Book 2: The Wolf Hunts

Chapter 7

Southwestern Kaedwen

Ves, like a good soldier, was following Roche's orders and simply observing from a distance, but after almost two full days, she's was getting bored. She and her men had eventually caught up with the Redanian platoon and followed them at a distance. Radovid's troops had headed north once they hit the Rinde-to-Daevon road, and they continued in the northeast direction until they reached the narrow pass in the southern part of the Kestral Mountains. Once there, they dispersed up into the mountains above the road. Ves and her crew had climbed even higher into the mountains to get a clear view of the enemy below. A third of the Redanian soldiers were hidden behind rocks and shrubs in the middle of the pass, with the other two-thirds divided equally on each end. For Ves, who had conducted numerous ambushes in her day, it was easy to see what the troops were planning. However, it was two days later and the Redanians had still not attacked any of the travelers. On several occasions, Radovid's men did come down out of the mountains when they saw a single wagon approaching from Daevon, and after the wagon entered the pass, the group at the entrance would come down out of the mountain to cut off a retreat while the other two groups would descend the hill to stop the wagon's forward progress. However, each time, the troops let the wagons continue on their journey after less than a five-minute inspection. She was, frankly, getting very fidgety and was contemplating doing something reckless when fate stepped in.

Private Kowalski had the runs. He had eaten some kind of grilled rodent the night before even though it had smelled a little off. It was either that or go hungry, he'd thought at the time. But, now, he'd prefer hunger pains. All morning long, he'd been breaking wind, which was quite typical in any military setting given that they were always full of men. However, this gas smelled absolutely rancid, which was causing the soldiers hunkered down on either side of him to give him some particularly angry glares.

"For the love of Lebioda, Kowalski, will you go take a shit and give us some relief," his corporal finally ordered.

"Yes, sir," he finally got out between groans.

"And Kowalski," continued his superior officer.

"Yes, sir?"

"Someplace far away."

Kowalski headed up the mountain as carefully as he could, stepping very gingerly as he climbed. However, with each step, he seemed to be jarring things loose and the pressure was becoming unbearable.

"Oh, no, no, no," he pleaded with himself.

He'd traveled about fifty feet which, in his current state, he figured was as far as he was going to get. He saw a large boulder up ahead and duck-walked that way. Once he was around it, he immediately dropped his trousers and let loose. With all of his moaning and groaning, he never heard the soft steps of the former Blue Stripes commandos approaching. He let out a long sigh of relief and opened his eyes to see four crossbows pointed at his head.

"Don't make a move. Don't make a sound," ordered Ves in a whisper.

After the soldier was bound and sitting downwind, Ves interrogated Kowalski. At one point, her eyes went wide with surprise upon hearing the soldier mention a certain name – Geralt of Rivia. The Redanians were there to ambush the witcher. She looked around the mountainside, noticing the vast number of boulders and large rocks lying about, and then she and her men came up with a plan.

oOo

Malek was in a hurry. With the Redanian army fully present and entrenched along the Pontar River, it had taken him and his men longer than expected to find a place where they could cross over undetected. They were in eastern Redania and riding hard to the north, towards the Kestral Pass just west of the Kaedweni city of Daevon. He had been through that pass numerous times in his life and knew it was an ideal place for an ambush. He didn't know for sure if his niece and her friends would be using the pass to enter Redania – his spy network had not given him that information - but given that he only had a handful of men riding with him, he simply didn't have the manpower to set up ambushes in multiple locations.

As the disguised Nilfgaardians approached the pass, they were a bit surprised by what they saw. It appeared that a large rockslide had recently occurred because boulders and rock were strewn over much of the road, the dust still lingering in the air. But that wasn't what caught Malek's attention the most. There was a dozen or more Redanian soldiers crouched down behind cover with their backs to the road. High above them was an indeterminate number of attackers raining down crossbow bolts and arrows.

Malek gave the signal for his men to halt. He sat in the saddle taking in the spectacle in front of him, his mind running quickly through his different options. As his eyes continued to scan the battle, Fringilla's question popped into his mind – just where did his loyalties lie - with the Emperor or with the Empire? Was it even possible to separate the two? His specific mission – given to him by the Emperor – had been to locate his niece and the sword, and getting involved in this skirmish would not further that particular mission. However, Malek understood that the Empire's overall objective was to ultimately defeat Radovid and his forces. And here was a chance to capture or kill many of his soldiers. He didn't know the identity of those higher up in the mountains who were attacking the Redanian troops below, but for at least that moment, he considered any enemy of Radovid to be an ally.

