Snarling, the old Wolf and the big Viper fought back to back, dispatching enemy after enemy. There were only ten left after the wall collapsed, an easy crowd for two seasoned witchers. They made short work of the stragglers ensuring none escaped their blades.
"Let's get to the upper practice yard." said Vesemir, holding his belly where he had been pierced by the crossbow bolt. Letho nodded and the sprinted off to find Arek and Eskel.
Like their comrades in the lower practice yard, the scarred witcher and the Manticore had prevailed once the crossbowmen had been eliminated. Eskel had just completed a pirouette followed by a downward slice that severed head from shoulders of his last opponent when Vesemir and Letho arrived. The four witchers acknowledged each other and without speaking headed for the inner courtyard and the keep, knowing the battle still raged by the sounds of ringing steel.
'Stupid grownups,' though the little boy as he sneaked up the stairs from the depths of the keep. 'I'm big enough to help my papa and protect the girls!' There was no one standing guard at the top. The room was empty of everything except crates and boxes of provisions for the winter.
Tolly stood for a moment, getting his bearings. Everything was dark except for the dim light of the waning moon through a window. He could hear the sounds of fighting echoing through old keep, and Lambert cursing at someone. The little boy pushed the tower door open and sneaked toward the front door of the castle, trying to catch a glimpse of the fighting. His heart was racing in excitement and he hoped to watch his papa beat the bad men. Just as he came around a stack of crates, a heavy hand grabbed his arm and yanked him off his feet.
"Well, well, what DO we have here?" growled Bellville March, sneering down at the little boy, "A witcher's welp, and I know what to do with you." He grabbed Tolly around the waist, pinning his arms to his side and slapped a hand around the boy's mouth. "Where's that lab, boy. You take me there now and I won't kill you."
The Cat had multiple wounds that bleed freely over his arms, chest and back. He was feeling the strain of fighting so many enemies at once. Karadin's back was to the wall, witch hunters fanned out in a rough semicircle before him, pressing in as he whirled two swords to keep them at bay. A thin bolt of blue light streaked down from the sorceress, engulfing one of the men on the edge of the semi-circle, then jumped to another, then another, until five men were held immobile as electricity danced around them, ripping their nervous systems to shreds.
Letho and Eskel joined the fray, much to Karadin's relief, just as one soldier speared his right thigh with a sword tip. The Cat witcher cursed and served his own sword into the waiting throat of his assailant. Soon after, the remaining witch hunters lay dead around them and the only sounds of battle they heard came from inside the keep.
Twelve more men surrounded Lambert as the scarred witch hunter slipped by. Lambert snarled.
"Ploughin' bastards," He raged, "I don't have all day! Let's get to it!"
He was pressed back toward the dining hall, trying to keep something at his back so he wasn't surrounded, desperately parrying strikes and lunges. Despite his injuries, his sword flew in his hand like a hummingbird's wing, singing it's own song as he lashed out to kill the first man to step in too close.
"Who's next?" Roared the witcher, a hideous sneer on his face. The men came at him without mercy and he wasn't healed enough to avoid all their blows. For every hit they scored, he killed one of them. He was weakening, though, his strength failing.
Micah looked around in dawning horror. Where was Tolly? The lab door was cracked open and the boy was nowhere to be seen. The woman carried the little girl with her as she searched the basement. Her sense of dread increased when she found no sign of him and she turned to the stairs, heading up into danger. 'Oh God, please let him be safe!' she thought. She stepped out of the tower door and saw a shadowy form in the moonlight carrying a squirming bundle toward her.
Thinking fast, Micah set Greta on her feet and whispered for her to stay behind some crates. Sticking to shadows, the little geneticist planned what she would do, preparing to cast her sign at just the right time. She hid behind a stack of boxes on the other side of alcove from Greta and slowed her breathing, feeling like she was a loud bellows above the ringing of swords from the other side of the great hall. The man came even with her and she could see he wore the leather armor of a witch hunter. Stepping out behind him, she threw a short blast of igni at the back of his head, singing his hair and startling him into dropping the boy.
