They were astonished one morning to be overtaken by a riderless horse, the chestnut colt. The green saddlecloth embroidered with Nilfgaardian symbols was stained with dark streaks of blood. There was no way of knowing if it was the blood of the horseman who had been killed near the hawker’s wagon or if it had been spilt later, when the horse had acquired a new owner. “Well, that takes care of the problem,” Milva said, glancing at Geralt. “If it ever really was a problem.”
