Downward into the depths of rocky hell, Geralt pursued what he viewed was taken from him. The girl was his only connection to what happened to Viktor. If he had any hope of finding out why the other witcher had gone rogue, Laelithra must remain alive. Yet, it was not the only reason he sought after her. Geralt gave his word to keep her safe. He promised himself that he would find her a safe harbor from all that her father had done to her. He had failed her, and he had betrayed his own self in the process. His teeth clenched together, grinding in angry frustration. Much like anyone, Geralt did not like to admit his shortcomings and failures.

His thoughts turned towards the little girl again. They had became closer than he thought possible. She was the reason he traveled through the caves at this exact moment. Geralt had became the child's protector, and they snatched her from him. The knowledge of it burned deeply in his stomach as if his stomach flopped over on itself.

A pressing need filled inside of Geralt. He pictured the things that the vampires were doing to the young girl. Were they bleeding her, flaying her alive? He remembered the note he had received. No, they wished to keep her alive. Geralt did not know for what purpose. It could not be because of the training the young girl had received. To any one else, she was just a normal child. Grimly, the witcher smiled. Yes, she was just a normal child to anyone else. To Geralt, she was anything but normal. She felt like kin. Shaking his head, he pushed himself into a full sprint. No, she did not just feel like kin. Deep inside Geralt understood, the child and he shared a kinship. Laelithra was his family. Was that what bothered Geralt about her? How did he come to care about her in such a short time span?

Onward, he charged, plunging himself into the twisting depths of an agitated darkness. It cloaked his descent. The urgency to find the girl and the realization of how much he wished to keep her from harm combined with the elixir racing through his veins fueled his blade. Limb after severed limb, body after decapitated body, room after immense room, devastation lay behind the White Wolf.

Pushing off the balls of his feet, he continued his hectic speed into a large, blood stained, gaping room. His concern for the little girl had made him careless again. Another growl of frustration escaped him, forcing from his lungs. The tiny girl had to be her somewhere. Geralt had already searched many rooms. The witcher's quarry escaped him. She needed him.

Dirt and pebbles sprang underneath his boots, clattering behind his footsteps. Sweat saturated his hair, trickled down his neck, and rolled underneath the collar of his jerkin and shirt. His lean muscles bulged from exertion. Through his effort, he would find the girl. Geralt would not give up on her. He clenched his teeth, steadying his breathing. He had his determination and a protective drive pushing him forth. With his determination, there was nothing that could stand in his way.

Unfortunately, the earth decided to challenge Geralt. As he rushed across a small bridge-like rock formation, the ground began to shake underneath of him. The pebbles and intestines shook around his boots, quaking in the dirt and gore covered floor. He could feel it begin to give way, threatening to send him into the abysmal blackness. Because he was a witcher, he wondered what sort of monstrosities lurked there, laying dormant for an untrained soul. Briefly, his mind ran through a list of monsters, both natural and unnatural, that could be in the chasm.

It was the life of a witcher. His thoughts turned to the best places to sell the alchemist ingredients that he, himself, did not make use of. While he worked in the spring, summer, and fall, he would need some extra gold pieces this year. Even though Geralt was frugal, traveling with the little girl had cost him some unexpected expenditures. He had found that he could not deny her of anything. For what seemed a millionth time since their meeting, he wondered if he was softening and what it was about her that caused him to react this way. At least, she was practical. He smiled, slightly. No, at least, she tried to be practical.

As he continued across the pathway, tiny stones shook quickly. The ground grumbled underneath of him, causing him to take pause. Clinks could be heard coming from the latches on his boots as his walk slowed, echoing in the dismal shadows. He walked carefully as his senses alerted him to anything unusual. His gaze continued to watch the bouncing rocks as they vibrated.

The shaking continued, and the ground threatened to collapse underneath the witcher. Straining to listen, he could hear the whistling air as the rock flipped over itself. At first, he could hear the whistling wind as the rock flipped over itself and increased in acceleration. He did not hear it hit the bottom of the chasm. Surely, the darkness did not exceed deep into the bowels of the earth.

Increasing to a roar, the growling behind him reached to a roaring crescendo. Suddenly, the sound of ground cleaving in half roared through the air. It echoed, signaling the death of the object Geralt walked on.

Geralt turned around, searching for the cause of the noise. Even with his heightened senses, the looming darkness was hard to see in. Several large rocks bounced off the edge, hurling to their demise. He could feel a maleficent energy filling the air. While his medallion seethed violently and leaped off his chest in enormous spikes, the witcher glanced around him. With the intensity of the amulet's vibration, the sensations forced his head to bow.

Suddenly, he watched a large crack appear on the part of the bridge he had just traveled. It slithered along the ground, swallowing body parts and boulders alike in its effort to overtake the witcher.

As it thundered towards him, his eyes widened. The look of concern radiated in the golden depths of his eyes. His breath hitched in his chest. Immediately, his hands clenched against his thighs. Yet, the sound of the creaking leather was swallowed by the thunderous noise behind him.

Instantly, he pushed off the balls of his feet. The witcher darted forward as if his entire body had been one long spring. A growl erupted deep from within him, reverberating deep within the room. In fact, the bestial fury blended with the dissonance behind him. His witcher's leathers screamed in protest. Geralt spun around debris, loosing himself in a pirouette. He charged onward, evading falling rocks raining from the ceiling.

A large flat rock to bar the race for his life. It towered over head. Each of its numerous edges jutted out. Geralt scowled. It was never easy. There was never a straight walk to his quarry. Without out a conflicting thought, he rushed up a flat portion of the boulder. Brown and ivory streamed together, blurring in his urgent movements. At the edge of the rock, he did not lose his quicken pace. He bent his knees, leaned forward, and propelled himself through the air.

The darkness threatened to envelop him as his ascent picked up momentum. His ivory ponytail streamed behind him as a leather headband secured it in place. Air rushed out of his lungs, attempting to give the air-borne witcher balance. Beneath his form, the crack continued to race.

Suddenly, Geralt landed with a loud thud on the other side of the rock. His air slammed from his lungs, forcing itself out in burning anguish. Bending over, his body tucked itself into a ball of leather and steel. He tried to outrun the splitting chasm as the ground trembled underneath of him. The White Wolf rolled vertical, using the momentum gained to him during his jump. Geralt could feel the vibrations as his medallion continued to seethe violently.