"Your orders?" asked Timataal, instinctively knowing what was going through his friend's head.

Drawing his sword from its scabbard, Malek turned to his men and answered, "Attack the Redanians."

oOo

The two-wagon caravan went around – instead of through - Ard Carraigh, and then, two days after the wedding, they came to a fork in the main road, branching into three directions. The smallest road headed northwest and would eventually head all the way into the northern-most part of Kaedwen. A larger road continued westward to the city of Leyda and then through a pass in the Kestral Mountains toward the Redanian town of Gelibol. The third path went in a southwestern direction through the town of Daevon, over a southern ridge of the Kestrals, and then down into southern Redania towards the city of Rinde, home of the famous Codpiece Inn.

While the two wagons stopped at the intersection, Barcain rode his horse down the southern path about twenty yards. He figured that everyone was saying their goodbyes before the wagon carrying Nikolai headed north. A few minutes later, after the first wagon still hadn't come his way, he turned his horse around to see Benny, Geralt, and Evie in deep discussion. Before he could head back, he saw Geralt riding over in his direction.

"Change of plans," informed the witcher.

"How so?"

"We're all going to Kaer Morhen now."

Geralt saw a flash of anger enter Barcain's eyes. "Why the hell is that?"

"I told you this morning that I talked to Benny about our mission, and he's decided-"

"Yeah, I remember," interrupted Barcain. "I'm not an idiot. So, we're changing plans and nobody bothered to consult with me?"

Geralt looked hard at the former Nilfgaardian soldier. "I'm telling you now."

"Exactly. You're telling me. Not consulting with me. I thought that I had a say in this."

"Is that what you're so angry about? Alright, well Benny just told us that he wants to come along with us. And given his magical skills…well, he's already proven his worth. However, we all agreed that he needs to stay with Nikolai until they can get him safely to Kaer Morhen. And since he can't teleport, then we decided to just go with him."

"Who's 'we?'"

"Evie…and me. This is ultimately her show. And now that she's my wife, my number one priority is her safety. So, we decided…but you obviously want to give your opinion in the matter. So, here's me consulting you now. Do you have a problem with a skilled sorcerer joining our group?"

Barcain didn't say anything for the longest time, just continued to stare back at the witcher. Finally, he exhaled deeply and gave a bit of an embarrassed smile.

"No, I don't," he answered. "Sorry. I shouldn't have gotten so angry. It just touched a nerve with me – not being asked. It reminded me of why I left my military post with Nilfgaard."

The White Wolf was still looking at Barcain with a furrowed brow. "Okay," he said nodding his head. "But we're all good now?"

"Yeah, we're all good," he replied, the smile still on his face.

oOo

Montecalvo

Philippa stepped out of a portal inside the library of her palace, startling Oran. He had awoken to an empty castle so he'd spent his morning perusing through several of her texts on very dark magic.

"I need your assistance. In the lab," she said, her tone making it clear it was an order not a request.

He followed in step behind her, noticing a hair brush in her hand.

"Where'd you go?"

"An errand," she said simply.

He sighed and then asked, "What's with the brush?"

"It's needed for a spell."

Oran stopped. A few steps later, Philippa realized he was no longer following her and turned around.

"You brought me here for a reason, sister. You obviously want my help in one of your schemes. So, I need you to be a little more forthcoming with your answers."

Philippa didn't say anything for a moment. "Very well, brother. Do you know the intricate details of pyromancy?"

Oran shook his head. "The details...no."

It was Philippa's turn to shake her head. "Didn't think so. You really shouldn't have allowed yourself to be kicked out of school, Oran. Your lack of magical knowledge is embarrassing."

Before Oran could respond, Philippa continued.

"But that can't be changed now. Come…I'll explain as we walk."

Upon seeing Oran nod his head in agreement, the sorceress turned and walked with haste towards her lab.

"Pyromancy, in general terms, is magic that either uses fire in the spell to achieve the desired outcome, or it is magic that has some type of fire as the desired outcome. In our particular case this morning, it's the former. I want to pinpoint the historian that I told you about, and I'm going to use pyromancy to do so. However, I need something of my target in order to find her. And not just any possession will do. Ideally, it needs to be something from her person – skin, blood, other fluids…or in this case, hair. I just returned from her home, where it fortunately still remains unoccupied, and found this," she finished by holding up the hairbrush.

