Summer insects chirped through the night as Triss lay facedown on the bed, drenched in sweat and struggling while Geralt held her firmly in place.
The violent movements made the bed groan under the strain, continuing until the sorceress finally let out a long cry.
"Aahhh... oww!"
Yes, Victor had finally pulled it out.
Angoulême immediately applied salve to the wound and wrapped it in bandages. She had received professional training in dressing injuries.
That had been the third arrow, and the last.
The sorceress had suffered truly terrible luck tonight. The two people who went to rescue her had escaped with nothing more than minor scrapes, while she alone had taken three arrows, every single one in the back.
Absolutely merciless.
Fortunately, none had struck anything vital.
Victor took a potion from his herbal satchel and handed it to her, chuckling happily.
"What a human tragedy, Lady Triss. But don't worry. Drink this bottle of Vic's Old Recipe and you'll be back on your feet in no time!"
Triss pulled the blanket over herself, reached out to take the potion, and was about to drink when the White Wolf suddenly caught her wrist.
"Don't drink it yet. Sorry, Vic, but I want to make sure first. This potion doesn't happen to have that effect, does it?"
Geralt looked completely serious, though there was a faint trace of embarrassment in his expression.
He personally didn't mind looking after Triss.
The problem was that they were currently inside the Scoia'tael camp. Given the unstoppable potency of the original Vic's Old Recipe, there was a very high chance that once the sorceress recovered afterward, she would decide that everyone who had witnessed the incident needed to die.
Hearing the older witcher's vague wording, Angoulême instantly understood what he meant and also turned toward Victor, worried that their leader's wicked sense of humor might strike again.
Triss, meanwhile, was completely confused.
She couldn't understand why everyone suddenly looked so nervous. Back at Kaer Morhen, they had always used the alchemical medicines Victor made to treat injuries.
Victor, of course, knew exactly what they suspected.
Come to think of it, of the three fortunate people who had experienced the first generation of Vic's Old Recipe, two were standing right in front of him.
Just imagining their thoughts about the experience made it impossible to suppress his grin.
His smile became exceptionally radiant.
"Don't worry. This is the second-generation formula. Remember? The kind Cedric drank back in Flotsam. The only side effect is sleeping for eight to twelve hours."
Only after receiving that assurance did the White Wolf release her hand, then burst out laughing.
After thinking about it for a moment, he realized he really had been worrying too much. Given their relationship, Victor would never do something that deranged to Triss.
Curiously looking between the three of them and sensing that they shared some secret, the sorceress gently shook the potion in her hand.
"Can I ask what's wrong with this Vic's Old Recipe?"
Neither Geralt nor Angoulême had any intention of explaining, at least not publicly.
So the alchemist had to answer.
"Nothing's wrong with it. My craftsmanship simply wasn't as refined in the early days, so the first-generation formula had rather severe side effects. Ask Geralt about the details later. Let him tell you personally!"
With that, Victor patted Angoulême on the shoulder.
The two of them left the tent, giving the reunited lovers some private time together.
...
Sitting beside the campfire, the Phantom Troupe began preparing a late-night meal.
Tonight's ingredient was a specialty of the Blue Mountains, a "Salamandrian lizard." Cut off the head, remove the entrails, roast it thoroughly, and it was ready to eat.
Victor took seasonings from his herbal satchel and tried some.
It tasted remarkably similar to chicken and contained plenty of protein.
While chewing, he glanced at Angoulême's leather armor.
There were several bloodstains and blackened scorch marks on it. She herself was uninjured, but her expression remained gloomy.
The girl's unhappiness came from the fact that although Triss had been successfully rescued, the sorceress had been shot. Angoulême believed she bore an undeniable share of the responsibility.
Victor chuckled softly, his tone relaxed.
"The rescuers came back unharmed, but the person being rescued got hurt instead. If I hadn't returned in time, she would've been suffering for quite a while longer! Come on, tell me what happened. How did a perfectly good infiltration operation end with you looking like you crawled out of a chimney?"
Angoulême tore a large piece from the roasted hind leg and spoke with puffed cheeks.
"At first, we found the basement where she was being held. Triss wasn't badly hurt. She was just restrained with dimeritium shackles and somewhat weak, so everything went smoothly.
"But when we were leaving, our luck turned rotten. We ran straight into a mage with a huge forehead and a long horse face.
"He immediately started throwing spells at us, so we had no choice but to fight."
"A mage with a huge forehead and a long horse face?" Victor rubbed the stubble on his chin. "If he also had ears that stuck out, that was probably Vanhemar. Then what happened?"
"Nothing much happened after that. Uncle Geralt killed him."
"As expected of the legendary White Wolf. But if that's the case, how did Triss get hurt?"
"The mage was blasting fireballs everywhere, and the fighting alerted the guards. Then this gloomy bald bastard showed up. I think I heard someone call him Renuald. He formed up the soldiers and had them fire crossbows at us. Geralt told me to carry Triss and escape first. In all the chaos, she got hit by several bolts."
