Published at 3rd of November 2023 2:22 am

Chapter 563: Dwarven Caravan

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“Sorceress, witchers, and children, welcome.”

The caravan’s size expanded a few times over, and one of the leaders, Yarpen, was seated in the center. “From left to right: Yannick Brass, Xavier, Moran, Paulie Dahlberg, his brother Reagan Dahlberg, and finally, Barney. He stutters a little. That witcher over there seems to know him.”

The dwarves were short and stocky, with beards thick as bushes. They were covered in thick cotton shirts, and all looked like they were made from the same mold. They had crossbows on their backs and were equipped with black battleaxes or warhammers. Anyone could confuse them with one another if they didn’t look closely.

As per usual, Roy cast Observe on them. They had far better stats than regular humans, especially in terms of combat attributes like Strength and Constitution. Their stats were only slightly lagging behind the new witchers, but they had vastly superior skills with weapons and more combat experience.

There were about thirty human soldiers in the group, though they were seated on the other side of the bonfire, refusing to come close.

Roy nodded, a smile curling his lips. “About four years ago, Reagan, Barney, and I fought a leshen in Mahakam and came out triumphant. We drank and bathed together. Reagan even taught me how to use a crossbow better.”

Roy took a small, grey notebook from his pocket. The cover read ‘A gift to Roy. From Reagan Dahlberg.’

Reagan took the notebook and caressed it. He was happy to see the notebook he came up with taken care of well. “Ya changed a lot, Roy. I was about your chin’s height back then, but now I can barely reach your waist. Barney and I have wonderin’ why you and Letho left without saying goodbye.”

Letho and Roy exchanged a look. “We’re not used to big, merry occasions.” They had no idea about Brovar’s trap, so they kept it a secret. “Went into Smiack and left.”

“I see.” Barney sounded lamenting. “The elder c-credited us f-for the leshen’s d-death. Me, Reagan, Drew, a-and Dave. W-Women love us. C-Crazy for us. Think w-we’re heroes.”

Reagan proudly explained, “We ain’t gonna raise a family and settle down at this age, so we left the mountain and met up with Paulie.”

Paulie looked just like Reagan, except he had a bushier beard and skin black as tar. “Worked for Yarpen since then. Been a good life. If yer find yourself outta a job, ya can come for us. We have enough booze to go around.” Reagan smacked Roy’s shoulder.

Coral chuckled, drying her wet hands over the open fire. The children were staring at the dwarves curiously. This was their first contact with an ancient race.

Grimm caressed his greatsword, eyeing new sparring partners.

“B-Been a while, R-Roy. W-We’re gonna d-drink till w-we drop!” Barney rubbed his hands, his cheeks red.

“Ain’t got that much booze, mate.” Paulie humphed. “It’s for the vanguard.”

Barney turned to the side angrily, facing Paulie with his rear.

“Hm, there’s six of you here.” Geralt scanned the dwarves, musing. “And there were six during the hunt for the dragon. The team’s here.”

“Not the whole team. Barney replaced Lucas.” Yarpen took a swig of the spirit and gave Barney the bottle. Barney held it happily, his annoyance gone. “Lucas got hitched and returned to Mahakam. Barney’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he works hard.”

“Dragon hunting?” Their curiosity piqued, the apprentice witchers stared at Geralt expectantly. Even the girls were curious. Dragons were legendary creatures, after all.

Yarpen smacked his pot belly, guffawing. He winked at Carl before he regaled, “We failed the hunt, Geralt, but ain’t humiliatin’ losin’ to a golden dragon. Don’t have to keep it a secret. It goes like this. Many years ago, we were in Caingorn, huntin’ for a green dragon. Female. We had with us the Crinfrid Reavers, Yennfer of Vengerberg, Dorregaray the sorcerer, and Dandelion the bard. The shoemaker’s trap of a dead sheep stuffed with poison plants worked. The dragon couldn’t even lift a claw to fight. But just when we were about to capture her, one of Geralt’s companions attacked. He turned. Grew into the size of a small mountain. Turned into a creature with scales hard as steel. Fangs and claws sharp as the strongest weapons. Aye, ’twas a golden dragon. Crushed our team easily and took its wife and child away.”

The hunt happened more than a decade ago, yet the dwarves still shuddered every time it was mentioned. Still, they might have failed the hunt and escaped with their tails between their legs, but they befriended Geralt.

Aiden muttered, “A dragon turning into a human? I remember an old folk song that talks about this. Golden dragons can turn into…”

“Anything.” Geralt nodded. “Humans included. Villentretenmerth, or Borch Three Jackdaws, taught us a painful lesson.”

