this, he had been worried which one to choose. Now he would be lucky if any of the masters accepted him.
His cell door swung open to reveal Feldspar and Lonepine. Feldspar looked worried, but then he always did.
Lonepine gave Fyn a wry grin. 'We're your escorts. We've offered to vouch for your character.'
But they were only acolytes and he'd been accused by four monks.
'Thanks.' Fyn's voice cracked from lack of use. He stood up and stretched. He was still wearing the same clothes he'd been in last night and he felt strangely distanced.
'Don't worry, Fyn. The abbot is a fair man,' Feldspar assured him.
Fyn nodded once. He just wanted to get this over with.
The walk to the abbot's chamber seemed to take forever. His knees felt weak. He hoped he wouldn't disgrace himself and fall flat on his face when he went down the steps.
The official greeting chamber was where the abbot met representatives when he wanted to impress them. Before today, Fyn had only been inside to polish the brass work and mop the floor mosaics. In niches around the room were statues of Halcyon, some dating from the earliest times. They ranged from crude stone effigies which showed her big with child, to a recent gold statuette from Ostron Isle which portrayed her as a young woman on the verge of womanhood, for Halcyon was the child-woman, the pregnant mother and the crone.
Under the greeting chamber's central dome was a flat circle then a series of concentric shallow steps so the chamber became a theatre in the round.
Fyn's friends escorted him to a spot opposite the abbot and then retreated to join a group of monks who had to be the other witnesses, some ready to vouch for his character, others ready to assassinate it. Galestorm sent him a stern look in keeping with the formality of the chamber, but there was a glint of malice in his eyes. It was clear he believed, with Fyn disgraced, the path to mastership and eventually the abbot's position would be open to him.
Had his future been so decided? Fyn hadn't thought so, but then perhaps he'd been naive. He caught Master Hotpool watching him and looked away quickly. What if all the other masters refused to take him and he was left with only Hotpool's offer? He'd have to serve the history master. Was that why he and Master Firefox had done this?
Panic threatened, making Fyn's stomach churn with nausea. He didn't want to be in Hotpool's power.
His gaze flew to Master Wintertide. Was there any hope? His old master's mouth remained immobile, but his deep-set eyes smiled and Fyn felt a little better. Like all the other masters, Wintertide knelt on a cushion on the fourth stone step so that Fyn faced a semicircle of masters, their heads one step above his.
The abbot nodded to the clerics master, who cleared his throat and read from a scroll. Another cleric waited with a scriber, ink and paper to take notes. A record of this hearing would go into the abbey's great archives. One day it would be dry, dusty history. Right now Fyn's heart hammered and his palms felt sweaty.
The master cleric's voice echoed in the dome above them. 'This hearing has been called to determine if Fyn Rolen Kingson did wantonly torture the abbey's grucranes and in doing so, drive them off. How do you plead?'
Fyn blinked. 'Innocent, of course!'
Then he heard himself and winced. He had sounded rude. Or perhaps his unguarded reaction would convince them of his innocence? Frustration flooded him. He didn't know.
First the abbot called on Galestorm to recount his version of events, which were corroborated by his three companions. Fyn watched them lie straight faced and wondered how they slept at night.
The weapons master could only confirm that he had come upon Fyn and the monks just as they had described it. 'They were running across the lake towards Fyn who had the grucrane wrapped in his cloak.'
'To protect it,' Fyn protested.
'Silence,' the clerics master warned, then dismissed Oakstand and called on healer Sandbank who confirmed what the weapons master had said.
'And then Fyn said to me 'There's something wrong with his wing and I think he broke his leg when he hit the ice.' Fyn was clearly concerned for the grucrane.'
'Because he realised how seriously he'd hurt it,' Galestorm insisted.
'Silence,' the clerics master snapped.
'Tell me, Sandbank, what happened to that grucrane?' the abbot asked.
'The break was a bad one. We could not save the bird. The grucranes seemed to know because they left the day he died.'
'And haven't been seen since!' Galestorm added with relish.
'One more comment from you and you'll be sent outside,' the clerics master warned, but it was too late. The damage was done. Fyn's hopes sank as Master Hotpool exchanged looks with his crony, Firefox, then permitted himself a small, satisfied smile.
Master Wintertide came to his feet. 'Permission to speak, abbot?'
'You wish to vouch for Fyn's good character.' The abbot anticipated him. 'I know, and there are several more who would do the same.' The abbot fixed on Fyn. He was a small man of the same generation at Master Wintertide. His head was completely bald and a wispy white beard hung from his chin like summer moss from a branch. Fyn had not had much to do with the abbot, being only a lowly acolyte. The general feeling was that the abbot was fair. Fyn certainly hoped so.
'You have heard the accusations levelled against yourself, Fyn Rolen Kingson. What have you to say?'
It was his chance at last. 'I was trying to save the grucrane. It wasn't my slingshot that crippled the bird.'
'Whose slingshot was it?'
Fyn licked his lips. 'Monk Galestorm.'
'Why didn't you tell the weapons master this when he arrived?'
Fyn shrugged. 'I was worried about the bird and besides…' he heard bitterness creep into his voice. 'I knew it was my word against the word of four monks.'
The scribe scratched away diligently, while the masters muttered amongst themselves.
'This is a very serious accusation, Fyn,' the abbot said at last.
'Perhaps there is someone who can corroborate his version of events,' Firefox suggested, knowing full well there wasn't.
Fyn had never hated anyone before. The force of his emotion surprised him. He could not even look at the acolytes master.
The abbot turned to Fyn. 'Is there a witness who saw Galestorm take a shot at the birds?'
There was. The old seer had seen it all, but she was dead, killed by his brother. And who would have believed her anyway?
'No,' Fyn admitted. Yet he held his chin high, refusing to let his enemies know how he felt.
'I can vouch for Fyn,' Feldspar announced suddenly. He darted from his spot amidst the witnesses, dropping to his knees beside Fyn and bowing in apology. 'Permission to speak, abbot?'
'A character witness won't help now, acolyte Feldspar,' the abbot told him, though not unkindly.
'I have a confession to make,' Feldspar blurted, lifting a strained face to the masters. 'As much as I long to, I am not worthy of becoming a mystic. I did not find Halcyon's Fate, Fyn did. He gave it to me because he knew how much I longed to be a mystic. That is the sort of person Fyn is. He would never hurt a defenceless bird!' Feldspar turned a little so that he could bow to the mystics master. 'Forgive me, Master Catillum. I could not go into your service with a lie in my heart.'
Masters Hotpool and Firefox looked stunned. Obviously they had not planned on Feldspar's confession, though Fyn didn't see how it could help him. The other masters muttered, while the abbot consulted with the mystics master.
Finally Master Catillum turned back to Fyn. 'Is this true, Fyn Rolen Kingson?'
Fyn dropped to his knees and prepared to lie. He had to protect Piro no matter what. 'I was not worthy. I only found it by chance and I knew Feldspar's Affinity was greater than mine, so — '
'You gave the Fate to him?' the mystics master marvelled.
Fyn nodded miserably.
Master Catillum frowned at Fyn. 'Tell me, when you touched the Fate, did you see a vision?'
Feldspar glanced to Fyn, who hesitated.
