpool said the healers had declared it was a heart attack so they must have collected his body and done their examination already.
Stupid. He wasn't thinking clearly.
Above his own hurried breathing, Fyn heard a soft sniffling. He knelt to peer into the shadows under the bunk. Master Wintertide's servant was hiding there, weeping.
'G-go away!' the boy sobbed.
Fyn smiled despite his exasperation. 'You're being silly. Come out.'
'No.'
'You can't stay there all day.'
The six-year-old wiped his nose on his sleeve. 'Can, if I want to.'
'I was Master Wintertide's servant, once,' Fyn said.
'Really?' The boy wriggled closer to get a better look at Fyn. 'That must have been a long time ago.'
'Ten years,' Fyn agreed. 'When I was scared and all alone, he was kind to me.'
'He was kind to me, too. And they just took him away.' The boy gulped back a sob. 'Healer Springmelt didn't even let me say goodbye.'
Fyn knew how that felt. Springmelt? When Fyn was Master Wintertide's serving boy, Springmelt was one of the acolytes who'd tried to bribe him. Now the healer spied for the history master. That explained how Hotpool knew the manner of Wintertide's death. Wait a moment… 'When did you say they took his body?'
'Just now. Didn't you see them in the hall?'
Fyn's head spun. If they had only just taken the master away, the healers would not have had time to examine him and determine the cause of death. How had Hotpool known?
Catillum's words came back to him. Poison is the preferred method to remove rivals. The only way for Hotpool to know what had killed Wintertide was for him to have killed him with a poison that mimicked a heart attack.
When Galestorm had said the old must make way for the young, Fyn had not thought he meant the old were to be murdered. Fyn sprang to his feet, heading for the door.
'Where are you going?' The boy scrambled out and ran after him. He tugged on Fyn's arm.
Looking down into that tear-streaked face, pity stirred Fyn. 'Go to the cook and see if he has any hot soup left.'
'Hot soup won't bring back the master.'
'No. But going hungry won't bring him back, either.'
The boy smiled slowly. 'That sounds like something Master Wintertide would say.' He slipped his hand into Fyn's. 'I'm ready.'
But Fyn wasn't. There were dangers out there that he hadn't foreseen. 'You go. I want to stay here for a bit.'
The boy nodded wisely and went to leave, then turned back. 'I'm Lenny, named after the kingsheir, Lence.'
Fyn smiled. 'Go get something to eat, Lenny.'
'I will.'
Strangely cheered by this conversation, Fyn leant his forehead against the dressed stone. It was cold and helped him think. Springmelt was Master Hotpool's tool. A healer could kill as well as heal. Fyn's eyes burned with angry tears. He could not bear to think of his old master suffering. But there was no time for grief, or anger.
The faction headed by Master Firefox wanted to undermine the abbot so they had removed his most respected supporter. Where did that leave Fyn?
He must tell the mystics master. He wouldn't even have to skim Springmelt's mind. Murder would be easy enough to prove. Poison had to leave a trace in the victim's body. All Fyn had to do was tell Master Catillum, who would tell the abbot, who would order the healers to test for poison… the healing master was loyal to the abbot. At least Fyn thought that he was.
A weight lifted from Fyn. Wintertide's body would prove how he died. This time the murderers would be punished and Lonepine's spirit would be satisfied.
But Springmelt had removed the body. What if they planned to get rid of it? Without the body, he could not prove Wintertide had been poisoned.
Quick as a thought, Fyn ran along the hall and up the steps, taking the shortest route to the healing wing. He almost ran into Feldspar on the stair.
'You've heard about Master Wintertide?' Feldspar asked, then read the answer in his face. 'Oh Fyn, I'm so sorry.'
Fyn only nodded. He found Feldspar's honest sympathy hard to bear and had to clear his throat before he could speak. 'I'm going to the preserving chamber.'
'You'll never get in. The healers won't even let the mystics see how they prepare a body for Halcyon's Heart.'
'I just want to be sure Master Wintertide's body has been delivered,' Fyn explained. Once the master's body was with the healers, Springmelt wouldn't be able to hide anything without someone knowing.
