The Witcher 2.5: Between the Storms
Chapter 3: Triss – 3
The smell of Vizima reached Triss long before its tall, stone outer walls ever came into view. Temeria's capital city was also the realm's most populated, housing thousands upon thousands of permanent residents - humans, dwarves, elves, and a multitude of other sentient species. Adding to that number was the city's constant visitors. Vizima sat at the nexus of several trade routes and, therefore, attracted countless travelers each day looking to sell their wares. And while it was true that the city possessed an advanced sewer system that emptied into the passing Ismena River, it couldn't work miracles. There were simply too many living beings concentrated in one place. So, the stench of their excrement lingered in the air. Triss was just grateful it was no longer summer. The smell was always worse in the hotter months.
'I can't believe I ever got used to this.'
She immediately opened the large satchel on her hip and quickly found the jar she wanted. She uncorked the container, dipped a fingertip into the ointment and smeared a dab of it above her upper lip. In reality, it was an antiseptic cream, but she hoped that its astringent scent would do the trick. She breathed in deeply to test it.
"Better," she whispered.
Of course, it made sense that she was no longer accustomed to the pungent smell of the densely-packed, waterlocked city. It had been many months past – at the beginning of summer - when she'd left the capital and accompanied King Foltest and several regiments of his soldiers north to La Valette castle to put down the rebellion. She hadn't been back since.
The sorceress walked for about a minute through a thicket of trees, and upon arriving at the edge of the dark woods, she paused and listened closely. When she heard no voices, she gave a small nod of her head. She had just teleported into the forest east of the city's outskirts, and she'd strategically done so just after sundown. For she needed to remain unrecognized until she could determine just how much danger she was truly in.
She took a cautious step forward out of the concealment of the trees, and her eyes immediately scanned her surroundings. Clouds partially obscured the moon, and a light fog hovered over the surface of Lake Vizima on her left. A hundred yards to her front were dozens of thatch-roofed huts with smoke rising from their chimneys. She noticed a few flickering lights moving slowly in the darkness – village folk heading somewhere with either torch or lamp in hand. The night was cold and quiet, with the silence only broken by the occasional barking dog, a frog croaking in the bulrushes, and the lake's waves lapping up against the shoreline. She brought her eyes upward to see, off in the distance, the city's high walls fortified with interspersed battlements. Above the walls, she could just make out the tallest towers of the royal palace and the spire of Saint Lebioda's hospital silhouetted against the blue-black sky.
'Here it is. The head and heart of Temeria.'
That thought brought back the conversation she'd had with her uncle the night before.
"I'm surprised you're here," said the lord of House Merigold, "I figured you'd be in Zerrikania or some other far-off locale. Rumor has it that you played a part in Foltest's murder."
"I know," said Triss, never letting her gaze waver from Lord Selwyn's. His eyes were the same shade of blue as her father's, but that's where the resemblance between the two brothers ended. He was a tall, burly man with iron-gray hair cut short. His eyes were like shards of ice, set above a once-broken nose and a slash of a mouth. He definitely carried the presence of a battle-tested lord and not that of a tender-hearted healer. "What else do the rumors say?"
The two of them – along with Marwyn, the lord's only living son - were in her uncle's study, sitting near a roaring fire. Triss wasn't particularly close with either man, but the truth was that she wasn't intimate with any of her family members. Having spent almost all of her formative years learning magic at Aretuza had kept her from ever developing tight bonds with any of her kin. But she'd visited the Merigold estate enough times on special occasions – weddings and funerals – that she wasn't a complete stranger either.
"That a witcher was the regicide and that you were his lover and the one responsible for gaining him access to our king," hissed Marwyn, glaring daggers at Triss. "And that, afterwards, you also helped him escape. I'm assuming you deny it all."
Other than the fact that his dark brown hair had not yet turned gray, Marwyn was a clone of his father. Triss could also sense the anger radiating off of him. It was clear that he believed the rumors.
"Actually, no."
Her answer caused his brows to furrow.
"Almost all of what you heard is true except for one major difference. The witcher that I…that I'm friends with isn't the king-slayer. In fact, he and I spent the last month tracking down the real killer."
She then took the next half hour recounting her latest tale. When she revealed Nilfgaard's role in the assassinations, Marwyn cursed out loud, rose to his feet and began pacing in front of the fireplace. She knew well his contempt for the Black Ones. His three older brothers had all died in the two previous Northern wars against them. His father, however, simply steepled his hands in front of him, looking pensive.
"So, while it was Letho of Gulet's hand that held the blade," she concluded, "Emperor Emhyr was the true mastermind behind it all. And I hate to admit it, but it was a brilliant plan. Not only has he sown total discord here in the North, but by pulling the Lodge of Sorceresses into his scheme, he has most likely completely alienated magic users from all royal courts. I don't think any current monarch will ever trust us again. So, there won't be another Sodden Hill."
