On the highlands north of the Pontar River, the army under King Henselt of Kaedwen had established its camp. More than five thousand elite soldiers and their accompanying logistical personnel were stationed there. Unicorn banners snapped in the wind above an endless sea of tents.
That afternoon, the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, emerged from the Kaedweni camp and headed south along the road. Clad in sturdy leather armor with two swords crossed over his back, he intended to enter the spectral mist and search for more clues.
For the legendary witcher, facing monsters within a magical mist came naturally. Maneuvering among humans through the fog of his own mind, however, was far more difficult. The fragments of lost memories that surfaced from time to time made every decision troublesome.
Geralt had encountered many people in Henselt's camp. Some were strangers who claimed to have known him in the past, yet he remembered nothing about them. Others were familiar faces he had parted from only recently, such as Síle de Tansarville.
...
When he encountered the sorceress in the camp, she was wearing a long black-and-white gown, with a conspicuous black ring over her chest and her distinctive horned coiffure.
Síle's eyes flickered. "Geralt, hello."
"I thought you would lose interest in the Pontar Valley after killing the kayran," Geralt said expressionlessly.
That expressionless face was a witcher's protective camouflage. When he questioned someone with an attitude of cold indifference, they often revealed information without realizing it.
"Witcher, you know nothing about me. I came here because two rulers of the Northern Kingdoms have been assassinated. Henselt may well be the next name on the list. We do not need another kingdom descending into chaos. King Henselt must not die, and I intend to ensure that he does not."
"Unless I'm mistaken, you and Dethmold despise each other."
"Dethmold is an overgrown child and an excellent companion for King Henselt. The problem is that children have always been prone to jealousy. He cannot tolerate my steadily rising position at the Kaedweni court. It is utterly ridiculous."
"The assassin who killed Foltest forced Triss to teleport him to Vergen. They should be somewhere nearby. Can you help me?"
"The finest swordsman in the North was unable to protect her from a kingslayer? I am saddened to hear it, but who could have imagined that the fearless Merigold would become incapable of protecting herself after being blinded by love?
"As for your request, I'm afraid I cannot help. Even if Triss is in Vergen, I cannot locate her. This damned spectral mist prevents me from conducting any form of long-range magical detection."
...
His conversation with Síle de Tansarville yielded nothing useful.
Compared with the sorceress, whose reasons for being there could at least be traced, the appearance of Nilfgaardian ambassador Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen was entirely unexpected.
He wore traditional Nilfgaardian formal attire, a black, gold-embroidered doublet with a high folded collar. A sun emblem hung from a thick golden chain across his chest.
The elderly ambassador had gray hair receding deeply at the temples, pronounced forehead wrinkles, small eyes, and a hooked nose. The vile hyena, as Foltest had jokingly called him, blocked Geralt's path. An unfamiliar male mage stood several paces behind him.
"Ah... Geralt of Rivia. So many people have tried to harm you, yet despite everything, you remain alive. Truly remarkable."
The White Wolf placed a hand over his chest and bowed slightly.
"Your Excellency, thank you for what you did earlier."
"Yes, I assisted you while you were leaving La Valette Castle. I hope I will not come to regret it," Shilard said, his eyes moist and his appearance gentle and sincere.
Geralt remained expressionless.
"I hope not. I would prefer not to be regarded as an ungrateful man. What has changed in Temeria since I left?"
On the surface, there was no sign that this cold and aloof wild dog was Princess Ciri's adoptive father, the man Viscount de Rideaux had specifically emphasized must be watched closely.
"John Natalis is serving as regent for the time being. Foltest was a good king. It is regrettable that he met such an end. His death is a great loss to the world. Have you made any progress in your search for the kingslayer?"
Geralt shook his head. Despite Shilard having helped him, some subtle instinct warned the White Wolf not to confide in him, much less reveal any information.
The ambassador continued, "Perhaps our meeting here was ordained by fate... The late king's adviser, the sorceress Triss Merigold, disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and rumors abound. I have heard that the two of you were... very close. Do you know where she is?"
"Your Excellency, why are you asking me about this? Witchers and sorceresses do not usually share such information."
"I know it is a sensitive question, but I have a reason for mentioning Lady Triss. I must admit that the unknown frightens me.
"It is common knowledge that mages are renowned for their mutual jealousy and competitiveness. I find myself wondering whether something might have caused them to unite. Did you know that Merigold was deeply involved with an organization of sorceresses?
"Naturally, my question assumes that you are, or once were, very close to her. Should I have misunderstood the nature of your relationship, please forgive the offense."
Geralt vaguely sensed that if his memories returned, he would know the answer to that question.
