Chapter 153

Vizima City Hall.

Velerad rubbed the scepter resting at the edge of his desk and fell into thought for a long moment. Then he pulled a thin cheque from a drawer and, with a few quick strokes, wrote “600” upon it.

“Two Master Witchers,” he said, handing the cheque to the bald Letho, who stood with his arms crossed. “This is the payment previously agreed upon. Take this to any Zionvanielli bank anywhere in the world, and with this bank draft you may unconditionally withdraw six hundred orens.”

Letho glanced at the cheque, then passed it along to “Chief Treasurer” Roy...

If the money inside the Lady of the Lake’s ring was added in, their earnings from this trip already exceeded two thousand crowns. Of course, for what they were planning, it was still far from enough.

“A scrap of paper this small doesn’t look very reliable. Ready coin, now that’s far more reassuring.”

“Even if you don’t trust me, you ought to trust the reputation of Zionvanielli. A venerable bank that has stood for centuries will absolutely not embezzle your money.”

“All right, jokes aside. I’ll take the money. When is Sorcerer Azar Javed opening the door for us?”

“When you returned to the city yesterday, I sent word to Azar. He still has an experiment on hand and won’t be free until tomorrow...” the Prefect invited cautiously. “Would the two of you like to reconsider? In just over a week, it will be the Midsummer festival. Vizima will be hosting a grand celebration. Why not stay a while longer? I would be honored to play host and show the two Masters Vizima’s sights and customs.”

Roy felt a flicker of interest. He had heard something of Midsummer.

The festival took place from the night of June twenty-first into the early hours of the twenty-second. It marked the beginning of the first summer in the elven calendar.

The elves believed that everything beneath the sun moved in cycles. After the solstice, the days grew shorter, death began, until the next turning.

On this day, people erected shrines to worship and praise the sun and life, while also acknowledging the coming of death.

Near these shrines, spells cast by magic users drawing on solar energy became especially stable. Witches used them to protect crops and summon flame.

Letho and Roy could also meditate before the temples to gain a slight increase in the strength of their Signs.

Still, Midsummer was less alluring than the already-passed Beltane. After all, Midsummer did not have nearly as many young, unmarried girls dancing around bonfires in search of mates.

“Witchers don’t celebrate the solstice, let alone with time so tight. We’ll stick to the original arrangement and come back tomorrow at this hour,” Letho said, shaking his head in refusal.

...

After the two left City Hall,

“Letho...” A trace of nerves and anticipation flickered across the youth’s still-immature face. “What if we stayed another week and joined the festivities?”

For the first ten-odd years of his life, Roy had been holed up in some godforsaken little village in Lower Aedirn, never once seeing a truly grand festival of the world.

He had only picked up fragments from other people’s mouths.

Midsummer, should he see it or not?

Letho slowed his steps slightly.

“Festivity means trouble. Experience has taught me again and again that ordinary people’s holidays are absolutely unsuitable for Witchers. If you want amusement, I recommend a tavern or a brothel. Simple and efficient.”

“You are a fully fledged Witcher now. You must learn to stay away from crowds and grow accustomed to solitude.”

“All right, you’ve got a point,” Roy said helplessly. “But can’t you at least satisfy my curiosity?”

“That doesn’t require Vizima,” the Witcher replied flatly. “Cintra has festivals too. We can’t keep Orin and Kael waiting forever.”

Letho’s tone carried a weary note, as if recalling something unpleasant. “If we wait any longer, they’ll have found women and married.”