Book 2: The Wolf Hunts

Chapter 11

Ves was lying on her belly near the cliff's edge. Using some scrub-brush and rocks as cover, she peeked over the edge and down towards the river. Across from her she noticed that the cliffs on the opposite side of the Nimnar were much less steep. If she had been on that side of the river, then she could have easily descended to the water's edge. But on her side, it would be impossible to make it down safely without a long rope with which to repel. A rope she didn't have. She inched her body forward just another hair and then looked below about a hundred feet and saw at least ten Redanian soldiers on their horses in the middle of the river. The river was obviously much shallower in this area for she could see that the water's surface stopped just above the riders' knees. Roughly ten feet in front of the line of mounted soldiers was a rope stretched tight across the river's surface. It was simple to see what their plan was. The rope would stop the ferry in the middle of the river, and from ten feet away, Geralt and his friends would be easy targets for the Redanians' crossbows. And if the witcher jumped from the ferry in order to fight up close with his sword, then he would be hard-pressed to effectively attack in water that came up to his chest. The Redanians' plan may have been simple, but she admired it for its ingenuity.

The blonde-haired Temerian was currently alone on top of the escarpment. She'd sent the other two scouts back to tell Roche what was ahead, but neither her commander nor the rest had yet arrived. Though she wasn't that surprised. The terrain in the mountains on that side of the river was undulating and precarious – marked by high peaks and steep, deep ravines. She figured that whatever was going to happen down below would be over long before any of her compatriots arrived. As she looked at the scene below her, she thought about firing down on the Redanians. From that distance and elevation, she doubted if she'd hit what she was specifically aiming at, but surely a few crossbow bolts raining down from above would at least disrupt the Redanians' plans. It was then that she saw the partially destroyed ferry with the wagon appear. It was coming slowly around the bend of the river off towards her left. From her vantage point, she could only see one person on the ferry. It appeared to be man, and he seemed to be injured because he wasn't moving. He was simply seated, his back up-right against one of the front wheels of the wagon.

oOo

Geralt had his eyes closed since there was nothing to see. He'd also learned that his hearing improved slightly when he closed his eyes, and at that moment, he was waiting for Vatslav's signal. He was deliberately slowing down his breathing and heartrate. While adrenaline was very useful in the middle of most battles, he knew that he needed to be as calm as possible for what lay ahead. He realized that he probably only had one shot at success. He took his left hand off of the crossbow that he held across his chest and lightly touched the bolt to verify that it was still secure in the groove. His fingers came to the end of the bolt and felt the explosive tip. That gave the monster-slayer just a little more confidence that one shot would be all that he'd need.

oOo

As Ves watched the ferry continue down river, she picked up movement in her peripheral vision. She shifted her eyes and saw a smaller vessel coming around the river's bend. The wooden craft looked to be empty except for what appeared to be a brown tarp spread out across its middle, one edge of the material hanging down into the water. Not seeing anyone on the flat-bottomed boat, her eyes jumped back to the ferry and watched in anticipation as its front edge finally caught on the rope that spanned the river. The rope gave just a little, but it held tight and stopped the slow-moving ferry's progress. At that point, she could hear the lone man on the ferry talking with the Redanian soldiers, but she couldn't make out the words.

The Redanians – with crossbows still pointed at the ferry – cautiously walked their horses forward. After stopping on the other side of the rope, one soldier dismounted his horse and climbed aboard the broken vessel. Suddenly, Ves heard a shout from below, "Now!"

She picked up movement to her left – the brown tarp being tossed into the river - and when she focused her eyes on the smaller craft, she saw the White Wolf in the kneeling position – a Quen shield shimmering orange around him. She heard yelling from the Redanians as many of them fired their crossbows at the monster-slayer. His shield popped several times as the bolts ricocheted off, and it was only then that she noticed the witcher, too, had a crossbow in his hand. The small craft was less than fifteen feet from the back of the ferry when she saw the witcher shoot his weapon and then dive towards the water's surface. Suddenly, the wagon and ferry exploded in a fiery ball of smoke and flames, with multiple detonations going off within the span of a second. The blast and the noise from the explosion were so unexpected that Ves involuntarily lurched back from the edge of the cliff. She took a deep breath and then quickly moved back to the edge so that she could see down below, but for almost a minute the river was obscured by gray smoke. Eventually, as the smoke drifted away, the scene came into view. Her eyes picked up the bodies of dead horses floating down stream, but the ferry and wagon were virtually nowhere to be seen. She could make out only a few shards of wood – and possibly a small section of white tarp from the wagon – bobbing along the water's surface. She couldn't see a single living soldier. Whatever was left of them, Ves figured, was lying at the bottom of the river, weighed down by their metal armor. Finally, she saw the witcher, water up to his chest. He was slowly walking up stream, with a rope over his shoulder, pulling the smaller craft behind him. A small smile came to the Temerian's face, and she shook her head.

