The Kaedweni military camp towering before Victor was thoroughly unscientific.
They had practically built an entire wooden city out of nothing on the highlands north of the Pontar River.
It stretched several miles from north to south. Its walls were no lower than those of Flotsam, while chevaux-de-frise and tall watchtowers rose above them. Seen from up close, the place was genuinely awe-inspiring. Such was the power of a medieval world blessed with supernatural abilities.
Considering that Victor had come from Vergen on the southern bank of the Pontar and had previously traveled aboard the same ship as Iorveth, Ves did not personally guarantee his entry when they reached the gate.
She merely informed the guards that he was "a witcher encountered on the road," then entered ahead of him.
Sand blew through the air beneath the final rays of the evening sun. Victor waited unconcernedly before the barricade. The gate guards treated him with appropriate respect, and one of them even tentatively offered him a wineskin.
Although the Kaedweni authorities were normally fiercely racist, their hostility was directed primarily toward nonhumans, dwarves and elves. Witchers occupied a unique position.
With the spectral mist so close at hand, the guards believed that once the matter was reported, their superiors would not choose to drive this gentleman away.
Consequently, when the royal adviser Dethmold arrived at the gate, he vaguely heard the witcher sharing the magnificent story of his battle against drowners with the guards.
He beckoned to Victor and spoke in a mild tone.
"Young witcher, if you are willing, let us have a conversation."
The hook-nosed mage wore a red cap and carried a staff. His appearance was that of an elderly man.
One should never judge a mage's age by his appearance, however. In the present era, sorceresses preferred young and beautiful faces, while male mages tended to adopt older appearances, finding them more useful for projecting authority and wisdom.
Victor followed Dethmold into the camp.
Elite soldiers were indeed elite soldiers. The Kaedweni camp was nothing like the disorderly settlement at Vergen. Its neatly arranged tents and heavily guarded patrol routes displayed a distinctly medieval sense of discipline.
Ignoring the soldiers who bowed along the way, Dethmold led the witcher into an ornate tent.
The alchemical equipment, well-stocked bookshelves, and comfortable furnishings made it clear that this was Dethmold's residence. With a snap of his fingers, the mage erected a soundproof barrier.
"Witcher, I am Dethmold, royal adviser to Kaedwen. You cannot imagine how pleased I am by your arrival. Now, please tell me your name."
"It is certainly difficult to imagine a royal adviser personally receiving a passing witcher. I am Victor Corion."
"Normally, I would not, but your timing is perfect, Victor. You will soon understand why. I trust you will not mind me addressing you by your given name... Wait. Could you be the Dragonborn Bard, Victor of Kaer Trolde?"
Victor placed a hand over his chest and acknowledged that he was.
"Wonderful! I believe we will become excellent friends. Come, Victor, shake my hand to commemorate the beginning of our friendship. Don't worry, I have no poisoned needle hidden in my sleeve. I believe a handshake can reveal a great deal about a person."
Faced with the mage's increasingly enthusiastic attitude, Victor extended his hand.
"Can you tell me what you sense?"
The mage laughed heartily.
"Your mild appearance does not suggest a hardened man, yet you shake hands like a warrior. You are strong, decisive, and possess natural leadership. You strike me as a conqueror by nature. I imagine you are very popular with women..."
The witcher blinked but said nothing.
Dethmold released his hand.
"Now let us address the matter at hand. Witcher, as you have seen, the entire ancient battlefield is engulfed by spectral mist. The souls of those who died in battle have been awakened by magic and transformed into wraiths and draugirs. I believe this large-scale haunting was caused by a curse. What is your assessment?"
"Your explanation is remarkably precise. I could not have expressed it more clearly myself. Your knowledge is extensive. Wraith and draugir are specialized terms used by witchers to describe spirits created from those who died in violent battles."
The mage nodded with satisfaction and continued, "Although a silver sword is sufficient to put them to rest, new wraiths will continue to appear for as long as the curse remains active. Under these circumstances, I would like to hear how you would resolve the problem."
Dethmold's explanation was highly professional, almost as though it had come from a witcher.
Judging him by his own standards, Victor believed the mage already possessed an answer and was merely testing him or seeking confirmation. He therefore saw no reason to conceal anything.
"If I were responsible for resolving it, I would require symbols of the soldiers who died in battle. Specifically, objects representing hatred, courage, death, and faith from the Second War for Upper Aedirn.
"Magic could then be used to connect those objects to the dead. Once the battle was recreated, defeating the spirits within it should break the curse."
Hearing the witcher's explanation, the mage applauded repeatedly in delight.
"Very well said. Victor, you truly are an expert. Take this token to the duty officer and have him assign you a tent, but do not leave the camp. The king may summon you later tonight or tomorrow.
