Hence, it fell into decline. And finally disappeared. So its powerful neighbours, Temeria and Redania, fought over it. Emblonia, though a politically inept creation, possessed certain wealth. For it lay in the alluvial valley of the River Pontar, which for centuries had deposited silt there, carried by floods. Fen soil—an extremely fertile and agriculturally high-yield variety—was formed from the silt. Under the rule of Emblonia’s kings, the fen soil began to turn into a swampy wasteland, on which little could be grown—much less harvested. Meanwhile, Temeria and Redania were recording considerable increases in population, and agricultural production had become a matter of vital importance. Emblonia’s fen soil tempted. So, the two kingdoms, divided by the River Pontar, carved up Emblonia between themselves without further ado and struck its name from the map. The part annexed by Temeria was called Pontaria and what fell to Redania became Riverside. Hordes of settlers were brought in to work the soil. Under the gaze of able stewards and owing to judicious agriculture and drainage, the region, though small, soon became a veritable agrarian Horn of Plenty.

Disputes also quickly sprang up, becoming more heated the more abundant became the harvests yielded by the Pontarian fen soil. The treaty demarcating the border between Temeria and Redania contained clauses permitting all sorts of interpretations, and the maps appended to the treaty were useless because the cartographers botched their work. The river itself also played a part—after periods of heavy rain it would alter and move its course by two or even three miles. And so the Horn of Plenty turned into a bone of contention. The plans for dynastic marriages and alliances came to naught, and diplomatic notes, tariff wars and trade embargos began. The border conflicts grew stronger and bloodshed seemed inevitable. Then finally occurred. And continued to occur regularly.

In his wanderings in search of work, Geralt usually avoided places beset by armed clashes, because it was difficult to find a job. Having experienced regular armies, mercenaries and marauders once or twice, the farmers became convinced that werewolves, strigas, trolls under bridges and barrow wights were actually trifling problems and minor threats and that by and large hiring a witcher was a waste of money. And that there were more urgent matters like, say, rebuilding a cottage burned down by the army and buying new hens to replace the ones the soldiers had stolen and devoured. For these reasons, Geralt was unfamiliar with the lands of Emblonia—or Pontaria and Riverside, according to more recent maps. He didn’t especially have any idea which of the places named on the signpost were closer and where he ought to head from the crossroads in order to bid farewell to the wilderness as quickly as possible and greet any kind of civilisation again.