"Which makes us ripe for invasion," stated Lord Merigold.
Triss nodded.
"He's probably crossing the Yaruga as we speak. If he hasn't already," she said.
"We've stopped them twice," Marwyn growled out. "We'll do it again."
Selwyn looked at his son for a moment.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Circumstances are different now."
He then went to his book shelves. He grabbed a large scroll, brought it to a nearby table and flattened it out. Both Triss and her cousin stepped close. She looked down to see a detailed map of the northern half of the continent.
"We know Cintra is Nilfgaard's puppet," stated Selwyn, pointing to the kingdom along the coastline and just to the south of the Yaruga river.
"Agreed. The last I heard – back when I was still privy to such information – our informers indicated that Nilfgaard has at least one full division garrisoned there."
"So, unlike in the previous two wars, they now have a perfect staging area. The ports of Cintra and Attre allow them to bring in as many divisions as they'd like. They also control the mouth of the Yaruga, giving them a direct line east all the way to the Blue Mountains. Thus, their supply lines will be stronger than before."
Marwyn shook his head and cursed again as his eyes scanned back and forth over the map.
"Has the royal court in Vizima not called in the banners?" asked Triss.
"And just who would do that?" said Marwyn.
"The court is in complete turmoil," added Selwyn. "You know as well as I do that Foltest didn't leave a legitimate heir."
"We need Natalis to step up and act as regent," her cousin said.
John Natalis was the Supreme Commander of the Temerian military and a hero of the Second Northern War, having led the victorious forces at the pivotal Battle of Brenna.
Both Triss and Lord Merigold shook their heads.
"He has the unwavering loyalty of both the people and the military," said Triss, "but he doesn't have a political bone in his body. He has no interest in wearing a crown."
"Not that the nobles would allow that anyway," added Selwyn.
"Speaking of which - I've been out of the know for a while now, so who's actually staked a claim to the throne?"
Marwyn sneered.
"It'd be easier to say who hasn't. I wouldn't be surprised if ours is the only house that hasn't put forth a claim. It seems that every noble in the North had some third cousin married to Foltest's grandmother or great aunt or some such nonsense."
Lord Merigold nodded his head in agreement and then looked pointedly at Triss.
"You never did answer my question earlier. Why exactly are you here?"
Triss realized his question wasn't just pertinent for the moment. It was the question for her entire life. It was the question that every living being had to answer in some meaningful way. 'Why am I here?' Her father had once told her, 'The two most important days in a person's life are the day they're born and the day they figure out why.' Almost two centuries past, her ancestor, Festus, had figured out his purpose – to help those in need – and that mission had been passed down through every generation since then. She'd forgotten that lesson somewhere along the way, but no longer.
She looked her uncle directly in the eye.
"Temeria is my home. Where I was born. Where I was raised. Where my father and mother and sisters are buried. Where my only blood-kin still live. And it's about to be invaded. I know first-hand what's in store when the Black Ones come. I'm still recovering from the effects of their torture at Loc Muinne. So, I'm here to stand against that. To fight against tyranny, in any way I can. I did it before, during the first war, and I'm here to do it again."
"Maybe you're still a Merigold after all," said Marwyn, his features softening for the first time. But her uncle didn't immediately respond. He and Triss simply stared at one another, with the only sound coming from the crackle and pop of the wood in the fireplace. Eventually, he gave a short nod and spoke.
"I was at Sodden Hill. So, I know what you're capable of. But we don't need you here."
She was momentarily dumbstruck. She couldn't believe he was turning her down. Marwyn, too, looked surprised.
"But…but I can help."
"I know you can. But not here. I'm as proud as any man. It's probably my biggest flaw. But my pride hasn't yet so blinded me that I can't admit that, relatively speaking, House Merigold is insignificant." He gestured to a spot on the map, along the eastern border of Temeria at the base of the Mahakam Mountains. "Our estate's not only small, but it holds no geographical importance. We're not situated along a vital trade route. Nor do we protect a valuable bridge. So, if you want to push back against the tides of tyranny, you won't find that fight here. If the Black Ones ever do show up at our door, by then, it'll be too late. Because it'll mean that they've already conquered the entire kingdom."
"Over my dead body!" said Marwyn, slamming a fist against the table top.
"Let's pray it doesn't come to that," said Selwyn and then he focused on the map.
"The quickest and most sure-fire way to kill an enemy is to go for its head or its heart." He tapped his finger on the capital city before looking back at Triss. "And Vizima is the head and heart of Temeria. So, if it was me, I'd go for a two-pronged attack. I'd bring one division straight up through Brugge from the south, and I'd sail another around to Cidaris and attack the flank from the west. That would put Vizima right between the hammer and the anvil. If it falls…" He didn't need to say the rest. "So, if you truly want to do the most good, to fight against the incoming tyranny, then Vizima is the place."
Triss nodded. She couldn't disagree with anything he'd said.
