The Uncrowned King Read online

  'So you serve Cobalt now?' Piro eyed him narrowly.

  'I serve Halcyon.'

  Piro understood only too well. Kings came and went, but the abbey had survived three hundred years. She swallowed. 'Are you going to turn me over to Cobalt, Autumnwind?'

  He gave her a look of exasperation. 'I should.'

  'But?'

  He was silent for a moment. Then he fixed on her. 'I am going to check on the king. If you are still here when I turn around I will call the guard.'

  He left her behind the screen. Through the gaps in the vine-leaf carving she caught glimpses of him moving about the chamber and checking the fire.

  Piro slipped out from behind the screen, heading for the door.

  'What's this?' Cobalt demanded from the hall outside, his voice muffled by the thick door but easily recognisable by its distinctive Ostronite accent.

  There was an uncomfortable silence as Piro imagined old Sawtree straightening up and saluting, fist to chest.

  'I should have you publicly whipped for sleeping on duty!' Cobalt snarled.

  'Please, Illien.' The queen's voice was barely discernible. 'This man has served my husband faithfully for over thirty years.'

  There was another painful pause. Piro imagined the old warrior's proud silence. He would not plead. If it came to the worst he would take his public whipping.

  'Don't let me catch you napping again,' Cobalt warned.

  The door was thrust open. Piro only just had time to dart behind it as Lord Cobalt and her mother entered.

  Like her brothers and father, Cobalt was tall and well made, but Piro could only see the man for the soulless manipulator he was. He nodded to Autumnwind, strode across the chamber, peered behind the screen and closed the door to the healers' chamber.

  While his back was turned, Piro darted over to hide in the screened alcove. Her mother's eyes widened and she stiffened slightly but did not give Piro away.

  Cobalt turned to face the queen.

  Though safe behind the sandalwood screen, Piro hardly dared to breathe.

  Fyn raced down the spiral stairs behind the abbot with old Silverlode on his heels. Although he raced to protect the boys, it felt wrong to leave the others to face the invaders. They'd been considered either too young or too old to fight. Only the thought of Lenny and the rest of the little boys huddled defenceless in the mystics' sanctum kept him going.

  Behind and above him, Fyn heard Sunseed shouting orders and Hawkwing yelling. He remembered holding Hawkwing's finger in place when it had been severed during weapons practice. Despite going white with pain, Hawkwing had joked while they waited for the healers. His friend had lost his finger and now he'd lose his life.

  And Fyn was running away.

  The sudden clash of steel and shouting told Fyn the main force of Merofynians had reached the central spiral stair. His heart swelled with pride because his fellow acolytes did not hesitate to defend the abbey.

  Doubling over to catch his breath, the old abbot paused at the bottom of the stairs. Fyn almost collided with him, pulled up short, and peered past the two masters down a dim corridor. He could just make out the silhouettes of five lightly armed scouts, and beyond them were the double doors of the inner sanctum, securely bolted no doubt by Feldspar who was hiding inside. A pair of lamps lit the doors.

  The abbot nudged Fyn, signalling for quiet, then entered the corridor. Silent in his slippers, the abbot crept up behind the last man and stabbed him under the ribs, a hand over his mouth. Shocked, Fyn froze. He could not reconcile this efficient killer with the kindly, wise old abbot.

  Even as the abbot eased the body down, the man's companion turned and drew his sword. In the narrow hall, it scraped across the wall throwing an arc of sparks. This gave Silverlode time to run him through, while the abbot pulled his knife free.

  Fyn hated to see an animal suffer, let alone a person. The man who'd been stabbed in the back was trying to breathe, blood bubbling on his lips. He was as good as he dead, but still he struggled.

  The intruders' leader signalled the last two men to deal with the abbot and his companions, before going on.

  The corridor was just wide enough for two men to stand side by side with weapons drawn. Fyn gripped his knife in his left hand, sword in the right, heart hammering.

  The warriors, both seasoned veterans half the age of the masters, fell upon the old monks. Fyn knew enough swordcraft to recognise the monks' skill but their attackers were merciless. How did old Silverlode see the strokes, when he couldn't see well enough to read? Fyn felt he should help, but the pace was too furious and the space too tight to intervene. A barrage of attacks drove Silverlode back. Just a fraction too slow, the old monk failed to block. The top of his head flew off and hit the wall, followed a heartbeat later by his body.

