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

stronger,” he exclaimed,
handing him a bowl of stew. “Try and eat some more of this. You threw up most of
the last bowl.”
    Surman took the food from the priest and began to eat, surprised by his own
hunger. “The last bowl?” he asked, eying the priest suspiciously. “What last
bowl?”
    Erasmus chuckled. “Don’t you remember?”
    Surman shook his head, spilling a little of the broth down his stubbly chin.
    “You’ve been here for nearly a week now, my friend,” said Erasmus. “I thought
I’d lost you a while back, but you seem to be a lot better today.” He gestured
to the quickly emptying bowl. “I’d take that a bit slower though.”
    Surman flinched as the raven flew into the room and perched at the end of the
bed.
    “Don’t worry, Udo won’t hurt you,” laughed the priest. He adopted a serious
expression. “Anyway, as I was saying, I have news.”
    Surman grunted, without lifting his face up from the bowl.
    “I’ve been talking to my brother, Bertram, and he tells me that your servant,
Adelman, is still in the village.”
    Surman paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth, and a piece of un-chewed
meat hanging from between his teeth.
    “Bertram is a constable of the watch, you see.” Erasmus frowned. “I wonder
sometimes if he’s really the right man for the job. Some of his decisions seem a
little harsh to me.” He leant forward and lowered his voice a little. “He’s not
really the brightest—”
    “Adelman!” snarled Surman, sending the piece of meat flying from his mouth.
“Where is he? Where are my belongings?”
    Erasmus looked blankly at him, confused for a moment. “Oh, yes, your
servant.” He frowned. “Well, it’s a sad tale, really. Thinking that you were
dead, he took a room at the Bull’s Head, and has been there for days, drowning
his sorrows.”
    “What about my things?”
    “Well, according to Bertram, he arrived with two heavily laden saddlebags,
and as far as anyone can tell, they’ve never left his room. I told Bertram not
to ask too widely though, for fear of stirring up interest in the value of your
possessions.”
    Surman sank back into the bed, trying to still the fevered visions that kept
seizing hold of him. Erasmus had no intention of letting him live, he saw that
quite clearly. The old priest would simply keep poisoning him until he passed
away in his sleep. Then he would send his brother to murder Adelman and claim
the relics and books for himself. He hugged his frail body and his powerlessness
tormented him. A vision of Anna filled his thoughts, mocking him as she strode
away from the pyre. The thought that he would die and she would live was too
much. His eyes rolled back into their sockets and his muscles began to spasm as
a kind of fit came over him. Suddenly, he remembered something and slipped a
hand down beneath the blankets. He smiled as his hand closed around the cold
metal of the knife.
    “Are you alright?” asked Erasmus.
    Surman gave him a strained smile. “Tell me,” he gasped, trying to hide his
growing excitement. “How did you heal me?”
    Erasmus leant back in his chair and shrugged modestly. “Oh, it was simple
herb lore really, nothing mysterious. Long ago, before I was even an initiate, I
used to dabble in such things. I just applied a poultice: a little brooklime,
mandrake and figwort, and then an infusion of Queen of the Meadow. Then nothing
more than rest and a light broth to keep your strength up until the fever
passed.”
    Surman nodded. “And how did you learn this ‘herb lore’?”
    “Ah, well, my mother was,” he laughed, “well, I suppose you’d call her a kind
of wise woman. She knew all sorts of things: weird folk legends, and strange
rites; you know the kind of thing.” He shook his head and looked wistfully out
of the window. “Sometimes I wonder if we’ve lost something, by neglecting all
the teachings of the Old Faith.”
    “Old Faith?” asked Surman, continuing to smile. “Old