Blood Song

“No.” Her hand caressed his brow, her face came close to his and a soft kiss played on his lips. “You’re a guardian, a warrior who fights in defence of the helpless. You are strong and you are just. Always remember that. And always remember that I will be here whenever you need me, whenever you call for me, my skills are yours.”

The dream began to fade, exhaustion dragging him to oblivion. “I’d rather we just went away together…”

He woke to pain, not the agony of the Joffril root but the mingled ache of strained muscles and dehydration. Oddly shaped red brown stains discoloured his bed sheets and the cut on his arm retained the sting of poison. His eyelids began to droop, the welcoming arms of his dream beckoning… when he noticed he was not alone.

Master Sollis sat in the corner of the room, arms folded, his sword resting on his knees. The redness of his eyes told of a sleepless night. “Took you long enough to wake up,” he said.

“Sorry, Master,” Vaelin croaked.

Master Sollis rose and went to the table beside the bed to pour a cup of water from a large clay jug. “Here.” He held the cup to Vaelin’s lips. “Small sips, don’t gulp it.”

The water tasted better than water had ever tasted, flooding his mouth, banishing the dryness of his throat. “Thank you, master.”

“Sister Sherin said you should drink at least a cup every hour. She gave very strict instructions for your care.”

Sherin… We should go away together… A new pain tugged at his chest and he found himself wishing he had never had the dream, waking to find it hadn’t been real was almost more than he could bear.

He looked down at the stains on his sheets. “Did they have to cut me open?” He had a vividly unpleasant image of the rib spreader being plunged into his chest.

“Apparently Joffril root causes a man to sweat blood. Part of its useful purgative effect, so I’m told.” Sollis pulled his chair from the corner of the room and sat down next to the bed. “I need to know what happened here.”

So Vaelin told him, omitting nothing. Sollis listened in silence, barely raising an eyebrow at Sister Henna’s visit to his room and remaining impassive when Vaelin mentioned the wolf’s howl that had saved him. His only reaction came at the mention of her words: Once there were seven.

It was only a slight shift in the eyes, but it said much. He knows, Vaelin decided. He knows what it means and I’d bet a sack of gold he isn’t going to tell me. Sollis showed no reaction to the rest of it, asking only a few questions. “And how would you assess their skills, these assassins?”

“They could swing a blade but seemed to know nothing of tactics. I was poisoned, weak, they should’ve killed me, taken me in a rush. Instead they came at me in turn, each time from ambush.”

Master Sollis sat in silence, pondering the information. Vaelin felt a desperate need to sleep but forced himself to remain alert. Novice brothers did not sleep in a Master’s presence.

“Is Sister Sherin coming back?” Vaelin asked, hoping a break in the silence would keep him awake. “I… I’d like to know how long I’ll be laid in this bed.”

“She’s tending the wounded. She’s likely to be busy for a while. The last two days have seen much trouble in the city.”

Two days. He had been dreaming and sweating blood for two days. “Trouble, master?”

“There have been riots. When word spread of the attacks rumours started about a Denier plot. Soon it was common knowledge a hidden army of Cumbraelins was waiting in the sewers to murder us all in our beds.” He shook his head in disgust. “Ignorant people will believe anything if they’re scared enough.”

Vaelin was puzzled. “Attacks?”

“Elera Al Mendah was not the only Aspect to be attacked. The Aspects of the Fourth and Second Orders are dead. The others were lucky to survive. Aspect Hendrahl was sorely wounded, seems the knife wasn’t long enough to reach his heart through the blubber.”

Vaelin’s mind reeled. Two Aspects slain, it seemed so utterly incredible. He remembered Aspect Corlin Al Sentis well from his Test of Knowledge, the solemn, grave faced man who had pressed him on the events in the forest. It was strange to think of him torn by daggers and poison. His chain of thought led him to an inevitable concern. “Aspect Arlyn?”

“He’s alive and well. They sent three men for him. They tunnelled into the vaults where they were met by Master Grealin. It’s always a mistake to underestimate a fat man in a fight.” It was the closest thing to a compliment Sollis had ever voiced about Master Grealin.

“Is he injured?”

“A few bruises only. Although he was sorely grieved he couldn’t keep one of them alive to provide some answers.”

“My brothers?”