Sigismund Dikoschek, the head of spies in Redania, walked along the streets of Gos Velen.
At this hour, with the moon half-high, ordinary people should have long fallen into a deep sleep, except for those decadent mages whose banquets stretch into the early hours of the next day.
The streets of Gos Velen lay silent in the night, for apart from taverns and brothels, this era offered little else in the way of nighttime entertainment.
But tonight, Dikoschek had no interest in anything else.
He had just stepped out of the renowned and opulent Airetusa, even more grandiose than the Royal Palace, filled with doubts.
Why were these northern wizards, already so wealthy and enjoying such independent and exalted political status, still willing to accept money pouches from the Southern Empire?!
Though furious, Dikoschek was the kind of person who would carry out his tasks calmly even in anger.
