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

They were silent for a while, watching the soldiers below and listening to the music. It was getting dark fast, and the first stars were already showing in the sky. The nights in the gorge were cold despite the midsummer weather, and Rosa shivered at the first breeze.

— You were going somewhere, master, — the stocky elf reminded, keeping his gaze on the plaza. The torches flickered in the wind, and the shadows across the square trembled with the flames. — Watch your step now, it's dark.

— Yes, that's right. Good night, Captain. — Leaving the elf alone, the girl hurried up the path.

The house, requisitioned by Marshal de Cotoci for his personal flat, had formerly belonged to a family of hunters who had evidently had dealings with smugglers. It was situated on a small terrace — away from the village, up the slope. There were three paths leading up to the terrace, and at the edge of the terrace the former owners had built a stone bench of flat boulders. It was a cosy and secluded place to do dark things or just to spend time alone. Marshal was never alone, of course — there were always sentries from the Black Shields on duty outside the house. Rosa greeted them politely as she climbed onto the terrace. The soldiers knew Donna Vittoria's apprentice, so they didn't ask questions when she sat down on the bench and began cleaning her nails with little stick. She had timed it just right: in about twenty minutes de Cotoci emerged from the house. At the sight of Rosa, the commander raised his eyebrows in surprise and walked towards her at a brisk pace. He asked:

— Is something wrong, master?

The girl stood up to bow to the marshal:

— It's all right, milord. I just noticed from downstairs that every night you sit here thinking about something. I wanted to talk to you.

It was really Jeanne who had noticed the Marshal's evening ritual. Rosa herself, with her eyesight, would never have seen de Cotoci's figure from the village. The commander of the Black Guard after sunset invariably went to the edge of the terrace, sat there for about an hour, and then returned to the house. What exactly he was thinking about, the young sorceress did not know, but she guessed that the Marshal was not well, and had been for a long time. Perhaps this was a case when she should have done something about it without her mentor's request.

The warlord glanced glumly at the guards standing in the distance. He could not, of course, invite the girl into the house for a private conversation. The bench at the edge of the terrace was a much better place — the sentries could see them but not hear them. Thus decorum was formally observed. With a sigh, de Cotoci sat down and gestured for Rosa to sit down near him. She sank down on the stone seat, mentally wishing she had brought a cushion. It could have been a long conversation. Good thing the cobblestones were still warm from the day's sun.

— Now, what does Donna Vittoria want? — the Marshal asked.

— Power, strength, success in necromancy... — The girl waved her hands. — I'm not here for her, if that's what you mean.

— Really? — de Cotoci put his hand into his pocket. After a moment's thought, he pulled out a flask, but Rosa had no doubt that it was a wine flask. Instead of answering, she touched the commander's temple lightly with two fingers. She lowered her eyelids and concentrated, searching for the pain of someone else.

— Oh... — the marshal exhaled. — What are you... doing, master'?

— At least you don't call me that, milord, — she mumbled without opening her eyes. Her own temples began to whimper. — You know I don't have a degree.

— Now I'm ready to call you archmage. — The marshal's voice sounded relieved. — I don't remember army healers pulling a stunt like that.

— Because it's tedious and unhelpful, — Rosa admitted. — The pain will come back quickly, because I haven't eliminated the cause. But I want you to feel better now.

Clenching her fingers into a fist, she listened to her sensations. The pain in her head was a faint echo of what the marshal was experiencing, but she could judge the song by the echo, too.

— You're not hung over now, milord, — the young sorceress said, lifting her eyelids. — But you're not well. You hardly sleep when you go to bed sober. And you've been trying not to drink much the last few days to keep up with training troops and distributing supplies. Insomnia is killing you.

— So conspicuous? — De Cotoci asked after a pause.

— I spent five years at the Academy, milord, — Rose reminded him with a soft smile. — I know all about the effects of drunkenness and sleeplessness. The life of a student is tumultuous and full of misery. I've brought you a flask of sleeping potion — it will help for a while. If you dare to take something from my hands, of course. But we must deal with the cause. What ails you, milord Marshal?

