They walked along forest trails and even at times across rough ground. Addario knew the way, he was very knowledgeable about the area. He explained that in Cidaris lived his family, which was so large that some kind of festivity was forever being held, be it a wedding, christening, funeral or wake. In keeping with dwarven customs, failure to appear at such a gathering could only be excused with a death certificate signed by a notary, and living family members could not get out of them. Thus Addario knew the way to Cidaris and back perfectly.

“Our destination,” he explained as he walked, “is the settlement of Wiaterna, which lies in the overflow area of the Pontar. There’s a port in Wiaterna where barques and boats often moor. With a bit of luck, we’ll soon happen upon some specimen or other and embark. I must to Tretogor, so I shall disembark in Crane Tussock, while you will sail further and be in Novigrad in some three or four days. Believe me, it’s the quickest way.”

“I do. Slow down, Addario, please. I can barely keep up. Is your profession in some way connected to walking? Are you a hawker?”

“I’m a miner. In a copper mine.”

“Of course. Every dwarf is a miner. And works in the mine in Mahakam. Stands at the coalface with a pick and mines coal.”

“You’re succumbing to stereotypes. Soon you’ll be saying that every dwarf uses coarse language. And after a few stiff drinks attacks people with a battleaxe.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“My mine isn’t in Mahakam, but in Coppertown, near Tretogor. I don’t stand up or mine, but I play the horn in the colliery brass band.”

“Interesting.”

“Actually, something else is interesting here,” laughed the dwarf. “An amusing coincidence. One of our brass band’s showpieces is called The March of the Witchers. It goes like this: Tara-rara, boom, boom, umpa-umpa, rim-sim-sim, paparara-tara-rara, tara-rara, boom-boom-boom…”

“How the hell did you come up with that name? Have you ever seen a witcher marching? Where? When?”

“In truth—” Addario Bach became a little disconcerted “—it’s only a slightly reworked version of The Parade of the Strongmen. But all colliery brass bands play either The Parade of the Strongmen, The Entrance of the Athletes or The Marches of the Old Comrades. We wanted to be original. Ta-ra-ra, boom-de-ay!”

“Slow down or I’ll croak!”

* * *

It was totally deserted in the forests. And quite the opposite in the meadows and forest clearings they often happened upon. Work was in full swing there. Hay was being mowed, raked and formed into ricks and stooks. The dwarf greeted the mowers with cheerful shouts, and they responded in kind. Or didn’t.