"Here? I work for a butcher," he answered after taking a drink from his cup. But he knew what Geralt was getting at, had seen the nod toward one of the scars showing on his arm.

"Before arriving in Darrow I was fighting a futile war, in memory of lost brother." Gannicus leaned against the counter and looked down at his cup, regarding it. The dogs settled: Bran against Gannicus's leg, and Aster on Geralt's feet.

"Before that, a slave fighting in the arena, to entertain the good people of Rome." He was sober enough that there was some measure of bitterness in his voice. "Captured after a battle, when the Romans were pressing into and conquering my people's territory."