By this point, they were in her lab. Philippa quickly used a spell to extract all the long, dark-brown strands from the brush. They levitated in the air in front of her and then swirled together into an oval-looking hair ring and fell slowly into a large, granite bowl on the table before them.

"There isn't much hair here so I'm going to have to use all of it. We've only got one attempt at this so I'd like for you to watch carefully. Pay attention to every detail."

Oran looked over at his sister. "Watch for what exactly?"

"There will be a vision in the flames above the bowl. Look closely at it for any type of marker indicating their location. It won't last long."

The Ghost nodded his head.

The sorceress began waiving her arms and hands over the bowl while chanting for several seconds. Suddenly, the hair in the bowl caught fire, and large flames leapt upward two to three feet above it. Oran peered closely and a small smile came to his face as a vision appeared of an attractive woman with medium length, dark brown hair. His eyes scanned the flames taking in every detail until several seconds later, the fire disappeared with a small, whooshing sound. He then stood up straight, thinking how beneficial this magical spell would have been – and still would be – while tracking would-be assassination targets.

"Damn it," he heard Philippa curse beside him. "It looked like they were in the middle of nowhere. They could be anywhere in Kaedwen."

Oran shook his head. If his years as an assassin - sneaking in and out of private homes with high levels of security - had taught him anything, then it was to pay attention to details. And he'd caught a couple of such details in those few seconds.

The Ghost smiled at his sister. "I don't know where they're going…but I know where they are."

oOo

Later that evening, Timataal and Malek were high in the Kestral Mountains looking down at the road below.

"What do you think of Ves's story?" asked Malek.

Timataal shook his head. "She might be from Temeria. That part is probably true, but she and those men with her are no ordinary farmers-turned-freedom fighters. They're professionals."

Malek nodded. "I agree."

"What do you make of Radovid being after your niece? How the hell would he even know about her?"

Timataal was the only one of his men who knew of Malek's relationship to Evie. And, after Ves had told Malek the results of her interrogation of Private Kowalski, they had all decided on staying at the pass for another day to see if the historian – and the witcher - would ever show up.

Malek shrugged. "He's obviously got a fantastic spy network…as we do."

"If she doesn't show, what's the plan?"

That was the question that had been running through Malek's mind for the last twenty-four hours. Based on his last piece of intelligence, he knew that Evie was in Kaedwen and that she was heading west towards Redania, but that was the extent of it. He could spend weeks, maybe even months, traveling around both countries trying to find a clue to their whereabouts. But it had actually been a passing remark from Ves – when she mentioned she knew well Geralt of Rivia - that had helped Malek come to a decision.

"We'll follow the Temerians back into Redania."

oOo

Kaedwen

The witcher looked down at his wedding gift – the leather-bound book – in his hands. He opened it to the first page and contemplated the scripture that he'd asked Evie to translate for him first – the poem of praise that Lydial had read several afternoons prior. The poem that had first caused him to pray. He read the words that stated that Essea was the father of the fatherless and immediately thought of all the orphans that were currently playing and laughing at the campsite. He read that Essea was the defender of widows, and then his eyes scanned toward Gretel and then to Lydial, who was busy cleaning up the cookware from their earlier dinner. He read again that Essea was the God who sets the lonely in families, and he noticed Rien and Barcain playing Gwent against each other, and then his eyes went back to Gretel, bouncing four-year old Nigel on her knee. He thought of her being released not only from a literal jail cell in Ban Ard but also the figurative jail of prostitution and drug addiction, and the words "You lead out the prisoners with singing," leapt from the page. Finally, he read that Essea was the savior to the oppressed, and he considered them all.

They had all been oppressed by someone or something. There were, of course, the obvious culprits – tyrants sitting on royal thrones, dangerous monsters terrorizing towns, common bandits wreaking havoc among citizens, elected officials abusing their authority, and everything in between. But there were also the more subtle, but no less oppressive, thoughts and behaviors found in the hearts of man – the prejudice against another based simply on race, gender, nationality, or socioeconomic status. Mostly characteristics that one had absolutely no control over. That kind of oppression, the witcher thought, was actually more difficult to battle than the former group. A monster – human or otherwise – terrorizing a town could always be dealt with, perhaps not easily, but at least swiftly and completely. But how could one go about eradicating the prejudice found inside the mind of an individual person or, even worse, an entire community? No sword could cut away that ill. And no amount of protesting and angry shouting would ever make that type of oppression disappear. At best, that'd just make it hide out of sight until it could resurface again later, and all the while, it'd still be simmering just below the surface of society.

