POV Aiden Watching the crowd applaud after Dandelion’s performance, I saw him sit down at a table.
I got up, drink in hand, and sat down across from him.
Seeing me, he flashed a smile then, noticing my telltale cat eyes, grew even warmer.
“Charmed, my friend.
It’s pretty rare to run into a witcher.” I sat down, smiling, and offered my hand, which he shook.
“Thanks.
But we’ve got some mutual acquaintances, I think Geralt’s my mentor, at the Wolf School.” He looked surprised, shaking my hand even more enthusiastically.
“Ah, Geralt!
Delighted to meet someone from his circle.
I take it he’s told you about our adventures?” I laughed.
“He has.
Told me about the time you lost your voice.” He smiled.
“Ah, what a fine memory.
And you, what’s your name?
I forgot to ask.” I took a sip of my drink.
“Aiden of Cintra.” He looked mildly surprised.
“Cintra?
So you were there when it fell?” I nodded.
He sighed.
“What a tragedy, all those deaths, honestly.
I’m actually writing a song in memory of the soldiers who died in battle, and for the Queen of Cintra too even though our last meeting didn’t go too well, it remains one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever known.
And I’m not just talking about the women.” He laughed at his own joke.
I smiled, amused, then continued more seriously.
“So you know a thing or two about what’s going on around here?
I got some bits from the innkeeper, but maybe you know more.” He took a sip.
“What do you know so far?” I laid out what I had.
He answered: “I don’t have much more than that, except word’s starting to spread in the city’s higher circles the sorceress sent here might be up to something, according to some, given how long she’s taking to fix the problem.
Still faint rumors, but they’re growing.” I looked at him, a bit puzzled, a touch ironic.
“Seriously, how do you know what’s being said in the higher circles?
Geralt never mentioned you were the type to get invited to that level.” He smiled, proud.
“What can I say, my secret’s talent and a pretty face.” I sighed.
“Anyway.
You know where I could look into this further?
I’ll see if I can help.” He looked at me, worried.
“You know, this is way more complicated than a simple ghoul.
Even experienced fighters are struggling against these dead things.” I nodded, serious.
“I know.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t handle it.
And besides, I can’t exactly spend my time wondering which contract is the least dangerous.” He sighed, took a drink.
“Geralt’s gonna kill me, but fine, all right.
You need to head to the barracks, talk to the steward apparently that’s where you sign up for the night watch against the undead.” I nodded, standing up.
“Thanks, Dandelion.” He simply raised his glass without a word.
I then went up to my room for the night but instead of sleeping, I sat in the middle of the room, in a meditation stance, like Geralt had taught me, and cleared my mind.
— POV Dandelion I sighed, watching the boy walk off, finishing my last sip, thinking back on our travels with Geralt.
Was I really going to let him face this danger all alone?
Geralt would kill me if I didn’t do something especially since he’d once confided to me that one of our trips together was among his most precious memories.
Had to test whether that was actually true.
Finishing my drink, I watched the innkeeper start closing up shop, the last patrons leaving, boards going up over the windows.
He wasn’t wrong to be cautious people were clearly starting to lose hope, and it wouldn’t surprise me if a few tempers started boiling over for real soon.
Shaking my head, I muttered to myself.
“Dandelion, are you really going to do this?” Closing my eyes, finishing my drink, I walked up to the innkeeper, set down a few crowns.
“A room, my good man, if you’d be so kind.” He looked surprised, but nodded and handed me the key.
Taking it, I climbed the stairs.
Even though I couldn’t fight, I’d go with Aiden I wasn’t about to let someone this precious to Geralt I’d recognized his silver sword at the boy’s waist right away face this alone.
I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him.
— POV Aiden Getting up the next morning and heading downstairs, I found Dandelion busy restringing his lute.
Seeing me, he stood up, smiling.
“I, the great Dandelion, have decided to accompany you!” I frowned.
“Thanks, but where I’m headed might be dangerous.” He laughed.
“Don’t worry, I’m used to it with Geralt.
And honestly, I can liven up our travels a bit who knows, might even inspire me.
You should know my music casts quite a spell on witchers, it’s my best song so far.” He winked at that.
I sighed, already tired.
“Can’t stop you from following me anyway.” He laughed, patting my shoulder.
“Exactly, my good friend.
Onward, to adventure!” Leaving the inn, he followed along like he’d said.
Looking around, early that morning, I saw soldiers being tended to, others gathering corpses onto a cart a pretty disgusting sight, but you get used to it eventually.
Geralt was right about that.
Arriving at the barracks, we were stopped by a guard.
“Halt.
State your business.” I showed my medallion, calm.
“I’m a witcher.
I’d like to see the steward, offer my help for a fee.” He looked surprised.
“Sorry, witcher.
