Chapter Thirteen: The Blades of Belleteyn
Night of Belleteyn 1275, eight months later
Ghelibol, Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard
Nimnar Inn
"And the winner is, Damien of Oxenfurt!" The bookkeeper announced, as the contestant lay passed out on the floor after taking a well-placed uppercut to the jaw. The bookkeeper lifted up Damien's hand in celebration, and the people of the inn cheered. Damien received his share of the winning, a cool eighty crowns, and headed back to his table by the window as he put his armor back on. He sat down, across from the man he had been talking with previously.
"Well fought witcher. You participate in fist fights often?" the man asked, looking up from his notes that he had been perusing during the fight.
"Often enough. Good way to earn easy coin. What more could a witcher ask for?" The witcher smirked.
"Is that all you need, witcher? Coin?" Damien's smirk vanished at that remark, and his eyes flared.
"Do you have something you would like to say to my face, Dorregaray?" Damien laid back in his seat, not in a good mood from his remark. He ordered another mug of lager.
"I just feel the Damien who has been helping me out for the last few days is not the Damien I met eight months ago in Lan Exeter." With that, Damien looked directly at the mage's eyes. The man didn't look like he was trying to offend, but as if he wanted to help.
"Maybe it's because the Damien you met in Lan Exeter did not know certain things that the Damien in Ghelibol right now does. I have the suspicion that can change people's attitudes. Besides, why does it matter to you? I'm just a witcher aren't I? I get instructions, I follow them, I get paid. End of story. No attachments, no emotions. Thinking otherwise is foolish."
"See, I know for a fact that is a lie," Damien's right eyebrow raised in response to that. "Because I have a hard time believing a witcher would care about protecting rare species of deer from wolves if he didn't have an ulterior motive. Especially when there are a dozen other contracts in this city that pay twice as well."
Damien shrugged. "Maybe I appreciate conservation efforts more than my comrades do." He looked at his nails, avoiding Dorregaray's glare.
"Perhaps that was the problem. You forgot that mages can read minds, and thus gave away-"
"My deepest apologies for believing I deserve the privacy of my own thoughts, Dorregaray. I wasn't aware that being a mage allowed you free access to other's minds. Maybe if you lot avoided such actions people would trust you more." Silence filled the table. Damien felt bad for lashing out, but he felt it was unfair that Dorregaray was making this his fault.
"My apologies Damien. You are right in that regard; we mages have the tendency to pry where we have no right, a habit that dies hard, even for those who trust the person they are talking to."
"Thank you." With that, the serving girl can with more lager for Damien, who proceeded to drink most of the mug in a single gulp.
"Is this your plan? To wander the world, fighting for the sake of coin, taking odd jobs, and drinking yourself into a stupor every night to wash away the pain?"
"You'd have me go back and apologize for being upset at being used?" Damien leaned in. "I know you mages have no respect for simpletons like myself, but that's low."
"Would you quit putting words in my mouth, dammit? I wish to help you because I think you are a good person. I know you want the best for the world and I appreciate that. It's a sentiment few of my fellow mages share." Dorregaray looked around before leaning in as well. "You know this land just as well if not better than I do. Do you honestly believe that you can hide here? That you can avoid the conflict that is inevitable? A Nilfgaardian regiment occupies Blaviken. The garrison in this city alone is one hundred, not to mention the one in Mirt. Twenty five hundred men from the Alba Division guard the land north of the Buine. Northern Redania wants Nordling rule, and they are willing to fight for it. I know it. You know it. Nilfgaard knows it. Is it really her fault that she wants you on her side when the fight starts?"
"I'm one of the last people in the world who would tell you that the Nilfgaardians are the answer. I want them gone as much as everyone else. But sinking to their level is disgusting to me, and I have a right to be disgusted. I also have a right to be offended when she tried to make my decisions for me. I'm not going to be her slave, who she can order around to do tasks that do nothing but benefit her."
"And so you decided to communicate that by throwing a temper tantrum and leaving like a child, rather than try to communicate your problems with your partner?"
"I tried to communicate my problems-"
"Being passive aggressive and bitchy is not called communicating." Damien glared at him, and finished his drink.
