Flotsam lay in a valley, built along the upper reaches of the Pontar River and surrounded by nearly impenetrable brush and forest. The terrain itself was not especially rugged. The area was difficult to cross because Iorveth, the Scoia'tael's infamous "Vengeful Ghost," operated there.
Tonight in the Flotsam forest, two humans had once again been surrounded by elves. At least, that was the conclusion one could draw from the shapes of their ears.
Both surrounded travelers wore Scoia'tael fur caps. One was a calm, composed witcher with a well proportioned, muscular build. The other was a young, reckless woman with remarkably memorable eyebrows.
"Victor Corion? You've changed so much that I would barely have recognized you if Angoulême weren't standing beside you!"
A disfiguring scar ran from the speaking elf's cheek to his lips. He stood upon a fallen tree trunk, surrounded by more than thirty elves with bows drawn and arrows nocked.
The witcher spread his hands.
"It's been a long time, Iorveth. I thought you might order your men to lower their bows before greeting us."
"My apologies. I would rather not do this either, but these are delicate times, and I want to confirm why you're here. A few days ago, we clashed with another witcher. I lost seven men forever because of it. He was traveling with Vernon Roche, commander of the Blue Stripes, and they demanded that we surrender one of our guests."
"I believe I know the witcher you encountered. We all came from La Valette Castle, but you don't need to surrender anyone to me. I'm only here to meet the Kingslayer. Tell Letho that Victor needs to speak with him. I believe he'll agree to see me."
Hearing him accurately name the Kingslayer, Iorveth folded his arms.
"Ah, the same destination, but different positions? You seem quite confident. So you're a guest, a guest of the Scoia'tael?"
"Your eyesight has worsened over the past few years. There are clearly two of us."
Victor removed his sheathed steel sword from his back and held it flat across his palms. Angoulême stared at Iorveth's face for several seconds before unfastening the Golden Eagle and following Victor's example.
Sensing the sincerity of his guests, the elven commander waved for his men to lower their bows. He then jumped down from the tree trunk.
"It's been a long time, Vic, Angoulême. Keep your weapons and follow me."
...
Victor walked through the forest beside Iorveth. Two years was enough to make everything feel unfamiliar again, but he said nothing.
"You're actually remaining silent? I thought you would at least demand to know why I wanted to murder kings, or condemn the shamefulness of such an act," the elf said casually.
The witcher's voice remained even.
"The ancient hatred between humans and elves has continued for more than four hundred years. Perhaps someone is capable of judging all those grievances fairly, but it won't be me. If it doesn't happen in front of me, I'll pretend it never happened. If it has nothing to do with me, I'll pretend it doesn't exist."
"Hahaha! You're exactly as Toruviel described, a man with unusual ideas. I heard about what you did in Vizima. I must say, you took on an exhausting and thankless task. Humans will never truly appreciate you. In their eyes, you will always be an outsider."
"Toruviel? Is she also in the Flotsam forest?" Victor asked, raising an eyebrow.
That beautifully tattooed elven woman had been a spirited and highly experienced rider. Discussing riding techniques with her had always been an enduringly pleasant experience.
Iorveth shrugged.
"No. She took her followers back to Dol Blathanna. She said she wanted to seek the queen's wisdom and search for an answer that would allow elves and humans to coexist. Was it you who gave her such a naive and foolish idea?"
Victor rubbed his nose.
"Perhaps. I merely wanted her to avoid extremes. The same applies to regicide. Had I been present, I would have done everything in my power to protect Foltest.
"But what happened can no longer be undone. Now I only want to speak with Letho, learn what this is all about, and discover what he intends to do next.
"Or perhaps you would be willing to tell me what role the Scoia'tael played in this affair and who gave you your orders?"
Iorveth laughed heartily.
"Once you prove yourself worthy of trust, I will. I'll tell you everything. Clearly, however, now is not the time."
The sense of unfamiliarity gradually faded. The elf and the witcher began chatting and laughing, recovering the old rhythm of their conversations.
"Then let's talk about you and Vernon Roche. A man like him shouldn't be so easy to kill," Victor casually remarked.
"My relationship with that bastard is so pure and uncomplicated that there's hardly anything to say. The Blue Stripes and the Scoia'tael commandos are old enemies. We've become intimately acquainted on countless blood soaked occasions.
"What happened a few days ago was truly regrettable. I finally had a rare opportunity to put an arrow through him, but the red haired sorceress raised a protective barrier. Then the witcher went on a killing spree, costing me several men.
"If you're asking where they are, they're all hiding in Flotsam now, operating within the territory of that whoreson Loredo."
