Chapter 1: A Old Man in a Wounded Land
"Ciri!" shouted Geralt as he ran, sword out and glinting from the fire of the monster's breath.
The almost-dragon creature heaved and fire was born. A jet of amber flames passed by him as he dodged, albeit not gracefully. Hitting the ground with a thud, the Witcher got up as fast as possible and saw an opening when the monster that tried to burn him to a crisp had his attention elsewhere, trying to follow a young lady with ashen hair and emerald eyes. Each time she appeared and disappeared with flashes of the same color as her eyes.
Yellow eyes like the ones of a cat had their pupils expanded to adjust to the shadow of the trees. They moved, following the movement of the muscles hidden behind a strong armor of scales, as thick as plates of the strongest of steel. There! Just next to a particular big scale, there was a hole, a space that was needed for the creature to move. Without it, the monster would an invincible and immovable ball of anger and fire. Placing his free hand into the appropriate sign, Geralt covered himself with a tint of orange.
"Geralt! There!" Shouted the young woman that was his daughter in all but blood.
He didn't responded and just pounced with all the strength his legs could mutter. His boots crunched old leaves and small stones. The creature tried to eat Ciri, clomping instead empty air. A frustrated growl escaped the maw filled with ivory daggers. The Witcher had to jump if he wanted to reach the weak point. And that was he did. Bracing himself for the rodeo that was surely to take place, he gripped a set of hardened scales while he plunged his silver sword into the gape. It dived almost to the hilt but not completely. A mixture of blood and poison started to flow.
As soon as Geralt had plunged his sword, the creature went almost completely erect at first, before the shakes started to happen. The white-haired man gripped for dear life as the monster moved with a frenzy. It could feel the poison slowly starting to course through its veins.
The Witcher had a grip of iron, but wasn't enough and with a new sudden change of direction, he was thrown away, with a sword less. The almost invisible shield flashed in a short tempest of amber as it absorbed the shock of the fall.
"Geralt!" shouted again Ciri as she saw him fell.
With reflex born through experience backed by old and almost forgotten mutation, the Witcher got back up quickly. A hate filled-gaze zeroed on him as red eyes looked at him. Even though the poison that coated the blade of his silver sword was starting to have an effect, it wasn't potent enough to slow the beast down. And so, with a great bellow that shook Geralt to the bones, it charged.
Each feet were like a small earthquake as the monster ran for the Witcher. Swearing under his breath, Geralt ran as well, trying to dodged the incoming wall of angry teeth and claws.
"Oh no, you don't!"
With those words, Ciri, with fury, appeared next to the still stuck sword of her adoptive father. With a mighty cry that challenged the pure animalistic roar of the monster, she made her sword join Geralt's. However, that wasn't what she all did. While fluorescent green light and a voice that was like chorus, Ciri made her blade a lot longer. An emerald spear poked from the other side of the creature. This effect of this sudden magical intervention was the also sudden killing of the monster. While it was still charging. So, Geralt had to dodge not a mountain of bright scales ready to butcher him, but a sac of dead meat thrown at high velocity. However, since the danger wasn't alive anymore, it couldn't adjust its path anymore. So, Geralt placed himself quickly on the side and dodge the monster that crashed against a grove of tree, uprooting them.
Panting and holding a hand against his bruised side, the Witcher made his way towards the just-now fresh carcass. He had to step up a leg of the monster to retrieve his sword. Gripping the handle with two hands, he pulled and with a squelching sounds of flesh, Geralt had his sword made of silver once again. The beast that he and Ciri just slayed could be described as a "big fucker", as Lambert would put it.
The monster shared a lot of similitude with a dragon except for one, wings. With scales kissed by the sun, an enormous head with a mouth just as big, the almost-dragon was enormous. Great horns of red jutted from its scalp and a strangely blue tongue laid on the ground. It could be confused by ignorant people for the legendary golden dragon. But Geralt knew very well that the beast standing before him was not one. He had personal experience on the subject.
"I have never something like this before," said Ciri as she walk to be by his side while putting an unruly theft of ashen hair behind her ear. "Even from my traveling, while being hunted. Do you possibly have an idea on what it could be?"
"No. Same as you, hasn't seen it before," answered Geralt. "But I'm sure about one thing, it was really pissed off. Probably territorial"
"Almost certainly, you mean. We just arrived in these woods and it almost attacked us immediately when he scented us."
