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TWL Chapter 340: Mahakam’s Divided Sons
🕑 Added 2025-03-24 20:06:26 +0000 UTC"Lannister… Duke Lannister?" After hesitating multiple times along the journey, Saskia finally gave in and quickened her pace to walk beside Lann. "Can I ask you something?"
Lann chuckled. "Your question is practically written all over your face. I was just waiting for you to say it."
Saskia lowered her head, mentally scolding herself for being so transparent. She had spent too little time in the human world—her inexperience was showing.
Still, she quickly refocused on her purpose. "I don’t understand, Duke Lannister. How did things between the Fuchs and Zigrin clans escalate to this point?"
"Mahakam is supposed to be the dwarves’ sacred homeland, their last bastion against outside threats. Shouldn’t they be standing together? Do they not realize how much damage they’re doing to their own people?"
Lann glanced at her. "Why do you care so much?"
Confusion flickered in Saskia’s eyes. "My father always dreamed of a land where all races could live together in peace and equality. I share that dream. I thought that if we could simply resolve conflicts between different races, everything would be fine. But now I see that even within the same race, there are conflicts just as terrible… I don’t understand."
Lann thought for a moment before asking, "You’re from Zerrikania, right? Haven’t you seen something like this happen before? You’ve been in the North for quite some time—don’t tell me you’ve never witnessed internal strife among your own people."
"I know about Nilfgaard’s invasions. I’ve seen the countless feuds and wars between the Northern Kingdoms," Saskia admitted in a low voice. "But I always thought… only humans were like that…"
"Since you're advocating for racial equality, why do you see humans as special?" Lann's voice was calm but firm. "Humans only seem 'special' because of their sheer numbers. But tell me, do you really believe that if another race had the same population and dominance, they wouldn't fight just as fiercely for their own interests?"
"Elves wouldn’t," Saskia countered.
Elves were, without a doubt, an anomaly among races. Even after ruling the Continent, they had embraced an almost utopian peace. When humanity first began its rise, the elves kept retreating, hoping that humans would be satisfied with what they had taken and stop there. But the outcome was clear—humans had replaced elves as rulers, and now elves had no official kingdom or even a single major settlement in mainstream society.
Lann let out a cold chuckle. "You forget, elves were once outsiders too. Before they arrived, dwarves and gnomes were already living here. So tell me—how do you think the elves gained and secured their rule?"
Centuries of peace had dulled the elves’ instincts. And that was only true for the Aen Seidhe—the elves who remained in this world. Across the veils of existence, another faction, the Aen Elle, still thrived, operating in a far more ruthless and blood-soaked manner—something far beyond Saskia’s imagination.
Saskia fell silent. For the first time, she truly began to consider these questions. Her ideals had always been too romanticized, and only now was she beginning to see the harsh reality.
"Why is it like this, Duke Lannister?"
Lann thought for a moment before answering. "If you ask an old philosopher, they might say, 'Where there are people, there is conflict.' And in this case, 'people' means all races. It sounds wise, almost as if they’ve transcended worldly concerns."
"But we don’t have the luxury of transcending. We can’t just say something profound and then turn a blind eye. We have to deal with reality." Lann sighed. "To be honest, I don’t have a perfect answer for you. This isn’t something you can learn from books. I have to find my own answers through governing—through experience."
"But that’s why I came to you," Saskia said. "I heard that Cintra is a place where multiple races live in harmony. Haven’t you already achieved it?"
"To some extent, yes. But Cintra is unique," Lann admitted. "Its peace comes from the fact that its people fought side by side as comrades. We've also actively eliminated the malicious rumors that fuel racial hatred, creating a more neutral environment for public opinion. But most importantly—"
He pointed to himself. "—there’s me. A leader who allows this coexistence to happen and refuses to be bound—at least, not too much—by racial bias. Only when all these factors come together can a multi-racial nation be built, even in its earliest form."
"And to be clear," he continued, "my decision wasn’t driven by idealism. In the beginning, I simply needed to rebuild my country’s strength, and those different races needed a land that was fair and stable. Our goals are aligned, and that’s why we can live in peace."
Saskia lowered her head in deep thought. "So, a nation like this can only be built from scratch? It’s impossible to change a region’s existing beliefs?"
Lann nodded. "It’s far easier to instill a new idea than to erase deeply rooted ones."
"But if that’s the case, maybe the first generation in Cintra can live peacefully together," Saskia pointed out. "But what about the future? Humans have such short lifespans—won’t constant generational shifts make Cintra unstable?"
"Unless you have an emperor who is powerful enough, long-lived enough—or even immortal—I don’t see a way to maintain this kind of nation indefinitely."
Saskia fell into silent contemplation, seemingly trapped in a paradox. Lann, however, only laughed. "Tying a country's future to a single person for generations? That’s an incredibly irresponsible way to govern. However..."
