The knight, the dragon and the necromancer. Daert dilogy-1

— Sisters... could you... Our commander is going to die soon. Will you see him off? For the Prophet's sake... I can't pay...

— Is the officer here? — Jeanne glanced incredulously at the wounded man. The man was oblivious, his face glistening with sweat. At times, the dying man shuddered and mumbled something.

— The lieutenant is our... from the landless. — The other soldier stood up too. He spoke even more stiffly than the moustache. — No title, no money. He spent his wages on us... here. To eat better, to repair armour. But when it came to his own needs, there was nothing.

— We dragged him here, scraped up some coins, paid the healer, and he took one look at him and left. — Mustached man spit in the straw. — He said he'd come again, and he's gone. Stay here, sisters. It won't be long now, I think. It's not good for a good man to go away like that. Not even a confession. Well, at least say a prayer.

— We didn... — Jeanne started. Rosa elbowed her in the stomach. Not much, fortunately. For the press of a maid-guard could have bruised her elbow. She said with a soft smile:

— I can't stay long, good people. But I can help with more than just prayer.

She raised her arms, letting the wide sleeves fall to her elbows. The soldiers only now noticed her white gloves.

— So you're a healer... — The mustachioed veteran's eyes widened, his face brightened. But a moment later, he sank back down. — The Creator sent you too late, sister.

— The Creator doesn't make mistakes, good man. He always does what's right, — Rose said. It sounded very... monastic. — Stand back.

The girl crouched down beside the dying man and placed her bag on the ground. She opened the flap, pulled out a few flasks of potions, arranged them in a row. She unsheathed her knife, rinsed the blade with a cleansing solution. Pulled the blanket off the wounded man. She took a deep breath.

The young officer had been shot in the stomach. And it looked very bad. The girl took off her gloves, so as not to stain with pus, carefully probed the edges of the wound. She used a little magic, letting herself feel the pain of someone else. The risk was hardly justified — the girl had even discharged her goggles before the mission, so as not to attract the stares of every army mage she met. Glasses in themselves were a suspiciously valuable item for a travelling nun, and enchanted ones even more so. Mages were rare among priests and monks, and always attracted interest, which was why Rosa had chosen to be a common "bride of the One". Now any passing mage would have noticed the greenish glowing threads that connected Rosa's hands to the officer's abdomen. However, the student was not a medic, and her healing skills were worth something only due to skilful improvisation, combining scientific knowledge with magical talent. She wasn't going to give up halfway.

— So? — Jeanne asked, stepping under the awning.

— The wound is not that deep. — Rose closed her eyes, keeping her palm on the wounded man's stomach. — It didn't even hit the internal organs, I think. It hadn't been cleaned properly and stitched up too hastily. That healer, probably paid by the soldiers. Inflammation, inflammation on the rise. I'll take the stitches out and clean it myself. You hold his legs, he'll probably wake up.

— Hey, you there! — The black-haired warrior turned to the soldiers. — Come here.

— They shouldn't... — the student lowered her voice, but the soldiers hurriedly approached. — All right. Help me hold it.

The most difficult thing was to pretend that the main work was done with a knife and a needle. In fact, the young sorceress's main tools were magic and potions, but she diligently pretended to be the labour of an ordinary healer. Cleaning the wound was no longer enough — the officer's blood itself was poisoned. The poison caused by the rotting wound was circulating through the unfortunate man's veins, collecting under his skin. The girl discreetly pricked her finger and mixed a drop of her own blood with the wounded man's. Then concentrated on the sensation. She compared her healthy blood with the patient's blood in front of her inner gaze, eliminated the known congenital differences, found the extra component. She memorised its image and began to weave a network of magical lines inside the officer's body. Find, separate, expel. Magic is for research, not cure. Another improvisation. It's like lighting a fire with telescope glass, catching a ray of sunlight. The telescope is designed for a different purpose, but it'll work.

— God Almighty, the lieutenant's sweat is bloody!" the mustachioed veteran who held his commander by the shoulders shrieked. Contrary to Rosa's fears, he didn't wake up when she opened the wound, but he twitched in unconsciousness at times.

— It's okay, it's the effect of the last potion," the student lied in a slurred voice. — That's the way it should be. Wipe it off.

Having drained the festering poison from the wounded man's body, the girl simultaneously finished cleaning the wound of dead flesh, pus and scraps of tissue that had fallen inside with the enemy blade.

