Chapter 89: The Ins and Outs

The next morning, when Geralt emerged from the tent he had been assigned, he happened to see new recruits joining the dragon-hunting party.

One of them wore a bizarre purple-red hat, decorated with silver buckles and a long egret feather that hung down, obscuring his eyes. Geralt recognized that hat and that feather; they were famous in Buina and Ellander, known in every mansion, castle, inn, tavern, and brothel—especially in the brothels.

"Dandelion, what are you doing here?"

"Geralt!"

A pair of merry blue eyes peeked out from under the hat. "What a surprise! Is it really you? Are you here to slay the dragon, too?"

Geralt did not answer the question, but instead frowned at his fellow poet and asked, "When we parted ways in Vizima a month and a half ago, didn't you say you were going to attend the Oxenfurt Academy?"

"This place is hundreds of miles away from the academy; how did you end up here?"

The poet was about to explain when he suddenly saw Yennefer walking out of a tent. As if he immediately understood something, he first bowed to the beautiful sorceress with a gentleman's courtesy, then looked up and winked at Geralt, saying:

"Good heavens, Geralt, I know why you've appeared here."

"Have you two made up? Did you sleep together last night? Has Lady Yennefer forgiven you?"

Hearing these three questions, Yennefer glanced at Dandelion expressionlessly. With a slight lift of her finger, the poet clutched his throat and began to cough violently.

The sorceress glared at Geralt, then walked away with graceful steps, heading toward the King's tent.

Not until the sorceress's figure had departed did Dandelion's complexion begin to improve. He then walked to Geralt's side, still shaken, patted him on the shoulder, and looked at him with sympathy, saying, "Lady Yennefer is still as spirited as ever. Sorceresses are truly not something an ordinary person can handle; only you witchers can endure their love, just like Wayne."

"By the way, did our Wayne come too? Is he also in some sorceress's tent?"

Geralt looked at the unrepentant, motor-mouthed Dandelion with a pained expression.

Recalling how Yennefer had turned him into a watchdog last night and kept him in the tent for the whole evening, he knew he absolutely could not let the poet know about this, or he would certainly be mocked for a whole year, or even several years.

So he quickly changed the subject and asked, "You still haven't said why you aren't at the academy, but here in Hoopoe."

At the mention of this, Dandelion raised his head quite proudly and twirled his little mustache, saying:

"You don't know who you're talking to. I am the most talented bard and poet of this century. It took me less than a month to complete all the coursework for the first half of the year, earn my credits, and then I began my creative journey."

"A week ago, I heard the news and specifically rushed to Hoopoe. I was originally going to set off with the King to record the entire story of this dragon hunt from start to finish, weave it into a legendary poem, and have beautiful maidens sing it for me."

"But I didn't expect that the day before departure, a pretty young widow found me and asked me to help her solve a problem. When I woke up in her bed the next day, the sun was already beginning to set."

"That widow was truly too passionate, causing me to miss the time to rendezvous with the King. The young King didn't wait for me, and when I wanted to rush over myself, I was actually blocked outside the ferry bridge by that grunt, saying something about how no one is allowed to pass without a permit."

Speaking of this, Dandelion shook his head, his tone suggesting the other party was very ignorant. "What a blockhead. He almost made the greatest poet of this century miss this dragon-slaying extravaganza. Is this character the kind of troublesome brat that appears in every story?"

Listening to the poet blather on with a pile of nonsense, Geralt looked helpless, but there was nothing he could do. Dandelion was just that kind of person; his mouth was his weapon, and once he started, he simply couldn't stop.

However, Geralt didn't actually dislike this feeling. For someone as unwelcome as him, having a friend like Dandelion, who was full of enthusiasm from head to toe, felt quite nice.

"So, you are very well-informed about the ins and outs of this matter?"

"About that green dragon, and why a king is involved in this?"

Although he had been at the dragon-hunting camp for a day, Geralt hadn't obtained much intelligence from anyone. He had been sold to Yennefer by Wayne to serve as a guard, and he only knew his target was a green dragon that had been injured; he knew nothing else.

Dandelion raised an eyebrow, laughed, patted his own chest, and said:

"You don't know who you're talking to. I am a great poet and bard. As long as there is any major event in the Northern Kingdoms, I will arrive at the first opportunity."

"And every major event will become my work, accompanying my singing to carry my fame into everyone's ears."

Geralt was getting a bit fed up with Dandelion's nonsense. He patted the poet's shoulder firmly and said:

"Get to the point, stop the chatter."

Seeing that Geralt was getting impatient, Dandelion gave up the idea of playing his lute and said briefly: "The matter is simple. About a week ago, a dragon landed outside the city of Hoopoe. Its body was as big as three horses. It dove straight from the sky toward a shepherd's flock. After scaring away the shepherd, it ate four sheep, killed several more, and flew away with the carcasses of a few sheep."

"Flew away..."

Geralt nodded.

"Is that it? And then?"

"Of course not."

"The next morning it came back, this time closer to the city. It swooped down and dove at the washerwomen by the Braa River. My friend, they scattered in terror! I have never seen such a funny scene in my life. The dragon circled over the city of Hoopoe twice, then flew to a nearby pasture to attack the flock."

"What panic and chaos it caused! You must know, the day before, no one even believed the shepherd's words... The mayor began to mobilize the city's militia and guilds, but before he could organize the men, the people had already solved the matter with their own strength."

