Sleeping Beauty Reloaded

Chapter 21 - One or Two Foglets in the Pontar Valley

Geralt of Rivia rode into a village on the slope above the swamps of Pontar valley and asked for the Mayor’s house. The farmer’s family was about to have lunch and the Mayor stepped out to talk things over with the witcher on the front porch and have his wife and daughters set the table. Yes, he had been notified of foglet activities in the swamps. But there was little he could do about it other than warn his citizens and schedule the winter preparation activities well. That had avoided the loss of life in the past year, but it was a hassle. He invited the witcher to stable his horse and donkey and have lunch with his family. Afterwards, he would make a round and asked if his neighbors were willing to chip in as well. He insisted that the witcher accompanied him.

The neighbors spend the several hours talking and gathering the purse. Geralt’s feet hurt from standing around, but the Mayor would not let him off. Not trusting him with the maidens, probably. Damn. Whoever wrote such rumors into books deserved a painful death. He was neither a man nor an animal on two legs who preyed on virgins. His romantic success was based on mutual respect, cleanliness, fitness and stamina – combine that with the suppressed female frustration in a society shaped by men. The guys had no reason to complain or get weary.

By the time the mayor had made sure he could gather the fee for the contract and the witcher could start working, it was late afternoon. The witcher warned the major’s sons to stay away from Roach and asked them to get another bucket of water for later, asked the major’s wife for a piece of bread and cheese, pocketed that, then got his swords, necrophage oil, checked the potions of swallow and thunder bolt in the holster on his thigh and moved into a forward position within the swamps.

The main road meandered to the fording near Vergen. The farmers on the slope were still better off than the peat cutters who worked and lived in the swamp itself. The witcher tried to locate the position where he had seen the eerie lights move last night. He found an ancient rest stone shadowed by an old willow. Behind that tree in the bushes, crows had gathered. He tracked down the carcass of a donkey. Further down in the swamp was the skeleton of what had once been a merchant. The meat was gone, the purse and valuables remained for his pick up. The merchant had not been murdered in a robbery. The footprints showed at least two individuals had fed here. He would take them out, take both trophies, knowing the mayor could just pay for one.

The witcher knelt among the bushes, anointing his sword with necrophage oil, rested it on his thighs and waited for the foglets to reappear. Maybe the peat cutters would pay for the second trophy , and then he just had to spend some time meditating in the swamp but he would not drink another potion and clean the poison oil out of every rune on his sword just once.

The rising fog would block a human’s sight and grant foglets strength and stealth, but that did not work on witchers. Especially not on one who had taken a potion to enhance his speed. They noticed him, teamed up and yet they were in for a surprise. He was quick on his feet, his quen sign protected him from slashing razor sharp claws and any attempts to rematerialize in his back. The two foglets did not even try to run or vanish. The witcher’s poisoned blade cut the first down and soon the other. He waited to see if there was any more trouble around.

Then he took the left ears for trophy and wrapped them in the waxed cloth of the cheese before he pocketed them. The witcher went back up into the village, ate while walking. Knocking at the door of the farm house, the major opened immediately and the witcher cashed in the first foglet’s ear. It was so late that Mayor postponed his party on the next day, but he had made him very happy. The witcher just asked for a lantern, saw to his horse and wiped the mud off his boots before he climbed up on the hay loft for a good night’s sleep. Two meters below Roach was munching peacefully, moving about once in a while.

Velita’s scent was still on the blanket. In his mind, her scent was intermeshed with the feeling of warmth, candle light and the aroma of onions, parsley and fond memories on fresh hay and clean sheets. He put the blanket around his shoulders while he cleaned his sword in the light of the lantern until the blade was restored to shiny silver. Then he pushed the sword into the tall bundle and extinguished the candle. He just had to close his eyes to see her move with him in the warm light of the candles.

Memoirs of passing, fleeting comforts were the perfect antidote to get a rid of the stench of corpses and the view of skeletons that was a big part of his business life.