Rojhan the Kestrel entered the chasm concealed in the rocky escarpment, carefully leading his palomino mare and three pack horses through a fissure barely wide enough for a single dray cart to pass. Camouflaging magic should have made his medallion hum, but the silver Griffon's head was quiescent on his breast; Either the barrier had decayed till it finally failed, or a magic user had dispelled it. The scuffed dirt of the path told a story as the slender witcher crouched, amber cat eyes narrowed, to inspect the passage of two mounts led by a man and a woman. Rojhan scowled and pushed one hand through shaggy, shoulder-length blond hair before twirling the end of his mustache, deep in thought. This pair had passed through less than four hours ago and they obviously knew what they were looking for; No one just fell upon the Oubliette by accident. Other than the traces of small animals and birds, the passage had remained undisturbed since Rojhan had left the Aerie, sixty years ago.
The witcher stood and looked back the way he had come. Rojhan had abandoned the Griffons' keep when he finally realized he was the last. Though his path led him half a world away, nostalgia had finally spurred him to return. Late in the summer, the Kestrel decided it was time to revisit his old school in the Tir Torchar mountains, just to assure himself it was still there. He took a ship from Ofir, landed on the shores of Maecht a mere ten days ago, and bought a winter's worth of supplies before setting off toward home. Amazingly the old trails weren't closed off with snow yet as he followed the Velda river to this hidden mountain pass, though they were treacherous with ice and he took it slow for the sake of the horses.
Once inside The Oubliette, the trail was easily passable unless there were rockfalls to contend with. When Griffons still roosted here, the path had been kept clear year round, allowing supplies to be delivered to the fortress. Soaring two hundred and fifty feet high, the gray granite cliffs gradually leaned toward one another before narrowing into a tight, jagged crack at the very top. Sunshine dribbled down, filtered and focused by that narrow slit, to paint a golden line in the dust. Climbing these walls in all weather had been a large part of his early witcher training. His short, slender frame was an asset, allowing him to wiggle into the squeeze chimney easily when other recruits struggled and scraped to emerge onto the long, rocky ridge above. The small witcher sneered to himself. Despite the horrors of being mutated, his childhood had been a boy's dream. Climbing, riding, brawling and learning to fence with swords had been great fun to him. He knew many of his brother witchers hated having no choice in their youth, but Rojhan considered a life on the Path a small price to pay for growing up a Griffon.
He returned his attention to the tracks in front of him. Golden glitter caught his eye and the Kestrel picked up a few strands of pale blond hair, rubbing them between his fingers and holding them to his nose as he breathed in their fragrance. Delicate scents of freesia danced with undertones of White Gull and Swallow. A witcher and a sorceress then. Judging by the pattern of tracks, they were lovers. Rojhan pieced the story together, letting their footprints string him along. The witcher had picked the woman up here, spun her around and set her down there. Standing very close together, and he had run his hand through her hair, loosening a few strands before moving off. The woman's step was light, narrow and had a shorter stride than the man. Her companion carried his weight forward, on the balls of his feet and kept his center of gravity low, between his hips and knees. He moved with finesse, leaving minimal traces despite being armed and armored as he placed his feet with practiced care.
Rojhan followed them through the narrow, rocky corridor till it ended at a thick gate that opened into an overhanging alcove. Store rooms to left stood empty and forlorn while an extensive stables complex occupied the right-hand side of the shelter. A skewbald gelding stood in the first stall next to a pretty dapple mare, eying Rojhan and the new horses placidly.
"C'mon, Pooka. Let's get you and the boys settled," muttered the Kestrel as he led the horses to adjacent stalls, settling them briefly before striding toward the glare of late morning sun at the far end of the alcove. Brilliant light spilled over the high peaks and cascaded into the natural, alpine bowl, casting the stone works of the keep in golden relief. Unlike most castles, Kaer Ard'eryie didn't have curtain walls or battlements. She didn't need them, tucked as she was in the high peaks of the Tir Trochars. Her back and flanks lay against a thousand feet of jagged cliffs, and she faced a three thousand foot vertical chasm overlooking a long forgotten lower saddle in the mountains below. Built on a series of cascading ledges that swept to the floor of the natural amphitheater, the levels were connected by a series of walkways, ramps, and stairs carved from the living stone. The ever present wind whistled through archways where doors had rotted away and A flock of rock wrens startled at Rojhan's approach.