For now, however, he told the truth.
"I'm afraid I know nothing about it. Why are you so interested in an organization of sorceresses, Your Excellency?"
"I am merely curious about certain unusual coincidences. It is said that when King Demavend was assassinated, one of their number was seen nearby."
"Is that truly so suspicious? Mages always gather around monarchs. Kings are sources of power and wealth."
"I am not accusing anyone. I merely said that it aroused my curiosity."
At that moment, the mage behind Shilard stepped forward and whispered several words before turning and leaving. The man had cast a soundproofing spell, so even Geralt's extraordinary senses heard nothing.
Geralt showed no reaction.
"Should you have business to attend to, please don't let me delay you. In the past, I saw you beside Foltest. Now you are here with Henselt. Will you visit the King of Redania next?"
"Your perceptiveness is astonishing, but I will not need to travel so far. Radovid is currently on his way to Loc Muinne. We will meet there. The mages wish to reestablish their Council and have sent invitations to every king."
Loc Muinne was an ancient elven city located in the Blue Mountains near the source of the Pontar, a place filled with spiritual energy and natural magic.
Shilard's voice was hoarse yet resonant.
"Are you searching for an employer, then? Do you intend to hire yourself out for the war, or do you have some other purpose? Perhaps I could provide an introduction."
"No. I am not a mercenary, and I have no intention of participating in any war. What I would prefer to know is why the emperor's envoy has come here. Satisfy my curiosity."
"No intention of participating in a war?"
Amnesia was certainly convenient. It allowed a man to lie through his teeth without blinking. Had Geralt not interfered during the Battle for the Bridge on the Yaruga, Nilfgaard would have captured Queen Meve of Lyria and Rivia long ago.
The Battle for the Bridge on the Yaruga had been one of the many engagements of the Second Northern War. While searching for Ciri, Geralt had become involved in the battle by accident and helped Queen Meve of Lyria and Rivia escape.
For his valor during the battle, Geralt had been knighted and formally granted the title "Geralt of Rivia."
To a certain extent, Queen Meve's escape had affected the balance of power leading into the Battle of Brenna, contributing to the final reversal that determined the outcome of the Second Northern War.
In response to Geralt's question, the ambassador lowered his head and sighed sorrowfully.
"Alas... It is hardly a secret. The last unfortunate conflict between North and South, meaning the Second Northern War, left the Northern Kingdoms in a wretched economic condition. His Imperial Majesty sincerely desires stability. We wish to provide financial assistance so that we may overcome these difficult times together. Therefore, I am visiting the kingdoms that suffered most severely during the war."
"Yet as far as I know, before withdrawing from Aedirn, the South burned its fields, mercilessly plundered wealth accumulated over generations, and destroyed every piece of industrial machinery it could not carry away. Henselt also grew exceedingly rich through trade with your empire. You appear to have chosen the wrong recipient for your aid."
"...The precise details of my visit are a matter between His Imperial Majesty and the King of Kaedwen."
"I would very much like to know them."
While no one else was watching, Geralt's eyes gleamed as he cast the Axii Sign.
It accomplished nothing.
Shilard smiled contemptuously.
"Please do not do that, honorable witcher. Magic will not help you. I am properly protected against such attempts."
The male mage from earlier then returned to the ambassador's side. Geralt nodded in farewell and departed.
...
If Geralt's conversation with Ambassador Shilard could be described as a disaster, then his conversation with Vernon Roche after his audience with King Henselt could only be called a tragedy.
The Blue Stripes' tents had been erected in a remote corner of the Kaedweni camp. Geralt was surprised to discover that their commander did not seem particularly pleased to see him.
Roche looked up from a map of the Pontar Valley, a cigar clenched between his teeth and suspicion in his eyes.
"Have you come to spy on us? Did Henselt send you, or was it Dethmold? I heard they hired you. Remarkable how quickly you found yourself a new employer."
"You're being too sensitive. Henselt promised to clear my name, while Dethmold will send agents to search for Letho and Triss. In return, I will dispel the spectral mist, break Sabrina's curse, and discover who is plotting to assassinate Henselt.
"That is the full extent of my work. It most certainly does not include spying on Vernon Roche. Now, however, you've made me curious. What are you planning to do here? Judging from your reaction, probably nothing good."
At the end of his statement, the White Wolf slammed both hands onto the table and fixed the Blue Stripes commander with his feline eyes.
Roche loosened his collar and blew out a ring of smoke.
"That has nothing to do with you. The Blue Stripes always have more missions than they can finish, particularly when a storm that will sweep across the world is gathering."
