Chapter 1

Two days after their departure from Vergen, Vernon Roche was leaning against the railing of the Temerian ship, his arms crossed and a tankard of stale-tasting mead in his hand, looking out onto the water.

He had never been much of a drinker, but right now he felt like a bit of alcohol could not hurt. Last night had been mostly sleepless, as always, and Vernon was tired, no matter how much he tried to deny it to Ves or Geralt.

He sighed and took another sip, grimacing slightly as the warm, bitter liquid ran down his throat, leaving behind a nasty aftertaste. He considered emptying his drink into the river, then shrugged and took another mouthful instead. It tasted as awful as before, but at least the alcohol finally seemed to take effect.

As he directed his gaze onto the water again, the reflected branches and specks of grey sky on it's surface mixed and whirled in front of his eyes, making him dizzy.

It was a quiet, cool afternoon, and one small part of Vernon enjoyed the peaceful moment. The bigger part of him, however, was restless, and it could not handle doing nothing for too long. It always felt as if he was wasting his time, neglecting something important in the meantime.

Being paralized, not able to do anything, was actually his worst nightmare - He had not been able to save Foltest and he had not even been there when all his men had died, had payed for a crime he had commited...

Ever since that day, Vernon dreamed of being tied to a pole and forced to watch every member of the Blue Stripes perish - one after the other - while he screamed and struggled and kicked against the rope.

And every time he would wake up drenched in sweat, trembling, and full of burning hate for Dethmold and Henselt.

Disgusted, Vernon turned his tankard upside-down and watched as the mead splashed merrily into the river. Then he flung the mug after it and turned, planning to go below.

And suddenly there was a loud crash, a jolt went through the ship and Vernon was thrown off his feet, tumbling to the ground. Small pieces of wood were flying everywhere, raining down next to him, some of them scraping his skin. He let out a string of curses, wondering what was going on, and slowly pushed himself up on his feet.

"What the fuck-"

It looked like a thunderstorm had broken loose. Dark clouds billowed from opposite the deck, where a giant hole gaped in the ship's side between splintered wooden planks. Sparks crackled around it, making it seem as if a thunderbolt had struck their barge and bitten a large chunk out of it.

The ground below Roche's feet shook violently, but he regained his footing and stumbled towards the railing just as Geralt burst onto the deck, with Ves hot on his heels.

"Commander!", she shouted. "We're under attack!"

"I'd noticed that.", Vernon said drily. "Geralt, what the hell is going on?"

"No idea, but I'm sure we'll find out soon."

"Whoever dares to fire at my ship-"

"Shut up a second, Vernon." Geralt went over to the hole and started investigating it carefully. "A common Ballista doesn't do this kind of damage. This is the work of a sorcerer."

Roche did not have time to reply. Again, something struck the boat, this time closer to where they were standing. And this time, Vernon could clearly see the flash of lightning ripping through the air seconds before the impact.

He had to cling to the railing so he would not fall over, but somehow managed even while protecting his eyes from the sudden brightness.

"Commander!", he heard Ves scream over the crashing sound of the waves against the ship's body, "Over there! Kaedweni soldiers are coming!"

He looked in the direction she was pointing and saw a group of heavily armed soldiers running from the trees towards the barge, weapons drawn and ready to strike.

With an angry scowl he pulled his sword from it's sheath and looked over to Geralt, who had already done the same. They exchanged a glance.

"Come on, we gotta put a stop to this before they wreck this ship completely! Charge!", Vernon bellowed, jumping down into the waist-high water and then making for the shore without looking back to see if Geralt was still there.

Sometimes he still felt uncomfortable entrusting his life to a Witcher, a mutant who did not interest himself in the affairs of others, and who probably did not even know the meaning of real loyalty. But he usually pushed aside those thoughts as soon as they popped up in his mind. The two of them had come to know each other quite well over the past weeks, making them something like brothers in arms, he supposed. Well, there had been some misunderstandings and heated discussions between them, of course, but Vernon considered Geralt his friend nontheless. Maybe even his only friend - even though that was not exactly difficult to be, since there was nobody else left for him.

