“Looks like the leshen gave you quite a bit of trouble, Letho.” Roy was worried. Letho was still looking listless, even after resting up for days, obviously still affected by his wounds.

“The wounds are fine, boy. I just took too much of the potion, and it bit me in the arse. You’ll run into the same problem after you become a witcher,” Letho explained patiently. “And don’t poke your nose in Scoia’tael’s war against the dwarves ever again. We’ll leave Mount Carbon after attending the banquet tonight.”

Roy nodded. If his memories were correct, the Mahakams never fell to anyone, so Scoia’tael would fail even if Roy and Letho did nothing. Even so, the thought that an extremist group like that had been snooping around Mount Carbon and the Mahakams to plot a conspiracy didn’t sit well with Roy.

“Has Scoia’tael become Nilfgaard’s lapdog? Are they helping Emhyr var Emreis now?” Roy mumbled to himself, but he tossed the questions aside, since he couldn’t do anything about that as of yet.

Then Letho asked him another question. “You’re forgetting something there, boy. I need an explanation. How did you and your friends manage to take the leshen down? There were two spellcasters there if you include that leshen joining the mix. The dimeritium bomb I gave you should only be enough to take one down.”

“I have the childhunter’s vomit, remember?”

“The thing you hid in your dimensional pocket?”

“What dimensional pocket?” Roy averted his gaze in an attempt to hide his secret.

“I’m not stupid, boy. Your stuff keeps vanishing and reappearing without a trace. Even an idiot would know something was up.” Letho was confused. “But there’s one thing I don’t understand. How do you manage to use a dimensional pocket when you can’t even control the elements? I’ve never seen anyone with that power before, excluding the sorcerers, of course.”

Roy puffed his chest. “I knew you’d see through me eventually, so I’m going to tell you my secret, right now. Prophetic dreams aren’t my only specialty; I can even send anything I touch into my inventory space, and I can use them anytime I want.”

“You don’t have to lie, you know. Everyone has their secrets,” Letho said solemnly. “Fine, keep your secrets then, but remember who you are, and never do anything that’ll hurt the Viper School’s reputation.”

“Of course.” The truth can be the best lie sometimes.

A short while later, a dwarven servant gave them two sets of clothes for the banquet, and Letho started teaching Roy how to behave like the people in high society. He straightened Roy’s clothes out and flattened the creases on Roy’s back gently, his gaze tender.

But when Roy finally wore the striped jacket and the pair of tight, yellow leather pants, all he could feel was something gnawing at his skin, and he felt itchy all over. Damn, this is some shit fashion taste. Why’d the dwarves have to take trash as fashion?

Letho chided, “Stand still! Don’t jump around like a monkey!”

Roy stiffened, and Letho took a trip down memory lane. “I looked just like you the first time I wore those clothes. I hated them, but I came to understand one thing — our school can’t revive without the help of those in high society. The peasants and civilians see us as mutants, heretics, and barbarians. All they offer is discrimination and nonacceptance, but they fear authority. If someone at the top of the food chain shows us their support and clears our name, the people will eventually accept us.”

Roy was surprised that a veteran witcher like Letho would think that way. Asking for high society’s help? Is that why they accepted Emhyr var Emreis’ recruitment, and assassinated the emperors in the north? But it’s useless. Those guys aren’t on the same level as witchers. They’re too high up, so there’s no way they’d walk a mile in the witchers’ shoes and listen to them. Witchers are but disposable tools to them. And witchers are few and far between. As if that isn’t trouble enough, feuds always happen between different schools. If the witchers really want to end the discrimination against them, first they must end the feuds and work together. That’s the only way to grow stronger. Roy had a lot going on in his head, but he pretended to listen to Letho anyway.

“You’ll have to get used to all these formalities, whether you like them or not,” Letho advised, but then a guest came in, uninvited.

