Geralt sheathed his silver sword. Immediately, he wrapped his hand around the gilded hilt of his newly acquired steel sword and pulled it from the lizard-skin scabbard on his back with deliberate motions. He wanted it to be noticed so that there would be no doubt where he'd' gotten it. The witcher had killed one of her more powerful lieutenants, but there was another important point he was trying to make. Because he had killed the creature, he had resisted exactly what the Jhaer was trying before, rejecting seduction.
At once, she halted drinking from the cup. Her lips rested against the golden edge. Immediately, her eyes widened.
Circling the assassin slowly, he glared down the length of the blade at the assassin. Each sized the other up. His blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail like Geralt's. From that simple action, the witcher knew the boy had experienced some sort of combat either within the organization or outside of it. The assassin was lean with limbs wiry from the training he'd undergone for years. He would be quick, but all the advantages lied with the witcher. Geralt had strength, reach, and experience. All Geralt would need to do is get close enough, and the boy's quickness would not matter one bit. It was one thing to dodge a lunging blade at several feet. It was another entirely to dodge it close up, within arm's reach of your opponent. As he stared into the eyes of the other, the witcher did not doubt that the assassin took potions, himself. He knew he would have to feel it out at first to judge.
Finally, with twin grunts, they came together. Their blades crashed loudly between them and echoed sharply. Sparks flashed in the darkness, illuminating Geralt and the boy for the bound girl. For a few seconds, both stood locked together.
The assassin stumbled back a step. Geralt knew he was not prepared for the brute strength of the witcher. His body build was deceiving. Most believed the witcher to be agile, and he was. He had enough time to hone the speed in his body, perfecting himself in ways that normal humans could not. Yet, it was not the only side of the White Wolf. A sleeping strength lay in his muscles, releasing itself when he was in combat. Because he trained in every spare moment, his instincts and prowess was perfected.
Immediately, a cold smile crossed the witcher's face. Geralt had the strength, indeed. A stark sureness within him. Of course, he did not think the whelp could best him. By the look of the assassin's face, the boy could not have been no more than the age of sixteen. He was not afraid of the child. Even though he was fearful of death and mutilation, he did not doubt his abilities. In his line of work, he could not afford to listen to his mind's incertitude. A witcher did not listen to the doubts that plagued him because it would make his reactions slow. No, the assassin winning was not what made the sudden confidence bolster inside of him.
He wasted precious time fighting the bruxa's minions and her elite guards. Laelithra's life hung in the balance. While Jhaer did not wish to kill her, the little girl had lost much blood in her stay in the clutches of her enemies. Bruxae could not control their blood lust. Like most of her kind, the witcher understood their mistress was addicted to the crimson fluid like a frequent patron at a tavern. Even if she did not mean to, she was draining the life out of the small child. Sadly, Geralt knew she could not stop herself.
Yet, a hope in him. It soared in his movements, his thoughts, and the smile on his lips. This boy would fall rather fast. Geralt was as sure of that as he was of any of the monster lore. In his intense focus, he did not give much thought to the boy's eyes or the fact that the youngster was mutated. He would not allow his body to process that information or question why this vampire cult was producing mutants, yet.
Even in his concentration, he noticed the similarities between the child's stance and what he remembered of Viktor. As the assassin swung widely, Geralt placed his feet apart before entering into a full spin and pirouetted along the right side of the assassin. As soon as the momentum increased, he stopped and faced the assassin. Once more, their blades rung together and sent flash of light in the darkness. Taking an opening, his blade looped around with a flick of his wrist. It screamed angrily in the air.
Again, it was met with the other blade of the boy. He had parried Geralt's attack, flawlessly. There was no doubt in his mind now to who had trained the boy. Viktor would know the steps of the witcher's training. The elder witcher had trained several of the witcherlings during his time at Kaer Morhen. There was something different about the way the boy moved. It was something that the witcher could not put his finger on.
Geralt did not let up. As the assassin continued to stumble from the sheer force of the witcher's blows, he followed step for step. He would not let a distance grow between them or give the child room to maneuver. With the witcher close to him, it gave the boy a disadvantage. There would be no use for the assassin's quickness.
Instantly, the boy gave ground, backing away slowly. He tried to circle around to the left and recover any position he had lost.
The witcher was not about to let that happen. He stepped aggressively forward with his left foot, moving into the assassin's path. Geralt knew both his and the little girl's life were at stake. Jhaer would not be able to control herself. The witcher narrowed his eyes at the boy. While sadism drove the assassin, something else drove Geralt. His oath to the girl. Knowing how he felt, he would not leave here without her. No, he could not leave without her.
As the boy struck quickly, he slashed his sword towards Geralt's right side. His lips curled up in a sneer. The witcher could smell the blood on him and his weapons. Was it the little girl's? Instantly, the thought enraged the witcher. He had to calm himself and battle coolly. In fact, the only alternative was death. She drove his actions.
Geralt parried the blow. He blocked the assassin's blade, making the strongest part of his sword's blade connect with the assassin's foible. The witcher sought to overpower him with strength alone. There would be no way the child could hope to outmaneuver the White Wolf. Immediately, he clenched his teeth together as determination sang through his muscles.
The force of the impact pushed the assassin's arm away, leaving him exposed. If Geralt had expected the youngster to back down, he was surely mistaken. Even when the edge of the witcher's blade grazed the boy's arm, the child held onto his hostility towards Geralt. Blood dripped off a slight wound on his upper forearm, trickled down, and wet the ebony Arcani livery.
Once more, Geralt was sure this battle would be over soon. The assurance of the outcome surged through him. The real enemy sat on the throne, watching over the fight with increasing interest. Immediately, the witcher knew what she meant by other special initiates. How many more assassins did she house in her organization? Two mutated children was more than enough for the White Wolf.
In his parry, Geralt had left himself exposed as well. Yet, it was to no weapon he would have expected. The way that the assassins of Arcani worked was by their agility. When they had no use of using that, there was something else in their lethal disposal. It was no less deadly to humans and non-humans as the silver sword was to monsters.