Men were screaming and dying around him as Drummond thrust his sword through one of the witch hunters. He didn't know how many of their force still lived after the burning oil and the fiery explosions, but everywhere he looked he saw the smoldering bodies of his fellow soldiers falling to witcher swords. There was a big witcher in the side yard swinging a large two hander with more grace and speed than Drummond had ever seen anyone handle a weapon like it before. The young man was spellbound as a wide swath was cut from the pressing combatants around the raging man. They couldn't get close enough to touch him. He was the whirling spectre of death with his beard soaked in blood from the gaping wound on his scalp and his eyes afire with primal rage. He snarled profanities at his enemies in the voice of thunder and mayhem, sending dread skittering along the young infantryman's nerve endings.
The boy attacked another witch hunter, hacking from behind and evening the odds against the witcher. Bile rose up in his throat at his own treachery, but he knew he was doing the right thing. He was sickened to be here at all. The remaining witch hunters pressed in on the big witcher and Drummond raised his sword, laying into them with a will.
"You fucking traitor!" screeched lieutenant Grigar as he barrelled into the yard, grabbing young infantryman by his gambeson and yanking him hard.
Drummond's sword came up as he pushed his commanding officer off him, snarling at the man. "This is wrong! We shouldn't be here!"
"You thinking? What the hell! I didn't tell you think! Radovid didn't tell you think! I'll have your head, boy, and take it back to Tretegor on a pike!"
"What the ploughin' hell you waiting for, then!" Snarled Drummond, "Get it over with!"
The officer charged at him, hurling a flurry of feints and strikes that Drummond was hard pressed to defend himself from. He found his footing, though, and circled around Grigar, dodging in with a series of quick lunges and counter attacks. The lieutenant parried his last strike, then pirouetted, landing a punishing slash to the young soldier's right arm followed by a back hand blow to his face with the pommel of his sword. Drummond fell backward in the dirt, then, knowing the next blow would take his life. It never came.
March snarled as he dropped the child and whirled to face his attacker. He was dumbstruck to see a woman who wouldn't even come up to his chin, edging away from him. His smile was nasty as he drew his sword, snarling in fury at her. She stumbled out of his way, desperately hoping to avoid his blade. Tolly stared wide eyed for a moment, then ran for the door of the keep. The fight had spilled over toward the dining hall, away from the entrance, making the way clear for the child to surge out the front door. March swung at the woman and she barely managed to dodge the blow, thanking Vesemir for drilling her in footwork for the last month as she pirouetted neatly away from the raving witch hunter.
Greta screamed and scrambled out from behind the crates, screaming at the man attacking the doctor "No! No! Get away from her!"
Micah managed to grab the little girl out of the way just before March landed a hard kick to her head. She backed away from him and stumbled, holding the terrified child in her arms as the witch hunter advanced toward them with menacing steps. The scar across his face was lurid, even in the shadows, and his eyes wild as he raised his bastard sword above his head, ready to deliver a killing blow to woman and child.
Desperately, Micah cast a quen shield around herself and Greta, holding it with all her might as the sword swooped down. She could feel the drain on her reserves and hoped this worked. The blow struck against her bubble of force and was blasted away as it exploded, making March totter back. Micah scooped Gretta up and ran for the tower, hoping to gain the stairs before the witch hunter caught her. She was shaking and her legs felt like gelatin. She planned to knock her pursuer down the stairs with aard, but worried she wouldn't be able to put any oomph into it. That quen had sapped her strength alarmingly.
"Damn you, witch! You won't be so lucky to die quick now!" snarled the man, rushing after the retreating pair.
Eskel, Letho and Jad were ready to head inside when a small form pushed through the door of the keep and barrelled out, straight into Jad's arms.
"Papa! Papa! The bad man has doctor Micah and Greta!" The boy's breathless voice and tearstained face twisted inside Karadin as he gripped his son's shoulders.
"Go." Said Eskel, as the three of them followed Tolly through the door. They saw Lambert beset by too many witch hunters, fighting for his life.
"We'll take care of them, you get Micah out of trouble, Karadin." growled Letho. Jad nodded once and sprinted toward the laboratory, rage boiling in his heart.
There were still seven witch hunters surrounding the youngest witcher when Letho and Eskel charged in, leveling the playing field. The three witchers made short work of their enemy. The last of the invaders fell to Lambert's sword when Tolly rushed to his side and started yanking on his arm.
"Come on, come on, he's going to kill my papa! You have to help him!" The child was frantic.
Grigar was rent from behind by the Kozin's flashing blade and an instant later that blade was at Drummond's throat.
