05 - Warrior Priest by Darius Hinks - (ebook by Undead)

hide his embarrassment. “There
are various tests I would have performed before beginning the embalming, of
course. I was just going to remove a couple of the splinters.”
    Surman sipped the water again, carefully this time, and he managed to hold it
down. His hollow, stubbly cheeks were still as grey as the rain clouds rushing
past the window, but his breath was coming a little easier now, and he was
beginning to think he might even survive. “Who brought me here?” he asked in a
strained whisper.
    Erasmus’ long, pale face lit up with a smile. “You sound so much better!” He
clasped his tapered fingers together and muttered a prayer. “My skills as a
healer are rarely called upon. It’s been a long time since I practiced herb
lore. I wasn’t sure if that poultice would be powerful enough to draw out the
illness.” He shook his head in amazement. “You’re made of sterner stuff than you
look, old man.”
    No hint of emotion crossed Surman’s face. He took a slow breath and then
repeated his words a little louder. “Who brought me here?”
    The eager smile remained on Erasmus’ face as he replied. “As I said, it was
your man.” He looked up at the ceiling and drummed his fingers on his knees. “I
think he said his name was Albrecht or Adolphus, or—”
    “Adelman,” interrupted Surman, with a note of impatience in his voice.
    “Yes! That’s the one. He’d travelled with you for days, trying to find help,
but he’d finally given up hope of reviving you.” Erasmus narrowed his eyes and
looked back at Surman. “He seemed eager to leave. As though he were worried I
would ask him the reasons for your condition.” He shrugged. “But the truth is,
my friend, the actions of the living are rarely Morr’s concern. Whatever we do
in life, we all reach the same destination.”
    “There are many different routes to that destination,” muttered Surman,
looking down at his ruined body.
    “Aye,” replied Erasmus, finally letting the smile slip from his face. “That
there are.” He gestured to the hammer on Surman’s stomach. “Are you some kind of
priest then, friend?”
    “My name’s Otto Surman, and yes, I’m a High Priest of Sigmar.”
    Erasmus raised his eyebrows and smiled. “A High Priest, you say? I’d
have expected a little more finery.”
    “Adelman has robbed me, you idiot,” snapped Surman, rising up from the bed
and twisting the sheets in his bony fists. He looked up at the ceiling of the
priest’s cell and groaned with frustration. “That witch did this to me. She must
have summoned Wolff somehow—knowing he would save her. And now she goes free
and Adelman has taken everything.” He flopped back onto the bed and glared at
Erasmus.
    Erasmus looked appalled. “Your servant hasn’t robbed you. At least, I don’t
think so.”
    “Idiot. Do you think I travel the province naked and penniless? Adelman’s
taken my robes and my books too.” His eyes bulged as a terrible thought hit him.
“And all of my relics—my priceless relics.” Surman drew a breath to hurl more
insults at the priest, but before he could speak, the bed dropped away from
beneath him and his stomach lurched horribly. He groaned with nausea and clamped
his eyes shut in fear. When he opened them again, he was still lying in the
priest’s bed and Erasmus was watching over him with a concerned expression on
his face.
    “You should calm yourself,” urged the priest. “You’re not through the worst
of it yet. The wound was full of illness and spores of corruption. I was forced
to use a more powerful mixture than I would’ve liked.”
    Surman’s vision blurred and his temples began to throb. He tried to focus on
the priest, but as he peered at him, Erasmus’ long, patrician features began to
stretch and elongate: sliding from his face to reveal vivid pits of red flesh
beneath his eyes that gradually drooped down towards his mouth. Surman tried to
reach out and push the flesh back into place, but