Near noon, everyone in Vergen's round-table council hall raised their cups to celebrate the passage of the new proposal, further cementing the Dragonslayer's position as military commander.
Then a goblet fell to the floor, and Saskia the Virgin collapsed in agony.
The council hall erupted into chaos. Philippa anxiously rushed to her side and examined her, then looked up at Iorveth.
"Someone poisoned her. She is dying... Take her somewhere safe and protect her with your life. I'll prepare what we need and join you as soon as possible."
The elf clenched his fists and promised without hesitation, "I'll assign my finest warriors to guard her."
Yarpen shouted at the top of his lungs, "Lads, hurry! Bring a stretcher!"
...
Some time later, Victor pushed through the crowd and reached Saskia's residence. Several dozen elite Scoia'tael commandos had been added to the guards surrounding the building. Iorveth, Zoltan, and Mayor Cecil were waiting restlessly outside the door.
After finishing his strenuous bout with the elven woman, the witcher had only recently left the cave dwelling when he heard that something had happened to Saskia. He had come straight here and did not yet know the details.
His gaze swept across the three men outside the door. He walked over to the elven commander crouching on the stone steps and patted him on the shoulder.
"Iorveth, what happened?"
The elf's face was twisted with rage, as though he were searching for someone to tear apart.
"Near the end of the meeting, Saskia collapsed from poison. Philippa is treating her inside."
Sensing the flow of magic, Victor gained a rough understanding of the situation and turned toward the wooden door.
"She's stopped casting."
When Philippa emerged from the house, the others hurried forward to ask about Saskia.
Dressed in a sapphire-blue robe, the sorceress pressed her lips together, looking noble and inscrutable.
Zoltan was the first to ask bluntly, "My lady, is Saskia still alive?"
After looking across everyone present, Philippa nodded.
"For now. I have slowed her life functions as much as possible and stabilized the spread of the poison."
Iorveth asked, "Do you recognize the poison?"
"Thaumador. It is more commonly known as magepain. The poison has an infamous reputation."
Iorveth swung his fist furiously. "There must be an antidote."
Victor had never heard of the poison, but he could see that the sorceress knew what she was doing.
"Lady Eilhart, you can cure Saskia, can't you? What can we do to help?"
Philippa nodded solemnly. "Your assistance will be indispensable. The treatment requires herbs, magic... and blood."
Hearing the last word, the witcher spoke calmly. "I assume animal blood or the blood of an ordinary person won't suffice."
"Correct. We need royal blood."
"Royal blood... The nearest king is on the other side of the mist of wraiths. And if we expect Henselt to provide it, I suppose we'll need a kingslayer."
"You misunderstand me. It does not need to come from a reigning monarch. Anyone of royal lineage will suffice.
"Kings descend from ancient dynasties. Centuries ago, rulers needed exceptional resistance and strength to survive. Since royal dynasties rarely accepted common blood into their families, the power within their bloodlines remains strong even now.
"I will employ the body's self-healing mechanisms. This form of blood therapy will 'teach' Saskia's body how to purge the poison."
Although the sorceress did not say it outright, everyone present immediately thought of the readily available royal currently residing in Vergen, Prince Shit-ennis.
Still suspicious, Iorveth asked, "You're going to make her drink human blood?"
"No. I will inject it directly into her heart."
Victor frowned. Although the treatment did not seem remotely scientific, incompatible blood could kill someone on the spot, he had already learned not to insist upon science in a fantasy world.
"Besides the blood, what herbs do you need?"
"We require a subterranean variety of purple foxglove, known to the dwarves as the immortelle, as well as an elven rose of remembrance."
Iorveth struck his fist against his palm.
"Ah... Then we're in luck. Vic has a rose of remembrance with him. He picked one before leaving the forest outside Flotsam."
Philippa turned toward the witcher, a radiant smile appearing on her face.
"Well done! Long ago, the ancient Aen Seidhe who successfully cultivated these roses were held in great esteem. Give me the rose first. I will need time to process it and make the necessary preparations."
Victor looked at Iorveth's expectant gaze, then at Zoltan and Cecil's upturned faces, and finally into the unfathomable depths of Philippa's eyes. Silently, he took a rose of remembrance from his herbal satchel and placed it in the sorceress's open palm.
"Where can we find the immortelle?"
"It grows deep underground, but that should not be much of a problem. Vergen stands directly above a mine."
