On the Path

by Luke1813

A teenage witcher leaves Kaer Morhen and strikes out on his own for the first time. Soon, he's entangled in a mystery in a foreign kingdom where murder abounds and everyone seems to have secrets. Follow him on his initial adventures as he tries to find himself and his place in the world. Originally posted March 2019.

14. Chapter 14

On the Path

Chapter 14

Kaer Morhen - 1193

Geralt ran as fast as he could until every muscle in his body was screaming out in agony, and then he pushed past the pain and kept running upward into the mountains. With every step, the fear that he felt inside continued to build, and that fear drove him to run even faster. Swirling through the teen's mind was both the absolute trepidation of what might lay ahead and also numerous unanswered questions. How had Kalen even found Bogor? More importantly, how had the despicable witcher even known that he and the cave troll had become friends? Sure, Kalen may have seen the 'monster' carrying the white-haired teenager back to Kaer Morhen that day several months past, but that was the only time that the two of them had ever been seen together. Geralt had always taken precaution when visiting Bogor to ensure that he wasn't followed. Or, at least, he thought he had. Now, he was no longer so sure.

By the time Geralt scrambled up the steep slope to the small plateau where Bogor and his family lived, he was breathing heavily and covered with sweat. He climbed onto the flat ground and took a single step toward the cave when he knew, immediately, that something was wrong. A horrible stench was in the air – an odor that was much more pungent than the cave's normal scent. He stopped right where he was and just stared at the darkened entrance to Bogor's home, and, suddenly, he felt like he had a thousand-pound weight on his chest. The entire way from Kaer Morhen he had been trying to convince himself that it wasn't Ganda's head that he'd seen back at the stables. That it was just some sick joke on Kalen's part. That he was just being his typical cruel self. Or, maybe it was a different adult troll. They all looked alike, right? But now he knew, and his naïve hope vanished in an instant.

Even if Geralt's nose hadn't warned him of what was ahead, his ears would have clued him in. He couldn't hear the deep, guttural gibberish that the trolls made when talking. He couldn't hear the higher pitched tones of Ganda and Mook's laughter that would routinely echo out of the cave. But what he could hear were the faint yips and growls coming from some other types of beasts, which caused him to immediately unsheathe his sword.

The teenager was just about to charge toward the cave to see what was inside, but a voice inside of his head stopped him.

'An unprepared witcher is a dead witcher,' he could hear Master Vesemir say.

But his fear for his friends won out, and he started running toward the cave anyway. He had no time to prepare, he thought. He didn't have any potions or oils on him, and he sure as hell wasn't going to take the time to hunt down the proper ingredients in order to craft them. Bogor or Mook could still actually be alive inside the cave, and if so, they needed his help immediately.

So, Geralt sprinted across the small meadow but paused for just a moment at the cave's entrance, glancing down at the flat, dirt ground. Mixed in with the trolls' large footprints were other much smaller and very differently-shaped tracks. Lots of boot-prints – ones that were clearly not his – were visible, and he also saw the spoor of what he thought were either ghouls or alghouls. He raised his eyes to the cave and nodded his head, knowing that he would soon find out if he was correct. He quickly scanned back through his mind, trying to remember every fact he could about the necrophages, and after reminding himself of their strengths and weaknesses, he took a big breath and strode into the cave.

Upon entering the trolls' home, Geralt's pupils immediately dilated, and he saw just what he'd feared. But the teenager was moving before his brain had even registered his emotions. He hopped forward and drove his sword right through the spine of the nearest ghoul as it feasted on the intestines of one of the trolls. The monster roared out in pain and fell to the floor of the cave, but before it had even breathed its last, Geralt had already withdrawn his blade and was moving fast towards the other two necrophages. The first ghoul's cry had alerted his fellow monsters, and they were now facing the teen, blood dripping from their snarling mouths.

Geralt glanced at both monsters, and just as he recognized that the necrophage on his right was actually an alghoul, it let loose with a piercing scream. The spines on the top of its head and back immediately elongated, and the horrendous scream both stirred the ghoul on his left into a frenzy and also slightly stunned the teenager. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and spun away just as the ghoul launched itself at him. He felt a claw rake against the back of his gambeson, and as he came out of his pirouette, he noticed the alghoul was now in the air, claws and jaws extended in his direction. The monster-slayer immediately side-stepped the monster's attack, and as it was flying past him, he quickly swung his sword down in a powerful, two-handed strike, bisecting the creature's back. The blade cut halfway through the alghoul's body, and it fell to the cavern floor with a thud. He brought his sword up in front of him in a defensive position and looked up to see the remaining ghoul walking slowly towards him. As it got closer, it emitted a hideous scream and then crouched low, as if preparing to lunge.

Though he hadn't taken any witcher potions, to Geralt, it seemed as if he was moving twice as fast as usual. His eyes picked up the ghoul's back legs bending slightly, the monster's muscles contracting as it prepared its next attack. The beast let loose with one more howl and then leapt toward the velpe, and Geralt leapt, as well. The ghoul and the teen met in mid-air, and Geralt thrust his sword straight into the monster's still open maw. The blade pierced its spinal cord and exited out of the back of the monster's neck, killing it instantly. The ghoul's corpse spun and then fell to the cavern floor, and because he was still hanging onto his sword, Geralt's was momentarily knocked off balance. However, with his cat-like reflexes he righted himself and was able to land on his feet.

Geralt swiftly withdrew the blade and hopped backwards into a crouched position. He looked around the cave for just a moment, and another voice in his head told him that he should decapitate all the necrophages. But he shook his head. He didn't have time for that. He had to check on his friends.

"Bogor!" he yelled as he rushed toward the closest troll lying on the cavern floor, and he dropped to his knees at his friend's side.

If there had still been any hope inside of him – any hope that his friend had somehow survived - it was completely dashed by what he saw. The troll's body was covered in blood, and his lifeless eyes were open – just staring into the void. The softer, more vulnerable skin of his belly was torn open, his innards pulled out and gnawed upon. The teen turned his head away from the body in front of him. He couldn't bear to see Bogor in that condition. A few seconds later, though, he clenched his jaws and turned back to face the corpse, his face expressionless and his breathing becoming very slow as he stared at what was left of his friend. Something inside of him told him that he needed to remember this image – to sear it into his memory.

Geralt then peered down at the scene in a clinical fashion. He tried to recall everything that he'd been taught over the years regarding forensics and autopsies – for he wanted to determine just what damage had been done to Bogor by Kalen's hands versus what had been done by the necrophages. But, then, his eyes drifted to his left, towards the troll's right arm that was splayed straight out to his side. His giant hand was facing palm up, and as Geralt stared at it, he suddenly remembered how gentle that hand had been. He recalled the first day they'd met, when Bogor had lifted the teen onto his shoulder, wrapped that big hand around his thighs, and carried him back to Kaer Morhen. He remembered those hands tossing his young son into the air as they all laughed. He recalled those hands carrying a bouquet of colorful, wild flowers that he'd picked for Ganda. And he could picture those hands working with skill on his beautiful wooden figurines. Without even realizing why he was doing it, Geralt leaned over and grasped Bogor's hand with his own, their two palms touching. The troll's hand was deathly cold, and it was then that the teen's mask of stoicism cracked.