  Silverlode's attacker, a man with a scar where his right ear had been, turned to him.

  Sound roared in Fyn's ears. Everything felt unreal.

  He was vaguely aware of a flurry of movement behind the man as the abbot dispatched his opponent and prised his sword from the body.

  The one-eared warrior's sword arced towards Fyn. Too late, his own weapon moved up to deflect it. Efficiently, the abbot caught the one-eared man from behind and cut his throat. The sword flew from the warrior's nerveless fingers.

  Blood sprayed Fyn, hot and shocking.

  'Are you all right?' the abbot asked.

  Fyn could only nod.

  The abbot stiffened and looked down as a sword point appeared from his chest.

  With a savage kick, the leader of the intruders freed his sword and shouldered the abbot aside to charge Fyn.

  Still reeling, Fyn side-stepped the attack, deflecting the strike with a circular motion that drove his attacker's sword hand into the wall, leaving the man's body open for a knife attack through the lacings of his chest protector. Fyn lost his grip on the knife hilt as the man slid down the wall, glaring at him even as he died.

  Fyn gave him a wide berth. Stepping over the bodies, he dragged the abbot to a clear patch then knelt in the pool of blood that covered the floor. 'I'm sorry, so sorry.'

  Blood covered the abbot's chin and his breath bubbled in his chest, but his eyes fluttered open and he recognised Fyn. He tried to speak. Failed. His hand felt along his waist sash for his keys. Tugging them free, he thrust the keys into Fyn's hand with painful intensity. A hiss of air left his lips. 'Take the boys and stones to Sylion Abbey.'

  Fyn was so attuned, he felt it the instant the life-force left the abbot's body. Guilt lanced him. He'd frozen. That was the reason the abbot had died.

  He stared at the abbot's keys. Dimly, he heard the roar of the fighting on the stairs. Why did everything sound so distant?

  No time for this.

  Fyn sprang to his feet. Running to the bolted doors, he thumped on the wood. 'Feldspar, it's me. Let me in.'

  'Fyn?' A muffled voice came through the wood. 'Is it really you?'

  'Who else?'

  'A Merofynian Power-worker out to trick me.'

  Fyn smiled. Trust Feldspar to be wary. But how could he convince... reveal something only he would know. 'I gave you the Fate, so you could join the mystics.'

  There was the dull click of the bolt being drawn back and Feldspar flung the door open. Behind Fyn's friend huddled dozens of frightened boys.

  'Are you hurt, Fyn?' Feldspar asked.

  'I don't think so.'

  'You're covered in blood.'

  'It's not mine.' He looked down to find his saffron robe was black with blood. Disgusted, he pulled the sodden tunic over his head and let it drop. Now he wore only leggings and a knitted vest. He should be cold, but he felt nothing.

  'The abbot!' Feldspar went to push past him, but Fyn stopped his friend. The sound of fighting on the stairs had suddenly ceased. Feldspar met Fyn's eyes with an unspoken question.

  'The others must be dead,' Fyn said. 'We have to get the boys out of here and stop the sorbt stones from falling into Merofynian -' A sh
out cut him off and thundering boots echoed down the stairwell. 'They're coming.'

  Fyn pushed Feldspar back into the sanctum.

  A small boy tried to wriggle past them. Fyn only just managed to catch him.

  'Let me go,' the boy cried. 'We'll all be killed!'

  'There's no escape that way,' Fyn told him but the boy wouldn't listen. Without a word, Fyn threw the lad over his shoulder and darted through the archway. Feldspar dragged the doors shut, sliding the bolts home.

  Fyn met Feldspar's eyes, and turned to find Joff surrounded by a sea of boys. Joff held a branch of candles, towering over the others. Although officially a 'boy' he was bigger at fifteen than Fyn. His Affinity had surfaced unexpectedly and he'd been faced with the choice of banishment or serving the abbey, which is what would happen to Piro if her Affinity was discovered. At least she was safe in the castle, Fyn told himself.

  A stab of impatience flashed through him. He had to get the boys and the stones out of here so he could go to Rolenhold to warn his father of King Merofyn's treachery.

