Book 2: The Wolf Hunts

Chapter 2

"What do you know about this monster, Benny?" asked the witcher.

"Not much. There's only rumors. The alderman has done his best to keep a lid on it. Thinks it would hurt the city's tourism business if it got out. Personally, I don't think it'd affect it one way or another. I mean, every city has monsters, right? And depending upon the type of monster it could actually increase tourism. Some folks get their jollies from being frightened."

"If it's just a rumor, how do you even know about it then?" Evie asked.

"Well…the alderman isn't exactly faithful to his wife, and he's contracted a few… unhealthy reminders from those escapades. Diseases that - if his wife discovered – would be pretty clear evidence of his infidelity. So, he's called upon my healing services a few times, and the man loves the sound of his own voice. Seems he's as poor at keeping secrets as he is at keeping his dick in his pants. I don't know…maybe he told me because he thought that since I used to work there, I'd have more insight as to what the monster might be. But, truthfully, I don't."

"Unfaithful to his wife, lying to the public about things that would probably be in their best interest to know. Sounds like Ban Ard's got themselves a real politician. Congratulations," the witcher commented, shaking his head.

"Wait…it gets better. It was the venerable Alderman Thacker's idea that got people killed in the first place. A couple of months back, seeing that the Magical Academy was locked up and serving no one any good, he convinced the town council to confiscate it using some highly dubious town ordinances."

"Why do you say they were dubious?" asked Evie.

Benny smiled. "Because the Academy doesn't even reside within the town's limits. They have absolutely no jurisdiction over it. But, given that witch hunters were still in the area, he knew none of us mages would openly object, right? Then, once the Academy was considered city property, he decided to rent it out to the highest bidder.

"The damn fool. I worked there, and I don't even know what all kinds of dangerous, magical secrets are still hidden behind those walls. Some of my former colleagues used to conduct some highly questionable experiments. And Thacker just decided to open it up to the public." The mage was now just shaking his head.

"So, you're telling me that the Redanians just let him open up the Academy again. Weren't they the ones to lock it up?" Geralt asked.

"Oh, he had to get permission. The entire Ban Ard division is at the war front, but a company of Redanian soldiers – along with the temple guards and the witch hunters – now stays in their empty garrison. The Redanian company commander – named Yurimir – still allows Thacker and the town council to run the day-to-day affairs of the city, but he reviews all new ordinances. All the major business of the city goes across his desk. So, I wouldn't be surprised if he's getting some kind of kickback from the Academy's rental income."

"Seems likely," commented the witcher, nodding his head.

"Yeah…so, Thacker opens up bidding on the property, and you wouldn't believe it, but Madame Spraven – owner of one of the town's brothels - comes out on top."

"Nice turn of phrase there, Benny. And let me guess, Madame Spraven and Thacker know each other well."

Benny nodded. "Intimately. So, about a month ago, the Madame and her girls go into the Academy, start cleaning up some of the living quarters to make them welcoming. A few nights later the first customers arrive. Then, the next thing we hear is that the Academy is locked up again. No explanation."

"And the rumors?"

Benny shrugged. "You know how it goes. The attack was at night so it was too dark to see. Plus, it happened so fast that no one – at least no one living – can say for sure what it was."

"So, there were survivors?"

"From what I hear, one of the working girls, but Thacker has her hidden away somewhere so she can't tell anyone what she saw – all for the town's good, of course. Though, she did talk to some of her friends before Thacker could sequester her. That's the main way the rumors got out."

"And no one's gone back in? No one went in to investigate? The dead's family don't care?"

Benny nodded his head. "I heard that Thacker sent in a few of his men. When they didn't return, he locked the gates. Posted a sign stating no entry allowed. He's just going to pretend it never happened. Like I said, he thinks it'd make the town – and especially him – look bad if word got out. Though, I'll be honest, by now, most Ban Ardians know. There's just an unspoken rule to keep it to ourselves – certainly not let the tourists know. I think he's just hoping that it will just go away on its own."

The monster-slayer shook his head. "Yeah, because that always happens. Problems always just disappear on their own."

