New chapter is live.
Settle in, take your time, and let’s see what waits in the dark 🖤
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If someone had told Marek a month earlier that he would stay in Vergen for a long time, he would have accused them loudly of speaking nonsense.
Yet including the week he spent unconscious, he had now lived there for a full month.
In other words, he had spent three solid weeks recovering.
He was still sleeping in Angoulême’s house.
After receiving the first payment for his goods, he had considered moving out, but abandoned the idea after the girl loudly scolded him.
During his recovery, he resumed morning runs.
After breakfast each day, he jogged around the mountain city, drank a large pitcher of milk, then sparred with Angoulême.
It made excellent rehabilitation.
She had never received systematic sword training, but her wild instincts were sharp and she had extensive combat experience.
As expected of someone who had crossed half the Continent with Geralt in search of Ciri and survived repeated clashes with mercenaries, Marek could learn a great deal from fighting her.
In plainer terms, he could not beat her.
As for her past, Marek got the story out of her with a few bottles of wine on their third day together.
Of course, that also had something to do with her having no intention of hiding it.
In brief, she was the illegitimate daughter of Cintran nobility, sent to be raised by farmers.
When Nilfgaard came, she was sent to a temple.
The temple, however, was a brothel that exploited children; because she was older than most of its victims, its keepers considered her less profitable.
After years of abuse, she rose up at fifteen with the other children, burned the place down, killed the madam, and became an outlaw.
They formed a hanza of their own.
At seventeen, she was captured by Nilfgaardians and nearly executed, only for Geralt to save her from the gallows.
From then on, she followed him with absolute loyalty.
It was exactly the sort of story that made a person feel worse for hearing it.
For Angoulême, her family, her belonging, and her sense of safety were all bound to the hanza.
Of course, now it should be called the Phantom Company.
When Marek first heard the story, he felt some regret.
If the Company meant so much to her, having its first operation be the sale of virility tonics seemed somewhat undignified.
Angoulême herself did not mind.
Every day after sparring, she happily marched under the Company’s banner to deliver goods to apothecaries.
Yes, whenever she made a delivery, she introduced herself as Angoulême Radan of the Phantom Company, as if afraid anyone might miss it.
Afternoons became reading time.
Marek made reading mandatory for members of the Company and threatened expulsion.
Angoulême grumbled, but yielded.
Evenings were drinking time.
Vergen’s population was sixty percent nonhuman, and more than half of them were dwarves.
With Zoltan’s guarantee, Angoulême’s six months of local familiarity, and Marek’s generous spending, he quickly became a welcome face in the taverns.
He never drank himself drunk, however.
Every night before nine, he went home, brewed the next batch, drank hot milk, stretched for half an hour, and slept at least six hours.
The life of a wealthy man who sold virility tonics was plain and simple.
A month passed just like that.
***
Late April, night.
Angoulême’s sitting room.
“This is really for me?”
The girl’s round brown eyes widened, and her thick brows seemed to dance.
Before her lay a brand-new set of leather armor reinforced with metal plates, along with a Mahakaman steel sword.
She picked up the sword first without hesitation.
It was razor sharp, more than three feet long, and weighed less than two pounds.
The twelve-inch grip was wrapped in strips of lizard hide.
The matching scabbard was plain, without ornament, but the throat and chape were black steel.
“This sword looks amazing.”
Angoulême turned to Marek, beaming.
“Hmph.
Swords,” Zoltan interjected, “are for killing, not looking at.
You don’t judge them by first glance.
The important thing is that your blade is a refined alloy.
Contains graphite and borax…”
Angoulême glared at him and made a face.
“Shut up.
My captain would obviously get me the best.
I know that without you saying it.”
Then she hugged Marek happily, bent down to kiss Zoltan on the cheek, and carried the sword and armor back to her room to continue packing.
The next day, the Phantom Company would leave Vergen and continue toward Vizima, the capital of Temeria.
With Marek’s temperament, he naturally wanted to secure the best equipment he could from a city where goods from north and south gathered.