Immediately, the boy extended his arm. The soft flutter of his armor sounded around both of them. At the same time, he pressed the palm of his hand to the witcher's right side and exposed midsection exposed by Geralt's aggressive attack.
Geralt could feel the click of a mechanism he had no way to prepare for. The witcher did not know such a device existed. Slowly, small gears turned in the other boy's wristguard. Immediately, a searing pain ignited in his side. He grunted. While the elixir dulled most of the agony, he still felt a great amount of it.
The boy stepped back and pulled the blade out of Geralt's abdomen, looking arrogantly at the White Wolf. A slim punch dagger glistened in the darkness. Blood wet the fuller, raced in lines down the edges, and dripped off the point. Geralt's blood.
Feeling dizzy, blood gushed from the witcher's wound, running in a black torrent down his side. It slipped over the wrinkles in his jerkin, landing in puddles on the floor. He stepped back, staring at the assassin in shock. He'd never seen a weapon like that. He didn't expect it.
The assassin's young voice echoed in the cavern as he laughed. In fact, the metallic chuckle reverberated around the room. "Your time is passed, old man," he boasted. "Don't worry. I'll take real good care of the girl, just like I did when I brought her here."
As his eyes narrowed, the witcher did not answer him. He remained quiet with his gaze fixated on the youthful man. There were times when he thought he was getting to old for bravado. Geralt had misjudged his foe, taking comfort in his own abilities. The White Wolf could not deny the error of his ways. Yet, he remained different from others. Geralt learned from his mistakes. No other assassin would be able to do the same thing to him.
Like a prized hound besting the top dog, the boy strutted over to the throne. He reached out with his hand and ran his knuckles down the side of Laelithra's face.
Immediately, the young girl cowered from him. As far as her ropes allowed her too, she pulled away from him. Geralt could read the revulsion in her eyes, and he knew what happened to her before the assassin said anything. A woman only shied away from someone like that when the man . . . He could not finish his thought.
Silently, the boy turned his head to look at Geralt. He did not say anything. Of course, he did not have to. His slitted eyes flashed as he gazed at the witcher. Suddenly, the assassin smiled maliciously at him. "So young, but not so innocent. No, not anymore," he finally spoke. It was more to himself than to Geralt.
Upon seeing her minion's confession, the bruxa's mouth curled upward. She placed the chalice on the stand next to the throne, delicately. Immediately, she placed one of her hands on her knees. The other she placed on her cheek. Jhaer continued to watch the altercation with increasing interest.
Geralt did not need to see Laelithra's eyes nor did he need to feel her body tremble to understand what the boy spoke was true. She could not keep her body from relaxing into the child before her. The witcher could see the fatigue set in her body. It did not allow her to struggle against her binds
Anger filled Geralt, being fueled by the witcher's elixir coursing through his veins. Throughout his relationship with Laelithra, he had a vision of the little girl. She could do no wrong in Geralt's eyes. A monster of unspeakable evil would cause such hurt to the precious girl. In the wake of the burning ire, he willed the pain to stop. His rage was overflowing. Had she come to mean so much to the witcher in such a short time?
A low growl erupted from the witcher, increasing in intensity as he glared at the assassin. His veins burned with the intensity of the hate he felt. It was not because he took the assassin's sadistic mannerisms into him, but it was a different reason altogether. The hate was within him, and it was caused by himself. He detested the boy. For the little girl, he could not kill the feeling in himself. It shocked and appalled him.
Like a stampeding bull, he raced across the cavern toward the assassin. His aggressive growl echoed in the high chamber as he charged forth. As the side of his nose quivered, he snarled.
The assassin's arrogance worked against him. Suddenly, his eyes went wide in surprise. In fact, the witcher could guess what the boy thought. Geralt had taken a wound that would render most other men passive; he should be dying. Yet, his admission brought such anger from the witcher. It made the witcher ignore the pain that was not being masked by the elixir. Instead of being the only words a dying man would hear, it sent the White Wolf charging down at him full bore and unleashing a growl that would rival the largest barghest.
Immediately, the assassin plucked a dagger from his belt. He did not take time and aim. The witcher could see the terror in the boy's eyes. It saturated the air as the teenager did not know how to prepare for a fully enraged witcher. No one ever taught him to deal with the fear. Suddenly, he let the dagger fly at the charging witcher.
The weapon screamed on its path to Geralt. It glinted in the darkness, sparking with the assassin's anger, fear, and pain. He his blade, batting the dagger away as if he was swatting away a troublesome gnat.
Once more, the boy flung a dagger. Geralt only parried it again. The weapon was sent flying into the air on a collision course neither the assassin or witcher could have foresaw. It landed with a dull thunk in the forehead of one of the bruxa's followers. Immediately, the man slumped in the crowd.
Yet, the white haired witcher did not care. There was only two things he could see. The first was the girl behind the assassin. He knew he had to get to her and protect her from what had happened to her. It would never happen to her again. Geralt would see to that. His teeth ground together in his anger.
The second was the human assassin. He was not even worthy of being called human. No compassion existed inside of Geralt for the boy. In a way, the agent of the Arcani was worse than his mistress. As the witcher bore down on the cause of his rage, he did not regret what was going to happen to the young life. Because the assassin had taken something that did not belong to him, he was worse than some of the other monsters the witcher had killed. It did not matter, he was almost upon the assassin.
Reacting quickly, he raised his sword to block Geralt's strike. Immediately, the witcher's steel sword crashed down into his raised blade. His sword shook before shattering on impact as Geralt's blade continued downward. When the blade struck him on the shoulder and at the base of his neck, the boy's lips open in a piercing wail. Even then, it did not stop the blade's decent. It cut though meat and bone, sending gore to fly onto the witcher. The angle of the cut, along with the power behind it, severed his head and right arm in one bloody chunk. Pieces of his body dropped to the floor with twin thuds, sending blood onto Laelithra behind him and spilling viscera across the floor.
