Book 2: The Wolf Hunts
Chapter 15
Tretogor, Redania
"So, what's on your mind?" asked Timataal in a low voice.
"Who said I was here to talk?" Malek whispered back. "Maybe I just came to relieve you."
Timataal never shifted his eyes from his surroundings, but a smirk did break across his face. He wasn't fooled. He knew he wasn't supposed to be relieved for several more hours. Malek had showed up for some other reason.
The two men were hunkered down in the shadows of a narrow alley that ran on the backside of a butcher's shop that sold mystery meat. Timataal guessed it was mostly rat – perhaps small dogs or cats. As it was already past sundown, the shop – along with most other businesses in the neighborhood - was closed, but that didn't mean the alley and streets were empty. In fact, they were teeming with hundreds – if not thousands - of now homeless Novigradians who had fled to the capital to escape the annihilation of their free city.
Wearing dirty cloaks and with cowls covering their faces, Malek and Timataal were indistinguishable from any other of the homeless and downtrodden that were now living in the outer neighborhoods of Tretogor – the neighborhoods outside of the city's walls. If Timataal had leaned over onto his side and turned his head, he would have been able to gaze upward along a wide road that ran for more than a mile on a gradual, ascending slope. At the top of that large hill sat the Redanian royal residence, which was easily twice the size of the witcher stronghold of Kaer Morhen. The capital city sprawled out from the royal palace on each of the hill's four sides. The elegance of the homes and businesses was directly related to their proximity to the palace. Along with the most high-end restaurants, hotels, boutiques, and brothels, many nobles and leaders of commerce had residences near the castle. The further down the hill one traveled, the seedier and grimier the streets, buildings, and citizens became. The city itself seemed to embody the nobles' belief that piss and filth flowed downhill.
From his vantage point in the alley, Timataal had a clear view of the Pontar Road, the main entryway into the city from the south. There was no gate barring access into the city, for there were no walls surrounding the city, either. Or, at least, there was no wall this far out. Centuries ago, as businesses and homes were built up around the royal palace, a strong, thick, gated wall was built to protect the populace. However, over time, more and more people continued to flock to the capital, constructing new homes and shops outside the city walls, and none of the Redanian kings had ever bothered to build a second wall around the newer Tretogorian citizens and neighborhoods. Thus, the city had a literal wall separating the rich and privileged that lived near the palace from the poor and unwashed living down below – just as the upper crust believed there should be.
Malek and his men had been in the Redanian capital for four days, doing their best to watch the city's entryways for Evie's arrival. Malek's problem was that – with no outer wall - there were more ways into the city than he had men available. Thus, he couldn't be sure that she and the witcher hadn't already snuck their way past his watchers. And that was assuming that Tretogor was even their destination. His decision to come to the capital was based purely upon Celeste's revelation that Claude was imprisoned there. But none of that uncertainty was what was troubling Malek the most.
"I'm surprised," replied the stout Nilfgaardian to Malek's remark. "After all the years we've known each other, you don't think I can read you? You haven't been yourself since we left Novigrad."
Malek didn't say anything, but he did give just the slightest nod of his head.
"You worried she's dead?"
"That's partly it."
Timataal nodded. "Well…luckily, she's with the witcher. I'm sure he got her out." Then, he added, "Because he's good…isn't he?" This last question was laced with a mirthful tone.
Malek couldn't see Timataal's face, but he knew his second-in-command was sporting a "I told you so" grin.
"I told you what happened, so you already know the answer to that. Yes…he's very good. He could've killed me at any point. I'd heard about the Signs he can use, but…I'd never seen them in action."
"Now you know how those three soldiers in Tarsus felt when he hexed their minds."
"Yeah. It's a pretty helpless feeling."
"So, what are you going to do if you – or we - have to face him again?"
"I'm working on it. I figure if dimeritium will neutralize a mage's powers, then hopefully it'll work on him, too. That, and Miss Vigo said she could potentially create a magical amulet to block the mind-control."
"And you actually trust her? You know, I've never known you to be so cozy with a magic user. Maybe I don't know you so well, after all," he said in jest.
"Yes, well… sometimes dire situations call for less-than-ideal alliances."
Timataal nodded. "Hey, you'll hear no complaints from me. I would've bled out in the Blue Mountains if not for her so…I'm partial to her." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his boss nodding his head in agreement. "But, your niece…the witcher…not the only thing bothering you, is it?"
Malek didn't say anything for a while. Timataal finally heard him exhale deeply and then he spoke.
"Have I ever given you any orders or…acted in a way that you were fundamentally opposed to?"