"Give me one good reason to spare ye!" Growled the big man. The witcher was sucking air in like a bellows, ready to plunge his sword into the boy lying on the ground before him.
Drummond looked up at the witcher and his breath froze in his throat as his eyes fixated on the medallion that dangled from his neck.
"You're a Bear witcher." said the young man, his voice tinged with awe.
"Aye, but that's not much of a reason." Kozin paused nonetheless, baffled by the kid's odd response. He reached down and hauled the injured soldier to his feet and as he did so, a pendant fell out of his gambeson. A memory hit the big Bear so hard he nearly stumbled, of forging the medallion that had been broken in thirds, of the brotherhood between himself and his two friends.
"Where did you get this! Speak quickly and don't lie to me, boy." the witcher's growl was so soft and low it resonated through Drummond's body like the whisper of an elven arrow.
"It was given to my da by a witcher when I was promised as a surprise child." he gulped.
"When and where." Kozin had his face mere inches from Drummond's and his eyes gleamed with intensity.
"Se...seventeen years ago, sir. Witcher saved Da in the Skellige islands then came home with him to find me. Didn't know Ma was going to have me when he left."
"Where is that witcher now. Did he come back for you?"
"No, no he never returned. Waited for him all my life and he never showed up." The full force of Drummond's anger and confusion over that abandonment was blown out with his words, surprising the big witcher.
Kozin was rocked to his soul. Seventeen years ago his brother was alive? The man he thought dead this past century could still be alive, and in Skellige!
Greta screamed and clung to Micah's neck, throwing her off balance. They careered into the door frame just outside the tower and Micah fell heavily to her knees on stone flagging. She was gasping as she tried to rise, but the weight of the child in her arms was making it very difficult to get her feet under her. March sheathed his sword and smiled horribly at her, tugging his gauntlets more firmly on his hands.
"One little girl and one small woman," he sneered, "You think your parlor tricks are going to stop me? Listen to that! Hear it? You're losing. The witchers will all be dead in a few minutes. But I'm going to take my time with you, you bitch. When I'm done, you'll beg me to kill you!" He strode the few remaining feet and caught Micah in his left hand by her braid, tugging her roughly away from the door, not giving her a chance to regain her balance.
March swung her around and backhanded her, cracking the dimeterium clad knuckles of his gauntlet across her jaw so hard he split her lips open. Micah desperately tried to shield Greta, leaving herself vulnerable to his attack.
The little girl let go of the woman and scuttled away into the tower, pressing herself between storage boxes and crates nestled within the curve of the tower. She closed her tear filled eyes, but flinched every time the sharp sound of him hitting the doctor ricocheted off the stones.
The witch hunter had started pummeling her with a closed fist, beating her arms which had come up to shield her face and head from his blows.
"March!" the feral roar echoed like thunder up to the far reaches of the room. Jad Karadin stood in a half crouch, holding his thirty inch meteorite steel blade in one hand and his silver sword in the other. The witch hunter turned from his sport and bellowed out a laugh for the Cat witcher. He yanked Micah to her feet, her back plastered against him.
"I fucking did for your wife, filth." Snarled the witch hunter, "I'll do for your whore too. I wonder if she'll like being pierced as much as Letitia did." He gave Micah's braid a brutal tug, yanking her head back and exposing her throat. Slowly he pulled his sword, maintaining eye contact with Karadin all the while, and delicately placed the flat of the blade between Micah's breasts so one edge lay against the beating pulse in her throat. His lips trailed profane kisses down her bloodied face from her temple to her neck, just where his sword pressed into the tender flesh. "Don't worry that I'll be too quick with her, though. Your Letty didn't have any stamina. I wanted to go all night long with her, a pity she died so quickly. This little witch, though, should last a good long while. She has spirit." March's sneer was hideous.
The witcher stalked forward, skirting around to the right, deadening himself to March's taunts. He could hear the patter of Greta's heart and had already pinpointed her within the tower beyond the door. He focused on the deranged man before him, wanting to kill him, but cautious. In his mind Micah kept turning in to Letty. "Let her go, March. This is between you and me."