Geralt watched the little girl's body shake against the ropes. Her eyes focused solely on the two pieces of split flesh on the floor. The assassin's body was close enough for her to see it in the dark. She did not acknowledge the witcher's presence. There was no way she could have. She gaped like a fish, opening and closing her mouth. Tears streaked down her face, showing the pale flesh underneath the blood and gore.
He did not move closer to her. The White Wolf did not forget the true enemy, their Mistress. He was so close to freeing the girl. Then, they would leave this cult behind forever. He clenched his jaw, staring at the vampire.
Jhaer did not move towards them. She tapped her clawed fingernails against her thigh. Tiny spots of blood dotted the flesh. On her other hand, she rested her chin. Geralt knew the creature was taking her time. It was then that the entire kidnapping started to make sense. The White Wolf would make her pay for capturing the tiny girl and subjecting the child to such grueling torture.
The little girl's sniffling had ceased. "Release me, Geralt," she whispered, quietly. The flesh of her face shone through in her tear tracks. Despite the viscera that hung on her, she had an angelic quality to her. Laelithra had adapted well to sights such as these. She hung her head to her chest once more. "Please. It hurts."
Geralt stood before the child and narrowed his eyes. Her tiny arms shook with the fatigue her body was experiencing. The witcher did not know if he could cut the rope smoothly without hurting the small child. "Stay still, Laelithra," he growled, gruffly. Immediately, the witcher his steel sword above his head.
As best as she was able to, the young girl held still. Her eyes focused on Geralt's in the darkness. Laelithra tucked her head down again, making her hair mold to her face. She did not wiggle her fingers or hands. Instead, she shut her eyes tightly.
Suddenly, Geralt swung his steel sword. The weapon flashed brilliantly in the darkness, sparking ivory where it hit the cold rock of the throne. He knew the embers of the impact touched and burned the little girl's wrists, but she did not cry out to her credit.
When the rope was severed, Laelithra dropped to the floor and caught herself with her hands. Once more, Geralt expected the girl to have cried out. Instead, she breathed out softly, exhaling from her ordeal. He could not see the look in her eyes as she stared at the floor. She coughed, breathing in the stuffy air.
The silence that followed was broken by the clear sound of hands clapping. It was slow and deliberate as fingernails scraped against the side of a palm.
Geralt turned to see Jhaer standing close behind him, bringing her hands together in exaggerated movements. The sides of her palms ran red with blood from her long, sharp fingernails. Although she presented herself to be a lady, the vampire could not change who she was. A creature does not change its habits on the spur of the moment. No matter how much the Mistress of the Arcani posed to be a lady of refinery, she was still a vampire. Her clear eyes met Geralt's golden gaze.
As Geralt gazed at her, his eyes blazed orange as if there was a light within him. He scoured her malice, feeding the creature's hatred into his own soul. The witcher did not look away. Instead, he stood before the otherworldly woman and blocked her view of Laelithra, towering over the small child.
Such a valiant display, her voice cooed without her lips moving. Geralt felt like he was cast in a sea. The voice seemed to echo all around him, flooding his thoughts. Yet, she was arrogant, and she could not see her own demise. He was the eldest of my special assassins, and you defeated him handily. Impressive, witcher. One more time, I will offer you the chance to join us. Help us. Train her and the others. I can give you wealth beyond measure, an endless supply of women for your tastes, and anything else your heart can desire. All you would have to do is join me, Geralt. Do not be foolish. There's no sense in rotting in this hole in the ground. Regardless of what you decide, the girl will be mine, and her destiny will be fulfill.
His teeth clenched again. Geralt of Rivia pulled himself up to his full height. Yet, the motion caused more blood to spill from the wound in his side. His shoulder started to throb. The potion was leaving his body. Yet, he could not allow the bruxa to see any of this. His eyes glowed with the intensity of the emotions he was experiencing. It was as if he was taking the blackest malice, from the deepest, darkest corners of her cold heart. Pure evil. He made that his own, letting it consume his own mind.
The bruxa backed away, reading his gaze. She seemed to shrink against the background, unused to this type of intimacy with another. All of her wickedness was returned to her tenfold by those molten, golden eyes. She could not think straight. All she could do is shiver deep within her icy heart.
As the luminescence of his gaze reached a crescendo, Geralt growled low and guttural. He became like an animal, bristling with hatred. "Never," he snarled, gruffly.
Once more, the bruxa took a step back. In face of her own hatred, the creature nearly buckled and ran. Yet, Jhaer was stubborn. While Geralt could read the fear in her body, the slender woman would not show it. Her eyes narrowed. Enough. I have seen what I wanted to see.
Still, Geralt's fierce glare pierced the Bruxa at her core. As Geralt snarled primordially, he knew she had not been prepared for this move. The vileness of the creature ate at the White Wolf's core, making him shudder on the inside. There were few monsters that bore that level of hatred inside of them. Jhaer was like an inferno of those feelings, burning out of control.
The bruxa's will wavered in the face of her own malice. Geralt magnified and concentrated on her centrally, cloaking her in it. For a moment, the fear was written on her face. Her eyes widened, and her bloodstained breasts and fell rapidly. Every one of her minions back a few paces away, even though his glare did not move from their mistress. Anything that instilled doubt and fear in her was nothing they wanted any part of.
He still stood between the girl and the bruxa, protecting Laelithra from the gaze of the vampire. Geralt would try to kill the creature if she took a step closer. There was no doubt in his mind about who needed to die here.
Take the girl. She moved away from Geralt, her hand delicately in the air, and signaled one of the Arcani sorceresses nearby. Reaching out, she grabbed the little boy, Laelithra's twin, by the collar. However, we will be taking the boy. He is of use to us now, more so than the girl.
The sorceress chanted, reciting a spell. Geralt's medallion shook as a blue light illuminated from the cavern, swirling with energy. He would not do anything now because the elixir was leaving his body in rapid succession. Yet, he continued to stare into the eyes of the bruxa. One by one, her minions filed through the hazy, blue light.