That was the key point. Rosa doubted very much that such a direct question was a wise move. But she couldn't think of a better idea — after all, she was still just learning how to pull the strings of human souls. The young sorceress watched the marshal's face with bated breath. The commander took out a leather flask with wine, twirled it in his hands, then hid it again without opening it. He asked:

— Why would you do that?

— What, milord?

— If your mentor didn't give you instructions about me, why are you trying to help?

— We don't talk much, milord, but you're always there. — Rosa rubbed the tip of her nose with two fingers, pushed her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. — I see you almost every day — at headquarters, in camp, at lunches and dinners. You are no stranger to me, and it pains me to see you suffer. If it suits Donna Vittoria that your will is weakening and your influence in the army declining, it does not suit me. I don't care which of you two is in charge, I just want you to be well, milord. I trust a heart-to-heart talk will help you.

— Huh. — Marshal slapped his chest, just opposite where the flask rested beneath his caftan. — Mnh-mnh... Well... what can I say?

Rosa waited patiently — like a fisherman who does not want the fish to get off the hook. Finally, the commander spoke slowly:

— I don't know where I'm going. I started this rebellion, but in the end... Donna Vittoria is weaving some kind of web, and I'm like one of the threads in her hands. Everything I do is for her purposes, not mine. It's confusing, frightening. What's the point of triumphs and successes if they bring you nothing? What's the point of taking one step at a time if the road leads nowhere?

— And you are not satisfied with the purpose we offered to the soldiers? — the girl asked cautiously. — Saving the kingdom and the Coalition from the tyranny of outsiders?

— It's too lofty for me. — De Cotoci grinned bitterly. — It's too general. I'm not a hero of any kind. I have no one to protect. My wife is long dead, my sons died in the last war, my brother in the war before that... I... — He hesitated. — Maybe that's why I'm so attached to Her Majesty.

— Queen Octavia? — Rosa said, instantly alert. — Tell me about her. I saw her once, at the Academy.

— Nice girl. — Marshall shook his head, looking away. Now he was looking at the fires in the valley. — Your age. So serious, but she could smile. Idealistic, but very clever. She wasn't trained for the throne, but she tried hard. She read a lot of books, got into all the palace business. Saw the whole country — not the barons, dukes, merchants and peasants. A kingdom. Believed she had to protect it.

The light from the magic lamp above the entrance barely reached the stone bench, but the stars were burning brightly, the moon had risen, and Rosa could see the Marshal clenching his fists in the semi-darkness.

— When I started serving her, it was like... like stepping out of a stuffy tavern in winter and breathing fresh air, — the warlord continued. — It was like my mind cleared up for the first time since my sons died. I even stopped drinking. And when they told me the queen was dead, I didn't believe it.

— And you're not the only ones. — Rosa nodded at the Black Guard camp below.

— Yes, — de Cotoci agreed. — I was surprised myself when I realised that I had so many people supporting me. Townspeople, magicians, soldiers, officers with the crests of noble families — everyone wanted to believe that Octavia was alive.

— And what... them don't you want to protect? — Rosa leaned forward to look into the marshal's face. — Those who share your pain?

The marshal remained silent, and the girl asked another question:

— Are you ready to forgive Auguste and his allies?

— Never. — De Cotoci clenched his jaws.

— Here are two targets for you to choose from, my lord. — Rosa allowed herself a smile. — Defence of your companions and revenge against the Queen's murderers. Your own personal, private goals. You've seen them before. You're just a little lost. Best of all, both goals require the same actions. Finish Auguste. Drive out the outsiders. You can't do that without Donna Vittoria's connections and wiles. But neither can she do it without you.

— The Donna herself doesn't seem to think so, — remarked the marshal.

— She's wrong. — Rosa pulled a small flask of sleeping potion from her pocket and placed it on the marshal's lap. — Mentor values you as a useful resource. An advisor on strategy. But you must remain a leader on par with her, or the soldiers will stop believing in you. We still have battles to fight, even if Mentor's plan is built entirely on intrigue. There is no other commander like you in the army. And we cannot survive without you. Me, Vittoria, the people in the camp... the elves who have come to help us... you included.

