When the duo neared the carriage, they noticed six people leading the troupe. Two of them were young ladies, while the others were men. One of them was an elven sorceress with black-red hair who was wearing a yellow, silk dress. She had a slim body, fair skin, beautiful features, and of course, a pair of pointy ears. This must be Eveline, the one the farmers were talking about.
The other lady was tanned. Instead of the reserved attire most women would don, she wore a white-striped, leather midriff top that enveloped her generous chest snugly, revealing her toned abs and sexy, muscular legs. Her nose was long, and her features were manly. She had a mohawk and mysterious tattoos on both cheekbones.
The four men had unique getups too. Their clothes were vibrant and fashionable, unlike the villagers’. There was one muscular middle-aged man with a mustache, a tall, lanky man, and a pale, feminine one.
The duo observed them, and so too were they observed. Eveline frowned at the duo’s stares, but she didn’t fly into a rage. On the other hand, the tanned lady was staring back at them, feral.
A burly, mustached man standing at five feet six came out to welcome them. However, he was subtly on guard. “You two seem new here. I take it you aren’t Shire locals?”
“You must be the Sea Scorpion Troupe.” Roy smiled warmly, his gaze gleaming charismatically thanks to his passive skill. “I’m a traveler from Lower Posada, Aedirn. It’s across from the Mahakams. This is my uncle, Letho. He hurt his leg on the way here, so he can’t move well. I heard the villagers talking about your troupe, so I came. If it’s possible, can we hitch a ride?”
“You’re a traveler?” The man looked at Letho. “Very well then. You may call me Alan. Alan the Sparrow Whisperer. Our troupe has wandered across the lands and come across many fabulous things. Your eyes are sharper than an eagle’s and gleam brighter than the sun. I know you’re no ordinary traveler. To be more precise, you’re a witcher. But you seem to have been robbed.”
“Yes. I’m Letho, from Viper School. This is my disciple, Roy,” Letho admitted.
“Tell us what you’re really here for. I don’t think witchers would just play a prank on us.”
The members stood beside Alan, looking hostile. The lady with the mohawk snarled, and she whipped out a dagger from her boot and made it dance between her fingers.
Letho presented his hands, showing he meant them no harm. “Calm down, everyone. The boy is right. I’ve hurt my leg.” He pulled up his pants to show them his injury. “You can verify it for yourself if you don’t trust us. I think you know most humans are prejudiced against people like me, so that’s why the boy didn’t tell you everything.”
The troupe members’ expressions softened right away, as if they felt the same way Letho did.
Roy took the chance to ask, “Um, if I may ask, will you be going east to the Mahakams or taking the long way through Lower Sodden?”
“No.” Alan’s eyes gleamed with longing. “We’re going west, where the heart of Ellander is. There, we shall perform. And then we will be heading to Vizima before May Day next year to take part in a grand spectacle.”
“Roy and I are going to Ellander to visit an old friend. Is it possible for us to ride with you?” Letho rubbed his leg. “I hurt my leg in a battle with monsters, and it’s still not healed, so I can’t walk too much. Riding on horseback won’t be feasible either, so a carriage would be perfect.”
“Well…” Alan was in a dilemma. They’d have agreed to it if Letho was a normal human, but he was a powerful witcher. Alan was worried he might kill everyone on a whim. Even though witchers were outcasts like them, Alan still felt like refusing him.
“We would never ask for anything without pay. It won’t even take a week to get to Ellander in a carriage.” Letho raised three fingers. “Thirty crowns if you’ll give us a lift.”
The short, ugly member looked tempted, but Eveline refused Letho. “I’m sorry, Mr. Letho. If you take a look at our carriage, you’ll see that it’s filled with necessities, props, and Alan’s trinkets. We don’t have much space left for you.”
“Miss Gallo of Aen Seidhe.” Roy went around Letho and bowed at Eveline with his right hand before his chest. “You can choose not to trust Letho, since he is a stranger, but I am not. I am your brethren. That is reason enough to trust me, isn’t it?”
Eveline’s eyes gleamed, and she looked at him closely. It was then she noticed Roy’s pointed ears, and his looks had subtle elven traits to them. “Are you a half-elf? No, you’re a part-elf, aren’t you?” she said.
Roy only had subtle elven traits, but he could speak ancient speech, so he said, “Ensh’eass beanna tede a’taeghane.”
Eveline was pleasantly surprised after hearing that, and she felt a surge of affection for Roy. And then she noticed her teammates looking confused, so she explained. “He was saying hello in ancient speech. That proves he is one of my tribe, though your name is weird, Roy. I’ve never heard anyone from a branch of the family use human names before.”
“Oh, my foster mother gave me that name, but she has long passed.” Roy stared down, pretending to be sad.
“You poor thing. You aren’t even thirty, are you?” Eveline frowned in sympathy, and then she held Roy’s hands reassuringly. “Call me Eveline.” Then she gave her teammates a pleading look.
“Fine, then.” Alan sighed resignedly. “Since Eveline trusts you, you may come with us, but a word of warning. I’ll have to set some rules before you go in. Break them and we’ll break you.”
The duo nodded, and Alan told them about the troupe in detail. There were about a dozen people in the troupe, including the handymen, hitchhikers, and bard. The main ensemble was Alan, the Sparrow Whisperer who came from Rivendell; Kantilla, the blade dancer from Zerrikania, the nation in the desert east of Blue Mountain; Collins, the Swallower of Flames; Ferroz, the Joker; Amos, the Gwent performer, and Eveline Gallo, the acrobat from Dol Blathanna.
Roy finally remembered where he’d heard of Eveline before. If he was right, she was the one who would help Geralt complete the condition for Hearts of Stone, and the one who would later go on to steal from Borsodi Auction House. But it’s still a few years too early for Geralt to get his hands on the heart of stone.
