“But it was, brother. And I didn’t.” He continued to hold the knife out until Dentos took it.
“I won’t trade this one,” he said. “This’ll be my charm, for luck y’know? Like that silk scarf Vaelin thinks we haven’t noticed.”
Vaelin snorted in disgust. “Can’t I keep anything from you buggers?”
They passed the remaining time playing toss board, hurling knives at the board as Vaelin tossed it into the air. It was Caenis’s best game and he was up five more knives by the time Barkus emerged.
“Thought you’d be in there forever,” Dentos said.
Barkus seemed subdued, responding only with a brief, guarded smile before turning and walking quickly away.
“Shit,” Dentos breathed, his rebuilt confidence faltering visibly.
“Bear up brother.” Vaelin clapped him on the shoulder. “Soon be over.” His tone hid a real unease. Barkus’s demeanour worried him, reminding him of the older boys’ sullen silence when the subject of this Test came up. Master Grealin’s words coming back to him as he puzzled over why this test inspired such grim reticence. No other test bares a boy’s soul.
He steeled himself as he approached the door, a hundred and one likely questions flitting through his head. Remember, he told himself emphatically, Carlist was the third Aspect in the Order’s history not the second. It’s a common mistake due to the assassination of the previous incumbent only two days after inauguration. He took a breath, forcing the tremble from his hand as he turned the heavy brass door handle and went inside.
The chamber was small, an unremarkable space with a low arched ceiling and a single narrow window. Candles had been placed around the room but did little to alleviate the oppressive gloom. Three people sat behind a solid oak table, three people who wore robes a different colour to his own dark blue, three people who were not of the Sixth Order. Vaelin’s trepidation took another leap and he couldn’t suppress a visible start. What kind of Test is this?
“Vaelin,” one of the strangers addressed him, a blonde woman in a grey robe. She smiled warmly, gesturing at the empty chair facing the table. “Please sit down.”
He steadied himself and moved to the chair. The three strangers studied him in silence giving him the chance to return the scrutiny. The man in the green robe was fat and bald with a thin beard tracing the line of this jaw and mouth, although his corpulence didn’t compare to Master Grealin’s he had none of the brother’s innate strength, his pink, fleshy face shining with sweat, his jowls wobbling as he chewed. A bowl of cherries sat on the table next to his left hand, his lips a tell-tale red of continual indulgence. He regarded Vaelin with a mixture of curiosity and obvious disdain. By contrast the man in the black robe was thin to the point of emaciation, although he was equally bald. His expression was more troubling than the fat man’s, it was the same fierce mask of blind devotion he had seen on brother Tendris’s face.
But it was the woman in grey that commanded most of his attention. She seemed to be in her thirties, her angular face framed by gold-blonde hair that hung down over her shoulders, was comely and vaguely familiar. But it was her eyes that intrigued him, bright with warmth and compassion. He was reminded of Sella’s pale face, and the kindness he had seen in her when she stopped herself touching him. But Sella had been full of fear, whereas he found it hard to imagine this woman ever being so vulnerable. There was a strength in her. The same strength he saw in the Aspect and Master Sollis. He found it hard not to stare.
“Vaelin,” she said. “Do you know who we are?”
He saw little point in trying to guess. “No my lady.”
The fat man grunted and popped a cherry into his mouth. “Another ignorant whelp,” he said, chewing noisily. “Don’t they teach you little savages anything but the arts of slaughter?”
“They teach us to defend the Faithful and the Realm, sir.”
The fat man stopped chewing, his contempt suddenly replaced by anger. “We’ll see what you know of the Faith young man,” he said evenly.
“I am Elera Al Mendah,” the blonde woman said. “Aspect of the Fifth Order. These are my brother Aspects, Dendrish Hendril of the Third Order,” she gestured to the fat man in green, “and Corlin Al Sentis of the Fourth Order.” The thin man in black nodded gravely.
Vaelin was taken aback to be in such august company. Three Aspects, all in the same room, all talking to him. He knew he should feel honoured but instead there was only a chilling uncertainty. What could three Aspects from other Orders ask him about the history of his own?