Immediately, the bruxa glided towards the portal. Her feet never touched the ground in the movement. Before reaching the light, she turned towards Geralt. You will take her, and you will train her in your ways. You will make her like you. That is when we shall take her back. We shall never rest until we have her. And you, dear witcher, you and her love for you will turn her into what we wish. I can see it now.
Geralt said nothing as he watched the creature stepped into the portal. The energy of it hummed, vibrating against the walls of the cavern. Slowly, the mists spun before it closed behind her with a blinding flash.
The conflict passed. Geralt breathed out, releasing the tension in his body and the hatred coursing through him. He gasped, falling to one knee. Finally, the potion had wore off. It left Geralt able to feel every wound he received. His head swarmed as he felt the effect of his blood loss. Yet, even then, he was concerned with the young child. He needed to summon the strength to save Laelithra and lead her through the various tunnels.
As the pain assaulted the witcher, he closed his eyes tightly. He had to focus to get both of them out of here. They could not go back the way he came. The chasm room blocked their escape that way. In fact, their only hope would be to go deeper into the hive of Arcani. There had to be another way out.
Yet, Geralt did not like the prospect of traveling through the rest of the cave without the effects of his elixirs. His head swam from toxicity and blood lost. He did not know what lay in the depths of the cave, and he was injured. If they came across anything threatening, he would defend Laelithra. It was a real possibility he would draw his last breath in this cave. The thought was not lost on the witcher.
He heard her cry out his name. At least, he thought it was the girl crying his name. Geralt opened his eyes, blinking the clinging mist away from them. Laelithra confused Geralt. The witcher never met someone with such devotion as the little girl showed to him in such a short amount of time. Was that the reason the girl was precious to him? Sighing, he doubt he would ever be able to understand the raw need to protect her that the girl inspired in him. It drove him to act foolishly at times. With her safe, his body could finally relax.
"Geralt, you're hurt," the words seemed to echo in the immense cavern. He did not know when she drifted towards him, but he felt her tiny hands pressing against the wound to his side. His blood covered her, adding more to the gory mess that was Laelithra.
With a grunt, Geralt stood up. His knees wobbled, threatening to collapse once again. Suddenly, he felt the small girl wind her arm around his waist. He knew his heavy body would end up hurting the girl. If there was no dire need to escape or bandage their wounds, the scene would have been comical. The top of her head came to the top of his waist. No one her age should possess her knowledge, he thought to himself.
As she pressed her small hands against the puncture on his abdomen, he placed his arm around her shoulder and drew her closer to him. He slumped over her, and tried not to put too much of his weight on the tiny girl. Once more, he summoned strength inside of himself to step forward, support the little girl as she supported him as best as she could.
With each painful step, both the witcher and girl drew painful breathes. Neither of them wished to show the other pain. Geralt wanted to lay down and die, such was the magnitude of the pain coursing through every fiber of his being. Were it not for the need to get Laelithra to safety, he may very well have. Dead in a hole, never found, soon forgotten. Such was the fate of a witcher.
He glanced down at the small girl, attempting to hold him upright. She bit her bloody lip with each painful step the two took. Geralt knew the pain coursing through her and understood the things that they done unto her, but she still summoned courage to go on. While his life would end t in some monster-infested cave, hers would not. It was not Laelithra's fate.
…...
Step by step, they moved weakly through the complex labyrinth of tunnels. The air seemed to suffocate the two of them, making it feel as if the walls were closing in on them. On the other side of the stone, they could hear a steady drip of water as it fell from the ceiling and plopped in the underground pools.
As they moved through the cavern, they traveled at a tediously slow pace. Their wounds were not the only reason for the delay in movement. This was a hive used by vampires. In several spots, viscera lay strewn about like decorations, the walls and floor festooned with thick gray tubes that writhed about like long earthworms. They slithered and shook from the stale air blowing through the cave. Blood coated the floor. In some spots, it caused the little girl to slip and lose her footing.
As Geralt looked down at her, he could not help but feel an apprehension. The grisly scene would have sent any number of children into a fit of abject terror. Instead, she stared forward and limped next to him. She was quiet, conserving her strength for their torturous march through the bowls of earth. Geralt could see sweat line her forehead as a quake fought to overtake her lips. She had to be in as much pain as he was, but she did not whine or cry. Like many other witcherlings, Viktor had stolen her childhood.
Geralt narrowed his eyes in the darkness at the thought of the other witcher. The last time a child had been mutated was before the assault on Kaer Morhen. They lost the formulae, but it seemed that one of their own had stolen the ancient scripts from them. He shook his head, weakly. No, he had seen the boy. Her brother was fully mutated. The witcher knew that there was no question that Viktor had spirited them from Kaer Morhen. Viktor had mutated Laelithra's brother and the other assassin as well.
Immediately, a disturbing thought overcame the witcher. The bruxa had wanted him to train her other special initiates. Does that mean that there was others like the assassin and Leviticus? If so, how many did they have mutated? Would they have an army of those assassins, waiting for him as he and the girl emerged from the cave? Did he come all of this way to save the girl only to have her taken from him once more? He would die before he let that happen. His conviction to ensuring this tiny girl's safety was resolute, and yet he barely knew her.
Relief suddenly overtook over him as if it was a clear rain nourishing soil from a summer's drought. Viktor had not taken enough of herbs from Kaer Morhen to begin his own experiments on children. That was true. Yet, it wasn't that much. Vesemir would have notice a large supply missing. The other elder witcher wished to remain hidden with his plans that Geralt could not understand, yet. If they had been noticed missing inside of burned, the other witchers would have looked for them. There was not enough herbs he could have harvested to supply an entire force of those assassins and the twin children.
Once more, he stared in the darkness at Laelithra. She brought so many questions to his weary mind. What did Viktor plan to do with her? More importantly, what the hell was the elder witcher thinking? Witchers did not know anything about mutating a girl child. Their physiology was different from a male child. Geralt was sure that Viktor did not have a sorceress telling him to be careful of the elixirs because they could harmed the girl's womanly attributes. What possessed the elder witcher to try to think of giving the Trials to the girl?
