The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,99

were alike enough to be brother and sister.

'We'll take you to Lady Unace,' the girl announced. She was probably older by a year.

'Does she have a healer?' Byren asked.

They nodded.

'Good. The sooner we get there the better.'

Byren sent a man back to carry the stretcher, then continued on with the children. Happy to oblige, the youngsters fell into step with him, chattering away. According to them, when the old warlord died his nephew, Steerden, had taken the Stronghold, murdered all his rivals and claimed the spar.

This left only Lady Unace, and her infant son who had been smuggled out to safety.

'She's camped outside the stronghold now,' the boy explained.

'With all the warriors who served her brothers. The ones who escaped the castle,' the girl added. 'Lord Steerden can't get out and she can't get in.'

Great, Byren thought. I'm walking into a stalemate with two dozen men, an injured youth and no real authority.

If he was killed, his father and brother would seek revenge. But revenge did him no good if he was dead.

Fyn was given some bread and watered wine at around mid-morning. He tried to make it last, but he had been smelling the buttered mushrooms, eggs and beans cooking on the floor below since dawn and his stomach rumbled in protest.

That had been hours ago. Now only a thin arrow of natural light filtered through to this inner chamber. He could tell by the colour and the way it was creeping up the wall, soon to disappear altogether, that it was past midday and still no one had come for him.

No. He mustn't think like that. He was innocent and he would prove it, somehow. His head ached because, try as he might, he couldn't see how Masters Hotpool and Firefox benefited from his disgrace. Galestorm's motivation was easy to see. For some reason this youth had always hated him.

If the ruling went against Fyn, the abbot would have two choices, cast him out or make him serve some sort of penance. If he was banished from the abbey he would be exiled from Rolencia because of his Affinity. The injustice of it made him pace from one end of his prison to the other. He was innocent, but how could he prove it?

When they came for him it was just before the evening prayer bell and he'd given up pacing, choosing instead to sit and meditate. The time elapsed made him wonder what had been going on behind the scenes. Had the history master made some sort of deal with the abbot?

The accusation must have undermined his chances of being accepted into any branch of the abbey. Before 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