Chapter 22

The next morning Roy woke refreshed, as if the night of meditation had washed him clean. Replacing sleep with meditation meant he only needed five hours’ rest now, and he rose every dawn full of energy. That kind of steady, deep rest was something his old life—full of insomnia and frayed nerves—had never granted him.

This young body, despite its thinness, wasn’t as fragile as it looked. Its constitution was better than the one he’d come from.

Letho had left earlier. He sat on the tavern’s ground floor drinking wine and eating a pie, his expression still the same inscrutable poker face; there was no sign of last night’s dalliance.

“Not sleeping a little more?” Roy asked.

“Relax, but a Witcher must keep his discipline,” Letho replied.

They ate and talked. Roy mentioned the Dwarf’s problem, and before he had finished his first sentence the man himself appeared.

Compared with yesterday, Severin looked more haggard; his eyes were ringed with deeper shadows and he seemed bone-tired. Still, he forced a smile and explained his trouble.

“It started three months ago,” Severin said. “Nightmares took hold of me. From midnight until dawn it’s as if demons have me on their leash. I used to be the Mahakam squirrel who could go three days without sleep and still have all my wits. Now I nod off if I lose focus for a moment. I don’t feel like a strong Dwarf any more. I feel like a goblin in Tir Tochair.”

“I’ve been to every doctor in Aldersberg and none can find anything. I’ve torn the house apart looking for signs of curse or rot, and I found nothing obvious. Still, I know something filthy hides in my home, corroding me. Ordinary folk can’t solve this, so please, Master Letho, help me.”