The Nightsabers fidgeted uneasily in the hallway, glancing to the heavy wooden door that barred their way. They'd been instructed to head up to this quiet wing, far removed from the rest of the castle, but to their consternation they'd found the door locked and no tutor waiting for them. So, unsure of what to do, they had opted to wait. Silence reigned over the group for a short while. Frederick found himself glancing to the other members of the group, now able to look at them properly in the daylight. Eventually, like the sundering of a dam, the awkward quiet gave way to nervous chatter between the students. The young man that had introduced himself as Darren was the first to speak up.
"So did the Masters say what our first lesson would be?" He asked.
"Master Njall told me we'd be studying monsters this morning." The girl called Merinea. "I don't know who will be teaching us, though."
"Monster Knowledge?" Otto scoffed. "I didn't come here to spend my days in a classroom! When will they get to teaching us the REAL secrets of being a Witcher, like swordplay and magic?"
"I'm sure they'll get to that in due course." One of the other adepts, the boy named Morold, reasoned. "But first they must make sure that we are equipped with the knowledge that we need to hunt these beasts."
"I have neither the time nor the desire to learn that." Otto was dismissive.
"Then, with all respect, why are you here?" The Nilgaardian, Krenai, asked. "The purpose of our training is to prepare us to face the beasts that haunt the wilds of this world, to ready us for all aspects of the hunt. This includes understanding our prey."
"We have enough troubles back home with the beasts who walk around and call themselves our enemies without distracting ourselves by hunting animals." Fordalt, Otto's brother, answered. "We're here to learn how to fight like a Witcher, to slay our foes in the blink of an eye, to become warriors of unmatched ability."
"I don't think that's how this training works..." Colin, the former squire, murmured.
"If you think you can use the Witchers as some kind of training school to hone your skills for personal gain, then you are both fools." Darren, the student who had identified himself as a Child of Destiny, said snidely.
"Think what you will of us." Otto postured proudly. "We're the best warriors in all of Velen, and our time here will only serve to make us stronger. Once our training is complete, we shall return to our father in triumph and take our places ruling over the land in his stead."
"I know of no Witcher who ever returned from the hunt to become a Lord." Cyrus observed. "I'd always thought it was against their code to have any kind of holdings. Something about their practice of neutrality, their refusal to submit to any one kingdom. That is why they can move so freely between the various lands."
"Cyrus speaks truly." Darren noted. "You're both quite naive to think that you can just return to your old lives once your time here is over. Now that you've been inducted into the Guild, you hold no more stature than a flea-ridden peasant, like Morold over here."
The stout young adept flinched at the words, clearly allowing their barbs to lash at him as Darren leaned over to nudge him with his elbow, winking.
"You couldn't even begin to decipher the complexities of noble affairs, could you, friend?" He laughed, oblivious to the awkward silence that began to overtake the others as they watched. Ida seemed emboldened to speak up, interrupting the young man's laughter.
"So were you of noble birth, Darren?" She asked pointedly. "You speak as one who was born into such affairs."
"Well... I..." For an instant, Darren was at a loss for words, his mouth opening and shutting a couple of times around imagined then rejected replies. "Well, in truth, no, I was not. Actually, I know nothing of my heritage. By the time my mother gave birth to me, my parents had already been on the road for some months, trying to avoid the Witcher who was sworn to claim me. We travelled from town to town, never stopping for long. They had some coin to spend, for a while, as we never wanted for a warm bowl of stew or a bed to rest our heads, but at the same time we had to work to support ourselves, my father helping to thatch a roof here, repairing a fence there, sometimes even aiding a village's menfolk on the hunt, while my mother would mend blankets or pluck chickens. I cannot begin to guess whether I was born from a wealthy line or an impoverished one. My parents always avoided the subject, presumably from fear that I would seek out my birthplace and maybe be overtaken by the Witcher."
"It's not too terrible a life, though." Morold reasoned. "A life on the road, food for your belly, a different place to sleep each night..."
"Knowing your parents." Frederick muttered, albeit too quietly for anyone present to notice.
"It was a waste of time." Darren sneered. "My parents tried to avoid fate. In doing so, they tried to cheat me of my destiny, to keep me from the life I was meant to lead."