"Don't come any closer!" The sword pressed harder into Micah's skin and drew a ruby line that beaded with pearls of blood. Her right hand was pulling at the man's grip on his sword while her left tried to batter his hand away from her head. He lowered his mouth to suckle her ear, blowing his hot, sour breath across her face. He murmured quietly to her alone, though it was discernable to the sharp eared witcher as well, "I might keep you alive for a while. Get some bed sport out of you." then chuckled wickedly at her whimper and nipped her viciously with his teeth. He relished how hard her fear made him.
Micah's vision was swimming and she fought the dark edges of consciousness that were trying to drag her under. The hand March had wrapped around her braid was unrelenting and he had her up on her toes with his blade digging into her neck. Pain was exploding like fireworks in her head and she knew she had only moments to do something to save herself. Making the sign with her left hand, Micah reached for the witch hunter's face and cast igni with all her strength, keeping up a steady stream of fire as long as she could. March howled and pushed her away from him, clasping his face in his left hand and staggering with his sword semi raised in his right. Micah tumbled to the floor, the darkness closing in on her as a clash of steel echoed dully in her mind. It was the last thing she knew before the darkness claimed her.
The Cat hissed at the witch hunter as the man brought his blade up to parry Karadin's strike. March's face was a blistered and charred ruin where Micah's igni had blasted him, blinding his right eye. He snarled back at the witcher and spun away to gain time to recompose himself but Jad gave him no quarter, driving him back and back as he flashed a series of punishing strikes on the injured man. March counterattacked, spinning behind the Cat and slicing across his shoulder with a downward diagonal strike. Jad roared as his enemy scored a nasty hit, tearing at his gambeson and tracing a line into the flesh beneath. He dodged March's second, vertical strike, jumping with a flip, turning in midair, over the flashing blade that would have severed his lower spine. He landed lightly on his feet facing the witch hunter, breathing hard, letting his hatred for the man roll out of him in waves. Thrust, parry, strike, strike, parry, pirouette, strike! Back and forth they battled, until Karadin stumbled over the inert form of the doctor. He had forgotten she was there, so intent was he on the witch hunter. It was a fatal mistake. March surged forward and plunged his blade deep into Karadin's belly, skewering him through his spine, the point flashing out of the witcher's back.
Jad didn't even feel the pain as he thumped to his knees, kept upright only by the sword stuck through his gut and held by his enemy. He dropped his silver sword and clutched March by the front of his armor, yanking hard and pulling their bodies as close together as lovers. The other man laughed maniacally in the witchers face, flinging spittle down his cheeks.
Dimly, Jad was aware of his little girl screaming, of the witch hunter cackling. He heard the swift grind of boot heels striking sparks on the flagstones, the lighter tread of a child's running footsteps. His grasp hardened on March's coat as the man struggled to disentangled himself from the witcher. Karadin brought his sword up, pressing the point into the soft underside of the witch hunter's jaw, then grinned with a guttural snarl as he skewered March's head on the blade with one strong thrust. They stayed locked in that tableau, time suspended, before slowly toppling over together to sprawl on the floor.
Two small shapes torpedoed into him. Tolly, the brave son of his heart and Greta, so beautiful, just like her mother. He touched her hair as his sight began to grow dim.
"Papa! Papa!" his children chorused in despair, Tolly gripping one of his hands to his chest and weeping openly in denial of the looming truth. Greta's sobs tore at him and he cupped her face, looking up as a shadow passed over him. It was Lambert, beaten bloody with a multitude of wounds of his own, kneeling before him.
"Lambert." Jad swallowed, finding it difficult to talk. "Promise me … promise..."
"What man, what do you want?" Lambert knew what would follow. He was no stranger to death.
"Take care …. of them. Take care … They are that which I didn't know I had to give … in exchange ... for my life. Take care ... "
"Yeah, I promise. I'll take care of them, Karadin." Husked the Wolf, making his solemn vow before the dying man.
"I .. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Aiden." Jad gasped, then sighed, his eyes taking on the glassiness of death, his hand dropping from Greta's cheek. The little girl crumpled over her father as her brother let loose a despairing howl and threw himself at the lifeless form before him, pounding at his body with his small fists.
"NOOOO don't go! Don't go!" his little boy voice was ragged and torn, his sobs robbing him of breath. Lambert grabbed the child and held him through his helpless rage.
That is how the other witchers found them, the battle finally over, a cold sun peeking into the windows of the tower with it's weak first light.