"I'm sorry, Bogor. I'm so sorry," he whispered. "It's my fault."

He shook his head several times and then dropped his chin to his chest.

"It's all my fault," he said as he gripped his friend's hand as tightly as he could. "You should've never helped me. You should've just let me die up here. Everyone I've ever cared about ends up dead…because of me."

The teen stayed right there, kneeling next to his friend for the longest time, but eventually, he raised his head and scanned the other parts of the trolls' home. He stopped when his eyes landed on Ganda's corpse – her headless corpse. She was lying towards the back of the cave, and Mook was between her and the back wall. Obviously, the mother troll had stationed herself in front of her son, trying – but failing - to protect him. Geralt imagined the terror that she must have felt as she fought to save her son's life and the hopelessness that must have overwhelmed her knowing that, as she was dying, her son would be next.

It was then that a sob suddenly and unexpectedly escaped from the teenager's throat. He brought his hand up to his mouth and clenched his jaws tightly, as if that would somehow ward off what he could feel was coming on. And despite an inner voice screaming at him to look elsewhere, he continued to stare at the mother and son until the pain finally became too much to bear. As the grief washed over him, he lowered his head and closed his eyes, and for the first time in years – since before the Trial of Grasses - Geralt cried. No tears fell down his cheeks – for the mutations had destroyed that ability - but his shoulders shook as he mourned for his troll friends…mourned for Eugene…mourned for his own mother…and mourned for himself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

oOo

Hours later, Geralt had the three trolls lined up next to one another on the floor of the cave. Despite his mutated strength, he'd had some difficulty in moving Bogor so instead he'd pulled Ganda and Mook's corpses next to his. He had piled dozens of small, dead tree limbs and handfuls of dry leaves both on and around their bodies. The teen had even picked some wild flowers and placed them on top of Ganda. He remembered that she'd loved them so. Lastly, he'd placed all of Bogor's wooden trinkets on the troll's chest. He'd found the animal-skin bag in a corner of the cave. It had been ripped open, all of the contents spilled onto the ground. And it looked as if someone had then stomped all over the figurines, shattering them into pieces.

Geralt looked at each body one more time and then whispered, "I'm sorry. You deserved better."

He then cast an Igni flame towards the make-shift pyre, setting the leaves and kindling ablaze.

The teenager had decided to cremate their bodies, and at first, he didn't even know why. He certainly hadn't chosen to do it out of any religious motivations – for he still, ever since Eugene's death, didn't believe in the existence of a god. Or, at least, he didn't believe in the existence of any god that he cared to worship. Because what kind of god would allow little boys to be taken from their families and put through the torture of Kaer Morhen? What kind of god would allow innocent kids to be subjected to the Trials – where they ended up either dead or, perhaps even worse, mutated into witchers? What kind of god would allow the senseless slaughter of Bogor and his family? No, thought Geralt, if God did exist, then he was uncaring at best and sadistic at worst.

The teen finally realized that he'd burned their bodies to leave them with at least a shred of dignity. He didn't want their corpses desecrated and ravaged anymore by any other mountain scavengers. That was the least he could do for them.

He stared at his friends for just a moment longer, and then he turned and exited their home as it began to fill with smoke. As he walked out the cave, he glanced up at a cloudless, late morning sky, and then he continued to walk to the other side of the clearing, right to the edge of the precipitous slope. He looked in the direction of Kaer Morhen, and though he couldn't see the giant keep hidden behind a far-off mountain range, he could clearly envision a certain scarred witcher who was there and, probably, anticipating his return. He could picture with clarity a smiling, laughing Kalen earlier that morning, and it was at that moment that the intense grief he was experiencing seemed to lessen just the tiniest bit. So, he began to focus on the one-eyed witcher, and the more that he thought about the scarred bastard, the more his hatred grew, and the more his hatred grew, the less pain he felt – and that was something he welcomed. So, he let his hatred build until all of his thoughts eventually left his friends back in the cave and were focused solely on Kalen's ugly face. With a single nod of his head, he took a step off of the flat ground and began his descent down the steep slope – his mind set firmly on what lay ahead.

oOo

Geralt stood at the door of the barracks, and he could hear cruel laughter coming from within. He knew that's where Kalen would be. A few, new fodder had arrived in the past week, and the littlest kids - the most defenseless – seemed to be the one-eyed witcher's favorite target of torture.

'Well, his favorite target after me,' he thought to himself.

The teenager was just about to reach for the door when he noticed that his heart was pounding in his chest. It was beating so strongly that he could feel it in his ears. Then, he became aware that his breathing was much faster than normal, as well. He realized he was afraid.

He exhaled deeply and shook his head. Did he really think that he could actually take on and defeat Kalen – a fully-qualified witcher with decades more experience? For over six years, the one-eyed whoreson had instilled nothing but fear and hatred into him. And, though he was no longer a tiny, weak fodder, he hated to admit that some of that fear still remained.

In addition, he fully realized that if the two of them fought, one of them could very easily wind up dead. Was he truly willing to go down that path again? Was he truly prepared to take another person's life? Because he still remembered Reisel. All these years later and the memory of the boy's bloody corpse and lifeless eyes would still come to him unbidden in the quiet of the night. And no matter how many times he'd told himself that the death had been justified – that he'd only done it in self-defense - he could still recall the devastating guilt he'd felt afterwards. So, was he prepared to potentially experience those emotions once again?

The teenager lowered his head and closed his eyes, and immediately a vision entered his mind – a vision of the tortured and mutilated bodies of Bogor, Ganda and Mook back in their home. Prior to cremating them, he'd finally gotten around to inspecting their corpses, and, in addition to the damage that had been caused by the necrophages, he'd found dozens and dozens of sword wounds. It appeared to the teen that his friends had been tortured prior to their deaths. Remembering the scene, he clenched his jaws and his fists as tightly has he could. Several seconds later, he opened his eyes and gave a resolute nod of his head. While he didn't truly want to take another life, he knew for sure that he couldn't just let the trolls' death go by without something being done - for his friends' deaths demanded justice. He knew that he had to confront Kalen, or he wouldn't be able to live with himself. He nodded again and then pushed open the door of the barracks.

Geralt walked in and saw a crowd at the far end of the room. Everyone's back was to the white-haired teenager, and though he couldn't see Kalen, he could easily detect his cruel voice. He also heard the whimper of some young boy followed by laughter from many others. He noticed Eskel was standing a pace or two behind the crowd with his arms folded across his chest. He was looking on but didn't seem to be amused by what he was seeing.

Eventually, a velpe turned and his eyes went wide upon seeing the white-haired teenager standing alone, staring at the group. He immediately turned back around and said something to the person in front of him. A few seconds later, the noise of the group stopped, and Geralt saw Kalen's head rise high above the rest. The one-eyed witcher then turned around, and upon seeing Geralt, a small, hideous smile came to his face. The velpen automatically parted as he walked a few steps in Geralt's direction.

"Why?" Geralt asked. "Why'd you kill them?"

A look of contempt came to Kalen's face.

"Just how big a pussy are you? We kill monsters, Piss Boy. We don't make friends with 'em."