"You truly believe that your course has been set by destiny?" The Nilfgaardian, Krenai, asked.
"I do." Darren's chest swelled. "I am a child of destiny, touched by fate and driven by forces most men couldn't possibly understand. I will become a Witcher, and I will be known far and wide for my achievements. Even one of the Masters here, Master Meinard, has picked me out for special consideration. He claims that he can help me become a strong Witcher, even more powerful than most of the Masters here. What more proof do you need of my preordained path?"
Frederick suppressed a shudder at the name, a flash of black eyes guarding an endless abyss racing through his mind. He looked over to his room mates to see their concerned eyes glancing back to him. Ida was the first to speak.
"I am not sure that he can be trusted." She spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully.
"Oh? What makes you say that?"
"Well, was saw that Master speaking with Frederick last night, asking him to praticipate in the same experiments as you mentioned, but-"
"Really?" Darren wheeled to face the former mage's apprentice. "He considered you for the new mutagens, too? Are you also a child of destiny?"
"No." Frederick felt uncomfortable as all eyes turned to him. "I was an apprentice to the Mage Travis of Asheberg before-"
"A Mage's apprentice?" Darren grew excited. "So you have knowledge of magic, then."
"A little."
"And what kind of spells have you cast?"
"Just-"
The words caught in Frederick's throat as images flashed into his mind. His own hands, moving of their own volition, his lips trembling over alien and uncanny words that he'd never heard before. Lights wheeling around him, a dizzying display that both blinded him and opened his eyes wider than they had ever been in all his life. Glimpses of worlds beyond his ken, of strange beasts and terrible demons. A world bathed in ice and snow. Flames. Devastation. Noise. Then the blackness of insensibility. He fought to keep his hands from shaking, swallowing the awkward lump in his throat. He coughed to cover over his hesitation.
"Just the one."
"And what did it do?" Darren pressed. "What did it feel like?"
"I- I'd rather not discuss it." Frederick kept himself from stammering. "It is not a spell that I should ever repeat, for the benefit of all around me."
"Suit yourself." The other adept shrugged. "Still, perhaps that is why he singled you out. If you have an affinity for the arcane, that could put you in good standing to survive his experiments. So, has he arranged with you when you will undergo the procedures?"
"No. I'm not going to take his treatments." Frederick said firmly.
"What?" Darren was incredulous. "Why ever not? Why would you turn down the chance to obtain more power?"
"I don't trust him." Frederick explained. "When he was speaking to me, I felt like an animal in a cage. If you submit to his experiments, I guarantee that he will not be concerned for your welfare."
"I'm not afraid." Darren replied proudly. "Our training is not without risk as it is. How bad could it be?"
"Don't forget what that other Master told us." The Skellige woman, Hilda, spoke up. "Remember Reinicke, the one with the hat? He said that Meinard was cast out of the Wolf School for killing their old Grand Master! How can you trust him if he would do something like that?"
"Well, what if the benefits of his works outweigh his past deeds?" Darren reasoned. "I mean, he promises that his procedures will keep all adepts from dying during the Trial of the Grasses. The traditional methods and mutagens are said to kill almost all Witcher students. Isn't that kind of benefit worth tolerating his former actions? As long as the Masters of the school keep him on a short leash and monitor him carefully, we should be ready to reap the benefits of his work."
"And the lives put at risk for his research?" Radogar asked sharply. "What of them?"
"Then they would most likely have perished during the Trials anyway. That or they would have been weeded out on the hunt." Darren shrugged. "Either way, better that they die achieving something worthwhile than wasting their sacrifice failing to benefit the rest of us."
"What a cold way to look at the world." Ida murmured.
"It's the practical way." The young adept replied. "Witchers do what they must to achieve their goals. If that means tolerating someone like Meinard and his experiments, then I am at peace with that."
"A pragmatist. Good. We can make use of that."
All the students turned to face down the corridor at the strange voice, finding themselves facing the Witcher Master who had attacked Meinard the previous night, the Witcher known as Gedymin. His serpent medallion gleamed against the black of his loose-fitting shirt as he adjusted the black bandana that was wrapped around his crown. He stepped out from where he had been leaning against the wall, watching the conversing students silently.
