Rain showed no sign of letting up over Flotsam that night.
Inside the Blue Stripes' headquarters, several architectural plans had been spread across the map of the Pontar Valley. They depicted the residence of Bernard Loredo, commandant of Flotsam.
More than a dozen assault troops and the witcher Geralt gathered around the desk for a briefing. The man explaining the attack plan was Vernon Roche, the King's Hand.
"Listen carefully, because I won't repeat myself. We have two objectives. The first is the Kaedweni spy, Arnolt Malliger. I want him alive.
"The other is Bernard Loredo, commandant of the trading post and a traitor to Temeria. We cannot allow a man like that to live.
"Arnolt almost never leaves the residence, so we'll have to strike there. To get inside, we'll use Ves's talents and Bernard's particular appetites."
Geralt raised a hand to interrupt him. "Use their full names or their surnames. Otherwise, I'm going to get them confused. Bernard Loredo and Arnolt Malliger, correct?"
Roche nodded irritably. "Yes, whatever makes you happy. This is Loredo's residence. There are several guest rooms here. Geralt, you'll have an opportunity to inspect them first and confirm there are no other dangerous factors. Patrols usually circle the surrounding area."
His fingertip moved to the second plan.
"This building contains Loredo's guard quarters. There are plenty of thugs and hoodlums inside. They think they're hardened warriors, but they're really nothing more than useless drunks wearing gaudy gambesons. Especially that bastard Dymitr. Allowing him and his men into the army is a disgrace to Temeria."
Geralt raised an eyebrow.
"Finally, this building is the lion's den. Loredo stores the valuables he has plundered here. He eats, drinks, sleeps, and shits here, or else stares at a statuette of a female elf.
"Under normal circumstances, only the following people are allowed inside, Arnolt Malliger, Loredo's mother, his cousin, and... prostitutes."
As Roche spoke the final word, the corner of his eye turned toward Ves.
The Blue Stripes' second-in-command folded her arms. "I'm not sure I own anything suitable."
Ignoring her muttering, Roche looked at Geralt.
"At roughly the same time every month, Loredo summons two prostitutes to serve him. According to the rumors, the pay is generous enough that every woman who has gone there quit the profession afterward. Ves will disguise herself as one of them.
"This residence was already a bloody fortress, and Loredo has expanded and improved it even further. The witcher will therefore infiltrate through the annex, and Ves will open a window for you.
"Once you're inside, you'll have to improvise, Geralt.
"You'll have the element of surprise, and Ves can take care of herself. Zenin and Ryckard will provide cover from elevated positions. If things go badly, lure those bastards toward the windows."
Geralt closed his eyes and nodded.
The commander's voice remained calm and steady.
"I don't want this operation to cause a major disturbance that affects the city's security and defenses. Provided everything goes smoothly, Loredo's rule will be over by dawn."
The Blue Stripes struck their chests in unison.
"The rest of you will remain nearby with me, ready to respond if the situation becomes extreme. I repeat, extreme."
Roche's expression turned cold and severe as he emphasized the final word.
"That's everything. Any questions? No? Then let's get started."
With a sweep of his hand, he drove a dagger deep into the map on the table.
...
At the same time that the Blue Stripes departed, four figures stood atop a densely wooded cliff overlooking Flotsam.
Two were humans and two were elves. The humans were Victor and Angoulême. The elves were Ciaran, who had awakened after being treated with Vic's Old Recipe, and Seherim, whose beloved wife had disappeared.
With wind and rain battering him, Corion simply ran both hands along his temples, swept his parted hair backward, and fashioned it into a slicked-back style.
Using the weak campfire flickering in the storm, he roughly confirmed the town's boundaries before turning around with a satisfied smile.
"This is a good position. Angoulême and I can infiltrate from here without any trouble. Thank you for guiding us."
Seherim suddenly dropped to one knee. He clasped Victor's hand between both of his own and lowered his head, his voice choked with emotion.
"Please... Moril... I'm entrusting everything to you."
Ciaran, who had guided them and pointed out the location, considered saying something in support. In the end, he remained silent and merely bowed in supplication.
Unable to bear watching her friend cry, Angoulême turned her head toward the brightest area below. It was Bernard Loredo's fortified residence.
"Raise your head, Seherim," Victor said calmly. "I accept your commission because you are Angoulême's friend. But there is something I must make clear beforehand.
"During the past year, Moril has been imprisoned inside that residence without seeing daylight. She is a beautiful elf, so you can imagine what she may have endured. Under the worst circumstances, her face or even her body may have been injured. Are you prepared for that possibility?"
The cliff was cold, filled with the sound of wind and rain striking the forest leaves.
