Chapter 13


"Ah yes, the Kovirian bizant, the king of currency and whose worth cannot be doubted. Out of all of man's kingdoms, only Kovir does not find the need to shave their coins or attempt to cheat the people out of the currencies worth. You see, ladies and gentlemen, with a bizant, you get exactly what you can see, feel, weigh, and, if you wish, taste. No one in their right mind tries to besmirch a bizant, for Kovir is blessed with more wealth than it knows what to do with, and every coin is a reflection of that. You can use a bizant as a standard, and our sad, deflated and devalued northern crows are but pale imitations in comparison".

The final recorded words of Elgar Lenith, master banker of the Novigrad city bank, delivering a history of currency to monetary connoisseurs shortly before he was removed for treason on denouncing the accuracy of Novigrad currency.


As he stepped through the highly decorated marble arch of the main entrance door, Geralt was temporarily blinded by the vast difference in the levels of light. Transferring from the snowy and dimly lit Kovir night outside into the overwhelming brightness provided by uncountable numbers of torches and other eldritch light sources, he found himself anchored to the spot as his heightened senses fought to deal with him being momentarily stunned. It was like he had just walked into a portal and filled him with as much nausea as was typical for those accursed spells.

"Are you ok?" Triss asked quietly under her breath.

"Damned light dazzled me, that's all", he whispered back. "I will be ok".

Geralt was sure she was just about to reply but he was all but deafened by two loud trumpeters flanking him as they sounded an inordinately long and flourished call. He wasn't given any time to respond as when they stopped a herald, standing at the bottom of what he could now see was a long set of marble stairs covered in a blue runner rug leading on to the main hall, immediately spoke in a loud and clear voice.

"Announcing the arrival of Lady Merigold, renowned sorceress and leader of the guild of mages, the fourteenth of the hill, sorceress and personal adviser to our benevolent king. On her arm is Sir Geralt of Rivia, the legendary master witcher."

The room, which Geralt could now see was easily the largest and most extravagant banquet hall he had ever seen, displaying every possibly kind of decorative metal, stone, and gem in quantities that any other monarch would have given their lives for, burst into applause from the crowds of ostentatiously dressed attendees.

"Come now, walk with me and try not to get angry", Triss commanded.

Geralt grunted and narrowed his eyes, scanning the room below him as they slowly walked down the steps. He was starting to feel like he was entering a battlefield melee surrounded by enemies and unable to ascertain who was a friend from foe in the chaos. He noticed he was almost grinding his teeth.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, two butlers advanced on them, and Triss slowly removed her large green overcoat to reveal the beautiful, figure-hugging green dress that she wore underneath. She wore a necklace of the finest silver, ending in a large blue sapphire that hung perfectly just above the line of her breasts, and her hair had been lavishly curled and let hang, playfully dancing over her shoulders and back in a style that Geralt had not seen for a long time. The sight of her bare legs, just visible through the large slit in her dress up to just below the waist, and the way her delicate but tastefully decorated heels tightened her calve muscles, was almost too much for him to bear and by the way she looked at him, she knew it.

"Calm yourself, dear. We are amongst company," she purred.

The butler who had stood patiently as the witcher ogled his wife interrupted the moment. "The gentleman's coat if he pleases…."

Triss smirked as Geralt removed his thick black overcoat and handed it reluctantly to the butler. The dark green doublet and trousers, tastefully laced in the most awkward places with snow white lacing, suited him well and helped reinforce his robust, muscular frame without being so tight as to smother his movement. She had chosen the colour to match her dress and deliberately selected a style that would be more common in the south, specifically Toussaint, so that it would stand out from the crowd of trend followers and sycophants of the Kovirian nobility swarming around her. Black leather boots, again more like a southern style and a tight grey leather belt, finished the clothing. His beard had been trimmed and tidied, and his long white hair had been pulled back into his favourite warrior's ponytail, leaving the sides of his head closely cut. The look made him appear far younger than his years would allow. Triss appreciated that the tailor and barber had done a fantastic job at short notice and made a mental note to reward them further when the pomp and circumstance were over.