So, how could one actually go about changing the deep-seated beliefs in someone else? The witcher doubted it could be done, for if it could, then wouldn't it have happened already. He assumed that it'd take both sides actually sitting down and being willing to take the time, energy, and desire to form a relationship with the other. To see that all living, sapient, soul-bearing beings were, ultimately, all the same deep down. The problem, the witcher knew, was that neither side, typically, was willing to even bother with making the attempt. So, how could there be reconciliation when neither side would even come to the table? Geralt shook his head, thinking, once again, that prejudice would simply never go away.

However, despite the clearly harmful effects of the world's external oppressors, the witcher believed that, perhaps, the more damaging oppression actually came from within – from an oppressive force of one's own making. He recognized that most people were filled with differing levels of guilt, shame, insecurity, fear, negative thinking, and self-loathing. He could admit to having – or, at least, to having had - much of that himself, and he knew that a person would carry those with them wherever they went. He knew that those negative thoughts and emotions destroyed one's inner peace and joy more than any external circumstance ever could. For one's external circumstances could change, but unless they were dealt with, the inner demons of one's mind and soul would torment a person wherever they lived, all day, every day.

The witcher came out of his thoughts and, once again, looked around the campsite. There was no doubt that they were a band of misfits, all just struggling to find their way, to find meaning in a dark and hopeless world. And then he looked back down at the book in his hands and read the words again. As he considered more deeply just how Essea was described within, he thought maybe – just maybe – the world wasn't completely without hope after all. And thinking of hope made him think of Evie, and his eyes quickly found her.

He closed the book and made his way over to her and Lydial, who were still putting away the cooking supplies and utensils into the back of a wagon.

"Can I help?" he asked.

Evie smiled at him. "You cooked. We clean up. I thought that was the deal?"

"It is, but maybe I just want to spend time with you," I replied.

Twenty minutes later, he and Evie were sitting off by themselves, a little way from the campfire. His thoughts from earlier were still on his mind so he turned to his wife.

"What are your hopes for the future? I mean, after this sword-and-prophecy business is all over."

She thought for a second before answering. "To be with you," she stated simply.

"That's it?"

"Well…I…I don't want to say. I don't want you to feel pressured to do something simply because I want it."

"Evie, I thought we said no secrets with each other. I want to know what you want because…I want to give it to you – as much as I can. Making you happy brings me joy."

"Okay." Then, she breathed out deeply. "I'd love for us to live in Corvo Bianco. For you to put your swords away and become a simple vineyard owner. And…" Her eyes scanned the campsite and then into his eyes. "…maybe we could adopt?"

Geralt didn't say anything for a bit. His eyes, like hers had done, looked at the kids scattered about. Then, he slowly nodded his head.

"It'd be a completely different life than what I'm used to, but…that actually sounds really good to me, too."

"Really?" she asked with excitement. "You'll take me to Corvo Bianco after this is over?"

"Yeah," he replied with a genuine smile.

"You promise?" Her smile reached into her eyes.

"I promise," he said. Looking into her face, he was pretty sure that he'd never be able to refuse her anything. "Of course, you may have to continue working. We'll probably need the income since I know nothing of wine making or farming. I'll probably bankrupt us within the first year."

She shook her head. "We're a team. I'll help you. And even if we do lose it – so what? As long as we're together, I'll be content." After a pause, she asked, "And adoption?"

The witcher nodded. "If that's what you'd like. Have you already thought about what age or how many?"

Her eyes shifted across the campsite and then back to his. "Maybe…Isaac? I've seen just how much he's taken to you."

Geralt located Isaac several yards away, standing and looking over the shoulders of three others who were sitting on the ground, playing some kind of make-believe game with stick figures. He was a short and skinny kid, even for his age, and the tattered and very baggy clothes he wore made him look even scrawnier. The witcher stared at the lad for a while.

"Yeah." He then looked at Evie. "We'll have to ask him, of course, but, yeah…Though, let's wait to discuss it with him until this whole affair is over, okay?"