"Unless Natalis orders otherwise, that's where my men and I will be."
Selwyn again looked back down at the map. He let his eyes roam back and forth for a moment or two.
"Thank you for bringing us this warning. I'll send out messenger ravens tonight, and in the morn, we'll start making preparations. Hopefully, the forces of Brugge and Sodden and Cidaris can slow down the Black Ones enough to give Natalis time to return from Loc Muinne and organize a defense. Otherwise, come the spring, we'll all be speaking Nilfgaard's gods-forsaken, guttural tongue."
That conversation had taken place the night before, shortly after Triss had arrived at Merigold manor. The next morning, she'd immediately sought out Master Krevick, the estate's resident alchemist and healer and then had spent all day crafting an assortment of alchemical necessities in his laboratory. She still wasn't sure what kind of reception awaited her in the capital so she was going to take every precaution.
Triss adjusted the rucksack on her back and began walking toward the Merchant's Gate on the eastern side of Vizima. There was a slight chill to the night air so she buried her hands into the pockets of her mud-brown, peasant's cloak. She could've cast a spell to ward off the cold, but she didn't dare use magic at that point. For the time being, she had a new role to play. She was no longer Triss Merigold - powerful sorceress and former advisor to Temeria's king.
She made her way along the empty, dirt road through the outskirts, only sparing a glance at the numerous huts and shops with their doors and windows closed and shuttered for the night. Occasionally, she'd see a pedestrian coming her way, but she kept the hood of her cloak up and offered no conversation. Her focus was on the city. With each step closer to the outer gates, she felt her heartrate increase and her hands getting clammy. This would be her first test. If the guards recognized her - and if she was truly being sought for Foltest's murder – then all of her plans were futile. There was a large, stone bridge that spanned the wide waterway connecting the Ismena River with Lake Vizima, and as she approached it, she paused for a moment – surprised by what she saw on the other side. While there were guards posted at the city's entrance, the gate itself was wide-open. It appeared as if the guards were only doing a routine inspection of those wanting to enter the city.
'Have they not received word of Nilfgaard's invasion? And what about the quarantine?'
She quickly joined the small queue and then began to eavesdrop on the conversation in front of her. Unfortunately, the two men were only speaking of personal matters. Nothing that interested her.
"Excuse me," she interrupted.
The two turned to face her.
"Yeah?"
"The last I heard, Vizima was under a quarantine due to the Catriona plague. Is that not the case anymore?"
"Nah. That got lifted a while back. When was that, Fanor?"
"'Bout a month ago maybe. There's still some poor souls at St. Lebioda's, barely hanging on, but the plague itself has run its course. Least that's the scuttlebutt."
"Well, that's great news," Triss answered, and she meant it – for more than just the obvious reason. She had assumed that she was going to have to convince the guards to let her into the city and had concocted a role for that very purpose. But it appeared her plan was now no longer necessary.
The line moved quickly, and before she knew it, she was at the gate.
"Put your belongings on the table," ordered one of the guards.
She complied and two other guards began to rummage through her rucksack and large satchel.
"Please be careful," Triss said. "There are some glass containers in there."
On the inside, she was flooded with relief for having not brought any magical items with her - no megascope, no scrying crystals, nothing with even a hint of the arcana. She did have her small, personal journal – which was part diary, part grimoire – tucked into her waistband at the small of her back, but she felt safe with it there. She'd figured that she would have to do something incredibly suspicious in order to warrant a full-body search. Plus, it wasn't as if they could understand its contents given that it was written in the Elder Speech.
"Lower your hood," said the first guard.
She held her breath. Would she be recognized or would her disguise work?
'Only one way to find out.'
She pulled her hood back to reveal her face, and then the guard raised his lamp upwards. She noticed that he gazed intently at her face – her eyes, in particular - and then glanced at her hair before giving a small nod of his head.
"Anything?" he asked over his shoulder to the other two guards.
"Not sure. A lot of different colored liquids and creams."
"That's right," Triss added quickly. "It's medicine. I'm a healer from Carreras. I came to help with the plague."
"A little late for that," said the lead guard. He then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Grab your things. You're free to enter."
She immediately headed to the table. While gathering her belongings, she asked one of the guardsmen, "Who are you looking for?"
"Witchers…and witches" was all he said, and she didn't bother with any more questions. She had no need. After the most recent assassinations of kings, Triss knew that, thanks to both Letho and the Lodge, witchers and witches were now in the same boat – viewed with more suspicion and contempt than ever before. So, instead of saying anything else, she simply nodded, pulled the hood of her cloak forward to once again shroud her face in shadows, and quickly finished packing up her things.