Geralt frowned. He didn't believe that ordinary people could deal with a dragon flying in the sky. "How did they solve it?"

"With a very common method. A cobbler named Kozojed came up with a trick. They slaughtered a sheep and stuffed its belly full of monkshood, belladonna, hemlock, sulfur, and the resin the cobbler used. To be safe, the local apothecary also took the liberty of adding two quarts of boiled potion, and then had the priest of the Temple of Kreve bless this offering."

"Then they tied the sheep to a stake and put it in the flock. Honestly, no one believed the dragon would choose this foul-smelling dead sheep out of a thousand, but the result exceeded everyone's expectations. The other sheep were all fine, but this one was swallowed whole, stake and all."

Dandelion was spraying saliva as he spoke, very detailed; perhaps he had seen this incident with his own eyes.

"Not long after—about the time it takes a skilled man to unlace a woman's corset—the dragon began to roar, and smoke puffed from its mouth and its rear. Next, it rolled over, tried to fly away, but fell down and stopped moving."

"Two people volunteered to run over and test if it was still breathing. One of these two was the local gravedigger, and the other was the village idiot."

"We later built them a small, but extremely beautiful tomb."

Geralt knew the green dragon was still alive, otherwise, the current dragon-hunting party wouldn't have been formed.

"So, the green dragon was playing dead?"

"Exactly."

Dandelion answered happily: "It was still alive, but too weak to swallow the gravedigger and the idiot. It only drank their blood, then flew up... although it flew very reluctantly, it still made everyone worry. Every time the dragon flapped its wings for a cubit or two, it would roar and fall, then take off again. Sometimes it could only drag its hind legs and crawl forward. The braver ones followed not far behind, not letting it out of their sight. You certainly won't guess what happened next."

"The dragon jumped into a gorge in the Great Kestrel Mountains, not far from the source of the Braa River. It has been hiding in a cave there ever since."

"A dragon's lair?"

Geralt understood why so many people had gathered here. The treasure in a dragon's lair had always been a legend everyone knew. Every adventurer, peasant, noble, and even king had heard such stories.

He nodded and said: "I understand why the soldiers had to blockade that bridge. Someone wants to monopolize the treasure, and that person is Niedamir of Caingorn."

"Exactly." The bard nodded. "The whole of Hoopoe is in an uproar because of this. They feel the dragon's treasure should belong to them, but they dare not openly oppose Niedamir. That king is a young fool, his beard has only just started to grow, but he knows how to make people fear him. Niedamir's desire for that dragon outweighs everything else; that is why he acted so quickly."

Geralt frowned upon hearing this, looked back at the ornate King's tent, and asked with some confusion:

"I don't think a king would go to such great lengths to personally slay a dragon for some illusory treasure!"

"Is there any other reason?"

Dandelion smiled smugly. As a very famous poet, he knew more about the situation than ordinary people.

"I believe that compared to treasure, he is more interested in the dragon. Because think about it, Niedamir has been coveting the Principality of Maer for a long time. After the mysterious death of the prince of the principality, only one princess of marriageable age remained. But the power-holding class of the Principality of Maer does not look favorably upon Niedamir or other suitors."

"Because they know clearly that a new ruler would certainly curtail their power, and the young princess is soft-hearted and simply unable to handle such a situation. For this reason, the ministers in the court dug up a dusty, ancient book of prophecies, which says that the crown and the princess's jade hand belong only to the one who conquers the dragon. They believe this will maintain the status quo, because in the surrounding areas, no one has seen a dragon for a long time."

"Niedamir doesn't care about any prophecy at all; he exhausted every means to try to conquer the Principality of Maer by force, but the news that a dragon had appeared in Holopole reached his ears, making him realize that this was a perfect opportunity to leave the Maer nobles with nothing to say."

"If he could return to Maer swaggering with the head of that dragon, people would welcome him like a king sent by the gods, and those nobles would no longer have any complaints."

"So, he will definitely hunt for that dragon like a cat chasing a mouse. What's more, that dragon is currently struggling even to crawl. For Niedamir, this is a god-given opportunity, destiny smiling upon him. Damn it."

After listening to Dandelion's explanation, Geralt couldn't help but frown and let out a breath; this matter really involved politics again, and it was about a struggle for the throne.

Every few years, such things always happen on the Northern Continent; nobles stir up wars for power, then leave behind dozens of peasant corpses, a group of widows and orphans, and then attract a group of monsters.

Geralt had already become numb to such things.

He beckoned to Dandelion; now that Yennefer had gone to see the king, she did not need his protection, and he prepared to take his poet friend to the tent to drink some wine.

That was the sorceress's fine wine.

However, Yennefer was never stingy with these worldly possessions; drinking a bottle or two should be fine.

And just at this moment, the king's tent was lifted from the inside, and a proud man dressed as a warrior, tall and wearing a purple velvet tunic with a short jacket trimmed with sable fur, was kicked out.

He was still shouting:

"Dragons are an endangered species; killing one will only bring us disaster. Countless examples have proven this point."

"As a king, you should understand this principle even more, rather than destroying the balance of nature for personal gain."

Looking at this man in luxurious clothing who had been kicked out by the guards, Geralt raised an eyebrow and asked Dandelion: "Who is this guy? The balance of nature—is he a follower of a druid?"

The poet friend shook his head quite mysteriously, chuckled, and said: "This is a mage, Master Dorregaray; it is precisely because of his help that I was able to come here without a pass."

(End of chapter)