Timataal was quiet for a moment and then shook his head.
"Nah. I mean, sure, you've given directives that I questioned, that I haven't always completely agreed with. But you know me - I've always let you know if I thought there was a better way of accomplishing the task. But…if you're talking about something that has been crossways with my moral code…then, no."
"And if I did, how would you respond?"
Timataal shrugged. "Well, you and I have the type of relationship where I could talk to you about it so…I would talk to you about it."
"And if talking didn't change my mind?"
For the first time in their conversation, Timataal stopped scanning his surroundings for Evie and turned to face the man next to him.
"Malek, I'm closer to you than I am to anyone else in this world. Hell, even my own kids. You know I'd die for you. And part of our friendship has always been based on the fact that, on the main things, we've more or less always seen eye to eye. But there are some things I'd never compromise on…not even for you. If you started acting like…let's say, Radovid…then I'd try to keep you from going down that path, but I wouldn't let you take me down it with you."
The two men stared into each other's eyes for several moments before Malek eventually shifted his gaze downward as he became lost in thought. In his mind, he saw Novigrad – the second largest city on the Continent – engulfed in flames. He heard the screams of thousands of perishing souls - including those of children – who'd had absolutely no role to play in the war between Nilfgaard and the North. He imagined their bodies burned to nothing but ash. And he thought about the man who had given the order to destroy the city. He wondered just how he was going to be able to reconcile himself to it all.
oOo
It had taken Geralt, Evie and the rest several days to make it to Tretogor, and they had not arrived prior to the gates of the city's walls being closed and barred. Fortunately, thanks to Roche's espionage and connections, the group had been able to sneak their way into the city proper. But, even then, they'd had to be careful. Scores of Redanian soldiers manned both the city's walls and streets. Geralt, Barcain, Ves and Roche had spent the bulk of the last twenty-four hours scouting out the royal palace's defenses from all sides.
Per the king's orders, the palace was on full alert. The gates to the palace grounds remained closed, and soldiers were on constant patrol along the ramparts, atop the battlements. Other archers sat in the barbican and various bastions looking out the arrow loops for approaching enemy forces. And if enemy forces were indeed able to make it past the city's walls and reach the palace, then they would be quite easy to see. While the city of Tretogor did surround the palace grounds, for safety purposes, the closest buildings were well over fifty yards away from the thirty-foot high, outer palace walls. Therefore, it would be very difficult for any invaders to sneak across that wide expanse undetected – a fifty-yard expanse riddled with various traps and obstacles. According to Roche, the keep, in addition to the city itself, looked to be on severe lockdown, certainly more so than the last time he and Ves had been in the area over a week ago. Of course, that made sense. Everyone assumed it was in response to the attack of Novigrad.
"Okay, Roche, you and your men have been watching Radovid's castle for over a year. So, how do we get in?" asked the witcher. "It looks impenetrable."
"If we tried going through the front gate or over the walls, then I'd agree," answered the Temerian.
The group was all currently gathered around a table in one of his safe-houses within the city.
"Then, what's your plan?" asked Barcain.
"We go under the walls."
Roche went on to explain that one of his spies inside of the castle had informed him of the presence of catacombs below the palace grounds. She had never seen them herself, but she'd heard whispers of a maze of caves that were used as secret passages in and out of the castle. After receiving that information, Roche and his men had spent weeks searching the countryside for every cave entrance. While they had found a few, none of the caves, as far as they could tell, led to the royal residence. One of the other rumors that his spy had passed on was that one of the secret passages came out somewhere within the Romanov Bank.
"So, why haven't you used it to infiltrate the castle and kill Radovid?" asked Geralt.
"And just how were we supposed to do that? That bank is more heavily guarded than a priestess' knickers, and I've got less than twenty men. Even if we were somehow able to overwhelm the bank guards, Radovid's soldiers would be on us like sailors on a whorehouse. But now…" responded the commando with a smile, "we've got ourselves a mage and a witcher on our side. That should even out the odds a bit."
oOo
"I'm not a fool," proclaimed Evie with conviction. "Killing is clearly sometimes necessary…in self-defense or war. But, unlike you, I don't think it's the only solution for every situation."
"Lady, look around you," said Roche with furrowed brows. "What do you think we're in the middle of - if not war?"
Evie shook her head. "You said it yourself – the bank guards are not Redanian soldiers. They are just ordinary citizens, hired to protect the bank. They are not our enemy."
She then turned to face the witcher. "Geralt, you know how I feel about this."
Roche snorted and addressed the White Wolf.
