14. Royal Blood
Olcan's house was odd for a priest's residence. Typically, residences of the professionally pious were filled with religious texts, paintings and shrines. They occasionally contained a few potted plants, but never on the scale of those found in the deceased priest's home. A wide variety of medicinal and alchemical herbs were planted in carefully-arranged grids, most of which Geralt recognized. The collection in and of itself wasn't particularly odd, but the juxtaposition between a priest and a collection worthy of a town herbalist couldn't have been starker. Intrigued, Geralt perused the eclectic collection, and found most - but not all - of the necessary ingredients for magepain. He had little doubt that the priest was the crafter of the poison, but that still left the matter of an accomplice - or mastermind.
Returning to the keep, Geralt found the crowd larger and angrier than ever. "Sate the gods, lynch the sod!" They chanted. On the stone walls in various places, the words, "blood for blood" were painted in red. Pushing through the mob with great effort, he entered the keep and was once again prevented access to the cloistered prince, this time by Lord Demetian, one of Stennis's noblemen.
"As you've been told before, the prince is not accepting visitors," he said sternly, his unusually long nose contributing to a shrill, piercing tone.
Geralt folded his arms in frustration. "I'm not a 'visitor.' I'm investigating the poisoning. Don't you realize I have the power to help?"
Demetian squinted his dark eyes. "You have the power to instill fear, I'll give you that, but as for that rabble in the courtyard? They won't listen to the conclusions of a witcher. I fear they're past the point of listening to anyone."
"Except for Saskia."
The nobleman rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Yes, yes, the virgin of Aedirn. Please. If we'd known the trouble elevating her would've caused… well, let's just say that when setting fire to a neighbor's barn, one must take care that the wind doesn't blow it back onto one's own."
"Does her leadership threaten you?"
"Me? No. It's that mass of plebes which threatens me." The courtesan sighed deeply. "Few will admit to it, but Demavend was an inept ruler who pandered too often to the desires of his court. When he died, the country was instantly at each other's throats. We happened to have a cult hero nearby leading a small army…"
"And you used her charisma to turn the peasants to your faction."
"Naturally. Many noble heads rolled, but not ours. The trouble is, when you give a farmer a sword, it can become difficult to then replace it with a plough. Saskia's a wise woman, but she fails to understand - this war will be over one day, and when that time comes, peasants must return to their place in society. After all, someone needs to raise crops and livestock. It's a flawed system, granted, but it's the only one that works, and in order for it to keep working, it must be led by a monarch. Only one with the divine right to lead can inspire the necessary fidelity to keep the uneducated simpleton in his place. You are a pragmatist - that much is easy to see. It should be equally easy, then, to see what must be done here. Conclude your investigation and attest to Stennis' innocence. After all, someone must lead the sheep."
Geralt scowled. "And if he's guilty?"
"My dear witcher, this is not a matter of guilt and innocence. It's a matter of perception, nothing more. If that fog were to lift in an hour, this town would be overrun and every one of us flayed upon the wall or enslaved to a foreign master. We need unity for survival's sake."
"A convenient line of reasoning for someone under such scrutiny…"
"I will have a word with the witcher," a voice spoke from behind Geralt. He turned to see Stennis, overdressed as always.
"My lord-"
"Leave us, David," the prince interrupted, lazily placing a hand up, as if backhanding a fly in slow motion.
Once the nobleman was out of the room, Stennis addressed Geralt.
"I did not poison Saskia. Despite our differences, I do not seek her death."
"But Olcan did. Your priest."
The young royal was visibly flustered by Geralt's words, trying in vain to disguise it. "What an odd thing to say! What ever would give you that idea?"
"I know he spoke with you about killing her. I also know he had the means and aptitude to make it happen. What I don't know is who carried out the deed once he'd been killed."
"Well, clearly I don't know either!" Stennis said, stammering slightly as beads of sweat began to coalesce on his forehead.
"I think you do," Geralt countered calmly, "and I think you'd do well to tell me. Cecil's guards won't hold out much longer. That mob out there has it in their heads that you tried to kill their savior, and prince or not, they're hungry for blood."
"Royal blood!" He retorted indignantly. "The gall of those… commoners! How easily they forget that it is I who lead by divine right, in whose veins flows the blood of noble birth. To even lob such a heinous accusation against one such as myself is grounds for beheading! I will address them myself and put an end to this nonsense… and you will accompany me."
