'Anyone can trip,' Sandbank told him gently.
Those words… Fyn's skin went cold with shock. He stared at Lonepine's body. Mouth suddenly dry, his heart hammered as he recalled Beartooth's glare. A quiet corridor, an empty stair well, a monk meets an acolyte and…
Fyn's stomach heaved.
'Here, you look pale. Sit down.' Master Wintertide urged him to sit on the stairs.
Sandbank and the other monks moved on, carrying the body to be prepared to rejoin Halcyon's fiery heart.
Fyn recalled Galestorm's smirk. How could they do this? How could they kill Lonepine? Fyn stared at his old master as the ramifications hit him. Anyone who cared for him was in danger.
He pulled away from Wintertide.
'Fyn?'
But he was running down the stairs, running to see if Feldspar was all right. He found him emptying the mop bucket.
'Back, are you?' Feldspar muttered. 'That was well timed. I just finished.' Then he saw Fyn's face. 'What's wrong?'
'Lonepine's dead. Beartooth killed him.'
Feldspar dropped the bucket. 'He can't — '
'He did. He pushed him down the stairs or perhaps he broke his neck, then pushed him down the stairs.' Fyn heard his voice from far away sounding so calm and reasonable, but inside his head he was screaming. 'No one saw it happen.'
'Fyn?'
'We can't prove a thing. Don't you see? They waited until Lonepine was alone and did what Galestorm threatened to do to me!'
'And what was that?' Catillum asked, coming out of his private chamber behind Fyn.
He jumped with fright, then turned slowly to face the mystics master. It was time to speak the truth. 'Last midwinter, Galestorm told me accidents happen, people fall down stairs — '
'And you think your friend was pushed?' Catillum asked.
'I know so!'
'Did you see it happen?'
'No.' Frustration ate at him. 'But I spoke with Lonepine, Joff can confirm it, just before we passed Beartooth on the landing, and he sent me such a look of hatred…' Fyn shuddered with the sudden realisation that if he had been alone, it would have been him for whom the bells were tolling now. Grey spots flowered in his vision, spreading across Master Catillum's face.
'Catch him. He's going to faint,' Catillum said.
Which was rubbish. Fyn had no intention of fainting.
He came around to discover he was being carried by the mystics master and Feldspar. Catillum struggled to hold his legs with his one good arm.
'I can walk,' Fyn muttered, trying to wriggle free.
'Hold still. You're only making it harder,' Catillum told him. They placed him on the bunk in the mystics master's private chamber. Fyn caught a glimpse of scattered scrolls piled high on a desk and robes flung over chair backs.
'Go to the kitchens, bring back warmed honey-wine. It's good for shock,' Catillum told Feldspar. 'You look like you should have some too.'
Feldspar nodded, but he didn't go. Fyn tried to sit up, swinging his legs off the bunk.
'Slow down.' Catillum put a hand on his chest.
Fyn brushed his hand aside and sat up. His best friend had been murdered and he was next. Surely the mystics master could see that.
Fyn froze. Was Catillum trying to protect someone?
'We must go to the abbot,' Feldspar said, his voice gaining strength. 'We must report this. Master Catillum can skim Beartooth's mind, get the truth — '
'Wait. There's more at stake than you realise.' Catillum's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as if debating something, then he seemed to come to a decision. 'The abbot holds power by a narrow majority. Galestorm and his friends are the history master's tools and he supports the acolytes master. The abbot can't risk moving against either master, not when he's just rebuffed the history master by assigning Fyn Kingson to the mystics.'
They digested this in silence.
'You want us to let Lonepine's murderer walk free?' Feldspar whispered, his voice growing louder with indignation. 'You want us to see Galestorm and his friends every day? To eat in the same hall as them? To fear walking the corridors alone because we could be next?'
'I don't want you to do anything rash,' Catillum temporised.
Feldspar snorted. 'Lonepine's dead. I think it's a bit late for caution!'
'On the contrary, now is when we must be most careful.' The mystics master glanced from Fyn to Feldspar, then back to Fyn. 'If a feud starts it could divide the abbey. Last time the masters took sides, they used their monks and acolytes as weapons. Hundreds died.'
'I don't remember that from the history lessons,' Feldspar objected.
'That's because it's not in the official histories. It is our darkest shame. Remember the Black Summer of 182?' Catillum asked.
'The Summer of the Black Spot Fever?' Fyn whispered, sure he was not going to like what he was about to hear.
'It wasn't a fever that killed a third of us, but another kind of evil… the lust for power.'
Feldspar sat down abruptly, making the tripod stool creak.
Fyn shook his head. 'How can the balance of power be that fragile?'
'Some people crave power and the craving consumes them. All it takes is something to upset the balance — '
'And I'm that trigger?' Fyn asked.
Catillum nodded. 'Generally the abbot is voted into power by a meeting of the masters. If the abbot proves to be a despot, poison is the preferred method to remove him. Our abbot is no despot but there are some who can't wait for him to die. He is an old man after all. It wouldn't be the first time an old man's stomach played up. Then Master Firefox's supporters would back him for abbot.'
'And who do you back?' Fyn dared to ask.
'I back the abbey and the best abbot is now ruling it, but there are some who would back me when he dies.'
Feldspar swore softly, something he rarely did. 'Then everything we have been taught about the goodness of Halcyon and her monks is a lie.'
'Not a lie.' Catillum smiled painfully. 'We are only men. We make mistakes. Some of us are motivated by greed and ambition. Sylion Abbey is the same.'
Fyn rubbed his face and tried to make sense of this. 'So we're caught in the middle of a battle for succession?'
'That sums it up.' The mystics master came to his feet, one shoulder higher than the other, his withered arm tucked against his body. 'Now, do you want to go to the abbot and force a confrontation that I fear we cannot win, or are you willing to be guided by me? Well, Feldspar?'
Fyn glanced to his friend.
Feldspar sent him an agonised look. 'Lonepine did not deserve to die. It's not fair!'
'Many things are not fair.' The mystics master indicated his arm. 'I was mauled by a leogryf when I was nineteen. I lost the use of my arm and gained access to my Affinity, which meant I had to leave my pregnant wife to join the abbey.'
'You could have left Rolencia,' Fyn ventured.
Catillum shook his head. 'She is safe with her family and my son has grown into a fine young man, about your age, Fyn. I've never seen him.'