"So, still interested in my concealing ointment? All you have to do is defeat some unknown monster in the Academy. Maybe you'll even earn a special medal of commendation from the honorable Alderman Thacker," Benny said with a smirk.

"Think I'll pass. Got enough medals already. Guess I'll just keep wearing my hood up."

Then, Benny's face turned serious. "In that case, Geralt, I advise that you and your friends get out of town – as soon as possible. On the surface, it may look the same, but Ban Ard is different now – ever since our soldiers left. The old garrison commander was the real leader of the town. A bit of a hard-ass, law-and-order type, but…at least he kept this town – and Thacker - in line. But with him and his soldiers gone, Thacker now runs this place more or less however he sees fit. And he's not a good man."

oOo

"Why no interest in the monster at the Academy?" Evie asked in a whisper as they walked through the darkened streets of Ban Ard.

She and Geralt had spent another hour in the mage's underground lab catching up on both old times and current events before they decided to head back to the inn where they were staying for the night.

"In different circumstances, maybe I would, but we have other priorities. Let Thacker clean up his own mess," Geralt responded as he kept his eyes moving constantly about him.

Benny's warnings had Geralt on edge. He'd come across men like Thacker countless times in his life – men who in reality were no different, and perhaps even worse, than the common bandits that he'd killed in The Mariposa tavern two weeks ago. The only real difference was that, because of their position and status, they were viewed as being on the "right" side of the law, which made them even more dangerous since they were insulated and protected from any type of repercussions. Who could the citizens go to when they were being oppressed if it was their very own leaders, judges, and constables that were guilty of the oppression? Nothing made the witcher's blood boil more than when those who were in positions of leadership perverted and abused that authority, whether it was parents, teachers, clergy, or civil servants. Thacker was just another in a long line of corrupt officials that proved that the world was without justice. It's why the witcher had rarely felt any hesitancy about taking justice into his own hands. If he didn't right the wrongs that he saw, then who would?

And, as if Thacker wasn't bad enough, there was the additional presence of the witch hunters and the temple guards to deal with. The witcher had interacted with enough of them to know that Evie had been correct earlier in the day when she'd called them fanatics. Geralt knew that most people – and not just religious fanatics - were convinced that their beliefs about everything were right, and they'd be damned if they'd listen to anyone tell them that they were wrong about their religion, their politics, or their cultural views. The majority of folks simply refused to listen to anyone who even remotely espoused a differing opinion. In his time, he'd seen very few actual civil, respectful debates or discussions between opposing sides on, well, any matter. Most just did their best to shout their opponents down, not even giving them a chance to be heard. As opposed to taking issue with their opponent's argument, they'd simply name-call and ridicule because that was a whole lot easier - and lazier - to do. Dissecting an argument actually required a person to, first, listen to the other's point of view, and then use reason, logic, and facts to refute their faulty premises. And who had the time, the energy, or the ability for that?

But, in spite of their hateful name-calling and their assaults on the opponents' character, very few would actually kill over a difference in beliefs, unlike the militant branch of the Eternal Fire. Though, now that he thought about it, the witcher concluded that the lack of murder during heated, irrational arguments by the common man wasn't because of any level-headed sense of tolerance or desire for understanding or even because of a moral realization that murder was wrong. It was, most likely, simply a matter of fear. If people didn't kill those they hated, it was simply because they didn't want to pay the consequences if they got caught. But the witcher knew what was in the hearts of men. Hell, just his simple existence had caused him to be on the receiving end of endless vitriolic diatribes throughout his life – and not just from religious zealots, but from children, little old ladies, and upstanding, sophisticated professionals of society. And during those moments, he could easily detect the murderous, black rage in their eyes. Given that he had that same rage in himself, it was quite easy to recognize in others. And he knew that, if they thought they could get away with it, they'd end his life in a heartbeat. Hell, he had the scars from a pitch-fork to prove it. Then, afterward, they'd simply rationalize that he'd obviously deserved it and it was clearly all of his fault in the first place, and then they'd go on their merry way.

Thinking on the issue more, he was surprised that there wasn't actually more murder in the world because he knew that it was just a tiny nudge from having murder in your heart to having murder on your hands. The witcher shook his head slightly as he came out of his thoughts. Speaking with Benny about the goings-on in Ban Ard had obviously put him in a dark frame of mind. Perhaps the mage was right - they needed to leave town as soon as possible.