For a moment, he allowed memory to wash over him and his fists bunched at the unaccustomed tightness in his chest. There to his left was the practice yard, the floor of the amphitheater, where Griffon initiates were molded into witchers over the centuries. Rojhan ambled forward and stopped at a particular flagstone. He crouched and ran his hand over a concave divot and it's collected dew, smiling. This was where he learned brute strength wasn't always the best answer.
Old Sawlegs, they had called him, a human mercenary and bounty hunter that spent several winters at the keep, a guest of one of the masters. The old man's hand a half sword was taller than Rojhan had been at fourteen and half as broad. Sawlegs had been high on fisstech when he had taken umbrage at something and come after Rojhan with murder in his eyes. The witcher couldn't remember any longer what set the man off, but the old coot had nearly killed him. The Kestrel had swiftly dodged under the barreling sword, slamming the old man's nuts through his throat with a well-placed kick. The bounty hunter's blade shattered when it chiseled this divot in the stone. Before the fight, the masters had despaired of Rojhan ever being a proper witcher. He hadn't the stature for it, they claimed, but the boy had proved that day height didn't make a Griffon.
Tucking the memory away, Rojhan stretched to his full five foot, three inches before following his quarry to the elevator, a winch operated platform that accessed the lowest chambers of the Aerie. Scowling, the witcher prowled around channel cut into the vertical rock below him. He had destroyed the winch and platform the last time he was here, just in case someone got in and thought to explore where they shouldn't. The only thing intruders would want down there were the mutation labs. Rojhan swore colorfully and stripped his gloves off, stuffing them in his belt. He would have to down-climb the chute. The rock walls were relatively smooth, but there was a finger width fissure that ran along one corner and micro-ledges that caught the light as he looked down. The chute was too wide for him to chimney at eight feet across. He would have to depend on standard face techniques and hope that crack in the corner held true for the entire three hundred foot drop to the bottom. At least he could corner the descent and use the abutting walls to his advantage. He briefly considered removing his footwear but Rojhan decided to leave his hobnail boots on, hoping for better traction in the vertical slit.
Breathing deeply, the Kestrel knelt and meditated long enough to get himself in a focused state, pushing from his mind the fact that if he made any kind of misstep, he would fall to his death. Calmly, he lowered himself over the lip of the cut and started his descent. Everything went well for the first hundred feet, then the fissure petered out and the witcher had to make a harrowing traverse to use a fist sized crack on the other side of the channel. He thought it was all over when his right foot slipped off a quarter inch flake and he dangled two hundred feet off the deck by the shredding skin of his fingertips. Keeping his wits, Rojhan got his feet back on the rock and finished the traverse, allowing himself the luxury of reaction when his fist was locked into the crack. The rest of the down-climb was anticlimactic until twenty feet from the floor of the cavern. He had to traverse ten feet of overhang before he could safely get on the ground. A pair of parallel cracks in the roof made it quick, and soon he was standing on solid ground.
Rojhan had seen no evidence of ropes while descending the chute, so his quarry had either climbed down as he had or used magic to get here. Betting on the latter, he cast around to find their tracks again. Twenty feet from the elevator platform he picked up the trail. Listening carefully, he heard soft mutters of two voices in the distance. One was high pitched and cultured, the other low and surely.
"There you are," grumbled Rojhan, sneaking toward his prey, tugging his gloves on and slipping his steel wakizashi from his back. "Let's just see what you're up to, shall we?" The voices clarified as he approached until he could pick out their words.
"Lambert, what's this?" The woman's voice, soft, high-pitched and cultured floated in the air, accompanied by the thump of books being dropped on the floor.
"Stop messing with that, will you Keira? Don't be disrespectful. Kids died down here," the man snarled. "Fucking hell. Why did I let you and Micah talk me into this?" Lambert sounded like a right prick but Rojhan couldn't fault his sentiments.
"She wants documentation and any remaining mutagens," said the woman.
The small witcher rounded a corner and sneaked into the large room. Flickering torchlight splattered the floor as it illuminated the pair rooting through bookshelves and cupboards. Creeping forward, the Griffon watched the petite blond woman lift a wooden box and blow dust from its surface.
"I think these might be the mutagens." She showed the box to the tall, dark haired witcher with a wolf medallion. The Griffon allowed a pebble to grind loudly underfoot as he approached, glaring amber daggers at the intruders. Startled, they looked at him like guilty children caught with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar.