She entered through the gate and, even though her heart was still racing, she forced herself to walk casually. She didn't want to appear as if she was fleeing the scene of some crime. The cobble-stone streets of the Trade Quarter were narrow and lined with tall, luxurious, brick buildings – both businesses and homes, many of which sported window planters filled with a variety of flowers and herbs. And despite the fact that darkness had already fallen, the thoroughfares still had their fair share of pedestrians. Unlike the outskirts, there were plenty of night-time diversions to be found inside the capital's protective walls. The city's countless restaurants, pubs, music venues, brothels and playhouses stayed open way past midnight, and the numerous torches and oil lamps situated around town - both on street corners and hanging by doorways - gave just enough illumination for the citizens to find their way.
Triss had already devised a course of action and had several destinations in mind, but for the time being she was simply going to roam aimlessly around the city, first strolling along Merchant's Row. A few of the stalls were still manned with desperate hawkers looking to make a final sale for the day. As she stopped and chatted with the merchants, pretending to be interested in their wares, she made furtive glances behind her to see if she was being followed but didn't see anyone suspicious on her tail. She detoured through the city's large market square and weaved her way through the crowds being entertained by the jugglers, fire-breathers, and street musicians. When she came to the tall, multi-story building that housed both the town hall and Vivaldi and Son's bank, she took a left and decided it was now safe to head to her first destination. She continued down the street, her mind focused completely on her plan, when suddenly she stopped in her tracks. Just ahead on the corner was her former house, and seeing it again caused a flood of memories and emotions to come rushing in. The memories were of one person in particular, and she let out a small gasp as the pain almost took her breath away.
From the moment that she'd first heard of Geralt of Rivia, she'd been deeply curious about him, for she'd never met anyone who had more of a protective wall around their heart than her friend Yennefer, and she'd always wondered just how the witcher had been able to breach those defenses. She'd initially assumed that he must have had more charm than any man walking the planet. So, many years ago, during one of Geralt and Yennefer's countless break-ups, she'd decided to pursue him, to see just what made him so special, and she quickly discovered that he wasn't charming at all. At least not in the traditional sense. And though he'd shared his body with her, he'd never shared his heart. Afterwards, she couldn't stop thinking of him. It both intrigued and irritated her that he hadn't fawned all over her like most men, and she soon convinced herself that she was smitten with him. But, in retrospect, she saw that those feelings had been nothing but naïve and childish infatuation, enhanced by the allure of tasting forbidden fruit and the challenge of trying to make him hers. She realized now that she hadn't truly loved him during that time because she hadn't truly known him. He'd never let her past his own formidable defenses, only giving her glimpses of the vulnerable and kind-hearted man beneath the gruff exterior. But that had been before the amnesia.
A year ago, Geralt had returned to the Continent after years of being away, and upon hearing the news, Triss had been in shock, for like most folk, she'd believed him to be dead. But he'd also returned without most of his memories. When Vesemir had contacted her and asked her to come to Kaer Morhen to aid in his recovery, there had been no hesitation on her part. And, almost immediately, she could tell that he was different. In some way that she still couldn't fully explain, the amnesia had changed his personality, even if only a bit. It was counter-intuitive – for one would think that a man who couldn't recall the people and events of his past would be filled with insecurity and unease - but in Geralt's case, losing his memories had caused him to carry himself with more confidence and maturity and, therefore, with more openness. Or, at least, he had with her. He'd finally let her in, and what she'd experienced made her fall hopelessly in love. She'd only known one man in her life who could possibly rival the witcher's sense of decency and honor, and, as recent events had proven, she'd never met anyone more forgiving. Despite his claims of witcher neutrality and his reluctance of getting involved in the affairs of men, she saw him routinely coming to the aid of those who needed help the most. She knew that he embodied the motto of House Merigold better than she did, and in the past year, she'd lost count of the number of times that she'd wished her father were still alive so that the two men could have met. She had no doubt that they would have liked and respected each other greatly.
Since his return, Triss had often wondered if Geralt's newfound openness was simply because the trauma and pain of his past were, perhaps, no longer tormenting his heart and mind and, therefore, no longer closing him off. Of course, that was only speculation on her part. She didn't know for sure that his past had been awful. She simply assumed it to be. For he'd never actually opened up with her about his past before the amnesia, and afterwards, he'd had no memories to share. But, regardless of whether her thoughts on his past were accurate or not, his memory loss had, if nothing else, certainly removed the barrier of Yennefer coming between them, and soon their relationship had blossomed like never before.
As she stared at the front door of her former home, she remembered the months of bliss that she and Geralt had shared there. She glanced up toward the second-story windows to the bedroom, instantly recalling the countless hours that they'd spent together in bed – talking and laughing and playing silly, lovers' games. Not just connecting physically, but emotionally, as well. She'd never known a love so deep nor, now, a pain so intense. She felt as if a literal piece of her soul was missing. Like someone had cut her open and removed a vital organ. It hurt to even take a deep breath. Her eyes began to well with tears, and she immediately clenched her jaws.
'No, dammit. No more. You've shed enough already. He made his decision. So, stop dwelling on it. Accept it and move on.'