"What the hell, Witcher? You married a pacifist? She keep your balls in a box, too?" He then glared at Evie. "And I don't remember even asking for your input on this. This is a combat mission, not a history lesson so keep your opinions to yourself."
Suddenly, there was incredible tension within the small, crowded room. Roche, Ves, and most of his men, along with Geralt and his group, had been discussing for the last hour the best way to infiltrate the Romanov Bank. Evie had clearly taken issue with Roche's assumption that once inside they'd simply kill all of the bank guards.
The Butcher of Blaviken stared hard at the commando. For several long moments, he just breathed in and out very slowly. Evie, seeing the look on his face, reached under the table and squeezed his thigh. She'd seen that look before. Finally, the monster-slayer spoke in a very low voice.
"Wanna insult me, Roche? Fine, I can take it. But I advise you to be extremely careful how you speak to my wife. It could end very badly for you."
Roche's eyes never faltered. He stared right at Geralt.
"Fair enough, but if you think I'm going to risk the lives of any of my men just to placate your wife, then you're a fool."
"Gentlemen, please," interjected Benny. "Let's remember...we're on the same side here, right? We're all trying to get into the cavern below the bank." He then turned to Roche. "How we do it – killing or not killing - shouldn't matter, right?"
The Temerian tore his gaze away from the witcher, looked at the mage, and gave a short nod.
"Just know – if any guard comes at me or my men with deadly force, we will respond in kind."
"I don't believe any of us here have a problem with that." continued Benny, turning his head to look at everyone in the room. He then looked back at Roche. "But, let us" - and the sorcerer motioned in his friends' direction – "worry about taking care of the bank guards. I think we can do it without bloodshed."
"Sounds fine to me," replied Roche. He then turned to look at Evie. "Just know that once we're inside the palace, it will be bloody. The Redanian soldiers are not just going to lay down their weapons because we ask nicely. I hope that's not going to offend your sensibilities."
"Your concern is touching. Don't worry. I'll manage," she replied, while once again squeezing her husband's leg in reassurance.
oOo
Velen, Temeria
Yoana came awake to the sound of Fergus' voice. She raised up in her bed and saw her friend standing at the threshold of her bedroom door still wearing his sleeping clothes.
"Yoana! Get up! You gotta see this!"
"What is it?" she asked, suddenly completely alert.
"The fire. It's closer," the dwarf answered, before turning his back on her and heading to the front door of their shared hut.
Yoana threw a shawl around her shoulders, found her shoes, and headed outside. As she was walking towards Fergus, she noticed that he - along with at least a dozen other folk who called Crow's Perch home - was facing towards the northeast. Her eyes shot upward toward the horizon in that direction. What she saw was unmistakable. Fergus was right. It was fire. For the last three days, everyone's attention had been focused on the enormous clouds of black smoke filling the sky in the north, and it seemed that the fire and smoke got closer each day. The fire that she was seeing now was the closest yet.
"Do you think it's a forest fire?" she asked Fergus as she came up next to him.
"Nay. There's not enough trees in that direction to make a fire that big."
"Then what?"
"I'm afeared it's the Inn at the Crossroads, and it looks like the fire is comin' our way."
"But we're safe. The moat should protect us, right?"
Fergus didn't answer.
They stood there for at least ten minutes just staring at the night sky when suddenly Yoana heard a rumble. But it didn't come from the sky. In fact, she could have sworn she felt a vibration in her feet.
"Did you hear that, Fergus? Was that thunder?"
"Let's hope. Pray the rain comes."
A moment later, she felt another vibration.
"That's not thunder," she whispered.
Fergus turned to look at Yoana. "I'm thinkin' you're right. Let's -" But, he never finished his thought.
Suddenly, the roof of the main house exploded, eliciting shouts of dismay from virtually everyone there. Some of the residents of Crow's Perch immediately ran away. Some were frozen in place. While a few others took a few tentative steps towards the house.
"What the hell was that?" screamed Yoana, now clutching Fergus' night shirt in her tight fist.
"A meteor?"
Whatever it was had caused the house to catch fire. They could now all smell smoke and see flames sprouting up through the hole in the roof. This caused shouts of "Fire!" to be called out as many of the men started running towards the compound's well to start drawing buckets of water.
Yoana was running in that direction, as well, when she heard a roar coming from the house. Her eyes widened in shock as a gigantic creature burst its way through the front wall of the building. It turned and then breathed out a massive flame of fire towards the wooden rubble. Upon hearing screams behind it, the monster slowly turned around. It let out another roar and began running towards the well, where a congregation was still gathered. Yoana didn't even bother to see what was going to happen. She simply ran – as fast and as hard as she'd ever run in her life.
oOo
"Ugh", whispered Evie. "I can't believe you're friends with that guy. What an arrogant… jerk."
