Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 26

Heaving a tired sigh, Foxward pulled off his mask. Sergeant Wolturs' squad surrounded him in the small room across the infirmary, and before him on the inspection table, beneath a linen sheet lay the corpse of the Drisian soldier, whose autopsy he'd been assigned to perform.

A taut silence swelled in the stale air of the room, all eyes on the corpse. Words travelled fast among Kinallen's soldiers, who had taken to referring to the Vasaeni as the black-blooded ones.

"This is the most bizarre thing I've ever seen. And let me tell you, in my line of work, I've seen my fair share of bizarre things," he said, "like that one time--"

"We know, Foxward. One of your patients had a snail lodged in his left lung," Rendarr said in a drawl. "Heard that tale a thousand times."

"Er..." Foxward hesitated. "That many times?"

"Aye. And the one about a woman who'd grown an extra tooth on the sole of her foot-- by the Gods," Farren said, "got that memorized by now. So get to the point quick, will you?"

Now he might not like to admit it, but Foxward did have a habit of telling the same stories over and over again when he'd have too much ale at the Olde Weasel. Good thing he paid for all the drinks, so he was never short of listeners, Farren being a regular one for the last seven years-- which guaranteed she knew every single of his stories by heart.

The apprentice healer now gave them a saccharin smile. "You do realise I have the authority to kick you two out for that sheer arrogance alone?"

"Just say the word, doctor. I'll happily oblige," grumbled Gray from the doorway. At this point Farren had simply accepted that the corporal had a spiritual connection with looming menacingly in doorways, be it rain, sun or frost.

"As much as I'd love to see that, we really must move on," said Klo in her usual stern demeanor. "Your findings, Foxward?"

"Of course, Sergeant. Let us start with the obvious one first," said the healer and lifted the sheet to expose the top half of the body. The group drew in a sharp breath, almost in unison.

The body was no more than a desiccated corpse; a sack of bones held together by leathery skin so brittle it had cracked around the stitches holding the incisions across the chest and down the torso. If not for the gaping wound in the throat, Farren would never have believed this was the same man who nearly killed them all with his warhammer the day before.

The body had aged days-- months, overnight. It looked like remains dug out of a grave.

"I know what you must be thinking. This body looks way older than it is," said Foxward, "but I say it doesn't. In fact, the body has gone back to what it was supposed to look like without the sorcery holding it together."

A faint trace of sorcery sizzled around the table, but its presence was greatly weakened. It was not like a flame, but the sodden ashes it left behind after a night's storm. It seemed to diffuse from the corpse slowly into the air, and the body looked more and more ancient.

"So the man was a corpse held together by magic," Klo said, her arms crossed, "and as soon as the magic is gone, he goes back to being the way he was."

"Indeed. His original body has been dead for a while. But even after death, he's been driven by a greater force that has caused him to look, think and behave like an alive person. If," said Foxward, "I were to correlate this with the writings of Ryffin Wellis from his book on alchemy, or rather, necromancy-- the greater force should be an immortal soul."

Farren swallowed hard.

Hands behind his back, he turned to her. "If you could give me the dagger for a moment."