Ah, another familiar name.
Bernard Loredo, Commandant of Flotsam. Victor had heard the elves mention him countless times several years ago. Every one of them described him as a hypocritical, malicious, racist bastard.
Their casual conversation continued until they reached the Scoia'tael camp. Iorveth led Victor and Angoulême into a tent.
"Rest here for a while. I'll ask Letho himself whether he's willing to see you.
"But I must warn you first. He's a very strange man. He refuses to live within our camp, and his thoughts are difficult to read. He might appear expressionless and slow, but he is certainly not as simple as he seems. If you believe he's your friend because you consider him honest and straightforward, you had better remain vigilant."
Iorveth's warning was sincere, so Victor answered with equal seriousness.
"No. My friendship with Letho is built upon mutual respect and understanding, just like the friendship between you and me."
The elven commander burst into laughter.
"Excellent. Then I'll excuse myself for a while. As long as you don't leave the camp, you're as free as the air."
The witcher raised a hand, gesturing for him to proceed.
...
Iorveth was gone far longer than expected. As a result, the Phantom Troupe was forced to eat dinner in the Scoia'tael camp and endure their crude food.
Fortunately, before they had to spend the night on the hard beds, the elf returned.
Victor did not ask why he had taken so long, and Iorveth showed no intention of explaining.
With open mockery across his face, he announced the response.
"Unfortunately, Letho refuses to see you. He asked me to give you a three word message, 'Fuck right off!' Do you still believe you're his friend?"
The witcher rubbed his chin.
"Did you tell him I'm not here to hunt him and only want to talk?"
"Of course. He said in no uncertain terms that he has nothing to discuss with you. Are you truly friends?"
"...At least I thought we were."
Iorveth picked up the bottle of Lafite from the table and filled both Victor's cup and his own. Raising his cup in salute, he said, "A richly textured masterpiece. It's been far too long since I drank anything this good. To delightful misunderstandings! What do you intend to do now?"
"I intend to respect my friend's wishes and fuck right off. To be honest, your food is still as terrible as ever, and I imagine your beds haven't improved either. I'm going to Flotsam for a proper meal and a soft bed. Will you stop me?"
"No. You're as free as the wind."
"Then fill a flask with goat's milk for me to take. That's the only thing here worth remembering. Is there anything you need me to do for you?"
Iorveth smiled and nodded his agreement.
Back when Victor had lived here, the camp had possessed no supply of cow's milk, and he had complained every day about the strong smell and taste of goat's milk.
"Living in the forest doesn't mean we lack information. I hear you've composed quite a few wonderful new songs."
"I promise to bring my lute the next time I visit."
"Remember to bring several more bottles of good wine as well."
...
After leaving the Scoia'tael camp, the Phantom Troupe headed toward Flotsam.
Unfortunately, neither of them managed to enter the town. The stone bridge along the only available route had collapsed, forcing them to descend into the riverbed and climb up the other side.
By then it was too late, and the checkpoint had been closed for the night. The troupe could only find lodging in Lobinden, the small settlement outside Flotsam. Even an outlying village, however, was far more comfortable than the Scoia'tael camp.
Only after entering the village did Victor discover that Angoulême had many friends living there.
Years ago, both of them had supposedly been restricted to a particular area and forbidden from leaving Scoia'tael territory. Yet Victor, as the more important individual, had been confined to the camp, while Angoulême had somehow been allowed to wander around Lobinden, less than five hundred yards from town.
Victor had no idea how she had managed it. Could it have been those thick black eyebrows? Perhaps eyebrows like Bert from Sesame Street or Groucho Marx came with some sort of friendship bonus.
Victor was extremely curious.
Whatever the reason, she knew many people here. The most important was Cedric, the spiritual leader of the local nonhuman community.
The old and wise elf could be considered a dove in contrast to the hawkish Iorveth.
He was also the keeper of the local hawks. Angoulême had first met Catherine while visiting this place, and the two had immediately taken a liking to each other.
Angoulême believed that she was returning in triumph and needed to show all her old friends the shining badge of her knighthood. Victor was also eager to meet the leader of the doves, so he accompanied her to visit Cedric.
After asking around, they learned that Cedric could be found on a lookout built around several enormous trees. The platforms were connected by elevated wooden walkways.
To reach him, they had to climb a dangerously precarious wooden ladder several stories high. The platforms had also been built in perfect accordance with medieval safety standards, meaning they did not even possess railings.
A cuckoo called through the night.
As Victor climbed, he heard voices conversing above. Angoulême had clearly heard them as well. She quickened her pace and scrambled upward like a monkey, soon reaching the platform and quietly listening nearby.