Evie and Geralt were lying together on a blanket in a corner of one of the rooms in the safe-house. They were sharing the room with at least a dozen others. The late-night meeting had ended a half-hour ago, with everyone finally in agreement on the plan of action for infiltrating the Romanov Bank. It was agreed that they'd all get a few hours of sleep before the sun rose, and then they'd start preparations for the incursion.
"Told you he wasn't my friend," the witcher replied in his own whisper. His mouth was right next to her ear. "He and I did a few favors for each other in the past – that's all."
"Well…I still don't like him. He's obnoxious."
Geralt grinned to himself in the dark. He loved his wife's integrity and her passion, that she stood up for her principles. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen her so angry before, and he was quite happy it wasn't directed at him.
"Agreed, but I'm not sure that I've ever met a military commander who wasn't. He's a career soldier, not a diplomat. And commanders aren't used to having their orders questioned. They expect to hear a, 'Yes, sir,' and that's it."
Evie let out a small snort. "Well, I'm not his soldier." She paused for a moment, and when she spoke again, her tone was much less angry and much more anxious. "You told me on the river that you don't trust him. You don't think that, once we're inside, he'd try to kill us, do you?"
The witcher was quiet for a moment. "No. I have no doubt he'd try to kill us if he thought it would somehow advance his cause, but…I just don't see how turning on us while we're in Radovid's palace would help him in any way. We should be fine."
Evie sighed. "Should be. Great. I think I liked it better when you and I were fighting nekkers. At least then, I knew who the enemy was."
Geralt gave his wife a squeeze. "Hey, I'm supposed to be the cynical, untrusting one in this relationship, remember?"
"Yeah, well…maybe you're rubbing off on me," she whispered. The witcher could tell she had a smile on her face.
"Baby, that's not good at all. I'm in need of your influence. Not the other way around."
Evie squeezed Geralt's hand that was pressed to one of her breasts.
"Thank you, Geralt."
"For what?"
"For standing up for me with Roche. It made me feel really good that you did."
"That's what husbands do," he whispered, as he held her a bit tighter.
Suddenly, she felt very aroused. Her body was responding to – not only his hot breath on her ear but also – his supportive and strong words. She felt so safe and protected. She wanted to roll over and undress her husband right then and there, but she was suddenly and rudely interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of someone on the other side of the room farting in their sleep, which made her sigh and roll her eyes. So instead, she brought Geralt's hand up to her lips, and kissed it once, lightly.
"I'm so looking forward to our honeymoon. Just the two of us," she whispered.
The witcher smiled. "Me, too, wife. Soon. We'll have it soon."
Then, Evie did her best to fall asleep, hoping that her dreams would be filled with nothing but her and Geralt – all alone and spending time together at Corvo Bianco.
oOo
"So, what do you think?" asked Benny.
Geralt looked down at his unconscious wife lying peacefully on a blanket and then back to the mage. He brought the soaked rag close to his nose. After taking a tentative sniff, he shook his head several times as if to clear the cobwebs from his brain. He nodded.
"I think you're a genius - that's what I think," the witcher answered. "It never would have even occurred to me to combine those ingredients like this."
The sorcerer shrugged. "Yes, well…it's all a matter of perspective. As a healer, my focus with using alchemy is quite different than yours…my witcher friend."
"That is true."
The witcher then looked out of the safehouse window to gauge the amount of sunlight left in the day.
"Alright, let's get to work on the bombs. You'll probably need to head to the bank soon."
"Agreed," said Benny, and then he exhaled deeply.
Geralt looked at the mage's face. "You okay? Want to go over the plan one last time."
"Nah. Easy-peasy."
Geralt slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Yeah. Now, let's wake up my wife."
oOo
King Radovid sat in a high-backed chair in his war room. Standing in front of him was the captain of his palace guard.
"I have just received word that a small enemy force will be attempting to infiltrate the palace sometime tonight through the caverns," stated the king.
Captain Winski suddenly snapped to attention upon hearing those words.
"Your Highness, are you sure?"
"Do not question my sources, Captain."
Winski humbly bowed his head. "My apologies, Your Grace. Your news simply shocked me. Your instructions?"
