So few.
The mystics master bowed. 'At your service, kingsheir.'
'I thought none of the monks had survived. We'd heard -'
'That we were lured into ambush.' Catillum nodded. 'Some of us escaped. We've been hunted across Rolencia. The others will arrive in the next few days. I didn't want to draw attention to your hideout.' He paused. 'There are things you should know.'
'I know the abbey fell. I found out the hard way.' Byren had gone there to call on the warrior monks to help defend Rolenhold, only to find Merofynians held the abbey. He'd barely escaped with his life. 'Are you hungry?'
They grinned.
'Come this way.' How was he going to feed everyone?
Byren left the others in the cook's cave, sent Leif to fetch his father, then walked the mystics master back to Old Man Narrows' cave. Florin strode along beside them, either unaware or deliberately obtuse to the curious glance the mystics master cast her.
They passed the smithy, hammering away.
'You're well set up,' Catillum said, as the noise faded behind them.
'We've been here since Dovecote fell,' Orrade explained.
'Mainly old folks and children...'
'Everyone who can be is out patrolling, hunting for game, or at weapons practice,' Byren said. He gestured into the cave. 'We can be private here.'
Orrade led the way in and took his seat at the empty fire circle, as though he didn't have to worry about revealing his Affinity. Byren sat between him and Catillum, just in case proximity gave Orrade away.
A moment later Old Man Narrows arrived. Byren introduced him to the mystics master and he settled down next to Florin.
Catillum glanced to the cave entrance, as if waiting for someone else.
'What news?' Byren asked.
'Don't you want to wait for Fyn?'
'Fyn lives?'
'He's not with you?'
Byren shook his head.
The mystic let his breath out slowly. 'Fyn lives. Or he did the night we were ambushed. I haven't heard from him since. He kept his head when the abbey was attacked, led the youngsters out of Mount Halcyon, saved their lives and stopped the sorbt stones falling into the hands of the Merofynian Power-workers. You can be proud of him.'
'Fyn...' For a moment Byren could not speak. Then he cleared his throat. 'Where is he?'
'He set off to warn the king, that was before we knew the castle had fallen. I only contacted him the once and a renegade Power-worker severed the connection.' Catillum paused, his dark eyes worried. 'Fyn can't risk contacting me again. His best bet is to keep his head down and stay out of trouble.' The mystics master looked up, summoning a smile. 'He'll come to you when it's safe.'
But Byren was not so sure. What if Fyn went to Cobalt for help? Only Byren and Piro had seen through their cousin. Cobalt had turned Lence and his father against him. And Fyn didn't know what Cobalt had been up to. Their cousin could be very convincing. He might trick Fyn into betraying himself or Byren's whereabouts.
Short of sneaking into the castle and killing Cobalt, there was nothing Byren could do about this. And he had seriously considered assassinating Cobalt, before deciding it was too much of a risk.
Byren poked the ashes of last night's fire. For the time being there was nothing he could do for Fyn or Piro. He had enough troubles of his own looking after an army of loyalists. At least, now he had the mystics master's support, he need not fear Merofynian Power-workers. He did not want to die, as his grandfather and uncle had, in a battlefield tent, killed by unseen Power-workers.
'What news from the valley?' Orrade asked.
'The Merofynians ride across it like lords, taking what they want, searching for you, Byren. They maim all those unfortunate enough to get in their way. It's only a matter of time -'
'I know. I need to move over the Divide, onto Foenix Spar.'
'You haven't heard? The Merofynians have taken over Cedar tradepost and added to the defences, turning it into a fort. They've ordered forts built to block all the spar passes. You won't be able to retreat to Foenix Spar. It may already be too late.'
Orrade cursed softly.
'We can still escape,' Florin spoke up. 'We don't need to take the Cedar tradepost pass. I know a secret pass over the mountain. An old one.'
'There is no secret pass,' Byren said, even as he caught the look Old Man Narrows sent Florin and recalled her mother had been a mountain girl. 'My tutor made me memorise every pass and canal the length and breadth of Rolencia.'