"Ah, my ever-enchanting sorceress and the hero of the hour. The slayer of the demon praying on our womenfolk," a loud voice boomed across the gathering. "Please grace me with your presence."

"Fuck, do we have to?" Geralt growled as the throng slowly parted in front of them, revealing a standing Tancred behind his royal top table at the far end of the banquet hall.

Triss didn't give him time to respond and instead immediately grabbed his arm again and stepped off towards her king. "Indeed, it is your grace. And may I say what a beautiful setting you have created here this year to celebrate Laaste Slaag. I am awestruck".

Tancred laughed heartily. "And what say you master witcher?"

Geralt remained silent for a moment as they walked together towards the king. He could feel the hundreds of pairs of eyes on him that moment, and it felt no different than when he was entering a kikimora or ghoul den, and possibly even more threatening. "Too bright, too loud, too ostentatious...what can I say, your grace…."

The whole room fell deadly quiet, and Geralt was sure he could feel Triss's heart beating faster through the pulse in her arm.

"It's perfect…" he added after a dramatic pause.

Tancred immediately roared with laughter, slammed his tankard on the thick wooden table and after a moment of hesitation, the rest of the room burst into laughter as well.

"Well said, witcher, well said!" the king continued to laugh, wiping a tear from his eye with the back of his left hand. "Come and sit with me, sir and bring your radiant wife with you. You are both a sight for sore eyes".

Triss almost pulled her husband then, and he reluctantly went with her. It took some time for them to reach the king's table, and they passed many dozens of other tables laid out to the sides for the other guest and nobles. As they approached the king, he smiled warmly and motioned to the two empty seats on his left. The privy council sat to his right, but two of the chairs were empty. Typically Triss would be sat on the king's right, as was her place as part of the council, and that accounted for one of the empty seats, but the king had made an exception this year. The king's left was reserved for his family, and the change in protocol would not go unnoticed.

Geralt and Triss strolled around the table and were helped into the lavish seats by butlers standing behind. Geralt nodded with distaste that each seat had a specified butler to attend to it. Triss thankfully, and he was sure that she had done this deliberately, placed herself between the king and himself. The king was raised slightly higher than those around him but not so much that it looked comical or evident from a distance.

"I am reliably informed that you despise this kind of event, Geralt of Rivia", Tancred stated flatly as he looked down the table and past Triss towards the witcher.

Geralt shrugged slowly. "I've had the pleasure and displeasure of sitting at many top tables in my time, your grace, and I noticed that they tend to have mixed outcomes".

"How so?".

Geralt took a sip of the wine from the gilded goblet that had just been filled in front of him by the butler. "Well, in my experience, there will be one of three outcomes. I'm either going to drink to make it pleasurable, which is the preferred option, or I am either going to be fighting for my life or escaping. Sometimes is a mixture of the three just to spice it up a bit".

Tancred smiled genuinely. "That sounds like a far better night than I had originally planned. Let me know if you feel like escaping, and I may join you".

"Your grace, you can't be serious!" Triss interrupted.

"Ah, Triss, if you only knew. Sometimes I just feel like I would like to return to my old soldering, whoring, and gambling days before this crushing weight befell me. I envy you witcher, and not just because of your beautiful wife".

"No, you don't, Tancred" Geralt smiled back wolfishly. "You envy the dream, nothing else. In practice, you wouldn't want to be a witcher. Most of our time is spent up to the neck in shit and blood fighting for our lives against something that wants to take it away".

"And the difference between our positions?" Tancred responded, ignoring that the witcher had broken protocol and called him by his first name.

"A mountain of gold, armies and politics. I try to avoid politics".

"And fail dramatically, it would seem".

"Hmmm," Geralt replied wistfully. "I have a fondness of sorceresses, and they are constant trouble".

"I both resent and resemble that remark, husband", Triss scowled playfully. "And in all fairness, your grace, Geralt has rarely dabbled in politics of his own accord".