He went up two floors to the healers' chambers, meaning to slip inside and ask someone if it was too late to say good-bye to Master Wintertide's body. If it was, he would be safely in the sacred preservation chamber. But Springmelt must have been watching for him and was blocking the entrance.
'Where's the healers master?' Fyn asked.
'He is too busy to see an acolyte, even if the acolyte is Fyn Kingson.' Springmelt said, making 'Kingson' an insult.
'Has Master Wintertide's body been brought in for preservation?'
'Of course,' Springmelt snapped. Fyn glanced past him, trying to see if this was true. Springmelt moved to obscure his view. 'But you can't go in. Even I'm not allowed into the sacred preserving chamber.'
That was good news. Master Wintertide's body would be preserved before it was placed in Halcyon's Sacred Heart with the other dead masters.
Springmelt smirked. 'If you want to do something useful, pray Halcyon finds a place for Wintertide in her eternal garden.'
'I will.'
But Fyn planned to do something much more useful. He went straight to Master Catillum's private chamber, only to learn that he was in a meeting with all the masters. Fyn knew they would have to select a new boys master, but did they have to do it so soon? Who would they recommend to the abbot? He imagined all the masters sitting around a table putting forwards candidates from the ranks of Wintertide's assistants. The balance of power depended on who became boys master. He shivered, knees weak.
Sinking onto the step of Catillum's chamber, Fyn rested his forehead in his hands. The bell hadn't even rung for mid-morning prayers and he was already exhausted.
What should he do? He was only one acolyte, a soft-hearted coward who hated to see anyone hurt. He should leave the abbey now. Right now. It would be so easy to go down to the kitchens, steal some food then and away…
But he could not forget Wintertide's kindness. His old master deserved better. Lonepine deserved better.
'Fyn, what are you doing on my door step?' Master Catillum asked.
He stood up, his decision made. 'I have something to tell you, something that can't be said out here.'
For a moment he thought the crippled master would send him away, then he sighed. 'I suppose I had better hear it.'
Safely inside, Fyn unburdened himself to Catillum. '…so Hotpool could only have known that Wintertide died of a heart attack if he administered the poison which caused it. Springmelt gave him the poison. I'm sure of it. All the abbot has to do is insist the healers master test Master Wintertide's body. Then you can offer to skim the minds of those who saw Wintertide in the last day and — '
Master Catillum shook his head reluctantly.
'What? Why not?'
'The masters are walled. I could not break their walls without breaking their minds.'
'Springmelt — '
'Is their one weakness. But if it looks like we are about to move on them, Springmelt will have an accident. And besides, there is another flaw in your plan to expose the poisoners.'
'And what is it?'
'The healers master supports Firefox. If we ask him to do the tests he won't find poison.'
'But… but we can't let them get away with Master Wintertide's murder!'
'No, we can't.' Catillum straightened his shoulders. 'I had hoped it would not come to this.' He saw Fyn did not understand. 'I can test for poison. But first I'll have my most trusted assistants kidnap Springmelt until we need him. If I can prove it was poison and that they stooped to poisoning a master, I'll discredit Firefox before all the other masters. Some will change sides, weakening him. But I'll need your help to prove it was poison.'
'Anything.'
'Be careful what you promise.' He smiled sadly. 'It will take three days to prepare the body. They must do it correctly or that would raise suspicion. I must test Master Wintertide's heart. We won't be able to go near him until he is safely in Halcyon's care in her Sacred Heart…' His black eyes held Fyn. 'Only the abbot has the key. When we all go down there to commend Wintertide's soul into the goddess's care, I'll leave something wedged in the doorway so you can follow us. '
'But it is forbidden for anyone except masters to enter.' Fyn came to his feet. 'If I am caught, I'll face death.'
Catillum nodded. 'And I can't save you. I can only move against Firefox once I have proof.'
Fyn sank onto a stool.
'If you don't wish to do this, I'll understand.'
'No.' Fyn looked up, meeting the master's eyes. 'I'll do it.'
'Good. I can draw you a plan of the passages. You have three days to memorise it.'
Three days to regret he had volunteered for this. Three days to wish he'd run away before Wintertide's death.