Steward Gildart will surely be glad to see you, but…” He looked at Dandelion, hesitant.
“…who’s your companion?
Looks like he stepped straight out of a women’s boutique.” Dandelion, offended: “My good sir, this is an authentic bard’s outfit, and I must say I am deeply…” I cut him off, sighing.
“Consider him a friend.” The guard nodded and let us into the barracks, where several soldiers were resting, getting treated, or cleaning their weapons.
I could hear Dandelion muttering behind me, still offended at being mistaken for a woman I didn’t even try to answer him.
Arriving at an office, I found a scarred man with red hair, in knight’s armor.
Seeing me, he looked surprised; seeing Dandelion, he sighed with exhaustion, stood up, and shook my hand.
“Nice to meet you witcher.
I’m surprised you’re this young.
But as for your friend…” He looked at Dandelion, who smiled innocently.
“Dandelion, huh.
You know the mayor’s actively looking for you?
He wasn’t too thrilled about what you did with his daughter.” Dandelion coughed, embarrassed.
“Forgive me, but I merely fulfilled a young woman’s dream of discovering the joys of this poet’s vocal cords.” The man sighed.
“Forget it, I don’t have time for tales of maidens.” Then, turning to me, serious: “Witcher, are you aware of the situation?” I nodded, calm.
“What the townsfolk say about it, yes.” I kept to myself the rumors from the higher circles that Dandelion had shared with me.
Gildart crossed his arms.
“I see.
Honestly, on the surface, things still look stable but I’ll be straight with you, witcher.” He looked around, then continued, serious.
“I’m losing more and more men.
Every night, I lose at least five exhaustion, psychological strain, wounds.
But the worst part is, some of my soldiers’ bodies get taken by these dead things, and come back themselves, as more of the walking dead.
It absolutely crushes my men’s morale.
And the worst part is…” He fell silent for a moment, jaw clenched, then slammed his fist on the table, furious.
“It’s that damned sorceress.
We ask her for help, and aside from twiddling her thumbs or coming to ‘help’ while sneering at us for not being able to handle it ourselves she does nothing.
It’s infuriating.
My men are dying, and at this rate, there’ll be no one left to defend the city if this keeps up.
And our damned lord does nothing, completely smitten with her beauty.” He calmed down.
“Forgive me.
I lost my temper.” I shook my head.
Dandelion, behind me, added: “It’s fine, sometimes it feels good to let off some steam.” Gildart nodded, gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.
Once we sat down, he began his explanation.
“The first sightings go back a few months around midsummer.
At first, it was one or two dead.
We figured some grieving widow or widower must have messed with powers they shouldn’t have…” He paused, wistful, then continued.
“But once the dead started coming out of the water, we went from two to four, then eight, then sixteen not even counting, of course, our own soldiers’ dead, taken by those same corpses, or the civilians.
It’s only getting worse.
The only thing that pushes them back is fire and even then, just pushes them back, doesn’t destroy them.
All we can do is cut off their legs, their arms, then their heads.
But even that doesn’t kill them.” I nodded, asking: “Have you tried seeing what happens if one of them’s still around when the sun comes up?” He nodded.
“Turns to dust.
But the time and effort it takes to get them to that state is considerable.
It’s true things got slightly better once that blasted sorceress showed up but barely, since she doesn’t do much of anything useful.
And whenever we ask for an explanation, she answers with that haughty, sarcastic tone, like it’s all too complicated for our little ordinary human brains.” He kept talking about Philippa with the same hostility, before looking me straight in the eye.
“Help us, witcher.
Your price is my price, and my men’s.
If my lord and that sorceress keep doing nothing, I’ll hire a real professional myself.” I was about to nod and accept the contract when a sudden noise behind the door made me react, my hand already on my sword.
Dandelion, seeing my move, jumped to his feet.
The door burst open to reveal a woman with a cold face, chestnut hair falling past her shoulders, flanked by soldiers I’d never seen before.
She looked at me, surprised, then with a smile that immediately put me on edge.
Gildart stood up, furious.
“How dare you, sorceress?
This isn’t your…” She cut him off coldly.
“My apologies, Steward, but you have nothing to say to me.
I outrank you, per your lord’s own word so hold your tongue, the important people are talking.” I could see Gildart seething, but he held back at the sight of the soldiers accompanying Philippa.
She stepped toward me, that same unsettling smile on her lips.
“A witcher.
My spies warned me a Wolf School witcher had arrived in town.
I’d have bet on the famous White Wolf himself, given his reputation but it seems I’ll have to settle for you, young stranger.” Crossing her arms, a condescending, self-assured smile on her lips, she held my gaze.
“I’m Philippa Eilhart, sorceress at King Vizimir’s court also known as the Just King, according to his beloved subjects.
Anyway, what’s your name, witcher?”