The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,177

for now we have a common enemy. Until the overlord is defeated we need not fear them.' As the abbot studied Fyn, his warm brown eyes gleaming from a nest of wrinkles. 'You've made a bad enemy there, kingson. And you profaned the catacombs.'

Fyn flushed but held the abbot's eyes. 'I know. But Master Wintertide was murdered and I believe the goddess would want to see his murderer brought to justice.'

'Will Hotpool's disgrace bring back your old master?'

'No, but...' Fyn swallowed, thinking of Lonepine. Then his mind did a mental shift and his real motivations became clear. 'I didn't want to see Firefox become abbot. I think his rule would be bad for the abbey.'

The abbot's eyes widened. 'You are a deep thinker, Fyn. It is a pity you are not the kingsheir.'

Fyn blinked. He'd never given this a thought.

The abbot smiled and caught the mystics master's eye. 'If you are to be abbot one day, Catillum, you must watch your back. Many a warrior has been killed by his "friends" in the heat of battle.'

'Then why risk sending...' Fyn fell silent. It was not his place to question the abbot's decisions.

'D'you think me helpless because of this?' The mystics master lifted his withered arm with his good one. Fyn went to protest, but Catillum didn't wait for an answer. 'There will be renegade Power-workers with the Merofynian army, each with their own basket of nasty tricks. I must protect our people.' He frowned. 'I admit, I'd hoped never to see this day...'

Turning on his heel, he left Fyn alone with the abbot.

'As for you,' the abbot smiled at Fyn, 'I know your fellow acolytes will be chafing at the bit to go, but we don't send boys to war. You can rest assured Master Oakstand will stop those Merofynians.'

A wave of relief rolled over Fyn. Piro would be safe.

For Fyn the early morning passed in a blur of preparation as the whole abbey was turned upside down. Despite this, he was troubled by a niggling worry that he couldn't pinpoint. By mid-morning the monks were ready. The musicians played as the warrior monks of Halcyon assembled in the square around the sacred pool.

'Dreaming of battle, Fyn?' Feldspar asked, coming up behind him as he hesitated on the stair. 'Come on. Master Oakstand's ready to leave. We can watch from the gallery.'

Others had the same idea. The long corridor with its arched windows was crowded with boys, acolytes and the oldest of the monks. Fyn chose a window embrasure where he could look down into the abbey courtyard. It held the finest of Halcyon's warrior monks. They wore white cloaks so that they would blend in with the snow and each man carried his weapons strapped to his back, along with his food, his bedroll and skates. Every tenth man carried a small pot for cooking and a small medical kit, while every hundredth had a small forge. His task was to repair weapons. Halcyon's warrior monks were a highly disciplined fighting force, and ready to die for King Rolen.

Fyn's heart swelled with pride as he imagined the monks skating down the canals, racing faster than a horse could run through snow, racing to defend Rolencia.

And Fyn thought of the people who relied on his father and the monks to keep them safe. The farmers would be repairing their fences, getting ready to put their cows and goats out to pasture, and sharpening their plough shares. On the mountain slopes they would be repairing winter's damage to the terraces, eager to sow their crops. This was no time for war. The truth of an old saying hit him: A summer spent warring meant a winter spent starving.

'They do look fine,' Feldspar whispered, wistfully. His hands rested on the window sill, knuckles white with tension.

Hawkwing leant closer, his four-fingered hand resting on the ledge next to Fyn. When Hawkwing spoke, his voice was too loud, and his eyes were bright with excitement. 'The best we can hope for is that the fighting lasts past spring cusp. Then we can prove ourselves!'

Fyn nodded, but in truth the thought of war sickened him. If he was lucky the warrior monks would hold Overlord Palatyne until his father could defeat Rejulas. Then King Rolen would march on the Merofynian army, who would surrender and their king would sign a new peace treaty.

He caught a glimpse of Galestorm and his friends, down amongst the warriors, along with Firefox and Hotpool. Although he felt relieved to