She smiled. 'A king's son would be the last person to know about this pass. It was used to smuggle men and arms over the Divide back when the Foenix warlord was not on good terms with King Rolen's line. It's too steep and narrow for horses, or even donkeys. It takes the better part of two days to walk it.'
Byren grinned. 'What would we do without you, Florin?'
Chapter Seven
Byren stood back from the fire while the monks cooked the food they had brought with them. It would be crowded in Old Man Narrows' cave tonight. Tomorrow he would have to send the mystics master and his monks up the ravine to the higher caves.
He glanced over to Florin, where she was arguing with her brother, insisting he wash in a bowl of warmed water.
'But I'm not dirty,' he protested.
Florin put a finger under his chin and lifted it to inspect his neck. 'Hmm, just as I thought. I could grow potatoes in there!'
Leif grinned and began to scrub. Florin noticed Byren's gaze and rolled her eyes, as if to say
little brothers, what can you do?
With the arrival of Halcyon's warrior monks the camp was in a good mood. Byren had asked Catillum not to mention the forts in the spar passes.
Orrade had wandered up from the honour guard's cave. He stood at Byren's side watching the warrior monks give thanks before they ate. Sensing that Orrade wanted to speak with him, Byren caught his eye and they went outside where Orrade turned to ask, 'When will we go?'
'Soon. I want to give others time to make their way here.'
'You wait for Fyn.' Orrade knew him too well. There was no censure in his voice. 'The monks' arrival has given the camp hope.'
'Pity there's so few of them,' Byren muttered.
'More will come,' Master Catillum said, joining them.
Byren unfolded his arms. 'How many?'
'Thirty trained fighters, and then there's another twenty boys of fourteen and fifteen. They refused to stay in safety with the abbess of Sylion.'
'Naturally.' Byren smiled. He did not look Orrade's way. His friend would be thinking of his younger brother. At fourteen, Garzik had followed them back to Rolenhold, only to become caught up in Palatyne's bid to take Rolencia. Byren had sent him, along with a dozen youths from Dovecote Estate, to light the warning beacon. That was the last they saw of him.
'Untrained boys, playing at war,' Orrade whispered, disgusted.
'Our acolytes may be unblooded, but they're trained in the use of weapons,' Master Catillum said.
There was nothing Byren could do about Garzik. He sighed, thinking of Piro and Fyn. Two more people he could not help.
The mystics master cleared his throat. 'According to Seela, Piro is guarded by Lord Dunstany's wards. Even if she had an Affinity stone and natural Affinity, I couldn't reach her. Fyn wears Halcyon's Fate. I could try to contact him. But I -'
'Try,' Byren said. If he knew Fyn's whereabouts, he'd know whether it was worthwhile delaying for him.
'There is the matter of the Merofynian Power-workers,' Catillum warned. 'It's dangerous.'
Byren waited, grimly. He knew his request would endanger the mystic, but felt no regrets. He would endanger many more people before this was done.
'I will need a quiet spot,' Catillum said at last.
Byren beckoned Florin, who had followed the mystics master out and been listening unashamedly. 'Is there somewhere private?'
She nodded and led them past the others, deeper into the cave by the light of a single smoking lantern until they came to a large cavern. There was a black gaping hole in the centre.
'Listen.' Florin picked up a pebble and dropped it into the hole. They waited, and waited. Finally they heard the faintest of plinks as it hit the bottom.
'And you must see this.' Florin lifted the lantern to the back wall. Paintings of tall foenixes loomed above them. Across the bottom were little people, men, women and children, all lined up as if they were dancing. But it was the foenixes that dominated the chamber.
Awed, Byren lifted his hand.
Florin caught his arm. 'Nan said not to touch. These are old beyond measure. We must honour the people of the past.'
'Who were they?'
'Nan called them the Foenix Faithful. We don't know what they called themselves.'
'Do you know, mystics master?' Byren asked. He noticed the mystic's expression. 'What's wrong?'
'It's an intermittent Affinity seep.' Catillum's nose wrinkled with distaste. 'I can sense the old residue.'
