chsdbacks Chapter 20: Trouble Abounds Around the Female Sorcerer's Tent
Chapter 20: Trouble Abounds Around the Female Sorcerer's Tent
Kilyam pulled his dusty wolfskin cloak tighter around himself, his dark gold pupils narrowing slightly in the shadow of the hood. He had already learned that the master witcher in the camp would briefly leave the king's side at dinner time to go to the sorcerers' tent to discuss... well, probably astrological matters, he thought.
Regardless of what the divination is about, sorcerers are always very good at divination, aren't they?
As the royal advisor to Folstätter, the sorcerer's tent, though much smaller than the king's, was no less magnificent in appearance. The thick cotton fabric was not only dyed bright red but also specially outlined with beautiful patterns, and even before getting close, one could smell the rose fragrance surrounding the tent, which dispelled the sour smell in the surroundings.
How good do you think it would smell in a place with a large number of people? Giliam just experienced that smell at the Klinfeld raiders.
Following the incongruous scent, Giliam found his target effortlessly. As His Majesty Foltest's royal advisor, Triss Merigold's tent, though much smaller in size than the king's command tent, was in no way inferior in its magnificence and fortifications.
The heavy, double-layered velvet curtains were dyed a vibrant Temerian ruby red, and their edges were meticulously outlined with intricate protective runes in gold thread. Even before approaching, Kilyam could smell the rich, intoxicating scent of rose and myrrh that permeated the air. This fragrance, deliberately maintained by magic, acted like an invisible wall, forcefully dispelling the acrid stench of civilians and soldiers within ten paces.
It's likely that this noble sorceress had incredibly high standards for her quality of life during the war.
Two fully armed Temerian heavy infantrymen stood before the tent. The young soldier on the left had his feathered helmet tilted slightly toward the tent flap, and the throat guard plate with Temerian lily patterns rose and fell with his frequent swallowing.
This type of chainmail should fit the curve of the neck perfectly, but it looks somewhat cramped at this moment.
As the night breeze lifted the hem of the curtains, a wisp of warm air carrying magical energy leaked out from the gap, and the two of them involuntarily took half a step forward, as if drawn by some invisible enchanting spell.
The older guard suddenly snapped back to his senses and coughed violently to cover his lapse in composure. The clinking of his leather gauntlets against his chainmail startled an owl that had been spying on the camp in the shadows, causing it to flutter away towards the waning moon obscured by gunpowder smoke.
The young soldier's earlobes flushed an unnatural red in the flickering firelight of the brazier. He pretended to adjust the sash on his chest, trying to mask the faint hum of the crystal ball and the clinking of silverware coming from inside the tent with the rustling of the metal buckles against his scale armor.
"I heard from the servants who went to deliver supplies that the red-haired lady..." The young guard lowered his voice, his tone filled with barely suppressed excitement and curiosity, but before he could finish speaking, his companion struck him hard in the ribs with his elbow, which was covered by a steel plate.
However, his gaze drifted toward the tent and couldn't be pulled away, fixated on the graceful silhouette cast by the candlelight from inside the tent onto the thin gauze curtains. Every subtle movement of that silhouette challenged the sanity of this soldier far from home.
The exorcism sachet hanging on the tent pillar suddenly moved without any wind. A scent mixed with high-purity rose essential oil and a trace of sulfur, like a living thing, entered their nostrils, making them rub their itchy noses simultaneously. This scent was so ambiguous and full of dangerous tension that they both recalled the strong musky scent they had smelled last week when they caught the philandering baron and the queen's maid having an affair while patrolling the corridors of the Tritog Palace.
"Are you fucking insane?" the older guard gritted his teeth, forcing out the words. "That's a sorceress! If you anger her, she can turn your manhood into a toad! Put your eyes back in, stand up straight, and we'll talk later!"
Just then, Kilyam deliberately let the sole of his boot break a dry twig.
The crisp snapping sound was particularly jarring in the silent guard post. As the young guard hurriedly lowered his head, nervously fiddling with a suspicious dark stain on the carpet with the tip of his boot, Kilyam's muddy deerskin boots had already stepped onto the deep red welcoming carpet.
As he looked up, he happened to see his older companion's Adam's apple bobbing suspiciously and violently beneath the blue and gold sash. His comical attempt to appear calm was just like the new recruit in the mess hall who had been caught red-handed by the instructors the night before for stealing a drink of the officers' beer.
"Stop! Who goes there!"
"stop……"
The guard on the left suddenly coughed violently. "Cough... The esteemed Lady Merigold is—" His shout stopped abruptly when he saw those inhuman pupils, his Adam's apple bobbing as he forced a fawning smile: "Master! Should I inform her?"
The soldier's expression instantly changed, his demeanor as swift as a comedian in the Novigrad Theater. Everyone in the entire Temeria camp knew that the other Witcher Master in the tent was a favorite of His Majesty the King, practically inseparable from Foltest. If this new Witcher could put in a good word for him, perhaps tomorrow he could be transferred away from this damned front lines and promoted back to Vizimar.
"The other master is in the tent; I'll knock on the door for you."
The soldier suddenly opened the tent with excitement, but after quickly glancing around and not seeing the view he wanted, his expression visibly turned to disappointment before he spoke.
"Master Witcher, a friend of yours is looking for you."
"The Witcher? A friend?"
A sweet yet slightly displeased female voice came from deep within the tent.
"Is it the one you mentioned before? He actually stayed in this muddy mess to kill water ghosts? Although I hate to say it, Geralt, not all witchers from other schools are trustworthy, especially in this sensitive time when upheaval could happen at any moment."
The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow on the bronze floor candelabras. Triss Merigold stood before an intricate astrological instrument, and upon hearing the announcement, she looked up. Her garnet earrings swayed violently in her crimson waves of hair, reflecting a dangerous and warning gleam.
Her long, flowing red hair cascaded down her smooth back like a waterfall, and her eyes, as brilliant as lapis lazuli, perfectly framed her flawless face. The iconic beauty mark on her left cheek, reflected in her lapis lazuli eyes, seemed to be under some kind of deadly spell, always precisely drawing men's gaze to the corner of her lips, which held a half-smile.
However, now those alluring lips are covered with a touch of real frost.