"Doesn't matter," said Geralt as a pained grimaced painted his face. "We fulfilled our contract. Now, we must get our reward." he added after taking a trophy as proof of their success.
He knew that she was giving him a concerned stare as he made effort to not limp. But he ignored it, as well as the weariness he was feeling inside his bones.
With Ciri in his steps, Geralt of Rivia went out to collect what was promised.
"That all?" drawled Geralt when he saw the pay for slaying the strange monster with a raised eyebrow, which was deemed as intimidating by the man who had asked specifically for him.
"Do not take it as an insult, Master Witcher," said rapidly the contractor, a man with a round face and black eyes. " 'tis what I can only afford for your master work."
The excuse was hollow to Geralt's ears and as well as Ciri's, who threw a look that conveyed precisely what she was thinking. The man was a merchant. The faint smell of spices reeked out of his clothes. He could pay more without any trouble. Geralt thought that with his reputation, here in Toussaint, the man in front of him would know that Geralt didn't like bad payer, even more so when they could afford to pay a bit more if the job was more than it seemed at first.
The man was going to argue a bit further but when confronted by the yellow eyes that seemed to borrow deep inside of him. The man finally cracked when the smallest of emerald wisps seemed to pour out of Ciri. It added to the somber air surrounding the young woman with the hood obscuring her traits.
"You win!" almost shouted the merchant. "Just take your money and please, do not hurt me!"
This was punctuated by him shoving coins in the arms of Geralt. It was so sudden that some of them were now on the earthly ground. The door was shut and Ciri helped him to scoop the fallen coins.
"Have you seen his face?" laughed Ciri as she placed the last coins into a bag.
Geralt shared her merriness with a smile. As they walked towards their waiting horses, they didn't said anything. Once one their respective saddle, both of them commanded their horse to the road.
"The little wisps always work like a charm," said Ciri as she once again tried to put a lock of hair behind her ear. "Even the men back at the court now to shut up if they appear."
The happy look on Ciri's face died when she realized the words she just said. Geralt's mood was dampened a little as well.
"Well, I suppose all good things must have an end," she added a bit somberly.
"They do not have to end now, though;" added Geralt. "You can stay a little bit. Barnabas told me this year wine will be exceptional."
Ciri frowned her eyebrows as she weight her option while her horse followed Geralt's Roach, 2nd of her Name in the Principality of Toussaint. Her green eyes looked at her adoptive father before fixing the air.
"Bah! They can wait a little bit longer! An hour or two more is nothing." she dismissed.
"Glad to have you here." Geralt said to her.
"Gald to be here with you."
Both of them passed the rest of the way telling and retelling each other old stories that bought smiles and laughs about old times. When they entered Geralt's land, they were greeted by rows upon rows of grapevines. Most of the plants didn't have their fruit anymore. Only a few still had some grapes dangling from their branches. The sun had started to relinquish his mastery of the sky to the approaching night. Although, it had a long way to go before the earth will be plunged into darkness.
A bald man, with small glasses posed on the bridge of his nose and wrinkles adorning his aging face, appeared by the front door of the grand manoir and bowed.
"Master Geralt, your Majesty." he saluted both.
"Barnabas, you know I don't like that." admonished Ciri without any real heat behind her words.
"My apologies, Miss Cirilla"
That little exchange between the two was always a small source of harmless conflict each time Ciri visited. When she had the time to visit, which she had little to none.
"Now, I think you may be thirsty after your little work. Give me your horses and wait for me at the dinner table, after you cleaned yourselves of the grime, of course."
Geralt and Ciri left their mounts to the care of the majordomo and went inside. Each soon entered a separated room to change out of their dirty clothes. Sponges, buckets with clean and soaps had already been prepared for them in advance.
With movements that were automatic, Geralt undressed himself. This routine which had been almost daily during a sizable part of his life now took place less and less often. The last time was almost a year ago, when a couple of farmers, elected by their village, went to Geralt's door to beg for his aid against a sudden surge of lycanhtropes that touched their part of Toussaint.
The Witcher was going to grab a fresh pair of clothes once in his underwear when he caught his reflection in the mirror of the room. The year had been kind to Geralt since he "officially" retired. A little to good, nagged the memory a familiar voice smelling of lilac and gooseberries. A sigh escaped his lips.
