'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.'
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!'