At noon, north of Vergen, upon the ancient battlefield.
The Phantom Troupe, having come to investigate, stopped before the spectral mist.
The trench-covered plain was riddled with craters left by trebuchet projectiles and magical explosions. In many places, fields of crimson grass had spread across rusted armor and the bleached bones of the dead.
"Wh, what exactly h, happened here three years ago? Urgh! Hic! Blegh!"
Angoulême leaned against a boulder and vomited again and again.
Naturally, the Golden Eagle of Temeria was not vomiting because the scene was too gruesome.
She had spent the previous night playing bridge with Zoltan, Yarpen, and Dandelion, drinking until nearly dawn before returning home. Someone who lacked all self-control and had brought such a terrible hangover upon herself deserved no sympathy.
Victor had a hangover remedy, but he decided to wait until she finished vomiting before giving it to her. He began calmly explaining the situation, allowing Angoulême to suffer a little longer so she might finally learn her lesson.
"The Second Lormark War was another invasion launched by Henselt. I don't know the exact course of the conflict, but I know how it ended.
"Sabrina Glevissig, the Kaedweni court sorceress, supervised the battle as Henselt's royal advisor. Perhaps the prolonged fighting dissatisfied her. When the two armies were still locked in combat at dusk, Sabrina unleashed a wide-ranging spell called Firestorm.
"Fireballs rained across the battlefield. Three thousand soldiers from both armies were instantly reduced to pools of blood, charred corpses, and scattered pieces of flesh amid their screams. The flames consumed Kaedwenians and Aedirnians alike.
"King Henselt seized the opportunity to fly into a rage. He accused Sabrina of using a forbidden, inhuman spell and had her executed upon the battlefield.
"According to Philippa Eilhart, Sabrina's fury before her death created this blood curse."
"But if Sabrina wanted to curse Henselt, why didn't she target the king directly?"
Still bent over the boulder, the girl continued dripping an unidentified liquid from the corner of her mouth.
The witcher covered his nose. Breathing more of the sour stench of vomit would not improve his health.
"It isn't that simple. Kings are protected by countless amulets, so a direct curse would have almost no effect upon him.
"Besides, don't you find this revenge rather ingenious? Once the blood curse is activated and the spectral mist begins spreading, Henselt's ambitions regarding Upper Aedirn become far more difficult to achieve.
"Sabrina was burned at the stake. In other words, while she cast the curse, both her hands and feet were nailed to a wheel. From a professional perspective, I must say her skill was truly extraordinary."
By the time Victor finished explaining, Angoulême had almost nothing left to vomit but stomach acid.
The boss finally handed his troupe member the hangover remedy.
The girl released a cry of salvation, snatched the potion like a starving hound, and gulped it down with heroic enthusiasm.
Victor shook his head with an amused smile and led the way into the mist. Angoulême followed with puffed cheeks, clearly displeased.
Today, they planned to follow the edge of the fog and take a detour toward the quarry in search of Triss Merigold.
Among the matters on Victor's list, Letho could be ignored for the moment. The man's message had insisted that he would handle things himself, so Victor would simply watch how events developed.
The cursed mist was not urgent either. They still had several months.
His highest priority was finding Triss Merigold.
Letho had mainly succeeded in abducting the sorceress because her performance had been abysmal. She was supposedly the Fourteenth of the Hill, yet she had allowed herself to be captured without offering any meaningful resistance.
Still, Victor acknowledged that he bore some responsibility for the situation.
That morning, he had found the drunken dwarf at the Cauldron. After satisfying the fellow's request with a cup of Mahakaman beer, the witcher learned that several days earlier, before the curse had erupted, a red-haired woman and an enormous man had fallen from the sky into a valley near the quarry.
"The big fellow clearly didn't like the redhead. After a stiff conversation and a few threats, he abandoned her and left. I was about to go help the poor girl when a troll suddenly appeared. Ugly bastard looked like something shat out after eating too many blueberries. It slung the weakened girl over its shoulder like a sack and carried her away."
The red-haired woman had worn a vest and high-heeled boots, while the large man was built like a block of granite.
Those descriptions alone were enough to confirm the information's authenticity, so the Phantom Troupe had immediately set out.
As they walked through the mist, wraiths resembling Aedirnian and Kaedweni soldiers occasionally appeared and fought one another. From time to time, even more powerful armored draugir emerged.
Their indiscriminate hatred of the living allowed Angoulême's Eagle Eye to demonstrate its full potential. She easily identified routes that would not alert them.
