‘Let me start by saying,’ he said, ‘that the forest beekeeper is right, Geralt. It is quite probable that the druids have gone to the Slopes. It is perfectly fitting terrain for them.’

‘Is that probability–’ the Witcher’s gaze was very, very cold, ‘–sufficiently great, in your view, to prompt us to abruptly change our course and head off blindly with these folk here?’

Regis shrugged again.

‘What difference does it make? Think it over. The druids are not in Caed Dhu, so we ought to eliminate that direction of travel. Neither can a return to the Yaruga, I venture, be an option. And so all remaining directions are equally good.’

‘Really?’ The temperature of the Witcher’s voice now equalled his gaze. ‘And which of those that remain, in your view, would be most advisable? The one with the forest beekeepers? Or a quite different one? Will you–in your infinite wisdom–undertake to stipulate that?’

The vampire turned slowly towards the forest beekeeper, the forest beekeeper headman, the hamadryads and the other women.

‘What is it,’ he asked gravely, ‘you fear so much, good folk, that you seek an escort? What arouses this fear in you? Speak plainly.’

‘Oh, m’lord,’ Jan Cronin whined, and the most genuine horror appeared in his eyes. ‘I’m glad you asked… Our way goes through the Dank Wilderness! And it’s ghastly there, m’lord! There are, m’lord, brukolaks, vampyrodes, endryags, gryphoons and all kind of monstrosities! Why, barely two Sundays since, a leshy snatched my son-in-law, he only managed a rasp and that was him, dead. Do you not wonder that we’re afeared to go that way with our women and bairns? Eh?’

The vampire glanced at the Witcher and his face was very grave.

‘My boundless wisdom,’ he said, ‘suggests I stipulate that the most advisable direction is whichever is most advisable for the Witcher.’

We set off northwards, towards the Slopes, a land lying at the foot of the Amell Mountains. We set off in a great procession which contained everything: young women, forest beekeepers, fur trappers, women, children, young women, domestic livestock, household paraphernalia, and young women. And a hell of a lot of honey. Everything was sticky from the honey, even the girls.

The train moved at walking and wagon speed, but the pace of the march did not falter, for we did not stray, but marched with ease–the beekeepers knew the tracks, paths and causeways between the lakes. But that knowledge came in useful, oh, how it did, for it began to drizzle and suddenly the whole of bloody Riverdell was plunged into a fog as thick as cream. Without the beekeepers we would surely have lost our way or sunk somewhere in the mire. Neither did we have to waste time or energy organising and preparing vittles–we were fed thrice a day, amply, if simply. And were permitted to laze around for some time after each repast.