The mercenary camp stood in a clearing on Oxenfurt's eastern outskirts, ringed by rough wooden stakes. Several tents had been pitched crookedly in the middle of the open ground.
One mercenary was crouched by the fire, using a whetstone to sharpen his blade. Another leaned against the fence, yawning. When he spotted two horses approaching along the dirt road, the yawning man nudged his companion with an elbow, stood, and walked over to the fence.
Ron glanced at the crude wooden cage in the corner. A man was locked inside, leaning against the bars with one leg crossed over the other, as though he were sitting in his own parlor.
When he saw Geralt approach, he lightly tapped the bars twice. "Are you here to rescue me, or just keep me company?"
"Quinto?" Geralt said.
"That's me." Quinto stuck a hand through the bars and waved it. "Locksmith extraordinaire, currently on vacation. If you need a lock opened, come find me after I'm out of this hellhole."
The tent flap was pulled aside, and a burly middle-aged mercenary stepped out. The edges of his breastplate had worn down enough to expose the leather lining beneath, but his weapons were polished clean.
He gave Geralt a look, then tipped his head up at Ron. "I'm Hans of Cidaris, a world-renowned mercenary, a veteran of many wars, and an honorary member of the Order of the Lily."
Then he added in a self-mocking tone, "Though my reputation has depreciated a little lately."
Geralt pointed in the direction of the notice board. "I saw the contract you posted on my way here."
Hans walked over to the campfire and kicked a stone by his feet, motioning for them to sit.
"Radovid hired us to fight the black ones. Some time ago, I heard