Geralt and Evie eventually made their way through the square without incident, through the first-floor dining area and bar of the tavern, and, then, up the stairs to their rooms.

As they stood in front of the door to one of their two rooms, Geralt looked at Evie and said, "Well, this is a little awkward. Are you and I sharing a room together or…? We didn't discuss it earlier."

Evie smiled. "Well, Nain and I discussed it. And yes, you and I are sharing a room. I've slept by your side for the last two weeks, and I happen to like it there." And then she grasped his hand.

The witcher looked into her eyes and nodded his head. "Yeah. I've gotten used to it, too. Before we go in, let's see if they're awake. I want to tell them that it's going to be an early morning. I've got a bad feeling about being here."

After getting a nod of confirmation from Evie, they both walked into Lydial and Barcain's room. Geralt's senses were immediately assaulted with deep snoring sounds and the stench of beer-tinged burps. Lydial was sitting in a chair with a candle flickering on a table next to her. She, unsurprisingly, had the Essean tome in her lap. Barcain, on the other hand, was sprawled spread-eagle out on the bed.

"What the hell? Is he drunk?" Geralt asked.

Lydial nodded. "Yes. I don't know what got into him."

"Obviously, a half a barrel of ale," answered Evie.

"Well, he's going to be hurting tomorrow. We're leaving before sun-up, okay?" stated the witcher.

"What's wrong? Where have you been?" the elf asked.

Evie gave Lydial a short recount of their evening, ending with Benny's warning to be on the road as quickly as possible.

"Do we need to be worried? I mean, should we leave now?" Lydial asked.

The witcher nodded his head towards Barcain. "It doesn't look like we could even if we wanted…but, no, I think we should be fine for tonight. We haven't been in town more than nine or ten hours and nobody has noticed us – noticed me," Geralt answered. "But I am very glad now that I changed my appearance."

He, then, looked over at Evie and then back at Lydial before asking with a smile, "Do we have time for a bed-time story?"

Lydial grinned back. "Of course."

That had become the running joke in the last four days since their hasty escape from the Aen Seidhe palace in Dol Blathanna. That first night, as they were sitting around a campfire, getting ready to sleep – or meditate in the witcher's case - Geralt had asked Lydial to read him something out of the elven tome. The second night, he'd done the same. On the third night, when the witcher had asked her to read something from the book, she had looked at him inquisitively and had asked him, "Why are you so interested, Geralt?"

He had shrugged and simply answered, "Not sure. I guess I'm just curious. I don't know anything about Essea or your religion."

Lydial had smiled.

"What's the smile about?" he had asked.

"Oh, it's nothing," she had replied. "I'm just pleased that you're interested."

oOo

City of Hengfors

In a secret, underground arena owned by one of the city's most prolific crime bosses, a large crowd alternatively cheered and groaned as they watched the two combatants draw blood, one much more often than the other. Much more groaning than cheering could be heard in the arena, however, for the fighter who was the crowd favorite – the Mule of Malleore - had copious amounts of blood pouring down his face and onto his bare chest. He'd been the favorite for he stood at least a foot taller than his opponent and outweighed him by easily a hundred pounds. Almost everyone had placed money on the Mule dispatching his opponent within minutes. But, the smaller fighter had too much speed for the giant of a man, and he'd been peppering his face and ribs with rock-hard punches for the last ten minutes. And, unfortunately for the Mule, the small man didn't look to be tiring out.

The Ghost sat in a private box above the crowd and watched the fight with a small, amused smile creasing his face. It was a smile that he wore often, which also typically irritated those who saw it. It was a smile that said, "I know something that you don't." And his smile grew in proportion with the crowd's groans. He'd put a large sum of money on the smaller man, and at the moment, he was trying to calculate – based on the favorable odds that he'd been given – what his overall winnings would amount to. His small smile faltered a bit when he realized he couldn't figure out in his head what the exact total would be – math had never been his strong suit – but his smile quickly returned for he knew it was a lot. But, then suddenly, he saw the smaller man slip in a pool of blood on the floor of the arena. He fell down to one knee, and before he could get to his feet, the Mule was on top of him. And then the fight was over. Now, firmly in the Mule's grasp, the smaller man stood no chance.