"Put that down and walk away," growled Rojhan, advancing into the room. "I don't know what you think you're doing here, but it's time for you to leave."
Lambert stepped in front of Keira as he reached for the steel longsword on this back. "And who the hell are you?"
"I'm the caretaker, mate, and I'm not about to let you pilfer my keep." Rojhan's smile was hideous as he twirled his short, curved saber, making it whistle and sing in the dusty air.
Lambert held his blade ready as he circled the small man, drawing Rojhan away from his companion.
"Lambert! He's a Griffon!" Keira gasped thrusting herself between the combatants despite their indignant glares. She turned to the small witcher, studying him intently. "We thought you were all dead. No one's seen a Griffon school witcher for over a hundred years."
"Still doesn't give you the right to come down here," Rojhan spat. "What do you want with witcher secrets anyway? Don't Wolves have their own?" Rojhan flipped his sword in an intricate figure eight pattern, taking a step forward.
"Get out of the way, Keira," Lambert snarled in his turn.
"Put the swords away!" Keira commanded, holding out a hand to each man. "We can discuss this like reasonable human beings. I'm sure when … what's your name by the way?" The blond woman tilted her face, crinkling her cornflower blue eyes at the small witcher.
The Griffon scowled but replied nonetheless, "Rojhan the Kestrel."
"I'm sure when Rojhan understands what's going on, he'll help us with our mission." Keira smiled brightly, imploring Lambert with her eyes to go along with her.
"I'm willing to hear you out," said the Griffon, lowering his sword a fraction, "but this better be good."
Lambert, still glaring, sheathed his sword as Keira talked. She spoke of the recent attacks on Kaer Morhen and the push by the Church of the Eternal Fire to steal witcher secrets and, after a few pointed questions, the Kestrel scrubbed his jaw in thought.
"So you're here to make sure Griffon secrets don't fall into their hands. I assume you're the one who dispelled the wards?" At Keira's nod, Rojhan grunted. "You do know if you hadn't removed the barrier, the keep would be safe, right?"
"Don't bet on that," growled Lambert. "The church has a stable of captive mages willing to do anything to save their own skins."
Rojhan slid his wakizashi into its sheath with a solid thunk and prowled the room, muttering under his breath, "I should have paid more attention to gossip along the way." Out Loud, he said, "OK, I'll trust you - for now. Don't see as I have much of a choice. I might beat you both in a fight, then again I might not, and all it would accomplish is bloodshed for all of us. But why not just destroy everything and be done with it?"
"Come back to Kaer Morhen with us and we'll introduce you to the reason why," Keira grinned, moving to place the wooden box with a stack of books and instruments.
"Damn, and I just got home," grumbled the Griffon. They worked quickly and soon the witchers and sorceress had the labs stripped. Keira cast a modified teleport spell on the pile, sending it directly to Kaer Morhen as Rojhan and Lambert looked on.
"Should probably make sure no one can get in the keep before we leave." The Kestrel tugged his mustache. "There's plenty still here to protect."
"We could collapse part of the pathway," suggested Lambert. "Are there other ways in?"
"Nothing easy. The Oubliette is the only path we had for bringing in supplies," Rojhan said.
"Let's get back up top. Do I portal us up or can we take the stairs?" Keira grinned at the Griffon. Despite grumbling and protests, both witchers elected to take Keira's portal, emerging onto the practice yard as the sun began to tip toward late afternoon. Before leaving for Kaer Morhen, they worked together to block the chute to the mutation labs and the entrance of the Oubliette into the keep. Finally, Rojhan was satisfied that Kaer Ard'eryie was as safe as it would ever be from interlopers.
"Let's get back to Kaer Morhen," Lambert said. "It's beautiful here, but I need a jigger of vodka to wash the dust from my throat." As the sun began to sink in the west, Keira opened another portal. Leading the horses into the swirling blue-black roar, the company vanished, leaving the Aerie to its solitary vigil.
They arrived at Kaer Morhen's temporary stables in the midst of funeral preparations. Arek was speaking quietly to Micah as Kerrass and Letho secured saddlebags to Saki, Arek's mare.
