The King's Bastard (60 page)

'No!'

Byren caught Garzik's shoulders. 'Think. If we fight we all die. By surrendering, I get captured then you and Orrade can save me.'

'What if they kill you?'

'They could have done that already. They want me alive for some reason and this way you two stay free.'

He felt the fight go out of Garzik.

Byren coughed. Smoke stung his eyes now. 'Look after Orrie.'

For a heartbeat, he wondered if this was a side-effect of the Affinity affecting Orrade, then he dismissed it. He had his own problems.

'Stay out of sight, Garza.' Byren thrust the shutter open and shouted, 'I'm coming out. Hold your archers.'

He brought his head back inside, turning to Garzik. 'Pull your vest up over your mouth, breathe through it.' Feeling around, he found his pack and he slung it over his shoulder. 'Hide. They won't be looking for you.'

'What about the fire?'

'Bluff. They'll put it out -'

'Byren Kingson?' Rejulas shouted.

'I hear you.' He squeezed Garzik's shoulder and, with a heavy heart, opened one barn door a fraction. They were raking the burning brands away from the entrance. Red coals winked on the frozen earth.

'Get his weapons,' Rejulas ordered. 'And put out the fires. We don't want to set off a warning beacon now!'

His men laughed, hastening to obey.

Byren didn't resist as Rejulas's warriors divested him of his weapons, both his knives, his sword, his bow and his arrows. He'd armed himself properly for once and it had done no good.

'Right,' Rejulas said. 'Restrain him.'

They moved efficiently in the pale predawn. His hands were tied behind his back and a pole slid under his arms along his back, and he was lowered by pulley to the beach.

After herding him into the centre of the group, they slung a rope around his neck and handed it to a grizzled campaigner. Then they set off in the chill predawn.

'Where are we going?' Byren asked.

'Dovecote,' a youth near him muttered.

The old campaigner cuffed him, then cuffed Byren for good measure, jerking on the rope.

Head still buzzing, Byren managed to keep skating.

One piece of the puzzle didn't fit. Only Captain Temor and those who had joined him at the war table knew Byren planned to sleep here last night. He knew Cobalt was sitting at the war table advising his father, privy to his secrets. But that didn't explain how Cobalt could get word to Rejulas so fast.

Before long they had moved off Sapphire Lake. Tall, snow-capped pines flashed past him, dark against the gradually lightening sky.

They'd be at Dovecote by late tonight and then his questions would be answered. Byren dreaded what those answers would reveal.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Fyn remained still, trusting to the shadows to hide him. His heart hammered uncomfortably. The dim glow of the abbot's lantern illuminated a halo of light around the masters as they followed the abbot down the corridor. Master Catillum came last, glancing casually into the corridor where he knew Fyn hid.

Fyn swallowed, licking dry lips.

The scuffing of the monks' soft leather slippers ceased, signalling that the abbot and masters had arrived at the secret entrance to the catacombs. Fyn waited. The secret passage lay behind an ordinary stretch of wall decorated with the same carved frieze that enlivened even the simplest abbey vessel.

There were too many masters clustered around the abbot for him to see which key the old man selected from the ones on the chain around his waist. Fyn strained to see which carving the abbot slid the key into, but this was also impossible. With a soft grinding noise the stone slid away to reveal a dark passage. The abbot and masters entered, taking the lantern with them, and the stone slid back into place. But not before Master Catillum left a small wedge of wood in the doorway.

Eyes still blinded by the passing of the lantern light, Fyn stepped out of the cross passage and ran to the secret entrance. A dark sliver was all that remained. He glanced up and down the corridor. Only the faintest of lights came down the stairwell from the floor above. By this feeble illumination, he could see no one.

Slipping his fingers in the narrow slit, he forced the panel wide enough to slide through. Bending down, he scooped up the wedge and tucked it in his pocket. The stone panel slid closed after him, leaving him in total darkness.

A wave of oppression rolled over Fyn, making his heart labour. Usually being below ground did not bother him. In the abbey you could always see reflected sunlight or look out a window. But here, he felt the whole weight of Mount Halcyon pressing down on him.

Nausea roiled in his belly, urging him to retreat. He refused. He had to prove the death of the boys master had been murder and the only way to do that was to retrieve the sacred vessel that held Wintertide's heart.

Fyn visualised the map he'd memorised and stepped into the darkness. After rounding two bends he could just hear the soft shuffle of the monks' shoes on the stone, echoing back to him.

Silent as a winter hare, Fyn scurried after them down the stairs. It grew steadily colder. Strange, he had expected it to be hot in the very heart of Mount Halcyon. After all, the goddess's blessing was heat.

He shivered and turned a bend, then stopped.

A glow came through a tall doorway with smooth stone lintels. The pool of light seemed glaringly bright to Fyn's dark-adjusted eyes. He crept closer, listening intently. He could tell by the echo of the monks' steps that they were walking across a cavern. As yet no one had spoken.

Pressing his cheek to the cold stone, Fyn peered around the entrance. His breath caught in his throat.

Halcyon's Sacred Heart opened before him, a great cavern filled with the glow of many candles... more were lit every moment as the masters performed their task. Each candle sat on the cupped hands of a long-dead master. Each mummified master knelt on a flat-topped stone, his face serene. They seemed to be scattered at random across the floor. Then Fyn noticed that above every master there was a finger of glistening stone extending down from the cavern ceiling.

The masters' skins glistened like glazed pottery. Stone had dripped down from above, encasing the long-dead monks in columns of stone. So this was what meant by the words
embraced by the goddess
.

