Chapter Two

"Let's just start with names, shall we? I'm Vesemir." Vesemir placed his hand on his chest and then swept it towards Geralt. "And this is Geralt," who then nodded his head in greeting.

Flustered, but controlling himself, the man answered. "Name's Fimel. Please, I beg you, you have to help me."

After hearing the man's request, the witchers agreed to hear out his story once Vesemir had stipulated that they do so with a full belly. They now found themselves sitting at his dinner table with a large plate of aged cheese and day-old bread, two small flagons of mead already half empty.

Seemingly satisfied that the witchers had quelled their appetite, the man launched into his story. "It's my brother, Nithal. He's been gone nigh a week now. He hunts, you see. Only game has gotten scarce, what with the war and all. He's had to go further and further afield to find anything worth eating. Told me he was crossing the river to look for deer. Should've been back days ago. But everyone says I don't know what I'm talking about. That he is just taking longer than expected."

"They do have a point," Vesemir chimed in. "Hunting takes patience. Sometimes things take longer than you plan."

"Aye, but this is different, I can feel it. Something isn't right."

"Perhaps he just got lost. If he's had to go further out than he normally does, then he wouldn't know that part of the woods," offered Geralt, taking another swig of mead.

"No, there's no chance of that. My brother is not the kind to get lost. Even if he were, he's got Ripper with him." At the looks of confusion on the witcher's faces, he added, "His dog. Ripper always knows the way home."

Geralt set down his empty mug on the table. "Alright, fine. So he's not lost and he's not hunting. Then you realize what the logical conclusion is, don't you? I don't mean to be grim, but chances are that your brother is—"

"No, Nithal isn't dead. I can't explain how I know it, but I do." Vesemir and Geralt exchanged doubtful glances. Fimel continued on despite their skepticism. "Look, all I want is for someone to go looking for him. Pick up his trail, find him, bring him back." Geralt opened his mouth to say something, but Fimel stopped him with a placating gesture. "And if what you believe truly has come to pass, well then… then at least I'll know what happened. I could take solace in that if nothing else."

An audible sigh escaped Geralt's lips. He didn't want to delay their journey and he hated getting involved in matters that didn't concern him. But contrary to what he led everyone to believe, he did have a conscience. He couldn't just abandon such a desperate man when there was clearly no one else willing to help. Plus, they had already accepted Fimel's hospitality. It would be a little uncouth to turn him down now. What could it hurt to poke around the woods a bit? They would probably find the brother's body across the river, torn to pieces by wolves and be back by the next morning. Fimel erased any remaining doubt in Geralt's decision with his next statement.

"I'll pay you anything you want. Anything, it's yours. Please, I beg you, find my brother."

Vesemir raised his eyebrows in a politely amused way, prompting Geralt to voice his decision.

"Fine," Geralt grumbled. "We'll look for your brother. But I make no promises as to what condition we might find him in."

The man looked as though he were about to cry, he was so overjoyed at the news. "Oh, thank you, sirs, thank you!"

Having both finished their food, the two witchers stood as one, Vesemir giving a slight groan as he did so and placing his hands on his hips. "Well, no point in dawdling. Point us in the right direction and we will be on our way."


It took the rest of the day to find the place Fimel had described—a small clearing next to the river, where a low waterfall pooled and slowed the river enough to cross, due east of the village. The autumn canopy was ablaze with the orange light cast by the setting sun. A scene matched only by its shimmering reflection in the churning water. It was a stunning view. Both men halted in the clearing, subconsciously agreeing to drink in its beauty, just for a moment.

That moment ended when Geralt spotted footprints heading into the water. There were two sets, one a man's, and one a dog's. He followed their direction with his gaze and found a matching set exiting the river on the far side, still fresh due to the bank's perpetual mud. Conspicuously absent were any prints leading back toward the village.

"Guess we're in the right place," remarked Geralt before dismounting Roach. They could more effectively follow Nithal's tracks from the ground. Vesemir quickly followed suit and they both tied their reins to the saddle horns and let their horses loose. They were trained not to wander too far and to come at a whistle from their masters.

"Ready?" Vesemir asked, tilting his head toward the river.

"Let's just get this over with."

