The rainstorm had gone on for a day and night, but it eventually stopped. The sky was an almost translucent azure, and if someone were to look down, they would see a great crowd standing around the looming fortress beside Pontar. Four gigantic, sturdy walls that stood more than sixty-five feet tall stood on four sides of the castle, and a beautiful city slept within. The line of Odefense spread out across the east of Temeria, covering nearly a fifth of the kingdom’s land. The long shadow of the walls that oversaw Pontar was like a beast hiding in darkness, waiting for the perfect chance to pounce at its prey.
The city gates beneath the walls were the beast’s maw, devouring the crowd that was pushing through it. A group of elite soldiers in heavy armor stood sentry outside the gates. The La Valette coat-of-arms were imprinted on their chest. Countless crossbowmen stood atop the walls, glaring sternly at the people who were entering the fortress.
The witchers allowed the soldiers to check them. Letho tucked their weapons into his ring just so they could pass the check.
“Four Vipers and a Cat with his apprentice. You came from Vizima?” The young soldier looked at the group of six, especially at the pendants hanging around their necks. The soldier paused for a moment when he saw the witcher’s brown horse. The stallion was staring straight into his eyes, as if it knew what the soldier was saying. “This is unprecedented.”
He felt a chill down his spine. The soldier had seen witchers before, but those he saw were lone wolves. This was the first time he saw them moving in a group. Five witchers moving around together? I’ve never even heard of that before. They’re incredibly adept fighters on their own. Five of them is a force to be reckoned with. It’ll be fine if they don’t do anything stupid, but if they were to start something in the city… And one of them is a Cat. Everyone knows Cats are mostly madmen. If this guy somehow snaps…
I have to stop this disaster before it can even happen. The young soldier was getting goosebumps, and he said sternly, “Tell me your names, ages, and reason and duration of your visit.” The scribe behind him was holding his quill tightly, ready to take records.
This was the first time the witchers ran into a registration process of this level. It was even more of a hassle compared to when they came to Vizima, but they could understand. La Valette’s land was the last line of defense between Redania and Vizima. It was strategically crucial, and they had to be careful of enemy spies.
The witchers told the soldier about their details, though they had agreed on what to say and what not to say.
“We came from Vizima. We’re going to stay for half a month and go for some sightseeing. Then we’ll be traveling to Novigrad through the White Bridge.”
“Most of the merchants are heading to the free city,” the soldier said impatiently. “Sorry to say that under the baron’s orders, the White Bridge is closed until further notice. Nobody can pass unless they have a special permit. If you wish to cross the river, you may get a boat in Velen. It’s due west.”
“You just don’t want to let us in, do you?” Letho muttered.
The young soldier admitted, “The city is under martial law by the baron’s orders. We can’t allow any suspicious individuals into the city. You’ll have to leave.”
“What’s taking so long?” the merchant behind them complained. “If you’re not getting in, then get out! You’re wasting my time!”
Roy turned around and shot the overweight merchant a death glare. It shut him up. He then took out a white envelope with golden outlines and handed it to the soldier. “You might want to see this letter. It might change your mind.”
The soldier glanced at the envelope, but when he saw the Temerian lily on it, he froze. When he finished reading the letter, he turned his attitude around. “Forgive my ignorance, gentlemen.” The soldier forced a smile, fearing for his life. “I did not know that Mr. Velerad is your acquaintance.”
Foltest rewarded the witchers with a lot of coins as thanks for their help with Adda’s curse. Adda gave them this letter before they left. Vizima’s mayor wrote it himself, and there was his seal on it too. He gave permission to Roy and his companions to pass through every city in Temeria.
As Temeria’s senior administrator, Velerad had power. With his letter, the baron would let the witchers pass, so long as they did not toe the line and break the law.
Ed’s heart skipped a beat.
Letho noticed the look Roy was giving him, and he waved the soldier down. “Oh, sorry. Wrong person. The eyes and nose look similar to a guy we know though. Nothing else matches him. His mouth’s too big, and his eyes are too long.”
“Look closer, gentlemen,” Ed suggested. “You can visit the plaza if you’re still unsure. The culprit’s accomplices are being tortured there.”
***
The witchers went inside, where the center of La Valette’s land was. It was shielded by tall, thick marble walls, and nothing could be seen from the outside. The inside, however, was something else. Calling this place a castle was a severe understatement. To be precise, it was a gigantic family of buildings that was formed after generations of sweat and blood. It was a great place surrounding countless turrets and a main castle measuring more than sixty-five feet tall. This was an indomitable fortress. The real thing was a lot bigger than the land Roy had in mind.
A circle of tall houses made out of stones stuck to the city walls. The roofs were conical and sharp. There were no redundant decorations on the outside. Most of them were greyish-yellow, and they were stark. More importantly, their walls were incredibly sturdy. Roy wondered if they were made out of the same material as the walls.
The streets were filled with people and animals pulling heavy cargo. The ground was covered in a layer of pebbles and sand. It was filled with footprints and wheel tracks. The path was uneven, and a roofless carriage stood on the roadside. There was a well in the path’s center, and the witchers noticed animal droppings and urine sullying the path. The air itself smelled rancid.
The city buzzed with life. They could hear men’s laughter, women’s whispers, and cries of babies. There were also soldiers going around shouting at anyone who stepped out of line. La Valette’s fortress was a squalid, chaotic place. Vizima’s trade quarter was far cleaner and neater than this place, though this city was also filled with life and its own brand of vitality.
The witchers stared into the distance. There were catapults and ballistas atop the side of the wall neighboring Pontar. They needed to fend off Redania’s threat.
The group of witchers weaved through the throng and turned a few corners. The city was split into a few regions, and walls stood between each region. There was the living quarter, trade quarter, and the convent in the east, as well as the tower in the north. That was the baron’s abode.
They came to a circular plaza about fifteen minutes later. The crowd was roaring, and everyone who passed this place stopped to see what the fuss was. They whispered among themselves about what was taking place on the stone stage in the center.
Roy looked past the fountain adorned with Kreve’s statue. His eyes were set on the four stakes on the stage. His heart sank when he saw the criminal tied to the rightmost stake. It was a lady. Her clothes were in tatters, but her curves were perfect, and her ears were pointy. She was injured, but it did not cover up her beauty.
The one beside her was a woman with Mohican hair. Her skin was tanned, and her body was muscular. On her left was an ugly, middle-aged man the size of a dwarf. All of them had been whipped and tortured. They were covered in wounds, and they looked exhausted. The criminals were struggling to keep themselves conscious.
“I knew we’d seen that guy before.” Letho crossed his arms, and realization struck him. “It’s the Gwent performer from Sea Scorpion Troupe. Amos, right?”
“Yeah, it’s them.” Roy heaved a sigh. He was reminded of the ex-leader of that troupe. He was cursed, and he sacrificed himself to save his children. The criminals tied to the stakes were the other members of that troupe: Eveline the elven dancer, Kantilla the Zerrikanian blademaster, and Ferroz the Joker.
The one beside Ferroz was supposed to be Collins, the Swallower of Flames. He was nothing but a charred, cold, and grotesque corpse now. The man had been burned to death.
Roy took a deep breath. He could feel his ribs starting to hurt, and for some reason, he heard a quiet whisper. Eveline opened her eyes, and they were devoid of anything, but then they met Roy’s golden eyes despite him being in the crowd.