"Are you still hanged up on the fact you're fat now?" said Ciri from the other side of the door, already finished.
"I'm not fat," responded Geralt lowly.
"Keep telling yourself that." she almost laughed.
Geralt snorted at the comment and dressed quickly, after having rapidly passed the sponge on his body.
"You know, maybe you should cut back on the wine-testing."
He looked at Ciri, not amused by her continued remark about his marginal weight gain. It was with a shared smile that the both of them entered the dining room, where Barnabas was waiting for them, with a bottle ready to be poured in two beautiful glasses. They sat down and took the glasses that were expertly filled by the majordomo. Ciri hold her wine like a lady, which she realized and frowned but didn't try to correct herself.
"To you," she said as she approached her wineglass.
"To me," answered Geralt with a not-at-all hidden smile. "To you," he added after the affronted look sent by Ciri.
Both sipped and made their drink danced on their palate, before after some time, they spitted in a recipient specially made for this purpose.
"I must say it isn't bad at all."
"I am honored by your comment, Miss Cirilla. And what do you think of this year's vintage, Master Geralt?"
He didn't answered right, as he took a second sip which he swallowed this time.
"It is good. Though it could wait a few more years. What?" said Geralt when Ciri looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
She tried to hid her snort but it was for nothing. Gerlat rolled his eyes and finished his glass before giving it back to Barnabas.
"Since when did you become a wine snob?" asked Ciri as the majordomo went to clean the glasses, after taking a sip himself.
"After years of living with vineyards surrounding me," deadpanned the Witcher.
"Anyway, when the wine will be ready, I will command barrels, around ten of them probably." She said.
"Your command will be our priority, Miss Cirilla. What do you think of the name 'Brightscale' for this year, Master Geralt?"
"You have been listening on us, B.B?"
"And I am sorry for this. However, the story of your slaying of the strange beast was very interesting. And I am not the only one in the know. At this hour, the villages around from here should have heard of it." explained Barnabas.
Well, at least it will not have any impact on his reputation. Even after his retiring, it was known he wasn't someone to be trifled with, thought Geralt.
"Speaking if it," added Ciri, "Do you think it came after The Conjunction?"
"Probably. Though it took its sweet time to make waves if it was the case."
"That what I was thinking too. It cannot be a new one. There would have been a lot more signs and the mages back at the court would be in a frenzy. Any strange things happening recently?"
Geralt put his hand on his chin, thinking. There wasn't a lot that happened here, in Toussaint. Except of course if you counted the rare monsters that migrated here in search of a fertile lands to feed. With the wandering knights and a Witcher here, they didn't stay long.
"It has been rather foggy those last few days" said Barnabas as he came back from putting the wineglass away.
"It always like that in Toussaint at that time of the year." quickly dismissed Ciri.
Both tried to find a possible explanation but they quickly dropped the subject. Ciri, which had been smiling and in a general good mood until now. Severity painted her face.
"I should get back. We wouldn't want to have a crisis in the court of Nilfgaard, would we?" she announced to the two men.
"Yes, you probably should. But now this..."
"That I will always be welcome in your home. I know that, Geralt." she interrupted him with a smile that he soon shared.
Both got up from their chair and walked until they were in front of the front door, outside. Barabas was with her horse and had her belongings ready.
"I'm going to miss you," she said to him as sadness took control of her expression.
"I'm going to miss you too."
After hugging one another, Ciri mounted her horse, made it walked a bit and then, in a shower of emerald light, they disappeared. Both master and majordomo look at the empty air where Ciri teleported.
"Would you care to have supper, Master Geralt?" asked Barnabas.
"Shouldn't she retire?"
"You know as well as me than Madame de Trastamara cannot, will not and want not to stop being a chef," flatly replied Barnabas.
"Don't I know it."
It was when the sun approached the horizon and that the night crawled in that Geralt was sitting as his table, eating a delicious meal, thinking about the daughter he missed, even after having her here for almost the entire day. He was the only occupant at the dinner table. Barnabas was standing near him, should he require anything, as he had already eaten for the night. As Geralt brought a sliver spoon to swallow a soup made with spices, his eyes traveled down to meet the medallion that was currently hanging from around his neck. The snarling wolf sported now the trace of time. Some of its edge at a bit of rust. It had been dangling aouround his neck almost all the time before he received this patch of land as a gift. It now spend the majority of its time a box, near his bed. If things continued to be like this, he would be the first Witcher to die in his bed. Which, when he tought about it, didn't sounded that bad. Well, except that he was the sole occupant of his bedroom, most of the time.
