At Witt's urging, Miley decided that once the wounded felt a little better, she would lead everyone along the hidden narrow paths through the Blue Mountains to Dol Blathanna to warn Francesca.
"She'll certainly make a very good leader," Old Graz remarked after being led out of the elven ruins, looking back at Miley's retreating figure as she hurried back.
"Yes, but that won't change anything," Geralt replied.
"Oh, right... I ought to pay you..." As he spoke, Old Graz searched himself, but apart from the magic crystal and the magic box for compressing items, all he had left were a few dried herbs.
The old mage could only say awkwardly, "How about coming along to Ban Ard with me?"
Witt and Geralt exchanged a glance and voiced the decision they had made beforehand. "Geralt and I were planning to head to Ban Ard for new contracts anyway. Having a witty, humorous old mage along would certainly make the journey much better."
Geralt teased him. "Old Graz, once we're on your turf, you'd better treat us to a good drinking session!"
"Fine, we'll drink! Think I'm afraid of you? But let me make this clear: Ban Ard doesn't have anything like Winter of Winter!" Old Graz said with a delighted laugh.
"Ah, Kovir really is better. It has everything. That reminds me of the fine wine at Winter's Wind, and Doris. Witt, if you get the chance, you have to go enjoy yourself at that tavern. Doris's arms are softer than any goose-down pillow I've ever rested my head on."
Before Witt could speak, Old Graz cut in. "Hmph! You've got some nerve bringing that up! You dragged that girl into drinking with you for three days and nights. If the tavern keeper weren't a friend of mine, he'd have thrown you out long before!"
"Is everyone in Kovir that friendly?" Witt asked.
Unlike Temeria and Redania, which stood at the center of the northern political stage, the Kingdom of Kovir had the Dragon Mountains at its back. Many years ago, a former king of Kovir and Radovid III, one of Redania's earlier kings, had fought the world-shaking War of the Brothers.
The war launched jointly by the kingdoms of Redania and Kaedwen ultimately lost to the immense wealth generated by Kovir's booming mining industry. The War of the Brothers ended with Radovid III signing a peace treaty in Kovir's capital, Lan Exeter.
The treaty granted the United Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss independent and permanently neutral status, though Radovid III retained the nominal title of king of both kingdoms until his death.
"Places far from war are all that friendly," Geralt said with a smile. "I've also visited other duchies within Nilfgaard. Have you heard of Toussaint?"
Naturally, Witt knew all about the famous "fairy-tale kingdom" of Toussaint. After all, he had visited it dozens, if not hundreds, of times in his previous life.
"Of course. In the bards' songs, it's called the land of 'wine and fairy tales.'"
Old Graz nodded as well. "That may be the least exaggerated thing those maudlin poets have ever said. I went there when I was young, too. It truly is a wonderful place where you could spend your whole life."
There was a hint of nostalgia in his words, a feeling Geralt understood all too well.
"Oh, Old Graz, I've heard it's also known as the land of 'love.' What is it? Are the dreams of the young Graz buried there?" Geralt laughed without the slightest restraint.
"Hmph! I'm not like you, falling in love with everyone you meet."
"Hahaha, come on, let's go. Any later and we'll be spending another night in the forest. I don't want to sleep outside a den of hibernating snakes again!" Witt complained, pushing the two men along the path and hurrying them out of the forest.
He had not forgotten Roach, whom he had tethered behind Lowell's house. Whistling would not bring the horse to him every time.
By the time the three of them emerged from the forest, it was already afternoon. They were all rather hungry, so they decided to find something to eat at Lowell's house.
But just as they reached Lowell's house, they saw many villagers gathered around it, doing something they could not make out.
Witt hurried over and found the villagers carrying things out of Lowell's house: furniture, herbs, and the like.
A heap of farming tools, including pitchforks, hoes, and sickles, lay carelessly discarded outside. It looked as though they had originally come to settle accounts with Lowell.
"Roach! Roach!" Witt hurriedly called the horse's name, afraid the villagers had taken it away.
After several calls, Roach came running from the distance. Its reins had been cut, and it bore fresh injuries.
"What happened here?" Geralt and Old Graz had caught up as well, and Geralt stroked his horse with some distress.
"What exactly happened?"
Seeing Roach's injuries, Witt felt somewhat angry. His tone accusatory, he questioned Hayden, who stood among the crowd.
And Hayden, the village chief of White Mist Village who had once been honest and simple-hearted, willing to face a griffin for his villagers, now had eyes filled with extraordinary fury. Through gritted teeth, he said:
"The children... died because of Lowell's medicine. This morning... five children died. Five! Mine... too..." He gritted his teeth hard, trying to forget something, as though that would keep him from feeling the loss. "A traveling country doctor said Lowell's medicine wasn't just short on ingredients. He'd added one or two poisonous herbs, too."
"That goddamned bastard!" Geralt cursed when he heard this.
"My goddess, what has Lowell done!" The regret in Old Graz's eyes deepened.
"Master! Where is Lowell?! He left with you!" Hayden's eyes reddened as he demanded an answer from Witt.
Hearing Hayden's furious shout, the surrounding villagers picked up their farming tools from the ground and closed in on the three men, hatred almost spilling from their eyes.
Witt and Geralt silently realized things were going badly. They positioned themselves in front of and behind the frail old mage, shielding him between them.
"Calm down! He's already dead!" Witt shouted sternly.
"He left with you that day! Did you hide him somewhere, you mutant freak?" roared a villager holding a hoe. His hands trembled, and he still seemed afraid.
"He must have! I saw them arrive together that day! They might be in it together!" A villager with a sickle was itching to act. His hair was disheveled and his gaze unfocused, the anger in his heart on the verge of overcoming his fear.
"Kill them! Kill them! They must be in it together! Just a few days ago, I saw that white-bearded old fellow laughing and chatting with that animal Lowell!"
"Calm down!" Witt was still trying to explain.
The villager holding the pitchfork ignited the crowd's anger. With iron tools made for their livelihood, they tried to kill their enemies.
Without needing a word, Witt and Geralt reacted in unison. The instant before the pitchfork pierced Witt's chest, a powerful, irresistible wave of telekinetic force exploded through the crowd.
"Aard Sign!"
Witt's heart roared. He unleashed everything he felt without restraint: his shock, his anger at being wronged, and his guilt at not discovering it sooner. The surge of telekinetic force spread in all directions, even affecting Geralt and Old Graz behind him to some extent.
What kind of terrifying magical talent is this? Old Graz marveled inwardly. Over his life of more than a hundred years, he had met many master witchers and had gained a basic understanding of their system of Signs. Yet he had never seen a wave of telekinetic force like this. Its power surpassed even many telekinetic spells.
"Enough, Witt!" Geralt patted Witt's shoulder, bringing him out of his daze.
The surge of telekinetic force gradually subsided. Only then did Witt discover that he had already knocked down all the surrounding villagers. Old Graz and Geralt had only managed to keep their footing under the protection of Geralt's Quen Sign.