abbot stood. They had the horn but there seemed to be a delay. If only it would start.
'Spread out and form one line along the lake's edge,' the acolytes master ordered.
Twenty-two acolytes shuffled along, holding their quarterstaffs at the ready. Fyn faced the lake, sucking in great gulps of icy air which stung his nostrils and made his eyes water. Dimly, he heard the abbot wish them Halcyon's luck. Then the mystics master blew the horn.
A great cheer went up from the people of Rolenton. The rush of sound filled Fyn's head, sweeping him up, sweeping him along with the others.
Out of the wharf's shadow, blindingly bright sunshine reflected off the ice. The acolytes bunched together, all making for the island. A few tried to sprint away. Many followed Lonepine's example and concentrated on swinging their staffs, sending their fellows to the ice before making a break for it.
Like some multi-legged beast the whole mass travelled across the ice, some breaking free of the pack, only to be tackled by followers. Fyn ducked a blow, sending Foxtail down with a strike behind the knee.
Darting away from the main group, he tried to put some distance between himself and the others. Someone clipped him between the shoulder blades, knocking him down head first onto the ice. His face stung with cold.
Eat ice!
Scrambling to his skates, he skidded sideways. Riverford came after him. Fyn avoided Riverford's strike, but lost the chance to counter, his momentum swinging him around. Fighting with quarterstaffs on the ice was difficult. The skates had a mind of their own.
Fyn took a glancing blow and twisted desperately, trying to get his staff between them.
Feldspar shouldered Riverford aside, sending him sprawling. Fyn caught his friend's arm, steadying him. 'Thanks.'
'Come on, you two, quit playing around!' Lonepine sped past.
The three of them took off towards Ruin Isle. Fyn's thigh muscles flexed, driving him forwards with each gliding stride. His eyes watered, stinging from the cold wind. Fyn concentrated on building up speed as they overtook and passed a half a dozen acolytes who had stopped to fight amongst themselves. He cast one swift glance behind him. The race had broken up into several small battles.
Only one other group remained between them and the island. These acolytes put their heads together and turned, preparing to defend their ground as one of them took off his skates and strode up the beach to search the island.
Fyn's heart sank.
'Looks like Hawkwing has organised his friends to back him up,' Lonepine shouted.
Neither Fyn nor Feldspar bothered to answer, saving their breath.
Hawkwing's five supporters waited, spinning their staffs. Fyn slewed his skates side-on to slow down. He caught Lonepine's eye and glanced to the acolytes on the far left. Lonepine nodded. He would tackle them.
Fyn held Feldspar's eye, letting him know he would handle the two on the right. That left the one in the middle for Feldspar.
Fyn skated in, feinting with a high blow, changing it at the last instant. Ducking under the acolyte's strike, Fyn knocked his first opponent's legs out from under him and followed up with a blow that took the second's breath away.
Fyn straightened up in time to see Feldspar put down his attacker, but one of Lonepine's acolytes had gotten away from him. Foxtail was as cunning as his namesake. He rounded on Feldspar, who wasn't expecting an attack from that quarter.
Foxtail aimed a blow at Feldspar's shoulder which bounced off, onto his head. It sent him reeling and the tall youth went down like a felled tree.
Furious, Lonepine barged into Foxtail, knocking him off his feet. The downed acolyte skidded across the ice on his back like a stranded summer beetle.
Fyn darted between the other acolytes who were struggling to rise, and leant down to grab Feldspar's arm. 'Are you all right?'
Feldspar managed a sickly grin. 'Why are there two of you?'
'I'll go after Hawkwing!' Lonepine announced and took off.
'Come on.' Fyn helped Feldspar upright, tugging him along as he headed for the island.
Hawkwing's supporters didn't come after them, electing to deal with the next group of acolytes, fast approaching.
Feldspar shook off Fyn's helping hand within a few heart beats and they reached the island's snowy shore together. Lonepine's boot prints showed where he had taken off his skates to run up the beach.
Fyn unstrapped his skates and slung them over his shoulder, then he hurried to catch up. 'Which way?'
Feldspar was already climbing the snowy slope, his expression focused inwards as he tried to sense the Fate's