Victor now understood the situation.
He handed her the wine bottle.
"It's fine! Your leader guarantees it. Injuries like that aren't anything serious. They only look bad because she's already weak. Once Vic's Old Recipe takes effect and she wakes up, I guarantee she'll be bursting with energy."
Angoulême's eyes immediately brightened.
She still had great faith in her leader's judgment. The dark clouds on her face vanished, replaced by her usual sunny expression.
"He's right. Her injuries weren't your fault."
The low, steady voice belonged to Geralt of Rivia.
Having coaxed the sorceress into drinking the potion and watched her fall asleep, the witcher had emerged from the tent.
"There's no reason to blame yourself. Under those circumstances, nobody else could have done better. I'm truly grateful for what you two did tonight."
Victor handed Geralt some roasted meat.
There was nothing more that needed to be said about the matter.
Angoulême also smiled and placed a bottle of wine beside his feet.
The three ate roasted meat and drank together, the atmosphere relaxed and peaceful.
Triss's safe return erased the last faint traces of awkwardness between Victor and the White Wolf.
And when Geralt and Angoulême learned that Victor and Roche had successfully rescued Anaïs and returned her to Temeria, their moods improved even further.
Whatever else could be said about Foltest, he had treated them reasonably well and knew how to show respect toward capable people.
Saving the orphaned daughter he had left behind was unquestionably a good thing.
As their cups went back and forth, footsteps approached.
The elven commander came over and sat beside the fire.
The White Wolf raised his bottle first.
"Iorveth. Thank you for your help tonight."
The elf tapped his bottle against Geralt's, then shook his head.
"No need to thank me. I wasn't helping you. I did it for Victor."
"Whatever arrangement you have with him is between you two. I still owe you one," Geralt said calmly.
His gratitude was sincere.
During their retreat, if the Scoia'tael had not provided covering fire with their bows and discouraged the Black Ones from continuing the pursuit, the sorceress's injuries could have been far worse.
Everyone present understood battle well enough.
Since the White Wolf insisted on remembering the debt, the elven commander did not refuse again.
They chatted until the late-night meal was finished.
Geralt returned to the tent to sleep beside Triss, while the others also retired for the night.
...
Before dawn, Victor's eyes snapped open.
He had sensed someone entering the tent.
In the faint light, his blue Rinnegan clearly identified Iorveth.
"What is it?" he asked.
The elf nodded.
"The companions I sent into the sewers have reported back. They found a place from which we can approach the Nilfgaardian dungeon. They also saw a woman there who they suspect is Philippa Eilhart."
There was nothing more to discuss.
Victor jumped out of bed and equipped his full Undvik armor.
"Let's go!"
"Should we wake Angoulême or Geralt?"
"No. People have limits, and Angoulême doesn't have that kind of stamina. As for Geralt, let him stay with Triss."
Iorveth had no objection to the witcher's judgment.
In fact, he had no intention of bringing any of his other men either.
What Victor did not explain was that a sorceress who had drunk Vic's Old Recipe would remain unconscious for at least twelve hours.
During that period, she was practically defenseless.
If some bastard took advantage of her while she lay unconscious and helpless, Geralt might somehow be able to move past it.
Victor certainly wouldn't.
The two left the camp side by side.
The horizon was already beginning to pale with approaching dawn when Victor suddenly asked,
"Iorveth, do you know Saskia's true identity?"
The elf's step faltered slightly before he continued walking.
"A peasant's daughter, the Virgin of Aedirn, the Dragonslayer."
"So you knew all along! And you've been hiding it from me." Victor's tone was certain.
Iorveth rubbed his nose.
"How did you find out?"
The witcher gently swung the steel sword Blazing Strike in his hand.
"This is my sword. It was taken from me when I fought the dragon at La Valette Castle, but yesterday I found it in Saskia's room."
Victor did not mention the supporting evidence provided by Dragon's Dream or the prototype megascope.
He believed none of that was necessary for the elf to tell him the truth.
Sure enough, after a moment of silence, Iorveth said,
"Can you keep it from everyone else? Vergen cannot survive without her."
"So that's why you trust her... Before a dragon, all races really are equal. But you should understand that you're building a castle on sand. The moment her true identity becomes public, Saskia's rule will collapse overnight. Humans will never accept being ruled by a dragon."
As Victor gave his warning, he saw the look in Iorveth's eyes.
It was the look of a gambler.
Realizing that now was not the right time for this discussion, Victor shook his head and made a promise.
"I'll keep the secret."
...
Some time later, sunlight began slipping through cracks into the sewer tunnels.
The Loc Muinne summit was about to begin.
The two traveled underground across half the city.
Neither spoke along the way.
As they approached the Nilfgaardian camp, Victor suddenly heard familiar voices.
He recognized the two speakers as the King of Redania and the Nilfgaardian ambassador.
For safety's sake, Victor told Iorveth to remain where he was and proceeded alone for another stretch.