— Jeanne. — The young sorceress washed the wound one last time and pulled down the edges. — Shay. I can't, my fingers are shaking.

The guardswoman took the needle and thread she had prepared in advance and splashed them with cleaning solution from the flask, which was almost empty. Under the wary glances of the soldiers, she began to work — slowly, diligently. Almost in the same way she had sewn the torn jacket the day they had first met. The patient groaned suddenly and opened his eyes. Focussed his gaze on Rosa's face. He whispered, barely moving his cracked lips:

— Sister... I...

— It's okay. — The girl wiped the sweat off his forehead with the palm of her hand. — You'll be fine. You don't need to confess.

— It hurts... — the young officer squeezed out.

— It'll pass. — Rosa brought a flask of sleeping potion to his lips. In fact, it was the only one in the bag that hadn't been taken for disguise. The potion could be used to put guards to sleep, for example. Naturally, it was much stronger than usual, so the girl gave the wounded man only a few drops. The unfortunate man almost immediately fell into an uneasy sleep. But it was no longer a painful unconsciousness caused by fever, but a real sleep.

— That's it. — Jeanne removed the needle. Rose leaned back with a sigh of relief, resting her sweaty palms on the ground.

— So that's what... — The moustached soldier shifted his gaze from one woman to another. — Is he going to live?

— Yeah, — was all Rosa could say. The operation had worn her out, more mentally than physically.

— Short and bad, like all normal people, — Jeanne added.

— Sisters... — The veteran's voice trembled. It seemed as if he was going to cry. — The Creator sent you, that's for sure....

— The Creator must have plans for your lieutenant. — The black-haired warrior lifted Rose to her feet almost by force, bent over to pick up her bag.

— We still have something left here... — The second soldier patted his pockets. He listened, as if hoping to distinguish the ringing of a coin.

— If you have anything left, give it to the nurse to keep an eye on the lieutenant. — Rosa wiped her hands with a bundle of straw and pulled on gloves. — Keep the suture clean. When he wakes up, give him something to drink, he can drink. Buy some fortifying tinctures if you can.

She didn't bother to add that she'd lastly drugged the officer with restorative potions, like the one she'd used to speed up Toad wing's healing. The soldiers might not have known that they didn't work without guiding magic. They might not know that they didn't work without guiding magic, but someone they would inevitably tell.

— We'll remember you forever. — Moustache pressed his palm to his heart. — What's your name, sisters?

— Never mind, good man. — Rose shook her head. — Better tell me your and your lieutenant's names.

— I'm Gaston, this, — the veteran pointed to a comrade, — is Vincent, an Iolian. Lieutenant Bastien. Bastien de Leri.

— Let's pray for his health, Gaston. All the best to you. — Rose stepped out onto the straw-free path and lowered her gaze. The mouse-construct still hadn't turned up. Without listening to any more thanks from the soldiers, she strode away. Jeanne caught up with her and walked beside her. She asked:

— Who shall we help next, madame? There are a hundred more people suffering.

— Oh, Jeanne... — The young sorceress twitched her shoulders. — Leave it.

— I would ask why you did it, madame. — The bodyguard snorted. — Only I answered it myself last night. How are you? You've gone green, I see.

— If I fall, you'll carry me. — Rosa quickened her pace, hurrying to leave the hospital grounds. She didn't want to think about the fact that there were two more of them ahead.

However, when she reached the second square with the wounded, the girl stopped in indecision. She saw several figures in white cloaks with black marks — five or six nuns and two priests. The priests were apparently confessing a couple of dying men, and the sisters were serving breakfast. The student didn't want to meet any real servants of the One. Even a brief conversation could give her something away. Especially if the nuns were from the same order to which Rose had assigned herself. It was risky to stand still, though, so the sorceress moved slowly along the edge of the square, occasionally crouching near one or another of the wounded to examine them with a clever look.

— Damn it... — Jeanne muttered suddenly. One of the real nuns spotted the spies and came towards them. Rose straightened up, noting with some relief that the nun was not wearing a healer's glove, and her sleeves were adorned with unfamiliar Order insignia. That made things easier.

— Sister? — Rosa was the first to speak, giving herself a tired but confident look. — Is something wrong?

— You're Simeonites... — Their interlocutor was a sturdy woman with a yellowish tint to her skin and an unusual eye shape. One of her ancestors was probably from the Erdo Republic. — Good. Are you a healer, Sister...? — she paused, clearly expecting to hear a name.