She nodded with a warm smile and hugged her witcher tightly. Then, she whispered into his ear.

"Let's grab a blanket and find a meadow. I'd like some private time with my husband."

oOo

Montecalvo

"Oran, return to Hengfors immediately. I'll open a portal for you. Gather your men and ride hard east through the Kestral mountains. I'll wait for you there, where it intersects the road to Ard Carraigh."

Philippa had just returned from central Kaedwen. Given that she hadn't known in which direction they'd be heading, it had taken her half a day in her avian form to finally locate the two-wagon caravan heading north. That night, under the cover of darkness, she had approached the group's camp. It had taken several hours, but she finally overheard them mentioning their ultimate destination of Kaer Morhen. And while she knew of the witcher stronghold, she didn't know its exact location.

"Understood," said Oran with a nod. "Where will you be?"

"I need to head back and follow them," she answered, and then she explained why. "Once I track them and know the way to Kaer Morhen, I'll meet you and your men and lead us there."

"Bugger, Philippa. You didn't mention this historian was traveling with a witcher."

"Pish posh, Oran. There's only one of them, and they are highly overrated. Why do you think they're almost extinct? If I wasn't fully confident in your abilities, I would've never sought out your help. So…I'm quite sure that he'll pose no problems for the Ghost, right?"

Oran was taken aback. He wasn't sure that his sister had ever complimented him – directly, backhandedly, or any other manner. But he felt something that he hadn't felt in a long time because of it – pride. He felt pride that his sister had turned to him, and he wasn't going to fail her.

He nodded his head. "Right. I won't let you down."

"Excellent, Oran. I knew that I could count on you."

oOo

Tretogor, Redania

Roche didn't even bother pretending to be angry. He knew well what was in Ves's nature – that she acted rashly much of the time. He'd learned to accept it, and since he also knew well that she'd never change, then getting angry would be just a waste of time. So, when she returned five days after being sent out – with a group of strangers in tow - and told him that she and her men had done more than observe Radovid's troops, he just sighed and said, "At least tell me it was worth it. That you found out something useful."

"Well, these fellows may be useful," she said with a smile, pointing at Malek and his men. They had told her that they were Redanians looking to overthrow Radovid's tyrannical rule and had been heading to Kaedwen to find like-minded individuals willing to join their cause.

Roche's eyes scanned the men sitting in front of him, his face betraying nothing.

"We'll see. But, I meant, did you find anything useful with regards to Radovid?"

She shrugged and answered, "Well, I don't know how useful it is, but it's very interesting."

"How so?"

"His troops were in the pass to capture a historian from the Empire."

"Huh. Did they tell you why Radovid wants her?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Then, how is it interesting, Ves?" asked Roche, getting a little short on patience.

Ves smiled. "Because the historian is apparently traveling with our favorite, white-haired witcher."

It had been that piece of news – that both Ves and her superior officer personally knew Geralt of Rivia – that had convinced Malek to travel back to Redania with her. As a master in spy craft, Malek understood that the best way to learn of a person's character, secrets, tendencies, and the like was to pick the brains of their friends and associates. And at the moment, the Temerians' relationship with the witcher was the only clue he had to pursue. So, he was going to pull on that thread until there was nothing left to learn.

oOo

Northeastern Kaedwen

"Well, here it is," stated Geralt.

As he looked at the group around him, he wasn't sure who was more excited at the sight – the young kids or his historian-wife. It had taken them a week, but they were now just outside of the witcher fortress of Kaer Morhen.

"Wow! Growing up here must have been so much fun," the witcher heard one of the kids say from behind him. As he gazed at the high walls of the fortress and then the massive structure of the old castle itself, the memories from his youth came flooding back. He looked about at his childhood home – the only home he'd ever known - and he slowly shook his head.

"It was a lot of things, but fun certainly wasn't one of them," he replied in almost a whisper. Then, he made eye contact with the youngsters and gave a small smile.

"But…that doesn't mean it can't be fun for you. Let's get Nikolai settled in first, and then I'll show everyone around."

