Inside the pleasure house of the fortified residence, Victor, now calm again, put away his cauldron. He waved for Angoulême to take the freshly brewed healing potion from his latest bout of battle alchemy upstairs, in case complications arose during Moril's delivery. Then he went outside to collect the dimeritium weapons.
Because the guards carrying antimagic weapons had been standing relatively close to him, almost all of them had been swept into the storm of blades immediately.
The weapons they left behind were valuable. Their metal could be used to craft dimeritium bombs. Although such bombs were not particularly effective against powerful enemies, they remained an indispensable strategic resource.
Victor had not been scavenging for long when Iorveth entered the courtyard.
The first person he saw was Victor Corion, the young and powerful witcher, leisurely wandering among the corpses scattered across the square.
Upon noticing the elven commander, Victor stopped and waited for him to approach.
Iorveth flicked the blood from his curved sword with a practiced motion, sheathed it, and stopped before Victor with triumphant energy.
"My dear Vic, I thought I would find the Blue Stripes and Geralt here. The humans at the entrance said they were inside."
"They found the escape route I left when I entered and fled. Also, congratulations. For the time being, this town belongs to you."
Understanding what the witcher meant, the elven commander tapped his shoulder and waved dismissively.
"Thank you, Vic. Walking through the streets for myself, I discovered that life inside the town is not nearly as comfortable as I imagined. It was a very peculiar experience. Would you like to hear something amusing?"
"Oh? Seeing the other side of Flotsam has left you with a great deal to consider?"
"The other side? No. That is an idea invented by Oxenfurt philosophers who have never visited Flotsam or anywhere like it.
"I had never entered this place before, yet its people became the targets of my hatred. I wanted to see them die, and cutting them down like reeds proved unexpectedly relaxing.
"Many of those humans had also never seen me before, yet I made them live in fear. They wanted to see me dead, whether hanged, drowned, burned, or impaled upon a stake.
"The affairs of this world are that simple. I feel no pity for them, just as they feel none for me."
The witcher had no answer to that argument.
He sat beside the elven commander on a nearby stone bench, and together they watched the Scoia'tael scatter through the area, pursuing, killing, and looting.
Lansi aep Easnillen, the lieutenant who had lost her brother, picked up Loredo's head and wiped away the mud. After confirming that Victor did not want it, she gleefully raised it with both hands and ran out of the courtyard, presumably to display it to others.
"Your people are attacking and harming Flotsam's humans. Have you considered what comes afterward? Or are you planning a massacre? Nonhumans cannot keep this town functioning by themselves. Elves and dwarves will still need to live here in the future."
"What they had could hardly be called living. Their dignity was stripped away, and human laws controlled whether they lived or died. Victor, they are more human than you are."
"What about you, Iorveth? What sort of future do you want? To hide in the forest, murder berry pickers, and chew on roots?"
"That was a venomous way to put it, but I am in a good mood today, so I will forgive you. Perhaps you have a better suggestion. Victor, mighty and wise witcher, enlighten me."
The witcher shook his head.
"No, Ior. I'm only... You know."
Iorveth burst out laughing.
"Oh, my poor little Vic. After displaying your magnificent power and killing Loredo, you have already started going soft again. Do not forget that you are only a witcher. You cannot save everyone.
"But it does not matter. Old Iorveth supports you. Hold on to that precious quality for as long as you can. As long as you remain alive, this fucking world will eventually grind away every last trace of it."
The witcher rubbed his nose and fell silent.
There was no point arguing over this subject. He had failed to persuade Toruviel or Yaevinn, so there was no possibility of winning an argument with Iorveth.
The elven commander crossed one leg over the other.
"What comes next? What are your plans? Do you still intend to take Angoulême home as originally planned?"
Hearing the probing note in his words, Victor gave Iorveth a puzzled glance and waited for him to continue.
"Dovahkiin, come with us when we leave. We will sail to Vergen, an elven land, the land of our ancestors. I will return at the head of a great army."
"You are going to Vergen? Why travel to a dwarven town? As far as I know, the Pontar Valley is about to be engulfed by a vicious storm. What do you intend to do there?"
"Pursue our dream. An elven nation, a place where nonhumans and humans can coexist in harmony."
"An elven nation? Do not become angry, but I thought such a place already existed. The Valley of Flowers, Dol Blathanna in the Elder Speech, ruled by Francesca Findabair."