After finishing his meal, Geralt prepared himself for bed. As he was about to put on his night gown, something stop him in his action. The smallest of tremble taking place on his breast made him look down, at his pendant which now shook itself. Instinct ingrained in him made him quickly put on his armor and search for his sword. The clinking he made while dressing up alerted Barnabas that something was amiss.
"What is the problem? Should we take refuge in the bunker?"
"Do that. Do not forget Marlene as well."
"It will be done. What about you, Master Geralt?"
The Witcher made a thin line with his lips as the shaking of his medallion become more noticeable.
"Quick, get down there!"
Without arguing, the majordomo went to search for the cook of the manor. Geralt, ready to draw blade, opened the door of his house. What greeted him was a fog not like any other he had seen. Thick blanket of white approached quickly, engulfing everything. The medallion had now almost-like seizures.
He took just a few steps as to not be too far from the manor. Something told him he should no lost himself into the all-encompassing mist. The sounds of moving barks and cracking trees filled his ears as he concentrated trying to ear if something was approaching since with a mist as thick as this, his eyes wouldn't be of any help.
Things got worse when he looked behind him to see only white. The manor, and its remaining inhabitants had vanished without a sound and without alerting him.
"Barnabas! Marlene!" he shouted to empty air. The white smoke eat his thrown words.
He could try to retrace his taken steps which should bring him back to his house, but it didn't. Where should have been the entrance to his manor, there was only grass and stones. He shouted once again the names of his companion in vain.
"Ciri!"
No answer. There was only him in this wet weather. The wolf-head kept vibrating. So much so it seemed it was going to explode. Geralt kept trying to find his home with his other senses, but his smell was only filled with mosses and trees. He walked in what felt like circles and no matter which direction he took, there was only the mist and him.
Fear tried to ensnare him. It didn't succeed.
Time seemed to be just a vague idea in this foggy land. It felt like hours as well as just minutes since the Witcher found himself lost. His brow was wet, his hair were stuck on his forehead and his hand refused to let go of his sword. These woods he was now inside of were not normal.
Old memories of when he met Ciri were brought back. A forest, similar in some point to this one, where its inhabitants tried to distance themselves from Men. The similarities made his eyes twitch.
The nervousness in his muscles wasn't helped by the wooden giggling which appeared on his left, right, and behind him. More than once he suddenly turned around only to find nothing but a misty tree.
His boots crunch grass and leaves. The sound were like reverberated to his frayed senses. After going around a tree which had possibly been sculpted to represent a snarling monstrous face, Geralt was now in a clearing. The mist inside was less thick and he could see the other side of the clearing. He stopped when he saw what was waiting for him.
In the middle of it was a wolf with fur like gold and only one eye. It was sitting with an almost regal look. But wasn't it uncommon color that made Geralt stop. It was the ethereal quality of it. The animal didn't make any moves at first and only got up on his four legs when he advanced a bit. Even on four legs, the wolf wasn't in any aggressive posture.
It changed, however. As soon as Geralt tried to go around the wolf, it jumped at him. By reflex, the Witcher met him with his blade and it was then darkness enveloped him before he woke up while standing on clouds. Surrounding him was some ruins of a distant civilization where only a fraction of their kingdom remained.
Instead of the wolf, there was now an undead in the form of a tall skeleton wearing an old and broken golden armor covered in moss. Some part of it had signs painted in red. The skull of the monster was mostly empty except for one eye socket. There was an eye shining like a ruby that looked at him not with hate nor any other strong negative emotions, but with a cold and calculating gaze only found in old veterans.
"Unwanted invader. Begone to where thou are from," It said with a voice coming straight from a grave.
It could speak which could be a good thing since it implied the creature was capable of reason. What was not good was ready stance it took with its sword and shield.
"I didn't mean to be here," tried to appease Geralt.
His words didn't stop the skeleton from taking a position, but it did stop it from outright attacking him. The eye which didn't leave him looked at him, going from his face to his feet as well as stopping at his arms. The monster was judging him. The tension evaporated from the skeleton, although it didn't put away his arms.
