Assassins (Part 3)

What can a regular traveler tell about Anchor?

It wasn't a town or a village, not. It was just a merchant outpost with a big tavern and several houses near it for the servants and workers.

Usually, it is a silent place. Sometimes people travel through here, but hardly ever it is busting with activity. Only during festivals or large purchases from the western part of Temeria. And the said purchases were for sorceresses and Gors Velen, that is close, three days on a horse cart and you are there.

Visitors at this time of the year are rare. The roads are hard to traverse as they are during northern winters, but during the first weeks of spring, it gets even worse. The bar owner didn't expect any people to come today.

He stood lazily by the table, giving glances at the mouse in the corner, that showed her nose from the hole in the wall. The cat slept near without care.

The door suddenly opened, and a man walked in. He moved seamlessly as if gliding on the floor with no sound. Owner gulped. A woman with panda eyes tried to hide her breast further inside the clothes where she fed a newborn.

"You are rather early for a stay, sir." - he said in a deep voice.

"I don't mind waiting." - came a young, calm voice. It wasn't cold, nor welcoming for further talking. Just the right intonation to keep a polite distance.

A man sitting across the woman gave her a glare and squinted at the young man when the latter removed thick rain cape.

"Can I dry it somewhere?"

The owner looked at the bundle of two swords and medallion dawdling on his neck with a perturbed expression but didn't behave improperly.

"Martha!" - he screamed. They waited. Martha was nowhere to be seen.

"Martha, get down here!" - he screamed again and footsteps exploded from above.

Alan listened. Martha wasn't alone.

"Here, here... wha all the panic, geez." - a woman in her mid-twenties with plump features showed her disheveled countenance from the second floor.

"Come. Hang this cloak near the fireplace." - he pointed at the seat near Alan. - "And be quicker, quicker!"

"Yeah... yea..." - she came over and saw the newcomer. With face turning red, the woman tried to make her hair presentable to no avail. Alan didn't even notice her.

"Do you have any news? Was there some unusual people around?"

"You are the first for days. Martha! What Are you doing there? I said to hang it! By the fireplace, Martha! Don't mind her, she is a good girl but rather slow. Hit her head in childhood. Several times." - the owner again glanced at the mouse. Cat woke up, yawned, rolled on the other side, and while looking at it closed her eyes to sleep again.

The owner sighed in irritation. He needs a new cat.

"Is it empty?" - Alan nodded at the pot.

"A bit of the porridge with pork left."

"Well, give it here, I can eat something warm."

Alan subtly looked around. A whole tavern was rather big, with several paintings of Temeria. He noticed the Foltest portrait. The man was rather handsome, with an intellectual look. He would have been even better if he didn't mess with his sister from time to time in the past.

His gaze shifted further.

"That is a palace in Wyzima. Have you been there?" - the owner noticed his gaze. Now he looked at two things periodically. At the audacious mouse and purple eyes.

"Traveled through there once on the way from Novigrad to Ellander monastery."

"Ah, a Melitelle believer?" - asked the owner with a slight smile.

"I'm a witcher." - Alan poured freezing water on the man with a calm gaze that became dragon-like. The man gulped and found something very interesting at the bottom of the cup he was drying with the rag.

He did it for the entire time Alan was sitting here.

"Your porridge." - the owner placed the plate in front of a young witcher. - "Drinks? We are famous or it."

"In a bad way, I'm sure." - snorted Alan after giving the barrel a sniff from afar. The owner just shrugged, not defending his goods. He knew himself how sour it is.

Porridge was bland. Seems like the owner lacked salt, or thought it isn't necessary at all.

Suddenly the door creaked, and Alan heard footsteps approaching from the back.

Alan didn't turn around. There was no need to do so. One man, tired from constant riding judging by the heavy footsteps. Uneven rhythm told stories about battle training or the total absence of it.

By Alan standards. For some time he found many people lacking.

"If it not a royal messenger! First a young witcher, now a messenger. Martha! Go prepare a new pot of food. Please take a seat."

The man sat at the table and placed his bag in front of him.

"Where are you heading to? Royal messengers are frequent lately. And always on horses from dawn till dusk." - owner asked. He thought the messenger will be a better talker.

"Where King's Will point out for me to go." - he said calmly and place the sword near the bag.

The owner felt sad. No one to talk to. He glanced at the corner. The mouse disappeared. The cat was licking its paws. The owner felt his mood getting better.

Alan looked at him and contemplated something serious. From the book, he knew the contents of the messages he was carrying. He knew the man that would receive them and orders the recipient would try to convey.

Also, he knew that the return messages would never reach the intended destination.

If he did, the war might not happen and Thanedd Coupe will go a different way.

But the point is, he can't know for sure and things can get worse, more desperate. It might force the Empire to pay all its attention to Thanedd. Most likely no one will get out of there alive in that case.

Emhyr is smart, he won't place all eggs in one basket. What is more, he has enough eggs to fill all he wants to the brim.

'However, Ciri never divined his death this time.'

Alan smiled slightly. Perhaps she was too busy braiding the left side of his head. Or maybe something changed already?

Messenger drank a mouthful of beer Martha brought him and grimaced. His body trembled a bit. Yeah, it is that sour.

Alan finished his porridge and stood up, placing money on the counter. He went to the messenger. The latter grew tense noticeably.

"Don't go out."

Alan looked at the door. No sound came from there. No one came.

"What do you mean?" - the man frowned.

"If you want to live, listen to me. No matter what you see or hear, don't go out. Just stay here and all will end well." - Alan said, checked the steel sword, especially how fast it is moving inside the sheathe and walked out.

The door closed behind him with a creaking noise.

He walked to the stables, untied Sparky, and hopped on it after checking every strap and belt on the bags and a saddle. He pulled the reins and moved to the south. His Net was very useful. Birds around were the best spies one can imagine.

If he is in the city first place will be won by rats, but here, in the wilderness with forests around birds are his favorites.

He wasn't in a hurry while moving on the road. It was bumpy, so it made Sparky rather restless. He enjoyed running on a clear field, not the uneven ground where he can break his legs with a single wrong step.

"Easy, boy. He is near." - Alan caressed his neck and looked forward.

There, a lone rider was approaching fast. He was like Alan in some way.

Same two swords, same posture while keeping his vigilance all the time.

Yet his hair was white.

Their vision was sharper than any human and no sun can obstruct it. They noticed each other from the very start. The old man pulled the reins and Plotva trotted over before stopping by the side.

"It's being a while, Geralt." - said Alan with an emotional voice.

"It is." - said the witcher in a husky voice. - "Fresh scar? The one from manticore in Buki?"

"Yes. You know about it?"

"Jaskier." - he stated with a shrug.

Yeah, that man is a menace to any peace-loving man. The subjects of his songs had a tendency to get in trouble.

"Also, he composed a new song about you and young elven sorceress. Welcome to the club."

"Wait... What he did again?" - Alan's eyes went wide.

'Oh Jaskier, you just wait. If Ciri hears as much as a word from that shitty creation of yours, I'll skin you alive!'

Geralt looked at Alan's sour face, full of indignant rage. His lips curled upward.

"I feel you, kid. Stay strong." - he patted his shoulder and looked ahead. - "But now we have some pests to take care of."

"Met Michele brothers earlier on the road."

Geralt looked over. What he was trying to find in amethyst eyes remained a mystery. In the end, he nodded silently, but after a moment frowned.

"It should be three with the absence of four. Why is there one more?" - he said, listening to the wind.

Alan pulled the reins and guided the horse to turn around.

"Let's go back and find out."

Two riders went for gallop from the start.