As they traveled, Victor taught the girl about draugir.
"So what you're saying is that I can move freely through this mist. Even if I attract a few of them, they won't be difficult to handle. Since the wraiths have materialized, a steel sword can cut them down easily. I only need to avoid being surrounded by monsters that keep returning endlessly?"
"Exactly. You must also avoid the center of the mist. A particularly troublesome high-level wraith called a draug resides there, an existence above ordinary draugir.
"Most draugs were kings or commanders while alive. They retain their charisma and authority after death, allowing them to summon and command deadly subordinates, usually draugir, wraiths, or other restless spirits.
"Considering the circumstances of this battlefield, I suspect it can also summon spectral trebuchets or crossbowmen."
"Trebuchets or crossbowmen?"
Hearing that such terrifying things existed, Angoulême pulled a face.
"I promise I won't go anywhere near the center."
They eliminated several wraiths roaming the outskirts and collected a small amount of Specter Dust. The Phantom Troupe then passed safely through the region covered by the mist.
At a crossroads marked by a wooden shrine, they turned left and entered the quarry ravine east of Vergen.
Before long, they saw the rock troll that lived there.
Ropes and wooden planks covered portions of its body. It wore a cowhide mask decorated with horns and was cooking something in a soup cauldron.
The mysterious scent of meat drifted toward them from afar.
Victor sniffed, then pushed a bottle of Ogroid Oil into Angoulême's hand.
The blade oil, blended from bear fat and moon rose petals, was effective not only against nekkers but also against trolls.
As he approached the monster, Victor observed the surroundings and instructed Angoulême.
"If fighting becomes unavoidable, watch out for the rocks it throws. They're heavy, and trolls possess astonishing accuracy.
"Beware its punches as well. They're powerful enough to dent black-steel armor.
"Attack only from the front. Its back is covered in rocklike growths, so stabbing it from behind won't accomplish much."
The witcher stopped before the soup cauldron and stared at the creature's ugly face and hard muscles.
The enormous, powerful troll tilted its head and regarded Victor with equal curiosity.
"Who you?"
"A witcher."
"Village fools send you kill me? Then kill. Be quick. No hurt much."
Victor rubbed his chin.
It seemed they were fortunate. This troll could speak and possessed reason.
He did not know what had happened, however, to make the creature sound as though it had lost all desire to live.
"First tell me where the woman you abducted is."
"Lies! Lies! Me troll! Good troll! No steal people!"
"A dwarf said he saw you carrying a human woman."
"Stupid little dwarf. Woman sick. I bring home. I help her, love her, but she run away. First wife run. Then red-haired woman. Everyone leave. Only soup stay. Troll lonely!"
Ignoring the troll's questionable use of verbs, Victor was relieved to learn that Triss had departed safely.
He casually asked, "What kind of soup are you cooking?"
"Soup! Elf and onions. Soooo good. You good man, talk to troll. Want taste?"
"No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I'm not particularly fond of onions. Where did you find the elf?"
"Stupid witcher. Elf with onions sooo good, like tomato. Elf... wife find in little ravine. Bring home, like I bring red-haired woman. But elf already dead."
Angoulême stared at the cauldron, her face turning green as nausea rose inside her.
This time, it was truly disgust rather than her hangover.
They had merely found the corpse?
In that case, there was no need to fight.
Victor waved for the girl to move aside and distance herself from both the cauldron and its smell.
"Tell me, troll. Start at the beginning. I want to know everything about the red-haired woman."
"Puh-puh. Witcher want hear, troll tell. Me and wife in little ravine, find bones, chew happy. Then bang! Far away, people fall from sky!"
"Are you lying, troll? People don't fall from the sky."
The monster pounded its chest.
"No lies. Troll speak truth. Flash and thunder. Two humans fall near boat. Big man, big like troll, and one woman. I go see."
"Was the man bald? Did he have scars on his head?"
The troll widened its eyes in confusion.
"Witcher like men too? From what me see, bald, but no see scars. Man run into little ravine. Leave red-haired woman. Very stupid.
"I go closer. Red-haired woman groan. She hurt. I come near, she no run. Her leg hurt, so bring human woman home.
"Wife angry angry. Say human woman all skin and bones. Wife shout many words, then go find food.
"Troll give red-haired woman water. Put leaves on leg. She pretty. When she sleep, me stroke her."
Why the hell were you stroking her?