"Well, what am I to do with you, witcher? You don't want to be publicly acknowledged for your deeds, and I doubt you lack riches. I've heard of the extensive vineyard in Toussaint, and being married to Triss has, I'm sure, its fair share of income. Not that I have ever asked or wanted to know what I am paying you for your troubles, sorceress".

Triss lifted her goblet slowly and, in the disarming way that she had somehow perfected over the decades, took a slow gulp of the fine vintage. "Not enough, your grace", she finally replied with a wicked smile on her lips.

"Oh, I doubt that. I doubt that very much," Tancred replied, matching her smile.

Geralt turned away from the conversation and looked up across the banquet hall, trying to take in and process the sheer grandness of it. The room was easily three times the size of the great hall in Kaer Morhen and likely twice the size of the banqueting hall in the Duchesses palace in Touissant. The beamed roof of the hall was almost too high to make out, and not even the likely hundreds, if not thousands, of smokeless torches could shed enough light to obtain but the slightest glimpse of it. Geralt counted thirty-five separate long tables in the room, spaced out below them on the main feasting area. Each of the tables was highly decorated with pure white and ice blue table linen covering most of the dark oak of the tables themselves. Silver, gold, and gem decorated cutlery, tableware, plates, food bowls, and stands were waiting to be filled and used shortly. The pure white marble of the floor was adorned with the royal coat of arms directly in its centre, made up of beautifully carved blocks of precious stones he had never seen before inlaid into the white of the marble itself. Leading to the main table where he sat from the doors at the far end of the room, which seemed miles away but could have only been a few hundred feet, was a thick royal blue rug, inlaid itself with gold and silver filigree. There were dozens of marble columns supporting the roof, each decorated with various artistic representations of the kingdom meaningful events in an ice blue outline. Midway into the hall was the multitude of guests. The crowd had looked far larger from the entrance, but now he could see that, whilst substantial, it wasn't quite as intimidating as it had been a few minutes before. There was still over a thousand, possibly closer to fifteen hundred, in attendance, though and more were still entering, though without the fanfare he and Triss had been subjected to. Geralt was not one to be awestruck lightly, having seen more of the world than most and having dealt with creatures and magic the likes of which no mortal should ever see, but even he had to admit to being completely mesmerised by the scene in front of him. The wealth and power on display were almost overwhelming.

And still, despite all this grandness and overt display of power, he couldn't explain why his attention was drawn to a lone figure now stepping down the blue rug on the marble staircase alongside a weasely looking man who was punching above his weight. The woman, dressed in a muted but sunburst yellow dress and heels, was like a magnet. He could feel the slight vibration on his chest.

"Geralt…"

The witcher forced himself back to reality with a sharp snap. He couldn't understand why he had been so transfixed, but Triss had noticed, and she didn't look pleased about it.

"And here I was thinking you only had eyes for me tonight", she scowled. Geralt had to admit right then that she could 'do' being angry extremely well when necessary.

Tancred laughed again, interrupting. "Well spotted witcher. Well spotted indeed," he beckoned to a guard nearby, whom Geralt recognised as the royal guard lieutenant from the merchant square, and whispered something to him, nodding slightly in the direction of the woman who had just entered and was disappearing into the crowd.

"Well, it looks like I just found my after-dinner entertainment", the king smirked.

Geralt leaned into Triss. "Something isn't right", he whispered, feigning small talk to avoid the king's notice. He was glad to see that Tancred was now talking to one of his council to his right.

"You are damned right it's not. I saw how you were looking at that woman," she responded testily. "We will be having none of that, and I am not sharing you with anyone".

"It's not that. There is something amiss. My medallion vibrated when I saw her".

Triss's face suddenly changed as she realised what he was implying. "Monster or magic?".

"I'm not sure, but it could be a false positive; I've had them before, it could be something in this room that set it off, something that's magical, and we don't know it. It could be just a coincidence".

