New chapter is live.
Settle in, take your time, and let’s see what waits in the dark 🖤
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Scoia’tael free camp, in the forests near Flotsam.
On the third day after the humans were brought into camp, Toruviel finally woke.
Her mind was clear, her injury was healing well, and she could get out of bed almost immediately.
Iorveth went to her tent as soon as he heard.
“Oh, you’re here.
I heard the two bastards who hit me are in the camp.” Standing before a mirror, Toruviel carefully wiped her face with a silk cloth, avoiding the swelling on her skull.
Her anger was undisguised.
Iorveth sat heavily in one of the two chairs inside the tent and gestured for the elf caring for Toruviel to leave.
“They are my guests now.
Show them the minimum respect.”
“After they did this to me?”
“I returned the favor.
And you have no lasting damage.”
Toruviel gave a sharp laugh.
“Did I hear that correctly?
You’re defending humans.
Was I truly only unconscious for three days?
Are you still the Iorveth I know?”
“Two humans,” Iorveth said calmly.
“The woman is all muscle and no sense.
As for the boy, even apart from his status as a witcher apprentice, he comes from Bell Town east of Zerrikania.
His life has nothing to do with the hatred between us and the humans here.”
Toruviel buckled both one-handed swords at her waist.
“Bell Town east of Zerrikania?
You actually believe that?”
“Experience, speech, habits buried too deep to fake.
Those things don’t lie.
The boy is not a local monkey.
He bathes every day, for one thing.
I have lived a long time and never seen a witcher so obsessed with being clean.
Apprentice, I mean.”
Iorveth smiled at that.
Toruviel’s patience thinned.
She casually looped her necklace of golden birch beads around her throat.
“Regardless, you handed my subordinates over for him to command without asking me.
I reserve the right to hold that against you.”
Iorveth bowed his head slightly in apology.
“I understand your displeasure, lady.
But only your people could identify herbs properly.
For our wounded to recover quickly, I ask your forgiveness.”
Toruviel squeezed his forearm briefly, then walked toward the tent flap, the squirrel tail at her belt bouncing with every step.
***
What Marek regretted most about staying in a Scoia’tael camp was that he had only made Iorveth promise they would be as safe as at home, not as comfortable.
In fact, Scoia’tael living conditions were, to his eye, terrible.
Old, dim tents.
Crude tools.
Rough food taken straight from the forest.
Even ruined Kaer Morhen had been better.
Fortunately, it was summer and warmth was not a serious concern.
An alchemist’s apprentice was not a physician.
When treating wounds, Marek’s usual method was rough bandaging followed by potions.
That required many herbs and a complicated preparation process.
He could not do all of it alone.
Iorveth therefore gave him a dozen assistants, elves who knew at least a little about herbs.
On the first day, Marek won them over with his knowledge of herbs and the undeniable effect of his potions.
On the second, he shared formulas and taught preparation without reservation, earning their respect.
On the third, after he finished assigning the day’s tasks and clapped his hands to send everyone away, he had just begun studying a new formula when his tent flap lifted.
Toruviel stepped in, showing him the swelling he remembered very well and her smooth, high forehead.
Marek invited her to sit across the low table and brewed rose tea.
Her eyes were beautiful.
The tattooed brows framed dark irises that gleamed like polished jade.
With her delicate nose and thin lips, she looked like someone who would not be easy to handle.
Toruviel placed her right palm upward before her chest in an elegant salute.
“Toruviel aep Sihiel, of Dol Blathanna.”
Marek inclined his head in return.
“Marek Radan, of Bell Town east of Zerrikania.”
She lifted the cup, breathed in the fragrance, and took a slow sip.
Then she set it down and fixed those black eyes on his blue ones.
“Where is the bitch who hit me?”
Marek raised an eyebrow.
For an instant, he found his mind wandering.
Apparently, his face did nothing to disarm his enemies.
“It was a terrible misunderstanding,” he said.
“Angoulême has paid for it, and she is now Iorveth’s guest as well.
She is as free as the wind.”
Meaning: I do not know, and where she goes is none of your business.
In this age, a guest did not attack the host, and the host protected the guest.
The custom was so obvious that no one needed to state it.
At times, its moral force stood above law.
Even the most despised criminals rarely attacked a household while under guest-right.
Toruviel gave him a sidelong look and chose not to press.
“Do you know the people you have been commanding these past days are mine?”
“I know.
I’ve spoken with them about many things, including why you left Dol Blathanna to teach the elves outside it about herbs and farming.”
Her voice warmed.
“For that, I should thank you.
Their effect is hard to believe.”
Marek waved it off.
“Don’t thank me.
I only returned what belonged to its owners.
Those formulas were elven once.
You simply lost them.”
“To admit that so naturally…
you truly are not a local monkey.
The humans here would rather erase every trace of elven hands and declare all civilization their own achievement.”
Marek could not answer that.
Whatever else he was, he was human.
Toruviel seemed to notice his discomfort.
“You know what humans on this land did to the elves, don’t you?”
“I know.
Many books still record it.
Humanity has not yet advanced to the point of rewriting history completely.
The difficulty is that neither elves nor humans can easily read those events without taking sides, without prejudice or grief.”
As for Marek, he could understand and even sympathize with the elves.
In another history he knew, people had welcomed strangers from across the sea, only to see those strangers grow strong enough to take the land by steel and law while calling the slaughter civilization.
The version in this world was no kinder.
Humans had arrived through the Conjunction of the Spheres.
The elves, already living here, had accepted them, taught them magic, and helped them stand on the Continent.
Then humans had seized the land and driven elven civilization into fracture and decline.
Toruviel heard the pity in his voice and smiled bitterly.
“Whatever the reason, I thank you, Marek of Bell Town.
These potions will help greatly.
My people will suffer fewer crippled bodies because of them.”
“And those healthy elves may one day shoot my people.” Marek ignored the look on Toruviel’s face and continued evenly.
“The best choice for your people would be to lay down hatred and retreat somewhere humans do not want to go, somewhere you can recover.
“You have already lost the struggle for this land.
More resistance will only spill more blood.
Though perhaps it is already too late to say that.
Too much blood has already been spilled for either side to let go easily.”
Silence lasted a long time.
At last Toruviel spoke softly.
“Marek Radan, outsider from east of Zerrikania.
I heard something like that long ago.
I did not agree then, and I do not agree now.
“I reject every word of it.
So do not speak to me again about giving up hatred.”
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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.