In any case, he could definetly trust the Witcher to be of help in battle, like now.

The blade swung down on him in a wide arc, aiming for Vernon's neck. He raised his own sword, blocking the heavy but slow hit and then kicked the Kaedweni soldier in the abdomen.

Behind him, Geralt fought three soldiers at once, dodging and swerving in and out of his field of vision.

The number of attackers decreased quickly, but Vernon had lost track anyways. Everything he could think of was fighting, everything he could see was blood and steel. He stabbed one soldier through the left eye, beheaded another. It felt good, so good, he was alive, driven partly by rage and partly by cold warrior's instinct. The fatigue he had felt before was gone.

Another Kaedweni charged at him, with his weapon raised high above his head. He was young and inexperienced, but Vernon did not care. He impaled him with his Falchion, then pulled it out of his torso in one swift motion, splattering the ground with crimson blood.

Suddenly he saw something move from the corner of his eye, just next to the edge of the woods.

"Geralt! The mage! Damn, he's getting away!"

He tried to follow the shape into the forest, but two big men in heavy steel armor blocked the way. He glanced over at his companion. Geralt was surrounded by soldiers.

Vernon cursed. He had no choice but to let the sorcerer get away.

This realisation must have pissed him off pretty badly, because Geralt later told him that he had killed both of the soldiers in less than one minute. Vernon himself did not really remember anything; his memory was a bit hazy. It had probably been the alcohol kicking in.

After the fight the two of them were standing on the shore of the Pontar river between heaps of broken bodies and looking at their ship, taking in the amount of damage it had taken from the sorcerer's attack.

It was even worse than Vernon had feared.

The left lower half of their vessel was a complete mess. Three holes the size of a vegetable cart were gaping in the ship's body just above the portholes. The deck was strewn with debris, between which the sailors were running back and forth, shouting to each other and trying to determine the degree of destruction.

The barge had tipped slightly, looking as if it would capsize any minute now.

Ves had already climbed down, seeming somewhat paler than usual, and was then joined by the bloodsplattered commander and the Witcher.

"Doesn't look good, I'm afraid. What should we do now, sir?"

Vernon sheathed his sword and crossed his arms, frowning.

"Depends on the state of the ship.", he said, then raised his voice and called to the sailors, "Can anyone tell me how long this is gonna take? We're in a bit of a hurry!"

Most of the men simply ignored him, causing Vernon to scowl in irritation until one of them actually turned around reluctantly to answer him.

"Pro'ably some days. A week, at least. Nothin' more we can do." He shrugged and went back to work.

"Shit." Vernon paced up and down restlessly for a minute before continuing: "What now? We have to be in Loc Muinne as soon as possible. That bitch Sile de Tansarville is not going to get away from me. Nor is Dethmold!"

"Calm down, Vernon", Geralt said. "It's not the end of the world."

"What do you suggest, then?"

"I say we walk."

"Walk?" Ves interrupted. "It's at least 20 leagues to Loc Muinne!"

"We can cover the distance in about three days.", Geralt objected.

Vernon looked doubtful at first, but then nodded.

"Geralt is right. I would rather walk all the way from Vergen to Loc Muinne than rot in this thing for days!" He gestured toward the ship.

"But-"

"No buts, Ves, the decision is made. Geralt and I will walk to Loc Muinne. I want you to stay here with the ship and have an eye on the reparations."

"So I'm to rot instead?"

"It can't be changed. I need someone to handle this, someone I can trust. And as I see it, there aren't that many people left to depend on."

Ves lapsed into silence, surprised by the commander's bitter tone.

"Yes, sir.", she said quietly. Then she looked at Geralt. "Please be careful. We are some leagues away from Tiel, and the woods between the town and Loc Muinne are dangerous. Besides, there's still the Kaedweni to worry about."

"Stop mothering us, Ves. We'll be fine. Come on, we still have some time before it gets dark. Let's go."

And the female soldier watched uncomfortably as the two of them disappeared between the trees, feeling a bit lonely. Then she sighed and turned towards the barge, mentally preparing for a week with a bunch of rowdy, half-drunk sailors.