This feeling of disembodiment did not surprise him. It had happened once before, back in Rolencia when he had seen Byren. Now his thoughts turned to Byren.
He knew he should he afraid of the Fate's power. Much could go wrong, but the sea was so beautiful that, for the moment, he felt only wonder. It stretched out below him, glistening silver in the starlight. So much empty sea.
Did physical distance matter when he was in this incorporeal state? He vaguely knew they were on an easterly bearing, which meant Merofynia lay due west and Rolencia lay beyond that. Dare he try to reach out to Byren? What if he couldn't find his way back to his body?
While he agonised over this, he spotted another ship — far across the sea — and arrowed over to it, faster than any sea-eagle. This was a merchant ship, Ostronite by the flag, so the sea-hounds were honour-bound to protect it. One of them accompanied it.
Uninterested in the ship, Fyn looked further afield. His home lay so far away. Dare he try to reach Byren?
Fear made his stomach lurch and he dropped towards the Ostronite ship. Before he could save himself, he felt a force surge out of the ship towards him and recognised the essence of the dark-eyed noble Power-worker who had captured him back in Rolencia.
Instinctively, he pulled back. Back across the silver waves, back to the Wyvern's Whelp below decks with its soft singing. Plunging back into his apparently sleeping body, he jerked awake, heart racing.
With a curse he let the Fate go and licked his burned palm, blowing on it to ease the stinging. When would he learn to stop fiddling with things he did not understand?
Byren watched sweat bead on the mystic master's face, noting that his breath had slowed until he seemed to have stopped breathing all together. Byren had not been born with Affinity like Fyn, but he had become attuned to it and he could feel a building oppression now. Something was wrong.
'Orrie?'
His friend did not hesitate, hurrying to kneel at his side.
Byren snapped his fingers in front of the master's blank eyes. Nothing. Not even a blink. He remained rigid, hands clasped on his knees.
'Maybe a renegade Power-worker's got him.' Florin voiced the fear they all shared as she came closer.
Byren looked to his friend. 'Can you help him, Orrie?'
'If a renegade Power-worker does have him and I touch him, it'll claim me too.'
Florin said nothing. She already knew about Orrade's Affinity. He'd revealed his vision of Byren bleeding in the seep so she could guide them there.
Byren understood Orrade's hesitation. Even he, with just an awareness of Affinity, struggled against the oppressive, unseen force.
'Byren?' Florin turned to him.
'Ever since I lay in the seep…' He did not go on, ending with a shrug. The flickering lamplight made their eyes glisten. He looked for condemnation but did not find it in Florin's gaze.
'I guess that leaves me,' she muttered, kneeling in front of the mystic master. 'Hey?' She prodded his chest. 'Hey, master monk, wake up.'
Nothing.
Florin bit her lip. 'I don't think I can reach him.'
Head thumping with tension, Byren did the only thing he could think of. He jabbed the master's hand with his dagger, not holding back. Blood flowed from the broken skin.
Luckily, pain did the trick.
With a shuddering breath, Catillum collapsed. Byren caught him.
'Remind me not to ask for your help,' Orrade muttered.
'It worked, didn't it?' Florin countered, pulling a kerchief from her pocket and wrapping it around the mystic's bleeding hand.
'I was desperate,' Byren admitted.
'And desperate measures were called for,' Master Catillum whispered, his voice cracking. He tried to sit up and failed. Byren helped him. With a shaking hand, Catillum massaged the bridge of his nose.
'What happened?' Byren asked. 'Did you reach Fyn?'
The mystic's gaze strayed uneasily to the painted wall. 'No. Before I could, an enemy found me. A powerful renegade, with the taint of Mulcibar…' He shuddered and swallowed. 'He was searching for you, Byren. I held him off, but I couldn't get away. If you hadn't…' He lifted his injured hand. Blood had seeped through Florin's makeshift bandage.
'I didn't know what else to do,' Byren admitted.
'Brutal but effective. You saved me. Saved us all.'
There was silence for a few heartbeats as they digested this.
'Then you'd better not try to contact Fyn again,' Byren said.
'I couldn't right now. Not for several days. I'm drained.' The mystics master grimaced as he pressed his injured hand to his chest. 'Fyn has no defences. I can only pray he won't try to use the Fate.'
'Well.' Byren stood. Still no answers, and time was running out. He offered Master Catillum his hand, helping him to his feet. 'I thank you for trying.'
Catillum swayed but stayed upright.
'We can't stay here much longer,' Orrade said. 'What will you do?'
Byren didn't answer, because he didn't know.
'Come on.' He offered Catillum his arm. Florin collected the lamp and they headed back to the outer cavern, where they left Catillum with the monks.
Florin walked Orrade and Byren outside to see them off, back to their cave.
But before they could go, Leif came scampering to find them. 'Someone's come from Waterford. Lord Cobalt will be there by tomorrow evening.'
'Cobalt?' Byren stiffened. This close?
'Byren…' Orrade muttered. 'Don't fall for it. He's trying to draw you out.'
'I know, but it's too good an opportunity to miss.'
'If you go after him, I'm coming,' Florin insisted. 'I know Waterford and I know the foothills.'
'Too risky.'
'And living in the loyalist camp isn't?' Florin countered. 'You're too important to the loyalist cause, Byren. If you suspect a trap, you shouldn't risk yourself. Send Orrie.'
'Yes, send me.'
Byren shook his head. He'd already sent Garzik to his death and held Elina while she died. He wasn't losing Orrade. Besides…
'You don't understand, Florin. I'm a king without a country. If I want the people of Rolencia to follow me, I must inspire them. Sitting safe up here in the caves while someone else risks their life to kill Cobalt will not win me their trust!'
Chapter Eight
Fyn sat on the window seat of the captain's cabin, trying hard to contain his resentment and frustration. Here he was, a prisoner, as far east of his homeland as he could be.
Their ship had just entered the Ring Sea. Ostron Isle was actually two islands, a larger circle of steep peaks called Ostron Ring, with one break that led through towering headlands. On the inside the peaks sloped away more gently, down to the Ring Sea and Ostron Isle itself.
As the Wyvern's Whelp sailed the Ring Sea, famous for its perfect blue-green shade, the water reflected the terraced slopes of the outer island, Ostron Ring.
Ostron Isle was completely cultivated, dotted with pleasant villas and terraced fields. The Ostronites believed their inner island and city, with its boulevards and parks, was the most beautiful place in the known world. Watching these glide past, Fyn could almost agree.
'How many days before we head out again, cap'n?' Jakulos asked. 'We're missing those fat Merofynian merchant ships full of Rolencian booty.'
Fyn turned away from the windows.
Jakulos had lathered Nefysto's face and now sharpened the razor on the strop. The captain's finest clothes were laid out on the bunk. Runt sat cross-legged on the floor polishing the captain's knee-high boots. Fyn suspected Nefysto was going to report to the elector's spymaster.
Across the cabin, by the door, Bantam cleaned his nails with his dagger, saying nothing, watching everything.
Nefysto caught Jakulos's hand as he went to scrape off the bristles. 'We're returning with a full hold and our lives, thanks to the little monk. Your share will be more than you would have earned in a lifetime serving the Merofynian navy. Why the urge to make more?'