She shut her eyes, and in her mind, she imagined placing all her memories of the two of them together in a wooden chest reinforced with bands of heavy steel. She then closed the lid, lowered the clasp, and secured it with a thick lock. Maybe one day, she would open the box again, but for now the memories hurt too damn much. She took a deep breath – this one not quite so painful - and as she opened her eyes, she nodded her head.
"Be a grown-up, Triss," she whispered to herself. "You've got things to do."
At the moment, what she needed more than anything else was information, and she knew of one man in particular who peddled in that commodity – Bernard Ducat. She immediately set out for the large gate that separated the Temple and Trade Quarters, and it was only a few minutes later that she stepped into the older, more run-down district. The streets she now traversed were dirt instead of cobblestone, and the majority of the buildings she passed were either wooden structures or daub-and-wattle with thatched roofs. She got lost at one point and had to back-track, but she eventually found the small shop that served as the home of Ducat's fencing operation. Unfortunately, the doors were locked, and when she peeked through the front window, she saw no lights illuminating the interior. Triss cursed under her breath. The night was still young so catching him at home had been wishful thinking on her part. She was now going to have to track him down somewhere in the city. Luckily, she knew of his favorite haunt. At that, she turned on her heel and headed back towards the Trade Quarter.
When she opened the front door of the New Narakort Inn and stepped inside, her senses were hit all at once. The hearth on the right side of the tavern held a substantial fire, filling the inn with a smoky warmth, while a small stage to her left housed a four-piece band playing an upbeat song with drums, lute, fiddle and flute. Wafting from the back kitchen was a delectable scent of stew, kielbasas and cabbage, and an assortment of other dishes. As usual, the numerous tables were packed with boisterous customers, and harried waitresses rushed to and fro carrying tankards of ale, bottles of vodka, and goblets of wine for the more refined palates. Candles on the tables and along the walls lit up the first floor, and, after moving further into the interior, Triss scanned her surroundings. Eventually, her eyes landed on a bald, older man wearing a monocle and sitting in the shadows of a secluded corner. He was at a small table for two with his back against the wall, giving himself a full view of the inn. There was another man sitting with him, and it appeared that the two of them were playing cards. She noticed the bald man's eyes flick upwards. He peered at her for a moment before moving back down towards his companion. With her hood up, she doubted he had recognized her.
Triss decided to bide her time and headed to the bar for a drink in order to blend in. Her normal preference was wine so she bought an ale instead. She squeezed herself between two burly men on a long bench, and while keeping one eye on the bald man in the corner, she listened in on the conversations around her. She was unsurprised to hear no one discussing the imminent Nilfgaard invasion. Eventually, the card game finished, and when she saw the other man standing to leave, she immediately headed toward the secluded, back corner and took a seat across from Ducat.
He took a long pull from his tankard before asking, "And just who the bloody hell are you?"
Triss discreetly reached up with one hand and pulled back the hood of her cloak just enough to reveal her face.
"It's me."
His eyes bulged.
"Bugger me sideways," Thaler whispered.
"How about Gwent instead?" said Triss, pulling a deck from her satchel. It was a second-hand deck that Geralt had bought for her several months back at the beginning of their relationship. She didn't particularly love the game, but the witcher did and so she'd been more than willing to learn the rules so that she could play with him. "It's less messy," she added before shuffling her cards and spreading them out on the table in front of her.
"Maybe so," replied the head of Temerian Intelligence. "But it's also less ploughing fun."
"You'll live."
"But you won't. Not if you're discovered. Haven't you seen the wanted posters around the city?"
She inwardly cursed and shook her head.
"No. I just arrived. I didn't see them in the darkness." After a pause, she said, "Geralt and I…we didn't have anything to do with Foltest's death."
"So, my sources say," said Thaler with a nod. He then laid out his cards. "You can tell me all the bloody details while we play."
For the next ten minutes, while going through the motions of playing Gwent, Triss repeated the story that she had told her uncle the night before with Thaler asking a few questions here and there. Despite the noise of the tavern around them, they both spoke in hushed tones while hunched over the table. She noticed that the spy didn't seem all that surprised by the news of Nilfgaard's treachery.
"So, what's the situation at the palace?" she asked after concluding her tale.
"It's a ploughing mess. There's a dozen houses claiming rights to the throne. We're on the verge of a bloody civil war."
"Just what Emperor Emhyr wants."
"No doubt, the conniving bastard. Three houses, though – Brody, Quint, and Hooper – have formed an uneasy alliance and seized control. They claim to be acting as temporary regents until the line of succession can be determined."
"For the good of Temeria, of course."
Triss was familiar with the heads of all three houses. She didn't particularly trust any of them. They were all known for their unbridled greed and ambition. But she was willing to work with them in order to help protect her homeland.
"Of course. Just as I'm sure they'll find it to be in the best interest of Temeria if one of them sits on the bloody throne."