He brushed past Geralt, storming off toward the barricaded door in a petulant fit. Geralt sighed deeply, hands on his hips, then followed the prince outside.
"Silence! Silence! Listen!" Stennis pleaded with the crowd, but got nowhere, his voice lost in the angry shouts. A potato struck the prince in the shoulder, then another narrowly missed his face. A few rocks came next, though nothing to do serious injury. He cowered back, shielding his head with his silk-sleeved forearm.
"Do something, witcher!" He commanded. "Get their attention for a moment."
Geralt stood right behind the beleaguered guards, held his right hand high above his head, and cast the Igni Sign. A brilliant flash of magical fire shot upward, expanding as it dissipated into the mountain air. "Quiet!" He yelled. "The prince is ready to address you, so shut the hell up. All of you." Aside from a collective gasp, nothing could be heard from the shocked crowd. Stennis stepped up beside the witcher and began speaking.
"Friends, countrymen… we must stop this senseless bickering. I fear for Saskia's life as you all do, and pray to the gods for a speedy recovery. I don't know where this pernicious rumor originated, but allow me to assure you, publicly, that I had nothing to do with the tragic poisoning of our finest general."
There was silence for a few fragile seconds before one of the peasants shouted back. "Murderer!" The crowd erupted in shouts and accusations again. With effort, Geralt was able to quiet them somewhat, at least enough to hear individual voices.
"The Witcher was to investigate - what has he learned?" One voice asked, echoed by several grunts and nods of assent. He calmed the crowd further before responding.
"Your priest, Olcan, was the one who devised the plan and brewed the poison," he shouted, "but he didn't act alone. It's unclear whether the prince was part of the conspiracy, but-"
"Guilty!" A man near the front roared, shaking his fist. Geralt glared intensely at the man, who quieted as soon as he noticed, slinking back into the crowd like a beaten dog.
"But…" Geralt continued, "he is a suspect. He's also your prince. Disperse this mob, and I'll see to it that he stands trial."
"String 'im up!" A haggard woman shouted.
"We don't need no prince!" A gangly teenager added.
"I am your prince, the son of Demavend," Stennis shouted, "and I will be addressed with honor!"
"Then behave honorably," a middle-aged man shouted. "Stand trial like any other commoner."
"Aye! Will he actually submit to a court?" A young woman yelled from across the crowd.
"I am honor-bound to justice," Stennis shouted back. "Even a prince is not above the law. I shall submit to a hearing in court, but only an impartial panel should be trusted with such matters. The summit of mages will be gathering in one week's time. Let us present the evidence there. If they deem me guilty, may the law be done. If, however, they affirm my innocence, then those who incite violence against their royals will be severely punished. Return to your homes!"
"And why should we trust you?" A voice from the crowd questioned.
"I'll see to it that he keeps his word," Geralt answered, kicking himself internally as he spoke. "And until the summit, the prince will be confined to his room under armed guard to be sure he follows through."
Stennis shot an incredulous look at the witcher, but it was too late for a rebuttal. The crowd, appeased sufficiently, began to disperse little by little.
"Wipe that look off your face, majesty," Geralt said into his ear. "I just saved your life. House arrest is better than being stabbed at random by one of your own countrymen."
Two of the dwarves stepped out of the defensive line to escort Stennis back to his room. Geralt was about to follow them inside when he noticed someone pushing through the shrinking crowd shouting his name.
"Master Geralt! Master witcher, sir!"
He stepped closer to the elf, who was red-faced and out of breath. "What is it?"
"The sorceress needs you at once! You must make haste to her home."
"Did she say why?"
"No sir, only that it concerns Saskia - and it's urgent."
"Let's go, then."
Geralt walked briskly to Philippa's Vergen residence, and was ushered directly up to the spare room where Saskia lay on the large feathertop bed. By the looks on the faces of those in the room, things had taken a turn for the worse.
"Good! You're finally here," Philippa said, rising from Saskia's side. The young leader, in whom all of Vergen's hopes dwelt, was twitching and seizing, her long brown hair matted to her face in sweat-soaked curls as she drew in abrupt, wheezing breaths in a rapid cadence. Her pulse was weak and erratic, yet still visible in her emaciated neck and wrists. The sorceress took Geralt by the hand and led him into the neighboring room, where an alembic and a cluster of vials and bowls were situated on a tall wooden table.