Triss stared into the crowd. She could see the lieutenant moving down the right side of the room towards the crowd, clearly trying to identify the woman amongst the masses on behalf of the king, but of the yellow dressed figure, she could see nothing, which was in itself strange considering the brightness and uniqueness of her clothing. After a few moments of searching, she took up her goblet once more and drained the remainder of it. The goblet had hardly been replaced to the table before a butler behind her stepped forward and precisely refilled it. "I would think nothing further of it", she finally added. "It could be that you are wound up so tight that you are seeing into things more than you should".

Geralt slowly nodded and downed his wine in one long draught, copying his wife, and he was pleasantly startled by a hand resting on the inside of his right thigh. "I hope that's not the butler", he joked.

"No, it's your wife and witcher or not; I know your weaknesses. Keep your eyes firmly on me if you please, or bad things might happen to you".

Geralt squirmed a little as his inner thigh started to heat up under her touch. A renowned fire mage, Triss's personality and choice in magic discipline adequately suited her hair colour.

"Not now, Triss, you will get me all excited", he joked.

She removed her hand and chuckled dryly. "Such a freak", she mocked.

"Yes. In every possible way".


Yellowhand smiled disarmingly at the couple of nobles that greeted her. The foppish man she had managed to work on to invite her to the event introduced her to the pair as they stepped down from the staircase, and she was forced to make small talk for some time whilst tactfully moving the group into the crowd of attendees. On her way down the stairs, she had managed to get a glimpse of the top table and spotted the king, the sorceress and the witcher sitting there as she had anticipated. In the brief seconds available to her, she had also made a mental layout of the room and its construction, identifying the best concealment opportunities. As she made pleasant conversation, laughed and joked, engaged with, and answered all the questions she was asked, no one would have guessed that she was adding to this information. She may have seemed like she was doing her part, was glad to be invited and was delighted to be in the arms of such a man as her partner for the event, but in reality, she was concocting a plan and building on it second by second.

Without a thought, she accepted a proffered drink and, after a moment where she stealthy cracked one of the fake pearl beads on her right wrist into the goblet, handed it to her date. Without hesitation, he grasped the goblet and drank deeply. She took another drink from the silver plate held by the butler and quickly sipped at the wine herself to provide an adequate distraction. The powder, a specialist concoction that she had learned in Zerrikania, would take only a few moments to take effect.

"Excuse me, m'lady, may I please have your name?" a stern but kind voice asked from behind her. As she turned, her hair bouncing across her shoulders vibrantly in the candle and torchlight, she set her eyes upon a young royal guard. "Why certainly, lieutenant", she purred, immediately identifying the rank of the armed man in front of her. "Lady Balenciaga of Caingorn".

The guard was about to respond when the lord to her right suddenly farted loudly. He gripped his belly with a look of absolute horror as the other nobles stepped back aghast. "I fear I must leave you, m'lady", he grunted as he was wracked with pain. He made a cursory attempt at a bow before farting loudly again and hurrying off in the direction of an exit.

"Odd," the lieutenant said flatly, seemingly completely unfazed by the situation.

"Oh, such a shame. I appear to be unaccompanied now" Yellowhand smiled coyly. "Please tell me, lieutenant, why you wish to know who I am. What could a man such as yourself possibly want with a woman like me?" she asked whilst seductively sipping at her wine.

This seemed to disarm the young man, causing him to stumble over his following words, a condition that she was sure he rarely suffered from. "The king… the king… he…."

"Very well, sir. I understand perfectly well what you mean. Tell your grace that I am at his leisure".

The man nodded and turned away, but she noticed he couldn't help glancing over his shoulder at her once again as he retreated.

Yellowhand smiled, ignoring the rapidly fading odour from her recent consort in the air. "Now, where were we?" she joked as he stepped forward once again and resumed talking to the nobles as if nothing had happened at all.


Sometime later, the almost deafening ring of the gong, the sound of which reverberated around the columns and thick marble walls of the banqueting hall for some time, silenced everyone. The guests knew the command well, and they immediately began to take their seats at the banqueting tables, guided by the dozens of butlers and maids dotted amongst them serving aperitifs and small nibbles.

