He glanced over to Florin, where she was arguing with her brother, insisting he wash in a bowl of warmed water.
'But I'm not dirty,' he protested.
Florin put a finger under his chin and lifted it to inspect his neck. 'Hmm, just as I thought. I could grow potatoes in there!'
Leif grinned and began to scrub. Florin noticed Byren's gaze and rolled her eyes, as if to say little brothers, what can you do?
With the arrival of Halcyon's warrior monks the camp was in a good mood. Byren had asked Catillum not to mention the forts in the spar passes.
Orrade had wandered up from the honour guard's cave. He stood at Byren's side watching the warrior monks give thanks before they ate. Sensing that Orrade wanted to speak with him, Byren caught his eye and they went outside where Orrade turned to ask, 'When will we go?'
'Soon. I want to give others time to make their way here.'
'You wait for Fyn.' Orrade knew him too well. There was no censure in his voice. 'The monks' arrival has given the camp hope.'
'Pity there's so few of them,' Byren muttered.
'More will come,' Master Catillum said, joining them.
Byren unfolded his arms. 'How many?'
'Thirty trained fighters, and then there's another twenty boys of fourteen and fifteen. They refused to stay in safety with the abbess of Sylion.'
'Naturally.' Byren smiled. He did not look Orrade's way. His friend would be thinking of his younger brother. At fourteen, Garzik had followed them back to Rolenhold, only to become caught up in Palatyne's bid to take Rolencia. Byren had sent him, along with a dozen youths from Dovecote Estate, to light the warning beacon. That was the last they saw of him.
'Untrained boys, playing at war,' Orrade whispered, disgusted.
'Our acolytes may be unblooded, but they're trained in the use of weapons,' Master Catillum said.
There was nothing Byren could do about Garzik. He sighed, thinking of Piro and Fyn. Two more people he could not help.
The mystics master cleared his throat. 'According to Seela, Piro is guarded by Lord Dunstany's wards. Even if she had an Affinity stone and natural Affinity, I couldn't reach her. Fyn wears Halcyon's Fate. I could try to contact him. But I — '
'Try,' Byren said. If he knew Fyn's whereabouts, he'd know whether it was worthwhile delaying for him.
'There is the matter of the Merofynian Power-workers,' Catillum warned. 'It's dangerous.'
Byren waited, grimly. He knew his request would endanger the mystic, but felt no regrets. He would endanger many more people before this was done.
'I will need a quiet spot,' Catillum said at last.
Byren beckoned Florin, who had followed the mystics master out and been listening unashamedly. 'Is there somewhere private?'
She nodded and led them past the others, deeper into the cave by the light of a single smoking lantern until they came to a large cavern. There was a black gaping hole in the centre.
'Listen.' Florin picked up a pebble and dropped it into the hole. They waited, and waited. Finally they heard the faintest of plinks as it hit the bottom.
'And you must see this.' Florin lifted the lantern to the back wall. Paintings of tall foenixes loomed above them. Across the bottom were little people, men, women and children, all lined up as if they were dancing. But it was the foenixes that dominated the chamber.
Awed, Byren lifted his hand.
Florin caught his arm. 'Nan said not to touch. These are old beyond measure. We must honour the people of the past.'
'Who were they?'
'Nan called them the Foenix Faithful. We don't know what they called themselves.'
'Do you know, mystics master?' Byren asked. He noticed the mystic's expression. 'What's wrong?'
'It's an intermittent Affinity seep.' Catillum's nose wrinkled with distaste. 'I can sense the old residue.'
Byren was relieved. He sensed nothing, and he'd feared his brush with the ulfrs in the seep had made him receptive to Affinity.
'Have you heard of the Foenix Faithful, Master Catillum?' Florin asked.
The mystic shook his head. 'At a guess they predate the ruins on Sapphire Lake and we don't know who made them. Some of life's mysteries are too deep even for a mystic.'
Orrade snorted softly.
The mystics master cast him a swift look but did not pursue it. Byren was not sure what was driving Orrade, but he had no time to find out.
'Let's get started, then,' Byren said, turning to the master. 'Do you want us to leave you?'
'You can stay. As long as you are quiet.'
'I'll wait out here.' Orrade went back to the cavern entrance and Byren realised Orrade was uneasy with the use of Affinity. Not because he feared it, but because he had it.
When Byren had begged the old seer to save Orrade's life, she'd said there would be a price and Byren had rashly agreed to anything. But Orrade was the one who had to pay the price and his friend was not prepared to accept banishment or devote himself to the abbey, not when he was lord of Dovecote and his people needed him.
'Kneel here with me, Byren,' Catillum said. 'As Fyn's kin, you can help me focus on him. Fyn is not experienced with the use of the Fate, but we may still be able to share information before his concentration breaks.'
Hands on his knees, back straight, the mystics master gathered his Affinity and Byren could feel him doing it, which only served to confirm his suspicion. He had been tainted by the Affinity seep after all. Maybe not enough to sense Affinity residue, but enough to sense the mystic at work when they were side by side.
Master Catillum stared fixedly across the chamber at the far wall with its ancient paintings. By the flickering light of the lantern they seemed to be moving in the shadows. Byren's hand went to the foenix spurs he wore around his neck and he felt a pang of guilt at having killed the mother foenix when she had only been trying to protect her nest.
Once these mountains had been filled with the beautiful but deadly birds. Now, few were left, and his father had tried to preserve them.
What had the Foenix Faithful done in this cavern with its deep pit? In his mind's eye Byren saw leaping flames. Men and women dressed in foenix crests confronted a wretch who fell backwards into the pit, his piercing scream going on and on, before it cut out suddenly.
Catillum cursed then lurched like someone waking from a bad dream. He shook himself and Byren jerked, his heart thumping. Byren glanced over his shoulder to Florin and Orrade at the cavern entrance, seeing them only as dark shapes. Now he wished he was with them and not close enough to the mystics master to be swept along in his Affinity-induced visions. The mystic was supposed to be contacting Fyn, anyway, not recalling the past.
'I'm sorry, kingsheir. This place carries powerful memories,' Catillum whispered. He looked a little grey in the lamp light. 'Let's try again. Concentrate on your brother.'
So Byren closed his eyes and thought of Fyn, as he had seen him at the Proving, ready to battle for his place in Halcyon Abbey.
Fyn swayed in his hammock, listening to one of the sea-hounds sing a mournful song about love gone wrong. For ruthless pirate-hunters they were surprisingly fond of the old romances, tales of adventure and love from before the unifying of the Twin Isles under Kings Merofyn and Rolen.
Fyn yawned and rubbed his face, feeling the calluses he'd developed splicing ropes under Jakulos's watchful eyes. At least he was not a dead loss now, and they were on course for Ostron Isle. Why hadn't he agreed to serve on the Wyvern's Whelp, and then jumped ship so he was free to barter a berth back to Rolencia?
The Fate rested on his chest, much as the royal sigil had. He was glad he'd hidden the emblem far below the abbey in Halcyon's Sacred Heart.
The Fate felt heavy and warm. Fyn's fingers settled around it and the singer's voice faded. He swayed in the hammock… no… he was floating above it, rising above the ship, which lay as a shadow on the pewter sea.