The teen slightly shook his head.

"They weren't monsters," the teen responded. "They were kind…and gentle. Not a threat to anyone."

Then, his faced turned hard.

"Besides, 'No coin, no killing.' Does that sound familiar to you, asshole?"

A collective intake of breath could be heard throughout the barracks.

Kalen sneered and shook his head.

"You're pathetic. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on you. You've been a complete waste of our time and training," he snarled. "I've told Vesemir and the rest over and over that you'll never have what it takes to handle the Path."

Geralt narrowed his eyes at the scarred witcher.

"I knew it was you. Knew you were the one stone-walling me – keeping me from my medallion."

Kalen laughed.

"If you think that, then you're an even bigger fool than I thought. You actually think I give a shit about whether or not you die on the Path. I kept you alive as a fodder so you could face the Trials. That's my only job. Personally, I want your pansy-ass out of here."

A look of confusion flashed across the teen's face, and he shook his head slightly.

"Fine, whatever," Geralt replied, before his face turned hard as stone again. "Me and you outside."

Kalen laughed again.

"Be careful what you ask for, Piss Boy."

"No swords. No Signs. No decoctions. Just our fists. Unless you're scared."

Kalen's smile returned.

"Splendid idea."

Geralt gave a quick nod of his head and then exited the barracks. He walked across the stone courtyard and unbuckled his scabbards from his back. He leaned the swords against the wall, and when he turned around, he saw Kalen also removing his swords and handing them to one of the velpen. The big witcher then turned and faced Geralt. Even though the teen had finally grown and was just shy of six feet, he was still a good four to five inches shorter than Kalen.

'You can do this,' he said to himself as he exhaled deeply. 'For Bogor and Ganda and Mook.'

The two slowly walked towards one another when, only a pace away, Kalen suddenly threw a roundhouse right at the teenager. Geralt immediately ducked underneath it, punched the big man in the gut with his right and, as he was coming out of his crouch, connected with the taller man's cheek with his left. He then quickly skipped backwards, out of reach.

Kalen turned and looked at the white-haired teen with a snarl on his face.

"Enjoy that, Piss Boy," he said as he approached. "Won't happen again."

The one-eyed witcher swung a huge fist at Geralt, and again, the velpe evaded the blow and landed three counter-punches of his own. After Geralt hopped out of reach again, Kalen lifted a hand and touched his nose. He then glared at the teen after seeing that the velpe had drawn blood.

On the third attempt, Kalen tried to change up his approach. He feigned a punch and then leapt at the teen, trying to get him into a bear-hug, but Geralt was too fast. He ducked and spun away and, then, quickly counter-attacked – hitting the big man with two more punches. And with every blow that landed, the teenager's confidence grew, and his righteous fury blazed. He wanted Kalen to hurt for what he'd done to Bogor and his family. For what he done to Eugene all those years ago.

The cat-and-mouse game continued, but no matter what he tried, the bigger witcher couldn't even touch the teenager. Geralt's agility and reflexes were so exceptional that Kalen looked like he was moving under water. Two minutes after the fight had started, Kalen's face was a bloody mess. Eventually, in a frenzy, he yelled and rushed towards Geralt, but the teen once more quickly evaded, and as the big man flew past, the white-haired youth twisted his body and connected with a powerful punch right on Kalen's jaw. The scarred witcher's head snapped to the side, and he fell hard to the ground.

Geralt stood several paces behind the downed witcher, his breathing just a little faster than normal. He quickly glanced at the crowd of fodder and velpen standing near the front door of the barracks. None were saying a word, but when he made eye-contact with Eskel, he saw a small grin on his face, and the younger velpe gave a slight nod of his head.

The white-haired teen then looked back down towards the prostrate witcher.

"Is that all you got?" he growled out. "Because if I'm a worthless pussy, then what does that make you?"

Kalen didn't answer. He just slowly raised up onto one knee and then reached up with his left hand and began massaging his jaw. He stayed in that position for several long seconds, and Geralt's eyes shifted back to the crowd. They all appeared to be in shock. Still no one was saying anything – just staring at the display. Suddenly, the teen saw Kalen standing so he turned his full attention back to the witcher in front of him. Kalen turned around to face Geralt, but his head was still down and he appeared to still be massaging his jaw. Just as the scarred witcher was raising his head, about to meet Geralt's eyes, he quickly threw his right arm forward. Geralt obviously noticed the movement, but with six feet in between him and his combatant, he didn't immediately register any danger – until he saw Kalen's hand twisted into the shape of the Aard Sign. But by then it was too late.

The telekinetic blast slammed into Geralt's chest and propelled him through the air.

'But that's not fair,' flashed through the teenager's mind a split second before his back and head smashed against the outer, stone wall. He instantly fell face-first toward the ground, but his hands and arms braced his fall, sparing further damage. Now down on his hands and knees, he reached one hand up to feel the back of his head. While he could still hear sounds around him, his vision was filled with flashes of white light.

Just as Geralt was about to raise himself up onto one knee, he suddenly felt a kick to his ribs, knocking him onto his back. He looked up, and though his vision was filled with stars, he could see Kalen's snarling face right above him. He also noticed that Kalen's fist was raised. An instant later, Geralt felt like he'd been kicked in the face by a horse, and the back of his head bounced off the stone ground, causing more stars to fill his vision. He quickly raised his arms in front of him to protect his face, but Kalen's punches continued to find their way through, smashing the teen's nose and lips. In the middle of getting his face pummeled, the teen had no time to formulate a plan, but then his instincts and years of training took over. He desperately signed an Aard at Kalen's chest, and the big man flew off of Geralt's body and backwards several yards.

With a groan, Geralt slowly rolled over and turned his head, hoping to locate his tormenter, but he couldn't see much. His left eye was already swollen shut, and his right eye was still full of stars. He staggered to his feet and blinked his eye repeatedly, trying to get his vision to return. He was bent over with one hand on his knee when he heard a low growl. He looked up to see Kalen about six feet away - charging right at him with a metal brazier in his hands. Without even thinking, the teen signed a Quen a split second before Kalen swung the large, metal object. The Quen shield exploded with a loud bang, knocking the brazier out of Kalen's hands and propelling the scarred witcher backwards several feet. And though the Quen shield absorbed all the damage of Kalen's attack, Geralt, in his weakened state, also fell backward onto the ground.

The teen immediately realized that he was now in a fight for his life, and he scrambled over to his swords. He grabbed the scabbard of his steel sword in his left hand and was just about to unsheathe the blade when he felt a pair of strong hands grasp his. He jerked his head up to see Vesemir standing right next to him.

"No, Geralt," the gray-haired witcher said, holding on tightly to the hilt of the sword in one hand and the scabbard in the other. "No. You can barely even stand."

Geralt immediately shifted his eyes past Vesemir to see that several other cadre members had arrived and were standing between himself and Kalen. The one-eyed witcher was looking his way and smiling at him.

"Anytime you want another lesson, Piss Boy, you know where to find me," Kalen yelled out from behind Vesemir.

"We agreed on no Signs," Geralt growled back. "You couldn't even lay a hand on me without cheating. Remember that, asshole."