Seville the wine dealer was still as fat and as resplendent as ever, and he nodded at Letho and Roy. “Hello, Letho. Hello, Roy. We meet again. How are you doing?”

“Fine. Real fine, actually.” Roy crossed his arms, glaring at Seville coldly. “Thanks to your recommendation, we went for some great ‘sightseeing’ around Mount Carbon.”

Letho patted Roy’s shoulder, stopping his grumbling. “And what brings you back to Mount Carbon, Mr. Seville. Will you be joining the banquet tonight?”

Seville closed the door seriously. “I came to help you guys. Danger approaches.”

“Danger? Oh, you mean the leshen?” Roy snickered. “Too late for that. We killed it and the Scoia’tael members.”

“No, no, no.” Seville shook his head, pleading genuinely, “I’m talking about the banquet tonight. You have to come with me right away. My uncle is going to trip you up tonight, to say the least.”

“What?”

***

Seville pointed out the odd things that were going on around in the plaza, and when Letho and Roy looked around, they did find something weird. The patrols should have been lessened after the leshen’s death, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, more guards were patrolling the valley and standing sentry. The crossbowmen and archers were stationed at all the high vantage points, obviously defending against something.

Even the patrols around the streets had doubled, though they’d pretend to smile and salute the witcher and his disciple when they went past them. That fact made Letho think the dwarves were trying to defend against something worse than the leshen.

“Do you see? Elder Brovar set everything up to keep you guys from escaping. If you’d tried to run away, they’d have shot you without hesitation.”

“Wow. After all we did to get rid of the menace plaguing his city, this is the thanks we get? A goddamn trap?” Roy’s face fell. “Brovar’s one ungrateful bastard. I’m not going to forget what he did to us. Never.”

Letho looked calm, but his clenched fist was a sign that his fury was going to explode. On the other hand, Seville looked awkward after hearing his leader getting mocked, but he forced a smile. “I-I think he crossed the line this time too.” He observed them carefully and changed his tune. “But if we put this matter aside, he’s actually a fair leader.”

If looks could kill, Seville would have died a hundred times right then and there. He gulped.

“But he isn’t planning on breaking his promise. He has prepared your reward for killing the leshen. It’s a rare weapon, a sword called Gwyhyr. It had been crafted by the gnomes prior to their exodus. Once he gives you the sword, the request will have been completed. Since he would owe you nothing, that’d give him an excuse to execute you.”

“Ah, classic. They say force is the last resort, but it seems your kind leader reaches for it the first chance he gets. I see. So he’s planning on giving it to us, killing us, and then taking it back. Oh, that is so smart,” Roy mocked, though he thought it was a shame he had to let the weapon go.

He’d managed to read an old article by chance, and it was one that talked about Gwyhyr. It was the best sword in the world, the magnum opus of ancient gnome blacksmithing. It could cut through steel like butter, and anyone who wanted to buy it had to fork out an astronomical sum of money. Only gnomes can make that kind of weapon now. Their blacksmithing is top notch, but it’s a shame they’ve moved to Tir Tochair. It’s just what I need. If I can get it…

Seville sighed, breaking Roy’s train of thought. “You shouldn’t have killed Kaerwen, not even if it was by accident. Yes, he did collude with the leshen in the murders, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was Elder Brovar’s only son and heir.”

“Kaerwen Hoger was his illegitimate son?” Roy was reminded of the rumor Dave had told him. He’d thought it was just a joke back then.

“Yes, he was, but Elder Brovar never admitted it, because it was a shameful past. Even so, everyone in Mount Carbon knew that. It’s an open secret, actually.” Seville pinched his beard. “Haven’t you noticed that they look alike? It’s like they’re twins. Elder Brovar’s getting on in age, and he can’t really sire another child now, so of course he’d hate you. I mean, you killed his only son. We can’t stay here any longer, so come with me.”

“But where can we go?” Roy looked around at the heavy defenses. “How can we escape?”