Not wasting any more time, Geralt waded into the river. The water was only waist-deep, but bone-chillingly cold. Geralt gritted his teeth, partly against the pain seeping up his legs and partly in an effort to keep them from chattering. He hated the cold. The far bank was maybe twenty yards away and Geralt hoisted himself up it as quickly as possible, careful as he did so not to disturb the tracks left by Nithal and Ripper, with Vesemir following closely behind.

Squatting down next to the footprints, Geralt followed them with his eyes as far as he could see into the woods. The trail was clear.

Geralt stood. "Looks like these will be easy enough to follow. Should find Nithal in no time."

"Looks can be deceiving, Geralt. Let's not count our chickens before they're hatched."

Sure enough, they hadn't followed the trail for more than two hundred yards into the trees than it all but disappeared. What was once forest loam, clear of debris near the river, soon turned into hard-packed dirt, strewn with several inches of fallen leaves and pine needles. There were no more footprints, but that didn't mean the trail was gone. It would have been nigh impossible for anyone but a witcher to track.

Geralt grumbled in his throat, annoyed at the turn of events, and not daring to look at Vesemir for the I told you so he knew he would receive. Instead he searched on for further signs of passage, heading in generally the same direction as the tracks had indicated. It took them several minutes of hard searching, but Vesemir was able to spy a small break in a twig ahead of them and a little to the right. It was near shoulder height, so it had to have been something tall. Taller than a deer or other, smaller animal. It had to have been Nithal.

And so they continued on. Slowly. The sun was soon replaced by the light of the opalescent moon. It was nearly full and provided the witchers with plenty of light. With their cat eyes, the forest was nearly as bright as it was in the sunlight, if cast with an eerie glow that bleached it of color.

The trail wound through the forest for several miles, Geralt and Vesemir led on by an inconsistent set of clues—a snapped twig here, a strand of blonde hair there, the tiniest bit of cloth caught up in a bramble. When the silence and the chill of the earliest hours of the morning crept in, Geralt was ready to call it a night. They would just have to start again in the morning. He wasn't even sure how far behind Nithal they were, the nature of the traces they found leaving no timetable. They could be hours or days behind him for all he knew.

Vesemir chose that moment to let out a wide yawn. He was more following Geralt at that point than the actual trail, though he would occasionally identify another sign. Increased stamina or no, they were both getting tired. And that would make them sloppy. Geralt knew they couldn't afford to miss anything.

He was about to turn around and say so to Vesemir when he caught sight of something in the distance. He wasn't quite sure what about it made it stand out, but there was some sort of disturbance in the bed of leaves. They weren't quite piled in a natural way and Geralt's eye, accustomed to the natural lay of the land after having stared at it for miles, noticed the difference.

"Hey, I think there's something over there." He jogged over to the pile to get a closer look. Vesemir looked up in interest at the sudden break in silence, but made no move to follow the younger witcher.

Upon closer inspection, Geralt still couldn't figure out what had happened in that spot. It looked for sure like someone had gone through there, two distinct lines cutting a path through the leaves, like a pair of feet skidding down a hill. Only, they were going uphill and then they just… ended.

Waving him over, Geralt called to Vesemir. "Come look at this. I'm not really sure what to make of it." Obediently, Vesemir started heading up the slight hill. As Vesemir was making his way over, Geralt circled the disturbance, viewing it from a different angle, hoping it would bless him with some insight.

Instead, the ground suddenly gave way beneath Geralt, plunging him down through the bed of leaves and into darkness, his hands flying upward in a vain attempt to grab hold of something. His feet crashed into a steep hill that sent him tumbling a further twenty feet into a cave, dry foliage and branches cascading down around and on top of him. At the bottom, Geralt finally rolled to a stop. The fall had knocked the wind from his lungs and it took him a moment to find his breath and heave in the dank and musty air. Other than a few open cuts and what would surely turn into nasty bruises, Geralt was unharmed.

At the top of the pit, which appeared as little more than a small circle of light, Geralt beheld Vesemir, peering into the hole.

"Are you alright?" Vesemir called.

Still coughing, Geralt turned and answered, "I'm fine." He looked up at the sheer slope in front of him, weighing his options. It was too steep to walk on and the tree roots didn't reach down far enough for him to climb out. "Don't think I'll be getting out this way though. There's a cavern down here, it has to let out somewhere."