"Do not look so surprised! Yes, I mean Henselt of Ard Carraigh, King of Kaedwen, ruler of Caingorn and Malleore, last of the Unicorns. His Majesty may require your services, and naturally, he will reward you generously."
Victor accepted the bronze token Dethmold handed him. An image of a unicorn had been engraved into its surface.
After answering several simple questions, Victor somehow found himself granted permission to move freely throughout the camp.
Momentarily bewildered, he decided to fulfill the promise he had made that afternoon and speak with the Blue Stripes first.
The ease with which the Kaedweni army had accepted him was clearly abnormal. He needed a source of information. Perhaps Ves or Vernon Roche could explain his confusion and help him understand his present situation.
Carrying the unicorn token, the witcher encountered no obstacles as he traveled through the camp. The Kaedweni soldiers were equally willing to treat him amicably.
After asking several guards for directions, Victor quickly learned where he needed to go.
Kaedweni people were generally straightforward and hospitable. They were famous for their crude humor and memorable proverbs, such as, "A man without money is like a bow without arrows," "I often complained that I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet," and "Ard Carraigh wasn't built in a day."
Those sayings undoubtedly contained a considerable amount of folk wisdom.
While asking for directions, Victor also noticed an interesting phenomenon.
The morale of Henselt's army was not particularly high.
Many soldiers were quietly discussing the possibility that the spectral mist was a divine warning sent to the king.
Henselt's conduct had displeased the heavens, and this was his punishment. If he continued the attack, even more people would die.
Victor found this interesting because, while wandering around, his extraordinary senses had noticed numerous leaflets circulating secretly throughout the camp. Most contained attacks against King Henselt.
Vergen had villains who poisoned Saskia, while the Kaedweni camp had traitors undermining Henselt.
Apparently, this war would be decided by whichever side proved better at suppressing internal threats while fighting external enemies.
The tents of the Blue Stripes stood in a remote corner of the Kaedweni camp.
When Victor entered, he was pleased to discover that the commander of the Blue Stripes did not appear overly disgusted by his arrival.
Roche looked up from the endlessly fascinating map of the Pontar Valley. A cigar rested between his teeth, and his gaze carried all the resentment of a betrayed lover.
"I knew a bastard like you wouldn't die so easily. But believe me, that son of a bitch Iorveth despises every human alive. Sooner or later, he'll turn on you and finish you off."
Victor declined to comment on the Blue Stripes commander's slander.
In Victor's opinion, Iorveth was a man of principle. Precisely because he had suffered betrayal deeply enough for it to reach his bones, he would never stab an ally in the back.
The witcher waved at the commander.
"Hello! It's been a while. Is there a reward waiting for me? I am the hero who dealt with Loredo, after all. Thanks to my assistance, Flotsam still belongs to Temeria."
"You're also the man who saved the life of the Scoia'tael criminal Iorveth!"
Vernon's eyes sharpened as he took a deep pull from his cigar.
"There's no reward, but there's no warrant for your arrest either."
Victor tapped the table, looking disdainful.
"Such a large kingdom, yet you're all so miserly. You're going to lose me at this rate."
"You never belonged to Temeria in the first place."
Smoke curled from Roche's mouth.
After this exchange of pleasantries, both men had made their positions clear. Victor was actually rather satisfied.
His original agreement with Foltest had only been temporary employment, not an oath of loyalty. Victor had also helped them several times without compensation.
If they insisted that he still owed them something, the conversation would become tedious.
Roche tossed a cigar onto the table in front of Victor.
"Tell me, what are you doing here? If you're still searching for that oversized kingslayer, I can tell you he isn't on the northern bank. Over the last two days, we've searched almost every possible hiding place."
Victor snapped his fingers and ignited the cigar with Igni, then leaned back dramatically.
"You may not believe me, but I'm not here looking for Letho. He left me a message telling me not to interfere, and I respect his opinion. I came solely to find my kidnapped friend, the sorceress Triss."
"Is that so? Then you're probably going to be disappointed. If she were on the northern bank, the Blue Stripes would have found some trace of her."
"I personally trust your assessment, but Philippa Eilhart disagrees with you. I assume you've heard her name, the famous Jewel of the Court at Tretogor.
"I visited her before leaving Vergen. After tracking Triss with magic, she told me that Triss was moving north, directly toward the Kaedweni camp."
Victor leaned forward.
"So please, Vernon, think carefully. Could there be another possibility? Our positions may not be entirely aligned, but I always repay those who help me many times over."
In all honesty, had the bastard in front of him not been so formidable, Roche might have drawn his sword and dealt with him immediately.
But there were no hypothetical alternatives.