He knew the answer as he took a painful step. Agony rushed up his side, bursting air like fire from his lungs. Geralt grunted again. During his time at Kaer Morhen, Viktor was ambiguous and ruthless to anyone who doubted his beliefs. Once before he left, the old man cut off an initiate's left middle finger because he could not get a simple pirouette right. The elder witcher was insistent for control over everything. It would be why Laelithra could not adapt like she should have been able too. Because of having one trainer, the little girl inherited Viktor's need for control.
Somehow, the bruxa Jhaer had sunken her claws in the other witcher. What did the creature promise the witcher for him to turn from his Path? Endless supplies of coin? Geralt did not remember Viktor being obsessed with money. In fact, he refused payment for his jobs if Laelithra's memory of the man was true.
Perhaps, an endless supply of women? While Viktor's libido did not rival Geralt's, the man was still a witcher. He had the urges every witcher had. The old man resisted those. Viktor always ridicule the other witcher's for their lustful nature. Jhaer had offered herself to Geralt, and it was no great leap to think that the vampire had offered herself to the aging witcher as well. Immediately, a shudder of disgust overtook the white haired witcher. Would Viktor have given into her, the witcher asked himself.
Geralt narrowed his eyes again. He hated the fact that he did not know what Viktor's plans were for the small girl. The white haired man dislike the fact that an organization of vampires were making their own witchers. No, they were not witchers. Witchers did not act like her assassins. They were no better than mutants, Geralt thought, angrily. In fact, the more he thought about the situation the more he disapproved. A sinking feeling settled deep within his stomach, mixing with the blazing hurt.
As they tried to keep in one direction and move in the direction he'd come, he placed his free hand on his medallion. The Wolf's head rested calmly against his chest and under his hand. Occasionally, it would vibrate. Yet, the witcher knew it was not vibrating through monsters. The central chamber was situated on top of an intersection. The further they traveled from the ley line, the calmer his medallion got. Yet, it was another question in the witcher's mind. Why did they bring the girl, leaving her in the middle of the intersection throughout her stay with the bruxa? What were they hoping to accomplish with Laelithra?
With her free hand, Laelithra felt the wall of the cave. Her other hand pressed into his side. Her wrists were raw. Blood had stopped trickling from the wound hours before, coagulating into an oozy red mass.
The witcher glanced over at the child again. Most importantly, he took in her condition. He knew Laelithra would bare the scars of her confinement both emotionally and physically. Even though she had been raised by a witcher, she was still a tiny child. She had been exposed to horrors that a woman could not fathom, and her tender age would make it harder for her mind to cope. Geralt did not know about women. Yet, he knew about death and tragedy. They followed behind him like faithful hounds, like a whirlwind wreaking havoc in his wake.
Immediately, the thought of her scarred angered him. This girl was his idea of a perfect child. She was trusting. The trust she bore others brought out the naivety in her. Instead of judging others with preconceived notions, she allowed them to make the first impression. While her innocence was the quality he adored in her, he could not allow her trusting nature to cause her harm. As much as he could, he would protect her from everything. Laelithra did not deserve what that assassin had done to her.
Laelithra lost her footing and stumbled, causing both herself and Geralt to jerk forward. She hissed in pain, smashing the air from her lungs. Using her hand to stop both of their descent, she touched the wall again. As the little girl used her strength to stop their fall, she grunted against the witcher.
As if responding to her touch, the ebony ooze covering the stone wall stretched towards her. Its stringy mass elongated into several thin lines as it raised like diminutive, twisting branches. Soon, the sludge covered her hand like black veins. Their tiny mouths extended, hooking onto the girl's flesh. Immediately, the slimy, leech-like creatures started to swell. Blackening and pulsating, the creatures sucked fiercely on her arm.
Laelithra gasped beside him, squeezing Geralt's side in pain of the creatures on her arm. She clutch onto him.
Once more, pain seared into the White Wolf's side. He clenched his teeth together, focusing on their surroundings and the cool touch of silver against his chest. Geralt needed to forget his pain and concentrate on getting the child to safety. Then, he would give into whatever Destiny had wished of the witcher.
"What is this stuff on the wall, Geralt?"
Geralt looked over at his companion. His eyes widened in surprise as he watched the ooze continue to grow on her arm.
The little creatures lacerated her skin viciously, engorging itself on the blood residing within the girl's hand. Their suctioning sounded through the cavern, blending with the abstract sound of the water. Again, the bloating creatures shimmered black with Laelithra's blood in their straining stomachs.
She grasped at his side again, reopening the witcher's wound. Other than her questions, Laelithra did not make any additional comments. In fact, Geralt noticed that she did not complain with the tiny monsters sucking on her arm. The witcher was sure it hurt the little girl, but it was like she could not feel the pain.
Could not feel the pain or taught to ignore it? He asked himself. Both options disturbed the witcher. From Laelithra's descriptions of her training, Viktor was brutal to her. Geralt was sure the elder witcher meant to place the young girl through the Trials. He died before he was able to, the witcher reminded himself.
Quickly, he reached over and grabbed one of the slimy creatures by its bloated body. With a shudder of pain, he it up to his eyes. The creature pulsated, and his medallion answered with a slight rhythmic vibration of its own. Yet, the vibration was almost too small to notice. A feeling of disgust entered him. He hurled the tiny beast to the ground.
It bounced on the ground, skidding to a stop before his silver tipped leather boots. As if seething from the persisting hatred from the bruxa, the small leech-like creature stretched it fat body towards the man's boot. Immediately, its mouth tried to shred the too.
Geralt kicked at it in revulsion. His jerkin slid over his wound, causing Laelithra's tiny fingers to touch the wound. He grunted as he willed the pain to leave him once more. Any slight movement affected the wound with scorching torture.
Once more, he felt the creature stretch for him. A determined little beast. It attempted to burrow into his boot and flesh.