"I'll see if I can't find the entrance from this side and meet you there." With that, Vesemir's head disappeared from the circle of light.

Turning back to the cavern, Geralt could finally take in his surroundings. The cave, having no natural source of light other than the column of moonlight floating down through the shaft, was nearly pitch black. Even Geralt had to widen his pupils to their full extent in order to see. Just beyond the reach of the moonlight was something Geralt hadn't seen earlier, despite its blatant conspicuousness.

A corpse.

It was a dog, impaled through the heart by a broken branch. Suspicions aroused, Geralt quickly ran through the implications in his mind. It couldn't have been a coincidence. The dog had to be Ripper. Meaning Nithal had come this way and fallen into the same hole. But that revelation only led to more questions. Ones that had disturbing conclusions. If Nithal had fallen through that hole, then someone had to have covered it back up. Was it a trap? Some sentient creature bent on cornering its prey? Geralt unthinkingly fingered the strap across his shoulder that held both of his blades tight to his back.

What was going on?

Knowing he would get nowhere by standing around, Geralt strode cautiously into the darkness. Focusing on the path ahead of him, Geralt didn't see the small dip in the cavern floor at his feet. With his next step, his foot slid out from under him and his back slammed onto the rock. Groaning, Geralt rolled over and paused when his hands met with a slimy surface. He hadn't noticed before, but the whole cave was coated in a thin layer of slime. Thin enough that it didn't make a sound when trod upon and not enough to cause a glisten in the dim light, thus giving itself away. From what Geralt could tell, it was issuing from the clusters of mushrooms that dotted the cave, ones that he had never seen before. Swearing and shaking the muck from his hands, Geralt delved further into the cave, careful to keep his feet.

Further on, the small tunnel let out into a massive cavern, the ceiling almost fifty feet high and stretching several hundred yards. Stalactites reached down from posts above and stalagmites clawed their way upward in return, a massive set of stone teeth waiting for an intruder to bite into. Dotted along the walls were many circular openings like the one Geralt had entered through. They varied in size. Some of them would have only permitted a rat while others could have fit two fiends side by side.

"Great," Geralt said to himself, surveying the myriad paths in front of him. There were no distinguishing marks that gave any clue as to where the tunnels led, so any guess was as good as the next. Geralt decided to go with the largest path, which was perpendicular to the tunnel he was currently occupying.

He hadn't gone too far when a blood-curdling wail rent the still air, raising the hairs on the back of Geralt's neck. Another screech answered the first and echoed through the chamber.

Wraiths.

Geralt already had his hand near the hilt of his silver sword and drew it instantly when a greenish glow made its way out of the gloom. Three nightwraiths were soon upon him. Just before they reached him, Geralt threw down an Yrden sign and held his sword at the ready.

The ghostly women flew at Geralt in an all-out attack, albeit somewhat slowed by his trap. Soon Geralt was dodging and blocking their attacks from all angles, surrounded. He would duck one swipe only to have to catch a blade with his own immediately after. He didn't have time to breathe, let alone attack. It didn't make any sense. Three wraiths were bothersome, but generally not a serious threat. Not to someone as skilled as Geralt. Something was wrong. Geralt felt slow, like there were weights attached to his limbs and he couldn't quite bring his foes into focus. He shook his head, but the swarming masses in front of him now swam across his field of vision.

One attempted swing at his head came dangerously close. It would have landed, had he not leaned back almost parallel to the ground at the last second, falling backward in doing so. Too dizzy and weak to stand, Geralt was left vulnerable on the ground. The black and green world swirled before his eyes, but Geralt managed to discern an overhead blow coming toward him. There was no dodging this time. In a last ditch effort, Geralt threw up a hand to block the swinging sword. At the moment it touched his flesh, Geralt expected blinding pain and the warmth of blood seeping down his shirt. But he felt nothing. The sword didn't touch him. He watched it pass through his body like mist and materialize once more on the other side. Geralt swung his sword wildly around him, trying desperately to fend off the monsters, too out of it to figure out what was going on, instinct alone driving his actions. The sword eventually fell from his grasp and he followed it a moment later, eyes rolling into his head as he hit the cold, hard stone. In his dimming vision, the glowing phantoms vanished as if they had never been there, leaving Geralt in utter darkness. Unconsciousness soon took that from him as well.