Count Horvath a rich redanian noble-borned magnate. He attended an auction at Borsodi Brothers' Auction House (when it was in Novigrad) around 1245. He offered 2,600 novigradian crowns for a witcher silver sword during the event, but Molnar Giancardi pipped him.
Note ! this is only unofficial fan translation from the original (Polish) novel of Season of Storms.
‘The second is a silver sword. On the handle and across the length of the blade are runes and symbols that prove its originality. The starting price of once thousand crowns per set. One thousand and fifty, to the gentleman with number seventeen. Is that all? Nobody will give more? For such rarities?’
‘This is shit, and not enough money,’ muttered Magistrate Nikefor Muus, sitting in the back row, nervously clenching his hands into fists, his fingers stained with ink. ‘I knew I should not have…’
Antea Derris’s hiss caused him to be quiet.
‘One thousand one hundred, to Count Horvath. One thousand two hundred to the gentleman with the number seventeen. One thousand five hundred to dear Nino Cianfanelli. One thousand six hundred, to the gentleman in the mask. One thousand seven hundred to the gentleman with the number seventeen. One thousand eight hundred, to Count Horvath. Two thousand to the gentleman in the mask. Two thousand one hundred, to dear Cianfanelli. Two thousand two hundred to the gentleman in the mask. Is that all? Two thousand five hundred, to Cianfanelli… Gentleman with the number seventeen…’
The man with the number seventeen was suddenly grabbed by the arms by two big men who had quietly entered the room.
‘Herzoa Fuerte, nicknamed Skewer,’ a third big man said, poking a stick her held into the man’s chest. ‘You are an assassin pursued by the law. You’re under arrest. Take him away.’
‘Three thousand!’ Yelled Herzoa Fuerte, nicknamed Skewer, waving his sign with the number seventeen, which he still held in his hand. ‘Three thousand…’
‘I’m sorry,’ Abner de Navarrette said coldly. ‘Rules. The arrest of the auction participant cancels his proposal. You have offered two thousand five hundred, dear Cianfanelli. Will anyone go higher? Two thousand six hundred, to Count Horvath. And is that all? Two thousand seven hundred to the gentleman in the mask. Three thousand, dear Canfanelli. I do not see any other offers…’
‘Oh, Master Molnar Giancardi. Bravo, bravo. Four thousand crowns. Can anyone give more?’