"He is such a badass," she whispered to herself.

oOo

It had been over two hours since Geralt, Evie and the rest had dragged their soaked and exhausted bodies from the water. Two horses had survived the adventure down the river, and now Evie and Lydial rode those while the three men walked along beside them. Though the small, wooden flat-bottom boat was still functional, they had decided to abandon it. For one, it wasn't big enough to carry them and the horses, and, secondly, no one wanted to risk facing anymore potential rapids. They'd had their fill of those. The river had finally turned west, and the group was now walking in the wooded mountains on the south side of the river down towards the Nimnar Valley. Geralt and Evie trailed a little behind the others, for Evie wanted some privacy so that she could speak with her husband. He wasn't acting like himself.

Earlier, back on the river, both Evie and Lydial had tried to talk the witcher out of his decision to place Vatslav on the ferry. All the while, the old man had been arguing back just as vociferously. Barcain and Benny had even added their opinions. Geralt had stood there quietly for several long moments simply listening to everyone argue back and forth. No one, in truth, was listening to the other side's opinion.

Finally, the monster-slayer had had all he could stand and yelled, "Enough!"

Instantly, everyone went silent and looked at him wide-eyed.

"It's his life. It's his decision…and this is what he wants. Unless anyone else here has a better idea on how to kill all those sons-of-bitches waiting for us round the bend."

No one said anything.

"No?" he asked, looking everyone in the face. "Didn't think so." After that, they'd let him be.

During the first hour or so after leaving the river, Geralt and Evie had walked side-by-side, mostly in silence. She had still been angry with him, with both his decision regarding Vatslav and also the way he had yelled at them. She'd been fine letting him wallow in his sullen mood. But as the first hour turned into two and the silence between them deepened, she started becoming concerned. And then, she remembered Roach. She'd been so focused on their argument over Vatslav that she hadn't even considered how he still might be feeling about the death of his horse. And, now, she was feeling a bit guilty.

"Geralt, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I guess…Are you still upset with me?"

Evie looked down at her husband. "A little bit. I understand why you think you did the right thing. I just didn't…and don't agree with it."

"Evie, I know how much you value life, but what were the other options? And that's not a rhetorical question. Please, tell me, what would you have done?"

"I wouldn't have put him on that ferry."

"Okay. Fair enough. Then, how would you have saved us all from the Redanians?"

She didn't say anything for several seconds. "I don't know."

The witcher nodded. "Exactly. And even if we could have somehow escaped from the Redanians by some other means, do you honestly believe that we could haul a paralyzed man around the countryside until we finally found someone who'd take him in? Especially now, with apparently half the continent now looking for us?"

"You're right. It would have been difficult, but I don't believe 'expediency' or 'convenience' is a very good reason for making a decision when someone's life is at stake."

"Damn it, Evie. You act like you think I'm happy about what I did."

"I know that you're not. But I just don't believe that there's ever a right way to do a wrong thing. And I think killing him was wrong."

"Really? So, you get to decide when killing is right or wrong? Cause, if I remember correctly, you didn't seem to have much issue with me killing Alderman Thacker back in Ban Ard. What's the difference?"

"Geralt, if you want to know the truth, I really didn't want you to kill Thacker either."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Then, why did you seem so okay with it?"

"Because of the circumstances. If there had actually been any kind of law and order in that town…someone who would have held him accountable for his actions, then I would have told you to hand Thacker over to them. But there wasn't, and I didn't want him free to continue to hurt others. Because he no doubt would have."

The witcher didn't say anything for a moment. "So, ultimately, you were okay with me killing Thacker in order to save others from future pain?"

"Yes."

He nodded his head. "Well, that was my exact motivation for letting Vatslav go out the way that he did. As he said – it was more merciful than trying to keep him alive in his condition."

Evie didn't respond to that at first. Finally, she stated, "Okay, Geralt. If you say that was your motivation, then…okay."

Geralt could hear the doubt in her voice, and it pierced his heart. He grabbed the reins and stopped her horse from moving forward. He looked up into his wife's eyes.

"Evie…I need to know you're still with me. You may not realize it, but you have all been looking to me to take care of whatever problems come our way. But it's been more than that. It seems that you all expect me to make all the tough decisions for the group, too. And I never asked for that. Frankly…I'm willing to do it, but I don't like it. Before, all I've ever been responsible for in my life was me, but now…I've got you, which is great…but apparently, I'm responsible for everyone else, too? I'm somehow the de facto leader of this entire mission? I feel like I've got the weight of the world on my shoulders…so I need you to tell me that you understand. That you understand I was in a shit situation, with every decision being a bad one. Baby, I can't do this without you. I need you on my side."

Evie looked down and saw the pleading in her husband's eyes. She quickly got down from the horse and pulled Geralt into a hug.