Gripping the girl's shoulder for support, he raised his boot. Geralt brought it down, crushing the monster underneath the thick sole. A squishing pop came from underneath of his feet. Blood streamed from the small carcass of the animal. Laelithra's blood. It was a disturbing fact for the witcher. Once more, he was reminded that she did not deserve this.
Quickly, he plucked every single monstrosity from her arm with the exception of one. Smashed. Squished. Squirt. They all met a similar fate to the first
She stood still, letting Geralt pinch the little creatures before throwing them to the ground and smashing them underneath his boot.
"Reach into my pack, and retrieve one of those empty flasks," Geralt muttered. He had seen leeches before, but these creatures baffled him.
Immediately, she released his side and opened the satchel attached to his dark baldric. Her fingertips shifted through various body parts before brushing against the smooth glass surface of one of the vials.
After Laelithra removed the wooden cork, he plucked the final creature from her arm. It tried desperately to hold onto its meal. Spots of blood dotted the girl's arm as if she had been stuck with several thin bones. They were wounds that he did not have time have to dress.
Geralt could not relax. He dare not fool himself into thinking that the two were not in bad shape. Both could barely walk, clinging on to the other for support. Laelithra was his lifeline, and he was hers.
As soon as he sealed the cork again, he looked at the creature. It slammed itself into the sides, smearing a sticky clear substance that was mixed with blood. Immediately, he placed the flask into his satchel. Since he had never saw those types of monster before, he would study it later. If he survived, he reminded himself, grimly.
Next, he turned to the small girl, reached out,and gripped her shoulder. His strong, fingers bit into her flesh. Both came to a halt in the tunnel. He turned her to face him in his iron grip embrace. With his face mere inches from her won, he peered at her in the darkness. "Don't touch anything," he growled. "Stay away from the walls."
"I can't see," she whimpered beside of him, and terror shook her voice. Geralt could see her lower lip quiver in the darkness. To her credit, the witcher did not scold her very often. It usually consisted of warning her not to swear. Yet, he did lecture her quite a bit. Of course, he would never tell anyone. It was because he cared about the small child. When he did scold her, he was very crass.
"It's alright. I can see in the dark."
He could tell by her body stance that his words did not comfort her. It was not enough for him to be able to see where they were going, but she was blinded. Suddenly, it occurred to him that maybe this was the first time she had to rely on someone else.
Without saying a word, he pulled her close to him. He could feel her tiny frame press into his side, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulder. Although his demeanor seemed to suggest otherwise, Geralt made sure one of her hands were touching him. "Stay close to me. Keep your hand on me, move with me, and nothing will happen to you. You have to trust me, Laelithra. You might be scared, but you can cry later. Right now, you have to be aware, pay attention, and trust me." The words sounded harsher than he intended them too. Yet, he did not have time to coddle the child, soothe her fears, and reassure her doubts. Whether she was frightened or not, they needed to move.
Also, It was a strange thing to have to ask the child to trust him. Laelithra was the only person Geralt thought he would not have to request that from. It perplexed him to why he cared about the child whom he barely knew in the first place. What was worse, it angered him that this organization, bruxa, and her minions damaged the little's outlook on life.
As if responding to him, the little girl squeezed his arm. He beat down the emotion, concentrating on the task at hand. After all, she shouldn't matter to him.
"Let's go."
The beasts waved on the walls like blades of black grass as they continued to move through the tunnel. Geralt wrapped his arm tighter around the child, protecting her from the reaching monsters. They seemed to be attracted to the child like flies to honey.
More poured from the ceiling, falling like droplets of rain. They landed with soft plops onto the witcher's and little girl's head. The fat beasts bit, feeling like tiny needles pricking his skin. He cursed silently, looking at the tiny girl. While he could regenerate these tiny, bothersome wounds, he was concerned with his companion. She did not have his accelerated metabolism.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, he placed his arms under her back and legs. Lifting her, Geralt snuggled her to his chest. The added weight trailed blood from the wound, oozing over his jerkin. Painful step by painful step, he urged himself forward. The air threatened to leave his lungs on numerous occasions. One thought drove him onward. Her safety.
Laelithra looked weakly up at him, shallowly breathing. She was starting to weaken. Geralt could see it in her gaze, asking questions that her mouth would not utter. Her body lay limply in his powerful arms. The witcher would need to find herbs to help her once they were outside. It would take some time searching because the herbs could not be toxic for her.
Sadly, he knew he did not have time to worry about himself. The realization made him troubled. He would simply have to last until he got Laelithra to safety. Then, he imagined, he would die. Someone would help the child, but they would avoid helping a witcher. It was what it was, and the witcher did not think much of it.
He started to sprint, feeling the urgency of the little girl weakening in his arms. The creatures continued to drop on his head, sticking to his neck and shirt They sucked at him as he slumped over Laelithra. Geralt would protect her from these, also.
The little girl reached up, brushing the creatures off of him. They fell to the floor, ricocheting a few steps before them. Simultaneously, the tread of Geralt's boots shattered their plump bodies and squished out more blood.
After what seemed like hours, they skirted around the chasm with their circuitous route, coming out the other side. In his sprint, they journeyed quicker than if the little girl was walking beside him. The air was stiffening around them, threatening to suffocate both the witcher and small child.
Finally, they emerged into sunlight. Geralt blinked slowly, letting his eyes adjusted to the sudden explosion of blinding light. A cool breeze met them and caressed them as soon as they stepped out of the gaping maw of the earth.
In the light, he could see the extent of his wound. It had finally congealed, and blood no longer spilled from it. The dagger had punch deeply into his side, showing bright red meat underneath. With each breath, pain ignited like a burning fire. Geralt wanted to meditate, but he knew he could not. Both Laelithra and himself were weakening. He had no horse. It was going to be a long walk before they could rest. Stopping to rest for but a moment would be the end of them both.
…...
A warm breeze surrounded them, embracing them, caressing their oozing wounds with silent tendrils. Water pushed up from the ground beneath Geralt's feet, forced up by the pressure of his steps. Every so often, the breeze picked up high over their head, and the branches over them swayed like men bowing in deference, dropping their burden of rainwater like fat tears. It plastered his hair to his neck and forehead and beaded on his exposed flesh and leather jerkin.
