His looks were plain, his bearing gentle, his clothes well-tailored and proper. He seemed like an ordinary young nobleman, and if not for the four scars across his face, it would have been hard to imagine he was the famous Dovahkiin of Skellige.
Her beauty was dazzling, her clothes bright and elegant, the jewels on her body glittering brilliantly. In truth, setting aside all preconceptions, she looked dignified and graceful, truly worthy of the title Jewel of the Court at Tretogor.
As a side note, her political enemies had changed the last word of that title from "Jewel" to "Spider."
Stopping at a polite social distance, the sorceress extended her hand to him.
"Dovahkiin greets you, Lady Eilhart." Victor bowed, lifted her hand, and gave it a perfectly proper kiss. When he looked up, he clearly saw the satisfied smile at the corner of the sorceress's lips.
"You may call me Philippa." She gestured for the young man to come over to the soft sofa. "Come, sit. Let's start with a glass of red wine."
Cynthia, of her own accord, walked to the wine cabinet. "Milady, Est Est?"
Philippa glanced at Victor, a faint smile playing on her lips. "No. Bring out this year's new Côte-de-Blessure. I'd like to hear Mr. Dragonborn's opinion of this vintage."
Victor raised an eyebrow. "Just call me Victor."
Taking the wine Cynthia handed him and setting it on the table, he held the glass by the stem. He applied force with his wrist in one direction, then slowly rotated the goblet around a single point, sending the wine into a beautiful whirlpool in the bowl.
After letting it breathe for a few seconds, he held the stem between thumb, forefinger, and middle finger, clinked glasses with the sorceress, and under her appreciative gaze, inhaled the aroma before taking a small sip.
He set the glass down. "A good year, but still a little young. A few more years of aging would probably improve it."
The smile on Philippa's lips deepened. "A wise judgment. I agree."
With a wave of her hand, a mage's apprentice brought over an ivory chessboard and a set of pieces. "Play a game with me." Her tone was gentle, but that did not change the nature of turning a question into a statement, it was an order.
Not that the young man had any intention of objecting.
The board was divided into black and white, sixty-four squares in all, with sixteen pieces to a side, corresponding to the feudal classes of the witcher world, king, bishop, knight, and so on.
The sorceress closed her hand around a black king and a white king, magical light flickering around her fingers. "Choose one."
Magic really did let people do whatever they pleased. Unfortunately, he had no talent for it.
Once the choice was made, Victor took black and Philippa white. The sandglass timer was set to three minutes, and each move flipped it over.
As someone who liked thinking and planning, the young man was naturally no weak player, and the sorceress needed no explanation, she was thoroughly versed in power and intrigue.
Both opened quickly, and before long the war had entered a blazing phase.
She used her knight to capture his queen and flipped the sandglass.
As it became Victor's turn to think, Philippa suddenly asked, "Why do you think chess is arranged this way? The king is the most important piece, yet he moves so slowly. And the queen is so powerful, yet she can still be sacrificed?"
Victor blinked, sensing the subtle mood in the air.
After pausing for about a minute, he answered, "I'm not sure about the king, but I have heard an explanation for the queen. Because she represents reinforcements from a third power brought through a political marriage, she has the greatest mobility and power."
Philippa nodded in approval. "A pity about your queen. If she had been a sorceress, she wouldn't have been defeated by a knight." She said it lightly, as if it were nothing more than an idle joke.
This time his pause was shorter. He understood the answer quickly enough.
With a sigh, Victor pushed a pawn forward and flipped the sandglass. "No king marries a sorceress. And no kingdom would allow a sorceress to sit on the throne. Old traditions are foolish, but they are traditions all the same."
"What about Skellige?"
"I thought people on the Continent looked down on islanders. Besides, women and sorceresses are hardly the same thing. The difference in lifespan alone is enormous. Enduring a few decades and enduring a few centuries are two completely different matters.
"Lady Philippa, I come from east of Zerrikania, and I'll return there in the future, so if I've said anything wrong, please forgive me."
She chuckled softly. After that, neither of them spoke again.
…
The game ended with the young man losing to the sorceress.
Letting the piece fall from her fingers, Philippa raised her glass. "Without realizing it, I've taken up quite a bit of your time. There was nothing especially important, I only heard that Dragonborn would be performing for the king, and I couldn't resist meeting you first and having a talk with you. It's hard to imagine that after building such a grand reputation, you're still willing to perform for Radovid."
Victor leaned back slightly, hands folded over his stomach. "Since I could perform for King Foltest, naturally I wouldn't refuse His Majesty Radovid. In fact, I believe you've already investigated this, I originally intended to keep my identity secret for as long as possible. I only revealed it because I had no choice. So being Dragonborn or not is no burden to me."