Compared with Angoulême, he had obtained not only a Mahakaman steel sword and custom leather armor reinforced with metal plates, but one more thing: a silver-plated sword.
That sword had its origin in a conversation before Lambert left.
“This…
this Wolf School medallion.
It’s for me?”
“Yes.
Vesemir told me to give it to you.
Said if you couldn’t become a mage, you’d want to become a witcher.
You are very attached to having extraordinary power of your own.
I have to admit, the old man judges people well.”
“But I haven’t undergone mutations.”
“If the old man says it’s fine, it’s fine.
Anyway, there aren’t many of us left in the Wolf School.
You know that.
Our whole kind is disappearing.
Even knowing that, are you willing to accept it?”
“A medallion that can detect magic and monsters.
I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
“Be careful on your own.
Don’t rely on it completely.
A medallion isn’t omnipotent.
Some hidden magic will slip past it, and so will certain higher monsters, vampires for example.
“Hey.
What are you doing?
Don’t hug me.
I’m not interested in men.”
“You know I’m grateful you came this far with me, and for everything that happened along the road.
You’re an old bastard, but you’re a good friend.
I’m sorry I can’t do anything for you yet.”
“Don’t worry.
You can thank me with a full bag of crowns.
I know you have one.”
“That simple?
Then I believe two bags of crowns can buy me one hug.”
“Stay alive.
Once my business is settled, I’ll find you in Vizima.”
“No need.
The next day, at the ferry outside Vergen, Marek let Angoulême board first and stayed on the dock to say goodbye to Zoltan.
The first step on their journey to Vizima was a boat to Flotsam, the gateway to the Pontar Valley.
Before Marek boarded, the dwarf said he wanted a word and kept him back alone.
Even before Zoltan spoke, Marek could roughly guess what he wanted to say.
Zoltan waved toward Angoulême, who was already at the railing.
His mouth was hidden beneath his thick beard.
“I don’t much like you, lad.
Since the third day after you woke up.”
Marek raised his brows and was about to speak, but Zoltan continued without giving him room.
“Reason’s simple.
You’re too calculating for your age.
I can’t see what you’re thinking, and that makes me uneasy.
“A complicated mind can protect Angoulême.
It can also get her killed before she notices.
You treat her well for now, far as I can see.
“I know why she chose you.
That’s her choice.
I won’t stop her from going with you.
But I can tell you my worry.”
He turned fully to Marek.
“Now, captain of the Phantom Company, brother of Ciri, Marek Radan of Bell Town.
Anything you want to say to me?”
In the end, distrust still lingered in Zoltan’s eyes.
Marek understood.
Vesemir had Ciri’s full guarantee and half a year of living together.
Lambert and Eskel had Vesemir and Ciri vouching for him together, plus an entire winter of companionship.
None of that worked with Zoltan.
They had been strangers.
The only proof was a Wolf School medallion.
The medallion could make Zoltan help treat him and introduce business, but it was not enough for the dwarf to feel at ease letting Angoulême leave with him.
Marek had also made a mistake.
Because of his prior fondness for Zoltan and the familiarity he felt from memory, he had not hidden his sharp edges.
To Zoltan, that made him look too complicated and too unlike a boy.
Still, faced with the dwarf’s direct challenge, Marek felt no guilt.
Time would prove him.
He turned to look at Angoulême on the deck.
She had climbed the mast as nimbly as a monkey and was staring into the distance.
“Zoltan,” Marek said quietly, “do you believe in fate?”
His voice was calm and far away.
“I don’t.
I don’t believe in fate.
But fate still waved at me and brought me a miracle.”
He lowered his gaze to the dwarf.
“I cannot explain the full reason to you.
But to me, Angoulême matters.
She was the first proof that my choices could change this world.
“I will do everything I can to protect her.”
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Want to keep going?
I hope this chapter gave you another reason to stay with the story.
There’s still plenty ahead, and things are only starting to unfold.