Roy shot Geralt a knowing look. The White Wolf shuddered.

Roy knew very well that Borch Three Jackdaws and Geralt had a long discussion in The Pensive Dragon. In the heat of their discussion, Borch Three Jackdaws invited Geralt to bathe with his Zerrikanian bodyguards.

Zerrikanian women were not just great warriors on the battlefield. They were great warriors in… something else as well. That night, Geralt and the bodyguards shared a big bucket. Cramped as it was, the White Wolf still had an incredibly enjoyable night.

And then he had sex with Yennefer the very next morning, still full of vigor.

***

The apprentices’ eyes twinkled. They were trying to imagine the battle that took place so many years ago.

The witchers, however, looked at Roy. Roy defeated a dragon in another world. One that went by the name of Mirmulnir, and it had a terrifying ability called Dragon Shout.

Yarpen noticed the apprentices’ anticipation to fight a dragon. “Children, golden dragons are the absolute kings of dragonkind. It can kill us all fairly easily if it wants to. You still have much to learn in this line of work. Start by hunting some drowners, eh?” The dwarf roared with laughter.

The apprentices’ motivation was doused, their faces falling. Once again, they were harkened back to the unsightly days of drowner hunting. The air reeked of fish, and their minds were haunted by the growls and howls of the monsters.

“Here. It’ll jump start your head.” Yarpen tossed a bottle of liquor to Carl. Some of the alcohol spilled into the fire, spreading the scent of liquor into the air.

Carl took a little sip, but he balked at the spirit’s scorching taste. He handed the bottle to his friends. The witchers had no problem with their protégés drinking alcohol. They had gone through the Trial after all, and no alcohol was deadlier than that. As long as they kept it within reason, it was fine.

“So, Geralt, how goes yer relationship with the lady?” Reagan wiggled his eyebrow at Geralt. “Better?”

Geralt’s face stiffened up. He was getting worried about Yennefer, who stayed back at Skellige with Ciri and Eileni. His concern was about Crach, who might get ideas about seeing Yennefer again. Still, he nodded. “Yes. Quite a lot so.”

“Congratulations. Get us some drinks when the happy occasion comes.” Yarpen laughed animatedly.

“That’s all for adventure stories. Who’s that man over there?” Geralt turned his gaze to the man standing beside the carriage. That man didn’t come over with the dwarves.

“Steward of our caravan and a bailiff, Vilfrid Wenck,” the dwarf raised his voice. “In service of King Henselt, the wise king who resides in Ard Carraigh.”

Vilfrid was an even more towering man than Letho. He was about twice the dwarves’ height, and he was in simple emissary attire. The group was staring at him with interest, and he nodded stiffly. He disliked these guests, but he was vastly outnumbered to say anything about it.

Roy cocked his eyebrow, but not because of Vilfrid. He disagreed with the dwarf’s opinion on Henselt. That man was irascible and hostile toward nonhumans. During the second war, Henselt struck a deal with Nilfgaard and overtook part of northern Aedirn. He was a man of no shame or vision whatsoever. Roy also knew that this expedition led by loyal Yarpen was another trap laid out by Henselt.

***

“So you’re escorting this cargo by orders of the king?” Lambert looked at the carriage.

“Yes. Regular cargo, however. Things like dried fish, feed, tools, horse items, and miscellaneous military needs.” Yarpen heaved a sigh. “Ya know how things are with the Squirrels. All the soldiers need food and clothing. They desperately need these replenishments. As part of the kingdom of Kaedwen, we have to contribute.”

The dwarves are serving Kaedwen to topple The Squirrels, an organization led by nonhumans? That’s kind of a race traitor.

The witchers fell into silence, though they were looking around.

“Don’t give me that look, friends. Yes, I know there are dwarves among the Squirrels. They hide between bushes and kill off humans all in the name of freedom. And freedom from discrimination.” Yarpen had a look of disapproval on his face. He shook his head. “But not every dwarf is the same. We spent more than a hundred years trying to gain an understanding with humans, and many of my clansmen have set up smithies, and breweries all around the world. Even the great Cianfanelli and Vivaldi were founded by dwarves. It’s proof that we can get together, humans and nonhumans. We came to Kaedwen and swore our fealty to Kaedwen to strengthen this bond.”

Roy was reminded of another dwarf who served Hereward. One who went by the name of Dennis Cranmer. He now had a clear relationship structure of dwarves and humankind. Brovar of Mahakam was neutral, Yarpen’s team and Dennis were allies of humanity, while the Scoia’tael dwarves were on the opposite end of the spectrum. They despised humanity.

