Chapter 45: The Mountain Meeting - Part 1
Kestrel's Rest was exactly what its name suggested—a village built where the mountains paused, a waypoint for travelers who needed shelter before attempting the higher passes.
The tavern stood at the village's center, its walls stone rather than timber, built to withstand the winters that buried these valleys under feet of snow. Mira and I arrived at midday, having traveled five days from Oxenfurt through terrain that grew more hostile with each mile north.
"They're already here," Mira observed, nodding toward two horses in the stable. Witcher-trained mounts, obviously—calm despite the mountain cold, watching new arrivals with intelligence that exceeded normal animals.
"Then let's not keep them waiting."
The tavern's interior was warmer than expected, a fire blazing in the central hearth despite the summer season. Mountain cold didn't care about calendars. The common room held maybe a dozen locals, but two figures commanded immediate attention.
Vesemir sat facing the door—tactical positioning, clear sightlines, easy exit if needed. His face was exactly as meta-knowledge had described: weathered by centuries of combat and travel, eyes yellow and sharp with the enhanced perception that came from mutation. White hair, pulled back practically. Armor worn but maintained, the leather and chain of someone who expected violence at any moment.
Beside him stood a younger Witcher—thirties perhaps, though mutation made age deceptive. Scarred face, calloused hands, the same cat-slitted eyes as his elder. Eskel, I assumed, based on intelligence about the Wolf School's surviving members.
"Finn Colen." Vesemir's voice carried the graveled texture of someone who'd breathed too much smoke and screamed too many battle cries. "You're younger than I expected."
"I hear that frequently." I crossed to their table, Mira following at appropriate distance. "Master Vesemir. Thank you for agreeing to meet."
"Sit." It wasn't a request.
I sat. Mira took position at a nearby table—close enough to assist, far enough to demonstrate she wasn't part of the negotiation itself.
Vesemir studied me with the patient evaluation of someone who'd learned to read threats across two centuries of survival. His attention felt like weight—physical pressure from enhanced senses cataloguing everything from my heartbeat to my breathing patterns.
"The formula you sent," he said finally. "Variant 7. We lost it during the pogrom of 1165. It hasn't been seen since."
"A collector acquired it from estate sales following noble executions. He didn't know its significance—thought it was historical curiosity worth displaying rather than knowledge worth protecting."
"And you knew its significance."
"I knew it belonged with the School that created it."
"How?" The question was sharp. "You're barely past childhood. The pogrom happened a century before your birth. How does a boy running an adventure guild know what Wolf School formulas look like, let alone recognize their authenticity?"
"Careful. This is the critical moment. Lie badly and everything falls apart."
"I have access to knowledge and resources that most people don't," I said, choosing words precisely. "Some of it comes from research. Some from contacts I've cultivated. Some from..." I paused, weighing how much truth to offer. "From sources I can't fully explain without sounding either mad or deceitful."
"Try."
"I know things I shouldn't know. About Witcher history, about monster behavior, about events that haven't happened yet." The partial truth felt dangerous but necessary. "I don't understand the full nature of this knowledge—whether it's prophetic, ancestral memory, or something else entirely. What I understand is that it's accurate, and that accuracy allows me to identify opportunities others miss."
Vesemir's eyes never left my face. Beside him, Eskel shifted slightly—tension rising in response to unusual claims.
"You're either lying," Vesemir said slowly, "or you're the most dangerous kind of person—someone who believes their own delusions."
"There's a third option. I'm telling the truth, and the implications of that truth are uncomfortable enough that skepticism is the safer response."
"Which do you think I should believe?"
"I think you should believe whatever's consistent with evidence. The formula I sent is genuine—you've verified that. The alchemical supplies were valuable—you've confirmed that too. My organization operates successfully across four kingdoms—that's verifiable through any intelligence network. Whatever the source of my knowledge, its practical applications produce real results."
Vesemir let silence stretch before responding.
"Tell me what you want."
"Partnership. Not employment, not control—partnership. The Covenant of Blades provides resources and support. The Wolf School provides expertise and association. Both parties benefit while remaining independent."
"Specifics."
I pulled out the proposal documents, spreading them on the table. "Five hundred crowns investment over two years. Structural repairs for Kaer Morhen. Supply provision—alchemical components, equipment, whatever you need that we can source. Defensive improvements if desired."
"In exchange for what?"
