When men in green camouflage outfits with longbows on their backs galloped out of the oaks and surrounded him from all sides, Geralt first took them for Foresters, members of the notorious volunteer paramilitary unit, who called themselves the Guardians of the Forest, and whose mission was to hunt non-humans—elves and dryads in particular—and murder them in elaborate ways. It sometimes happened that people travelling through the forests were accused by the Foresters of supporting the non-humans or trading with them. They punished the former and the latter by lynching and it was difficult to prove one’s innocence. The encounter by the oaks thus promised to be extremely violent—so Geralt sighed with relief when the green-coated horsemen turned out to be law enforcers carrying out their duties. Their commander, a swarthy character with a piercing gaze, having introduced himself as a constable in the service of the bailiff of Gors Velen, bluntly and brusquely demanded that Geralt reveal his identity, and when he was given it, demanded to see his witcher’s emblem. The medallion with the snarling wolf was not only considered satisfactory proof, but aroused the evident admiration of the guardian of the law. The esteem, so it seemed, also extended to Geralt himself. The constable dismounted, asked the Witcher to do the same, and invited him for a short conversation.

“I am Frans Torquil.” The constable dropped the pretence of a brusque martinet, revealing himself to be a calm, businesslike man. “You, indeed, are the Witcher Geralt of Rivia. The same Geralt of Rivia who saved a woman and child from death in Ansegis a month ago, by killing a man-eating monster.”

Geralt pursed his lips. He had happily already forgotten about Ansegis, about the monster with the plate and the man of whose death he was guilty. He had fretted over that a long time, had finally managed to convince himself that he’d done as much as he could, that he’d saved the other two, and that the monster wouldn’t kill anyone else. Now it all came back.

Frans Torquil could not have noticed the clouds that passed over the Witcher’s brow following his words. And if he had he wasn’t bothered.

“It would appear, Witcher, that we’re patrolling these thickets for the same reasons,” he continued. “Bad things began to happen in the Tukaj Hills after the spring, very unpleasant events have occurred here. And it’s time to put an end to them. After the slaughter in Arches I advised the sorcerers from Rissberg to hire a witcher. They took it to heart, I see, although they don’t like doing as they’re told.”

The constable took off his hat and brushed needles and seeds from it. His headgear was of identical cut to Dandelion’s, only made of poorer quality felt. And instead of an egret’s feather it was decorated with a pheasant’s tail feather.