It was early spring. A bonfire warmed the high platform while wolves howled in the surrounding forest.
"What happened in March was almost a year ago."
"Seherim, Moril wouldn't be happy to see you like this. Treasure your memories of her, but don't drown yourself in longing."
"I'm trying, but whenever night falls, the pain still becomes unbearable. I can't believe she simply disappeared!"
"Don't allow the other elves' gossip to poison your memories of her. Hatred is nothing more than a helpless attempt to vent your pain."
"Thank you, Cedric. Thank you for your guidance. Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
When Victor climbed onto the platform, he found three people there.
One person sat alone at the far end of a walkway. Two elves stood talking on the nearer platform.
Victor immediately recognized which of them was Cedric.
The elf wore cloth robes and carried a longbow. His ageless features radiated a calm sense of detachment, along with the overwhelming impression that his intelligence far surpassed that of everyone around him.
This was an elf with his own ideas who did not hesitate to share them with others.
Victor's extraordinary sense of smell also detected the faint scent of mandrake cordial on him, a famous hallucinogenic liquor.
Angoulême approached with a broad smile and shook Cedric's hand. Just as she was about to introduce Victor, the young looking elf spoke.
"There's no need for an introduction. I know who he is. I saw him in a vision two years ago, an outsider from east of Zerrikania, a young witcher apprentice named Victor Corion."
Victor smiled and extended his hand.
"A pleasure to meet you, Cedric. As you can see, I'm now a witcher. We arrived in Lobinden because it was too late to enter Flotsam. Angoulême told me about you and said you were an elf of great wisdom, so I took the liberty of visiting."
Angoulême blinked as an atmosphere of professional mutual flattery settled over them.
One was a troupe leader and the other a village leader. Both were experts at delivering grandiose compliments. Having no interest in such a conversation, she nodded to them, descended the ladder, and called Seherim aside for a private talk.
Seherim was a one eyed elf who wore an eyepatch. His cloth robes and longbow resembled Cedric's. Their living conditions seemed slightly better than those of the Scoia'tael, though only slightly.
Cedric smiled at Victor and beckoned him closer.
Standing high above the ground and gazing into the dark forest, Victor suddenly thought of the law of the jungle.
"If a person lives long enough, they naturally accumulate knowledge, and eventually others begin calling them wise."
Cedric's voice was mellow, while his precise enunciation possessed the crispness of cracking ice.
"Of course, I'm also quite interested in you. According to elven legends, anyone chosen by an eaglet is destined to play an important role. That was why I was so surprised when I heard she was your follower."
The witcher shook his head.
"Strictly speaking, she isn't my follower. She's my partner. We travel together as equals. 'Follower' is merely the description she habitually uses. In truth, I think of her as my younger sister. In any case, now that you've seen me in person, what do you think?"
"Face to face, you don't seem particularly remarkable. You look like an ordinary young man. But this isn't truly a forest. News travels here faster than the wind. Victor the Dragonslayer, anyone worthy of such a title radiates authority even while merely standing still."
"I didn't slay a dragon. It's nothing but an empty title."
The witcher bent down and picked up a fallen dagger.
"But thank you for the compliment. May I ask what you do here?"
Cedric spread his hands.
"I patrol and keep watch. The villagers pay us to drive away wild animals. I set traps and snares, trying to keep the nekkers away from Lobinden so monsters don't crawl into their homes at night and drag them from their beds."
"Angoulême told me you're an experienced hunter, especially skilled with impaling traps. Would you be willing to share some of that valuable experience with me?"
"The night is long. I'd be delighted. But don't listen to her nonsense. My true specialty is setting bait."
Both the elf and the witcher possessed considerable experience with traps, and their conversation proved extremely enjoyable.
Had they not been interrupted, it should have been a peaceful night of learning.
Perhaps their laughter had become too loud and disturbed the third person on the platform. When she turned around, the bonfire illuminated her face clearly, and Victor froze for a moment.
It was the sorceress Triss Merigold.
She was alone, wearing plain traveling clothes with a gray cloak covering her hair. From behind, neither Victor nor Angoulême had recognized her.
Triss was equally surprised to see Victor. She nodded to Cedric, then beckoned for the witcher to join her.
Seriously, what was this woman doing out here in the middle of the night instead of sleeping, sitting in complete darkness, enduring the cold wind, and listening to wolves howl?
Walking along the suspended platform felt strangely unreal.
Victor had no reason to refuse her summons. He stopped beside her and sat down, leaving the same distance between them that they had maintained in the palace two years earlier.
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