"I am not Yaevinn. That will not make me angry. But rule a nation? No. Francesca is merely a puppet who obeys Nilfgaard's commands.
"I seek a truly free country, one where an elf can visit a human inn and humans can enter elven forests without fear."
Victor's pupils widened in surprise.
Well, well. He had never expected Iorveth to conceal ambitions grand enough to reshape the world.
"Is this the hope Ciaran and Lansi mentioned? Do you intend to crown yourself? King Iorveth?"
"No. I hinted at this before. A true ruler is rising in the east. We need only help her ascend the throne, and our dream will become reality.
"She believes in righteousness, honesty, and honor. She would never sell herself to Nilfgaard for a handful of coins. She is a beautiful woman named Saskia."
"That praise was almost too beautiful. From the way you speak, she sounds fit for more than a throne. Is she your betrothed?"
"Vic, enough of your mockery. You may ridicule me, but you will not profane her. You will understand once you meet her. Soon the entire world will know the name of the Virgin of Aedirn, a woman blessed with extraordinary courage."
"Has she actually proven her courage, or does everyone simply say she has? You know, in Vizima, I was known as the Dragonborn Bard. A single song from me could make every elf in a forest weep and cause withered flowers to bloom."
Iorveth drove an elbow into Victor with slightly more force than necessary.
"She defeated a dragon. That is true."
"Fine. What do you intend to accomplish by leading an elven army there?"
Victor produced a bottle of red wine and began gulping it down.
The elf took the bottle from his hand, tilted his head back, and drank deeply.
"That Kaedweni thug Henselt has established a military camp on the right bank of the river. The Virgin and a sorceress are gathering reinforcements to defend Aedirn."
"I already know about Saskia the Dragonslayer. Who is the sorceress?"
"Philippa Eilhart."
At the sound of that name, Victor's previously calm heartbeat quickened slightly.
Philippa Eilhart, driven away by Radovid V, had appeared in Vergen to advise the Virgin?
She was an extremely dangerous woman.
Given her hunger for power, it was unsurprising that she would seek another prospective ruler to advise. The real question was why she had gone to Vergen and why she had chosen Saskia the Dragonslayer.
Was Saskia truly her best available option?
The witcher folded his arms.
"What is the Spider of Tretogor doing in Aedirn?"
"There is nothing strange about it. The birth of a true ruler naturally attracts people who wish to support her, people such as me and my commandos."
"Then tell me, commander of this elven army, what do you expect me to do after inviting me along?"
"I need not expect anything. Come with me to Aedirn, and you may find Triss and the Kingslayer there.
"You will also meet the woman who is about to transform the balance of power throughout the North. I believe every noble soul who meets her will change their mind and willingly offer her assistance."
Victor snatched the wine bottle back.
"To hell with your noble souls, Ior. Take back that curse. Do not burden me with such ridiculous expectations, or you will never receive another bottle of good wine from me."
"Hahahaha! That sounds as though you do not intend to refuse."
"Hmm. Give me some time to consider it. Right now, I merely want a little peace."
A familiar face appeared at the edge of Victor's vision.
It was Seherim.
He hurried to Victor's side, opening and closing his mouth as he gasped for breath, but no sound emerged.
The witcher noticed that Seherim's clothes were stained with blood.
He had not expected this resident of Lobinden, a supporter of Ciaran's peaceful principles, to participate in the fighting. Yet after considering what had happened to his wife, the choice was hardly surprising.
Victor patted his arm and pointed toward the building behind him.
"Go. Moril is alive. She is inside, on the third floor."
"Thank you so much."
With the enormous weight finally lifted from his heart, the elf found his voice.
He tightly clasped the witcher's hand.
"Thank you. Tell me, Lord Victor, what do you desire? Whatever it is, I am willing to pay."
His heart calm and untroubled, Victor smiled easily.
"Well, I do not lack money or anything else, but doing this entirely for free would not be appropriate. Go inside and see your wife first. You can give me some local specialty afterward."
Seherim stared at him earnestly with his single eye.
"Please listen to me, my lord. Your heart is broader than the sky, but I cannot treat such kindness as something I was entitled to receive. By saving Moril, you also saved me.
"Forgive me for possessing nothing adequate with which to repay you. But I know one method of repayment that your people accept, the Law of Surprise.
"Please accept from me that which I already possess but do not yet know I possess."
Victor froze slightly upon hearing the words "Law of Surprise."