"Ah, is the little boy gonna cry to his momma?"

Geralt just stared at Kalen and tried to control his breathing.

"This isn't over," he finally said. "I promise you."

"Anytime, Piss Boy."

Kalen then cocked his head to the side and looked at Geralt. Then, he laughed.

"You know, you're about as pretty as me, now," he said before turning away and strolling slowly towards the keep.

Geralt glared at the witcher's back as he walked away and could still hear his cruel laughter even after he was no longer in sight.

The teenager then looked at the old witcher.

"You can let go of my sword now," he said through clenched jaws.

Vesemir released his grip and took a slow step backwards, never taking his eyes off of the bleeding teen. Geralt immediately strapped his swords to his back and then, without saying another word, he walked off in the opposite direction. He strode purposefully to the stables and went directly to the storage room. He grabbed a blanket, an old saddle and a set of saddle bags and then went straight to Roach's stall. He put the blanket and saddle on the back of his horse, and then, with the saddle bags over his shoulder, he climbed the rope up to his platform. He grabbed his bedroll and then looked down at the rest of his meager possessions – an old, tattered copy of Brother Adelbert's bestiary; a hand-held stone for sharpening his swords; a small, alchemy box containing various plants and herbs; an extra pair of well-worn boots, and the wooden figurine of Mook. He shook his head, realizing that he was looking at everything he owned in the entire world. He glanced quickly at the book and a sneer came to his face. He left it in place but picked up the rest of his belongings and placed them inside the saddle bags.

He went back outside and was connecting the saddle bags to his saddle, when he heard steps coming in his direction and looked up to see Vesemir walking his way. He quickly finished securing the saddle bags in place and then grabbed Roach's reins in his hand.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The teenager looked into the master witcher's face.

"Anywhere but here."

"I know you've just taken some blows to the head," said Vesemir, "so you may not be thinking straight right now, but you haven't received permission to leave Kaer Morhen yet."

Geralt glared into his mentor's face.

"Nobody ever asked me if I wanted to come here," he growled. "So, I don't give a damn if I've got permission or not. If you think you can stop me, go right ahead. But you'll have to kill me. Otherwise, I'm leaving this shithole."

Vesemir sighed.

"Geralt, listen to me - you're not ready," said the old witcher. "You don't even have your medallion."

A look of disbelief crossed Geralt's face. He almost laughed.

"You actually think that I'm leaving so that I can go off to be a bloody witcher? You're out of your damn mind."

Vesemir furrowed his brow but for just a second. He then nodded his head and sighed.

"You really do hate us, don't you?"

Geralt didn't say anything. He just stared into his eyes.

"We're hard on you for a reason, you know?"

At that, it was Geralt's turn to furrow his brows.

"I don't hate you because you're hard on us," he said, as if stating the obvious. "I'm not a fool. I know you all think you're preparing us for the Path. I hate you because you enjoy it. You enjoy making us suffer. You're nothing but a bunch of bloody sadists, and that makes you worse than any monster that's out there."

Vesemir shook his head.

"I've never enjoyed hurting others."

"Well, maybe not you. But you know what goes on here, and you've let it happen…which makes you just as culpable."

Vesemir slowly nodded his head.

"You're right, Geralt. Maybe you're right. Maybe I should've done more to stop the more extreme measures that take place here. But I'm not perfect. None of us are. We are all incredibly flawed men, but that doesn't mean that we're wrong about what's out there."

He said the last while pointing a finger towards the front gate.

"You may hate Kalen, but remember – he's been out there. I've been out there. And it's just as ugly out there as it is in here, I promise you," he said, nodding his head. "Geralt, I still remember the first time I ever spoke to you…right here in these stables. You were a tiny kid, and you were swinging a stick around, pretending to be a knight. I look at you now, a decade later, and – on the inside - you haven't changed. You're still that same little boy, wanting to be a knight. Trust me, Geralt, the world you're heading into…it is no fairytale. I know you want it to be, but…it is no place for a tender heart or sentimental dreams."

Geralt didn't immediately respond. He just continued to stare at his teacher, and then his right eye widened just slightly. He then slowly shook his head as the truth dawned on him.

"Son of a bitch," he said through clenched jaws. "It was you, wasn't it? I am such an idiot. I thought it was Kalen, but…I should've known all along. You're the one that blackballed me from the Trial of the Medallion…didn't you?"

The old man stared right back into his eyes, sighed, and then nodded his head.

"Geralt, we've talked about this. You're more skilled than anyone I've ever trained. But physical skills aren't enough to survive," he stated in a low voice. "You're too trusting. You think too highly of the people that are out there. You think they're actually gonna like you and respect you."

He then shook his head.

"That'll never happen, son…and it's gonna get you killed. And that would…"

But he didn't finish his thought as he broke his gaze away. He just sighed again and then looked back up at Geralt.

The teen glared at his mentor.

"Well, congratulations. Lesson's learned. I'll never trust anyone ever again," he said coldly. "And I'm not your son."

He took a step forward, toward the front gates, but the old man snatched his hand out quickly and grabbed Roach's bridle, making them both stop.

"Wait, Geralt!" Vesemir said. "Just wait, damn it!"

"What?" asked the teen, staring at his mentor, exasperation clear in his voice. "What do you want now?"

The old witcher removed the witcher medallion from around his neck.

"Here, take this," he said, holding the wolf-head towards the teen.

Geralt furrowed his brow and shook his head.

"I don't want that," he said with disgust on his face. "I told you – I will never be a witcher."

"I know what you said," growled out the old man. "And I don't care. Just take the damn thing, will you?"

Then his face softened.

"For me…okay?" he said after a sigh. "You never know…you just might need it one day."

Geralt stared at the old witcher for several long seconds. Finally, he nodded his head and held out his hand. After Vesemir placed the medallion in his palm, the teen put it in his trousers' pocket. He then looked back at the grey-haired witcher.

"Is that it?" the teen asked harshly. "Can I go now, or do you have some more pearls of wisdom you wanna bestow?"

The two stared into each other's eyes.

"Geralt, I…" Vesemir started but didn't finish.

Geralt saw the old man clench his jaws and then swallow.

"I wish you well," he finally said.

When the master witcher didn't say anything else, Geralt strode toward the keep's front gates with Roach following behind him. He made sure to never look back.

oOo

Day 5 – Dothan, February 1194

The early morning light was just starting to peak around the edges of the closed drapes, and Geralt was lying in his bed with his eyes wide open. They'd been open all night. The teenager had so many thoughts and emotions running through his mind. He breathed in deeply, and a small smile crossed his lips as he smelled the strong scent of lilac. He turned his gaze just a fraction to his right and saw Delyla's strawberry-blond hair and her naked shoulder right next to him, poking out from under the covers. He wasn't sure what he felt about the woman – didn't know how to label it – but he thought that he had to be in love. He'd never had such strong feelings towards anyone in his life – not Marmalade, not Eugene, not Bogor, not Roach, and not even his mother. Well, okay, maybe his mother, but what he felt for Delyla was a very different type of feeling.