Moments later, as the crowd cheered, the Ghost stood up disgusted and headed for the arena's exit. He shook his head, reminding himself that he'd never been lucky – in either money or love - and questioned why he continued to keep betting on either despite decades' worth of evidence that he should seek out other pursuits. So lost in his thoughts was the Ghost that he didn't notice the hooded-figure follow him out of the arena.

The Ghost was one of Hengfor's minor crime lords, but, deep down, he believed that he should've ruled the city's underworld. Decades ago, he'd started off as an assassin for hire, and he'd been the best. What no one knew – and still didn't know – was that the secret to his success was his magical skills. He wasn't particularly knowledgeable in many areas of the arcane for he'd been kicked out of the Ban Ard Academy before his education had progressed too far. Though, he had, like most elite magic users, learned the spells and elixirs necessary to slow down the aging process. However, there was one area of magic in which he'd been a natural - the art of casting illusions, which allowed him to blend in completely with the environment. That skill had been invaluable as an assassin.

He'd eventually earned enough money to cut out his own little territory in Hengfor's crime world, complete with his own stable of hoodlums and underlings; and both his skills and reputation as an assassin had allowed him to keep that territory for decades. But he'd never been able to expand his little empire for, frankly, he had no head for business. Though, he more often than not simply blamed his business failings on his accursed bad luck. That was easier than actually taking the blame on himself.

He was halfway home when he picked up the click-clack sound of heals striking the brick streets behind him. When he turned, the sounds of the footsteps stopped. He peered into the darkness but couldn't see anyone or anything in the alleyway full of shadows. He reached up and pulled a knife with a twelve-inch blade from the scabbard on his hip. He turned and continued walking down the street, and when he came to the next corner, he turned to the right, stepped into a nearby shadow, and cast a concealment spell around him. And then he waited patiently for his pursuer.

"Are we playing hide-and-go-seek, Oran?" came a haughty and familiar voice from behind him.

The Ghost quickly turned, his knife at the ready. Ten feet away, he could just make out the owner of the voice in the shadows. Then, the small figure stepped out into the moonlight and lowered the hood from her head.

The Ghost stood there not saying a word, just glaring at the most-wanted witch in Redania.

"Bugger me," he finally cursed.

"Now, Oran, is that any way to greet your little sister?" asked Philippa Eilhart.

oOo

Geralt shut and locked the door behind him and then turned around to look at Evie. She had lit a candle on the bed-side table and now stood in the center of their rented room facing him, nervously biting her lower lip, with one hand grasping the other in front of her.

"Alone at last," the witcher remarked while staring into her eyes.

Evie inhaled deeply and nodded her head as she exhaled slowly, but the White Wolf didn't say or do anything else other than reach up and rub his chin twice before dropping his hand back down to his side. She was looking back at Geralt, but for the life of her, she could not read what was going on behind those eyes. In just two weeks, she'd been able to learn some of his subtle and not-so-subtle emotional tells – anger, fear, mirth, and passion, but in that moment, his face was completely stoic, and it was unsettling for her. She wished that he'd say something because she had no idea what was about to happen. Then, she watched him as he slowly took three steps forward in her direction until he was standing in front of her looking down into her face. He moved both hands forward and grasped both of hers in his. Without saying a word, he moved her over to the bed, and with just the slightest nod of his head and shifting of his eyes, she knew that he wanted her to have a seat. Then, to her surprise, he let go of her hands and turned away from her. He grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it up close to the bed and sat down, looking slightly upward into her face.

"So…" he stated.

"Yeah…so," she replied.

Geralt exhaled deeply and then continued. "You said that we should be honest and open with each other. You said that's how relationships are supposed to work, right?"

"Right," she responded, nodding her head tentatively. She still had absolutely no idea what he was about to tell her.

The witcher nodded his head. "Okay, here goes." And then he took a deep breath. "This may come off as completely arrogant and very presumptuous on my part, but…I want to wait before we have sex."

