The Dreaming Mark and the Vessel of Fools

To Your Health

I ducked beneath the tent flap and stepped in, to where a few Rigan volunteer peacekeepers were standing over the corpse of the day. "Morning, fellows," I greeted. "Thank you for waiting. There are enough tents around here that it took me a while to find the right one."

A tall-ish woman, with a bulky build and deeply tanned skin, turned towards me. "Suppose you're this Randulf person I was told to summon," she growled, placing her hands on her waist. "I'm Breda. I was put in charge of the volunteer patrol last night."

"I can certainly see why you were," I said with a mild bow, hoping it was taken as a compliment. "Yes, Randulf is my name. This is our victim?" I stepped a bit further in to stand by the cot on which the body had been laying. The unfortunate young warrior had not died of blood loss or any kind of physical damage. In fact, I didn't see any blood on or near them.

"Yeah," she said. "His name was Silas, he was a formidable fighter in my patrol group until last week or so. He took a few nasty blows in a skirmish with some raiders, nothing terribly life-threatening, but I sent him to the curate to make sure it didn't get any worse."

"Well, I don't see any bruises or cuts, so the curate must have done their job well enough." I leaned in closer to examine a spot where his tunic had been pierced. The skin beneath it seemed almost flawless.

"Which leaves me questioning why he died in the first place." Breda crossed her arms, unwilling to accept not knowing.

"I can tell you immediately he did not succumb from wounds. Your curate has done a magnificent job of clearing those out. ...Perhaps too good of one."

"Too good? Surely there is a limit to how much good can be done with healing magic."

"There is, in fact. But it is no limitation of the magic itself. Most curates' work tends to leave scars, or requires time for their patient to finish healing on their own. It does not necessarily need to leave marks or take time. The magicks are quite powerful, but they come at a cost."

"To the mana stream, I suppose? That a given person might only be able to use so much magic in one go."

"There is that, but more important is how much their patient can endure. The process of healing is a cooperation between curate and patient. The curate channels their mana reserves into - very technically - a form of chronomancy. The body's natural healing factor is sped up by several orders of magnitude." I gently took hold of Silas's wrist, raising his forearm from the bed, and observed the wrinkled, jaundiced look to his skin. "This requires the patient's body to be well cared for in all other respects. They must be well-fed, given plenty of fluid, during the process."

Breda rested a hand on her chin. "You know, the last time I came here for treatment, the curate gave me a piece of chocolate. I'd always thought that was patronizing and childish."

"And now you know they may have just saved your life." I put the young corpse's arm back down at his side. "I believe I can establish cause of death. Your man has died of induced malnutrition. The healing magicks were too great and intense for his body to endure, without proper nourishment."

"I've known him for many years and never known him to turn down a meal, unlike myself. Why would he not have eaten?"

"The question I have is not why he did not eat. I believe that food was not offered to him, and that he was, in fact, healed to death."

"Healed to death? Isn't that just the most oxymoronic..."

"It is more likely than it may sound to you. Just as any medicine can be a poison in great enough amounts, the same is true of magic. Tell me, when was the last time you spoke to the curate in this tent?"

"...It has been quite a while. I had two of my other boys haul Silas to the tent, so I didn't see the curate myself."

"It is possible they know they've killed your man, accidentally or otherwise, and have made themselves scarce."

Breda surveyed the curate's tent, one end to the other, confirming that no such person was in the tent. "That is worrisome." She nudged the two scouts flanking her. "Awaken as many peacekeepers as you can find. We're missing a curate, and I want to talk to them as soon as they're found."

"I cannot tell you for certain if this is murder or not, Breda."

"If it is, it won't take long for us to find out." She followed her two men out of the tent, the jingling of chain-mail following her heavy footsteps.