After the monster that was Sir Alyn leapt to his death from the top of the bridge, Geralt had spent an hour searching the river's banks for his corpse but to no avail. Eventually, he'd trudged back to the palace – a palace in absolute chaos. He'd found Prince Roope – now King Roope - and informed him of what had taken place, and then he'd found Doctor Dermitt and had him stitch up his wounds. After that, he'd gone straight to his bedchamber. He had needed to be alone with his thoughts, but when he arrived at his door, Delyla was waiting for him. He'd invited her in and then told her about Sir Alyn. He was expecting tears and hysterics, but she seemed to go more into shock.

"I knew something was different with him," she'd said. "I knew it. I even told you. I thought it was just stress…that he was getting sick. I…I never would have guessed."

They talked a few minutes more, and then she'd asked if she could stay with him for the night, for she really didn't want to be alone. She'd said that she was feeling so vulnerable. And that was how he'd lost his virginity. He'd had absolutely no clue what to do. Well, he knew the basics – what part went where, but that's all he knew. Over the years, he'd overheard some of the witchers talk about women whenever they returned to Kaer Morhen during the winter months, but he'd never listened long, and he'd never asked any questions. But despite his clumsiness, Delyla was incredibly patient and understanding. It made him love her all the more. She was also very encouraging and enthusiastic. By the end of their second time together, he thought that he was starting to get the hang of it. And he really liked it. But it wasn't just how it made him feel physically. It was how he felt on the inside. He felt – he wasn't sure how to describe it - 'content' was perhaps the word he was looking for. Yeah, that was it – contentment, he thought. He hadn't felt contentment in over eleven years, but now with Delyla, he did.

After their first time, they'd snuggled and shared some private stories of their lives. He'd told that he was looking for his mother. He told her about the vision that he'd had during the second Trial of the Grasses – of seeing Visenna in a beautiful garden, and how it had seemed so real. She told him of her childhood – about her parents dying when she was a young girl and how her older brother, John, raised her until she was a teenager and could make it on her own. Geralt thought that he enjoyed that part – the cuddling and talking – as much as he did the actual sex. Did that make him weird, he wondered. He shrugged because he didn't know.

The last thing they'd talked about before she fell asleep were the plans for the next day. She told him that she was going to leave both the palace and the city. After everything that had happened in the past two months, there was just no way that she could stay there any longer. She needed to leave and get a fresh start somewhere else. She'd said that, if Geralt wanted, she'd even help him look for his mother. The teenager couldn't believe it. If he hadn't been in love with her already, then that would have sealed it.

But, surprisingly, all of his thoughts and feelings about Delyla were not what was keeping him awake. What he couldn't stop thinking about were his last moments with Sir Alyn on top of the Anisberg bridge. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but something about the entire affair didn't sit right with him. There was some piece of the mystery that he still wasn't seeing. He knew it. He just couldn't figure out what it was.

Birke had clearly been cursed. There was no doubt in the witcher's mind about that. So, then, had the captain lied about Brother Johan's last words? Had the priest actually issued some sort of curse, after all? But, if so, why would Sir Alyn lie about it? One could argue that he lied about it because he knew he was cursed and didn't want to be found out, but there was something about the way Sir Alyn had acted on that bridge that made Geralt think that wasn't the case. If Sir Alyn was so concerned with not being caught, then why did he beg Geralt to kill him? It didn't make sense. And, in addition to all of that, how was the dark shrine up on the fourth floor involved and who was behind it? There were still so many unanswered questions.

Geralt thought that, maybe, if he could get some sleep and turn his brain off for a while, then when he woke up, the answer would come to him. But sleep just wouldn't come. Finally, he gave a small sigh, and then very slowly got out of bed, careful not to wake Delyla. His clothes – the clothes that he'd worn the previous night – were a bloody, ripped mess so he decided to wear his nice, palace ensemble – the doublet and jerkin. The silk shirt felt gentle against the newly stitched-up wounds on his chest, but he decided to keep the doublet and jerkin unbuttoned and open so that they wouldn't rub against the stiches. He then quietly exited his room and made his way down to the kitchens. Pierre was already up and made him a large breakfast, which he wolfed down.

After that, Geralt just began walking around the palace and the grounds, letting his feet lead him wherever they wanted to go. Eventually, he realized that he was heading for Sir Alyn's room. When he got there, he tried the door handle and, surprisingly, found it unlocked. He entered the room and shut the door behind him. He breathed in deeply and could still smell lilac in the air. It wasn't strong, but it was still present. He began walking around the room, looking for nothing in particular. He wasn't even sure why he was there. But eventually he started to make a concerted search, just as he'd done in the palace the previous afternoon. He looked under the mattress and then under the bed. He searched through Sir Alyn's wardrobe and all of his clothes. Fifteen minutes after he'd started, he was on his knees, looking behind a bedside table, when he noticed that one of the stones in the wall wasn't flush with the rest. He took out his knife and picked at the corner of the stone with the tip, and the stone popped free and fell against the back of the nightstand. Geralt stood up, pulled the small table out of the way, and, when he knelt back down, he could see a book hidden inside of the hole.

The witcher inspected the hole and not sensing anything dangerous, he then retrieved the book and took it over to the chair where he'd sat with Sir Alyn a couple of days prior. He opened it to the first page, and a title was handwritten, "The Journal of Sir Alyn Birke, Captain of the Dothan Palace Guard." Geralt thought that the man's penmanship – simple, block letters with zero flourish - was just like the man.

The first entry was dated many years back when King Travid was still married to Queen Oleyna. Sir Alyn wrote of how much he respected the queen and how he thought she was a calming influence on her husband. After that, Geralt started quickly skimming through the rest of the entries, gleaning the captain's insights on various members of the royal family and court. The teen finally stopped on an entry from a little over two years ago – the day after Midinvaerne. He read of Sir Alyn's thoughts regarding the king's festival, including the death of Brother Johan.

"Damn it," the witcher cursed under his breath when he realized that Sir Alyn hadn't written down the priest's last words in the journal.

But the knight had questioned the king's actions, at least in his own mind if not out loud. He'd written that he felt incredible guilt at killing the priest, even if he had been fulfilling his duty to the king. He wrote that he missed Queen Oleyna.

In a journal entry from a few months later, the captain wrote of meeting a 'stunning and radiant young chambermaid named Delyla.' He went on and on about her, and Geralt decided to just skip that part.

Finally, the teen came to the last few entries, starting on the day after Queen Elize's death. Sir Alyn had noted that he'd had the worst nightmare the night before – he could see a woman's body below him, torn to shreds and covered in blood. And then later in the morning, when he'd found out about the queen's death, he was deeply disturbed. Had he somehow dreamt of her murder, he'd wondered.

Then, a month later, the same thing occurred with Princess Camilla. The same night that she'd died he'd had the same horrific nightmare of tearing a young woman's body to pieces. He could remember that in the nightmare, he'd felt tormented – like he hadn't wanted to do harm to the woman, but that he'd felt 'compelled.' So, instead, he'd simply slashed right through her neck first, killing her instantly. And then afterwards, he'd felt rage at what he'd done and began tearing into the dead corpse – clawing her to pieces. When he'd discovered that the Princess had died in that exact same manner, he began to panic. He no longer believed that these dreams were just simple nightmares. He began to think that he was cursed, and that, somehow, maybe he actually was the monster. However, despite his feelings and fears, there was no evidence. Both mornings after the two attacks, he'd woken up in his bed with Delyla, and he'd been totally clean – free of blood. She'd assured him that he'd been with her all night.