...
Their conversation had grown so deep that even Geralt, listening nearby, found himself taken aback.
Saskia hadn't been with the group for long, and Geralt still didn’t know her well. It was hard to believe that someone who seemed so socially awkward spent her days thinking about such grand ideals. Even more surprising was how patient Lann was with her.
Despite Geralt’s sharp political instincts, this conversation was beyond his expertise. In fact, he felt that lingering too long would be impolite.
He nudged his horse slightly away from them and let his gaze wander.
That’s when he noticed a few new dwarves in the group.
Among them was Petrit, the envoy sent by the Fuchs clan to accompany Lann.
And then there was Gabor.
The dwarf walked with his head lowered, clearly troubled—a stark contrast to the bold, confident warrior he had been when they first met. Given everything that had just happened, it was understandable. No one could remain cheerful after what they had been through.
"What’s on your mind?" Geralt urged his horse closer, addressing Gabor directly. He had known Yarpen’s crew for years, and by extension, had a certain fondness for all dwarves of Mahakam. Since arriving, he had taken a liking to Gabor’s personality as well.
Though recent events had complicated things, Geralt knew that none of it had been Gabor’s fault.
Gabor lifted his head and glanced at Geralt, guilt flickering in his eyes once more. Some dwarves valued honor even more than human knights did, and Gabor was one of them. That was why he felt particularly remorseful for having concealed the truth from Lann and his group earlier.
"I was just... thinking about what Cintra is like. After all, that's where the Zigrin lads will be living from now on."
...
The Zigrin clan—or at least a portion of it—was set to relocate to Cintra. This was another significant outcome of the entire incident, one that Lann had managed to secure.
Elder in chief had issued a severe punishment for the Zigrins: "All Zigrins involved in this operation are to serve five hundred years of hard labor in the mines. Those who refuse will be exiled from Mahakam and forbidden from ever setting foot in the mountains again."
So, who would be sent to the mines, and who would choose exile?
Lann didn’t know who would accept the labor sentence, but those facing exile had already been decided: Gabor, the young warriors under his command, and the dwarven fighters who had hesitated to attack Geralt—those who had ultimately stepped aside and allowed Gabor to make his move against their clan leader.
This list wasn’t chosen by Lann, nor was it the result of some unspoken agreement. These dwarves had been exiled through proper, traditional means. In fact, aside from Gabor, all of them were still being held at Mount Carbon, awaiting their formal sentencing. Lann simply had the benefit of knowing the outcome a little earlier than most.
As for why these exiled dwarves were heading to Cintra—that was another matter entirely.
Hearing Gabor voice his concerns about the future, even Geralt felt compelled to offer some reassurance.
"Believe me, witchers are even less welcome in the North than dwarves are. And yet, despite that, I still ended up liking Cintra," Geralt said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Besides, Yarpen has probably told you more than once about his life in Cintra. So what exactly are you worried about?"
Gabor cast an uneasy glance toward Lann, prompting Geralt to shake his head.
"Trust me, he has no issue with you. As long as you and your warriors follow orders on the battlefield, you’ll get exactly what you’re looking for."
"Who knows? Maybe you'll even build a new, stronger Zigrin clan in Cintra."
...
The long journey continued, the hours slipping away in quiet conversation.
Before long, distant signs of civilization appeared—thin trails of smoke rising above the snow-covered landscape.
A settlement came into view, its architecture unmistakably dwarven. Each house looked as if it had grown out of the mountain itself, with most of its structure seamlessly blending into the surrounding rock and earth.
"This is 'Hag’s Pit,' the town where the Ferenc clan resides," Gabor announced, forcing himself to focus on his role as their guide. "I know the name sounds strange, but the Ferencs took this land after wiping out a harpy nest. They thought the name would serve as a testament to their victory."
"I know what you're thinking—why not call it 'Harpy’s Nest' instead?" Petrit chimed in with a shrug. "But hey, it’s their land. No one’s ever managed to get the reason out of Chief Ferenc himself."
The two dwarves exchanged a glance, then simultaneously turned away, unwilling to dwell on the topic.
"What I care about right now isn't the town’s name," Geralt interjected. "It's the people."
He pointed toward the edge of the settlement, where a group of dwarves had gathered. They stood waiting in the biting wind, their gazes fixed on the horizon with barely contained anticipation.
"Are they... welcoming us?"
Lann shook his head. "We didn’t send any word ahead to the Ferenc clan about our arrival. And besides..."
"Besides, I don’t think people greeting honored guests would look this worried."
At the outskirts of 'Hag’s Pit,' dozens of dwarves huddled together, their expressions a mix of hope and unease. Each of them carried a basket filled with smoked sausages, soft, fluffy rolls, and frothy tankards of ale.