When he was sure that everyone had taken their seats and the required amount of pause had been recognised to add sufficient gravity to the situation, Tancred stood. He stepped solemnly to the centre of the banqueting hall and stopped in front of a sizeable pitch-black boulder that the attendants had assembled. Two guards flanked him, longswords drawn clutched in gauntleted fists, their points resting on the marble floor.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my honoured guests. I welcome you to my halls and offer you bread, water, and shelter as we celebrate this momentous occasion".

The room remained silent. Everyone's eyes were on the king. Geralt shuffled uncomfortably in his seat and shifted his gaze around the room. He could see most of the guests from his elevated position but still couldn't place the woman who had so piqued his interest, and she had disappeared or remained out of his view.

"As you are all aware, at this time of the year, we pay thanks and homage to our miners and respect those who have come before and recognise where we have come from ourselves. Kovir and Poviss remain the most neutral and rich of the kingdoms in the known world, both in the quality of our people, our infrastructure, and the physical wealth we hold in our hands. None of this would be possible without the mountains, the mines and the people who toil there day in and day out for eight months of the year. They are the lifeblood of our realm, and you and I are all related to a mining family of old in some way or form. The blood of our ancestors lies in those rocks and deep underground".

The king's speech was acknowledged with a loud buzz of agreement from the people. The witcher could see many noble heads nodding though he doubted any of them had calloused hands and would only know what a pickaxe was if he shoved it up their pompous ass, ideally head fist.

The king continued. "And as such, we say thank you to our miners and acknowledge the history of this realm". He nodded to a nearby guard, and the guard beckoned forward an old, gnarled and wiry looking peasant. The man was dressed in essential clothing and looked like he had been pulled directly out from the ground only a few moments before. The brightness of the room hurt his eyes, and he could barely stand it, shading them with both of his hands. The guard walked beside the man, guiding him to the king and the pile of rocks.

"The ceremony is complete when a miner undertakes the last strike of the season, the Laaste slaag, in front of the king himself", Triss whispered. "It is written into law".

"Fascinating", Geralt responded sarcastically.

Tancred was passed a silver pickaxe from an aide. He hefted it in his hands above his head like a victory banner, drawing a roar of approval from the guests. He slowly lowered the pickaxe and offered it to the old man in front of him. "Take this tool and end the season", he commanded.

The old man was stunned, obviously never having seen the king or such opulence before. He reached out and took the silver pickaxe from the king, struggling slightly under its weight. He bounced it two times in his hands, gauging its centre of balance.

"Strike," the king said solemnly.

The old man nodded and looked down at the black stone in front of him. He stepped back, raised the pickaxe, and after taking a moment to judge his distance and ensure accuracy, he let the tool fall and strike the boulder, which cracked under the impact, spilling out its contents, likely five thousand bizant, to the marbled floor.

The guests roared with delight and laughter as the miner staggered back. He had been expecting the tool to recoil, as was natural, but instead, it buried itself in the pile of coins at his feet.

"Laaste slaag!" the king shouted.

"Laaste slaag!" everyone else in the room replied, except, as Geralt noticed, the miner who was too stunned and himself who couldn't care less. Triss joined in the call, her voice joining the masses in a loud, repeating chorus.

The king stepped forward as the chorus continued and took the pickaxe slowly from the miner's hands. He passed it to the aide again and then motioned to the wealth at his feet. "For you and your miners. I have been reliably informed that you have been the most profitable silver mine this season, and you are to be thanked. This reward will be shared between you and your team".

The man almost burst into tears then. He dropped to his knees and began to kiss the kings' boots. Tancred recoiled and helped the man to his feet, beckoning the guard to remove the man and clean the coins away. He raised his hands, and the voices petered out slowly.

"And now, the last strike has been made; we can look forward to a solstice of merriment and joy. Tomorrow we move to Lan Exeter, but we drink, eat, laugh, and enjoy the last night of the season. My subjects, nobles, friends, I have plenty of wine and food, and I don't want to take any of it with me. There will be no empty cups tonight!"