Byren was relieved. He sensed nothing, and he'd feared his brush with the ulfrs in the seep had made him receptive to Affinity.
'Have you heard of the Foenix Faithful, Master Catillum?' Florin asked.
The mystic shook his head. 'At a guess they predate the ruins on Sapphire Lake and we don't know who made
them
. Some of life's mysteries are too deep even for a mystic.'
Orrade snorted softly.
The mystics master cast him a swift look but did not pursue it. Byren was not sure what was driving Orrade, but he had no time to find out.
'Let's get started, then,' Byren said, turning to the master. 'Do you want us to leave you?'
'You can stay. As long as you are quiet.'
'I'll wait out here.' Orrade went back to the cavern entrance and Byren realised Orrade was uneasy with the use of Affinity. Not because he feared it, but because he had it.
When Byren had begged the old seer to save Orrade's life, she'd said there would be a price and Byren had rashly agreed to anything. But Orrade was the one who had to pay the price and his friend was not prepared to accept banishment or devote himself to the abbey, not when he was lord of Dovecote and his people needed him.
'Kneel here with me, Byren,' Catillum said. 'As Fyn's kin, you can help me focus on him. Fyn is not experienced with the use of the Fate, but we may still be able to share information before his concentration breaks.'
Hands on his knees, back straight, the mystics master gathered his Affinity and Byren could feel him doing it, which only served to confirm his suspicion. He had been tainted by the Affinity seep after all. Maybe not enough to sense Affinity residue, but enough to sense the mystic at work when they were side by side.
Master Catillum stared fixedly across the chamber at the far wall with its ancient paintings. By the flickering light of the lantern they seemed to be moving in the shadows. Byren's hand went to the foenix spurs he wore around his neck and he felt a pang of guilt at having killed the mother foenix when she had only been trying to protect her nest.
Once these mountains had been filled with the beautiful but deadly birds. Now, few were left, and his father had tried to preserve them.
What had the Foenix Faithful done in this cavern with its deep pit? In his mind's eye Byren saw leaping flames. Men and women dressed in foenix crests confronted a wretch who fell backwards into the pit, his piercing scream going on and on, before it cut out suddenly.
Catillum cursed then lurched like someone waking from a bad dream. He shook himself and Byren jerked, his heart thumping. Byren glanced over his shoulder to Florin and Orrade at the cavern entrance, seeing them only as dark shapes. Now he wished he was with them and not close enough to the mystics master to be swept along in his Affinity-induced visions. The mystic was supposed to be contacting Fyn, anyway, not recalling the past.
'I'm sorry, kingsheir. This place carries powerful memories,' Catillum whispered. He looked a little grey in the lamp light. 'Let's try again. Concentrate on your brother.'
So Byren closed his eyes and thought of Fyn, as he had seen him at the Proving, ready to battle for his place in Halcyon Abbey.
Fyn swayed in his hammock, listening to one of the sea-hounds sing a mournful song about love gone wrong. For ruthless pirate-hunters they were surprisingly fond of the old romances, tales of adventure and love from before the unifying of the Twin Isles under Kings Merofyn and Rolen.
Fyn yawned and rubbed his face, feeling the calluses he'd developed splicing ropes under Jakulos's watchful eyes. At least he was not a dead loss now, and they were on course for Ostron Isle. Why hadn't he agreed to serve on the
Wyvern's Whelp
, and then jumped ship so he was free to barter a berth back to Rolencia?
The Fate rested on his chest, much as the royal sigil had. He was glad he'd hidden the emblem far below the abbey in Halcyon's Sacred Heart.
The Fate felt heavy and warm. Fyn's fingers settled around it and the singer's voice faded. He swayed in the hammock... no... he was floating above it, rising above the ship, which lay as a shadow on the pewter sea.
This feeling of disembodiment did not surprise him. It had happened once before, back in Rolencia when he had seen Byren. Now his thoughts turned to Byren.
He knew he should he afraid of the Fate's power. Much could go wrong, but the sea was so beautiful that, for the moment, he felt only wonder. It stretched out below him, glistening silver in the starlight. So much empty sea.