Finally, he stopped turning over on himself. Geralt stood up in a smooth motion. At the same time, he started to spring forward once more. The White Wolf would not die in a dank cave by his own foolishness. Thoughts of the tiny girl spurred him forth. He would survive this quaking stone bridge. Because he promised to protect her, he had no choice.

Yet, it would seem the earth had other plans for the witcher. It did not care for his fragile loyalty to Laeltihra. Finally, the ground tumbled beneath of him. Geralt's allegiance with Laelithra was stronger than any of the will set against him. Besides the little girl's face would not leave him.. As the ground quaked, he knew he would fall. He could not outrun what fate conspired against him. Reaching up, he pulled on one of the thick, leather straps crisscrossing his chest. His steel sword flamed as it sprung into his grasp as if it was eager for excitement. The ground opened up underneath of his feet, sending both witcher and rocks spiraling to their doom.

As he slipped over the jagged edge, his upper arm smacked into the side. Blood spiraled down his lean arm. It wet the white sleeve of the shirt, soaking the thin black straps hugging the burlap fabric to his flesh. As he descended, he the sword above his head. Even though peril reared its black head to the witcher, calmness shone in the golden depths of his eyes. His movements were precise, slamming the very tip of his steel sword into the round. A metallic ring echoed around the room.

Wrapping both hands around the blade's handle, he his feet and dug them into the side of the plateau. The sword screeched in protest of the wiry witcher's weight. When he jerked forward, the sword would try to buckle. Geralt dug his heels, stopping his descent. This caused more blood to expel from the wound on his shoulder, whirling as tiny bright red orbs free falling in the darkness. He was somewhat surprised, seeing the blood wetting his straining shirt. Because of the elixir coursing through his veins and growing concern for the young child, he did not feel the pain. Not knowing what they were doing to the young girl and his precarious position, he did not have time to wrap the wound.

Geralt's arms flexed from his weight. He did not even feel the excruciating pain associated with his position. This was a boon and a curse. A witcher could bleed out without even realizing it. A primal screech emitted from the witcher, feeding the fury flowing through him like an underground river. He moved his feet, attempting to scale the rock. Slowly, he scaled upwards. Ignoring the protesting groans of the sword plunged into the earth above him, he continued to climb.

His thoughts turned towards the child. If he died here, what would they do to her? A vision of Laelithra's tiny body bound and left to the amusements of the vampires flashed through his thoughts. It steeled his resolve, giving him unknown strength. Once more, he moved his boot, planted it firmly into the wall, and pulled his weight up more.

Yet, destiny was working against the witcher. As the top of his head appeared over the edge, the weapon rang cruelly. The sword screamed of the torture it was receiving from its owner. Suddenly, it clattered to the ground as the blade split in twain. It fueled his rage, intertwining with the wrath he felt at this organization. Once again, Geralt was plummeted downward.

His hands gripped the ground for leverage. Bits of rocks loosened, wrenching free from the ground. Dragging across the ground, his black gloves dug into the ground. Inertia pushed him downward, trying to end him. Geralt pushed his feet forward into the rocky wall harder than before. He let out a primordial snarl. It echoed around the chasm, filling the room.

Geralt's fall was halted as his hands gripped the very edge of the rock. He clenched hard, refusing to give whatever was working against him the satisfaction of accomplishing what it sought to accomplish. Groaning, his arms flexed as he lifted himself up over the edge.

He flipped over onto his back, letting his breathing return to normal. Near his head, the sword lay in two pieces. It had shattered, completely. As he sat up, he looked at the blade. Geralt picked up the two halves of the weapon, frowned widely, and cursed.

…...

Geralt sat utterly alone and looked into the permeating darkness for a moment. His heart thumped rapidly in his chest, threatening to explode. He glanced down at the shards that lay on his lap. The witcher felt angry over the loss of one of his pivotal weapons. It was no surprise. Like most people, Geralt took pride in his possessions. In fact, the steel blade was a gift, and it was irreplaceable.

His golden eyes flashed brilliant orange, fanning the embers of his internal ire at his situation. As he breathed in deeply, his nostrils flared. He clenched his jaw, swearing quietly again. Geralt was sue he would not be able to replace such a gift. The witcher did not consider himself sentimental, but the sword was very important to him. For a moment, he was thankful it was not the silver sword. The metal was precious and expensive. Far more treasured than the steel sword, a gift from his sweetheart. Yet, he hoped he did not meet anything that would be immune to the intact blade.

The witcher knew what would have happened if he did not use the blade to stop his descent. He would have been engulf by the eternal shadow of the cavern. Geralt could not have known what lurked in the deepest recesses. The only thing coursing through his mind was he reacted in such a way that saved his life, and his sword was lost in the process. If he had died, Laelithra would have been left alone to the devices of these monsters. She needed him.

He stood up.

Suddenly, the blackness started to spin around him, whirling and blurring together in a symphony of muted colors. He felt sick. If he could have pale anymore than he already was, he would have passed for a specter. His pulse pumped in his veins, thudding in his ears at an irregular pace. There was times when it beat fast; other times, his heart beat slow. Geralt's upper lip curled upwards into a sneer.

He gazed down his arm, remembering his shoulder had impacted the wall. Blood wet the outside of the shirt, streaking it bright red. It circled against the cloth covering his elbow, slithered down his forearm, and dripped off his wrist in thick plops. He had forgotten. Rage at his situation and concern for the girl coupled with the blissful effects of the elixir clouded his mind. It had made him forget.

Calmly and ignoring the injury, he walked to the edge of the floor and stared down into the black mass of nothingness. Sneering aggressively, he drew back his arm and hurled the shards straight. They arced halfway into the air before they dropped. Ivory gleamed as shafts of moonlight illuminated the twin shards as if the heavens were calling back the meteorite woven into the blades. It cut the darkness as if it was slicing open an alghoul's stomach, glinting in its vertical descent.

Geralt swayed on his feet, trying to remain upright. She needed him, and he had no plans on leaving this place without the small girl. Laelithra required his aid. He would push his body as far as he needed it to go. The witcher had set his mind to the task, and there would be no second guessing for him now. His body had other plans. Geralt's legs gave out, causing him to narrow his golden eyes. He landed on his buttocks forcefully. It should have vibrated through his entire body. Yet, the elixir numbed that pain too.

The witcher unsheathed his silver sword and set it beside him. He removed his glove and black straps circling his upper arm, and blood cascaded off his fingertips. It pooled onto the floor. Geralt gripped the sleeve with his hand. His teeth gnashed together, tightening his jawline. With a violent, jerking force, he pulled his arm forward and tore the sleeve from its seams. A shattering rip echoed through the cavern. Anger soared in his veins as he began to wind the fabric around the wound. Already, this rescue had cost him a good shirt and his steel sword. What more would it cost him, he thought.