The crowd roared again, and with perfect choreography, the attendants descended from the corners of the room, already loaded with food, wine, ale and spirits of every possible origin. The large orchestra, which had taken its seats only moments before, broke into song with a start, providing the background music with its strings and woodwind.

Tancred turned and paced quickly back up to the king's table, and Triss stood as he approached, beckoning for Geralt to do the same. He stood slowly, concealing the shot of pain from the aching wound in his leg.

"A wonderful display, your grace", Triss regaled the king as she curtsied lightly at his approach.

"You are too kind, Merigold", the king responded flatly as he took his seat and the rest of the party followed suit after him. "The miner seemed happy", he added after drinking a long draft of wine and beckoning for the butlers to bring forward the food.

"The miner is a lucky man", one of the council members to the kind right, an old soldier looking type with a white beard, chuckled in acknowledgement at his king.

"The miner is a victim", Geralt responded flatly.

"Geralt…" Triss warned.

"How so master witcher?" the old soldier countered, clearly not happy at being challenged by someone he considered vastly inferior to himself.

"You have just gifted the man more than he knows what to do with. Each of those bizant is worth what, four Redanian crowns? That is, give or take, twenty thousand northern crowns. I've hunted and killed the most dangerous monsters on this continent for a fraction of that. I presume that the man is the mine overseer and that the coins will be distributed unequally amongst the shift workers based on age, length of service and efficiency over the last season. If that's the case, the overseer will either drink himself to death or will find himself lying face down in his piss and blood amongst the snow with a dagger in his back in short order. By granting him such a fortune, you have all but signed his death warrant, your grace".

The old soldier remained silent for a moment, looking back and forth between Geralt and the king who had turned to face the witcher, a mask of pure stone on his features. Geralt returned his stare, refusing to be cowed by the monarch. Eventually, after what seemed an age to Triss, who sat powerless to interfere in the battle of wills taking place directly in front of her, the king nodded slowly.

"Point well made, Sir Geralt of Rivia and master witcher. I will have the man observed and ensure that the coin is distributed correctly to prevent any hard feelings".

Geralt tilted his head and nodded slightly in acknowledgement. The old soldier was about to interrupt when the king raised his hand, summoning more wine.

"Witcher, see me tomorrow for lunch where we can discuss your reward for ridding me of the bloody menace. I also have a personal request for you, which, I am sure you will be glad to hear, does not include hunting anything on my behalf. Triss, I expect to see you as well."

"I intended to return to…." Geralt began.

"As you command your grace…." Triss interrupted him before Geralt could say something that would break the monarch's good mood.

"Very good. Now, if you all don't fucking mind, I intend to eat far too much, drink till I can't see, and enjoy the event. There is a yellow beam of sunshine that I intend to be acquainted with before the evening is out, and it's been a while since I could relax. It is very much my intention not to remember anything of the last week if at all bloody possible" and as if to prove the point, he took a large bite of the delicate chicken that had been placed on his platter and downed another goblet of wine, spilling some of it to the table messily.

Triss reached over and held Geralt's hand, locking her eyes with his own. "Don't worry, once we have spoken to the king, we will be gone, and I will make it up to you", she whispered.

Geralt scowled but then slowly relaxed. He picked up his goblet and raised it to the king. "I have only one question for you, sorceress".

"Oh?" she raised an eyebrow in genuine interest.

"Where did you put my fucking horse?".


Greenhand, cloaked in a dark grey hooded cloak and carrying a well-concealed leather long pack upon her back, stepped lightly through the snow-covered streets, avoiding the many dozens of revellers who staggered out of the taverns and houses. The city was alive with the merriment of the very odd festival that the Kovirians celebrated to acknowledge the end of the mining season, which made it incredibly easy for her, and she was sure, her fellow hand's.