Geralt remained expressionless.
"I thought our relationship was special enough that you might share your secrets with me."
"Geralt, I have not forgotten why we came here, but I must continue watching the changes taking place throughout the world. All I can tell you is that if Kaedwen wins this war, the balance of power throughout the North will change.
"As for the assassin who murdered King Foltest, my men are searching the entire region for Letho. He has burrowed into hiding like a rat, but sooner or later, he'll meet a rat's end."
"That is precisely why I came to invite you. Perhaps you would be willing to send men to Vergen to gather intelligence. I believe there will be more information there."
"I must decline your invitation. A commander of the Temerian army should not interfere in the internal affairs of another kingdom."
"I thought that was exactly the sort of work they hired you to perform."
"You misunderstand. There is something else. Regent Natalis sent his thanks. This is your payment for your service."
The commander placed a heavy purse of gold coins in front of Geralt.
"Thanks to us stopping Loredo's treason in time, the Kaedweni army has not already occupied Flotsam. The regent has now appointed a new commander to take charge there. Let us hope this fellow doesn't turn out to be another piece of filth.
"If you insist on crossing to the other side to gather information, be careful. A woman capable of assembling an army in which dwarves, elves, and peasants fight side by side cannot be simple. Saskia the Dragonslayer is clearly exceptional, even though she cannot defeat Henselt."
"That remains to be seen. Kaedwen is fighting to improve its way of life. Aedirn is fighting for survival."
"I admit that motivation is important, but motivation alone cannot defeat the art of warfare, nor can it compensate for a decisive disparity in numbers. Of course, I care only about Temeria. I'm quite happy to see Henselt's forces tied down here. It is a good thing."
"Then... take care of yourself."
After leaving Vernon Roche's tent, Geralt had the vague feeling that Roche was not simply lingering in the Kaedweni camp without purpose...
...
His recollections ended as he unknowingly stepped into the spectral mist.
He immediately reached the same conclusion as Victor.
"As long as I don't enter the center of the battlefield and provoke the draug, the wraiths around the outskirts won't be enough to impede me."
At that moment, two wraiths locked in combat noticed the newcomer. They stopped attacking each other and charged him with piercing howls.
Faced with such a minor encounter, the White Wolf raised his silver sword high above his head, then brought it crashing down.
Had Victor been present to witness the scene, he would undoubtedly have cried out in astonishment.
"Geralt sends you his regards!"
...
At the same time that Geralt was delivering his regards to the wraiths...
"Victor sends you his regards!"
Frost's Lament came crashing down, effortlessly cleaving a ghoul in half and eliminating the last monster in another group.
"Ah... Vic, this sword is so beautiful. Can't you give it to me?" Angoulême tugged on Victor's sleeve, deploying a troupe member's patented puppy-dog routine.
She had been drooling over Frost's Lament, with its beautiful indigo blade and the bone-chilling cold it radiated. After all, their leader had always insisted on giving her understated and efficient weapons. Nothing even slightly ornate had ever belonged to her.
Victor jerked his sleeve free and gave her a sidelong glance.
"This sword carries an ominous meaning. If I gave it to you, I'd be afraid you might stab me with it someday. Besides, the Golden Eagle is already an excellent sword. Its epic trait, Hammer of Justice, cannot be replicated. I still haven't managed to produce it a second time."
"But sooner or later, I'll become a witcher too. I'll need a silver sword eventually. Why can't it be a pretty one?"
After hearing his troupe member make the same point repeatedly, the leader had to admit that she had some justification. Keeping a low profile might be the wisest course, but it was perfectly normal for a girl to prefer an attractive weapon.
He therefore nodded in agreement.
"...Be patient. When the time comes, I'll give you a Thunderfury."
Having obtained Victor's promise, Angoulême immediately fell silent, secretly delighted. Judging from the name alone, Thunderfury was bound to be magnificently imposing.
Their party consisted of five people, Victor, Angoulême, and three dwarves. They entered the mine with torches in hand and their vision enhanced by Cat potions, so they encountered almost no real difficulty.
Even when they encountered the more dangerous rotfiends, which exploded upon death, their bodies visibly swelled before detonation. That gave Victor enough time to blast them far away with Aard. Their explosions instead killed many of the monsters lurking in the shadows and waiting for an opportunity to ambush them.
Before long, they had gathered baskets overflowing with immortelles, and the Phantom Troupe's clearing operation inside the mine was nearly complete.
Then heavy, thunderous footsteps echoed from the depths of the mine.
Everyone exchanged alarmed looks.
Whatever was making that sound was certainly no ordinary small monster.
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