Abbot Halcyon and the masters had gathered around a flat-topped column, which stood beneath a glistening spike of rock. When the abbot stepped away Fyn recognised Master Wintertide. Bound in fine cloth, Wintertide's body had been placed in the kneeling position, hands folded left on right, palms up in his lap. A newly lit candle flickered in his upturned hands. Fyn searched for and found the sacred jars with his master's internal organs ranged in front of his knees. All he had to do was wait out the ceremony, take the heart jar and return to Master Catillum's private chamber.

'Who brings this worthy master to join the goddess?' a woman asked, her voice echoing across the cavern.

Fyn blinked. For a heartbeat he believed it was the goddess Halcyon herself. Then the woman turned and he recognised the abbess of Sylion.

He bit back a gasp of surprise, for females were not allowed past the courtyard of the sacred pool, yet here she was. How had the abbess slipped into Halcyon's Sacred Heart unseen? There must be another way into the cavern, a passage just as secret as the one the abbot had used. It appeared Sylion and Halcyon had a much closer bond than he had been taught.

Fyn wrestled with this while the abbot and masters chanted Halcyon's psalm of praise and the abbess gave Sylion's formal responses.

Once the ceremony was over, the abbot spoke briefly with the abbess and headed towards Fyn, who stumbled backwards. He found a niche and stood pressed against the stone, hardly daring to breathe.

One by one the masters passed him. This time Master Catillum did not look for him. The abbess did not come this way.

'So, abbot, have you considered our list of possible boys masters?' Hotpool asked, his voice carrying back to Fyn. 'It will have to be someone well versed in the history of our order. The boys must respect the past.'

The abbot sighed. 'Tonight, Master Hotpool. You'll know tonight.'

As soon as their footsteps faded, Fyn resumed his place near the cavern entrance. He waited, listening to the soft tone of the female voices on the cold air as the abbess discussed something with a companion. Their voices faded, then he heard the grate of stone as a passage closed.

Believing the cavern deserted, Fyn stepped into Halcyon's Heart. His nostrils stung in reaction to intense Affinity. The intermittent seep below Mount Halcyon must be releasing power again. Not surprising, since other seeps had risen recently. The masters would have to bring down sorbt stones to absorb the Affinity.

As it was, he had to blink tears from his eyes. Since he meant no harm, he trusted the goddess would not hurt him. Still, his blood roared in his ears as he crossed to Master Wintertide's resting place.

Kneeling reverently, he looked up into his old teacher's face. Wintertide's pale skin had been painted with a clear glaze so that it resembled the finest porcelain. His expression was calm.

'I will miss you, Master Wintertide, more than I can say,' Fyn whispered and bent forwards, bowing from the waist, pressing his forehead to his hands on the floor. His royal emblem rode up, sliding out of the front of his robe to dangle in front of his eyes.

He straightened up, fingering it, feeling the familiar pattern of the embossed foenix. The metal was warm from his skin. The day he put this aside was the day he put aside his claim to his father's throne. He had thought he would be putting it aside to take up his place in the abbey, but now he knew that, after he did this last service for his old master, he would be without allegiance. The emblem must not fall into the wrong hands.

'Master Wintertide, I ask you to watch over this, as you watched over me in the abbey.' Fyn stood and undid the royal emblem's chain. It felt heavy in the palm of his hand. In the candlelight the foenix gleamed. He placed the pendant in the hollow behind his master's hands. The wax would burn down, hiding it. One day, many years in the future, Halcyon's stone would encase it.

'I promise you this, Master Wintertide, I will not rest until your killer has been punished.' He studied the four jars, comparing each one to Master Catillum's sketch. His hand moved even before he consciously recognised the jar that contained Master Wintertide's heart. 'Forgive me, master. This will be returned as soon as possible.'

He tucked the jar inside his belt pouch. All he had to do was take it to Master Catillum.

Feeling lighter, Fyn left the cavern. It was completely dark in the secret passage. He should have taken one of the candles but he recalled the way, counting the steps and making the turns until he came to a dead end, the sealed exit. No light seeped around the hidden door. Fyn's blind fingers brushed the stone wall, seeking the device which Master Catillum had told him would trip the opening.

Twice he searched where it should have been and found nothing.

What if he could not find it?

His mouth went dry with fear. Panic threatened. If he did not find the trigger to open the panel he would starve alone in the dark. The great weight of the mountain pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe.

He struggled to clear his mind.

Think. There had to be a way out.

Then it came to him... If he could not open this door he would return to Halcyon's Heart and try to find the passage the Abbess had used - it had to come out somewhere on Mount Halcyon - then he would double back to the abbey.

Having thought it through, Fyn calmed down and widened his search. As his fingers dipped into a depression in the stone, he realised the mystics master was taller than him. Catillum hadn't taken this into account when describing where to find the catch. The device sank at his touch and the panel slid open.

Blinking in the dim light and relieved beyond words, Fyn stepped into the hall.

Now, to take the jar to Master Catillum. He hurried up the steps, pressing the jar to his chest so it would not be jolted.

As Fyn rounded the corner, relieved he had got away with it, a large hand descended on his shoulder, squeezing painfully.

'What do we have here, Beartooth, a little mouse stealing about in the dark?'

'And what has it been stealing?' Galestorm asked.

Fyn tried to pull away from Beartooth.

'Grab him, Onetree,' Galestorm ordered.

Arms pinned him. Fingers prised at his, forcing them away from the jar. Fyn stopped fighting, fearful the jar would fall and shatter.

Whisperingpine whistled. 'That looks like -'

'A jar from Halcyon's Sacred Heart.' Galestorm's eyes narrowed, then he smiled with malicious glee. 'Fyn Kingson, you have just signed your own death decree!'

'Huh?' Beartooth muttered.

Galestorm held up the jar. The semi-precious stones set on the lid glinted. 'All we have to do is show the abbot this and he'll have to order the king's brat executed for profaning the goddess. Come on.'