Approaching the tailor's store that she had selected the day before as a perfect vantage point for her mission, she waited to ensure that the scene was clear and moved forward into the lee of the building, removing her lockpicks from a concealed trouser pocket and deftly opening the poor-quality lock in moments. She listened for any sign of commotion on the other side of the door and then slowly opened it, stepping inside and gently closing it behind her. As she made her way through the tailors, completely ignoring the desks covered in half-finished garments, she noticed a slight noise coming from the next floor. She recognised it as a man's snoring, possibly the owner not partaking in the celebration. Making her way slowly up the dark stairs to the next floor, she identified the noise source through a closed-door down the hallway but first checked the other rooms in order. In two of the rooms, she observed young men, no more than late teens and likely apprentices of the tailor, both of whom were also soundly asleep.

None of the tailor's store occupants had any idea what happened to them. It was work of a few moments to cut all their throats and leave then to bleed out in their beds, helplessly grasping at their severed arteries. All three were dead before she even stepped foot on the next floor.

The next floor was a large storage room and made up the last floor of the house. The place reeked of freshly treated leather and dyed bolts of cloth of many different varieties, primarily plain, which would be used for the masses of the population. Greenhand cared not for the décor or the dead men below her. Silently she made her way to the windows overlooking the northern exit gate of the city. She could see the large portal through the frosted glass, precisely three hundred and fifteen yards from her current location. She knew this as she had spent the day previous identifying landmarks and performing the calculations required to obtain the accurate distance. Four-armed city guards stood watch, guarding the portal, huddled around a large firepit on the battlements. Slowly, and with great care and diligence, she placed her leather pack on the floor and opened it revealing multiple parts of the instrument of death for which she and her ilk were famed. The morning was many hours away, and her target would likely be more than that, but she was good at so many things, which made her perfect at her job, not least of which was patience. Greenhand was very, very patient.

Redhand sat huddled around his low campfire just outside the city gates. Only a hundred yards to the south lay the arterial route into Pont Vanis, and where he would be employed later the next day.

Redhand was a simple dwarf. He didn't question orders, and he didn't want to know the fine details of the 'grand plan'. He cared not for the games and politics in which Greyhand dabbled, and he had no time at all for mages, killing from afar or from the shadows.

As he sat amongst the trees, tearing noisily into a small deer he had felled and roughly cooked only a few hours before, he tasted the blood from the meat and shuddered excitedly.

Red is blood, and blood is what he dealt in. He enjoyed killing and relished seeing his foe die, knowing who had killed them. Not for him the unseen blade. And tomorrow, there would be a great deal of blood, in which he would bathe before the day was out. It was almost too much for him to bear, and as he clutched the handle of his axe, he giggled excitedly like a small child remembering a joke in the shadows of the forest.


Purplehand sat patiently amongst the revellers in the aptly named 'Mule' tavern halfway along the route from the palace to the main gate of Pont Vanis. Every person in the tavern looked like an ass to him, and the revellers' noise was almost deafening. He sat, wine glass in hand, and smiled pleasantly at the many whores and idiots that looked his way. It took all his control not to do something he would regret and turn everyone, albeit temporarily, into mules, or more accurately, asses.

However, he had a job to do and an extremely well paying one at that. Nothing was going to come between him and the most significant payday of which he could have ever dreamed. Tomorrow only just going to be interesting; it was going to be explosive.


A note from the author:

Hello, my lovely readers, subscribers and reviewers!

I know it's been some time since I uploaded a chapter, and I can only apologise. For many, including myself, this year has been a challenging one, and despite catching Covid and being bedridden for weeks, I have had a lot of personal things to obstacles to deal with, such as completing my MBA, moving house and being promoted to a director in the company for which I work. It's been a rollercoaster of a year.

Anyway, I am now back in my seat and will finish this story. I have been thinking about the hand for a long time and want to finish it in early 2022 to start on some other juicy ideas I have for storylines.

I genuinely hope you are enjoying this story, and for those of you that have left reviews, I give you my sincere thanks. Nothing kicks me up the ass to get things moving again after receiving a review, either good or bad.

If you haven't left a review yet and are enjoying the story, why not? I would appreciate it if you could spend a few moments of your time to let me know what you think. It would be awesome.

Anyway, I hope you are all well and have enjoyed 2021 as best as possible. Let us hope and look forward to a brighter 2022.

KS.