De Cotoci took the flask. He met Rosa's eyes:

— You know, I'm still gonna call you the master, Rosa. I don't care about the diploma. When we take Daert, I'll send a company of soldiers to the Academy, and the diploma will be brought to you with the rector's desk.

— That's really unnecessary. I have something to impress the examiners. — The girl stood up. Her thighs were stiff from sitting on the stone for so long, but the young sorceress kept a smile on her face by an effort of will. Wrinkling and grunting was not the right thing to do now. — I'll pass you a few more potions, milord. They'll help you stay off the booze and sleep better. Alchemy isn't my speciality, but it's all in the student's kit.

— I'll send a soldier to escort you out, master. — The Commander stood up too.

— No need. Somebody already come for me. — She bowed her head in farewell and walked slowly towards the terrace, where a slim figure in black was waiting for her. Of course Jeanne could not go to bed while her mistress was out...

Chapter 18

It had been almost a month since Captain Lytel had greeted the rebels on the mountain path, and it seemed like six months to Rosa. Time dragged unbearably slow in the Three Horns Gorge. The young sorceress felt that it took forty hours from dusk to dawn. It was getting colder, autumn was approaching, and there was a lull in the civil war. The Royal Army, which had arrived after the Black Guard, tried to storm the gorge, but retreated, barely meeting resistance. The lack of enthusiasm was easy to explain — the standard of Auguste the First was not flying above the army. The usurper had apparently departed to restore order in other parts of the country, taking Iolian infantry, dragons, and most of the artillery. The mountain refuge was besieged by a seven thousand infantrymen, supported by several hundred gendarmes. They had erected a fortified camp and huddled in it, blocking the neck of the gorge. There was little advantage to such a siege, for just beyond the ridge the borders of the three Coalition states converged, and as a result the local smuggler's paths were so well-trodden that a desert elephant could probably be dragged along them unnoticed. To completely isolate Three Horns required considerable resources and extensive connections among the locals. Donna Vittoria had no such resources, but she had useful contacts. By the time the rebels arrived, a stockpile of provisions, medicines, gunpowder and lead had already been created in the mountains — partly with the necromancer's money, partly with the help of the elven principalities. The elves had given the rebels an impressive amount of silver, which allowed them to pay soldiers' wages for the first time since the war had begun. Not that people had anywhere to spend their money, but full wallets lifted spirits in any circumstance. Supplies continued to arrive uninterrupted — small caravans arrived along the mountain trails guarded by elven jaegers, bringing food and news, taking refugees and letters to Vittoria. Families of soldiers, gorge dwellers and badly wounded fighters were transported to Liarat, and from there — to distant Anelon, where it was easy for them to dissolve among the human population of the principality. In the second week of the siege, another convoy delivered a dozen long crates along with sacks of grain. They contained unusual guns — longer than arquebuses, but smaller than fortress guns. Captain Lytel demonstrated them to the Black Guard headquarters that evening.

— Humans love inventing new things, but elves know how to improve on existing ones, — the woman said as everyone gathered at the shooting range. She carried a long gun on her shoulder. — You invented the crossbow, we invented the lever loader and the steel bow. The task was easier here. The bullet of the arquebuse is too light to penetrate the gendarme's cuirass, and the fortress gun is too big to fire from hand. We've found a middle ground. This new weapon is called a musket, and you will be the first people to see it in action. Please!

The elven woman's words sounded as if she were a merchant calling customers to her shop. With a deliberately spectacular gesture, the captain stuck a thin stick with a fork on the end into the ground, placed the barrel of the musket on the fork, blew the fuse and fired, almost without aiming. At the other end of the firing range, a target made of gendarme shell flew off the pole. One of the marshal's guards brought it over to demonstrate the round bullet hole in the steel cuirass. It looked particularly impressive against the background of dents from the hits from arquebuses.

— It needs a support, — said one of the staff officers.

— Yes, but more for convenience, — the elf turned to him. — A strong man can shoot from his hands, and such a prop can be carried with him. However, the new gun is only a tool. The Prince has given me permission to give you something more. Our military science.

— I'm not sure that elven warfare is suitable for humans, — the marshal said, touching the pierced cuirass with his finger. Rosa's little finger could fit through the bullet hole. — We can't train soldiers for decades.