The next morning, as Geralt emerged from his tent, he noticed a newcomer joining the dragon hunting team. This individual wore a peculiar fuchsia hat adorned with silver buckles and a long egret feather that drooped over his eyes. Geralt instantly recognized the hat and the feather; they were famous in Buina and Eruga, present in all the mansions, castles, inns, taverns, and especially brothels.
"Jaskier, why are you here?" Geralt inquired.
"Geralt!" A pair of cheerful blue eyes peered out from beneath the hat. "What a surprise! Is it really you? Are you here to slay dragons, too?"
Geralt didn't immediately respond to the questions but instead frowned at his friend and asked, "A month and a half ago when we parted in Vizima City, didn't you mention you were going to study at Oxenfurt College? It's hundreds of miles away from here. Why have you come?"
Before the poet could explain, he caught sight of Yennefer emerging from her tent. Realizing something immediately, he first bowed to the beautiful sorceress and offered a gentleman's salute. Then, he glanced back at Geralt and winked, insinuating, "My, Geralt, I understand why you're here."
"Have you two reconciled? Did you spend the night together? Has Yennefer forgiven you?" Jaskier brazenly posed these three questions.
Upon hearing this, Yennefer shot Jaskier a steely glance, raising her finger slightly. The poet student suddenly choked and began coughing violently, covering his throat in distress.
The sorceress glared at Geralt before departing with graceful steps, heading for the king's tent. Only after her figure disappeared did Jaskier's complexion begin to improve. He walked to Geralt's side with lingering fear, patting his shoulder sympathetically.
"Yennefer still has that fiery character. Dealing with sorceresses is not for the faint of heart. Only you witchers seem capable of handling their love, much like Wayne."
"Speaking of Wayne, is he here too? Did he find himself in a sorceress' tent as well?"
Geralt looked at the unrepentant and full-mouthed Dandelion with a pained expression. Recalling his humiliation the previous night, he knew he couldn't let Jaskier know about it, or he'd be ridiculed for years to come. So, he quickly changed the subject.
"You haven't explained why you're not at the Academy but here in Holobur."
Jaskier raised his head proudly, adjusting his mustache. "Do you not recognize who I am? I am the most talented bard and poet of this century. I completed all the studies for the first half of the year in less than a month, obtained the necessary credits, and resumed my creative journey."
"A week ago, I heard about the dragon hunt and rushed to Holobur. I was supposed to accompany the king and document the entire event, weaving it into an epic poem for future generations to sing."
"However, the day before departure, a beautiful widow sought my help with her troubles. When I awoke in her bed the next day, the sun was already setting."
"The widow was so captivating that I missed my meeting with the king. By the time I attempted to rush over myself, the young king had already departed, and the guards wouldn't let me through without proper authorization."
Jaskier shook his head in a feigned display of ignorance. "What a bumbling fool I was, nearly causing the greatest poet of this century to miss such a momentous event. Am I destined to be the troublesome character in every tale?"
Listening to Jaskier's incessant chatter, Geralt felt somewhat helpless, but he couldn't deny the comfort of having a friend like him, who was always enthusiastic and lively.
"Do you know the whole story?" Geralt inquired. "About the green dragon and why a king was involved?"
Jaskier raised his eyebrows, laughing confidently. "Do you even need to ask? I am a renowned poet and bard. Whenever a major event occurs in the Northern Kingdoms, I make it my business to be there."
"Every significant event becomes my inspiration, and through my songs, my fame spreads far and wide," he boasted.
Geralt, slightly overwhelmed by Jaskier's grandiosity, patted his poet friend on the shoulder. "Get to the point, please. Enough of the nonsense."
Seeing Geralt's impatience, Jaskier abandoned the idea of playing his lute and got straight to the point.
"The situation is simple. About a week ago, a dragon descended near the city of Holobur. Its body was massive, equivalent to three horses. It swooped down upon a shepherd's flock, causing panic among the herd. It devoured four sheep, killed several more, and then flew away with their carcasses."
Geralt nodded. "And then?"
Jaskier continued. "Of course, that's not all."
"The next morning it returned, this time venturing closer to the city. It swooped down upon the washerwomen on the banks of the Bula. My friends, they fled in terror! I have never witnessed such a comical scene in all my life. The dragon circled twice over the city of Holobur, then proceeded to nearby pastures to attack the sheep."
"What panic and confusion it caused! You see, just the day before, no one believed the words of the shepherds... The mayor began mobilizing the militia and guilds in the city, but before he could organize the people, they took matters into their own hands."
Geralt furrowed his brow. He found it hard to believe that ordinary people could contend with a dragon soaring through the sky.
"How was it resolved?" he inquired.