"Quickly! Roll up your sleeve. I need your blood," she said, fumbling through a black embroidered clutch.
"My blood?" He asked, stopping at the doorframe. "Why?"
"I don't have time to explain!" She retorted over her shoulder, cursing as she turned the clutch upside down and spilled the ingredients onto the table.
"Fine," Geralt replied with a huff, rolling up his sleeve obediently. He drew a small dagger from his belt and offered it to Philippa. "Sharp and sterile," he said, taking a bit of pride in his preparation. "Always ready."
She sighed, looking it over. "It will have to do. Come, we need a fair amount. Over here…"
He held out his arm, and she made an incision. Bright red droplets began to fill a glass vial through a funnel. It was a slow enough process to afford Philippa time to explain the scenario.
"I need your blood, Geralt, because mine didn't work. Iorveth returned with the ingredients early this morning, and Cynthia and I set out to brew the potion. It requires blood - human, not elven - and I had hoped mine would suffice. Unfortunately, it lost its constitution when blended with the more volatile ingredients."
"And mine's a bit heartier. Makes sense. Only, I'm not human. Not anymore, at least."
"Oh, poppycock! You're as human as I am. It will work. It must… or we will lose her."
"Her pulse - you brought her out of the coma?"
"I had Cynthia prepare her while I brewed the antidote. As you know, it was a failure, which left the poor girl in a precarious situation. We can't use the spells to put her into a coma again, her body can't take it."
"Fine, I get it. Have enough yet?" The highly-mutated coagulants in his blood made even intentional bloodletting an arduous process.
She glanced at the vial, frowned, huffed… then snatched it up. "It'll have to do. Keep Saskia cool, calm her if you can. This shouldn't take but a minute or two."
Returning to the bedroom, Saskia's condition had worsened. Iorveth was stretched over her, holding both her convulsing arms in place, while Cynthia - the "tethered" sorceress - held both open hands above Saskia's forehead, muttering a spell repeatedly.
"Don't just stand there! Do something, Gwynbleidd," Iorveth said through gritted teeth, his forehead sweating as profusely as Saskia's.
He tried casting Axii, but it had no noticeable effect. Whatever enchantment Cynthia was using clearly overpowered it. Instead, he relieved Iorveth, clamping down on Saskia's arms with his powerful grip. He was immediately impressed with her strength - for a woman of unexceptional size and build, she was remarkably difficult to restrain.
Philippa entered in a hurry, carrying with her a small glass bottle with a brown liquid.
"Stop, Cynthia," she commanded. "I must paralyze her so I can administer the antidote, but once that is done, we must act quickly. Do you understand?" The apprentice nodded. Philippa continued. "I will hand you the bottle, and you must immediately apply the contents to her vein. There can be no delays. Witcher, you may release her."
Geralt did as he was told, backing up slowly. Philippa set the bottle down, waved both her hands and spoke a spell in a loud, commanding tone. Geralt's medallion jumped from his chest, and Saskia went limp, as if dead. Geralt listened closely - even her heart and lungs had been drawn to a halt. Philippa hurriedly sipped a gulp of the potion in the bottle, then handed it to Cynthia, who had just made an incision into Saskia's left forearm. As she poured the remainder of the antidote into the wound, the senior sorceress bent over Saskia's face, placing her lips directly onto her patient's, and transferred her portion of the antidote. She then pinched Saskia's nose and began breathing air into her lungs in a slow, steady rhythm. Geralt had seen quite a few types of spell-breaking rituals, but this was a novel experience, and, in light of the scene he stumbled upon between Philippa and Cynthia, a curious one.
After a few dozen artificial breaths, Saskia's heart began beating, and her lungs began taking in air on their own. Philippa stepped back and cast another spell, and after about two minutes of calm, Saskia began coughing violently, sending brown mucus droplets in spatters around her. Her heart accelerated quickly, and her eyes opened, darting to and fro wildly.
"Wh… what…" He voice muttered, scratchy and weak.
"Shh…" Philippa said, placing a hand on Saskia's forehead. "You were poisoned. We nearly lost you."
Saskia coughed dryly and attempted to swallow to moisten her throat. "The war?"
"Still on hold because of the fog," Philippa answered. The young general closed her eyes with a look of relief.