Several hours later, in the very late afternoon, the adults were sitting around three large tables in the giant, central hall of the keep. They had just finished an early dinner, and most of the kids had left to explore the grounds and other areas of the castle. Geralt had locked the doors to the main armory and lab so he wasn't worried about their safety. There was one, however, who hadn't gone off with the rest. Both Geralt and Evie noticed that Isaac had stayed behind and was off by himself on the other side of the large room. He was standing in front of the small, makeshift armory that consisted of a weapons rack holding two swords, an armorer's table, and a grindstone. They watched as the small boy looked around and then tentatively reached out and grasped one of the swords by the hilt. He tried to lift it from the rack but found that it was too heavy so he grasped it with both hands. He eventually lifted it from its place and held it up in front of him. He took a two-handed swing at an imaginary foe in front of him, but since he barely weighed more than the sword itself, he almost lost his balance in doing so.

"Aren't you afraid he's going to hurt himself?" asked Evie.

The witcher shook his head. "Nah. I took the sharp swords down to the main armory earlier. The ones over there are training swords. They couldn't cut through porridge."

After watching Isaac for another minute or so – with Geralt wincing the entire time - he finally said, "Damn it. This is killing me. Let's go over there. Watching him swing a sword like that is making my head hurt."

oOo

"Gretel, I brought you some food. You missed dinner again," said Lydial.

The young woman looked up from where she was wiping the sweat off of Nikolai's forehead.

"Oh…thank you, Lydial," she said, putting the plate beside her and then taking a small bite of the roasted meat.

"You've been pretty tireless in helping Benny and Rien look after Nikolai. Benny says you've got the makings of a healer inside of you."

Gretel smiled. "He said that? Really?"

Lydial nodded and smiled back. "Is that something you've thought of pursuing?"

Gretel's smile faded, and she shook her head. "Oh, no. I…I could never do that."

"No? Then, why have you taken to caring after Nikolai so easily?"

Gretel hesitated, staring down at the young man. Finally, in a very soft voice she said, "He reminds me of Heinrich, my husband." She looked quickly at Lydial and then back at Nikolai again. "I mean, obviously, just the way he looks. I don't know what his personality is like yet."

Lydial nodded. "What was Heinrich like?" she asked.

Gretel looked up at Lydial with a wistful smile. "He was so kind to me. I loved him so much…It's been five years, Lydial. Will I ever stop missing him?"

A sad smile came across the elf's face.

"I still think of Dilis almost every day, and he died decades ago. But, yes, the pain does eventually go away, but you've got to face it. Feel it. Go through it. If you just try to numb it or push it down, it'll never leave."

Gretel nodded. She looked again at Nikolai and then back at Lydial. "Can you teach me how?" she asked, with a touch of hope in her voice.

Lydial gave her a smile. "Well, I can tell you how I got through it. Would you permit me to tell you of my God, Essea?"

The former prostitute stared into the older widow's eyes and nodded.

oOo

"What are you pretending to be fighting?" asked Geralt as he and Evie approached Isaac, still struggling with the sword.

He stopped what he was doing and looked up a little embarrassed.

"A cockatrice. Benny told me the story of the ones you two fought."

"Is that right?"

Isaac nodded his head. He looked down shyly and then back up at Geralt.

"Geralt, do you think I could grow up to be a witcher like you?"

The White Wolf looked down at the boy with a furrowed brow.

"And why exactly would you want to be like me?"

The little boy swallowed and then looked down at his feet. When he looked back up at Geralt, he had tears welling up in his eyes.

"So, that no one would mess with me. So that no one would hurt me…or my family."

Evie's heart broke at both his words and his tears. Neither she nor Geralt had asked Isaac about the scar across his face or how he'd become orphaned, but she guessed it was not from some simple accident.

Geralt nodded his head and then knelt down on one knee in front of Isaac.

"Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but you can't be a witcher."

Isaac blinked his eyes, causing a tear to fall down his cheek. "But why not?"

"I had to go through a horrible transformation to become a witcher. I was about your age, in fact. But…that knowledge…of how to conduct the Trial of Grasses, it's been lost."

Upon hearing that, the little boy just lowered his head.

The witcher breathed deeply a few times and then said, "But…Isaac," causing the lad to look up and into the witcher's face. "…if you'd like, I can still train you how to use a sword."

Suddenly, the little boy's face lit up with a smile. "Really?"

The witcher nodded.

Then, the smile left Isaac's face. "But, when? You're leaving in the morning."

"I'll…" then Geralt turned and looked at Evie. He reached up and grabbed her hand. "We'll come back. Would you like for us to come back for you?"

"Yeah! And then you'll teach me?"