Geralt took a breath, holding it within his lungs. He made himself focus as the image of the little girl came to him again. The witcher would not let these vampires accomplish whatever they held the young girl for. Reaching down beside him, he picked up his weapon. Once he had set his mind to something, there was no way out of it. Bent on extracting the girl from the creatures' grasp, there was no way to sway him from his goal. He had one purpose and one ending. Geralt of Rivia would not be persuade to leave the path to success. Immediately, the witcher stood.

From deep within the depths of the gaping chasm, a ball of golden light erupted, spinning in its ascension. The light filled the room, casting unusual shadows on the walls. It shimmered in a brilliant ball of energy and seethed in a golden splendor.

The sudden contrast of light and dark contracted his pupils harshly. It hurt his eyes. Geralt his arm, buried his face into the crook, and hid his eyes. Still, the glistening orb of light percolated through the darkness caused by his body. He did not now what to expect. There were few times when he was accosted by a being of pure energy. Yet, he tried to avoid engaging them.

As the light dimmed, Geralt unshielded his eyes. He did not know what to expect, and it made him nervous. The witcher turned around and faced the energy. Nothing was going to delay him to his task because the small girl was captured. She had showed him kindness in a world full of strife. Geralt did not understand what drove Laelithra, but he would not leave her there. Smiling grimly, he knew he did not know what he was going to face. It made him nervous. However, the orb of energy hovered between him and his path to the small girl.

The vapor around the orb disburse, and a voluptuous, feminine shape emerged. Pale skin glowed with an internal light, creating a flawless, angelic completion. Her crimson ringlets cascaded down her shoulders as if it was a river of blood. A golden circlet encircled er forehead. The edges of the helmet flared up into metal wings. "Witcher, you have come seeking what can not be found," her voice boomed, echoing in the space between the two.

A warmth entered Geralt, and it distracted him from his task, slightly. His mind worked to stay focus in the gentle presence of the creature. Once more, an image of Laelithra floated across his mind. It cleared the mists, reminding him what was at stake if he should lose his way. "Bring forth Laelithra. Bring her to me," he bit out, extenuating every word as if they were weapons. He his weapon, pointed it at the being, gazed along its length, and stared into the vibrant blue eyes of the other.

As she laughed, the sound bounded around the room. She moved towards him, gliding on the hot currents of the air. The glimmering thin metal rods spiraled around her breasts, clanging as she hovered. It pinched those mounds that with the creature's every breath, hoisting them higher than they should have rested. Wrapping one pair of her wings around her body, she hid the thin, fine, linen skirt from his view. Another pair of wings up in the air, and the feathers brushed the tips of her helm. The final set of ivory wings flexed as she moved.

His gaze took in the female form, finding it pleasing to him. Yet, Geralt did not loser his sword. He narrowed his eyes, breathed in deeply, and calmed his senses. The witcher did not know how to react to such a being.

After landing before him, she unsheathed a long sword from her gem encrusted sheath attached to her metal belt. Her blade glimmered in the darkness like a naked, white fire in the midst of night. He swallowed as he took in the sheer size of the weapon. It was easily as large as the witcher.

The ground cracked underneath of her weight as she landed before him. It groaned in objection to the slim, tall mass of woman. Her head nearly reached the stalactites hanging from the ceiling. "You shall answer the Seraph's riddles three. Win, and the Seraph shall grant one wish to thee. That which you seek is the only exception. Lose, and you are mine with no protestation."

Geralt sheathed his sword, relaxing his posture slightly. The being was a vision of pure beauty, disarmingly so. He'd never encountered such a thing before. There were exquisite creatures he was with before, but non as the seraph before him. He did not know what to expect and kept himself ready for anything. His experiences dedicated for him to be ready to change avenues on a moment's notice.

Yet, he swore silently. He did not like riddles. But, he reminded himself that he did not know anything about the creature before him. If there even were any, he did not know her weaknesses. The only thing he knew for defense was to dodge the giant sword. He tried to avoid killing sentient monsters, anyway, unless there was no other way. "Riddles. . ." Geralt muttered. Knowing the being stood in the way before his path to Laelithra and he needed to survive to free her, he shook his head. White hair brushed his cheeks. "Ask me your riddles."

"It is greater than the gods, blacker than the space between the stars. The poor have it, the rich need it. If you eat it, you will die. What is it?" Her voice resounded in the cavern, seemingly coming from every direction.

Maybe, this was not going to prove to be too difficult. His lips curved upwards into an arrogant smile. He gazed up at the creature, craning his neck to see into her eyes. "That's easy," Geralt said, confidently. "The answer is nothing."

Starting to pulsate, the orbs rotated around the winged creature rapidly. One of her wings folded around her, impeding her from the witcher's view. Feathers fluttered in the air as the brilliant light flared once more. Some brushed Geralt's gaunt cheek, sending a cold chill to overtake his body.

Once more, the light made him cast his arm over his eyes. It hurt his eyes, illuminating the dark shadows in the room. He felt the feather's caress his skin, the warming feeling overcoming his body, and the lust in the creature's hidden eyes. Geralt felt like one of its lovers. Longing cracked through him, arcing in his body like lightning. His medallion quaked against his skin, threatening to pull him to the ground. The witcher was ready for anything.

He felt someone pull on his arm, releasing his sight from the blackness of his armor. Looking into the creature's eyes, he felt urges the witcher was not even sure was his own. Geralt had never felt such a need to throw his inhibitions aside. His mind shouted at him to forget Laelithra and give in to the creature before him. It was what he really wanted. Once more, the name of the child brought him out of his self-induced need. For her sake, if nothing else, he would resist.

The abnormally large creature had shrunk. Stopping at the top of his shoulders, she looked up at him. Lust oozed from her, coating his insides in an ebony sludge. She ran her fingertips along his thick stubble. Her touch felt cool and pleasant to him. Once more, his body commanded him to surrender. "The first riddle has been asked and correctly guess. Shall you answer my second riddle and be closer to continuing on your foolish quest?"

"If I have too," he grumbled. As the seraph leaned closer to him, he could smell a scent that would render him physically weak in the future. Cherry blossoms and Jasmine overpowered his senses, taking the breath from his lungs. Once more, his mind clouded over. He stared into the eyes of the creature, and he was blissfully unaware of anything else.

