Chapter 61

The moon hung high.

When the baths emptied, Roy hauled himself out with skin bright red.

Mount Carbon at night was grim and uncanny. The Fortress loomed like a demon caught in shadow. Yet the valley mouth glittered with light.

Along the road into the gorge, watchtowers rose. On each, squads of archers and crossbowmen scanned the dark. Between the square and the Main Keep, every doorway hung a torch for sight.

Armored Dwarf guards patrolled with heavy weapons. On the short walk from bathhouse to lodging Roy met two separate patrols and could not help but remark, “The patrols are a bit frequent, aren’t they?”

Back in the room, the Witcher had shed his blood-splattered leathers and sat in a robe, meditating on the bed.

“Kid, what did you learn on your first day in Mount Carbon?” he asked.

“I met a few Dwarves,” Roy said, exhaling as he flopped onto the bed. He tucked his hands behind his neck and crossed his legs, complaining, “My skin’s wrinkled, my eyes nearly ruined. Try staring at a bunch of hair-and-fur men all day and see how you feel.”

For a moment Letho’s mouth twitched into something like a smile.

“You left me that morning and had some ‘big discovery’ in the woods?” Roy said.

Letho told him about the wolves. Roy felt a pang of regret; hundreds of experience points had danced past while he was away. With his poor melee skills, he figured he would have been chewed to bone before Letho really got cracking.

A small complaint lingered. “Why did you need me sneaking about to find the sigil host? If the High Elder shut down Mount Carbon and ordered everyone searched, they could root the culprit out in half a day. He couldn’t miss it.”