Iorveth pressed her for further details. "How will it help Saskia?"
"Magepain wreaks havoc on the body's internal tissues. The immortelle will help restore them," Philippa answered smoothly.
The witcher committed each part of her explanation to memory.
"Herbs and blood. You also mentioned magic, didn't you?"
"Yes. Thaumador is a self-perpetuating substance. Any intrusion into a cluster of poisoned cells immediately triggers a chain reaction. Every tainted cell removed produces ten new tainted cells.
"To disrupt that reaction, I will require an extraordinarily powerful source of the Power. A water or air genie would be ideal, or one of the twenty legendary Rings of Power..."
Victor blinked.
"An immortelle, a rose of remembrance, royal blood, and magic. It sounds like a fairy tale. Shame there's no prince's kiss to serve as the grand finale."
Philippa drew a deep breath.
"I wish it were a poorly written fairy tale, because then it would be certain to have a happy ending. For now, I must maintain the spell sustaining Saskia's life. Witcher, may I rely on your assistance?"
Victor wanted to enter and examine Saskia himself. Perhaps Miraculous Alchemy could solve the problem. However, his personal relationship with the Virgin had never been made public, so the others would not allow him inside. Besides, Philippa Eilhart had already arranged everything with perfect clarity...
"Understood. I'll help. As an honorable member of the nobility, I'll speak with Prince Stennis about donating some of his blood. As for the immortelle... Zoltan, can you and the others handle it?"
Cecil awkwardly removed his painter's cap.
"Sir, there's some bad news regarding the mine. There was an accident not long ago, and it was sealed. The tunnels are now crawling with ghouls and rotfiends, and there are terrifying tremors from time to time..."
Although Zoltan did not know the exact circumstances, that did not stop him from spitting onto the ground.
"Old Burdon, don't act like a ball-less coward! What are a few ghouls? I'll fetch Yarpen and a few lads, and we'll deal with it!"
Noticing the mayor's nervous expression, Victor suspected the matter might not be quite so simple. However, now that the dwarf had taken responsibility for it, voicing doubts would only insult him.
Iorveth said viciously, "In that case, I'll search for the poisoner."
With their responsibilities settled, everyone went their separate ways.
An elf approached the witcher of his own accord.
"Sir, Lieutenant Lansi asked me to deliver a message to you, justice has been served."
"Understood."
...
Not long afterward, Sir Victor Corion of Toussaint requested an audience with Prince Stennis of Aedirn.
The prince's cave dwelling was not fundamentally different from any other. It was dark and damp, requiring a fire to keep the interior dry and illuminated. Of course, the decorations on the walls were tasteful. Victor at least recognized the painting titled The King's Glory.
As a famous work intended to proclaim the eternal majesty of royal authority, the scene depicting Raffard the White refusing the crown appeared anywhere such a message was needed.
Wearing gleaming golden armor, his bald head round and smooth and his expression gloomy, Stennis received Victor in the company of his bodyguard, Broghan. The prince's other staunch supporter, Reverend Olcan, was not present.
Host and guest sat opposite each other. The firelight illuminated the sides of their faces, leaving both men half in light and half in shadow.
"Witcher, what gives you the courage to disturb the Prince of Aedirn?"
Shit-ennis's very first sentence was thoroughly contemptuous, both in his choice of address and in his tone.
Thinking of the Cowardly Lion, Victor smiled.
"I have a few questions on which I would like to ask the prince's opinion."
"And you believe I should answer your questions instead of setting my dogs on you?"
"I believe Your Highness already has enough enemies. Here in Vergen, across the river, and even throughout Vengerberg. Surely you haven't forgotten that I saved your life.
"Allow me to remind Your Highness of something else. Do not behave like an ill-mannered bumpkin. You are not yet a king, while I am Viscount Corion of Toussaint. Show the proper courtesy and respect, and address me as Your Lordship or sir!"
As he spoke, Victor raised his chin at precisely the correct angle. He had taken time to practice the gesture in front of a mirror. It displayed all the dignified reserve of high birth without the vulgar arrogance of a newly rich upstart. He was, after all, a man thoroughly versed in aristocratic bearing.
Victor's retort made Stennis's face turn crimson. Broghan stepped forward and prepared to defend his master, but the prince raised a hand to stop him.
"This man is a noble. I am perfectly safe. Wait outside!"
After glaring fiercely at Victor, Broghan left the room.