"There is no room in the Witcher's guild for compassion, or sensitivity. Ours is a most cruel profession, and there is no such thing as a pleasant contract." He stalked forward, his feet silent on the floor.
As he walked past Frederick, the young man could see two wickedly curved daggers stuck into the back of his waistband, the hilts of the weapons polished to a fine sheen through repeated use. His snake-like eyes flicked from face to face, studying each of the students.
"Don't you students have a class to attend?" Gedymin asked.
"Monster Knowledge." Hilda explained, pointing at the door behind her. "We're meant to be in this classroom, but no one is here. We don't know who our instructor is meant to be."
"Monster Studies? That's Meinard's specialty." Gedymin's words made Frederick's stomach lurch. "He's probably fetching some specimens from the dungeons."
"Specimens?" Cyrus asked warily.
"Aye. You'll see soon enough." The Witcher smirked. "He does love his practical demonstrations."
"Sounds like you know a great deal about him." Morold observed.
"I do. More than I wish." Gedymin spat. "From the sounds of things you've all had your own run-in with the Master or his creations, so I won't bother to elaborate, but I can say that you are right not to trust him. Meinard is dangerous. More than that, he is cunning. Do not allow him to lure you in with his words and ideas. He will outfox you in an instant. He was part of the Wolf School for a time, but he is no Wolf in his heart."
"With all due respect, Master, I would say that you are no Wolf, either." Darren interjected.
"Your meaning, student?" Gedymin folded his arms across his chest.
"Your medallion." Darren pointed. "School of the Viper, right? The coiled serpent."
"You're correct." Gedymin nodded. "You've heard of our School?"
"A little." Darren explained. "I've heard that you operate very differently to other Witchers. That you don't hunt monsters, but instead take contracts out on humans. And that you are all a bunch of cold-blooded murderers."
"You think to goad me?" Gedymin chuckled. "To somehow prick my conscience with your barbed words? These are accusations I've heard hundreds of times before, child. I do not deny them, I embrace them. Yes, we spurn monster contracts in favour of those that allow us to target humans and other sentient species. We are proud of our way of doing business. In fact, I would go so far as to say that our work is just as important as that of the other Schools."
"How so?" Merinea couldn't help asking.
"Many would reason that the real monsters of the world don't stalk the forests and feast on blood and flesh with their talons, but rather they stalk our homes, preying on our weaknesses and fears from behind the guise of authority and trustworthiness. We Vipers deal with such threats, toppling the corrupt or the unjust, avenging the mistreated, and eliminating those who would threaten the stability of the land. Some say that makes us no better than common mercenaries, but I say that it makes us pragmatists, people ready to get our hands dirty to do what must be done. All, of course, while being paid fairly for our services."
"So where do you train?" Otto asked. "Where is the home of the Viper School?"
"Nowhere." Gedymin shrugged. "Everywhere? We have no castle to call our own, no mighty palace granted to us by the fickle whims of a King. We roam wherever we choose, never having a place to call home. There are no great numbers of us at any one time, only a scant half dozen, but our fame is widespread, and we often attach ourselves to other Schools to pass on our skills and knowledge."
"I would hesitate to call that the style of a Witcher." Fordalt spoke up.
"Then don't." The Witcher was impassive as he turned to leave. "We know what We are. I know what I am willing to do in the line of my work. What others think of me is of no consequence. I chose the School of the Viper because I know that I would make a poor Wolf or Cat, but I excel in the art of killing men. My skills are best suited to their way, and I am satisfied with my path."
The Viper Witcher took a step back, bowing slightly.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I should leave before Meinard turns up."
The Witcher turned, striding out of sight in seconds, and not a moment too soon, as Meinard stalked into view at the far end of the corridor. Frederick felt his guts tighten at the sight of the red-coated Master, striding down the corridor towards the students. Behind him, two servants followed closely, a long, wooden box held between them. Behind them, a black figure, shrouded in a long, all-concealing cloak that hid their frame from head to toe. Underneath that thick, black fabric, the clink of metal could be heard, jangling with each step. An aura of dread swirled around the figure, it's face hidden. As it stepped close to Frederick, one of the sleeves of its cloak shifted, offering a glimpse of all-too-pale wrists, narrow and bony, bound in heavy iron shackles. A quick glimpse was all that Frederick could steal, however, before the foreboding apparition had passed, following Meinard closely.
