“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?”
“They’re all well. Brother Nortah managed to get himself expelled from the Second Order after only two days. As for the others, Brother Caenis distinguished himself by killing the assassin who had knifed Aspect Hendrahl and the others appear to have been sleeping off a vatful of ale when Aspect Montish met his end. Half the novice brothers of the Sixth Order lolling about the House of the Fourth Order and assassins slit the Aspect’s throat and get away before anyone had noticed. Severe punishment was warranted.”
Vaelin sank back into his mattress, suddenly overwhelmed by tiredness. “Forgive me master,” he said. “For not taking one of them alive. The poison dulled my wits somewhat...” He drifted away seeing Master Sollis’s lean, inexpressive face fade into shadow.
Barkus raged, Dentos joked, Nortah laughed and Caenis said little. Vaelin realised he had missed them all terribly.
“It’s just so bloody daft,” Barkus said, bafflement creasing his brows. “I mean what is going on?”
“Clearly there are enemies among us, brother,” Caenis said. “We must be wary.”
“But why though? Why kill the Aspects?”
Vaelin was tired, the cut on his arm had darkened into a bluish scar and the agony instilled by the Joffril root had faded into a dull ache that lingered in his limbs. Throughout the morning he had had several visitors, Master Harin awkwardly complimenting him and forcing a booming laugh or two. Vaelin could tell the big man was gratified by his survival and saddened by Henna’s betrayal. She had been something of a favourite in his group. Brother Sellin stayed for over an hour, gnarled hands clutching his wooden club and talking of how he would have used it on the assassins if he’d but had the chance. Vaelin had a brief vision of an elderly brother lying in a gate house with his throat cut but said, “They were wise indeed to give you a wide berth, brother.” The old man seemed happy enough with this and said he would come back the next day with a healing broth of his own recipe. There had been other visitors but Sister Sherin had been conspicuous by her absence and he worried about any embarrassing ramblings he may have uttered in his sleep.