"Everything I know. But…I need something from you, okay?"

Isaac nodded. "Okay. What is it?"

"If you really want to be like me, then I need two things from you."

"I'll do anything!" exclaimed the young boy quickly.

"Alright, first lesson – don't agree to anything in life until you've heard the conditions first. Got it?"

The boy nodded again. "Okay…what are the…conditions?" he asked, unfamiliar with the word.

The witcher smiled. "You may not like them, but…first, I don't want you practicing with a sword while I'm gone. I don't want you developing bad habits that we'll have to break later."

Geralt expected an argument, but to his surprise, Isaac simply nodded. "Okay," he said. The boy really was a lot different than Ciri, the witcher thought to himself.

"Second, while we're gone, I need you to develop your mind. That is a man's greatest weapon. Do you know how to read?"

The boy lowered his head and shook it but just barely.

"Hey, it's nothing to be embarrassed about, but…we do need to remedy it."

Geralt then looked up at Evie. "Do you have the Essean tome in Common?" he asked.

"Right here," she answered, pulling it from her satchel.

"Do you agree to the conditions, Isaac?"

The lad looked into Geralt's eyes, and the witcher could see resolution within. He nodded his head and said, "I agree."

Geralt smiled. "Good. Then, let's get started now."

oOo

Vizima, Temeria

"The White Flame Dancing on the Graves of His Foes" slammed the desk with his hand. The man standing across from him, with head bowed, trembled even more than he'd already been.

The Emperor of Nilfgaard had historically been quite unflappable. Of course, it was easy for him to act that way when virtually every plan he'd ever concocted over the last two decades had fallen into place. But, in the last year, it seemed that he'd encountered one roadblock after another. And, now, he'd just been informed of yet another failure to execute his orders. Emhyr's patience was at an end.

"And just why were the elves at Dol Blathanna not exterminated?" he asked Captain Vorscht, commander of the garrison at Aldersberg.

"Your Majesty," Vorscht stated in a quaky voice. "The Aen Seidhe simply were not there. The gates to the ground were locked from the inside. When we finally breached the wall, we found no one there. We then checked the palace. It was empty as well." Before the Emperor had a chance to explode again, Vorscht quickly continued. "But that wasn't the only strange occurrence, Your Majesty. On the third floor of the palace, there was a room that seemed to be magically sealed. No matter what we tried, we simply couldn't break through."

The Emperor glared at Vorscht. "You are dismissed, Captain," he said with little emotion. He was once again under control, but the impatience was boiling under the surface. After the soldier exited the room, Emhyr called for his chamberlain.

"Mererid, summon my sorceresses."

The chamberlain suddenly had an uncomfortable look on his face.

"My deepest apologies, Your Highness, but they are not present."

"Where have they gone?"

The elderly man bowed his head even lower.

"Your Majesty, no one knows. Lady Eilhart and Lady Yennefer have not been seen in weeks, and Lady Vigo in three or four days."

Emhyr stared at his chamberlain for what felt like an hour to the servant. Finally, he spoke in a very even tone.

"Mererid, are the members of my War Cabinet present in the palace, or are they missing as well?"

"They are present, Your Majesty."

"Well, praise the Sun for minor miracles," he replied sarcastically. "Have them convene in the War Room in one hour."

Mererid nodded his head and quickly left the chambers.

Ten minutes later, Emhyr walked past several armed guards in a highly secluded part of the palace. He unlocked a door to which only he possessed the key and stepped into a completely dark room. He carefully shut the door and raised a lit torch above his head to get a better view of what lay before him. The light from the torch's flames reflected back at him in more than a dozen lifeless, obsidian-black eyes. To the Emperor, they looked like large doll's eyes. As he looked about the cavernous room, he recalled a very specific conversation with Philippa Eilhart from almost a year back.

"Your Majesty, what you are asking is very dangerous."

"Explain," he commanded.

"Magical constructs have limited intelligence. They can typically only follow simple, direct instructions. Therefore, historically, they have only been found to be useful for defensive purposes. They can understand and follow a simple order, such as, 'Guard the castle,' or 'Kill all intruders.'"

"And if they were given more complex commands?" the Emperor asked.

"Such as, 'Go down the hill, cross the Pontar River, and kill every one wearing a red uniform?'"

"Yes, something such as that."

"That, Your Majesty, is unknown."

