Chapter 71

“Letho, looks like that Leshen didn’t let you off easy...”

Roy watched with concern; though he’d rested for days, the Witcher still looked wan and had not recovered from his wounds.

“The injuries aren’t serious, I just overdosed on elixirs, got a bit of indigestion. You’ll face the same when you become a Witcher.” Letho answered patiently, then added, “By the way, after this, don’t meddle in the Scoia’tael and the dwarves’ quarrel.”

“We’ll attend the feast tonight, and at dawn we leave Mount Carbon.”

Roy nodded. In his memory Mahakam had never fallen; even if they stayed out of it, the Scoia’tael’s schemes would likely come to nothing. Still, knowing the extremist group had been active in Aldersberg and Mount Carbon in these dark years left a sour taste.

“So the Scoia’tael are now Nilfgaard’s dogs, serving Emhyr’s designs in Mahakam.”

With that thought cleared, Roy stopped fretting; he had neither the means nor the right to interfere.

The Witcher tossed another question at him, “Did you forget to tell me? How did you and the dwarf lads kill the resurrected Leshen?”

“A sorcerer, plus the Leshen itself, two spellcasters ... and the anti-magic bomb I gave you would only take care of one of them.”

“You forgot the Child-Hunter’s vomit?”

“The thing you’ve always kept in your Bag of Holding?”

“Ah—what Bag of Holding?” Roy stammered and turned his face away, trying to hide it.

“Kid, do you take me for blind? Your gear disappears and reappears at odd times; even a fool would smell trouble.” The Witcher’s face was puzzled, “But one thing I don’t get: you can’t use elemental magic, so how do you use a Bag of Holding? I’ve never seen anyone but a sorcerer wield that ability.”

Roy straightened and spoke with forced calm, “I should’ve told you sooner since you’d see through it anyway. I can foresee a little in dreams, and I can move nearby objects into an unknown space and retrieve them when needed.”

“No need to lie if you don’t want to tell the truth.” The Witcher’s tone dropped, “Keep that secret to yourself, but remember who you are; do nothing that would harm the Viper School’s revival.”

“Of course, I swear it!”

Sometimes honesty is the best lie.

Not long after, dwarf attendants brought two sets of evening dress and Letho began, with military precision, to coach Roy on how to behave like a man of station: straighten the collar, smooth the creases at the back, soften his gaze, make his movements gentle.

When Roy donned a puffy blue-and-white striped coat and tight, dusty-yellow breeches he felt as if a mouse were trapped under his clothing, nibbling at him until he was both irritated and uncomfortable.

To his eye the finery was hideous. Why would dwarves ape human absurdities?

Letho snapped without ceremony, “Stand steady. Stop twisting like a monkey.”

Roy froze; the Witcher sighed and continued, “When I first tried on formal clothes I was no better than you. Over the years I learned this: if the Viper School is to endure, we need the support of the upper ranks.”