"I can not be seen nor felt. Neither can I be heard or smelt. I lie behind the stars and beneath the hills. I have ended life and killed laughter. What am I?"

Geralt moved slowly as if he were deep in the watery depths of a dream. His medallion spiked off of his chest, vibrating violently, Yet, he did not pay attention to the medallion. Everything around them seemed to fade away, leaving himself and the seraph in his conscious awareness. He found himself wandering where he was or why he was in the cave. It was a pleasant experience, feeling the benevolent wind overtake his soul. Suddenly, he realized realized the malicious nature of the being before him. Beauty was her facade, and it was meant to lower the defenses of men. Sentient, he tried to avoid killing, but the White Wolf stayed his hand for no belligerent monster. However, he would play her game because a plan was being pieced together in his mind.

Leaning in close, Geralt brought his lips mere centimeters from the seraph's. He could feel her cinnamon smelling breath against his skin. Need laced through his veins, threatening to overwhelm him again. It would be a dangerous plan, but Geralt had an iron grip on his self-control. "Darkness," he whispered, barely more than a breath against her lips.

She smiled with delight at his success. "That is, again, correct," she answered, sounding please with himself. Geralt was sure she thought she knew the outcome of his wish. "Steel yourself, witcher. The end is in sight, but the third, and most difficult, you must get right." Instantly, her lips brushed ever so slightly against Geralt's.

The witcher groaned. He did as she said and steeled himself. Yet, it was not because of the intense desire coursing throughout him. Moisture clung to his lips where hers were just a moment before.

"I never was. I am yet to be. I've never been seen, nor will I ever. Even so, I am the confidence and hope of every living thing. What am I?"

Once more, he felt the heat of her breath against his mouth. He his injured arm, brushing the tips of his fingers against the cheek of the otherworldly woman. With satisfaction, he watched her tremble from his touch. As far as the witcher knew, she was the only one of her kind. At the time, Geralt did not know that she was once a benevolent being of unconditional good. Yet, the corruption of Jhaer runs as deep as a river underneath the earth. The vampire was skilled in giving what others wished.

"The future," he whispered against her crimson lips.

"You are right. The wish shall be yours, tonight," she replied, coolly. Once more, her mouth brushed over the witcher's. She tasted differently than anything that Geralt had. The cinnamon taste melted away for something crisper. A intense smell of Jasmine and Cherry blossoms, a scent from the future, overcame his sense. When the creature resembled spring, Geralt felt the urge once more.

For a brief moment, Geralt nearly deviated from his plan. He was overcome by an almost irresistible desire to use his wish exactly how the seraph wanted him to. It was what she expected him to choose. The witcher understood that. With an unexpected suddenness, an image of Laelithra being torture, screaming her little lungs out for him, popped into his head. The feeling sobered him, feeling like succor to a drunk man. He was there to save her. She had saved him, he thought, mordantly. Geralt understood that the creature was stalling him, giving her masters time to visit their dark purpose on the little girl.

She stood, staring into his eyes. Her lips were a fraction from his own.

"I wish for your sword," Geralt said, nonchalantly. He came out of the haze was a snap of cold, hard reality. Because of his lustful nature, the young girl could already expired. She could be dead. It was something Geralt was not prepared to admit. What as it about the child? Also, he was caught by the intense devotion he felt for Laelithra.

The seraph widened her eyes, looking surprised by his choice. Yet, she was bound by the agreement made before hand. She laid the silver inlay hilt into Geralt's hand.

Geralt felt the weapon fit into his hand seamlessly. It was as if the blade was not even there. Was the blade made for his grip? The witcher truly did not know.

Once more, she leaned in close. She her hand, gripping his shoulder roughly. He could feel the coldness seeping into his skin. Again, his medallion vibrated as if it was going to be ripped from the witcher's neck. The creature did not say anything. Yet, he could feel the need to abandon his quest. It was something he would never be willing to do again.

As the creature pressed her lips to Geralt, he thrust forward in an intimate movement. The blade slipped easily through the exposed stomach of the seraph. He crushed his lips to her own, feeling the heat of fury fueling his movements. This creature sought to distract him, and he would not be distracted.'

Violently, she broke from his affectionate embrace. Because she was a being of pure light, several beams shot out of the wound and overwhelmed the witcher. Her mouth opened wide, screeching her failure to the darkness around them. Her fingers threatened to claw Geralt, grasping him in her death.

As the light vibrated in frequency, Geralt could feel the intense pressure coming from the beast. She had changed before his eyes. Golden embers raced along her flesh, darkening her face with her corruption. She opened her mouth again, screaming violently.

Geralt grasped her shoulder with his strong, large hand. He pulled her forward, sliding the monster along his sword. It flared white in the moonlight and light from the creature as the blade ripped through her back.. Slowly, the grip on his shoulder's lessened as her arm clattered to her side. He hopped away, sprinting for cover.

The only thing protecting his body from the swelling creature was a large protruding rock. Geralt did not understand how the object did not fall when the ground collapsed around him. He breathed roughly, catching his breath.

A column of wild energy emerged from the creature, scorching everything in the room. The shadows were burned away, and the terrified shriek of many monsters lurking in the depths echoed. Suddenly, the creature lifted from the ground. Her body zigzagged around the room as if she was a moth set ablaze. She screamed in agony, making Geralt cover his ears.

Suddenly, a boom came from the ceiling. Light encompassed everything as chunks of raw meat and gore rained down onto the witcher. The pressure of the light inside of her was too much, and the woman exploded. Had he thought, he would have questioned her on Laelithra's location. He was going through the cave without that knowledge. It would be longer to find the small girl. Once more, he steeled his resolve. Too late to worry about that, he thought as he exited the blood-splattered room.

…...

As he raced along the pathway at a crazed pace, the walls of the cave narrowed. A cloying scent of blood from the floor, sickening him. Several large holes bore into the sides of the tunnel. Veins of silver ore glittered in the low light of the cave. Besides the vampires infesting the cave, it was a beautiful, serene mound of rock.

Geralt did not find beauty in his situation, however. The creatures made it a disconsolate, achromatic home. He had face unusual beings in this cult in the very first hours he had begun searching the cave for the girl. His experienced dictated that the creatures he had slain should not have been with the cult, working with the vampires. Yes, necrophages made sense. Yet, Aurochs, karkonos, kikimores, and wyverns did not. None of them should be associating with each other. Yet, he had to cut through a vast majority of those types. It was more than he should have dealt with. The witcher knew the reason for their cohabitation. They were brought together for a higher purpose, serving someone that they held a fierce loyalty for.

