The Witch in the Swamp

Several days later, early morning, the manor courtyard.

Erwin spread the note sent by an informant across the table before Ron. It contained only a few lines of scrawled writing.

A witch had appeared in the forest near Midcopse. Blonde, short, living alone in seclusion. She occasionally treated people's illnesses, and the villagers both needed and feared her.

"A witch hiding in a place like Velen is either a fraud or someone who truly knows magic. Midcopse is one of our trading partners. If it's the former, she's cheating the villagers out of their grain.

"If it's the latter, she's very likely a member of the Lodge of Sorceresses. Both the North and South are hunting them. Anyone who managed to survive and hide in Velen won't be a nobody."

Erwin turned the note over and checked the back, confirming there was nothing more. Then he set it down on the table and adjusted his glasses.

He continued in the tone of an academic report, his fingers unconsciously tapping the edge of his writing board.

"The Lodge of Sorceresses is composed of sorceresses at the pinnacle of magical attainment. Their original purpose was to free mages from the control of kings. In other words, they didn't want to be anyone's political tools.

"They swore loyalty only to the Lodge, and that alone was enough for every Northern king to see them as thorns in his side. But the real reason they are wanted by both the North and the South is more complicated."

"The Lodge tried to cultivate its own political power. They interfered in succession disputes and assassinations targeting kings. They took part in infiltrating Redania and even succeeded in controlling Redania for a time.

"After Radovid reclaimed power, he declared the Lodge an illegal organization and launched a massive purge against mages. Any mage caught was sent straight to the stake. As for Nilfgaard, Emhyr could not tolerate any magical force beyond imperial control within his sphere of influence."

"So, beginning two years ago, members of the Lodge scattered and hid in remote places. Some went to Kovir.

"Some chose free cities like Novigrad. Others chose to hide in overlooked swamplands like Velen."

Erwin tapped the note with a finger. "If this witch truly is a member of the Lodge, then she has been here for quite some time. The nearby villagers know she exists.

"She isn't afraid to use her abilities. That means either she has great confidence in her methods of concealment, or she has no better option."

"Whether she is friend or foe, she could affect the safety of our intelligence network and trade routes."

Ron folded the note and set it on the table. "I'll take a squad and have a look."

That afternoon, Ron selected ten men from the standing army and set out lightly equipped for Midcopse, with a Fian Champion serving as their scout.

The ten regulars wore full breastplates, chainmail, and gorgets, armed with spears and kite shields. Fiona carried a woodland longbow across her back and walked at the very front of the group.

Ron wore his own suit of full plate, with his greatsword hanging at his horse's side. They were dealing with a sorceress of unknown identity.

Armor inlaid with Dimeritium offered effective protection, and Velen's swamps had never been safe territory. The Nilfgaardian scouts who had appeared to the southeast last time had already proven that.

The party traveled for most of the morning before the forest of Midcopse emerged faintly through the mist.

Fiona crouched behind roadside brush and gestured toward the treeline. There was a clearing in the woods. Ron ordered the ten regulars to spread out around the forest's perimeter and keep watch, while he took only Fiona down the last stretch of path.

A faint floral fragrance began to drift through the air, utterly out of place amid the stench of decay from the surrounding swamp. After they went a little farther, a residence hidden in the forest clearing came into view.

Once inside, they discovered that this was indeed no crude woodland cabin. The furnishings in the front hall were excessively refined. Cushions embroidered with gold thread rested on carved wooden chairs, and an exquisite tea set sat upon a low table.

Incense hung in the air, its scent warm and moist. Steam billowed from a half-open door in the corner, accompanied by the soft sound of water. Someone was taking a bath.

Before Ron could speak, a woman's voice came from the bathroom, lazy and edged with casual amusement.

"So, the new sergeant major finally remembered that a sorceress lives in these woods? Let me guess. You're not here for medicine, and you're not here to be treated.

"Your footsteps are too heavy. Even my wards are trembling. And your timing is perfect—the tea has gone cold, and I was getting bored alone."

The sound of water stopped. A slender hand pushed open the bathroom door, and Keira Metz stepped out, drying her arms with a towel as she walked.

She was petite, her wet blonde hair clinging to her shoulders. She wore a sheer robe with a deeply plunging neckline.

A silver ankh amulet set with zircon hung around her neck. She walked over to a cushioned chair and sat down, crossing her legs and lifting her teacup before finally raising her eyes to study Ron for the first time.

Her gaze swept over him from head to toe: the iron-gray full plate with its dull sheen, the unadorned greatsword in his hand, its lines as hard and rigid as a sword-shaped slab of iron. The corner of her mouth curled upward.

"That outfit makes you look exactly like a mercenary who barely escaped alive from the Northern front. I heard you've been doing quite well at Crow's Nest.

"What, after Temeria fell, was this all that was left to serve as officers? What was your mercenary company called again? Calrad?"

Ron ignored her provocation.

"I didn't come here to listen to a sorceress wanted by both Radovid and Nilfgaard pass judgment on my equipment."

Keira's smile vanished for an instant.

"You're hiding here not because you admire Velen's swamps so much, but because you have no other choice."

She set down her teacup and straightened up. Much of her languid posture disappeared, replaced by a sharp, appraising look.

"Since you know so much, then you should also know that I can take a research journal valuable enough and go directly to Radovid in exchange for a pardon. It's a risky deal, but with my abilities, I might not die."

She crossed her legs again, a lazy smile returning to her lips. "So, Sergeant Major, give me a reason. A reason better than a pardon."

"You're hesitating. After Radovid has used you, he'll bind you to a stake alongside the other mages. You know better than anyone that it's a bargain that ends in death."

Ron's voice was calm, as if he were simply stating an indisputable fact.

"Calrad Manor has stone walls, towers, crossbowmen, and an army. Protection is more reliable than a pardon."

Keira did not answer. She lifted her teacup and took a sip, using the rim to hide her expression while she considered his words.

"That does sound lovely. Sturdy walls, military protection, no need to worry about being sent to the stake. And then? What would it cost?

"What would I have to do for you? Enchant weapons for your soldiers day and night like some army craftsman? Or brew those tedious potions for you? I have no interest in becoming anyone's vassal."

She raised her head, her gaze fastening directly onto Ron's face. "If you think a safe house is enough to buy a sorceress, then you have probably underestimated a sorceress's worth."