'I'll have him up and digging latrines in no time,' Temor announced.
Garzik gave a mock groan and Byren grinned.
But once they were outside he paused beyond hearing range of the campfires. Firelight flickered on the unfamiliar faces of Lady Unace's supporters. His own men clustered around a camp single fire, a token force unable to make a difference. It frustrated Byren. He cleared his throat. 'Young Garzik, how — '
'Too early to say. I've seen men sicken and die from a single scratch and the amfina's bite is known to carry evil humours. But he is young and he believes he will recover. That could make all the difference.' The healer studied Byren, went to say something then hesitated.
'Speak freely,' Byren urged.
'I can see why the men follow you so willingly. King Rolen is lucky to have such a worthy son.'
Byren shrugged. He had no time for flattery.
The healer seemed to sense this and lowered his voice. 'If Steerden defeats Unace his fealty won't be worth a cockatrice's spit.'
'I know.'
'He has the townspeople and the stronghold's inhabitants terrified. Unace has their sympathy but they fear, if they support her and he wins, he will go hard on them. Anyone who can kill his own kin won't baulk at killing townspeople.'
'I know,' Byren repeated. 'But I don't have enough men to make a difference and even if I did, Rolencia can't be seen to interfere!'
'Then there's nothing you can do?'
Feeling frustrated and unjustly criticised, for he was bound to follow the law whatever his personal feelings, Byren escorted the healer back to the would-be warlord's snow-cave. It had been constructed between two outcroppings of rock and was larger and more luxurious than anything he built while out hunting. Just as well, for they were in for a long siege if the warlord could not be winkled out of his shell.
'Often it is not the truth that decides someone's fate but people's perception,' Seagrass said. 'Your young friend has a better chance of recovering because he believes you expect him to. The people of Unistag Spar already believe Unace's cause is just, they need to believe that she can win. They need a sign from the gods!'
Byren uttered a short laugh. 'And how do you propose I arrange that?'
He was still stewing over what the monk had said when he arrived back at his snow-cave. Orrade met him at the entrance.
'How is he?' Byren asked.
A grin broke through the serious lines of Orrade's face. 'I swear he's improving already.'
'Good. Get something to eat. I'll watch over him.'
Orrade nodded and left. Byren hesitated at the entrance. From here, he could see Unistag Stronghold and the fortified township that spilled down to the valley floor but only as pinpoints of light. The emblem was visible as a flapping flag, black against the brilliance of the stars' sparkling froth. But he knew the white unistag, had known one all his life.
As an idea struck Byren, he smiled slowly. Turns out he could arrange a sign from the gods!
His heart rate lifted as he examined his plan looking for flaws. It would take time but they had time, five days' forced march for Temor to travel back to Rolenhold, a day to collect the tame unistag and sneak it out of Rolenhold, five or six days to bring the beast here.
The people of the spar must not know his part in this. He'd have to lure Unace back to the pass so that he could introduce her to the beast. Then, when she rode into the camp on the back of a white unistag (lucky for them Rolenhold's menagerie held a white), they'd see it as a sign from the gods.
Byren grinned and silently thanked his grandfather for establishing the menagerie. It was not as large as it once was because god-touched beasts like the unistag tended not to breed except in the wild. All the other beasties had died off and, as far as he knew, this was the last unistag in captivity. It had been fading away, only to rally recently.
And the people of Unistag Spar would not realise this was the famous Rolencian unistag for it had not ventured out of the menagerie since it had been captured as a foal. By Halcyon, it had to be nearly forty years old. He hoped it was up to the climb over the Dividing Mountains. With a shrug, he put that aside, as being out of his control.
Under his control was how events unfolded here.
It would be best if he and Unace appeared to have a fight, and then he could march off with his men. If the camp thought Rolencia had abandoned them then it would have even more impact when Unace rode in on the unistag.
Yes, he would send Temor directly to his mother. She was sure to grasp the elements of his plan immediately.
Feeling lighter of heart, Byren ducked and entered the snow-cave. 'What, still lying about, Garza? I expect you to be up and on duty by tomorrow!'
The boy chuckled, sounding stronger still.
This time it was the acolytes master who escorted Fyn to the abbot. He had lain awake all night considering his options. The abbot would agree to the mystics master's claim on him. Come spring cusp, Master Catillum would undertake his training and then he would uncover the truth about Piro, for Fyn feared he could not hide it. There was only one thing to do. Before spring cusp, he would have to leave the abbey.
Leave Rolencia. Unthinkable.
But, once contemplated, the unthinkable became possible.
The abbey had taught him many useful skills. He would never become a sell-sword, but he could weave, cook, garden and look after animals. He would run away and earn his living somehow. His hair would grow back to hide the abbey tattoos.
Master Firefox escorted Fyn to the abbot's private chamber, overlooking the abbey's courtyard. Fyn glanced through the arched windows. Far away, across the patchwork of winter-mantled canals and fields, loomed the Dividing Mountains. Rolenhold stood on its protective pinnacle, painted in shades of lavender and blue. Piro was there right now, pretending to have no Affinity. Fyn felt heart-sick, for his parents would never understand why he'd run away from the abbey. He would be dishonoured in front of everyone, branded a coward. But he had been over and over it and he could see no other solution.
He looked around the chamber for the mystics master but Catillum was not present, only the abbot. Fyn hid his surprise.
'Thank you, Firefox,' the abbot dismissed the acolytes master. When he had gone, the abbot came out from behind his parquetry-inlaid desk and sat on a stool in front of the fire. 'Come here, lad.'
As was proper for an acolyte, Fyn knelt on the cushion at the abbot's feet. While the abbot stared into the flames, Fyn wondered what his punishment would be.
At last the leader of the monks sighed. 'Your presence in the abbey makes things very complicated, Fyn. All the masters seek to have you in their service. They believe that one day you will be abbot.'
'But I would have to earn that position,' Fyn argued.
The abbot merely looked at him. 'You are a clever young man, thoughtful beyond your years. By giving up your place in the mystics to your friend you displayed unusual humility. Or was it fear, Fyn?'
'Fear?' he repeated, thinking furiously. Had he betrayed Piro in some way already?
The abbot nodded. 'There are many who fear the power that great Affinity brings. Some even try to deny theirs. It is your destiny to serve the goddess through the mystics. You cannot deny Her, Fyn.'
He nodded. It seemed Master Wintertide had convinced the abbot his lie had been prompted by the fear he was unworthy. He would be given to the mystics and he would have to run and everyone would think him a coward, motivated by fear.
In that instant he realised it did not matter what they thought, as long as he did what he believed to be right.
'Fyn?' the abbott prodded. 'Is there anything you wish to tell me?'
Fyn licked his lips then shook his head. What could he say?
'Very well. This spring cusp you will join the mystics. You can go back to your rostered duties, Fyn. Once the gardens master has finished with you, you can serve the mystics.'