Path Ahead.
Early spring 1267. Dorian. Temeria.
A man with two swords on his back reigned a horse to the thick wooden fence. Dismounting on the frozen ground he tied it to the pole and smacked its neck lightly.
"Be good, Plotva. It might take a while. Don't let anyone touch my bags." - the witcher said in an even voice and approached the house. It was nothing remarkable. Just a stone building with a single floor, one entrance, and several small windows that are always closed.
He knew that they were boarded up with thick planks of sturdy ironwood.
How the hell an owner could use ironwood and nail it to the house was another question altogether. The one that bothered him for one second after seeing the marvel. After a second it became irrelevant.
He stepped forward with caution. Traps here can be a pain in the ass, even for him. The door was already open as if an owner expected guests.
"Well, come in, my brother in crime and line of work. And don't worry about traps. We disable them. Some unlucky fellow three days ago wanted to have something of mine. Well, he ruined my supper." - a slightly plump man with sharp eyes and an intelligent smirk walked from the inner house to the corridor. - "Come on Geralt, don't be a stranger. We are family, you are paying me after all. And as long as you have the proper amount of money we are like blood brothers."
"We are not in the same line of work, Cordringher." - grumbled the white-haired witcher and without hesitation followed the man inside a poorly lit room. A cat immediately tensed up, showing fangs at the newcomer.
"Don't scare the cat." - complained Cordringher. - "Note, I even didn't ask you to remove boots. And it took me my entire evening to remove the unlucky visitor from the floor and walls. Can you imagine, I even found several parts of him off the ceiling!"
"Fascinating occasion, Cordringer." - snorted the witcher and sat on the chair.
"Oh, don't be so down, be as if you are at home and don't forget to pay. We, people of the same craft, need to support each other."
"We are not people of the same craft." - repeated Geralt.
"As far as I see it, we are. It is just that you are of an old kind, a true anachronism, who saves people from monsters and I'm doing the same, but in a modern way. We both remove monsters and monster troubles, and we receive money for that." - Cordringher sat on the chair across the unkempt table, covered in papers of all sorts.
"Yes, but you work for other monsters because normal people who might need your help have no way to afford your services."
"Oh, Geralt, Geralt. You are so naive, anciently frank and absolutely direct, that it is almost cute. But it suits you. You see, I doubt normal people can afford your work too. The crucial thing about our craft is that we remove different monsters for the same type of people. Yes, those sons of a bitches who can pay. It is a sad truth. We live off those sons of a bitches, you and me."
"I more often than not got hired by villagers, not sons of a bitches with loads of orens and crons."
"Whatever you say, my friend. As long as you are happy and paying I will agree to every nonsense you will say with a cheerful smile. Do you see my smile? Yes, exactly that cheerful smile." - beamed Cordringher.
"Can we get down to business?"
"Before that, I'd like to know whether your request is still eligible. You see, a bird sang me disturbing news. You protege, ah, by the way, extremely fascinating young man and the one who causes my business to thrive. Oh, so what am I about, yes? You protege, Alan, also known as Uidewen, not long ago bumped off that poor sod in a street fight. Well, it's not him, Philippa Eilhart did it. Heard of her?"
"Yes. Redania, she is the counselor of Vizimir."
"I would say a stricter word. Something in line with master or slaver, but it doesn't matter. Well, she killed Rience and only after your lovely wife interfered. She didn't want Yennefer to know about what Rience knew. Especially his employer. And Philippa won't cover any nameless fucker. No, it should be someone from the top and a mage at that."
"Yennefer was there?"
"Oh my, your wife was. Saved your boy and left like the wind."
"She is not my wife." - coldly remarked Geralt.
"Yes, I forgot." - Cordringher smiled. - "She is your "dear friend". Don't ask me how I know about it. Only lazy won't know, because she is still furious with your blunder and talked about it several times. Geralt, you are one lucky shithead. Do you know how many men want to be in your place and got into her bed? What is more into her heart, too? Hell, even I don't mind if I know you won't cut me in pieces afterward. But no, she is still waiting for her "dear friend" to realize things."
"Listen, I'm here for information about Rience and his employer, not you washing my bones with nonsensical talk."
"Okay, as I said, as long as you are paying. By the way, about pay. The price is high. You see, I dug into such a pile of crown bearing shit stinking with magic and assassins, that I really need a load of money for taking the risks." - Cordringher took out his handkerchief and coughed in it several times heavily.
The cat hissed at Geralt. Geralt looked back, unimpressed.
"How much?"
"Two hundred and fifty Novigrad crons. Not one coin less."
Geralt threw a pouch on the table. The cat screamed and ran away.
"You scared the cat." - looked Cordringher with reproach and hid the pouch inside the table without counting.
"I thought a pouch full of money is the last thing your cat will be afraid of." - shrugged Geralt and followed the owner to the cellar of the house.
After an hour of long talk and information gathering, he walked out with a troubled face. Although it was still the same stone mask on the surface.
"Listen, Geralt. Alan, that boy, is already a walking target, just like you. My advice is to disappear. Go and do what no one expects. Go back to Kaer Morhen. Meanwhile, all those hunting dogs will find Ciri and take her and she will be fine."
"No."
"Ah, again that knighthood. How historically distant, how anachronistic. But it suits you very well, my friend from the previous era. But you need to listen to what I said. She will be fine."
"What are you getting at?"
"Let me tell you a story. There is a girl. She is a survivor of the Cintrian war and was in the refugee camp. Later she was adopted in Brugge by a tailor and currently working there, sewing clothes. The only thing unique about her is that she is remarkably similar to a certain portrait from a certain castle of a certain girl with pale hair and green eyes."
"No. I don't agree."
"Hais... Geralt... you are a hard customer to please. Whatever. I have other information for you. Do you know four brothers Mishele? Well, some rather generous individual paid them a hefty sum to do some unsightly things with purple-eyed young witcher. And that is not all. They have a company with them. Three more people. Want to know more?"
"How much?"
"For names? Twenty-five. Double that and I tell you where they will meet."
"Deal." - Geralt threw another pouch. The last bit of money he had. Now he didn't even have funds to buy food.
"Professor, Heimo Kantor, and Little Yaxa. All three are masters of the sword, far better than Mishele brothers who are well known for their craft."
"Where?" - asked Geralt grimly. His eyes flashed with deadly sharpness. The ones who knew him could tell that old witcher was ready to cut off some heads. And Cordringher knew Geralt well.
"Anchor. A week from now. You see how generous I am. Timing is free of charge."
Witcher turned around and disappeared in the darkness of the night.
He was in a hurry. He moved like a ghost.