Although Victor knew the troll's grasp of verbs was unreliable, he suspected that Geralt, when in a foul mood, might have drawn his sword and killed the creature after finishing the interrogation.
The troll continued its broken account.
"Red-haired woman have bandana. Smell good. Wife come back dragging elf. She roar, 'Idiot! Throw skinny girl away!'
"Wife shout, 'Give cloth to me!'
"Me say no. Cloth feel good. Me like smell.
"Wife say, 'Choose. Me or her.'
"Me think red-haired woman good, cloth smell nice. Me tell wife.
"Wife hit me with tree trunk and leave. Only elf stay."
You were fortunate she did not beat you to death.
"What happened to the red-haired woman afterward?"
"Red-haired woman sick. Red-haired woman stay. When pain go away, red-haired woman leave. Night when me sleep. Only hollow wind remain."
Philippa could use magic to track Triss, so the sorceress's bandana should be an excellent focus.
Victor continued questioning the troll.
"Do you still have the red-haired woman's bandana?"
"No. Wife take. Wife leave elf, take bandana."
"Then where did your wife go?"
"Little ravine. Wife like little ravine. Me like little ravine too. Ah... Witcher not hurt old woman, yes?"
Regarding the services the troll could provide, the alchemist had to admit that troll liver was a valuable ingredient with numerous applications.
Enhanced Ogroid Oil, Enhanced Relict Oil, and Enhanced Cursed Oil all required it. A freshly severed troll limb might even possess Void traits.
However, when Victor looked into the creature's simple, dull eyes, he had to admit that despite its questionable diet, this fellow was more likable than certain humans.
It was certainly not a monster that absolutely needed to die.
The witcher shook his head.
"As long as she doesn't attack me, I theoretically have no reason to harm your wife.
"I also need the red-haired woman's bandana. You can't keep something like that."
"Bandana, wife take. Wife good. She give you. Please tell wife come back. Lonely very bad. Only hollow wind."
"All right. I'll try to persuade your mate to return."
"Good man. Me only want her back."
After hearing the entire jealous dispute and receiving the troll's permission, Victor briefly searched its lair.
As expected, several days had already passed. Even if Triss had once left clues behind, they had vanished with the wind.
Only an astonishing and persistent stench remained.
They still needed to recover the bandana.
After rejoining Angoulême, Victor followed the troll's directions toward the smaller ravine.
The Phantom Troupe soon found the female troll without encountering any trouble.
Unlike her husband, she decorated her shoulders with goat skulls. From a distance, she looked like a devotee of some demon cult.
Once they approached and spoke with her, however, they confirmed that she was a relatively peaceful troll and could be reasoned with.
Victor asked her to return to her husband.
After a brief conversation, the female troll learned that the red-haired woman was no longer with him. She readily left Triss' bandana behind and stomped back toward the quarry.
Victor and Angoulême made no attempt to stop her from leaving.
Although the nearby elven camp contained numerous corpses, the witcher was very familiar with the sharp cuts covering them.
Letho had killed these elves. The female troll had merely collected their bodies for food.
In any case, they had obtained Triss' bandana, so today's excursion outside the city could be considered a complete success.
Following their original route, the two soon encountered the familiar soup cauldron again.
The troll couple stood beside it.
When the male troll saw Victor, he happily waved in greeting.
"Ah, witcher! Thank you. Wife come back. Very good. Troll happy."
Angoulême had already vomited far too much that day. She shook her head at her boss and refused to approach the cauldron.
Victor had no choice but to walk over alone.
The female troll spoke in a gentle voice.
"Need thank him. Witcher ask, so me come back. If he not speak, me no come."
"Wife very smart."
"You stupid and dumb. Find red-haired woman for company."
"No more. Never happen again."
The troll pounded his chest and made a solemn vow.
Victor remained unmoved by the couple's sickening display of affection. He waved farewell and prepared to leave.
The male troll called him back, however, and pulled out a smaller horn.
"Take. Me give horn. If danger, witcher blow. Me come."
Victor did not believe he would ever need to use it, but the gift represented the troll's sincere gratitude.
He smiled and accepted it.
"Thank you. I'll remember your offer. Now go and make amends with your wife. Perhaps you could begin by gathering some fresh flowers for her."
"No! No flowers. Flowers stink!" the troll corrected him earnestly. "Me give her bird droppings. She love that smell most."
The witcher blinked and walked away carrying the horn.
He decided that before adding it to his collection, he would wash it thoroughly and disinfect it repeatedly with alcohol.
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