As a witcher, Victor possessed considerable practical value and exceptional combat skills. That made him worthy of greater tolerance.
Roche folded his arms and thought briefly, then rested his elbows on the table.
"...If Triss truly is somewhere in this region, there is only one possible location, near the river embankment behind the camp. The Nilfgaardians have established their camp there. It is the only place the Blue Stripes have been unable to infiltrate.
"I can tell from your eyes what you're thinking. Nobody can pass through the main entrance. If you want to investigate, wait until late at night. There's a small path to the east that leads directly to the river. You can use it to approach the camp's canteen and sneak inside from there."
"You seem rather eager for me to test the Nilfgaardian defenses."
"I am. Even if you die there, it won't cost us anything."
"Was there really any need to say it so heartlessly?"
"The fact that I haven't drawn my sword and attacked you already is more consideration than you deserve. Remember your promise."
Victor rubbed the tip of his nose and smiled bitterly.
He still had numerous questions he wanted to ask.
What was Dethmold planning? Why had the mage treated him so courteously? Where could he find Síle de Tansarville? Given the opportunity, he even wanted to know what Vernon Roche was actually doing here.
When Victor had first entered the tent, the Blue Stripes commander had casually hidden a leaflet lying on the table.
Victor's extraordinary eyesight could guarantee that it had looked remarkably similar to the anonymous propaganda circulating throughout the military camp.
Had Roche been willing to speak openly with him, Victor would not have minded lending a hand.
Unfortunately, the commander's tone made it obvious that he had no intention of continuing their conversation.
Fortunately, even after meeting resistance here, the witcher still had an alternative.
After bidding farewell to the highly conversational Vernon Roche and stepping outside the tent, Victor saw Ves waving to him from a distance, just as expected.
...
A young man traveling alone must know how to protect himself. He must not casually enter another person's home, and he must never lower his guard while drinking wine offered by someone else.
Sapience Ignis
...
To be fair, the lieutenant's tent was of excellent quality.
Ves invited the witcher to sit on the felt carpet, then placed a bottle of Toussaint wine and two glass goblets on the low table.
She picked up the bottle and poured the wine.
"How did your conversation with Roche go?"
Remembering the commander's attitude, Victor's expression became difficult to describe.
Of course, he had mentally prepared himself before taking action, so he could not say that he regretted anything. Even if time reversed, Victor knew he would still have fired that blast of Aard.
"His attitude was neither particularly good nor particularly bad, just as you said. Unfortunately, his patience was limited, so there are still many things I don't understand."
"You can ask me anything you like. I won't hide anything I'm permitted to tell you."
Ves raised her goblet.
Victor clinked his goblet against hers. While drinking the red wine, he told her how he had entered the camp earlier and received such a warm welcome from Dethmold.
As expected, Ves knew the reason.
King Henselt had hired Geralt to break the curse and dispel the mist. Dethmold might not fully trust Geralt, so he wanted Victor to confirm the White Wolf's conclusions.
Victor was rather surprised to learn that Geralt had accepted Henselt's commission.
On further consideration, however, witchers had always remained neutral, at least officially.
If Henselt offered sufficient payment and promised to clear Geralt's name, it was perfectly reasonable for the White Wolf to help him.
That made the situation more troublesome.
If Victor wanted Saskia to win and the Pontar Valley to remain independent, the longer the Kaedweni army remained trapped here, the better.
"May I ask why you're spreading rumors throughout the camp?"
Ves's pouring hand paused slightly before she continued filling the goblet.
"Heh, I should have expected you to notice so quickly. The reason is simple. Temeria does not want Kaedwen to occupy the Pontar Valley, especially after the greedy Henselt tried to seize Flotsam. We are merely repaying him in kind by spreading a few rumors."
"You're still operating inside someone else's camp. You should be careful while secretly causing trouble beneath their noses. I've only met Dethmold, but birds of a feather flock together. Henselt is probably no easier to deal with."
Ever since his first conversation with Toruviel long ago, the witcher had understood that advice was often useless in this era.
All he could do was remind Ves to be careful.
As for the sorceress Síle's tent, it stood on the high ground within the camp, not far from Dethmold's. Together with King Henselt's tent, the three formed a triangle.
Having obtained all the information he needed, Victor was extremely grateful.
Ves appeared to be in the mood for drinking today, and there was still plenty of time before his nocturnal infiltration, so he was happy to keep her company.
They emptied their goblets as quickly as they filled them.
Before long, a rosy flush spread across the lieutenant's face.
Seeing that the young man's eyes remained perfectly clear and realizing she had no chance of drinking him unconscious, Ves suddenly pounced like a tigress and knocked him onto his back on the felt carpet.
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