Alaric left the sickroom where the adherents still battled for their lives, cursing himself for his helplessness. He wondered how much longer they could last before the darkness inside them won the battle. Tamran seemed better today, at least. Some of the clamminess was gone from his skin, though he was still unresponsive.
Ciprian had ordered Alaric to save the dying adherents. No one else had permission to even try. Everyone thought it was because the Master wanted to prove that Alaric could carry the weight of the Order on his back alone, but he knew the real reason.
When he failed, Ciprian would enjoy telling him how inadequate he was.
He leaned against the outside of the door and pressed a hand to his chest.
