Chapter 195

As Grant had promised, the guards returned to Fortress Amavet before noon and confirmed that the Witchers had indeed slain every monster in the crypt. From that moment on, the steward’s attitude toward the two grew markedly warmer.

“At noon I shall order the servants to prepare a proper feast in honor of the masters. His lordship usually wakes around the second hour past midday, and when he does, he will naturally thank you in person.”

As for the Witchers’ request to search the rooms, Grant no longer objected. “By the authority vested in me as steward, I can allow you to inspect only the lowest two levels of the castle. Anything higher, I’m afraid, requires his lordship’s permission.”

“That will do.” The Witchers had not hoped for more. And so, with a middle-aged maid appointed by the steward to guide them, they began a sweeping inspection.

The result was much as expected. Apart from uncovering a few petty signs that the servants occasionally pilfered and skimmed where they could, they found no sign of magical disturbance and no trace that a Banshee had ever moved through the place.

Still, the search was not fruitless. They located the kitchen above the cellar entrance, roughly mapped out the layout of the first and second floors, and quietly noted the changing hours of the soldiers’ watch.

...

At noon, after enjoying a hearty White Orchard meal, the two were led not long after by the steward into the reception hall on the third floor. It was a broad chamber, ringed with braziers that filled it with warmth and light.

At the center, sunk into a bear-hide sofa, lounged a somewhat fleshy middle-aged man who reeked of wine. He wore a saffron-red coat trimmed with white fox fur. Beneath his dark red hair, his face was puffy, his skin loose, and his black eyes, narrow and foxlike, held a crooked kind of malice. Heavy dark circles hung beneath them. At present he sat with his legs spread, yawning with an air of listless exhaustion while, behind him, a maid worked hard at kneading his shoulders.

Ignatius Verrieres

Age: 32

Identity: Baron of White Orchard, Member of the Verrieres Family

Roy took a moment to inspect the lord’s attributes. Drink had hollowed him out. His constitution was weaker than that of an ordinary man.

“At this rate, he hasn’t many years left.”

“Honored lord of White Orchard, we are...”

“Grant has already told me. Witchers of the Viper School, Masters Roy and Letho.” Ignatius smiled weakly and straightened a little in the sofa.

“You praise us too highly. We’re only two wanderers drifting across the Continent, not men worthy of being called masters.”

“I am not jesting,” Ignatius said with sudden seriousness. “To rid the crypt entirely of the monsters infesting it places you far above the fools who came before. The honor is deserved.” He stressed the words. “For that, I am deeply, sincerely grateful.”

With that, he pinched a small note between two fingers and handed it back over his shoulder. The maid immediately brought it to the Witchers.

“This is a two-hundred-crown bank draft, redeemable at any branch of Vivaldi Bank on the Continent. A small token of my gratitude.”

“So that’s the reward for sparing your forefathers’ coffins.” Roy and Letho exchanged a knowing smile and tucked the draft away without hesitation.