Sir Alyn had realized that the two murders had occurred on the full moon, and with each passing day, as the next full moon got closer, he wrote that he felt like he was losing his mind, losing his soul. He couldn't sleep, and when he did, the nightmares were horrific. He wondered if this was all because of Brother Johan. He couldn't think of any other reason that he could be cursed.

'Is this punishment from the gods for what we did to that innocent priest?' he'd written.

So, Sir Alyn's plan was, on the next full moon, to have Delyla lock him in one of the dungeon cells, and if it turned out that he was cursed, if it turned out that he was the killer, then he would do his duty and turn himself in.

'If I am the monster – if I am responsible for the deaths of Queen Elize and Princess Camilla – then I must be stopped before I harm anyone else. And I must be punished. That is the only just course of action. I couldn't live with myself otherwise.'

'Guilt,' thought Geralt as he read the knight's last journal entry.

That explained why Sir Alyn had killed himself by jumping off the bridge's tower. But the witcher still didn't know how the captain of the guard had been cursed. What he did know, however, was that the mystery seemed to keep coming back to that Midinvaerne night two years ago and to the death of that Lebiodan priest. Geralt closed the journal, and nodded his head. He needed to go back out to the temple and speak with Brother Kennit again. Maybe he'd missed something yesterday when he'd been out there, or perhaps he just hadn't asked the right questions. Or, maybe, Brother Kennit knew more than he'd let on. Or, worst case scenario, perhaps Brother Kennit had out-right lied. Was it possible that Lebiodan priests were highly skilled in the arcane? Could it be possible that Brother Kennit was actually the one responsible for the curse? Geralt didn't know the answer to that, but he did know one thing – he knew where he was going that morning.

oOo

"What's that?" asked Delyla when he returned to his bedchambers.

"Sir Alyn's journal."

Her eyes widened.

"Really? Where did you find it?"

"I couldn't sleep because…there's something about this mystery that I'm still missing. So, I went to his room and found it hidden in the wall."

"I didn't even know he kept a journal. Did you find anything useful in it?"

"I don't know…maybe. He suspected that he was cursed. In fact, he wrote that he was going to have you lock him in the dungeons at the next full moon – last night – and see if he changed. Did he mention anything like that to you?"

Delyla furrowed her brows.

"No, never. The last time I spoke with him was a couple of hours before I found you on the fourth floor. And he just told me to give you the message about him and his men going out to the Dothan country estate. He never brought up anything about him being the monster or locking him up, or anything like that."

Geralt shook his head in frustration.

"What are you thinking?"

"That none of this makes sense, and…that I need to head out to the Lebioda temple again."

"What? Why?"

"I think the answer is out there."

"But I thought that we were going to leave today? Start looking for your mother."

"We are. Just…after I talk to Brother Kennit again." He then sighed. "Look, Delyla, the king hired me to find the monster before it killed again, and…I failed. I failed miserably. So, I gotta do this."

She nodded and then gave him a small smile.

"Then, how about we make a day of it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'll come with you, and we can stop somewhere afterwards for a picnic." Then she came up close to him and put her arms around him. "Maybe find a secluded meadow and…snuggle for a while."

A smirk came to the teen's face.

"That actually sounds fantastic…because I really like snuggling with you."

Her smile grew wider, and she gave a quick nod of her head.

"Great! Meet me at the stables in an hour. I need to clean up a bit and then head to the kitchens to fill up the picnic basket. And while you're down there, see if you can borrow one of the palace wagons. It'll be nice to ride out there right next to you."

"As you wish, my Lady," he said with a smile and a bow.

Two hours later, Geralt and Delyla were on the road heading west toward the Lebiodan temple. It was a beautiful, late winter morning and unseasonably warm. The sun was shining brightly and there was only a light breeze on the air. Geralt had the reins in his hands, while Delyla sat next to him, leaning against his shoulder. They had been enjoying each other's company all morning, and the witcher couldn't remember when he'd ever felt happier.

In the back of the wagon, there was a blanket and a large picnic basket, and Roach trailed behind, her reins tied to an iron loop on the wagon's railing.

"Why did you bring your horse?" Delyla asked.

"Well, I haven't seen Roach in four days. She needs some exercise."

"Roach? You named your horse after a creepy insect?"

"No, she's named after…well, she's named after the fish."

"Oh, okay, well, that makes total sense then," she said with a giggle.

"Well, I…I gave her that name so that she won't forget where she came from…won't ever forget what she had to go through."

"Geralt, I know that horses are intelligent, but I'm not sure that they're that smart."

"Yeah, well, maybe it's just for me, then. So, that I won't ever forget."

He then went on to tell her the entire story - about Eugene and their friendship, about Milka and the fish pendant, and about Roach being born lame. When he was done, he looked down at her and could see the tears in her eyes. She then leaned up and kissed him tenderly.

"You really are a kind soul, aren't you?"

His face flushed, and he didn't answer.

"I'm…I'm not sure you're cut out to be a witcher, Geralt. You're too…caring."

He nodded his head.

"Yeah, I've heard that before, but, for some reason, coming from you, it doesn't piss me off so much."

A frown suddenly crossed her face.

"I'm sorry, Geralt."

"For what?"

"For everything. For everything that you'd ever had to go through. It just doesn't seem fair, and…I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well…thanks, but…it's all in the past." He then looked into her eyes and smiled. "We've got brighter days ahead of us."

She gave him a sad, wistful smile and then reached into her pocket.

"Yeah, and I know what might cheer you up."

She opened a cloth, and there in her palm was a handful of candied-pecans.

"Hey, hey!" said Geralt with a smile. "My favorites!"

"Here you go," she said, as she put some of the pecans into his mouth.

He chewed them up slowly, savoring the flavor, and then eventually swallowed them all down.

"Man, those are great," he said. "How about some more?"

"No, no, we've got a big lunch in store. I don't won't you to spoil your appetite."

"Trust me, Delyla. My appetite is huge, a few pecans…won't…spoil…"

The witcher blinked his eyes. His head was suddenly feeling foggy, and his vision was going dim.

"Delyla…I don't…feel so good…"

"It's okay, Geralt. Here, give me the reins. That's it. Now, just lean against me. There you go. Just lean against me."

oOo

Day 7 – Dothan, March 1194

The witcher groaned and blinked his eyes.

"Where am I?' he rasped out.

"At the Lebioda temple," answered a voice. "Brother Johan's sister, Delia, dropped you off."

Geralt slightly shook his head. He thought his ears must be stopped up. That last sentence hadn't made any sense. He blinked his eyes a couple of more times, and his vision came into focus. He was lying in a bed, and Brother Kennit was sitting in a chair next to him.

"Here you go," said the priest, handing the teenager a cup. "Drink this. I imagine you're thirsty. You've been asleep for two days."

"What? I don't understand."

"Frankly, I'm a bit confused, myself."

The priest then reached into his robe and pulled out a sealed parchment.

"Delia asked me to give this to you. She said it would explain everything."