Triss just sighed and nodded in agreement.
"Can you talk to them for me? Let them know that I'm innocent of Foltest's murder and that I'm ready to take my place back on the royal council? You're the head of Temerian Intelligence. Surely, they'll listen to you."
"You really have been out of the ploughing loop, haven't you?"
"What?"
"I'm former head of Intelligence. The regents cleaned house, firing everyone on Foltest's council."
Triss didn't even need to ask why. The true allegiance of a previous monarch's council was always in doubt.
"Dammit.
"Dammit, indeed."
"Then, if you can't do it, who can I talk to that could arrange a meeting with them?"
"Have you not been bloody listening?" Thaler hissed. "You're wanted for regicide. And even if you weren't, you were on Foltest's council. They wouldn't take you back anyway. I told you – they terminated all of us. I'm surprised they didn't have us jailed or killed."
"Then, just what that hell do you suggest I do?" Triss hissed back.
The features on the spy's face softened. "Flee. As far north as possible. I'm talking some place like Kovir or Poviss."
Triss clenched her jaws.
"I'll be damned if I do that. Not while the lilies still fly."
"Do you have a bloody death wish?"
"If the regents put a bounty on your head, would you flee? Or how about when the Black Ones invade? You going to cut and run then?"
Thaler didn't immediately say anything. He sat back in his chair, took another long drink from his tankard, and stared at her hooded face for several long moments.
"Try Velerad," he finally said, resignation in his voice. "Despite his incompetence, the regents have kept him on as burgomeister. He might could get you an audience with the court."
"Thanks, Thaler."
"You'd be a fool to trust him."
She nodded.
"I know, but I've got to at least try."
Triss then glanced around to make sure no one was looking before she discreetly put a hand under her cloak and into the front of her blouse. A moment later, she pulled out a small leather pouch. She opened it and spilled a small sapphire into her palm.
"If I'm going to stay in Vizima, then I'll need some coin. What can you get me for this?"
Her uncle had given her several precious gems the night before. The spy smirked and nodded towards her chest.
"And just what bloody else have you got in there?"
Triss couldn't help but smile at her foul-mouthed friend.
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"You bet your sweet arse I would."
oOo
An hour later, Triss – with a full coin purse in her satchel and a rented room at the New Narakort Inn – once again was walking the streets of the Trade Quarter. She tried to stroll casually – inconspicuously – but the knowledge that she was indeed wanted for Foltest's murder was making her paranoid. She had to fight the urge to constantly glance behind her. And not for the first time, she was strongly considering Thaler's words to flee north. For how was she supposed to protect her fellow Temerians from the Black Ones when her fellow Temerians wanted her head on a pike? What's more - why was she so adamant on being part of the royal council anyway? That question stayed with her for several blocks, memories of the past decade playing through her mind.
"Because it's all I know," she eventually whispered to herself after a long sigh.
Her first assignment after graduating from the Academy at Aretuza had been as a junior mage-advisor at Foltest's court, and she'd been there ever since. Both Fercart and Keira had initially taken her under their wings and taught her the intricate art of diplomacy and real-world, political chess, but she saw now that she'd been too impressionable and trusting at the time, blindly agreeing with whatever advice they'd given the king. She'd been so desperate to fit in and have the two older mages accept her that she'd never questioned the wisdom of their counsel or the motivations behind it.
The previous evening, while sitting at the foot of her father's grave, she'd asked herself just how and when she had lost her way – abandoning the motto of House Merigold. And she realized now that it hadn't happened all at once. It had been a gradual erosion over many years, her moral compass shifting little by little from the true north of integrity and righteousness. If she were honest with herself, then she knew that it had all started at Aretuza with the indoctrination by her cadre into the 'holiness' of the Power. They'd done their best to convince her that magic took precedence over all else – even family and country. And then that teaching had continued at the court in Vizima. While neither Fercart nor Keira had, to Triss' knowledge, ever fully betrayed Foltest or Temeria, she couldn't honestly say that the good of the kingdom had been their number one priority. She knew firsthand that the two senior mages had routinely kept certain information from the king and the rest of the council. Information that they'd learned from their fellow mages positioned at other royal courts throughout the Continent. She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, but somewhere along the way her loyalty had shifted from Temeria to that of, first, the Council of Mages and, later, to the Lodge of Sorceresses. It shamed her that, in the last few years, she'd acted more like a spy within Foltest's court than as an advisor to it.
'So, you've got a penance to pay. You can't ever make things right with Foltest. It's too late for that. But you still have a chance to serve Temeria by serving the regents…if they'll let you.'
Those thoughts took up the entirety of her walk so, before she knew it, she was at the front door of the Fuzzy Peach. The red lamp at the door made it clear to everyone what kind of diversion could be found inside. When she opened the door, a little bell rang above her head, and a moment later she was assaulted by the cloying scent of perfume, lotions, and powders. Triss had never been in this particular brothel, but she'd heard that it was one of the capital's more high-end whorehouses, and at first glance, it appeared as if the rumors were true.