"I am on your side, Geralt. And I always will be. You're my husband." She then stepped back to look into his face. "And, I'm sorry…I didn't even realize it, but you're right. I…we…have been looking to you to solve all our problems. It didn't even occur to me how much pressure you must be feeling. I'll try and be more supportive, okay?"

"Okay."

"I think…part of the reason I didn't want you to put Vatslav on the ferry is because…I'm just scared for you."

"What do you mean?"

"You've made it clear about the darkness – the evil – inside of you. So, I know how easy it is for you to kill, and I don't want you to…to 'feed' that evil. I want to help you from going down that path if…when you can avoid it."

Geralt nodded, but before he could say anything else, he was distracted from noises coming towards them. He grabbed Evie by the hand, and they walked up to where the other three in their party had stopped. Moments later, Vernon Roche and his men rode up on horseback.

"We finally found a place where we could cross to this side," said the commando.

"We owe you one, Roche."

The Temerian smiled.

"Damn right, you do. And I do love having a witcher in my debt. You've been quite useful in the past," he said before throwing the reins of the horse next to him in Geralt's direction.

oOo

Redania

"What do you think of their story?" asked Ves in a whisper.

Roche had sent the rest of his men back to Tretogor to continue their reconnaissance of the royal grounds, but he and Ves had remained with Geralt and the others. They had all stopped for the evening in a wooded area in the southern part of the Nimnar Valley to catch a few hours of sleep before continuing west. The two Temerians were lying next to one another a short distance from the others.

"They're not telling us the full truth." Roche could just make out Ves nodding her head in the dark. "I have no doubt that Emhyr and now Radovid are after the historian…but, it's not simply because of a book. I don't believe for a second that she stole it because of its 'historical significance' or whatever tripe she mentioned. Neither Emhyr nor Radovid give a ploughing hell about history. They're after her because of something she knows…that, or the book leads to something else."

"So, what do you want to do?"

"Simple. We're gonna join 'em and find out the truth. Whatever it is they're after…it could be very useful for us."

oOo

The seven-year-old boy huddled in the darkened closet with Letty. He and his twelve-year old sister were both on the floor, him hugging his knees while she had her arms wrapped around him. They had been ordered into the closet by their panic-stricken father just moments before the front door of the family's hut had been kicked open, and now, tears streamed down their faces as they listened to the sounds coming from the other side of the closet door. The high-pitched screams of their mother, the pleading and yells from their father…and laughter. The boy would never forget the cruel laughter. He and his sister trembled with fear, and they held on to one another tightly for any kind of comfort, but they knew better than to cry. Knew better than to make any kind of noise.

The house had been constructed in a typical fashion for their run-down town, which meant that the boards in both the floors and walls weren't entirely flush with one another. This allowed a small amount of light to enter the closet. Just enough for the boy to look up and see that Letty had her eyes closed as she rocked back and forth. He peered through the cracks between the boards, trying to get a glimpse of his parents and their tormentors.

"Keep your eyes open and look!" The boy heard the command coming from the other side of the wall. "Or, I'll cut your ploughing eye-lids off." That was followed by more laughter.

The boy didn't know how long had passed until he finally heard his mother's fearful cries and his father's pleas eventually fade into nothing but feeble moans, interrupted by the occasional sob of grief. But the laughter and the intensity of whatever the men were doing to them hadn't diminished – only his parents' protestations.

While tears ran down the boy's cheeks, he wasn't sure if they were tears of fear or anger. He was consumed with fear, but rage, too, boiled within. But he wasn't just angry with the men outside. He was angry with himself. Angry with his own paralyzing fear. Angry with the helplessness he felt. He wanted to kick open the closet door and kill everyone who was hurting his parents, but he was too afraid of what would happen if he revealed himself. So overcome with emotions, the boy began to cry again, and a sob escaped from his throat.

Letty held him tighter and rocked him faster. He heard her whisper faintly, "Malek, please…you gotta stay quiet."

The boy then heard footsteps approaching the door, and both he and Letty held their breath.

Suddenly, the door was thrown open. The sunlight rushed into the darkened closet, and Malek shut his eyes from the pain.

"Well, well…lookey what we got here."

He opened his eyes to see a large silhouette reaching down for him and his now-screaming sister. As he felt the man's hands grasp his shirt, he let out a yell.

And then he woke.

Fringilla heard Malek exhale sharply and then felt him rise quickly from the bed, the sheet falling from his torso. She had actually been awake for a few moments, Malek's moans and mumbling disrupting her sleep. But these middle-of-the-night disturbances weren't anything new. They had happened every night that she had shared a bed with the man. She reached out and put a hand on his thigh and then waited. Seconds later, she felt his sweaty hand grasp hers.

He sighed. "Sorry."

"It's okay. You want to talk about it?"

