She moved to him, her hand clasping his, fingers smoothing his brow. “Vaelin, please lie still, we have to give you a physic to make you well. This will hurt… You must be strong.”
“Aspect,” he fought to keep his vision stable, locked on her eyes. “Please, what was my mother’s name?”
Vardrian.
It sang in his mind through a tumult of pain. Vardrian. Her name. Her family name. Sweat bathed him, his chest was a furnace, darkness clouded his eyes, but her name held him, an anchor in the world.
Sister Sherin had tied a leather strap around his arm and injected the tincture of Joffril root directly into his vein with a long needle. The agony was almost instantaneous. The room fractured and disappeared, the Aspect’s soothing words fading away, Sherin’s stricken face a pale smudge in the descending shadow.
Vardrian.
It was a curious effect of pain that time became infinite, every instant of agony prolonged to the ultimate. He knew that his back was arched, his spine tensed like a bow, strong hands holding him to the table as he raved and raged incoherently. He knew it, but he didn’t feel it. It was far away, somewhere beyond the pain.
Ildera Vardrian. His mother. A plain name, a name without nobility or notoriety, a name that came from the fields or the streets. She was like his father, elevated by her talent. She was special. Suddenly he could see her face so clearly, the darkness fleeing before the brightness of her smile, the compassion in her eyes. She was a beacon in the pain, a focus for his will, his will to live.
He never knew how long it lasted, how long it took him to exhaust himself. They told him later he injured several of the Fifth Order’s stronger brothers, that he even tried to bite the Aspect, that he screamed the most foul and terrible things, but he had no knowledge of it. All he knew was the name. Ildera Vardrian.
It saved him.
Chapter 5
In his dream there was no pain. In his dream soft golden light streamed through the window and Sister Sherin’s smile was radiant as she gazed down at him.
“You lived,” she said. “I knew you would.”
A dream… a dream allows you to speak your heart. “You’re beautiful,” he told her.
Her smile became a laugh. “You’re delirious, brother. Try to sleep, you need to rest. There are a number of dangerous looking young men outside who will be very angry with me if you don’t recover.”
“We should go away together,” he went on blithely, rejoicing in the freedom of the dream. “We should escape. Find a quiet part of the world where you can heal and I can learn to be something other than a killer…”
“Shhh!” Her fingers were on his lips, her smile gone now. “Please Vaelin…”
“I felt nothing when I killed those men. Nothing. That isn’t right…”
“You saved the Aspect. You had no choice.”
The man in black clutched at the wound in his leg, when Vaelin’s sword cut into his neck a faint, childlike whimper escaped his throat… “I have shamed my mother. Compared to her I’m nothing…”
“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.