The witcher did not know nor had any way of knowing the intense influence of the bruxa hoarding the little girl. Her followers, even the less intelligent one, held a certain fanaticism to her. They see her as no one else could see her. Geralt may look at Jhaer and view a monster needing to be relieved of several body parts for hurting someone he cared for. Yet, the creatures under her iron grip leadership Her intelligent followers killed for her. She ingrained this idea of a perfect world, an Eden, into the minds of her subjects. It would be a world without the need of witchers because complete bliss, delight, and peace would exist. Jhaer would protect them from the infrequent aggressive monsters from that world. The only thing that her subjects would be require to do is cater to her every whim and obey her every law. If they questioned her, they would fall into the category of those rare, obstreperous creatures. Then, they would be dealt with accordingly.

Yet, Geralt knew about their plans for a new world. For some reason, they needed Laelithra. She was the only one who could usher in this new age. He did not know why they needed her. The only information gleamed from the letter was that they could not move forward without the girl. At the time, he did not believe a word of it. Geralt had seen many things and heard many prophecies over the weary years. Many of them did not come , some of them came partly true, and few did come to fruition. This was one of those moments were the creature's plans would not. A delusional, sentient being drove mad with power, professing the end of the world will come. She would lead them all to a glorious new future. Of course, the witcher heard it all before. It happened more times than naught to him.

Geralt did not concern himself with the wars of others. He may have wielded a sword, but he was not a knight. The witcher lacked the proper rationality to be motivated as a hero. Many could have claim him to be a mercenary, defending any from monsters who have coin. He knew his death would come from claws or fangs, deep within the den of a monster who he been hire to kill. It was the way of a witcher's life, and Geralt had become accustomed to it.

He was a walking contradicting of himself. If he had no emotions like he lead many to believe, Geralt would not have been in that particular cave. Laelithra did not pay for his protection, nor did she ask for it on any occasion. The witcher willingly gave himself to her. In fact, he would not have hurt himself, clove his sword in two, or slain the hordes of monster to get to this point if he truly felt what he believed himself. However, the witcher of Rivia could not be more wrong.

A lyrical feminine voice echoed in the passages ways before him. He followed the haunting song, keeping the sound ahead of him most of the time. The witcher listened, trying to make out the individual words sung. His mind feared what he would find at the end of his journey. Deep inside of him, he knew what sort of creature made that noise. Geralt could never forget the encounter he had with that kind. Immediately, the hoary hair on the back of his neck stood on end. A coldness swept through him when he remembered why such a creature would sing as she was.

In a moment of clarity, Geralt of Rivia understood what was being done to the small girl. He clenched his teeth, growling in frustration. As his mind delved back into the annuals of his memories, he knew there was only one reason why a creature would sing. Immediately, he knew what the monster was too. This organization had a higher vampire amidst them. The entire extraction of the girl went from an easy stroll through a cave to damn near impossible.

However, there was something about the child. In his heart, he knew he was the only one who could save her. He did not understand the reasons for his feelings, nor did he know the extent of them. All he comprehended when it came to the girl was that she did not deserve that fate. Confidence hardened inside of his chest.

A malodorous scent drifted to him, making him wretch. Geralt slowed to a walk because he did not know what to expect. The stench reminded him of the streets of towns that did not have sewers. In those types of villages, human dejection piled on the streets. They did not have any way of removing the excrement. These conditions bred a perfect environment in the back alleyways for zeugls. In fact, it was what Geralt thought he was going to experience.

Slowly, he unsheathed his silver sword. The blade gleamed in the harsh, dimly lit caverns. He did not know what to expect, and his body was on edge with the elixir he had taken. Geralt felt a sudden rush of battle lust provided from the elixir coursing through his veins. It had foolishly masked his injuries. If there was a ugly, rotten potato like creature around the bend, he would not be prepared. Of course, he thought he could take anything. His blind devotion to the child made him foolish once more.

He gripped his sword firmly in his hand. Despite his thoughts and worry, he rounded the next bend. Geralt would be ready for anything. Nothing would get in his way of saving the small girl. Not a reeking monster, a alluring creature, or anything else. Geralt had one singular purpose. He stopped when the source of the tart fetor came into view.

Before the male witcher, a human man stood. His bald, scarred, wrinkled head shone in the beams of moonlight filtering through the cracks of the ceiling. Elderly eyes glittered ominously in the darkness. It was as if the human man spent his entire childhood growing up in these caves. As the skeleton like man turned towards Geralt, his bones creaked. In his and, e had a mining pick. "Witcher, you have come as she said you would," the cadaverous man spoke to Geralt. Resembling his appearance, his voice sounded like how gravel felt.

The initial shock of seeing a human working with a hodgepodge of monsters left him almost immediately. Geralt confidently strode across the distance between himself and the gangly bag of pones that spoke to him. Instantly, the witcher's intent shone in the promise in his eyes, gleaming gold in the blackness. He did not need to say anything to the spindly, emaciated man for the threat in his eyes to become real to the other. The witcher did not see a man, though. He saw a minion of the enemy, a monster himself, made so by some indoctrination the witcher did not care to learn about. Geralt wanted Laelithra, and he wanted to get her out. That was the extent of his involvement with the strange cult. Having his fill of strange flying beings, vampires, and royal wyverns, he would be happy to leave them behind him. Of course, he would have to have Laelithra with him. He would not leave without his tiny companion.

The man recoiled from the witcher. Briefly, a look of fear passed over his face. Geralt had no doubt that the man had never witness a witcher in full wrath or had bear the brunt of a witcher's ire. Terror shone in his eyes as the realization slowly came over him. Soon, he would.

Reaching out, Geralt clasped the man's shirt at the collar with an iron grip. The diaphanous material, worn so long without being washes that it was rotting on the other man's bony frame, stretched and tore slightly under the stress. Slamming his back against the rough stone wall, Geralt heard the air forced from the shriveled man's lungs in a sickly wheeze.

Suddenly, the man started to cough violently. Blood splattered around his mouth.

"I'll give you one chance to tell me where the girl is," Geralt growled, aggressively. The potion coursing through his veins was making him unusually aggressive. He was irate, and his eyes smoldered with the it. Of course, he was growing frustrated with all the obstacles in his way before Laelithra. The witcher tightened his grip on the man's collar, and the material around the other's neck almost cut off his labored breathing.

