The Witcher World: The Path to Domination Begins in Velen

The soldiers from Crow's Nest had formed a circle around the stable, helping Ron's men unload their horses. Hans was being supported by two soldiers, one arm draped over someone else's shoulder, his face still covered in blood, but his mouth was already agape.

Several veterans squatted in front of him. One of them patted Hans on the back of the head and cursed, "You're lucky to be alive." The tone was like an insult, but his hand never let go of Hans's shoulder.

An old soldier who ran errands for the baron overheard half of what was being said in the crowd, then turned and ran back into the castle.

In the hall, the Baron was slumped in a high-backed oak chair, holding an empty wine jug in his hand. He heard footsteps but did not look up.

"Sir," the veteran stopped at the entrance of the hall, catching his breath, "the sergeant is back. Hans has been found, and he's alive."

The Baron's finger twitched.

"And," the veteran swallowed, "the sergeant major rescued a young girl."

The baron opened his eyes, not out of awareness, but out of some kind of instinctive reaction after being stabbed.

He tried to prop himself up on the chair, but couldn't. He grabbed the armrest, pulled himself out of the chair, stumbled, stepped on the empty wine jug on the ground, kicked it away, and the jug rolled across the stone slab and hit the base of the wall.

He strode toward the door, but paused at the entrance. He looked down at his wide robe, stained with wine, and tugged at the lapel a couple of times, trying to regain the dignity befitting a lord. After a few tugs, he gave up.

Then he pushed open the door and strode into the sunlight of the courtyard.

Ciri stood in the courtyard, her right arm wrapped in a makeshift bandage, her hair disheveled, and her face covered in dust and sweat. Gretka stood beside her, one hand gripping her sleeve.

The baron stopped at the edge of the courtyard, a young girl, but not Tamara.

Ron stood a few steps away, watching the Baron's expression change from expectation to disappointment, and then from disappointment to something more complex. Then he took a deep breath and walked up to Hillary.

"Philip Strenger," he said in a hoarse voice, "the owner of the crow's nest."

Ciri looked up at him.

The baron stood for a moment before the unfamiliar girl, who was about the same age as Tamara, then turned and yelled at the cook behind him, "Clean up that empty room upstairs! Prepare some food! And some ointment, go get the ointment!"

The cook ran into the kitchen at his command. The baron turned to look at Ciri and said in a low voice, "You stay here and rest well. I'm in charge here."

Ciri didn't answer, but she nodded slightly.

Ron saw all of this, turned and walked toward the stables, not stopping as he passed the Baron.

Gretka stayed in the crow's nest for three days. She stopped clinging to Ciri's sleeve and began to wander around the castle.

In the courtyard of Crow's Nest, a tabby cat belonging to the cook sat on the edge of the well, licking its paws. Several old soldiers leaned against the stable, dividing dried meat.

Gretka ran from the stable to the kitchen, and from the kitchen to the courtyard. The cook called after her, telling her not to run too fast and fall, but she waved her hand without turning her head.

Ron was walking through the courtyard after completing his routine patrol when Gretka ran up from the well and stopped in front of him, her head held so high that her neck almost bent over.

"You're taller than my dad! So much, so much, so much taller than him!" She stood on tiptoe and stretched her arms up, her fingernails only reaching Ron's belt, and then she laughed out loud, giggling.

Ron looked down at her for a moment.

She walked to his legs, looked up at him, and blinked her eyes. "Can I sit on your shoulders? Please, please."

Ron bent down, slipped one hand under her armpit, and gently lifted Gretka up, spinning her around in the air before she landed steadily on his left shoulder.

She grabbed his hair with both hands, then switched to grabbing his ears, but then realized his ears were also unsteady, so she switched back to grabbing his hair. Ron tilted his head so her hands could reach him.

"Wow—wow—" Gretka's mouth gaped open, her eyes widened, "I see the roof! I see the chimney! There's a bird's nest! There are baby birds in the nest!"

Ron led her through the courtyard, across the stone path beside the stables, and toward the castle gate.

Several veterans looked up from beside the stable. One of them had dried meat in his mouth that fell onto his knee. A Fiona was drawing water from the well. He stopped halfway through carrying the bucket, and his lips twitched as if he was holding back something. Ron continued walking forward.

Ciri settled into an empty room upstairs, where the cook brought up three meals a day, sometimes bread and broth, sometimes oatmeal and a piece of dry cheese.

When Ciri goes downstairs, she passes the Baron's room. The door is half open, and she can see a half-finished glass of ale and an old comb on the table inside. It was the comb Anna used.

In the evening, a bonfire was lit in the courtyard.

The Baron sat by the campfire, much more sober than a few days ago. He held his wine glass and drank more slowly than usual. Ciri sat opposite him, the firelight turning her gray hair a pale gold.

The veterans of Crow's Nest sat around the campfire, mingling with several armored cavalrymen; they were initially silent.

But someone shoved the beer into the other person's hand, someone muttered "too weak," and someone retorted, "Why don't you go back to the plantation and drink your own brew?" while grumbling, but no one got up to leave.

Someone mentioned how Ron killed the werewolf in the cave. While describing it, he stood up and imitated the slashing motion, but his imitation was crooked and awkward, so the person next to him pulled him down.

Someone mentioned that Ron had hunted the petrified chicken-snake before, saying that the thing's wingspan was wider than a carriage, and that the sergeant had severed its neck with a single blow of his battle axe. Several neighs of horses came from the direction of the stable, and someone got up to add hay to the horses.

A veteran from Crow's Nest downed half a glass of liquor in one gulp. "Sergeant Major, he doesn't seem to be a local." He looked at the silent, stoic man opposite him. "So, who exactly are you guys?"

"Calradia," a Fiona said in broken Common, as he sat on the outermost edge of the campfire, bow held upright at his knees.

"How far?"

Fiona didn't answer, but simply pointed east with his thumb. "The storm brought us here from across the sea."

Ciri looked up and glanced at Ron sitting on the doorframe of the stable not far away.

"What does the sergeant major do over there?" Ciri asked.

Miko paused for a moment as he added firewood to the campfire.

"Your Highness," he said in a low voice, so low that only those around the campfire could barely hear him.

Ron's hand paused on the millstone, then he looked up at Miko, not blaming him, but enough to shut Miko up.

The Baron lowered his glass from his lips, and the old soldiers of Crow's Nest exchanged glances but said nothing.

Ciri didn't ask any further questions. Her gaze went past the campfire to the giant silently sharpening his javelin with a whetstone at the entrance of the stable.

After a while, the soldiers started laughing and talking about Ciri's catch. They were amazed that such a big wild boar had been hunted with a sword. But good swordsmanship doesn't necessarily mean you can ride a horse. Ciri put down her wine glass.

"How about it? Want to make a bet? We'll race the horses at dawn tomorrow. I'll bet on that black mare in the stable," she said, standing up and pointing to the stable.

The soldiers at Crow's Nest fell silent.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Are you scared?"

The baron stood up from the campfire: "Because that's my horse, but it's alright, I'll ride with you for a while."

He placed the empty glass on the table, his lips twitched, and a long-lost expression of renewed fighting spirit appeared on his face: "My horse is the best in Velen."

A few muffled chuckles erupted from the crowd around the campfire.