The large, front room was sparsely lit with candles and lamps. Triss assumed so that any imperfections in the ladies - pimples, moles, wrinkles, crooked teeth, and so forth – could be better concealed in the dim light. Despite that, she was still able to clearly see expensive-looking oil paintings on the walls and thick rugs on the floor. There was also a long, mahogany bar to her left with a couple of scantily clad workers sitting on the stools sipping a beverage. They both turned to face Triss with artificial smiles and appraising eyes. Though, with her hood covering her head, she knew that they didn't have much information to go on - only the shabby condition of her peasant's cloak. A few other young women – also dressed in next to nothing – were lounging on two or three soft-looking couches situated throughout the room. A lone courtesan sat in a chair near the fireplace, strumming a lute and singing softly. Triss' quick glimpse was enough to tell her that none of the girls could satisfy what she needed. It was then that an elegantly-dressed, older woman came striding down a narrow set of stairs to the right. Compared to others, the smile on her face seemed genuine.
"Good evening. I'm Madame Katya," the woman said as she approached. "And welcome to the Fuzzy Peach. We're here for your pleasure. Just how can we fulfill your desires?"
"I'm looking to…spend time with one of your girls."
If the madame was shocked to hear a female voice coming from under the hood, then she didn't show it.
"But of course. Do you have certain tastes that you would like us to accommodate?"
"Yes. Yes, I do." Triss then proceeded to tell the madame exactly what she wanted.
oOo
Triss looked up at the heavy, storm clouds hanging over Dezmod Square praying that the rain would stay away for just a bit longer, for she was to meet Velerad, the mayor of Vizima, within the next quarter hour. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the sorceress sat on a bench a stone's throw from King Dezmod's larger-than-life statue. She was pretending to focus on the needles and yarn in her lap, but every few seconds she'd glance up from her crocheting at the countless people in the small, tree-lined park. Amongst the common pedestrians were an assortment of street entertainers and even a priest of the Eternal Fire standing on a short, wooden box haranguing the passers-by. But what she didn't see were any city guards.
'Maybe this'll work out after all.'
That morning, Triss had written a short missive to Velerad - declaring her innocence, explaining that she was a loyal citizen of Temeria, and asking for a one-on-one meeting at King Dezmod's statue in order to convince him of her sincerity. While she'd been writing the letter, she knew the chances of Velerad actually being willing to meet her was a coin flip. During her many years working in the royal palace, she'd dealt with the city's head bureaucrat on numerous occasions. And while there was not necessarily any animosity between her and the mayor, the two of them had never developed any kind of friendship, either. So, she knew that she was taking a risk. He could very well try to capture her and turn her over to the regents.
After finishing the letter, she'd immediately checked out of the New Narakort, paid a street urchin to deliver the sealed scroll to the burgomeister, and then gone shopping for all the supplies she thought she'd need, including the crochet needles and yarn. She was playing through her mind just what she'd do next if Velerad wouldn't show up when she suddenly caught sight of him on the far end of the square. Her heart began to race.
'This is it. It's really going to happen.'
Velerad was an older man, with thin hair gone to grey and sporting a pot-belly. He'd held the position of burgomeister of the capital for almost two decades, and while he'd once been highly respected, that was no longer the case. Rumor was that, in the past few years, he'd taken to drinking heavily, and Triss was honestly surprised that the new regents hadn't replaced him. Perhaps, they hadn't simply because – as the saying goes – he knew where all the bodies were buried. Or maybe it was because they thought he would be easy to intimidate and control. As Triss watched him walk toward their meeting place, she didn't see the two body guards that normally flanked him, which both surprised her and filled her with a small bit of hope. The fact that he'd come alone made her think that, just maybe, he'd actually believed the words of her missive.
'I guess we'll soon find out.'
Eventually, Velerad arrived at the statue, but Triss didn't immediately stand to approach him. She had a final card to play. While he scanned the park, presumably looking for her, she kept her head down, as if focusing on her crocheting. All the while though, she continued to glance towards her right, toward the opposite end of the square that the mayor had entered. Just as the far-off bells in the bank's tower struck three, she saw Tatiana and let out a small sigh of relief. For, up until then, Triss wasn't a hundred-percent sure that the prostitute would actually come through on her end of the bargain. Triss had paid her a huge sum of money the night before with a promise of more to come after the job was done, but it was rare in life when anyone actually kept their word.
The voluptuous, red-headed prostitute had her hair up in Triss' trademark double buns, and she also was wearing Triss' actual clothes – knee-high boots, tan trousers, and a blue-and-white striped blouse tied up the front and stretched tightly over her ample breasts. Anyone who knew Triss well wouldn't be fooled once they'd seen Tatiana up close, but from a distance, it would be easy to mistake her for the sorceress from Maribor.