"With a rather commonplace method," Jaskier explained. "A shoemaker named Kozoyed devised a plan. They slaughtered a sheep and stuffed its stomach with sunflowers, belladonna, hemlock, sulfur, and resin from the shoemaker's workshop. As an extra precaution, the local apothecary added two quarts of boiled potion.
"They then tethered the sheep to a stake and placed it among the flock. Nobody truly believed the dragon would choose this foul-smelling, deceased sheep out of a thousand others, but as it turned out, that's precisely what it did. While the rest of the flock remained unharmed, the dragon devoured the bait along with the stake."
Jaskier's information was vivid and detailed, likely based on firsthand observation.
"It didn't take long - about as long as it takes a skilled man to undo a woman's corset - before the dragon roared, emitting smoke from its mouth and rear. Then it collapsed, attempting to fly but stumbling and falling."
"Two individuals volunteered to check if it is still alive. One was a local gravedigger, and the other, a village simpleton."
"We later erected a small tomb for them, though it turned out quite beautiful," Jaskier added.
Geralt understood that the green dragon must still be alive; otherwise, there would be no need for the current dragon-hunting team.
"So, the green dragon is playing dead?" Geralt questioned.
"Exactly," Jaskier confirmed with a grin. "It's alive but too weak to devour gravediggers and fools. It merely drank their blood and regurgitated... barely. But it's causing quite a concern. With every step it takes, it stumbles and falls, sometimes only able to crawl forward on its hind legs. The brave souls among us follow from a distance, keeping it in sight. But you won't believe the next bit of progress."
Jaskier continued, "The dragon leaped into a gorge in the Great Kestrel Mountains, not far from the source of the Bula River. It's been hiding in a cave there."
"A dragon's nest?" Geralt concluded, understanding why so many had gathered. The treasure within a dragon's lair was a legendary prize coveted by adventurers, peasants, nobles, and even kings.
"I see why the bridge is guarded. Someone aims to monopolize the treasure, and that someone is Niedamir of Caingorn," Geralt surmised.
"Exactly," Jaskier affirmed. "The entire Holobur is up in arms about it. They believe the dragon's treasure rightfully belongs to them, but they dare not openly oppose Niedamir. The king is a young fool, barely sprouting hair on his chin, yet he knows how to command respect. Niedamir desires the dragon above all else, hence his swift actions."
Upon hearing this, Geralt frowned, glancing back at the magnificent king's tent with a sense of puzzlement.
"I doubt a king would go to such lengths to slay a dragon for a mere illusion of treasure. Is there another reason?" Geralt questioned.
Jaskier smirked knowingly. As a renowned poet, he possessed insights beyond the ordinary folk.
"I believe his interest lies more with the dragons than the treasures. Consider this: Niedamir has long coveted the Principality of Maruel. Following the mysterious demise of the prince, only one marriageable princess remains. However, the nobles of Maruel are skeptical of Niedamir and other suitors."
"The reason being, that they know the new ruler will likely diminish their influence. Moreover, the young princess lacks the temperament to handle such a situation. Hence, the court ministers unearthed an ancient prophecy, claiming that only the one who conquers the dragon shall claim the crown and the princess's hand."
"Niedamir initially disregarded such prophecies, opting to pursue Maruel through force. However, upon hearing of a dragon plaguing Holobur, he saw a golden opportunity. Returning to Maruel with the dragon's head would elevate him to divine status in the eyes of the people, quelling the discontent among the powerful."
"Therefore, he's fervently seeking the dragon, as if a cat hunting a mouse. Moreover, given the dragon's weakened state, Niedamir views it as a stroke of luck, a sign of destiny in his favor. Truly diabolical."
Geralt listened to Jaskier's explanation, frowning with a resigned sigh. Once again, politics entangled itself in the affairs, this time revolving around the struggle for the throne.
This cycle of noble wars and ensuing chaos, leaving behind a trail of casualties and misery, had become all too familiar to Geralt.
He gestured to Jaskier. Yennefer was about to meet the king, and she no longer required his guard.
As they prepared to depart, the flap of the king's tent was lifted, revealing a tall, regal figure clad in warrior attire. Driven out by the guards, he voiced his protestations:
"The dragon is an endangered creature. Slaying it will only invite disaster upon us. Numerous precedents attest to this fact."
"As a king, you ought to grasp this truth, rather than disrupt the natural balance for personal gain."
Observing the luxurious figure being expelled, Geralt raised an eyebrow, turning to Jaskier for an explanation.
"Who's that fellow? A Druid, perhaps, speaking of the balance of nature?" Geralt inquired.
Jaskier shook his head mysteriously, offering a cryptic smile. "That's the mage, Master Dorregarey. Thanks to his assistance, I was able to bypass the need for a pass.