TWENTY-NINE
So you are saying that the conjurors are not sneaking the corpses through our defenses,” Lin Lill started. “They are poisoning our own soldiers, waiting for them to die, and using those bodies to attack?”
Ellina had roused the others from their beds and gathered them in the inn’s great room. Without commenting on it, they each claimed their prior seats, leaving Traegar’s chair empty, and Dourin’s, too. Harmon remained standing.
“It makes sense,” Lin Lill continued. “All along, we thought the conjurors were slipping corpses past our guards when in truth they were merely sneaking poison past—a much easier feat.”
“It also explains the purpose of the minceflesh,” Erol agreed. “It’s the only poison strong enough to kill an elf. We assumed that these two threats—the undead attackers and the minceflesh—were unrelated. We thought an assassin was in our midst, maybe even living among us, trying to poison Venick. But the minceflesh was not for Venick at all, at least not directly. It was being used to create corpses.”
“That still does not explain how no one recognized the corpses,” Branton argued. “If I was a soldier, I would notice if one of my fellows became an undead.”
“In the elven legion where troops remain small, yes,” Ellina replied. “But we are an enormous resistance. Many of our elven fighters are wildings, or from small villages in the far north and east. It would be easy for a lone soldier to go missing.”
“And,” Harmon added, “even if the victims did have friends who might recognize them, the corpses have always been destroyed quickly—dismembered or burned—before anyone could have a chance to identify them.”
“A weapon that must be destroyed in order to be defeated.” Erol did not seem put off by this revelation, but rather impressed, as if this was another one of his experiments. “We have been erasing the enemy’s evidence for them.”
Ellina imagined it: the way the conjurors would have planned ahead, slipping into the kitchens to poison a cup at random or confiscating a canteen when a soldier was not watching, then waiting for the unknowing victim to get close to the Commander, and to drink. The poison would need to be fast-working, yet subtle enough that the soldier did not appear to be dying. Then the conjuror would take control of the body and attack.
“We must alert the city,” Lin Lill said. “All water sources need to be searched, the ale and wine poured out.”
Harmon made a skeptical noise. “The citizens will be up in arms about that.”
“The citizens should be thankful. We are saving them from a gruesome end. And they are lucky, too, that we discovered the truth now, before the conjurors grew tired of waiting and decided to start poisoning the entire water supply.”
“I believe that is unlikely,” Erol said. “Minceflesh is difficult to procure. The conjurors likely do not have much of it. Even if they didhave enough to poison the entire water supply, it would dilute the toxin. It might not have the desired effect.”
“On elves,” Lin Lill emphasized. “But humans, being weaker—”
“Here we go again,” Harmon groaned.
“What?” Lin Lill gave an innocent shrug. “Most poisonswillkill humans but not elves. For those few rare poisons that can harm an elf, it only makes sense that a larger dose would be needed to achieve the same effect.”
“I should invent a poison that works the other way around,” Harmon said, “just to shut you up.”
“Actually,” Erol admitted, “I already did.”
Everyone looked at him.
“That was the project Traegar and I spent years working on together,” he explained. “We created a poison that could kill elves, but not humans. We named it lace powder due to the toxin’s dust-like properties. That was the key. Lace powder is not ingested like most poisons, but rather blown into the air. It is inhaled.”
Ellina was stunned. “Why have I never heard of this?”
“Well.” Erol scratched his neck. “It was the experiment that got Traegar expelled from the Healer’s Academy. All records of it were destroyed.”
The room fell quiet.
Erol said, “One of us should check on Dourin.”
“Allow me,” Lin Lill said.
“No offense, Lin,” Venick said, “but Dourin might need someone a little less…abrasive.”
“I’ll go,” Harmon offered.
“Ah.” Venick gave an uncomfortable smile. “Thanks, Harmon, but when I said we needed someone less abrasive—”
“I can do it,” Branton interrupted. He spoke quietly, in a way that reminded Ellina that Branton, too, had recently lost someone he cared for. Artis was his best friend. “I know what to say.”