“But the bastards are trying to rile up hatred between humans and nonhumans. They kill indiscriminately, even those who’ve never treated them badly.” Yarpen shook his head and took a swig of his spirit. He loudly declared, “Their violence is going to tear down all the goodwill we’ve built. I will not allow that to happen. Never again will humans and nonhumans become enemies. That’s why we took a stand. To prove that there are still peaceful nonhumans around.”

Vilfrid had a look of approval on his face, and he nodded.

Roy sighed silently. With the Scoia’tael going around killing humans, the Northern Realms will only become more and more hostile toward nonhumans.

Silence fell upon the crowd. The only sounds left were the crackling of the flames, the belches and farts of the dwarves, and the breeze.

“Right, that’s all from me. So where are you going this time, witchers?” Yarpen asked. “The Northern Realms are shaken by your actions over the last couple of years. The Squirrels hate your guts, but humans have changed their opinion about you guys. Heard some stories too. Fifteen witchers, swinging their blades. Gleaming crescent moons of death, charging across the battlefield. Said you spat fire like dragons too.”

The dwarves looked at the witcher team and found more than twenty witchers among them. “Almost twice the number of you guys now. Not even elves or dwarves reproduce that quickly.”

Vesemir coughed. “Bit of an exaggeration, Yarpen. Nonhumans outnumber us at least a thousand to one. The expansion of our ranks will change nothing.”

“But yer excellent fighters,” praised Reagan. “Where are ya really going, though? There’s a big buncha ya.”

“We’re going south. To Ellander, where these brats can sharpen their skills and meet more people along the way.” Roy tossed a piece of charcoal into the bonfire. “It’s a ten-day journey to Lixela, and our paths won’t fork until then. Wanna travel together? Scoia’tael’s on the prowl, and it’s going to be a dangerous journey. We should have each other’s backs.”

If Roy’s memories served him right, Yarpen’s team would run into terrible danger on this journey. A few dwarves would die. One was Geralt’s old friend, and a few others would be Barney and Reagan. Roy couldn’t sit this one out. He liked these rugged, miserly, alcoholic, but loyal dwarves.

Roy had a warm, reliable air about him. And he seemed to be trustable. Yarpen was about to nod, but then he looked at Vilfrid. “Sorry, but I can’t make the shot here. If we can’t get to our destination on time, the bailiff’s gonna be in trouble.”

“See these kids? We’ve trained them. Nothing happened during our trip. I promise they can keep up with any adults. They won’t slow you down.” Serrit took over. He could guess what Roy wanted to do. He whispered, “And everyone knows we and the Squirrels are nemeses. We won’t backstab you.”

Geralt scanned the dwarves slowly. “And if you have time, you can teach the kids a bit about adventuring.”

Vicki, Renee, Oreo, Conrad, and the kids held their hands together, staring at the dwarves with anticipation. The dwarves, ever loving to teach, got a little tipsy, and they held their heads high, a smile curling their lips.

Yarpen stroked his beard and took a deep breath, then he exchanged a look with his companions. “By Mahakam, we can never leave women and children to the machinations of fate, can we? I’ll talk to the bailiff. And it’s late. You should get some rest. And dontcha glare at me, Barney. Ya can’t chat with Roy now. Get some sleep. Any chattin’ can wait until mornin’.”

Roy looked at the night sky, where the constellation of Draco hung brightly. The galaxy flowed across the skies like a silver, glimmering ribbon.

***

The night was getting darker. The carriages and oxcarts stood in a circle around the bonfire, a piece of cloth splitting the space in two. The sorceress and the girls took up tents on the left side, while the boys took up the space on the right.

The witchers spread a circle of beast-repelling feces around the campsite and slept outside the carriages, on the trees, hay, branches, and even boulders. The monster hunters only had microsleep, glancing at the caravan in the center.

Geralt was lying on a branch, his cloak blanketing him. His head pillowed on his hands. “Why’d you insist on traveling with them?”

Roy stared at the stars in the skies and glanced at Barney, who was patrolling the perimeter with a human soldier. He asked, “Would you help your friend if you knew they were about to run into danger?”

Geralt tensed up. “So you’re saying…”

“That this journey is more treacherous than you thought. Be careful. And get some sleep.” Roy sat with his legs crossed and entered the realm of mediation. Once again, he tried to cast the spell he gleaned from the ifrit Vilgefortz summoned.

***

***

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