"Please, witcher, spare me," he gagged out between breathes in a hoarse whisper. Geralt could see that the man was having trouble concentrating on him. As the witcher lifted the man up off of his feet, he wailed his arms feebly trying to escape. When Geralt leaned forward into a shaft of light and placed his face centimeters from his own, the man could only see his amber eyes. Instinctively, he recoiled and soiled his pants.

"Refuse to tell me what I wish to know, and I will paint this cave with your blood, one drop at a time. Where is she?"

Something in the demeanor of the man changed. A look of choler entered his gaze, darkening his irises. He worked his mouth like a fish, opening and closing it. As a result, Geralt tightened his grip again and cut off the man's circulation around his neck. He gasped deeply, releasing more sickly air into the witcher's face. Geralt smelled onions, garlic, and the tangy stench of tooth decay. It mixed with his body odor, making the witcher's stomach churn.

"Where. is. Laelithra?" he asked again, asserting complete dominance in his voice. There would be no doubt in his voice that Geralt had meant every word of his threat. The witcher would carve him piece by piece, limb by limp to get the information he required.

Once more, the man formed an O with his mouth, gaping at the white-haired man. Yet, Geralt saw no fear in his eyes. The fear from earlier was replaced with anger. It wasn't the first time that the witcher had seen that look in another's eyes. What his master would do would be worse if the other betrayed her, the witcher ascertained. Immediately, he understood his verbal threats would have no impact on the gangly creature.

"You're too late, witcher," the sickly man wheezed. "Mitress Jhaer has her. The only way you will see her is if you join the Eternal One and lend your blade to her cause." He laughed. A cough overtook his glee, rattling the thin bones of his body. Shaking in Geralt's clutch, he kicked his feet.

As his laugh was cut short by Geralt's fist crashing into his face, the back of his head collided with the wall. Pain reflected in the man's eyes, showing that he did feel it. He would not give the witcher the gratification of knowing he felt it. His nose collapsed under the impact of the witcher's blow, sending blood exploding out onto the floor of the cave.

"Where is she?"

The lanky man stared up at Geralt with a bruise darkening his eyes. Blood ran from his nose, over his lips, and off his chin like a river of thick oil. He would not answer. Fear of the bruxa, his mistress, had stolen the words from his mouth.

Once more, the witcher pulled his arm back and swung his balled up hand into the face of the elderly, sickly gentleman. Yet, Geralt did not see a man before him. He saw a creature who held back key information over a little girl's survival. It did not sit well with the witcher. In fact, it would not sit well with anyone. "Where?" he snarled.

Once more, the back of the man's head bounced off the wall. It cut open his scalp, causing blood to drip in a thin line over the back of his head. He sucked his gore covered bottom lip into his mouth, refusing to acknowledge the witcher's request.

A small, shrill voice carried through the caves, echoing in the labyrinthine cavern. "Geraalt," it cried out, pleading for him to come. He heard the hurt in the voice, the agony of a little girl who could not fathom what was being done to her.

Suddenly, the witcher was urged to a change of tactics by the sudden dire need in the vice calling for him. Geralt did not have time to waste for this human monster, this churl, defying him. Every moment he wasted, battle that he willingly entered, and monster he skinned brought Laelithra closer to her grim fate. He doubted that they would kill her after what he read in the letter, but there were worst fates than death.

He clenched his teeth again, grinding them together. Immediately, he wrenched the man free from the wall. Streaks of bright red fluid ran down the stone wall.

In a fit of rage, fueled by the witcher and the girl's need, Geralt dragged the man back the way he had come. Through his trail, Laelithra's cries for the White Wolf echoed. Through the maze, he retraced his steps with a tight grip on the man's collar. Occasionally, the man would flail wildly and attempt to flee the enraged witcher. All sort of monsters could not escape his grip, and this man was no exception. He was too sickly, pallid, and frail. Suddenly, he stopped at the gory chasm that had almost claimed him, the one that claimed his sword.

Throughout it all, the man did not say a word. He foolishly refused Geralt's requests for information, and he sealed his fate with his defiance. When the witcher pushed him, the sickly human violently tried to grab him.

Geralt rotated his hips, moving to the side. His ponytail fluttered against his cheek again. The witcher ignored it in his unending rage. Once more, Geralt pushed the man forward and brought his feet to the very edge. Under the effects of the elixir, he felt no mercy for him. After all, this man worked willingly with monsters who would kidnap and torture a child. He saw the terrorized eyes meet his own, mixing with anger and fear. No regret. No sadness. Only wrath and need coursed through him.

Then, the witcher thrust his arms forward again and shoved the oaf. The man shouted as his feet slipped from the edge, tumbling into the yawning abyss. His tattered rags flapped against him as if they were flesh hanging off bone.

As he tumbled head over feet, Geralt caught one of his ankles. The witcher would have his information. He did not have time to draw out a torture to extract the information from the man.

The man thrashed from side to side, trying to pull himself up, It was a futile motion because he did not have the witcher's strength or flexibility. His only lifeline was the witcher clinging to his ankle. He screamed in horror, shielding his eyes from the view of the black abyss threatening to swallow him whole.

"Which way to the girl?" Geralt demanded, articulating each word. His voice did not hold a threat anymore. There was no threat to be held in the White Wolf. He meant what he said as before. Yet, there was sinister quality to it. The tone rumbled quietly within the chest of the witcher. "Tell me, and I will release you. Refuse, and I will drop you. Where is she?"

Immediately, the man had stopped writhing. He had given up all hope of escape. The only course would be to fall into the darkness surrounding him, Geralt thought to himself. Shutting his eyes tight with fear, his body stopped shaking. Suddenly, a stream of vomit emerged from his mouth and poured over his face. Hot and burning, it rolled over his eyes and off his forehead because much of it spilled forth from his nostrils. "To the right where you found me," he spit out quickly, fear of the abyss bringing a new willingness out of him. "Go that way until the first left. They are in the main chamber at the end of that hall. Right, left, and straight."

Briefly, Geralt wondered if the man was lying. Had the fear really caused him to divulged the information so quickly? He was silent and did not betray his thoughts.

"Witcher?" the man called up to him, weakly.

"Yes?"

"Release me. You said you would release me."

"That I did," Geralt said, releasing his grip on the man's ankle.

With an ear piercing scream, he plummeted into the deep darkness of the chasm. He twirled over on himself, hitting several ledges on his way down.