Eventually, through a narrow gap, the witcher saw the source of the voices.
Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen.
Radovid V.
And Philippa Eilhart.
The dungeon was heavily guarded.
Nilfgaardian and Redanian soldiers stood in roughly equal numbers around the ambassador, the king, and the sorceress.
At the center of the prison stood Philippa Eilhart, her hands cuffed behind her back.
Imprisonment had left her looking somewhat disheveled.
Radovid V stood proudly before her, dressed in golden armor and ceremonial regalia prepared for the summit.
"Ah... my lady. I've been looking forward to this meeting for a very long time. When you left Redania so suddenly several months ago, I never had the chance to give you a proper farewell."
"Your Majesty, I don't understand why I've been arrested... Everything I've done has been in Redania's interests. Even supporting the rebels was meant to weaken Henselt. I risked my reputation for your sake," Philippa answered calmly.
"Useless. I'm no longer the child who believed every word that came from your mouth."
"Son of Vizimir, why are you treating me this way? I supported you through your most difficult years. Without me, you would never have become the man you are today... Your hatred for me makes no sense. I don't understand it."
Radovid narrowed his eyes.
"No! You understand perfectly well, my dear Lady Eilhart. You understand very well. Every time you look into a mirror, your pupils burn with hunger for power.
"I will never forget how, after my father Vizimir died, you secretly joined forces with Dijkstra to strip me of authority. There was a time when the entire Redanian court trembled at the name Philippa Eilhart."
"Radovid, that isn't true. You must allow me to explain."
Philippa's expression became anguished, as though she were suffering a terrible injustice.
Her eyes grew moist and filled with emotion.
"Your Majesty, what exactly do you intend to charge me with?"
"You will be charged with conspiracy, treason, and regicide.
"There is an evil organization known as the Lodge of Sorceresses. Reliable intelligence proves that they ordered Demavend's murder, and that they also ordered Foltest's death.
"And as for Philippa Eilhart of the Lodge of Sorceresses, I suspect you also had a hand in my father's death. If I released you from those dimeritium shackles, you'd kill me as well!"
By the end, Radovid's voice had become fierce.
"As for the evidence... Ambassador!"
Standing nearby, Shilard looked contemptuously at Philippa.
"Regarding the sinister Lodge of Sorceresses, Triss Merigold, formerly a royal adviser of Temeria, provided us with a list of the organization's members.
"Regrettably, a few Nilfgaardian sorceresses are also among them. But Lady Philippa, you needn't concern yourself with what awaits them."
"Triss... Why would she say such a thing? Your Majesty, she's gone mad. This is complete fabrication."
"Stop these meaningless excuses, Eilhart. You will be punished. There will be a proper trial, conducted according to established procedure. Everything will follow the law.
"But understand this, there will be no escape for you this time.
"Justice will be done! The law will bind you to a stake and burn you alive!
"Throughout my entire childhood, I felt your cold gaze against the back of my neck. Whenever I gave an order, my subjects would first look to see whether Philippa Eilhart gave them a gesture of approval.
"When you humiliated me, the entire court of Tretogor watched. All of Redania laughed at me behind my back."
The hatred in Radovid's words seemed almost tangible.
The sudden outpouring during the latter half was undoubtedly intensely personal, so Shilard and the soldiers lowered their heads and pretended they hadn't heard anything.
"You taught me to stare into every man's eyes until he lowered his gaze. Do you remember? You told me a king must never reveal weakness or hesitation. I have mastered that lesson.
"But there is still one person I have never been able to make submit.
"You, Philippa Eilhart.
"You have one chance to shorten your suffering. Here and now, before the ambassador, confess everything. Look into my eyes, repent, and submit..."
Philippa turned her head aside, her face filled with resentment.
Radovid pressed his lips together.
"You refuse my mercy?
"Then have it your way.
"Torturers, gouge out her venomous eyes."
"Stop! Your Majesty, you're making a terrible mistake!"
The sorceress shouted loudly.
Radovid gave no response.
Hidden behind the wall and watching everything unfold, Victor had no intention whatsoever of rescuing her.
First, he and Philippa simply weren't close enough for that.
Second, the dungeon was packed with enemies.
Apart from the soldiers, Renuald aep Matsen stood beside Shilard, while an unfamiliar mage accompanied Radovid.
At the king's command, two executioners stepped forward.
They restrained the sorceress from either side and produced spoons.
"Aah... Aaaahhhh!"
As Philippa's agonized screams echoed through the dungeon,
Radovid smiled.
When the two executioners finally stepped away, the sorceress collapsed onto the floor.
Two bloody, empty sockets remained where her eyes had been.
"Your Majesty, now that the matter of the sorceress has been resolved, I believe it is time to proceed to the summit. Please allow me to withdraw first and make my preparations."
Shilard bowed, then departed with complete composure.
Radovid crouched in front of Philippa.
"My dear Lady Eilhart, this is only the beginning. When I return, we'll have plenty more time to talk."
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