Triss' doppelganger was halfway to Velerad when the square suddenly exploded into chaos. She heard a man shout, and a moment later, several small, glass cannisters shattered at Tatiana's feet, filling the air around her with silver-green dust. Instantly, the courtesan was tackled to the ground by the priest while numerous men in civilian clothes gathered round with daggers drawn. They were clearly city guards in disguise. Within seconds, the girl had dimeritium cuffs on her wrists and was being hauled to her feet.
While many of the pedestrians in the square had fled at the commotion, others stood around and gawked at the display. Triss did neither. After cursing quietly under her breath, she simply placed her needles and yarn into her satchel and adjusted the threadbare shawl around her shoulders.
"Wonderful," she whispered to herself. "Just bloody wonderful. At least, now I know."
The sorceress picked up her cane, and, while hunched over, slowly shuffled her way out of the park. With her fire-red hair dyed an iron-grey and twisted into a single braid down her back, she had little worry of being recognized. At the moment, her most pressing matter was that her plans had just turned to rubbish.
"Now what are you going to do?"
oOo
"Take my ploughing advice and leave Temeria," said the spy. "You tried. It didn't work out. Nobody's going to think any less of you."
"Any less than they already do, you mean?"
Triss and Thaler were huddled around a small fireplace in the back room of his fencing business, which also served as his home. Just as she'd arrived, the storm clouds had opened up, and the rain came pouring down. The two of them sat in the dancing shadows of the small room, with the flames from the hearth and the occasional flash of lightning offering the only illumination. They were sipping on steaming mugs of tea.
"Ah, bugger that. Who cares what everyone else thinks?"
Triss sighed as she stared into the flames.
"I don't. Not really. But I care what I think…because I have to actually live with myself. I don't want to wince every time I look in a mirror."
"Yeah, well, that's why I don't have mirrors."
Triss smiled at that.
"You're really gonna stay, huh? Even with a bloody bounty on your head?"
She nodded.
"I can't seem to stop asking myself, 'What would Geralt do? What would my father do?' They wouldn't leave."
"What does it matter what Geralt would do? You're not a ploughing witcher."
"No, but I am a ploughing healer, just like my father." Suddenly, the sorceress broke her gaze from the fire and looked at Thaler. "That's it."
"What's it?"
"I've been wanting to get back on the royal council because I convinced myself that politics and diplomacy were all I know. But that's not true at all. I actually specialized in healing at Aretuza. And I'm damn good at it." She immediately stood and began putting on her cloak. "Thanks, Thaler. That was great advice."
"What bloody advice? I keep telling you to head north."
"I'll be back later."
"What the hell? You're going out in this ploughing mess?"
"It can't wait."
"Have you always been this stubborn?"
"Pretty much."
"Well, here," he said, reaching into his pocket. "Here's a key to the front door. I may be gone when you return, but make yourself at home."
Triss paused at buttoning up her cloak and looked intently into the older man's eyes.
"Thanks, Thaler. I appreciate it. Truly. You may be the only person I can rely on right now."
He gave a small shrug.
"We outcasts have to stick together."
Triss ran though the downpour, and less than ten minutes later, she arrived at her destination. She slipped through the heavy, double doors of St. Lebioda's hospital and was quickly greeted by a nurse. After telling the woman what she needed, she was led to a private room and asked to wait. Even in a room with no patients, Triss could detect the odor of disease and death in the air. It was a mixture of excrement, infection and medication. She removed her cloak and took it over to the hearth, holding it up in order to dry out the fabric.
While she waited, she wondered just what type of reception she was going to receive. There had been some conflict in the recent past with the person that she was there to see, but she hoped that the two of them could put their differences aside and find some common ground. It was then that she heard the door behind her open, causing her to turn around.
"I was told that you wanted to speak with me," said a young woman with short, red hair.
"Yes, I do. I'm a healer, and I've come to help you…if you'll have me."
"Of course," said the red head, as she stepped closer. "Just how much experience -" But she didn't finish her sentence, furrowing her brows instead. "Have we met? Because you look familiar."
"Yes, Shani, we have," answered the sorceress with a small nod. "It's me…Triss Merigold."
The healer's eyes went wide before quickly narrowing.
"You, of all people, have got some serious nerve coming here."
"I know, but I meant what I said. I've come to help…because you're going to need it."
"Why? What are you talking about? The plague has run its course."
"I'm not talking about the plague. I'm talking about Nilfgaard. The Black Ones are coming, and we know what they're bringing with them – death and destruction. You're going to need every healer you can find when the war starts."
The scowl left Shani's face to be replaced with a look of concern.
"You're serious?"
"I wouldn't joke about something like this."
She was silent for several moments before finally giving a small nod of acceptance.
"It looks like you and I need to clear the air then."
Triss let out a small sigh of relief. "Yeah…yeah, it does."