"You didn't think we'd go to war without the Virgin of Aedirn, did you?" Iorveth said with a twinkle in his eye. Saskia smiled back.
"Iorveth. Good that you are here. And… Geralt? Why am I not surprised?" She tried to sit up, faltering quickly and crashing back to the bed. "We must resume our summit… make preparations-"
"Sleep, child," Philippa said, gently, brushing her palm over Saskia's eyelids. "All in good time. For now, rest is the most important thing. We will leave you to it." She turned with one raised eyebrow, motioning at the onlookers to disperse. Geralt was the last out the door, and just as he went to close it, Saskia spoke up.
"Geralt? A word, if I may…" He walked over to the bed, and she reached out her hand to grasp his. "I… cannot put into words how grateful I am to you," she said, an exhausted look on her furrowed brows. "Fate has clearly brought you across my path… yet again."
"Glad I could help."
"Have you found her yet? Your sorceress?"
"No."
"And yet you came to my aid? Thank you, Geralt. If you would consider… hear me out…" She swallowed hard again, her voice still hoarse. "Stay here with us to defend the city. This fog will pass sooner or later, and when it does, we will need warriors like you - those with selfless, noble hearts… and with skill in combat."
"I appreciate the invitation, but witchers don't take sides in wars. We don't delve into politics. Our code forbids it."
"I understand, of course," she replied, closing her eyes for a long moment before continuing. "It does, however, permit actions taken to defend the defenseless…"
"There's an army of peasants who were ready to lynch their own prince for you. And Iorveth's archers. You're far from defenseless."
"What we're building here, Geralt, it must survive. You've seen how fractured our world is, how such hatred has been sown in the hearts of the races toward each other. This is our chance to make something better, something… for those who live beyond us to inherit."
"And a chance for a peasant to become queen…"
"No. Not at all. You see, that is the difference. I have no desire to rule in a palace, with masses living in a squalor, supporting my luxury with the sweat of their brow. That is precisely the sort of country we're trying to break away from."
"These people are only an army because of you. What would you do - liberate them and just disappear?"
"Of course not! I love them. I would die for them. They are my countrymen - not just the humans. The dwarves, the elves. Once there is peace, I want nothing more than to hand the weight of ruling to those better suited for it, those who would treat them with respect, and listen to their wishes."
"Those like Philippa?"
She sighed and closed her eyes again. "Do you still distrust her?"
"Yes. And so should you."
"Oh, witcher. How do you manage life with such a contemptible view of everyone?"
"I manage not to get poisoned."
"Give her a chance. And please… at least consider making an exception to your code of neutrality for Vergen. If not for me, then for the cause."
The witcher forced a smile. "If I did, I wouldn't be the honorable man you make me out to be."
"You would be more," she answered. "I should sleep."
"Rest well."
Philippa began speaking before Geralt had reached the bottom of the stairs. "You really should heed her advice, you know… trust or not, I do keep my word."
"Will you stop doing that?" He said gruffly, folding his arms.
"Reading your mind? When it's an open book, and such interesting content… no, I dare say I cannot. I can see why Yennefer always found your company so… amusing."
"Do you have a point, or do you just enjoy irritating me?"
"I know where to find Triss. In general, at least. Though you're not going to like what I have to say."
"I rarely like anything you have to say. Where is she?"
"Across the mist. I picked up an echo. Somewhat recent, but… well, to be honest, I don't quite know why I can't see something more up to date. It could be that she's reentered the fog and is somehow being concealed. Or… she may be dead. Either way, you should forget about her and focus on helping us defend the city. Chasing her at this point is a fool's errand."
"Mark it on the map," he said coldly, eyes narrowed, jaw locked.
She sighed, eyebrows raised in disapproval. "Somehow I knew you'd say that. Very well. I shall mark the point of her last known location for you, and I shall enchant an amulet for you to wear as protection from the fog. It won't repel the wraiths, but it should keep you from suffocating in it - provided you don't linger there."
"That's awfully generous. And what strings are attached?"
"Strings?" She replied, leaning back and placing a hand on her chest in poorly-feigned indignation. "Nothing of the sort. I did offer to help find her, after all. However… while you're on the other side, should you find yourself close enough to survey Henselt's camp and bring back word of their battle-readiness…"
"Uh-huh. There it is."
"Waste not, want not, witcher. I shall bring you the items forthwith."