“Charlatanism, all that divination of hers,” repeated Dandelion, adjusting the pegs on his lute. “Fraudulent visions for the naive. The power of suggestion, nothing more. You were thinking about swords, so you saw swords. What else do you think you saw? A march of corpses? A terrible wave? A rock with a bizarre shape? Meaning what?”

“Something like a huge key.” The Witcher pondered. “Or a two-and-a-half heraldic cross…”

The troubadour fell into pensive mood. And then dipped his finger into his beer. And drew something on the table top.

“Similar to that?”

“Oh. Very similar.”

“Damn!” Dandelion plucked the strings, attracting the attention of the entire tavern. “And blast! Ha-ha, Geralt, my friend! How many times have you got me out of trouble? How many times have you helped me? Rendered me a favour? Without even counting them! Well, now it’s my turn. Perhaps I’ll help you recover your famed weapons.”

“Eh?”

Dandelion stood up.

“Madam Lytta Neyd, your newest conquest, unto whom I hereby return her honour as an outstanding diviner and unrivalled clairvoyant, has indicated—in her divination—a place I know. In an obvious, clear way, leaving no room for doubt. We’re going to see Ferrant. At once. He’ll have to arrange an audience for us, using his shadowy connections. And issue you with a pass to leave the city, by the official gate, in order to avoid a confrontation with those harpies from the guardhouse. We’re going on a little outing. And actually not too far from here.”

“Where to?”

“I recognised the rock in your vision. Something experts call a mogote. And local residents the ‘Gryphon.’ A distinctive point, simply a signpost leading to the home of the person who may in fact know something about your swords. The place we’re heading for bears the name Ravelin. Does that ring a bell?”

It is not only the execution and the excellence of the craft that determine the quality of a witcher’s sword. As with mysterious elven or gnomish blades, whose secret has been lost, the mysterious power of a witcher’s sword is bound to the hand and skill of the witcher wielding it. And, forsooth, owing to that magic’s mysteries it is greatly potent against the Dark Powers.

Pandolfo Forteguerra, A Treatise on Edged Weapons

I shall reveal one secret to you. About witcher swords. It’s poppycock that they have some kind of secret power. And that they are supposedly wonderful weapons. That there are no better ones. It’s all fiction, invented for the sake of appearances. I know this from a quite certain source.

Dandelion, Half a Century of Poetry

CHAPTER EIGHT

They recognised the rock called the Gryphon at once. It was visible a long way off.

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