"Miss Eilhart, you are in my court as an advisor. Therefore, give me your best, most-highly educated guess as to what would happen."

"Very well. I see two possible, most-likely outcomes. One, they would only be able to follow the first part of the command. After that, they would simply stop, not remembering and not knowing what to do next."

"And the second?"

The smallest of smiles came to her face.

"Total chaos. Without clear, understandable commands, they'd simply go about doing what they do best – causing complete death and destruction of everything in their sight."

"That sounds like the result that I desire."

"You misunderstand me, Your Excellency. They would be uncontrolled – like a hurricane. Not just killing Redanian soldiers, but also moving across the countryside, destroying everything in their path. They could even turn around and come after your own men."

"Hmm. You have given me much to consider."

The sorceress didn't say anything, just nodded.

The Emperor was silent for the longest time. He finally spoke. "You have done your duty and informed me of the risks. Regardless, I want you to build them for me. I will decide later how to use them."

Philippa smiled. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

oOo

Tretogor, Redania

Sitting in a small room in a small shack on a small hill east of the city, Ves and Malek sat around a small table with a large bottle of vodka. Since arriving in Tretogor, Malek had been tagging along with Ves whether she ventured into the city in disguise or simply sat at an observation post overlooking the goings-on below. In the last four days, the spy had gradually developed a relationship with the short haired blonde, slowly earning her trust. It didn't hurt – he realized - that she clearly found him attractive. He'd carefully walked the fine line of subtly probing her for information without being so ham-handed that she ever became suspicious. In his time there, he had not yet once mentioned the witcher.

"You and Roche must have had some pretty amazing adventures together, huh?" Malek asked as he poured both himself and Ves their fourth shots of vodka.

They had come off duty an hour earlier, which meant that they could normally get seven or eight hours of sleep. But, Ves had had a different idea and pulled out the bottle of alcohol. Malek smiled inwardly, knowing few things loosen one's tongue like booze.

"Yep," she answered, downing the shot.

"Met some interesting people?"

"Yep," she replied again as she grabbed the bottle.

"Who would you say was the most interesting?"

Ves downed another shot and then stared hard into his eyes for several long moments. "I'm tired of talking," she said. "See that bed there in the corner?" she asked, her eyes darting to the bed and then back to Malek.

Malek nodded, a look of amusement on his face.

"Let's use it."

"Are you quite sure, Ves?"

"You saved my ass in the mountains. Let me repay you for your kindness."

Then, she stood up, walked over to Malek, straddled him in his chair and began

kissing him roughly, her hands running through his long, salt-and-pepper hair.

As the two came up for air, he responded, "I do believe that you've convinced me."

oOo

Five hours later, Ves woke up hungover, naked, and alone. Her throat was dry, her head was pounding, and her body was quite sore down below. But the man who had made her sore was nowhere to be seen. She walked over to a basin of water on the dresser, and as she splashed water in her face, she tried to remember the details of the previous evening, but given that her brain was still soaked in alcohol, those events were still in a fog. As she continued to think on it harder, she could have sworn that during a rest break in between one of their sessions, he'd asked about the witcher and she had told him about her and Roche's adventure last year fighting the Wild Hunt at Kaer Morhen. Before drinking down a cup of water, she shook her head, wondering why of all things they would have discussed that. Then, her eyes drifted over to the table, where she saw a note. She stretched her arms over her head as she walked over to it. It read:

"Ves,

It's been a pleasure, but duty calls me and my men elsewhere. I wish you well on achieving our mutual objective. Perhaps, if fate is kind, we shall meet again. Until the next."

The Temerian sighed.

"Just your luck, Ves," she said to herself as she crumpled up the note. "The first guy that you've slept with in ages that was actually worth a damn, and he leaves the next day."

oOo

Northeastern Kaedwen

Philippa stood in front of Oran and his fifteen men several hours after sunset. They were less than a mile away from the witcher fortress of Kaer Morhen, and Philippa had just returned from a quick reconnaissance flight to see that everyone was inside the keep. Oran and his men had dismounted their horses and were going to travel the last bit on foot for a more stealth-like approach. She had already informed them that there were only two individuals – the witcher and the soldier – who were armed. The remainder of the group consisted of an old man, several weak women, and numerous helpless children.

"Remember, do not kill the historian. She must remain alive," said the sorceress, giving last minute instructions. "The rest…do as you will."

That elicited many smiles from the men before her.