Dorregaray finished his glass of cow's milk, and got up. "Come now, it's getting late. We must return to my study. We have important things to do tomorrow." Damien groaned but got up. They paid their tab and headed off into the night streets of Ghelibol.
Dorregaray was right. The city was on edge. Fights broke out daily, and there were entire sections of the city the Black One's never entered. It was pretty commonly known that the city was the de facto capital of the numerous nationalist groups spread across Redania. As long as sympathizers to their cause ran the city, there was nothing the Black One's could do, except put it under martial law the way Blaviken was. For now, though, no one was going to advocate that.
Perhaps they should have.
Damien and Dorregaray were simply walking down the street to the other side of the city, where Dorregaray had a room in the other inn. However, in order to cross, they needed to pass through the main city square.
And the main city square was full of people. Young, old, male, female, human, nonhuman. They didn't all get along with each other, but there was one thing that united them all.
They were furious.
The mob had gathered around a speaker who was standing on top of some crates. The men around him were brandishing blades of all kinds, and many in the crowd were wielding machetes or knifes or pitchforks.
"Tonight, we show the Black Ones who's in charge! Tonight, we take back our city!" With that, the man took a torch and started marching off in the direction of the main city garrison. The mob was massive, easily several hundred people, and they all began marching with their leader.
Damien and Dorregaray knew this was not going to end well, so they decided to see what was going to happen and followed the crowd.
The mob made their way to the outside the garrison, which had caught wind of what was happening and blockaded the entrance gate with wooden barricades. Close to a dozen archers had taken up positions on the battlements on the garrison, and the commander looked down to the angry mob.
"Step one foot closer and die, Nordling." With that, the commander spit on the mob leader. The spitball hit him in the face, causing him to step back out of disgust. After wiping his face off, however, he responded.
"You die first, bitch!" With that, the mob charged at the entrance. The archers fired into the crowd, but it did nothing. The crowd began throwing torches onto the battlements, lighting parts of the garrison aflame. Damien and Dorregaray, dozens of feet away from the garrison, watched in horror as the mob stormed the garrison.
The mob was merciless. They took no prisoners, spared no survivors. Every single soldier in the garrison was stabbed or burned or trampled or cut in two. When it was all said and done, the mob leader, badly injured, carried the garrison commander's head on a spike and placed it outside of the entrance.
"Let them remember this night! The night Ghelibol freed itself from the Black One's rule!" The mob, spread out and thinned from the attack, responded with as much fervor as before.
"You were right Dorregaray. They do want independence."
"Indeed. I just wasn't expecting it so soon."
One week later…
May 7th, 1275
Talgar, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss
Joint Camp of the 1st and 2nd Koviri Armies
Triss laid her back against the pole that held up the tent. She looked down the hill, past all of the other army tents, to see the Braa River, as rapid and vicious as ever. The day was clear, the sun was a few hours from midday, and the mood in the encampment was infectious.
She had read the latest reports that had come in. Everything was going to plan. On the night of Belleteyn, Koviri backed rebels seized Ghelibol and Cinfrid, and King Neidamir was assassinated in his sleep. The next day, five thousand soldiers of the 3rd Koviri Army marched through Benda Pass in Malleor, escorting an envoy which held more than three hundred thousand crowns in bribes and payments. In just four days of fighting and negotiations, every lord in the East March and every company in Hengfors belonged to Kovir.
While that was happening, Field Marshal Frederick Ostagard and General Phillip Hori had raised the 1st and 2nd Koviri Armies, a combined force of over twenty thousand men, and here they were, encamped on the Koviri side of the Braa River.
The plan from here? The 3rd Army, under the command of Adam Pragnatt, formerly of the Free Company, would lead the armies of Hengfors, around thirty five hundred, over the Mountains of Milan. They would move south and meet up with the Kaedwenian army in Ban Glean, and make a move on Upper Aedirn, further separating the Nilfgaardian response.
The 1st and 2nd Armies would split up, one taking the western side of Redania, the other taking the eastern side. They would drive down to the Buine River, and if possible, the Rogge River. From there, negotiations could begin.
Everything was moving exactly like they had expected. The Alba Division in the Arcsea and Jamurlak would be no match for the Koviri Chargers, and the only other large force was located hundreds of leagues south, in Tretogor.