The Witcher Master stopped at the door, glancing to the gathered students with a disinterested gaze. Those dreadful eyes swept across the group, lingering on a couple of figures, Darren and Frederick among them.
"Forgive my tardiness, students. Today's lessons require much preparation. I require a few minutes more, and then we shall begin."
The Witcher vanished into the room, followed by the servants with the box, and finally the cloaked figure. The students waited for some minutes more, now all silent as they watched the door pensively. Even the cocksure Darren seemed nervous, glancing to the others with unease.
There was a thump, loud, violent, followed by a stern shout. Frederick heard Meinard shout a single word, a command of some kind, and then the room beyond the door fell silent again. Just as the silence was becoming unbearable, Frederick almost desiring to reach for the door and try the handle, the door suddenly swung open sharply, a gust of cold air escaping from the room within. The servants bolted out, and to Frederick's consternation one of them clutched at his arm, blood flowing profusely from between fingers clenching at an open wound. The other servant supported his comrade to keep him from falling as the pair dashed off down the corridor. Frederick couldn't help but notice the unhealthy pallor that now filled the stricken servant's face. Meinard strode out behind them, a look of disgust crossing his features.
"Get him to the healers, now!" He called after the retreating servants. "And when I call for another to assist me, make sure they are not so incompetent!"
He calmed, his irritation almost visibly flowing away from his form as he turned to the students.
"I apologise. It would seem that reliable help is hard to come by in this place. What I wouldn't give to have access to the servants of Kaer Tiele again..." His facial expression twitched as he looked over the students heads. "Ah! Master Njall! I have been informed that these are your students, yes?"
Frederick turned to find that, to his shock, the Nightsabers' Master was indeed standing behind them, as if he had been there all the time. Once again, the adept had to marvel at the burly Skelliger's ability to move so silently, almost wraith-like. Njall loomed over the back rank of the students like a monolith, his arms folded as he regarded Meinard.
"I had come to see how my students fared in your class, Meinard, but it would seem that you have yet to begin. If that is the case, I would speak with you before your lesson starts."
"Yes, of course!" Meinard nodded warily. "Would you care to speak privately, or-"
"Anything we have to say can be spoken of in front of my students." Njall interrupted. "I have no secrets from them, nor shall I ever try to. A pupil must trust their master completely."
"As you wish." Meinard's tone was flat, but the downward twist at the corner of his mouth revealed his disapproval.
"I have heard... rumours... in the castle that you are trying out new mutagens, new techniques for enhancing our students, is that correct?"
"Well, it's far more complex than that, but essentially, yes." Meinard nodded.
"And you hope that these techniques will make the Trials safer for our adepts in the future, yes?"
"Eventually." Meinard qualified. "We still have much work to do."
"I see." Njall's hand cupped his chin, fingernails scraping through his beard. "Well, before you get any ideas relating to my students, know this- they are my charges. I will keep them safe, no matter the cost. Should you do anything to endanger their lives, you will answer to me. Is that clear?"
"Well, yes, but I have no intention of causing harm to any of them." Meinard replied. "If anything, it's my hope that my new techniques will make sure not one of them perishes during the Trials, Njall. You know the toll of our little initiation ceremonies, brother. Don't you want to eliminate the risks those Trials bring?"
"Not at the expense of the safety of my pupils." Njall reaffirmed. "Find other creatures to test your formulae on, murderer. Leave my students be."
"As you wish." Meinard sighed. "You have nothing to worry about, Njall. Besides, that is not why they are here this morning. They're here to learn about the beasts that we hunt in the line of duty as Witchers. So, if you're done threatening me over imagined schemes...?"
"Go ahead." Njall waved a hand. "I will return to gather my students after you are finished."
With that, Njall was gone, and Frederick couldn't help but feel all the more exposed for his absence. He suppressed a shiver as Meinard looked back to the students, waving a hand at the still-open doorway.
"Come, students. We mustn't waste any more time. Welcome, to Bestiary Studies. Please, step inside."