Whether the wound was healing or not remained to be seen. In fact, the pain was such a constant for him now that he did not feel it. It permeated Geralt, becoming a part of him. He would ignore it until he could not anymore. The witcher trained his body for such an event. Being able to phase out the pain was a boon. Yet, the agony would ignite suddenly, dulling his thoughts and limiting his ability to focus on anything else. Geralt wanted to sit and meditate.
He gazed down at the little girl in his arms. Her skin paled, giving her a pallid complexion. Geralt could not see her face as it rested against his shoulder. Laelithra's cheek pressed into the strap of the leather baldric crisscrossing his chest. The witcher could feel her breath on the exposed skin of his chest. She panted softly, each breath saturated with the grievous pain of her injuries. If Geralt was not a witcher, he would not have been able to discern it from normal breathing.
The witcher began to wonder at the reason for her breathing that way. It was almost as if she did not want anyone to know of her injuries. Once more, he wondered if Viktor was especially hard on the young girl. However, Geralt knew there was other reasons why she might act like that. Laelithra was on her own before he stumbled on her. Anything could have happened to the girl. Being injured was a weakness she strove to avoid, and strained to hide.
Again, the leaves released their water, pouring crystal torrents down onto Geralt and Laelithra. The liquid followed the curve of the little girl's cheek in rivulets and dripped off of her chin. It lost its way in Geralt's hoary chest hair, matting it to his skin. As best he could, he sheltered her small frame from the droplets of water. He raised his hand and placed it on the back of the little girl's head.
Onward, they limped into the forest of tall, leafy trees and round pine trees. As they traveled deeper into the forest, the scent of pine surrounding them, reminding the witcher of mary. Pine trees towered above them, casting them in an eternal darkness. Deep in the forest, the rain had not penetrated. His shuffling steps crunched on the blanket of pine cones and needles.
As he walked, the witcher found that the wound on his side had stopped throbbing. It felt as if the
injury had not happened. Geralt wondered if perhaps this was a dream. Maybe, there was no Laelithra or Arcani. There were times when he conjured strange things in his sleep. Was this one of them?
Laelithra pressed closer to him. He could feel the heat of her small body cradled against his chest. Once more, he felt her hot breath against his skin. Raising her hand, she gripped the ends of his canescent hair. The odds of his mind conjuring her were slimmer than rolling five sixes in dice poker.
Everything felt startlingly real to him. The light weight of the child in his arms, the feel of pine cones popping beneath his boots, and the blistering wind relentlessly searing his flesh banished any thought that he was dreaming. He knew the truth as he held the child in his arms. She was real, and he did not imagine her.
After all, Geralt knew better than to hope. Hope in that chaotic world did not exist. To foolishly wish for something was to experience a bigger disappointment. If he did not believe the child was real, then she could very well die. The witcher clenched his teeth together, glaring coldly into the distance. He would not have her death on his hands. Geralt would keep his promise.
"Geralt?" she asked. Her voice came out muffled by the leather of his baldric.
A rustle sounded from his left, echoing in the pile of pine needles. To the tired witcher, it seemed to surround him. It seemed like monsters were attracted to her like dwarfs were attracted to ale. If she stayed with him, he probably could retire from the amount of creatures seeking to end the young girl's life.
Of course, it was a humorous thought to Geralt. He could not settle down because it was not in his blood to do so. A witcher did not die in a bed, old an toothless, in a warm home, surrounding himself with friends and family. Fangs, claws, and poisonous talons in some foul pit, that was the fate of every witcher he had known.
According to Laelithra, Viktor had met a similar fate. Monsters. By the Wolf's head medallion Geralt rifled off of the assassin's body, it was a different type of monster all together. Two mutated boys and a little girl that was started on the Diet. What the hell was Viktor trying to accomplish, he asked himself again. Geralt did not need a reason. He knew the elder witcher's dealings with the bruxa Jhaer had sent the other to his doom. The witcher hoped the small girl had stopped ingesting the herbs enough for it to not interfere with her development. Immediately, he frowned. She was too strong and agile for her age.
"What was that noise, Geralt?" she asked. He could hear the fear creeping into her voice. The witcher knew the little girl was scared. Laelithra had endured too much in the short time he had known her to not be fearful.
Geralt stopped, facing the pile of needles. Once more, the rustling came and grew in intensity. He hoped it was nothing, due to his injured condition. In his current condition, the witcher knew he would not survive another encounter with any member of the Arcani. He cursed himself, regretting how arrogantly he handled the fight with the boy. When he thought back to the battle, he knew the blade got him because of his own foolishness.
The child whimpered against him.
"Shh," he demanded, coldly. He needed the child to be quiet for but a moment. What Geralt needed more than that was a plan. The witcher did not have any horse to carry Laelithra away. She relied on him.
The rustling seemed never to reach a crescendo to the witcher. It increased in frequency as if it was a creature trying to shake water off its coat. A grim thought entered his mind. Actually, it sounded like jaws crunching on bone. Cracking echoed around him, sending the gruesome laughter around their immediate proximity.
Geralt felt his body tense with anticipation. His body wound tightly together like a coiled snake. After the elixirs and the euphoria of battle passed, he found himself able to unwind. It was a give and take system, leaving the witcher tired. He wanted to meditate. In fact, his blood lost screamed for him to sleep. The witcher quieted both his breathing and the little girl.
Again, the noise came. It grew louder as the pine needles seethed with the movement.
He narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the pile. What were his options? The witcher did not know. Laelithra could barely walk. Her confinement had taken its toll. Where would she go? She did not know this area any better than the witcher. Geralt was frustrated as he tried to formulate a plan that would keep the little girl alive. He knew she counted on him.
As the rustling crested, a blur of claws, fangs, and fur rushed passed him. The pocket of pine needles and cones burst, spraying in the air in every direction. Some showered down on the witcher and his companion.