"Access to training methods for guild members—not mutation, obviously, but techniques that can be taught to non-Witchers. Monster-hunting knowledge that we can apply to our contracts. The use of Kaer Morhen as a secondary base when needed—with your permission each time, not assumed access."
Vesemir reviewed the documents with methodical attention. His questions were precise: "Who decides what training is appropriate?" "What happens if the Covenant fails financially?" "How do we exit the partnership if terms aren't satisfied?"
I answered each, watching his expression for signs of whether the proposal was landing. Eskel remained silent, but his attention never wavered.
"You're offering significant investment," Vesemir said finally. "Five hundred crowns is substantial for an organization your size."
"It's an investment, not an expense. The returns justify the cost."
"Returns you can't guarantee."
"Returns that are probable given the knowledge and expertise you possess. Nothing is certain—I can only offer good faith effort and genuine commitment."
"Words." He set down the proposal. "Everyone offers words. What I need to see is capability."
"Then test it."
Vesemir's expression shifted—something between surprise and evaluation.
"You're volunteering for a test."
"I'm acknowledging that trust requires evidence. What would convince you that partnership is worth considering?"
He exchanged a glance with Eskel. Some communication passed between them—shared knowledge from decades of working together.
"There's an endrega nest," Vesemir said, "half a day's travel from Kaer Morhen. It's been growing for months—we've contained it, but elimination would require more resources than we currently have available."
"You want me to clear it."
"I want to see if you can. Endrega queens are dangerous—venomous, armored, intelligent in ways most monsters aren't. A nest this size would have at least one queen, possibly two." His voice carried no malice, just professional assessment. "If you survive, we'll talk seriously. If you don't..."
"Then I wasn't worth considering anyway."
"Exactly."
Mira tensed at her table—she understood the implications without explanation. Endrega queens were categorized as significant threats even for experienced fighters. Solo clearance was borderline suicidal.
"When?" I asked.
"Tomorrow. We'll escort you to the site. What happens after that is your concern."
"Terms for success?"
"Queen eliminated. Nest destroyed. You return alive." Vesemir's expression held something that might have been respect—or might have been the evaluation of someone watching a fool march toward death. "Those are the only terms that matter."
I stood, extending my hand. "Then we have an agreement. I'll clear your nest, and you'll give the partnership genuine consideration."
Vesemir shook—his grip was iron despite his age, enhanced strength making the handshake almost painful.
"Get some rest, Finn Colen. Tomorrow determines whether you're worth remembering."
Mira found me in my room, preparing equipment for the morning's challenge.
"This is suicide." Her voice carried anger she rarely showed. "Solo endrega clearance? Even experienced hunters take teams for nests this size."
"I have capabilities that aren't obvious." I checked the edge on my silver sword—the same blade that had killed the wraith nearly two years ago. "Shadow Step, Ethereal Blade, enhanced regeneration. I'm not fighting as a normal adventurer."
"You're not fighting as anything if you die tomorrow."
"Then I won't die."
"That's not a strategy!"
I set down the sword and faced her directly. "Mira. I've killed drowners, ghouls, a basilisk, and a wraith. Every time, people told me it was impossible. Every time, preparation and capability proved them wrong."
"Endregas are different. They're fast, venomous, and the queens are intelligent enough to set traps. This isn't a basilisk waiting to be ambushed—this is a creature that will actively outthink you."
"Then I'll think faster."
She stared at me, frustration and fear warring in her expression. "Why does this matter so much? Why risk everything for Witcher partnership that might not even work?"
"Because Vesemir's knowledge could save hundreds of lives. Because Kaer Morhen could become a fortress against what's coming. Because every advantage I can gain might be the difference between survival and extinction when the Wild Hunt arrives."
"Because some opportunities only come once," I said instead. "If I refuse the test, Vesemir dismisses us permanently. If I fail, at least we tried. But if I succeed..."
"If you succeed, you've earned the respect of people who don't respect easily."
"Exactly."
Mira was quiet for a long moment. Then she moved to the equipment table and began checking supplies with professional efficiency.
"What will you need? Potions, oil, explosives?"
"All of it. Everything we brought."
She nodded, anger fading into the focused competence that had made her invaluable since our first contract together. "Then let's make sure you're ready. I'm not losing you to an insect queen because we forgot something important."
We worked through the night, preparing for the test that would determine whether months of investment had been worthwhile—or whether they'd been prelude to a stupid death in the mountains.
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