Did physical distance matter when he was in this incorporeal state? He vaguely knew they were on an easterly bearing, which meant Merofynia lay due west and Rolencia lay beyond that. Dare he try to reach out to Byren? What if he couldn't find his way back to his body?
While he agonised over this, he spotted another ship - far across the sea - and arrowed over to it, faster than any sea-eagle. This was a merchant ship, Ostronite by the flag, so the sea-hounds were honour-bound to protect it. One of them accompanied it.
Uninterested in the ship, Fyn looked further afield. His home lay so far away. Dare he try to reach Byren?
Fear made his stomach lurch and he dropped towards the Ostronite ship. Before he could save himself, he felt a force surge out of the ship towards him and recognised the essence of the dark-eyed noble Power-worker who had captured him back in Rolencia.
Instinctively, he pulled back. Back across the silver waves, back to the
Wyvern's Whelp
below decks with its soft singing. Plunging back into his apparently sleeping body, he jerked awake, heart racing.
With a curse he let the Fate go and licked his burned palm, blowing on it to ease the stinging. When would he learn to stop fiddling with things he did not understand?
Byren watched sweat bead on the mystic master's face, noting that his breath had slowed until he seemed to have stopped breathing all together. Byren had not been born with Affinity like Fyn, but he had become attuned to it and he could feel a building oppression now. Something was wrong.
'Orrie?'
His friend did not hesitate, hurrying to kneel at his side.
Byren snapped his fingers in front of the master's blank eyes. Nothing. Not even a blink. He remained rigid, hands clasped on his knees.
'Maybe a renegade Power-worker's got him.' Florin voiced the fear they all shared as she came closer.
Byren looked to his friend. 'Can you help him, Orrie?'
'If a renegade Power-worker does have him and I touch him, it'll claim me too.'
Florin said nothing. She already knew about Orrade's Affinity. He'd revealed his vision of Byren bleeding in the seep so she could guide them there.
Byren understood Orrade's hesitation. Even he, with just an awareness of Affinity, struggled against the oppressive, unseen force.
'Byren?' Florin turned to him.
'Ever since I lay in the seep...' He did not go on, ending with a shrug. The flickering lamplight made their eyes glisten. He looked for condemnation but did not find it in Florin's gaze.
'I guess that leaves me,' she muttered, kneeling in front of the mystic master. 'Hey?' She prodded his chest. 'Hey, master monk, wake up.'
Nothing.
Florin bit her lip. 'I don't think I can reach him.'
Head thumping with tension, Byren did the only thing he could think of. He jabbed the master's hand with his dagger, not holding back. Blood flowed from the broken skin.
Luckily, pain did the trick.
With a shuddering breath, Catillum collapsed. Byren caught him.
'Remind me not to ask for your help,' Orrade muttered.
'It worked, didn't it?' Florin countered, pulling a kerchief from her pocket and wrapping it around the mystic's bleeding hand.
'I was desperate,' Byren admitted.
'And desperate measures were called for,' Master Catillum whispered, his voice cracking. He tried to sit up and failed. Byren helped him. With a shaking hand, Catillum massaged the bridge of his nose.
'What happened?' Byren asked. 'Did you reach Fyn?'
The mystic's gaze strayed uneasily to the painted wall. 'No. Before I could, an enemy found me. A powerful renegade, with the taint of Mulcibar...' He shuddered and swallowed. 'He was searching for you, Byren. I held him off, but I couldn't get away. If you hadn't...' He lifted his injured hand. Blood had seeped through Florin's makeshift bandage.
'I didn't know what else to do,' Byren admitted.
'Brutal but effective. You saved me. Saved us all.'
There was silence for a few heartbeats as they digested this.
'Then you'd better not try to contact Fyn again,' Byren said.
'I couldn't right now. Not for several days. I'm drained.' The mystics master grimaced as he pressed his injured hand to his chest. 'Fyn has no defences. I can only pray he won't try to use the Fate.'