He then placed the parchment on the bedcovers.

"I'll give you some privacy," said the priest, standing up and then exiting the small room.

Geralt raised himself up in bed and then opened the scroll. Inside, a small, purple-colored gem fell out. On the parchment was written one sentence.

'Light the gem with Igni.'

He picked up the small gem and held it in his palm. He twisted his fingers and concentrated, and then a tiny flame burst forth from his palm and engulfed the gem. An instant later, an illusion appeared right above the stone. It was a miniature Delyla, six-inches tall.

"I know you must hate me, Geralt. And I don't blame you. I am truly sorry. I am, but I…I needed a head start on you. When you told me that you were coming out to the temple again, I knew that you'd eventually find out my secret, and…I didn't know…I don't know how you'll react. You've got such a strong sense of right and wrong…I thought you might end up deciding to turn me in so…I gave you pecans laced with sleeping draught."

Geralt just furrowed his brow as he watched the illusion. He still didn't understand what was going on. The small Delyla sighed.

"I guess I'll just come out and say it. I was behind the killings, Geralt. I'm the one who cursed Birke. I'm the one who cast the spells that sent him to kill Elize, Camilla, and Travid."

"What?" Geralt couldn't believe it.

"I won't go into the details of what it took for me to learn those curses, but…I think…I lost some of myself…some of my soul in the process. It was some of the blackest magic I've ever studied, and I hope that I never use it again.

'What the hell?' he thought. 'You're a witch?'

"And I certainly won't mention the other detestable things I had to do. I mean, you can't imagine how much it turned my stomach to sleep with the bastard that killed my own brother. I know that you found my hidden room on the fourth floor…so you probably already have a good idea of the things I had to gather to complete the curses."

Suddenly, her face turned hard, with a look of resolve.

"But despite how repugnant it was, I'd do it all again. Because my brother – Johan – deserved justice. He was the finest man I ever knew, and those despicable monsters took his life, and they deserved to die. They actually deserved worse than that. I wanted the monster to torture them, but…I don't know…I guess there was some part of Birke still inside that…fought me, fought the curse, and gave them a clean, quick death instead."

The Delyla in the illusion then gave a small, sad smile.

"Guess that shows that dark magic isn't my forte. Would you believe that 'healing' is actually my specialty? Ironic, huh?"

The teen just shook his head. He felt hollow inside.

"Nobody else was supposed to get hurt, Geralt. I swear. I'm not crazy, I just wanted justice but…how was I supposed to get it? How do you get justice when the people who murdered him are the king and queen – the royal court?"

He saw the anger on her face.

"My brother would have said that we should leave justice in the hands of the gods, but where were the gods when he was killed? Where was the justice in that?"

She then shook her head.

"Anyway, I didn't want anyone else hurt, and that's why I came up with the plan to send you and the guards away last night. After Birke killed Travid, my spell was supposed to compel him to kill himself by jumping off the bridge. You just weren't supposed to be there. You weren't supposed to come back to the palace so soon. I was so scared when I heard you yelling while running up the stairs last night. I knew that you'd probably face down Birke, and I was so worried for you.

"I also want you to know that you shouldn't feel guilty about Rojet and Prince Mathias. That was totally my fault. I honestly didn't know that they were in a relationship - I promise - but I obviously knew Rojet wasn't involved in the killings. I only put you onto him to throw you off my trail. But I never meant for either of them to die, I swear. So…their deaths are on me, Geralt, okay?"

The witcher clenched his jaws and shook his head.

"I guess, I don't really have anything left to say…except this. Last night – us – it wasn't an act for me. I really do care for you. I think you're so sweet and kind. And I really did want to go with you, to look for your mother, but…I guess it just wasn't meant to be. And you should know - the garden that you described in your vision about your mother? It sounds like the gardens that are found at the temples of Mother Melitele. I actually spent six months at the one of their sanctuaries studying healing herbs. I don't know but…maybe that will help you find your mother. I hope you do. Family is important.

"Well, I guess that's it, Geralt. I suppose all that's left is to say good-bye. I just…I just don't want to say it. Just know that…whatever you do in your life, I truly wish you the best. And, if you continue being a witcher, then please be careful on the Path. And, look, I'm not going to ask you to keep all of this a secret if you can't. If you feel the need to tell Prince Roope and try to track me down, I…well, I won't hold it against you. I'll understand. So, take care of yourself, Geralt. Take care."

Suddenly, the illusion disappeared, and as soon as it did, Geralt heard a crack. As the teenager stared at it, the gem split in two and fell apart in his palm.

oOo

Geralt walked slowly back to Anisberg with Roach trailing behind him. He was so embarrassed and disgusted with himself that, if his possessions hadn't still been in the palace, then he probably would have just left the kingdom immediately. As he trudged along the road with his eyes cast down, he thought back over the last five days. He felt so stupid. He could now see that there had been so many signs. She had mentioned that she'd had an older brother who had died – maybe one of the few honest things she'd actually said to him, and Brother Kennit had told him that Johan had a sister who was a witch. She'd also mentioned to him that she'd only arrived at the palace a few months after Brother Johan had been killed. That also should have clued him in. And, he hadn't known it at the time, but obviously, her receiving a 'shock' from him when she first touched him in the bath must have been because she was a sorceress. But the biggest red flag had been Sir Alyn's journal.

The knight had written down that, the morning after both attacks in the palace, he'd woken up in bed clean of blood and with Delyla, who had assured him that he'd been in bed with her all night. It was illogical to think that Sir Alyn would have written down a lie in his own private journal. Which could mean only one thing – Delyla had lied to Sir Alyn. It was impossible that Sir Alyn's monster could have returned to his room – covered in blood – and Delyla would have been oblivious to it all. She had to have known, and the witcher told himself that he should have realized that when he'd first read the journal entries. What had kept him from seeing it then?

As he walked along – the afternoon sun blazing down on him - he continued to admonish himself. The truth was that he should have immediately known something was amiss with Delyla – actually, Delia was her real name according to Brother Kennit – as soon as she had been kind and flirtatious him. What beautiful, grown woman could ever have been truly interested in him? He had kept on telling himself that she probably thought he was nothing more than a stupid kid. And he'd been right – he was a stupid, blind, gullible fool.

Geralt had only spoken briefly to Brother Kennit, and he hadn't offered any information to the priest. He'd only posed a few questions. He'd asked the priest how he had known that Delyla was brother Johan's sister. The priest informed him that, after Johan's death, he had taken all of the man's possessions and put them in storage. Within his personal belongings was a portrait drawing of Delia. The dead priest had kept it in a frame on his bedside table, and it had clearly been done by a talented artist, because it looked just like the woman. When Geralt asked if he could see the drawing, Kennit informed him that Delia had taken all of her brother's possessions with her. The teen wasn't surprised. She'd taken Sir Alyn's journal, as well.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Geralt made it back to the palace, and he immediately went up to the fourth-floor broom closet. However, it was no longer a broom closet. The illusion was gone, and when he walked into the bedchamber, he saw that the pentagram on the floor had been scrubbed away and that the spell book and various cursed objects had been removed. It looked like Delyla had been thorough, removing all the evidence. At that point, all that was left to do was to speak with King Roope.