***

The worse the crisis, the calmer they must be. Letho and Roy went back to the guest room and kept everything in Roy’s inventory space before changing into some casual clothes. Then they went to the cellar with Seville, but to their surprise, their journey went smoothly. A little too smoothly. “You did take the leshen down and help us out a lot. Nobody’s going to stop me from taking you guys to the cellar. I am a wine dealer after all.

Seville’s cellar was astonishing enough, but it was nothing compared to Mount Carbon’s. It was as vast as the ocean, and words failed them. The only light was from the candles littering the place, and all they could see was unending darkness, as well as wine barrels as far as the eye could see.

The barrel stacks were as tall as hills, and they were neatly categorized by their age and type. When Roy took a look, he noticed that the youngest wine was already at least ten years old. The aroma of alcohol and wood wafted across the air, and Roy felt tipsy just by taking a whiff of it. He felt everything around him turn into clouds, and his mind started spinning.

Letho, on the other hand, caressed the barrels, looking captivated by them, since he loved wine a lot more than Roy did.

“Guys, you can have the wine whenever you want. Let’s get out of here first.” Seville snapped them out of it and dismissed the guard before continuing down the cellar.

They came to the end of the cellar fifteen minutes later, and a black brick wall stood before them. Much to their shock, Seville climbed up the barrel beside and rummaged around, and then two dull thuds were heard. A moment later, the wall slowly retracted and revealed a dark tunnel leading to Melitele knew where.

Roy peered into the tunnel, and thanks to his high Perception, his night vision was superb. The walls were greyish-green and uneven, though there were extinguished oil lamps hanging on the wall at intervals. The ground extended downward at a gentle incline, leading into the darkness. Cobwebs and insects filled the tunnel that seemed to have been abandoned for years.

“W-what’s a tunnel like that doing here?”

“We call it Smiack. Before the fortress of Mount Carbon was erected, this tunnel was abundant with ores. The most abundant of all, actually. It was pivotal during the early years of our establishment, and its contribution was immeasurable.”

Seville gazed at the tunnel with respect, and then he sighed. “But ever since all the ores had been mined, this tunnel had been abandoned. If you walk straight ahead, you should reach Temeria by going through the Mahakams. Walk west for a few days and you’ll reach Ellander.”

Roy stared at him doubtfully. “How long has this tunnel been abandoned, old chap? Is it dangerous there?”

“Fifty years, I guess, so maybe there’s something dangerous in there,” Seville said honestly. “But if you don’t want to take the risk, you can always stay back and face Elder Brovar at the banquet tonight. Maybe he’ll change his mind?” Seville only had respect and fear whenever Brovar was mentioned.

Roy turned to Letho, looking excited to go. “What say you? Should we take the risk and face the unknown danger in the tunnel? Or should we hang back and expose Brovar tonight?”

Letho stared into the darkness, murder welling in his eyes. “Why should we attend a banquet when the host doesn’t welcome us? You ready, boy? You might have to pull your own weight this time.”

“Let’s do it.” Roy clenched his fist, and Gabriel, which was sleeping in his inventory, trembled when it felt its master’s excitement. Roy’s only regret was not having the chance to bid goodbye to his friends. “Seville, tell Reagan and the boys I said goodbye.”

“Sure. Here’s food and water.” Seville pulled out a big sack quietly. “I don’t think this much will burden Roy.”

“Hold it.” Letho turned to Seville, looking at him weirdly. “I need to know something before we go in.”

“Umm…” Seville took a few involuntary steps back when he noticed Letho’s murderous aura, as if a predator were glaring at him. “I don’t understand, Letho.”

“Do you think you can get away with it? We’re not going in without answers, so tell the truth.”

***

Seville saw them off and scratched his head as hard as he could. He felt like someone had erased something from his mind, and no matter how he tried to remember, nothing popped up. “Eh, not important. Elder Brovar’s waiting for me to get back to him.” He reset the wall and left the cellar.