— Dominika, — the student introduced herself, remembering the kind-hearted bald peasant. — Yes, I'm a healer. I arrived this morning.

— Thank the Creator, we could use the extra hands. — The nun made the Sign, and Rosa and Jeanne repeated it. — I'm Sister Irina. The eldest here. You will help my girls today.

— I'm afraid I'll have to hold off on that for now. — Rose gathered her will into a fist. Irina spoke in a commanding tone, reminding her of the Academy teachers, but joining the Sisters of Mercy for the day was not in her plans. — I haven't visited the third hospital yet, Sister. My strength and medication supplies are limited. I must weed out those who are too late to help and those who don't need help. Then devote myself to the rest.

The elderly nun glared at Rosa, then said with apparent reluctance:

— Well, I can't order you around, Sister Simeonite. — She emphasized the last word. Rose was indeed in her right to refuse to obey a senior nun from another order. — Hurry up. No matter how much work you find in other hospitals, you won't get any rest here.

When Sister Irina left, the girl quietly took a breath. She glanced sideways at jeanne. Warrior narrowed her eyes:

— You have a way with words, madam. You're an real eel.

— Any student can do that if he's ever taken an exam, Jeanne, — the girl grinned. — Let's go.

She slipped her thumb under the strap of her shoulder bag and continued on her way, circling the perimeter of the square. For once, the spies were lucky. Rose had time to look at the seven soldiers before a grey ball with a long tail darted at her feet.

— Ouch! — The young sorceress let the bag slip off her shoulder and fall into the straw. She crouched down, grabbed a mouse standing on its hind legs, stuck it between the leather flasks, and straightened up with the bag in her hands. Shaking it off the straws, she stepped to the next wounded man. To avoid arousing suspicion, Rosa had to complete her rounds. The real nuns, fortunately, almost ignored the fake "sister", looking at her with dislike, but from a distance. All this time the girl was tormented by the thought that she had inadvertently caught a real rodent instead of a messenger construct. However, the mouse did not scratch, did not try to get out, and did not show any signs of life. Finally leaving the square, Rosa found a secluded nook between the two tents and peered into the bag while Jeanne waited nearby. The mouse was lying on the bottom with its belly up. The bone button was perfectly visible. The girl made the Sign of the One — for the first time in a day, quite sincerely.

— Come here, little one... — She took out the mouse, undid the button, and took out a square-wrapped note. She unfolded it, read it, put it back, turned to Jeanne:

— Tall dark blue tent on the north-eastern edge of the camp. It's far away from the others, so we'll see it. There's always a guard of two soldiers in front of it. There's someone else inside. This is it.

— Shall we go that way? — The warrior suggested it. — Not to storm, to look around.

Rose rubbed her chin:

— You know, you should go alone. I don't know anything about this kind of thing anyway, unless I can spot magic.

— And you will go to the third hospital. — Jeanne tilted her head to her shoulder.

— Yeah. — The girl shrugged her shoulders. — A lot of people have already seen me here, so don't make a fuss. I'll continue to play the role of healer, and you watch the target, think about the plan... Then come and get me. Evening would be best.

— If you need to shout louder, I'll hear you. I guess so. — The guardswoman squeezed Rosa's elbow for a second, looking her in the eye. — And don't operate on anyone else, please.

At this point the spies parted. When Rosa reached the third hospital, she found that the wounded were being cared for by female camp servants. Encouraged by the absence of the servants of the One, the girl decided to stay longer. She went from soldier to soldier, reciting over and over the shortest prayer she knew, "Heavenly Father". Some of the wounded were sleeping. Some were delirious. Some prayed with her, some were silent, some tried to speak. The necromancer's apprentice didn't respond, but soon the mere pretence of helping became unbearable. Rose changed her approach. Now she crouched down in front of each unfortunate and touched his forehead with two fingers. Saying the words of a prayer, the girl drank a drop of pain from her "patient". Just a little bit — to subtly ease the suffering, that's all. In the end, she still felt sick. Other people's pain began to echo throughout her body. Stab wounds, slash wounds, bullets lodged in her body, broken bones, knocked out teeth, dislocated joints — the young sorceress experienced it all at once, albeit in the form of faint echoes. She seemed to have collected the wounds of the whole company, though she had time to examine only two dozen people. It was getting harder and harder to hold on as usual.