So they were only a day apart. If Byren had run into a Merofynian Power-worker, and Fyn could not imagine how his brother had bested the Power-worker, Byren had to be headed back to Rolenhold to warn their father.
If Fyn set out tomorrow he would be two days behind Byren, with no chance of catching up. He had to reach the castle to report the violation of the abbey and the destruction of the warrior monks. That would be a blow to his father's battle plans.
'Master monk?' Dinni whispered.
'I'm no master, not even a monk, only an acolyte,' Fyn told her. 'Come on.'
He led her down the slope back to Feldspar and the others. Their eyes widened as he approached.
'Beware, Fyn,' Feldspar called. 'I smell Affinity on her from here.'
'It's safe,' Fyn assured them. 'The Affinity's coming off the calandrius. My brother sent her.'
'Calandrius?' Feldspar approached to take a look at the bird. The rest fell into step beside Fyn, giving the girl a wide berth. Fyn blinked a snowflake from his right eye as he looked up at the wary heads on the gate tower. 'This is Dinni, an escaped Affinity-slave who wants to claim sanctuary at Sylion Abbey. She brings a prized calandrius with her as a gift to the abbey. Open up.'
In a moment the gate was winched open. Fyn watched, thinking that the village's defences would hold off the occasional brigand or small raiding party, but not a Merofynian army. What would become of these people then? His father could not protect every small village across Rolencia's rich valley.
'Apologies, master monk,' Lame Klimen greeted Fyn, giving him the title of master even though the old man would have known by his plait that he was still an acolyte. 'We did not understand the slave.'
'And you were being cautious which is understandable, grandfather.' Fyn gave him the honorific title, and slowed his pace so that the fisherman could keep up with them, despite his pronounced limp. On closer inspection, Klimen was not so old, just weathered by the sea and too injured to remain a fisherman. When the five youths had a good look at Dinni they mocked each other, shamefaced.
Inside the wall, each little house had its own vegetable plot, empty now of anything but snow. The path wound through these blanketed gardens to the village square. Not even a bow shot across, it sloped down to the wharves.
By the time most of the boys had reached the square all the villagers had gathered. Some carried fish-oil lanterns, bringing an early twilight as well as the oil's distinctive scent.
Recognising the village elders by their air of authority, and by the way they greeted Lame Klimen, Fyn bowed to honour them. After Klimen explained who Dinni was, he turned to Fyn. 'Why has the abbot sent Halcyon's boys and acolytes to us?'
'To save our lives. Last night Merofynians violated the sanctity of the abbey, killing everyone else.'
'No. Never!' an old woman objected. 'Never in all my days…'
The fisher folk muttered in dismay.
'But the warriors?' Lame Klimen asked. 'Surely they — '
'Lured away. Only the very old and the boys stayed in the abbey,' Fyn explained. 'We are all that remain of Halcyon's monks. We've walked all night and eaten nothing for a day.'
Lenny made a funny noise in his throat and pitched forwards.
'Oh, the poor bantling,' an old woman muttered, catching him before he could hit the ground. 'Enough talking. It's clear what these boys need.'
At her words the womenfolk stepped in, leading the boys off. There would not be enough beds, but at least they would be warm and fed. Fyn was grateful. He was so tired he could barely think and all the while there was the worry for Piro and the need to reach his father weighing him down. Lame Klimen stepped aside to organise the men, sending any male over the age of fourteen to the walls.
Lenny revived and protested as the woman tried to lead him away.
'I've got hot fish stew cooking on the hearth,' she told him.
'Go on, Lenny,' Fyn urged, then switched to Merofynian. 'You too, Dinni.'
She looked doubtful but, when the old woman smiled and nodded, she allowed herself to be led away even as Klimen returned. He gave Fyn a bow which felt wrong to him, especially in front of Feldspar and Joff, who knew he was nothing special.
'You're welcome to take your ease in my place, master monk,' Lame Klimen said.
'I'm no master,' Fyn insisted.
'If you've led these boys to safety, then you've done the work of a master,' the old fisherman told him. 'This way.'
'All I did was lead them here so they could take shelter in Sylion Abbey,' Fyn said.
'Only women and girls are allowed past the abbey's portals.'
'I think the abbess will put aside the old laws for now.'
Lame Klimen led them through the now-dark village to his home. A welcome light glowed in the single pane of uneven blown glass.
He thrust the door open and they hurried in before the warm air could escape. An incredibly ancient woman bustled about setting food on the scrubbed table. She smiled and bobbed her head.
'My mother,' he explained. 'She can't hear what you say but that doesn't stop her talking.'
They took folding stools off their hooks on the walls and placed them around the table. As Feldspar took the seat next to Fyn, he muttered, 'We're not safe yet.'
'No,' Fyn agreed and raised his voice. 'Tomorrow morning, Klimen, your people need to take the boys across to Sylion.'
'That we can do.'
'You're not coming with us?' Feldspar guessed.
'Not coming?' Joff placed the sacred lamp on the table. Its jewel-encrusted gold looked out of place amidst the wooden bowls and home-made bread.
'No. The abbot told me to get the boys to Sylion Abbey and then I — '
'You have to warn the king,' Feldspar finished for him.
Fyn nodded. 'You must tell the abbess how the Merofynians lured our warriors out and ignored the sanctity of the abbey. She'll see it's in Sylion's best interest to help Halcyon's monks to survive.'
Feldspar met Fyn's eyes. 'The Merofynians will kill you first chance they get. Take some of us with you.'
Fyn had already thought this through. 'One can escape detection more easily than several. I don't want anyone dying because of me.' No, the abbot had already paid that price. If his friends knew the truth they would not be looking up to him right now.
'Ah, food, at last. Thank you, grandmother.' Joff accepted a bowl of fish stew. 'Don't look so down, Feldspar. Fyn will get through to the king, who'll rout the Merofynians. You'll see. One day it will be Abbot Fyn. I'll be weapons master and you'll be mystics master.'
But Feldspar was in no mood for jesting. 'How can I become mystics master, when there is no one to train me?' He sighed. 'So much lost.'
'You can rebuild the abbey in all its glory. You have your lives,' Lame Klimen told them.
Both Feldspar and Joff looked to Fyn.
'Thanks to you,' Feldspar said.
He could not meet their eyes. Instead, he looked up at the single window, dark with snow, visualising his father's castle across the valley, directly opposite Sylion Abbey as the crow flies, but since he was not a crow Fyn would have to walk around the base of Mount Halcyon, borrow skates, cross Viridian Lake and thread his way along the canals to Sapphire Lake. 'The king must know of this treachery. If the Merofynians don't respect the sanctity of the abbey, who knows where they will stop?'
What if the unthinkable happened? What if Rolenhold fell? Would the Merofynians recognise the time- honoured right of royal captives to be held hostage, or would they simply execute Piro and his mother?
He had to get home.
Chapter Eight
