Pyral Pratt’s expert had been unable to decipher them, demonstrating his poor expertise in so doing. The ancient runes formed an inscription. Dubhenn haern am glândeal, morc’h am fhean aiesin. My gleam penetrates the darkness, my brightness disperses the gloom.

Geralt stood up. And drew the steel sword. With a slow and measured movement. He didn’t look at Brehen. But at the blade.

“Release the woman,” he said calmly. “At once. Otherwise you’ll perish.”

Brehen’s hand twitched and a trickle of blood ran down the priestess’s neck. The priestess didn’t even groan.

“I’m in need,” hissed the Cat of Iello. “That bounty must be mine!”

“Release the woman, I said. Otherwise I’ll kill you. Not in the yard, but here, on the spot.”

Brehen hunched forward. He was breathing heavily. His eyes shone malevolently and his mouth was hideously contorted. His knuckles—tightened on the hilt—were white. He suddenly released the priestess and shoved her away. The people in the inn shuddered, as though awoken from a nightmare. There were gasps and sighs.

“Winter is coming,” Brehen said with effort. “And I, unlike some, have nowhere to lodge. Warm, cosy Kaer Morhen is not for me!”

“No,” stated Geralt. “It is not. And well you know the reason.”

“Kaer Morhen’s only for you, the good, righteous and just, is it? Fucking hypocrites. You’re just as much murderers as we are, nothing distinguishes you from us!”

“Get out,” said Geralt. “Leave this place and get on your way.”

Brehen sheathed his sword. He straightened up. As he walked through the chamber his eyes changed. His pupils filled his entire irises.

“It’s a lie to say that Vesemir passed sentence on you,” said Geralt as Brehen passed him. “Witchers don’t fight with witchers, they don’t cross swords. But if what happened in Iello occurs again, if I hear word of anything like that… Then I’ll make an exception. I’ll find you and kill you. Treat the warning seriously.”

A dull silence reigned in the inn chamber for a good few moments after Brehen had closed the door behind him. Dandelion’s sigh of relief seemed quite loud in the silence. Soon after, people began moving again. The local drunks stole out stealthily, not even finishing off the vodka. The merchants remained, although they fell silent and went pale, but they ordered their servants to leave the table, clearly with the task of urgently securing the wagons and the horses, now at risk with such shady company nearby. The priestesses bandaged the cut neck of their companion, thanked Geralt with silent bows and headed off to bed, probably to the barn, since it was doubtful that the innkeeper had offered them beds in a sleeping chamber.

Geralt bowed and gestured over to his table the fair-haired young woman thanks to whom he had recovered his swords. She took advantage of the invitation most readily, abandoning her erstwhile companion, the clerk, quite without regret, leaving him with a sour expression.