Chapter 17: LETTERS AND LEVERAGE
Brokk's crew set the final stone at midday.
I stood at the edge of the construction site, watching Dolgrin smooth the mortar joint with the precision of a craftsman who had been waiting his entire life for an opportunity to demonstrate his skills. The building rose two stories against the autumn sky — proper windows, proper drainage, a foundation that would stand for generations.
[SETTLEMENT MILESTONE — TIER I FACILITY COMPLETE]
[FIRST PERMANENT STRUCTURE: OPERATIONAL]
[+30 CP EARNED]
[TOTAL CP: 130]
One hundred thirty. Not the one hundred fifty I'd projected — the forge had already counted toward the facility milestone, which I should have tracked more carefully. The math was still sound, but the reminder was useful: projections required verification.
Brokk climbed down from the scaffolding, brushing stone dust from his beard. His expression carried the specific satisfaction of a master craftsman looking at completed work.
"It'll stand," he said. "A hundred years, maybe more. The foundation is solid and the load distribution is correct."
"Better than correct." I ran my hand along the finished wall. The stones fit together with the precision of puzzle pieces, each one cut to complement its neighbors. "Better than what I designed."
"You designed function. I designed permanence." He pulled a flask from his belt and took a long drink, then offered it to me. "Different skills for different problems."
The water was cold and clean — drawn from the well we'd dug last week, filtered through the sand and gravel layers that Kasimir had designed. Small pleasures. The kind of thing that made a settlement feel like a home instead of a camp.
"The letter," Brokk said. "You finished it?"
I'd spent two days writing and rewriting, cutting sentences that sounded like they were trying too hard, adding details that mattered and removing ones that didn't. What remained was functional and honest:
The Ithlinne's Codex is genuine. A meeting is available at your discretion. The proposal contains no hidden costs.
"It's ready."
"My trade contacts can reach a Brotherhood intermediary who knows Yennefer's routing." He studied my face with the directness I'd learned to expect from him. "You understand she may not respond."
"I understand."
"And you understand that if she does respond, it may not be the response you want."
"That too."
He nodded, accepting my awareness of the risks. "Give me the letter. I'll have it on the road by tomorrow morning."
I handed over the sealed parchment — my handwriting, no signature, no identifying marks beyond the content itself. If it was intercepted, it would read as a collector's offer to a known mage with expensive tastes. Nothing that would trace back to the settlement.
The waiting would begin now. Weeks, probably. Maybe months. And no guarantee of any response at all.
Thyra Stonehatch found me that evening, standing on the completed building's upper floor and looking out over the settlement as the sun set. The view showed everything we'd built — the forge, the Kasimir Wall, the houses where settlers were preparing for the evening meal.
"The letter went out," she said. "To a mage."
"Yes."
"Brokk told me." She joined me at the window, her arms crossed in the practical posture of a woman who had spent her life managing households. "You're reaching for something bigger than a swamp fief."
"I'm reaching for what the swamp fief needs to survive."
"And what does it need?"
"Protection that I can't provide alone. Expertise that doesn't exist in Velen." I gestured at the settlement below. "This works because the people here work. But working isn't enough against the things that could threaten us."
Thyra was quiet for a moment. Then: "Mages who come here expecting a ruin leave disappointed."
"How do you know?"
"I've watched enough lords' households to know when one is working." She turned to face me directly. "The forge produces. The wall stands. The fields are cleared and the monster contracts bring trade. Whatever you're planning with this mage, you're not building on sand."
It was the closest thing to approval I'd received from someone who wasn't part of my inner circle. The Stonehatch family had arrived expecting exploitation and found partnership instead. Their continued presence was a vote of confidence that mattered more than any title or proclamation.
[CP TRAJECTORY ASSESSMENT]
[CURRENT: 130 CP | TARGET: 500 CP]
[NEXT MILESTONE: WILDS REGISTRY 15 (+15 CP)]
[HIGH-VALUE TARGETS: ELDER WATER HAG (W3), NEKKER PATRIARCH (W2+)]
[ESTIMATED TIME TO TARGET: 6-8 WEEKS AT CURRENT RATE]
Six to eight weeks. The letter would travel for two of those. The response — if any — would take another two to arrive. The timing aligned, or close enough.
I pulled out my private journal and began planning the Elder Water Hag documentation. Three days of observation on her territorial patterns. A timing window when she was least likely to be aggressive. An approach angle that maximized the value of Anatomy Read's distance scanning.
The letter was gone. The waiting was the hardest part of any diagnosis — the part between presenting the case and finding out whether the patient would accept treatment.
But I could work while I waited.
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