Immediately, Evie exhaled and let loose with a nervous laugh.

The witcher had a confused look on his face. "Is it that funny?"

"No. I was just…expecting the worst. I thought you were going to tell me that you had some kind of mutated…dragon penis or…that you had three of them. Something strange."

"You are weird - do you know that?" the witcher said with a smirk.

"Give me a break. I've never dated a witcher before. I don't know what kind of…equipment you have down there."

He smiled at that. "Fair enough. And my equipment is of the standard variety, by the way." After a pause, he asked, "So…what do you think about what I said?"

Evie looked nervous again. "Why do you want to wait?"

Geralt shook his head. "I don't know exactly. But I think it's God…again. I just know that I sense something inside, telling me that we should. I'll be honest, I don't really want to. My entire being wants to tear your clothes off right now," he said with a smile. "But...I think he's telling me, 'Wait.' To wait until we are – I don't know – I don't know why he'd want us to wait."

After a pause in which he grasped Evie's hands again, the witcher continued.

"But I'm starting to see now that he's been leading me for the last couple of weeks – maybe even longer, and I want to listen to him. My entire life, 'bed' has been easy for me, and it's been the norm. But, obviously, none of my relationships have ever lasted. Now, I'm in no way saying that the reason the relationships didn't work was because of sex, but…I think he's showing me that if my normal, base instincts with regards to sex and relationships have repeatedly led me to make poor decisions that have never worked out, then… maybe I should do the opposite." He paused momentarily before continuing. "And I do want this to work with you. So much so that I'm willing to try it his way."

The witcher lowered and shook his head and laughed in exasperation before, then, looking back into Evie's eyes.

"If I'm honest…I'm very confused right now. I don't know what to think or do. I've got a serious battle going on inside of me."

Evie squeezed his hands. "It's simple, then. We wait. This is not what I expected at all," she stated with a small, exasperated laugh of her own. "…but I would never want to hurt you in any way, to cause you to go against what your conscience or what God is telling you to do."

"You're not disappointed?"

Evie smiled. "In one way, yes. Like yours, my body is screaming out for you, but…waiting will just make it all the sweeter. Plus, I've seen first-hand the potential, negative consequences of rushing into things with someone you don't love. I don't want to ruin anything with you either. And now that you've mentioned it, waiting seems like the right thing to me, too."

"Really?"

Evie nodded.

"Maybe he's starting to speak to both of us," she said with a smile.

oOo

Evie woke suddenly with a hand over her mouth.

"Get up, now," Geralt whispered urgently into her ear.

She came alert quickly and looked around the darkened room, wondering what time it was. She could no longer hear any noises coming from the first-floor bar so she figured that she'd been asleep at least two or three hours. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out the witcher unsheathing his sword and facing the door of their room, which immediately made her jump from the bed and shuffle across the room to where her crossbow was located.

She came up behind him and whispered, "What is it?"

"Something's going on next door."

The White Wolf paused at the door to his room and listened intently before opening it quickly and leaping into the hallway. But there was no one waiting to attack. There was no one there at all. He and Evie, then, moved to Lydial's room, the door of which was slightly ajar. He clearly remembered that he'd shut it behind him when he'd left earlier in the evening. Just as he was about to open the door, the witcher heard footsteps coming from his right. He looked to see four men coming up the lone staircase. All four were heavily armed, with weapons drawn. However, upon seeing the witcher, they stopped where they were, neither advancing nor retreating – just glaring in his direction. Before he could even decide what to do about those four, his attention was drawn back to Lydial and Barcain's room by muffled sounds coming from within. He reached up slowly with his sword and used the tip of it to, in-by-inch, push it open toward the interior of the room. As the scene behind the door came into view, he heard Evie breathe in quickly behind him. Both Barcain and Lydial were being held captive by at least ten men with knives, swords, and crossbows.

Geralt's eyes then shifted to a rather handsome man sitting calmly in a chair in the middle of the room facing the witcher. The elegantly-dressed man seemed to be casually inspecting his fingernails, but upon hearing the door open, he looked up, smiled and said, "Please, do join us, Witcher."