  Did King Rolen know that Merofynians had invaded Rolencia? Had the warning beacons been lit?

  The boy, who Fyn carried over his shoulder, wriggled and Fyn set him on his feet. No one spoke as Fyn surveyed the chamber. He estimated there were nearly sixty boys and young acolytes ranging in age from six to fourteen.

  Booted feet pounded down the corridor and reached the sanctum's doors. Fyn heard shouting, and then the dull thump of weapon hilts striking the door, muffled by the thick wood.

  'We're trapped,' a voice whispered.

  'No.' Fyn rounded on the boy before the others could panic. 'Feldspar and I were chosen to serve the mystics master. We know the back way out of the inner sanctum.'

  The boys' desperate eyes fixed on Fyn.

  'But if they've taken the spiral stairs there is no way out of the abbey,' a skinny thirteen-year-old muttered.

  Fyn held up the abbot's keys. 'Yes, there is. We're going into Halcyon's Sacred Heart.'

  The boys gasped.

  'It's forbidden,' the skinny one protested.

  'Normally, but the abbot gave me the keys.' Fyn caught Feldspar's eye. 'He didn't want the sorbt stones falling into the hands of renegade Power-workers. Get the -'

  Older boys anticipated the order, hurrying to the orderly shelves of stacked sorbt stones.

  'Keep each pair together!' Feldspar shouted. 'If they're separated the active one will absorb all Affinity around it.'

  The boys froze. Feldspar caught Fyn's eye. Sorbt stones were tools, but like any powerful tool they could be used to kill.

  'You heard him. Take care,' Fyn prodded, then collected his thoughts. What else would they need? He didn't want to lose his way underneath the mountain. 'Bring all the candles you can find. I'll go ahead and unlock the passage.'

  'What about Halcyon's Sacred Flame?' Joff asked.

  Fyn glanced to the lamp which had been lit three hundred years ago when his ancestor, King Rolence the First, had gifted Mount Halcyon to the monks. It would be good to have a protected flame. 'Bring the lamp.' No one moved. 'Now!'

  They scrambled, some grabbing sorbt stone pairs, some gathering candles, and others taking icons from their niches and tucking them inside their robes. Joff lifted one of the smaller boys onto his shoulders so he could unhook the lamp.

  All the while, the enemy thundered on the door.

  Feldspar's eyes flicked repeatedly from the busy boys to the door.

  'I'll take the little ones now,' Fyn told him. 'Don't waste any time. They must have a renegade Power-worker with them. When he gets here we won't stand a chance.'

  Little hands tugged on Fyn's leggings. Worried faces watched his every move. Lenny sidled up close. Like Fyn, he had been Master Wintertide's servant. Fyn had consoled Lenny as best he could when the old master died. Now he squeezed the boy's shoulder.

  Feldspar glanced down to the little boys. 'Go, Fyn. We'll be right behind you.'

  Fyn nodded and headed to the far side of the sanctum where a hidden passage led to a maze of private chambers known only to the mystics. Taking a lit candle from its bracket, Fyn led the way through several passages. He heard the soft shuffle of bare feet behind him and the occasional whimper of fear, followed by muttered words of assurance from the older boys.

  As he recalled the route to the secret door to Halcyon's Sacred Heart, he decided it would probably be safe to use these lower passages. The abbey was huge and most of the Merofynians would be on the upper floors in the great public chambers, looting. The ones who had come down this low would be concentrating on getting into the sanctum to steal the sorbt stones.

  A small hand slid into Fyn's and he looked down to see Lenny.

  'I knew you'd save us,' Lenny whispered.

  Fyn licked his lips. 'We're not safe yet.' He'd failed the abbot. He must not fail these boys.

  Chapter Four

  Fyn glanced behind him. All the little ones were with him and most of the bigger ones. Even as he watched, the last of the older acolytes spilled from the far door, milling in the corridor. Feldspar nodded, that was it. They were all out.

  Fyn held up his candle and signalled for silence. The soft whispering stopped. In the ensuing quiet, he could just hear the deep shouts of men and the smashing of furniture and glass echoing down from far above. It sounded so wrong in a place where the clatter of busy boys and the chanting of monks were normally the predominant sounds.