"There you are! Knew you were on the way when those books and supplies appeared," said Vesemir as the three newcomers emerged from the roaring portal. His shaggy brows rose in surprise as he took in the Griffon standing uncomfortably to the side as Lambert and Keira were welcomed home. "Who is this? Don't just stand there, young man, come make yourself known." The old man's voice was gruff but kindly as he introduced Kerrass to the newcomers and Lambert presented Rojhan. Letho clasped Rojhan's hand, peering at him with a considering look. "You sure you're tall enough to be a witcher?" The viper broke out in a wide grin and laughed.
"We'll have to settle that question later," said the Kestrel through gritted teeth, eyes narrowing as he watched Lambert hoist two children onto the mare's saddle. "We have other business to attend to now."
The old Wolf slapped the small man on the shoulder with a considering look, then said, "There's more than inches that make a witcher. You'll get a chance to prove that tomorrow during morning practice." He eyed Letho as he spoke, then looked toward the leaden sky. "Let's get moving. Weather is good enough now, but we'll see a real storm let loose soon. I plan to be inside with some mulled wine and a plate of hot food by the fire when it sets in."
"Why not just wait till tomorrow for the funeral?" Asked Micah, ambling over with Arek at her side. Rojhan realized with a jolt he was taller than the tiny woman by a good few inches.
"Won't be able to get to the lake again without snowshoes or skis till spring thaw," Lambert replied, holding Saki's reins in one hand, his other settled about Keira's waist. "We got back just in time."
Thick tufts of snow began to fall as the sun dipped low in the west sending its last rays of light teasing around the curve of the mountains. Low clouds drifted in tatters amongst the treetops, adorning their branches with frosty veils as wolves sang a requiem for the dead. Carefully leading the nimble mare, Lambert picked his way down the tumbled stones of the outer curtain wall and caught up with the rest of the funeral party. Kerrass and Vesemir flanked him as the three witchers led the solemn procession toward the lake. The horse bore the children along with the remains of Letitia Karadin and the witcher Kiyan. Micah and Keira fell in behind Saki, escorted by Rojhan, as Arek and Letho brought up the rear. Despite earlier snows, the road was passable and the party traveled swiftly, arriving at the lakeside just as the last of the evening sun was extinguished. Two cairns, one holding Jad Karadin's ashes and the other newly built in the last week, stood side by side, awaiting the procession.
"Lambert, get Greta and Tolly down while Kerrass and I prepare the ashes," Vesemir ordered in hushed tones. "Arek, Letho, you two move that capstone off Jad's grave. Best do this before the wolves get curious. Rojhan, get those torches lit. The girls can't see in the dark, you know."
Quietly, the men did as the old witcher ordered while the rest of the party formed a loose semi-circle facing the lake. Vesemir helped the children pour Letitia's ashes into their father's simple brass urn while Kerrass settled Kiyan's vessel into place. When the urns had been tucked inside the cairns, the witchers replaced the capstones and stepped back. Torchlight danced, encapsulating the mourners in an intimate bubble of light as they stood in silent vigil. Finally, Kerrass broke the hush, his voice low and vibrating with carefully held emotion.
"Letitia Karadin was a good woman," he murmured softly, head bowed. "She accepted me as if I were her own brother, shared her home and family with me, because of her love for my brother, Jad. I'll never forget her." The lean man cleared his throat roughly as Tolly limped forward to lay a carved wooden horse on the cold stones of his parent's tomb and Greta set a beloved rag doll next to her brother's offering. The little girl's fingers stole into the Cat's larger hand as she scrubbed her eyes with a delicate fist.
Vesemir stepped forward, laying a hand on Kiyan's grave pinning each witcher present with his gimlet stare. "The world is not a friendly place for our kind and no witcher ever died of old age in his own bed. When one of our own falls to a monster or in defense of innocent people, we can say the man died like a witcher." The old Wolf looked down at the snow lacing the toes of his worn boots, then continued. "Even if a witcher walks a crooked path, he's still one of us. Kiyan was tortured in mind and body before he finally succumbed to a mad mage's experiments. Geralt of Rivia ended his suffering and Kerrass of Maecht returned this brother to us so we could honor him now. May the earth lie lightly upon you, Kiyan of Caingorn, and may you rest easier in death than you did in life."
As the wind began to keen amongst the trees the funeral party returned to Kaer Morhen, leaving snow to shroud the cairns behind them.
Kaer Ard'eryie - Castle of the Griffon … literally, Fortress of the Mountain Eagles.