Adrenaline surged in Geralt, rushing in his veins like the elixir had previously. His eyes narrowed once more as his breath come out in short pants, resembling his namesake. If he had been alone or the girl not injured, the White Wolf would not have had any qualms facing another opponent so soon.
Immediately, his lean muscles rippled in anticipation. He knew he could not take any more elixirs as the toxicity in his body was elevated to a dangerous level. A witcher without his potions was a dead witcher; he understood this. Geralt felt his heart pound in his chest as if it were trying to leave him. As he stood there, his muscles continued to flex. Inside, he felt extremely tired. It pained him to move, urging him to lay down and sleep the weariness away. The witcher needed to rest. Feeling like a drunken fool, he knew he could only deny his body rest so long before it collapsed under the strain. Where would that leave Laelithra? Seeing to her safety drove him forward, steeling his own resolve.
No heat or cold came over them this deep within the acheronian pine forest because the Arcani sorceresses had used this area to develop and hone their magick. The stagnant air around the little girl and witcher suffocated them like they were in a mass tomb being buried alive. In fact, the deathly feel could only be attributed to the numerous piles of pine needles, cones, and thick grass blanketing the area.
The blur of fur and teeth sprinted between his spread legs, brushing against his leather boots. When it was a few feet from the witcher, it stopped. Immediately, it turned back towards them. Standing on the very tip of its toes, the sable fur exploded around it, making the tiny animal appear to be a powder puff. Even though the fur was as dark as the blackest night, Geralt could see the dusky stripes on the creature's coat. Its triangular ears flattened against the top of its head.
Grimly, the witcher chuckled once, sounding like a short burst of air was ripped from him. He was relieved the only one with him was the girl. Although the residue chemicals from the elixir continued to hindered his senses, he was still startled by a small cat. A tiny, harmless cat.
The cat's golden eyes followed Geralt's slight sway. It's primal growl echoed like it thought it was a leshy. Of course, the creature's body was too small, and it was hunting on the ground instead of in the branches of trees. As its growl grew in intensity, it opened its mouth wide, hackles raised, and showed its small fangs to the witcher. At the same time, the animal hissed loudly, making the little girl in his arms flinch.
The White Wolf was not impressed. He started to walk again, leaving the furious cat behind him. After they were a few steps ahead, he heard more pine needles rustle behind him as the creature darted off.
"I'm cold, hungry, thirsty, and tired."
He stopped, finally. Even though he was not a medic, Geralt knew that being cold was a bad sign. It would mean she was slipping into shock. The witcher understood the urgency he had to act with now. Laelithra needed herbs and other things in the forest around them that would help him treat her more serious wounds. She needed food as well, to help recover from the blood loss she experienced under the hands of the Arcani.
At the same time, his mind questioned him on his own survival. He did not want to think about his own blood loss. He feared he needed White Rafford's, but the assassin had seen to dumping most of his possessions that were on the Roach in the stream surrounding their old campsite. It included his potion chest. Even if he had the elixir, he could not take it without rest. The toxicity would push his body over the edge, and he was sure he would slip into a coma.
Geralt set the girl down on the springy mat of old needles that covered the ground everywhere beneath the trees of the pine forest. He looked around, surveying his left and right. There was not much undergrowth in the darkness beneath the canopy of the ancient pines high above. For a brief moment, he thought about going back for the cat. While the girl might have objected, the witcher was not above eating the animal for survival. Traveling with him, she might learn some things a person would not normally do he would if it meant his death.
She did not move or say anything.
"I am going to find something to eat," Geralt said, "and I'm going to look for things to treat your injuries."
Suddenly, a wildness entered her dark gaze. It was written on her face, but he ignored it.
He knelt down before her. The leather creaked in protest. Geralt looked Laelithra squarely in the eyes and fixed her with a darkly forbidding look. To her credit, she did not shrink away or attempt to look elsewhere. Most often did when the witcher stared at them like he did the small girl. More of Viktor's torture, he thought to himself. "Don't go to sleep. I mean it. You must stay awake, or I will be very angry with you."
"I want to go with you. I can help. I helped Father all the time."
"I need you to stay here and rest, Laelithra," Geralt insisted. While he was injured, he could still function. Laelithra would be a distraction. She already proved to be one more than once already, causing him to act foolhardy on many occasions. What was it about this girl, he wondered again. "You are small, and at more risk from your wounds than I am."
Laelithra's terrified eyes widened, sparkling with wetness as if a flood hid behind her gaze. Her bottom lip started to quiver. She a shaky hand, swiping it through her matted hair. "I don't want to be alone."
Reaching down, he removed a stiletto from his left boot. The straight, narrow blade gleamed, illuminated the narrow groves running along the length of the metal. He turned it in his hand and presented the hilt to the small girl. "Here."
"I don't know how to use this."
It never occurred to Geralt that Viktor only trained her in the use of the witcher swords. On more than one occasion, he realized the hindrance of having only one trainer. Why would he limit the use of weapons to her? Although it was a rarity, there was times when another weapon was more useful than a silver or steel witcher sword. It was rare, but there were times.
She continued to stare at him patiently.
"If anyone comes along, I don't care who, stick this in their side, here," he explained. At the same time, he pointed at his own side, directly where the assassin had stabbed him, incidentally. If he weren't a witcher, he would have been dead in the room with Jhaer. She had been training those few mutants well. The pain of being stabbed there was nearly enough to disable him. Were it not for the raw fear and need coursing through the tiny girl's eyes, the agony might have.
She clutched the dagger to her small chest.
"Don't hesitate, Laelithra" he reminded her. Geralt did not care who stumbled on the child. She needed to protect herself. He wondered what kind of people would be traveling under the primordial canopy. Of course, he knew there would only be one. Arcani. The witcher did not risk his life in the cave to have her captured once more.
"Be careful, Geralt."
The corner of his lip turned up in a smile. It disturbed him how much the little girl had come to rely on him. Yet, he had come to care about Laelithra, also. He would not show those emotions. "I won't be long."
Immediately, he turned from her and hobbled off through the trees, in search of herbs and, hopefully, dinner.