Seherim raised his head. Tears blurred his single eye, and his voice sounded like a prayer.
"I swear to you, Victor, no matter what has happened to Moril or what she now looks like, I will continue loving and caring for her, just as Eldan loved Cymoril."
Rain clouds covered the heavens, leaving no stars in the sky that night. Yet Victor saw brilliant stars within the elf's eye.
Love, something beautiful enough to inspire reverence.
Victor withdrew his hand and placed it over his chest.
"Seherim, I swear upon the name of Victor Corion, knight, that I will do everything in my power to rescue Moril."
With everything settled and his resolve firm, the leader turned and nodded to his companion. He broke into a short run, kicked off the edge of the cliff, and plunged into the darkness.
The sight terrified Ciaran and Seherim. Both had assumed the Phantom Troupe intended to descend into the city using ropes.
The two shocked elves rushed several steps forward and looked down. On this moonless night, they could see only a vague shadow gliding gracefully like a bat.
Judging by Victor's course, he intended to descend directly onto the fortress. The method lay completely beyond anything the elves had imagined.
Angoulême, long accustomed to such things, patted her chest.
"Don't worry. We'll rescue Moril. Go back and wait for our good news!"
Her next action frightened them even more. She jumped directly from the cliff without a parachute or glider, using nothing but repeated kicks against the rock face to slow her descent.
The Phantom Troupe's extraordinary actions filled the elves with hope and anticipation. They stared after Victor and Angoulême until both phantoms had vanished completely into the darkness.
Only then did Ciaran grab Seherim's arm and lead the reluctant one-eyed elf away.
...
A moonless, stormy night, perfect for gliding.
Looking down from the air, Victor could see the entire town.
Flotsam was where the North's most important trade routes converged. Every caravan had to pass through it, and anyone wishing to transport goods by ship through the region had to remember Bernard Loredo, commandant of Flotsam, and show him sufficient "respect."
Naturally, a man who received so much "respect" also accumulated a corresponding amount of hostility. There were more people who wanted him dead than anyone could count.
The place where he lived was therefore no ordinary residence. The fortified compound could accommodate two hundred armed guards and was fully equipped with sentries, guard dogs, and alarms. Its towering walls had even been reinforced with magic, making it virtually an impregnable miniature fortress.
Yet on this very night, in the darkest and steepest section of the fortress wall, the place most difficult to infiltrate, a rope suddenly dropped from above.
Angoulême climbed it with the agility of an ape and effortlessly reunited with Victor.
"Heh-heh-heh, that's our leader for you. I couldn't think of a solution yesterday and had no choice but to force my way inside. You managed a silent infiltration with a single aerial insertion."
Victor fixed a second rope to the wall and threw it down, ensuring they had a clear emergency escape route.
"The weather and terrain happened to favor us. If the moon had been visible tonight, anyone looking upward would have spotted me."
"The weather and terrain are on our side, so leave the human element to me!"
Angoulême chuckled mischievously beneath her iron mask and dropped silently from the outer wall. She closed her eyes and concentrated on what she could feel.
Victor stood beside her with a kindly, fatherly smile hidden beneath his own iron mask.
The girl had truly grown.
Yesterday, she had deliberately made an enormous disturbance, ensuring that every guard in Loredo's residence recognized and hated the Iron Masks. Their hostility now formed a natural radar network for her senses.
Of course, he could not praise her too readily. Her confidence was already overflowing, and she was extremely prone to becoming insufferably smug. She needed to be brought back down to earth regularly.
A short while later, Angoulême opened her eyes and waved for Victor to follow.
The two drank Cat potions and began silently choking the patrolling guards unconscious.
Provided everything continued smoothly, this would be an infiltration without a single death.
Had the troupe member been allowed to decide for herself, she might have simply driven a dagger into every obstacle and ended things cleanly. The leader, however, believed that life should always be treated with reverence. As long as their own safety was protected, killing should be avoided whenever possible.
Choosing to kill whenever a problem arose was simple, but someone killed by mistake could never be brought back.
Angoulême remembered witnessing Doctor Shani's efforts in the field hospital at Vizima, and so she had tacitly accepted Victor's methods.
...
While the Phantom Troupe continued knocking guards unconscious, Iorveth was concealed in the darkness outside Flotsam's fortified checkpoint.
He counted the guards, assessed their armaments, and evaluated their morale.
His preliminary conclusion was that this battle would be extremely difficult.
The defenders already possessed an overwhelming advantage in any assault against a fortified position. Worse still, Victor had forced his way through the city gate that evening, prompting Loredo to send substantial reinforcements.