Philippa leaned forward slightly, interest plain on her face. "Oh? In that case, suppose you really are Dovahkiin. Then would that make you a prophet as well?"
Are sorceresses all so good at this move, burying a man under a mountain? And Philippa's presence clearly had more force behind it than Keira's.
The color was rich, the scenery magnificent, enough to make a man think that if he found the mountain lovely, then the mountain might well find him agreeable too.
Victor kept his expression unchanged. "Not really a prophet. I can only occasionally see broken fragments, it's difficult to make a complete prophecy from them."
"Then have you had any prophecies lately? Ah, your reaction says yes. Could you share one with me?" Philippa's smile was warm and bright.
"Honestly, I hate the way sorceresses read people."
"Don't be so stingy. Your thoughts are difficult to grasp. It's only that when I mentioned prophecy, your mind clearly wavered." As she spoke, her slender finger traced lightly through the air, her mature charm fully on display.
Rubbing his nose, Victor wore an indifferent look. "When Whoreson dies, Temeria burns, and the White Wolf awakens, the Elder Blood will return."
He did not care whether the sorceress heard it. It was originally something he had made up back at Kaer Morhen. Now he had simply arranged and disguised it a little, then brought it out to bluff people with. What he had not expected was that mere association would still be noticed by a sorceress. Clearly, there was still plenty of room for improvement in his self-control.
After hearing what Victor said, Philippa only thought for a moment before arriving at a rough interpretation. It was so plain and direct it was almost laughable. Though so many prophecies were born every year, this one counted as one of the particularly badly made ones.
Three preconditions, none of them linked to one another, with wildly different levels of difficulty, it was obviously something cobbled together by force. It did not even rhyme.
So she smiled, rose, and politely saw him out.
Only after Victor had gone some distance away did Cynthia quietly come over to Philippa's side. "Was what he said true? Should we...?"
"No need. I can't read his real thoughts, and there's no reason to make an enemy of him. He's already made his position clear, he wants to stay off the board. The islanders value him highly, and his influence is strong. Even if we wanted to remove him, we couldn't do it openly."
…
Dandelion liked courting women. In principle, as long as they were female, that was enough. But "Philippa Eilhart", merely imagining himself trying to woo her was enough to send a chill down the bard's spine and make his knees tremble.
, The Odyssey, Sapience Ignis
…
Playing chess with the sorceress had cost quite a bit of time. Without realizing it, the sun had already set. Following the servant's lead, the young man went to where Radovid V was waiting.
Thinking back on what had just happened, Victor reflected a little. Next time, he really should be more tactful. After all, if he ever flipped the table on Philippa, then the only option would be to bring out the dimeritium bomb and run for his life, and avoid setting foot in Redania for the next several years.
No, actually... he would probably have to hide out in Skellige. Redania was wealthy, after all. Hiring a few dozen thugs to assassinate someone would be easy, and the quality would definitely far exceed the men once kept by that provincial Count Falwick of Moën.
There seemed to have been quite a few witchers in the past who had offended nobles and then somehow wound up hunted to death, a life not even worth five hundred crowns.
If he really did end up putting on a bombing spectacle in the royal palace, a conservative estimate said this fine head of his would start at no less than one thousand crowns.
…
Monck Hall in the Redanian royal palace held a status similar to the White Hall in Temeria, both commemorated mages who had made outstanding contributions to the royal house throughout history.
Having already attended a banquet in the White Hall before, Victor found nothing especially striking about Monck Hall. It was the same sort of buffet gathering, people holding plates or wineglasses, freely walking through the broad chamber to mingle and converse. Long tables had been set along both sides and in the center with food and drink, with no fixed seating.
Noble social customs really lacked originality.
And Radovid was obviously not among them. If the king were present, there would be a very obvious center of attention gathered around him, making sure any assassin would not pick the wrong target. Whether the attempt would succeed was another matter.
Victor was quickly led to the preparation room for performers. There were changing rooms here, a wide assortment of costumes, and sofas where performers could rest briefly.
Based on his past experience, it should have been just that. But the moment he stepped inside, the young man immediately sensed that something was off.
One glance was enough to know it. Around him stood fully twelve knights in full plate. Judging by their equipment, they definitely carried anti-magic weapons, which meant they were capable of fighting mages if necessary.
That sort of situation was not common. The mainstream view at present was soldier against soldier, commander against commander, mage against mage.
In war, people of different ranks usually had no need to fight each other, because the gap was too great. One-sided slaughter from the top down violated so-called knightly honor.
But in places where anti-magic equipment was widely available, knights fighting mages was entirely possible, and the situation naturally changed, for example, with the Redanian Royal Guard.