Triss smiled. There was nothing that could make this moment better. Well, except for…
She frowned. The reports mentioned Damien might have been in Ghelibol during the assault, but nothing about if he made it out or not. She cursed to herself. Why didn't he listen to me? He could have been safe here, protected by an army and a mountain of gold!
She knew that Damien had the right to be upset, but she felt he had gone too far. It wasn't fair, in her opinion, for him to just abandon her like that…
Seven months earlier…
October 1st, 1274
Lan Exeter, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss
Royal Palace
Damien pushed open the door to their suite, charging in, furious. He immediately starting picking up his things and throwing them in his bags. Triss followed him right into the room, looking equally furious.
"Goddamnit Damien, listen to me!" She screamed, getting in Damien's way as he started throwing his clothes, some still drying from being washed, into a bag.
"I've heard enough of your bullshit and lies, Triss. I don't need anymore."
"Oh yeah? And dealing with your snide comments and passive aggressive tone for the last few weeks has had me jumping out of my clothing, let me tell you!" With that, Damien finished putting his clothes away and started taking some of his other things.
"Why would it matter? It's not like I have to tell you how I feel. You'll just read my mind anyway!" Triss paused, hurt at his accusation, but knowing in her heart he was right. She did have a habit of doing that, more so recently than ever before. She had despised how often people like Yen did it to others, but here she was, doing the same thing.
Damien turned to Triss, his cat eyes glowing with anger. "You know Triss, I wouldn't have minded the occasional breach of privacy. I wouldn't have even minded you keeping state secrets from me; you're the advisor, not me. But making me do your dirty work and pretending it's just a small favor? Making me go on recruitment trips that were actually meant to help plot war without telling me?"
Triss' emerald eyes were shaken. She knew she had hurt Damien deeply, and she didn't know what to say. She opened her mouth to respond, but Damien kept going.
"Triss, do you have any idea how much harassment I get from others because of you? How many people think I'm just your slave, your mindless mercenary who does your dirty work for you? I thought they were wrong. Imagine my surprise when I realized I was the blobtit, not them." His words cut through Triss, not simply because they were mean, but because they were true. She had used Damien without his knowledge. She had abused his trust.
"Damien, I did it for your safety. As long as you work with me, stay in the King's good graces-"
"I'll what? Be allowed to warm your bed for you every night? Have the privilege of being strung along with sweet words and false promises, like everyone before me?" That statement made Triss see red.
"What does that mean? Do you think that's all I care about? Sex?"
"That's all you care about in me, apparently. Too noble to pay me with your coin, so you pay me with your curves instead." With that, Triss' mouth went agape. She couldn't believe he would say such a thing. He couldn't possibly be saying she only saw their relationship as physical. She was about to scream at him, when she noticed something.
"Damien, where is Vesemir's medallion?" She hadn't seen him pack it, and she knew he kept it on him. Damien looked away, and the room got eerily quiet.
"Answer the question Damien." Her voice was seething.
He looked to the floor, softly responding. "Kaer Morhen."
Her mind was flooded with questions. When did he go to Kaer Morhen? Why? Where else did he go? Is that why he went to Aedd Gynvael? She was tempted to read his mind, but decided to hold back. She decided to try to ask.
"Why did you hide that from me?" The words were slow in leaving her mouth.
Damien swallowed, long and hard. She didn't have to read his mind to know what he was going to say.
"Because I thought it was better if you didn't know." He croaked, saying the exact thing Triss had said to him minutes earlier in her office when he confronted her about the lies. The room got silent, and the two could not look at each other. Damien finished packing his stuff, and approached the door. Triss was looking down, unaware of what to say.
"Damien…if you want…we can arrange some form of payment…for you to stay with the Corps…" Triss said, stifling back tears, realizing that they both had been unable to trust the other, and clearly needed to be apart.
"Sorry Triss. You're what kept me here, with the Corps. Maybe someday our paths will cross again." With that, he threw his stuff over his back and walked out the door. Triss wanted to chase after him, to beg him to stay, but her legs were locked. She didn't know what to say, what to think. Instead, she sat down on the bed, which still smelled like him, which still had his black hair on it, and cried.
And as Damien marched down to the canals and took a boat to the stables by the outside gate, onlookers could have sworn he had tears running down his cheeks as well.
End of Chapter Thirteen