The entire walk back to the city, the teen had debated on what he was going to tell the new monarch about his latest discoveries – about Delyla. A large part of him just wanted to get the rest of his coin and then leave immediately – to avoid any further embarrassment. But could he really do that, he wondered? Didn't he owe it to Roope to tell him the truth about who was actually behind the murders and why they were committed? But, then again, despite his current feelings about Delyla, he couldn't truly blame her for what she'd done. She'd only wanted justice for her brother's murder, and that was something he could totally understand. So, what was the right thing to do? What would his mother have told him to do? He honestly didn't know.

Even as he walked down the hallway to Roope's study, he still hadn't made up his mind about what he was going to say to the man. A minute later, he came to doors of the study, but the guards wouldn't let him enter. One of the guards went inside, and when he came back out just seconds later, he informed Geralt that he'd have to wait in the hall. So, he sat on a bench for over half an hour as he watched other people parading in and out of the king's study, before, finally, the teen was summoned.

Roope's desk was once again covered with books and parchments of all shapes and sizes. The king was furiously scribbling out a long missive with his head down when Geralt entered the room. After finishing his thought, he placed his utensil down and then looked at the teen.

"I'm surprised you're still here, witcher. I thought you and your little witch had left the kingdom. What exactly do you need? I'm quite busy – especially with my upcoming coronation."

Geralt just stared at Roope for several seconds. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

"Did you…did you just call her a witch?"

"Well, yes, I did. That's what she is after all."

Suddenly, the king's eyes widened and then a patronizing smile came to his face.

"Oh, don't tell me you don't know."

Geralt was almost speechless.

"I just found it. You knew?"

Roope sighed. "Witcher, as humorous as this conversation is, I don't have time to enlighten you on everything that you don't know. So, what is it exactly that you want?"

He asked the last question very slowly, as if to a little child.

"So, you knew who she was all along? Did you know what she was planning?"

"Anyone with an ounce of intelligence and observational skills could have figured out who she was," stated the king with a look of condescension. "Which, I guess explains why my father didn't…and you either. And once I knew who she was, it wasn't difficult to figure out what she was doing here."

"How? How did you know?"

Suddenly, the king leaned forward in his chair.

"Can you keep a secret, witcher?" he whispered.

Geralt nodded.

Roope then leaned back in his chair and smirked.

"Well, so can I. In fact, I'm apparently the only person in this damned place who actually can keep secrets."

Geralt shook his head.

"You knew…and you did nothing?"

"Why would I? It was a win-win scenario. She would get her revenge, and the kingdom would finally have the king it deserves."

"So, it doesn't bother you at all that your father was killed…or Princess Camilla?"

The king sneered.

"Camilla was a snake and a whore, just like her mother. And Travid…was an adulterous, immoral, drunken fool. He didn't deserve my mother. After everything that she did for him…when she needed him most, there at the end, he abandoned her. He was off, knocking up that bitch Elize. He was a joke of a father, a worse husband, and an even worse king. He was leading this realm into ruin. So, no, it doesn't bother me that he's dead. The world's better off. In fact, if your little friend was here right now, I'd probably award her a medal for meritorious service to the kingdom. My only real regret is that I lost my mage-advisor. But I've already written to Ban Ard. Rojet shouldn't be that hard to replace."

Geralt just stood there, looking at the king. He honestly didn't know what to say. He just wanted to leave.

"You know what…just…just pay me the rest of the reward so I can go."

Roope snorted.

"I'm not giving you a damn coin, witcher."

Geralt narrowed his eyes.

"What? But I…I…"

"You what? What exactly did you do?"

That was a great question, the teen suddenly thought. What exactly had he done? To be honest, he wasn't sure that he'd done a damn thing – except for killing some innocent men. But what he was sure of was that he needed that coin. And, after everything he'd been put through in the last week, he believed that he deserved it.

"But, your father…we had a deal."

"Is that right? Well, then you can take it up with him," said the king with another smirk.

"But, to show you how magnanimous I can be, I'll let you keep the royal clothes," said Roope, motioning his hand towards Geralt's ensemble. "And, now, good day, witcher."

The king immediately picked up a parchment on the desk and began reading through it. Though the conversation was clearly over, the teen didn't move. He just stood there, staring at Roope, and the longer he stared, the more he could feel the anger start to boil.

'This? This is how royalty acts?' he thought to himself. 'This is the world of kings…and princesses…and ladies-in-waiting…this is the world of knights and maidens?'

Suddenly, the king glanced up, surprised that Geralt was still standing there.

"What…you're still here? I thought I made it clear - you're dismissed, witcher."

The teen stared at Roope a moment longer, and then turned and walked towards the door. As he was exiting the study, he heard the king shouting behind him.

"Rupert, send a rider out to the mines! I want to speak to Vazney at once!"

"Of course, Your Majesty! Right away!"

Geralt passed the king's chamberlain who was hurrying into the room, and then the teen marched straight to his bedchamber. With every step, he felt his fury grow. A few minutes later he entered his room, and as he was moving towards the bed, he caught his reflection in a full-length mirror that stood in the corner of the room. It stopped him in his tracks. He slowly walked towards the mirror and stopped a few paces away. He stared at himself, dressed in his fancy, palace clothes – the jerkin and doublet, the silk shirt, the nice trousers, and leather shoes. And suddenly a look of disgust crossed the witcher's face. He dropped his gaze from the mirror and looked down at himself, and it was then that he felt the weight of the silver, wolf-head medallion in his trousers' pocket. He could sense it in there – whispering to him, mocking him.

He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. As he held it in his hand and stared at it, he could hear it. It was saying, 'I told you so. I told you so.'

Suddenly, he began to breathe very heavily, and then with a low growl that turned into a shout, he reared back and hurled the medallion at the mirror. The metal wolf-head shattered the mirrored glass, and dozens of shards crashed down to the stone floor. Clenching his jaws, he ripped the jerkin off his body, and when he looked up, the fireplace on the other side of the room caught his eye. He marched over to it and slung the jacket into it. The doublet, shoes, and trousers quickly followed. He then grabbed the front of his silk shirt and ripped it apart, its buttons flying through the air and bouncing off the floor. He glared at the garments for a split second before suddenly signing a continuous stream of Igni fire for a good five seconds. He stood there, with clenched jaws, and watched the clothes burn. In truth, he wanted to burn the entire damn palace down, but the expensive clothes would have to do.

He watched the flames dance for a moment, and then turned, found his own ripped and bloody clothes, and got dressed. He quickly rounded up his belongings – especially the miniature, wooden troll – and packed up his saddlebags. He headed towards the door of the bedchamber, but he stopped just as he grabbed the handle. His jaws were still clenched and he was still so angry that his muscles were shaking, but, in spite of that, a calm voice came through the fury.

'It's not yours to leave. He deserves more respect than that.'

He exhaled deeply through his nose, and then turned and headed towards the mirror. He quickly bent down, retrieved the silver medallion, and put it back into his pocket before heading out the door.

Five minutes later, he had his gear on Roach and led her out of the stables. He walked out of the open palace gates with his horse right behind him, and he made sure to never look back.