After a simple body search, the knights stepped aside and let Victor head deeper in. There sat a man with his back to the young man, wearing a crown and handling something on the table in front of him.
There could be no one else.
Taking a deep breath, Victor walked closer to Radovid V. As expected, on the table sat an ivory chessboard and its matching set.
The crowned man wore splendid robes emblazoned with a silver eagle on a red field. His handsome profile and bald head were so familiar, without a doubt it was the very face Victor kept tucked away in the back of his mind and often found useful.
Bowing with flawless etiquette, the young man greeted him. "Your Majesty, Victor Corion greets you."
His looks were plain, his bearing calm, his clothes well-fitted and proper. He seemed like an ordinary nobleman, and if not for the four scars marking his face, it would have been hard to believe he was the undefeated Dovahkiin of Skellige.
"Meeting you in a place like this is somewhat impolite, but I trust the wisdom of Dragonborn can understand. Please, sit." The king extended a hand, indicating that Victor should sit opposite him.
Truly worthy of being Philippa Eilhart's direct pupil. That whole style of, "This is only natural, so please cooperate with me," was exactly the same.
Still, just like with the sorceress, Victor had no intention of objecting to the king either. It was a small matter, though inwardly he could not help grumbling.
The next thing you're going to say is, "Play a game with me."
"Play a game with me," Radovid said.
Then the king closed his hand around a black queen and a white queen, switched them behind his back, then brought them out and placed them before Victor.
Your next line is, "Choose one."
"Choose one," Radovid said.
Victor shook his head inwardly. Poor little bald king, played with since childhood by a woman like Philippa. Though pity was one thing, Victor had no sympathy for him. That was the fate of a king, just as Victor himself now had the fate of having to choose one.
Once the choice was made, Victor took black and Radovid V white. The sandglass timer was three minutes, flipped after each move.
This was the second game of the day. The young man and the king were evenly matched, both young and skilled at planning. Each could almost see the other's next move before it happened, so both played quickly, and the war soon entered close combat.
"Click!" Radovid used his knight to take the queen and flipped the sandglass.
Then, while Victor was thinking, the king suddenly asked, "Why do you think chess is arranged this way? The king is the most important piece, yet he moves so slowly. And the queen, though clearly a piece that can be sacrificed, is so powerful?"
Victor blinked. Had master and student arranged this together just to mess with him?
Of course that was impossible.
After thinking for a minute, Victor answered, "Your Majesty, I don't know why the queen is powerful, but I have heard that the meaning of the king's slow movement is this, every single 'step' a king takes for his country cannot be undone, and so each one is immeasurably important."
He pushed a pawn all the way to the back rank and promoted it to a queen, then flipped the sandglass. "If another piece falls, there can always be another to replace it. Only the king is irreplaceable.
"Your Majesty, I come from east of Zerrikania, and I will return there in the future, so if I have spoken wrongly, please forgive me."
Brown eyes gleaming, Radovid stared sharply at Victor. The outline of the Iron-Hearted king could already faintly be seen in him.
But Victor was not afraid of him in the least right now, because the king had more important enemies in his heart.
After that, the two of them said nothing more.
…
The game ended with the young man losing to the king.
Dropping the piece, Radovid smiled. "Thank you. Playing against you was very interesting."
"It is my honor to play chess with the king."
Radovid gave the young man a slight nod. "I have indeed received the respect you intended to show me. One last impolite question, are you truly Dragonborn, and a prophet as well?"
The young man knew what the little bald king wanted to know. Wasn't it simply that he wanted to hear a prophecy? People like these treasured prophecies before hearing them and treated them like weeds afterward. Since he could say it to a sorceress, there was even less reason not to tell a king.
"Mark this well, when Whoreson dies, Temeria burns, and the White Wolf awakens, the Elder Blood will return." Victor chuckled softly. "Make no mistake, that is my prophecy."
His bluntness made the king's earlier roundaboutness seem almost petty.
Radovid rubbed a finger along the line above his lip and fell silent for a moment. "...Next time, don't be that smart. And thank you."
…
Later that night, after singing The Return of the Dragonborn and losing two games of chess, Victor returned to the Limping Porter with a rich reward and slept soundly.
…
Even into modern times, many scholars still believed that The Burning Omen was a fabricated pseudo-prophecy, a cunning fraud invented by later generations and forcibly attached to the Sage.
Because it was too simple, too easy to understand, straightforward to an absurd degree, and precise beyond reproach. It did not seem like a prophecy at all. It did not even rhyme.
, Encyclopaedia Maxima Mundi, Volume IX
by Effenberg and Talbot
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