"Thou speak no lie, unwanting invader," it concluded. "Yet thou are still here, lost in these woods."
"Do you know a way out?" asked Geralt.
Since the skeleton was the only thing that he met face to face and that it was most likely it had a lot of experience, the Witcher assumed it was his only ticket out of wherever he was in.
"I do. However, though shalt prove your worthiness before crossing the Gate of the Other"
"Of course there is a duel," snorted Geralt as he glided his sword out of its sheath.
"Thou shalt duel me, the Shade of a Hero long past," declared the undead.
The Hero's Shade placed his own sword in front of him in a salute. Geralt did the same and the both of them approached. Their stance were different. On one side you had Geral's which was lose and ready to pounce in a balance of possibility, where he could go on the offensive or the defensive. He even made a quick sign to engulf himself in an almost invisible barrier. Then you had his opponent, which was a stance that Geralt could recognize some similarities in other style he knew.
None decided to take the first shot. Both walked in circle, gazing each other. Geralt noted that his precedent action hadn't been subtle enough, because he saw the eye moving in its socket, following the rare wisp of magic that appeared around him. Then the Hero's Shade charged, opting for hitting with its shield. Geralt dodge on the side and tried to gain a hit only to touched the shield on which his blade glided. That is when the sword came for his head. The tip almost touched his nose. He heard his Quen crackled.
Geralt immediately disengaged to reassess the situation. What just happened was to close for him. Even if he was back at his prime, this would have been to close for comfort. The skeleton in front of him was really good.
He didn't any more time to think however when the Hero's Shade kept his assault. There was no shield bash, only expert swordplay. For the duration of the exchange, Geralt was on the defensive. It came from high, he parried it. It came from the side, he tried to dodge. It was thrust, he pushed it aside. Geralt couldn't do anything when the shield reentered the fight and made him fly for a short time before he fell on the cloudy floor.
A glint caught his eyes before they expanded when he saw the skeleton in the air, ready to pin him to the floor. Quickly rolling on the side, Geralt managed to avoid having a sword through the stomach. A grand thud accompanied the impact of his adversary. The Witcher had just enough time to get up before the Hero's Shade pulled his sword out of the ground. Then the fight continued.
The fight was like a master teaching a student. However Geralt wasn't the master this time. He had to use multiple times the quen sign to protect himself from a hit that snake its way past his guard. Once more, he had been projected. He managed to roll with the fall this time tough. When he looked at the skeleton, this one managed to surprise him once more. In a quick set of steps, the Hero's Shade was behind him. It had been a blur in the space of a few seconds. And once more, Geralt's magical barrier crackled as he was hit by the rusted sword of his opponent. Frustration accumulated inside of him and when he was up, Geralt let it all out as he cast igni. A shower of sparks and flames appeared from the palm of his hand, hitting in the skeleton in the face. The move surprise it giving an opportunity for Geralt which he didn't waste. He only had a second.
With a movement containing all his force and speed, Geralt thrust his blade through a gape inside of the armor. Once he was inside, the skeleton stopped moving. It wasn't dead because as soon as the peaceful moment ended, it stepped back, letting the Witcher take back his sword.
"Thou have proven to be worthy, unwanting invader," declared the Hero's Shade. "You bravery and skill had paid for your way out. You may leave this place alive."
At that, the skeleton put away his arms and stepped to the side, where an empty space where there was grass. Before crossing the threshold, Geralt looked one last time at his opponent who looked back at him with its single glowing red eye. The Witcher took a step and everything went white.
When Geralt of Rivia came to, he found himself in another clearing. But unlike the one where he was attacked by the strange wolf, this one was verdant with plants while the sun kissed his skin. Blinking away the spots that had invaded his vision, he heard curious giggling that seemed to come out of wood. When he looked at his left, something hid quickly with the gasp of a child. It happened again around him.
This was not this which made him turn around but the old cracking of a great tree. His eyes widened when he saw an enormous face stuck to a tree trunk yawned. Eyeless sockets observed hi before words that boomed with wisdom were spoken to him.
"An outsider in these woods?" it asked. "If you are here, it must means you were let passed. Tell me, what is your name?"
Something inside Geralt knew he shouldn't lie or anger the great tree.
"Geralt of Rivia," he answered truthfully.