For a long time, Geralt could hear the scream as the human fell into the bowels of the earth. He did not feel anything towards this man. There was no pity nor remorse. It was just nothingness. To the White Wolf, the man was a monster by association. In the future, they were even more deceptive as the witcher protected the small girl. Their wickedness would know no bounds. Even children brought into the enemy's service was not safe from the witcher's distrust. Jhaer would see to their loss of innocence. With a satisfying suddenness, the scream was cut short. No, he did not feel compunction for taking the man's life.

He turned from the chasm, making his way towards the child in trouble. He would not let her be used by these monsters. It was his duty to save her.

…...

In a frenzied fury, Geralt raced down the long, low corridor. The walls made him feel like they were closing in on him. They were slick with a seething black substance that the witcher did not know what it was. He did not want to know what it was.

The rhythmical, melodic voice grew louder as he neared the large central chamber. He was almost there. Geralt's medallion vibrated off his chest, landing violently against his jerkin. As his amulet oscillated, he could feel the Force impregnate the air closest to the chamber. It seethed, suffocating the witcher.

Under the crushing weight of the magical energy, Geralt slowed his pace. While there was still an urgency apparent in his movements, he slowed his pace to a walk. He did not know what waited in there for him. The White Wolf was not foolhardy. Because of the creatures he encountered on his way there, he expected more of the same.

It still did not make sense to the witcher. What type of creature had the hold she did on her followers? He still did not understand, and he needed to. To rescue Laelithra, he needed to know why they were so loyal to their mistress. It was an unusual concept to think about with a vampire. Geralt was sure that an alpor led the Arcani. The concept was strange to the witcher.

Yet, vampires were strange beings to many people. Numerous villagers had spread around several myths regarding anything of that nature. It was how people cope with things that they did not understand. It was easier to kowtow to superstition than it was to deal with the realities of any situation. Some occasions, a peasant would say that a love one was turned into those types of creatures because they could not fathom that the creature just wanted to murder their victim. This was incorrect because a vampire was not transformed. They were born like any others were born. A cat does not get changed into lesshie. It was the same thing. A human does not transform into a katakan.

He had encounter a few humans on his way to the central chamber. Was the reason they were working with a vampire because another of her kind mutilated their love ones? It did not make sense to Geralt. Of course, he did not like things when he could not understand a motive. The unknown could cost Geralt his life. His lips frowned. It was not only his life this time, he reminded himself.

Laelithra relied on him. Even though she was still small, she had more faith in him than others. She did not judge him for being different, did not place unreasonable demands on him, or ask him to be something she was not. Instead of judging, she accepted everyone the way that they were. He did not feel like a freak, a monster mutated to fight other monsters.

In exchange, he protected her from those who would harm her because of her nature. Both men and women would seek to use the small child. She was too trusting for her own good. Laelithra could not see the monstrosity in the human species. Geralt knew that most monsters existed in human clothing these days. It was the reason he protect her, sheltering her from those who sought to do her harm. At the same time, he wished to open her eyes. To survive in a world without Geralt or any other man who did not seek her in marriage, she would have to lose her foolish view of the world. Was he going soft? He asked himself again. If he was, it was Laelithra's fault.

He was almost there. The witcher could feel it. His lean body tightened as if he was a spring. Geralt pushed down the emotions he felt rising inside of him. Of course, that was the girl's fault. Even though he denied it, the tiny girl forced him to feel. It caused anxiety to rise in him because he had never felt such a fierce need to keep someone safe. Because the feelings were so intense, he was prepared to rush headlong into unknown odds to save a girl he barely knew. Despite his protests, there was something that drove him to protect the her. He could not leave her to this fate nor could he let them do what they were doing to an innocent child.

As he drew his silver sword from its sheath, he thought about the meaning of his thoughts. It was strange that he considered Laelithra an innocent child. There were no innocence among the people he protected. Sometimes, the people who hired him were no better than the monsters themselves. Yet, Geralt always had a choice of turning down a contract. He believed he was no better than those he killed. After all, that is what the peasants thought. It was the dual nature of the witcher from Rivia, and it would provide conflict in the girl and Geralt's semi-perfect relationship. There was no innocents with the exclusion of Laelithra.

Slowly, he walked into the room. Confidence oozed off him as his footsteps echoed on the natural stonework of the cave and the point of his sword swayed beside him. His jaw clenched as he saw Laelithra.

She was bound to a crude stone throne. Her arms was raised as ropes hooked around her tiny wrists. The rope itself was threaded through a small hole at the top of high back chair. Laelithra lowered her head, resting her chin against the bloody fabric covering her chest. Geralt did not know what he expected, but this was not it. He expected her to lift her head at his entrance, but she did not even acknowledge him. Was he too late?

Then, he saw her. She knelt before the small child and throne, holding a gilded chalice to the child's abdomen. Blood poured from a wound in Laelithra's stomach, draining into the glass. Her long, silken ashen hair covered her complete back, and the gore covered tips swayed against the floor. Once the cup was filled, she . Immediately, the creature started to spin gracefully as she brought the chalice to her lips. Bits of ivory flashed, mixing with her grey wrinkled skin. Slowly, she drank the liquid, savoring it. This was their Mistress Jhaer, a bruxa.

"I'm taking the girl," Geralt demanded.

Their mistress, the bruxa, lowered her gaze to Geralt as if she was expecting him. It was at that time that he understood this enemy realize the weakness in Geralt. He cared for Laelithra. In doing so, he allowed himself to be foolish on many occasions regarding the girl. She smiled a cold, predatory grin. Reaching up, she ran a crimson stained claws through her hair. You have arrived just in time, witcher. I always like a little entertainment when I drink. Slowly, she the goblet to her lips. The crimson liquid splashed, sloshing against the sides. Jhaer closed her eyes as she drank deeply.

Deep inside of him, the witcher had expected a bruxa. He had remembered the images the echoing song had brought to him. Yet, he'd not consciously expected a bruxa. They were exceedingly rare, and exceedingly dangerous, as well. The sights in the room, the manifestation of pure evil that echoed a honeyed voice in his head, the poor child bleeding in the darkness, almost made even the steadfast White Wolf quail. Almost. Stepping carefully and pointing his silver sword at the beast, he moved towards the throne. His eyes never left the bruxa's.

Jhaer's floating form danced around the center of the room, lifting the gem-encrusted, golden chalice to her lips. Without bringing it down nor spilling the precious liquid inside, she spoke to him. This girl belongs to us, Geralt. She was sworn to us by her father, just as her brother, Leviticus, was.