Even if a surprise attack allowed the Scoia'tael to shoot down many defenders during the opening moments, his own forces would still suffer devastating losses in the exchange of arrows and the charge that followed.
Yet this battle had to be fought.
Morally, they had an obligation to rescue their captured kin. From a practical standpoint, the disturbances inside the city meant the humans could not concentrate fully on external threats, while the nonhumans would certainly never support Loredo.
This was a rare opportunity to capture Flotsam.
Taking the town would provide them with enough food and ships, while also allowing them to transport large numbers of soldiers.
Thinking of that woman and the magnificent dream they shared, Iorveth's gaze gradually became resolute.
"Return and prepare for battle, Lansi. Defenses this tight may only be breached with lives. No matter how great the sacrifice, we must force our way through the checkpoint before dawn."
Hearing his commander's declaration, a trace of pain flickered through the eyes of the elven lieutenant with dreadlocked hair. He quickly regained his composure.
Everything was for a better future.
After signaling for the scouts farther away to withdraw, Lansi followed Iorveth into the darkness.
...
Some time passed.
With Angoulême serving as living radar, the Phantom Troupe's campaign of blackjacking guards flourished. They soon cleared out a large open area, after which they briefly separated to scout their surroundings.
After ambushing the guard atop a watchtower, Victor looked down from his elevated position.
The entire residence was essentially an enormous military barracks. Judging from its layout, the main bedroom should have been...
As he searched the area, the witcher's gaze suddenly stopped.
Through the window of a distant building, he caught sight of a short-haired blonde woman. She wore an extremely skimpy prostitute's outfit and had been bound to a restraint frame by several thugs, who then dispersed.
The dirty, dust-covered glass prevented even his extraordinary vision from revealing more than a fragment of the scene. He could vaguely make out several other people inside, while the lieutenant appeared to be unconscious.
This was not a good sign.
Victor rubbed his chin.
Ves's presence here was completely unexpected. Could the Blue Stripes also be conducting an operation tonight?
There was nothing to hesitate over.
The witcher jumped from the watchtower and ran directly toward the building.
He was merely a passerby who had come to rescue Moril, but depending on the circumstances, helping the Blue Stripes along the way would require little additional effort.
The building appeared perfectly ordinary. It was a three-story structure with a cellar, and there were no guards outside the entrance. Had he not glimpsed Ves, he would probably have ignored it entirely.
However, as he approached, he faintly heard numerous sounds of brutal violence from inside, accompanied by the weak, exhausted moans of women.
Whatever was happening, it certainly did not sound like any normal form of exercise.
Victor slowly approached the entrance.
A scream suddenly rang out and stopped abruptly, followed by the mocking laughter of several men.
The witcher halted.
He felt his blood gradually turning cold.
His extraordinary hearing then caught the sound of something heavy being dragged. It struck each step with a succession of dull thuds until a trapdoor opened.
Something was thrown into the cellar.
The trapdoor slammed shut.
For a young man who had watched countless videos, some things did not need to be witnessed directly. The sounds and his imagination were enough to tell him what had happened.
Yet the cruelty had come so abruptly that his mind went momentarily blank.
When he heard heavy footsteps returning upstairs, he pushed open the door and entered.
Silently, he walked to the cellar trapdoor.
Even before reaching it, his nose had already warned him. It detected precisely the odor that should have been there.
Victor persisted.
He reached down and lifted the trapdoor, revealing the scene below.
Rage accumulated within him. Faint red veins appeared across his bright blue eyes.
Foreseeing something beforehand was one thing.
Actually seeing it was another.
When he heard heavy footsteps returning upstairs, he pushed open the door and entered.
Silently, he walked to the cellar trapdoor.
Even before reaching it, his nose had already warned him. It detected precisely the odor that should have been there.
Victor persisted.
He reached down and lifted the trapdoor, revealing the scene below.
Rage accumulated within him. Faint red veins appeared across his bright blue eyes.
Foreseeing something beforehand was one thing.
Actually seeing it was another.
Ignoring her muttering, Roche looked at Geralt.
"At roughly the same time every month, Loredo summons two prostitutes to serve him. According to the rumors, the pay is generous enough that every woman who has gone there quit the profession afterward. Ves will disguise herself as one of them.
"This residence was already a bloody fortress, and Loredo has expanded and improved it even further. The witcher will therefore infiltrate through the annex, and Ves will open a window for you.
"Once you're inside, you'll have to improvise, Geralt.
"You'll have the element of surprise, and Ves can take care of herself. Zenin and Ryckard will provide cover from elevated positions. If things go badly, lure those bastards toward the windows."
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