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

— There's a signature of the crown necromancer, — Rosa explained.

— I think your pet is much better proof. — With a squeamish grimace, de Chelier took the paper with two fingers and unfolded it. — Well, master. Tell your mentor that if the Black Guard really cares about the good of this country and wants to restore order, we're ready to discuss terms of cooperation.

— After the obstacles to negotiation have been removed, milord," — Rosa added.

— Yes. — The colonel nodded, his lips tightly pressed together. — After that.

* * *

A week ago, just after the battle, the royal army's camp looked perhaps better. Then it had been lined with corpses. Auguste's troops decided not to make the same mistake and did not enter the field when the Black Guard began to leave the gorge. But as soon as the rebels began their assault on the field fortifications, two crown regiments struck in the rear of their own comrades. The battle turned into a massacre. Rosa remembered visiting the camp immediately after the battle, along with the marshal and her mentor. Dead bodies lay in a continuous carpet. On the southern rampart, a dead black dragon lay dead, a lizard that had been shot at point-blank range by the cannons and had managed to trample one of the guns. Its scarlet counterpart had escaped in time, hidden behind a cloudy film.

Now the camp was full of refugees, many of them looking worse than dead men. People were streaming in from all over the world. Some had sought refuge in the Three Horns Gorge, some knew that the king's soldiers were here and hoped to be protected by them. Peasants driven from their lands by fear, inhabitants of small towns frightened by the fate of large neighbours, townspeople from the suburbs who had survived the blasts of heavenly fire... Many of them were sick, wounded, affected by raw magic. There was no rest for the medics, and Rosa travelled to the royal camp handed over to the refugees to help to the best of her ability. She did not so much treat herself as direct the actions of others, distributing the sick, healers, provisions and medicines.

By noon on the seventh day, the necromancer's apprentice had gone outside the fortifications to inspect the mass graves where hundreds of fallen soldiers and dead refugees rested. It was necessary to check if they were well buried, and if the pits with the dead would not become a source of disease. Halfway there, however, she was intercepted by a messenger.

— Marshal de Cotoci wants to see you, master, — the messenger said guiltily. — Immediately.

With a sigh, the girl turned on her heels and strode toward the tall black tent in the middle of the camp. The commander had moved in yesterday, planning to move his troops out of the gorge soon. As she walked, Rosa tried to push thoughts of boxes of healing herbs and vacant hospital tents out of her mind. The marshal would probably want to talk about future plans. Donna Vittoria hadn't said anything to her apprentice yet, but it was clear that the necromancer's plans needed serious adjustments. Rosa had no doubt that the red-haired donna had considered the possibility of the end of the world, but she could hardly foresee its small details.

To Rosa's surprise, the marshal met her not in the tent, but outside. He looked unusually agitated.

— Master, forgive me if I've distracted you. — The warlord stepped towards the girl. — But something... strange has happened.

— I'm listening, milord, — the young sorceress replied calmly. It would have been foolish to show annoyance. De Cotoci wasn't the kind of man who'd give her a hard time about nothing.

— Today a batch of refugees from some forest village arrived at the camp. — Marshal twitched his whiskers nervously. — All healthy, not even hungry, and they brought food with them. They were led by a woman, some kind of herbalist. She said at once that she was looking for the most important person in the camp. The soldiers on guard were rude to her. So she did something. Come on, you need to see this.

They entered the tent. At the marshal's table, in his chair, sat a tall, stout, middle-aged woman, ruddy, dark-haired, dressed in a man's hunting suit. She must be the herbalist. And leaning against the edge of the table was... a halberd. Rosa didn't realize it at first, because the halberd had many small branches covered with young green leaves growing out of its shaft.

— Oh, what a lovely little girl you've brought, milord! — The woman at the table shook her hands with genuine delight. — Gifted, isn't she? Excellent. Let's skip the cheap tricks phase. Look here, little one.

The stranger put her palms on the tabletop. For a second, nothing happened. Then the table sprouted. Thin branches began to grow from it in different directions at an incredible speed. In a matter of moments, buds budded and leaves sprouted. Just like the halberd.

— Is it the magic of nature, master? — Marshal asked Rosa hoarsely.

— No, — she said, taking a step towards the table and holding out her hand. — Milord... this isn't magic at all. I can't feel the energy...

— That's right, little girl, — the woman smiled broadly. Her teeth were surprisingly white for a woman from a remote village. — Now you'll believe what I say next, I hope.

She got up and walked away from the table. She broke off a couple of twigs and sat down on the edge of the tabletop, resting her hands on it. She said:

— I'll introduce myself. They call me Frida now. I used to be called by another name, Frien. It says something to a smart girl with glasses, doesn't it? Even though you have round ears.

— Frien... — Rosa frowned, folding her arms across her chest. — The goddess of the forests in the elven pantheon. A pagan goddess. You mean...

— Yes, that's me. — The woman smiled even wider.

— But you're a human being! — Rosa hesitated. — Well... you look human.

— It's more comfortable, — she shrugged. — I've been trying to keep a low profile for the last thousand years. For your information, little one, the shape of my ears doesn't affect my hearing, so what do I care?

— And... what are you doing here... er... — Marshal de Cotoci also hesitated, obviously unable to find the right address. — Mistress?

— Seeking help and offering help. — The woman suddenly moved forward and stood directly in front of Rosa. The necromancer's apprentice had to tilt her head back to see her eyes. They were bright green. The sorceress had never seen such a color even in elves. — Your problems are more serious than you realise, my young friends. I'll help you.

— Why? — Rosa asked, pulling herself together. She wanted terribly to back away, to look away, but she stayed where she was.

The tent seemed to grow darker. Rosa thought she could hear the rustling of thick leaves and the creaking of dry branches in the wind. Frieda-Frien stopped smiling. Looking into the sorceress's eyes, she said:

— Not everything in the woods likes the woods. That's why, little one.

"Talking to God is essentially a monologue. I am one of those few people who have entered into dialogue with God — and more than once. However, it was not the God that is usually implied..."

The Witch Queen, Memories, Volume Five.

The end.

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