“Piss off!” Dentos spat. “I’ve beaten you tons of times.”

“Only when I let you,” Nortah replied mildly. “If I didn’t you wouldn’t keep coming back for more.”

“Right.” Dentos snatched a knife from his belt and let fly at the target in a single smooth movement. It was probably the best throw Vaelin had seen, the knife buried dead in the centre of the board up to the hilt. “Beat that, rich boy,” Dentos told Nortah.

Nortah raised an eyebrow. “Luck smiles on you today brother.”

“Luck my arse. You gonna throw or not?”

Nortah shrugged, taking a knife and eyeing the board carefully. He slowly drew back his arm and then snapped it forward so fast his hand blurred, the knife a brief glitter of silver as it spun towards the target. There was the high ping of metal on metal as it rebounded from Dentos’s knife hilt and landed a few feet away.

“Oh well.” Nortah went to retrieve his knife, its blade bent at the tip. “Yours I believe,” he said, offering it to Dentos.

“We should call it a draw. You would’ve hit centre if my knife wasn’t in the way.”

“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?

“You’re wondering about all your hard earned facts on the fascinating history of the Sixth Order and its innumerable blood-baths.” Dendrish Hendril, the fat man, spat a cherry stone into a delicately embroidered handkerchief. “Your masters have been misleading you, boy. We have no questions on long dead heroes or best forgotten battles. That’s not the strain of knowledge we seek.”

Elera Al Mendah turned her smile on her fellow Aspect. “I think we should explain the test in greater detail, dearest brother.”

Dendrish Hendril’s eyes narrowed slightly but he gave no reply, reaching instead for another cherry.

“The Test of Knowledge,” Elera went on, turning back to Vaelin, “is unique in that all brothers and sisters in training in each of the Orders must pass it. It is not a test of strength, skill or memory. It is a test of knowledge, self knowledge. To serve your Order you must have more than skill with arms, just as servants of my order must know more than the arts of healing. It is your soul that makes you who you are, your soul that guides your service to the Faith. This test will tell us, and you, if you know the nature of your soul.”

“And don’t bother lying,” Dendrish Hendril instructed. “You can’t lie in here and you’ll fail the test if you try.”

Vaelin’s uncertainty deepened further. The lies he told kept him safe. Lying had become a necessary act of survival. Erlin and Sella, the wolf in the forest and the assassin he had killed. All secrets shrouded in lies. Fighting panic he forced himself to nod and say, “I understand, Aspect.”

“No you don’t, boy. You’re shitting your pants. I can almost smell it.”

Aspect Elera’s smile faltered slightly but she kept her attention on Vaelin. “Are you afraid, Vaelin?”

“Is this the test, Aspect?”

“The test started the moment you entered the room. Please, answer me.”