  'Follow me. Quickly now.' Fyn turned and hurried along the corridor, shielding the flame as he went. His slippers stirred up dust and he heard a few soft coughs behind him. Heart thudding, he led them down a flight of stairs and along another corridor. Down here the honeycomb caves had been adapted for use by the abbey. Down here it was silent, except for the rustle of their garments and the slap of their feet on the stone.

  Fyn recognised the storeroom doorway where he had hidden only yesterday morning to watch as the abbot unlocked the secret entrance. It was forbidden to all but the masters. Then Fyn had been on a secret mission for the mystics master. How he wished that Master Catillum was here to advise him now. Strange, he had only come to know the youngest of the abbey's masters in the last few days but he missed him keenly. Grief tugged at him, for if he was right, and the rest of the monks had been lured into a trap, Master Catillum and the weapons master, and even Monk Galestorm who used to bully him, would all soon be dead.

  'Is this it?' Feldspar asked.

  Fyn realised he had come to a stop in front of the secret panel. He ran his fingers over the carvings, representations of Halcyon's bounty, the grain sheaf, the long-haired goat and more. There, that was the indentation for the key. Taller than the rest, Joff held the sacred lamp high so that Fyn could see what he was doing. The familiar scents of sandalwood and cinnamon filled the passage.

  Even though the boys' frightened whispers urged him to rush, Fyn methodically tried one key after another until he heard the mechanism click and the panel slid open. A wave of relief rolled over him.

  He straightened up, smiling at Feldspar and Joff, and whistled softly to get the boys' attention. 'Line up in pairs, one candle between every second pair. Remember... silence.'

  They nodded, lining up as they would to march into prayer, from the youngest to the oldest.

  'They're ready,' Feldspar whispered.

  Fyn nodded, judging how much space the line of boys would take up. 'Lead them along the passage, turn left then left again and wait at the top of the stairs.'

  Feldspar entered the passage but Lenny didn't move.

  'Go on,' Fyn urged. 'I'll be right behind you.'

  'Promise?'

  Fyn nodded and Lenny entered the passage. The boys filed after him, jostling in their haste. Fyn glanced up and down the hall. As yet, no sign of pursuit.

  When the last one had entered, Fyn checked the hall one more time and stepped inside, letting the weighted stone panel slide shut. He could hear the boys, whispering, arguing over who got to carr
y the lit candles.

  Fyn cuffed the nearest. 'Quiet, pass it on!'

  Thumps followed by silence rippled down the passage.

  'You bring up the rear, Joff. I'll go ahead,' Fyn said, and pushed past the paired boys.

  At the end of the passage he found Feldspar holding his candle high, peering down a flight of stairs carved from solid stone.

  'I'll lead.' Fyn shielded his own candle. 'Wait here, Feldspar, and fall into line halfway along. Tell the boys to keep quiet. We're not safe yet.'

  Feldspar nodded and Fyn headed down the steps, shielding the candle's flickering flame. Yesterday he had come this way in the dark, following the sounds of the masters. Now he counted and watched his step, ignoring side passages he hadn't realised were there. When the mystics master had made him memorise how to get to Halcyon's Sacred Heart, Fyn hadn't expected to be leading what was left of the abbey's boys and acolytes down here.

  This second time the way felt much shorter, and it did not take long to reach Halcyon's Heart. Silent with awe, the boys fanned out as they entered the huge cavern. The boldest approached the kneeling monks, masters who had been mummified and painted with a preserving glaze, then honoured with a place in Halcyon's Heart. The mummified monks knelt on flat-topped stones, with the jars containing their organs arranged in front of them. Some had been here so long that the steady drip of Halcyon's mineral-rich water had encased them in a shimmering column of stone.

  'Look,' Lenny cried in delight. 'It's Master Wintertide!'

  Fyn strode over and grabbing Lenny's curious hand before he could touch the monk. 'Let him rest in peace.'

  Fyn held up the candle. Several drops of the clear glaze had fallen down from the finger of stone above and trickled over Wintertide's face as if he was weeping. It would be many years before he was completely encased like the older monks. The candle, which had been left in his cupped hands, had burned down. Hidden in its wax puddle was Fyn's royal emblem. It could stay there, safe for now. It might give him away while he was trying to cross Rolencia.