"My apologies, Your Lordship!"
Although the prince used the appropriate form of address, his cold expression showed no trace of respect.
"I thank you for your previous assistance, but I do not believe a wandering monster slayer can understand the intricacies of royal succession."
"The succession is a popular subject in every tavern throughout the kingdom. I cannot say for certain, but I suspect even the executioner of Vengerberg will eventually stake a claim to the throne."
"Sir, my patience is limited. At this moment, only my respect for Lady Saskia allows me to restrain my anger. May Melitele protect her. State your purpose or leave!"
"It is quite simple. You have an opportunity to help the Lady Saskia whom you respect so deeply. To cure the poison afflicting her, we need royal blood."
Understanding Victor's request, the prince's expression changed slightly.
"Royal blood? As you so kindly pointed out, I have not yet been crowned!"
The witcher spread his hands.
"Don't misunderstand. A coronation is unnecessary. We only require a small amount of the blood of your royal ancestors flowing through your veins."
"Perhaps so, but that does not mean I must bleed for someone else! Take care, you are making an outrageously presumptuous demand! Are you a witcher or a vampire?"
"Your Highness, your blood could save Lady Saskia. Besides, donating a moderate amount of blood is actually beneficial to one's health."
Prince Stennis rebuked him loudly.
"Nonsense! I need my blood to remain alive. Do not trouble me with such absurdities.
"Guards, Viscount Corion is leaving!"
As his voice fell, Broghan entered the room with several men, all glaring viciously at Victor.
The witcher stared deeply into the prince's cold, indifferent eyes, placed a hand over his chest in farewell, and turned to leave.
When fundamental interests were involved, there truly was no room for negotiation. Victor had never expected much from this visit. It had merely been a final attempt to confirm the prince's attitude.
Having already inspected the premises during their conversation, the young man, who possessed not the slightest reverence for royalty, had made up his mind. At the first opportunity, he would help the esteemed Prince Shit-ennis lose a little blood and improve his circulation.
...
When Victor returned to the paved main road, he found Cecil Burdon standing not far away on the opposite side, waving repeatedly at him.
The witcher walked over.
"Mayor, I believe you wish to discuss the immortelle with me?"
"Yes, Victor!" Cecil tugged irritably at his beard. "Immortelles usually grow near deposits of anthracite and aluminosilicate. The mine beneath Vergen's upper district is the richest place to search.
"But around a month ago, perhaps because some miners entered the wrong seam and awakened something in the depths, men began disappearing without explanation. They may have been miners, but every last one of them was also a brave dwarven warrior.
"We originally intended to send a group of strong lads down there, but that bastard Henselt attacked at precisely the wrong time. Saskia needed every soldier available to defend the town. I feared the filthy creatures might spread into Vergen and attack the residents, so I ordered the shaft sealed."
"You're worried Zoltan and the others won't be able to handle it?"
"I have complete faith in my fellow dwarves, of course, but a witcher is the expert."
This mayor certainly knew how to make his words pleasant to hear. Victor smiled.
"Although I'll already be heading that way, the appropriate fee will still need to be paid."
"That won't be a problem. Do you need to make any preparations? Zoltan has already called Yarpen and Sheldon. They're arming themselves at the mine entrance in the upper district. I gave orders that the shaft was not to be opened until I arrived."
"Then let's leave now."
...
As Victor and the mayor approached the mine in the upper district, the leader of the Phantom Troupe heard a woman's voice loudly proclaiming her heroic achievements from afar.
"Relax, everyone! With Angoulême of the Phantom Troupe joining you, a few measly ghouls and rotfiends are nothing but a light appetizer! What, you've never heard of me? Surely you've heard of the Golden Eagle of Temeria! That's right, you're looking at her!
"Back during the Vizima uprising, I wielded this Golden Eagle steel sword and hacked my way from the Temple Quarter all the way to the Trade Quarter! I fought back and forth for three days and three nights, cut after cut after cut, without blinking even once!
"What!? You want to know whether my eyes got dry..."
Her domineering speech came to an abrupt halt.
Angoulême leaped from the platform in a blur because she had spotted Victor among the crowd. The amused look in his eyes clearly meant he was already thinking of some way to torment her.
Following her gaze and noticing the witcher, Zoltan happily stepped forward and embraced him.
"Ah, Vic! You came too! Are you going down with us?"
"That's right. Let's get to work, my heavily bearded friends!"
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