Such payment was uncommon, but it was indeed an acceptable choice for a witcher.
It was an ancient custom of the Continent, a law as old as human history.
Someone who saved another person could invoke the Law of Surprise as payment, requesting the first thing to greet the rescued person upon their return home, or something the rescued person already possessed without knowing it.
"Very well. I will choose that."
The unknown surprise sounded entertaining, and Victor did not particularly care what he received, so he agreed without much thought.
He waved for Seherim to hurry to his wife, then turned toward Iorveth, intending to continue their previous conversation.
In essence, the Law of Surprise was a wager in which neither party knew what the prize would be.
The first thing to greet the rescued person might be a dog, a halberdier standing at the gate, or even a mother-in-law eager to berate her son-in-law the moment he returned home.
Another version demanded, "Give me what I did not expect to find when I returned home."
After a long journey, the unexpected thing found at home was most commonly a newborn calf.
It might also be a lover in the wife's bed.
Was that not an exciting thought?
On rare occasions, under the smallest of probabilities, the Law of Surprise would fall upon a child who came out to greet their father or had been born while the father was away.
Such a person was known as a Child of Surprise, a child chosen by Destiny.
The instant Victor remembered that possibility, a chill ran through him.
He immediately turned around, intending to call the elf back.
At that exact moment, Angoulême stepped onto the pleasure house balcony with a newborn child in her arms.
Her face was radiant with delight.
"Vic, mother and child are both safe! She is an adorable little elven girl! Oh, her father is here too? Come on, little sweetheart, say hello to your father. There, there, there! Seherim, hurry upstairs and meet your daughter with Moril!"
The infant began crying loudly, and Angoulême hurriedly carried her back inside.
Seherim had not yet realized what had occurred. He excitedly rushed into the building.
The two men sitting on the stone bench fell silent.
The air abruptly became still.
Having witnessed the entire exchange, Iorveth's eye shone brightly.
He knew that beyond its status as a customary and legally binding contract, the Law of Surprise also possessed magical power.
Once a valid claim under the Law of Surprise was made and accepted, a bond of Destiny became firmly established between the recipient of the oath and its subject.
This child had been born through Destiny.
"A child unknowingly chosen by Destiny is fated to experience an extraordinary life."
The legendary hero Zatret Voruta and Supree, who freed Mad Deï from his curse, had both been Children of Surprise.
Even among the people Victor personally knew, there were Geralt of Rivia, Lambert, and Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon.
Victor also understood perfectly well what had just happened, and his expression turned bitter.
As the claimant of a Child of Surprise, the other person bound to her fate, his life would inevitably be affected in ways beyond imagination.
Gods have mercy, I am still practically a child myself! Have I just become a father, or has Destiny saddled me with a future bride?
Without the slightest warning, Victor had acquired a Child of Surprise.
According to the customs of the Continent, the daughter of Seherim and Moril now belonged to him.
This was Destiny's choice, and resisting it would inevitably bring disaster.
Lost in their own thoughts, neither Victor nor Iorveth felt any desire to continue speaking.
The morning light shone brilliantly.
The first warm rays of dawn spread across the square.
A new day had begun.
Many, many years later, people would undoubtedly speak of this history in emotional voices, adopting the solemn tone of someone reciting a great chronicle.
Whenever Flotsam was mentioned, everyone would immediately think of the Flotsam Incident.
Even today, many years later, describing the truth of what occurred there still requires immense courage.
Blood soaked every inch of the earth beneath their feet.
No one had wished for such a tragedy to occur.
When discussing the Flotsam Incident, most people will undoubtedly think immediately of those familiar names belonging to its central figures, Bernard Loredo, Vernon Roche, Prosciutto, Iorveth, or Geralt of Rivia.
In my view, however, they merely happened to stand where history found them.
As my dear friend Victor once said, when an avalanche falls, no single snowflake bears all the blame, but every snowflake played its part.
Everything that happened was inevitable.
For years, racial oppression had tormented the lowest levels of Flotsam. The wicked indulgence of its rulers and the Scoia'tael's brutal retaliation had planted the seeds of unrest deep within every heart.
Then came the king's tragic death, the final straw that shattered the burdened back, like throwing a torch into a granary filled with airborne flour, blowing Flotsam apart in an instant.
Excerpt from Confessions of a Brave Man, by Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove
//Check out my P@tre0n for 30 extra chapters //[email protected]/Razeil0810