[ Hector is not the mage Geralt was thinking of, both because the man is a necromancer and because Jaskier doesn't seem certain he's even here. A snort escapes him nonetheless. He'd seen that dramatic goodbye between the two of them. (Not that Geralt's one to talk.)

Both Jaskier and Cirilla seem to realize what he means by asking, so he doesn't explain further. ]

Cities seem prepared for war at any moment. [ How big is that army? Larger than Nilfgaard's, he wants to say. ] I doubt Thorne will encroach their territory for a handful of escaped prisoners. [ He still wants to know. It'll decide how he feels about leaving these borders. He hasn't got any plans to do so right now, but -- they're here solely for pragmatic reasons. Not because he wants to be caught up in this battle over the Singularity or the Cities' plans to destroy it. Their stay here is temporary at best.

He considers. Wonders, briefly, if he can pull on the same magic Jaskier has access to. The thought leaves him uneasy. He isn't a mage. Even if he supposes, had his life taken a different path, he might've been one. A sorcerer. A druid. ]

See who knows anything. [ He moves only far enough to grab the food. Crusty bread, hard cheese. Good enough. He splits the loaf for the three of them. ] I'd rather not rely on our good standing here to stay covered.