Geralt's gaze was torn from the spinning creature to a tiny boy standing next to the throne. He was not bound like Laelithra was. Instead, he stood as if he was one of the chosen soldiers to protect the king of a kingdom. A baldric crossed his chest, emblazoned with the cult's symbol. Behind the small shoulder, the handle of a steel sword winked in the darkness at Geralt. His sharp features narrowed to a pointed chin much like Laelithra's. Long, shoulder-length, platinum hair brushed the boy's cheek. It was his eyes that Geralt noticed the most. No, it was the eyes of the boy that terrorized even the unwavering witcher. Brilliant green eyes stared out at Geralt as the boy's gaze followed Geralt in the darkness. Thin red lines twisted , intertwining in the whites of the snake shaped eyes.

There was no doubt in Geralt's mind what happened to the child after seeing the boy's eyes. His features were so akin to Laelithra's. Twins. She'd said her brother was dead. What had become of Viktor, he wondered. At that point, Geralt did not care. He wanted only to get Laelithra and get her out. Afterward, he would sort out the mess her father had gotten himself into.

Think about what you do next, witcher. I don't want to have to kill you, not when you can serve other purposes. In his study of the boy, the creature had stopped twirling. She drifted dangerously close. In her glide, her tiny feet hovered above the ground.

Minions poured into the exit tunnel, sealing off Geralt's escape. There were many different creatures in the mass of bodies. Mostly, there were humans. He realized that they were just fodder for the vampire before him. She did not care about her subjects as she had them convinced of.

You can continue this futile attempt to rescue the child, die in the effort, and accomplish nothing.

The creature drifted ever closer. She her hand to his wounded arm and touched him.,Her flesh felt cold to the touch, chilling the soul of the witcher. He could feel her breath on his face and smell the sickening sweet odor of blood on it. Laelithra's blood. Her lips were inches away from his own. Or. . .you can join us. Join us and help us cleanse the world of the blights caused by humanity. You've been teaching the girl. You would still be her teacher, and her brother's, and all of our other special initiates. Be their maser, and I will be your mistress.

In Geralt's mind, there was no doubt what the beast had meant. Everything she said brought a rage in Geralt. Yet, the smell of the little girl's blood on her lips sent a bolt of blinding emotion through him. He shuddered at the thought of the bruxa's suggestion. "Never," he answered calmly. His grating, metallic voice echoed harshly in the silence of the cavernous chamber.

The tiny woman moved away from Geralt. Her lips turned downward as blood drained down her pale skin, soaking the flesh of her breasts. She was stained red with blood. Laelithra's blood. Slowly, she backed away from him, spinning in a beautiful pirouette as she went to the throne.

Laelithra lifted her head as if Geralt's voice had roused her from a dream. His presence seemed to breath life back into the girl, weakly. Yet, she had the courage to move with the vampire at her right. Blood continue to seep from the wound on her stomach. As she whimpered, relief spread through Geralt. At least, she was alive.

Jhaer sat on the throne, crossing her slim, long legs. Sitting diagonal, the flesh of her thighs seemed to beckon the witcher as it called out to his carnal urges. She rested her hands on the stone slaps jetting from the throne.

Once more, the little girl hung her head low. It was too much for her, Geralt thought to himself. Her platinum hair stained red from gore, her own gore, framed her features. He knew she could not see him. The little girl might have been exposed to the diet, but she was still human. "Please, Geralt," she whined to him. His eyes narrowed at the fatigue shaking her voice. "I just want to go."

Silence!

Laelithra's whimpering was cut short by the bruxa's venomous commands. The child seemed to shrink as much as the sticky rope would allow her. Her upper lip quivered as she moved. Geralt imagined that the material cut into the little girl's wrist. Again, a trail of blood drizzled from the wound. Yet, she did not make much of a fuss. It impressed the witcher.

He stood still as death, trying to decide a course of action. Pointing his sword at the creature, he looked down his blade, gazed up its point, and stared into the eyes of the unusual woman. If threatened, Geralt would react. Yet, he did not underestimate the vampire before him. Now, he realize what she was, and a sinking feeling entered his gut. The White Wolf did not know how he would get Laelithra from the creature's grasp, but the witcher would find a way. Seeing the pathetic child bleeding in the darkness steeled his resolve.

Jhaer's clear eyes glared coldly at the witcher who was halfway between herself and her minions. With dreamlike grace, she raised one hand and snapped her sharp fingers together. The sound came clear in the silence, echoing in the immense room. Clearly, the woman meant it when she said the White Wolf had but one chance to agree with her plan. Sitting back on the throne, she the cup to her lips again, delicately. The creature was intent to watch for now.

In a sudden rush, the creatures charged as one from the tunnel. They sought to overwhelm the witcher, moving like a well-oiled machine. Geralt could see the lack of emotion and awareness in their gaze. There was something else that bothered him. Most of those rushed him were human. The humans were not like the ragged man the witcher sent tumbling to his death. There was no awareness in their eyes as a monotone moan escaped passed their lips.

He would not kill unnecessary. Even with the elixir rushing in his veins, he would do something to minimize the causalities. These men and women did not move of their own consent. Raising his hands before him, he traced the sign in the air. Immediately, the golden light rushed forth from him, warming the space before Geralt. His ponytail danced wildly in the force of the wind.

Yet, he could not hold the sign for long. It was weakening him, and he had yet faced the real threat. Jhaer. The witcher was sure the bruxa would seek to use his condition to her advantage. She had an unusual intelligence to her. He had no doubt that she would not taste his blood. The potion he took would be useless. He was no fool, and he knew that she was not, either.

Lowering the sign suddenly, the entire crowd fell as one. Each of them reeled from the impact, stumbling over the body of the one beside of him. Above all, Jhaer's laugh carried clearly. She was impressed.

Looking back, Geralt could see another by the throne. He stood next to Laelithra, running his fingertips down the little girl's cheek. Geralt felt the knot in his stomach tightened as he took in the man's presence. His eyes resembled the little girl's brother. While he did not recognize the face nor the eyes, he knew it was the boy who had taken Laelithra. It was the assassin who had scrawled the note, sending Geralt on this chase after a little girl he barely knew.

The man stood up and moved next to the bruxa. "Let me kill him, mistress," he pleaded, earnestly. There was a begging look in his eyes. "Please, mistress, let me kill him alone."

Jhaer smiled and nodded. As if the others sensed her will, they backed away. Slowly, the assassin approached Geralt, taking one step at a time. His confidence exuded from him. He had his mistress's blessing upon him.