System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 71
“Letho, looks like that Leshen didn’t spare you a beating.”
Roy watched him with worry. Even after several days of rest, the Witcher still looked drained; the wounds had not left him whole.
“Wounds will heal,” Letho said, matter-of-fact. “Too much elixir, that’s the problem; the body rebels, digestion goes sideways. You’ll learn to curse potions when you become a Witcher.” He added, firmer, “After this, don’t meddle in Scoia’tael and Dwarf affairs.”
“I’ll leave as soon as the banquet ends. First light tomorrow, we go.”
Roy nodded. Mahakam had never fallen in memory; even if they stepped back, Scoia’tael’s schemes were unlikely to succeed. Still, the thought of that extremist faction moving through Aldersberg and Mount Carbon chilled him.
“Right now Scoia’tael are little more than Nilfgaardian pawns, working for Emperor Emhyr’s designs in Mahakam.” The thought clarified something in Roy’s mind; he let it sit. He had no power to stop such games.
Letho cocked his head. “You forgot to tell me one thing. How did you and those Dwarves finish the Leshen after it resurrected?”
“You said the sorceress and the Leshen were two spellcasters, and the anti-magic bomb I gave you could only handle one.” Roy answered. “You remember the Child-Hunter’s vomit?”
“The thing you kept hidden in your space pouch?” Letho’s eyes narrowed.
“Space pouch?” Roy stammered and tried to look innocent.
“Am I blind?” Letho’s voice was flat, puzzled. “Your items vanish and reappear like trickery. Even a fool would see that. But what puzzles me more is you, a non-sorcerer, using a space pouch. I’ve never seen anyone but spellcasters do that.”
Roy straightened his shoulders and met the Witcher’s gaze. “Fine. I’ll tell you the truth since you already have a way to sniff it out. I can glimpse futures in my sleep, and I can shift items into a hidden space and call them back when I need them.”
Letho’s brow tightened, then he spoke low. “You can keep that secret, but remember who you are. Do nothing to harm the Viper School’s revival.”
“I promise.” Roy meant it. Sometimes truth was the easiest lie to live with.
Shortly after, a Dwarf attendant brought two sets of evening clothes. Letho began, with habitual fastidiousness, to coach Roy on how to act like a man of station: straighten your collar, smooth the back, soften your eyes, move with measured courtesy.
Roy climbed into a stiff blue-and-white striped coat and tight mustard trousers and felt as if a rat gnawed at him from inside the cloth. The clothes were hideous in his opinion. Why did Dwarves ape human fashion so poorly?
“Stand still,” Letho snapped, brisk and blunt. “Stop prancing about like some monkey.”
Roy froze. Letho sighed. “My first time in fine clothes I looked no better. But listen. If the Viper School is to survive, we need the backing of the powerful. Common folk see us as freaks and savages; only a voice at the summit of power can sway them. Once the elite vouch for us, the people will follow.”
Roy was surprised to hear such political calculation from the old Witcher. Trust the powerful to protect a despised minority? The thought tasted bitter. Still, Letho’s logic was simple: unite the Witchers, secure influence, survive.
“Learn to bear ceremony,” Letho said, and the lesson moved on.
They were interrupted. A portly Dwarf wine-merchant slipped into the room, bedazzled with baubles and oil, whisked his beard and greeted them with practiced magnanimity.
“Master Letho, Roy, good to see you. How fare you?”
“Well enough,” Roy said, folding his arms and baring a thin, cold grin. “Thanks to your suggestion we’ve admired Mount Carbon’s snow for a week.”
Letho rapped Roy’s shoulder. “Severin, what wind brings you back to Mount Carbon? You here for the banquet?”
Severin Hogg of Aldersberg closed the door dutifully. “I heard trouble might come for you, so I came to help.”
“Trouble,” Roy snorted. “You mean the Leshen? You’re late, the Leshen’s dead and we bagged four Scoia’tael.”
“No,” Severin shook his head, sincere in his eyes. “The danger I mean is the banquet. Come with me; the High Elder plans to use the feast against you.”
“What?”
Outside the room they followed Severin and found Mount Carbon staged for something unusual. The valley should have relaxed after the Leshen’s death, but fog of vigilance tightened instead. Towers brimmed with archers and crossbowmen on watch. Patrols were thicker than before, soldiers creaked polite salutes as they passed. The town was wired, not ready to celebrate.
Letho’s mouth went hard. “They’re preparing for something worse than the Leshen,” he said.
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