He shook his head and sighed again. "No. I'm fine." It was the same answer he'd given her every time.

Fringilla, once again, felt annoyed. Not that he had woken her up. But, rather, because he had yet to ever disclose to her the contents of these recurring nightmares. This man that she had been sharing her bed and body with for the last several weeks was a bit of a mystery to her, and that concerned her because a mystery meant unpredictability. And given the dangerous tightrope that she was walking – a tightrope of either treason or revolution, depending upon one's perspective - she preferred to be able to predict all of Malek's moves and motivations. But she was honestly having trouble doing so. One moment, she saw Malek knock out one of his own men with a single punch for frightening a boy in Tarsus. In another instance, he threatened to kill the teenage girl in Kaer Morhen. Just what kind of man was he? And despite all of her charms and skills, she still couldn't ascertain just where Malek stood with regards to Emhyr. Could she ever convince him that it was time for a different direction for the Empire? That it was time for a change in leadership? She was going to try everything in her power to do so.

The Nilfgaardian sorceress rubbed her hand gently and slowly along Malek's thigh.

"Here, let me help you go back to sleep."

oOo

Montecalvo

Philippa Eilhart slammed the book of Essea closed – the one translated into Common - and tossed it onto her desk. She then stood and began pacing around the library.

Oran knew better than to even make a comment. Even on her best days, his sister's acid tongue was laced with sarcasm and ridicule, and it was clearly not a good day. He had been listening to Philippa sigh repeatedly for the last few hours as she finished reading the tome that they'd stolen at Kaer Morhen. A book she'd had her nose buried in for several days now.

She finally broke the silence herself.

"If there is some clue in that damn book as to this powerful sword's location, then I can't find it. There's nothing in there but the tedious history of the Aen Seidhe elves. That, and a bunch of nonsensical, religious poetry."

Oran still remained silent. Since she hadn't asked him a question, then he didn't feel compelled to respond. Even though he could admit that he was still in love with Philippa, that didn't mean that he enjoyed her condescension. And he'd learned quickly the best way to avoid it was to say as little as possible. It stung his pride a bit that he, the Ghost, a major player in the Hengfors crime world, would act a bit spineless towards a woman, but Philippa was no ordinary woman. Plus, he just loved her. He couldn't help himself. It wasn't his fault that the woman that his heart decided to cherish happened to be his own sister. So, even though it grated a bit, he was willing to play the subservient role if that meant keeping the peace with his sibling, for when she was happy, she was much kinder to him. She'd even let him into her bed. He'd always thought that pride was one of the most powerful of human emotions, but apparently, love was even stronger.

"Do you have nothing to say?" she asked testily.

Oran thought for a moment, picking his words carefully.

"That is a shame. Perhaps, I can help?" he finally answered his sister with a straight face.

"Speak."

"I know a professor of history. His reputation is… a bit tarnished now, but he was once highly respected. Taught for years at the Oxenfurt Academy. Perhaps, he could assist us."

"Just how do you know a highly-respected professor?"

"Sister, you'd be surprised at just who has called upon my services. There's not a corner of this world where someone doesn't want someone else dead. And that includes the hallowed halls of academia. They are quite cutthroat there."

Philippa nodded. "Very well. Let's go see this professor of yours."

oOo

The Great Sea

Emperor Emhyr stood, facing the east, his hands gripping the railing of one of his frigates. The ship was one of three that were floating more or less at rest several miles west of Novigrad. He stared off into the direction of the free city and enjoyed the ocean breeze on his face. He was reviewing his military operation in his mind one last time. Though, in reality, now that he had already sent the rest of his armada northward, it was too late to abort the plan even if he wanted.

He glanced at the two adjacent ships to either side of his, his eyes resting on the large, wooden boxes that were on each ships' top decks. Reflexively, his hands went down to his pockets to touch the metal discs. He remembered Philippa Eilhart's instructions when she'd given him the magical objects.

"I cannot foresee the circumstances in which I will not be present to activate your 'army' myself. However, if the need should arise, you can do so with these discs. Simply press the two sides together until you hear the snap…and then, they are ready to receive your orders, Your Majesty."

Emhyr looked at the two discs in his hands.

"How long will their magical cores last once they are activated?"

"That's indeterminate. There are simply too many factors to consider. But…I estimate a full three days at a minimum."

"And if I need to deactivate them beforehand, I simply separate the discs?"

"In theory."

Emhyr gave the sorceress a look.

"That's the best answer that I can give. These discs are revolutionary. Putting the power of this much magic into the hands of a non-magic user has never been done before. And, to complicate matters, my creations are such that this world has never seen. The amount of magic being harnessed by these creatures is beyond anything ever imagined…so I truly have no idea how it will all work out." She then smiled widely. "But I do so look forward to seeing them in action."

The emperor nodded to himself as he continued to look eastward towards Redania.

"As do I," he said to himself.