A smile crossed Radovid's face as he imagined a large chess board. "We draw them into our ambush, and then we will crush them."
oOo
Krollas Forest, Redania
The Nilfgaardian commander lay camouflaged inside the tree line of the forest located due north of the capital city of Redania. Though he had scouts, he had chosen to view the situation with his own eyes. With his spy-glass, he slowly scanned the city from end to end. He took special notice of the activity along the city's walls and along those of the royal palace, itself. He smiled to himself as he realized that the bulk of Radovid's men were on the southern and western borders of the city. It appeared that the king had not received any warning of the Nilfgaardians' amphibious assault of his lands from the northwest. The Redanian monarch had dispatched a scouting party into the Krollas forest, but they had been completely overwhelmed by the Black Ones. They had all been captured or killed. Thus, the Nilfgaardian attack from the north still held its element of surprise.
The commander took the spy-glass from his eye and slowly crawled backwards from the edge of the forest. Once he felt he was safely confined within the thick shadows of the trees, he stood and turned around. Standing in a cluster were the commander's officers.
"Prepare your men," he ordered. "We attack tonight. Remember, we kill, but we do not burn the city. If this turns into a siege, we'll need every bit of food and shelter available.
oOo
Benny, standing in utter darkness, put his ear to the closed door and listened intently for at least a full minute. He couldn't hear any noises coming from the other side. He cast a concealment charm on himself and held his breath as he slowly opened the door to the second-floor supply closet. With the door open just an inch, he paused and listened again. He still heard nothing. He quickly slid out of the closet and then carefully and quietly shut it. He tried to control his breathing as he looked around, and he nodded his head to himself when he saw that he was all alone in the darkened, upstairs hallway of the Romanov Bank. He looked toward the end of the hallway – the end with the stairs – and he could just detect flickering light visible from the first floor. He could also hear muffled laughter echoing up the stone stair well. Having spent an hour in the bank earlier that morning under his disillusionment spell, he figured that both the light and the men's voices were emanating from the bank guards' barracks that was on the north side of building's ground floor. Benny's observations from that morning's reconnaissance had matched Roche's intel. The bank always had ten to twelve men guarding the premises during the day, and at least half that number stayed on duty overnight, even with the bank securely locked down. Given that virtually every noble in Tretogor kept valuables within his vault, Victor Romanov took security very seriously.
Benny turned away from the stairwell and wished that he had Geralt's cat eyes because he could see next-to-nothing. With one hand lightly touching the wall next to him and his other hand in front of him, Benny slowly moved in the opposite direction of the stairwell, passing several offices on his left and right. At the end of the hallway stood a large window that faced the back-side of the bank. During the day, the sun shone brightly through the glass, but at night, it – like the rest of the bank's windows – was covered with thick metal shutters that were locked from the interior. After reaching the window, Benny traced his fingertips along the iron surface until he found the metal padlock in the middle, locking the two shutters together. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a large, thick, cloth shirt and two small vials. Since there was not any moonlight coming through the crack where the two shutters met, Benny was having to handle his supplies completely by his sense of touch. He wadded up the shirt and placed it on the floor below the window sill. He then looked over his shoulder back towards the stairwell one last time before removing the stopper from one of the vials and pouring a viscous liquid over the padlock. He quickly removed the stopper from the second vial and poured its contents over the lock, as well. Immediately, the metal padlock started to dissolve under the corrosive, acidic reaction.
Benny was breathing fast, and he could feel several beads of sweat running down from his hairline. He was wiping his forehead with the back of his hand when he heard loud laughter coming from the first floor. He jerked his head around towards the stairwell and held his breath. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage. After a moment, he realized the laughter wasn't making its way upstairs, and he exhaled deeply.
He turned back towards the window and whispered, "Come on, come on."
Suddenly, he heard a tiny pop. The lock fell from its hinge, landed on the cloth shirt, but then bounced off and clattered onto the stone floor. Benny's eyes went wide. To his ears, the sound was as loud as a window shattering. He held his breath again. He could swear that the guards' laughter had suddenly stopped. Fear gripped him, and he just knew guards would be coming up the stairs at any second. He was still invisible, but if guards investigated the second-floor hallway, they were sure to see that the window had been tampered with.
He reached into a second satchel, resting on the opposite hip from the first. He grabbed one of the special bombs that Geralt had crafted that afternoon and started slowly tiptoeing down the hall towards the stairwell. Halfway down the hall, he stopped and again listened carefully. Suddenly, he heard the loud laughter and talking start up again. He rested his back and head against the wall to catch his breath.
"I am not cut out for this," he thought to himself. "I should be in my lab, conducting experiments for new potions, healing sick kids. Not…this."
Magic was Benny's life. The aging sorcerer had spent virtually his entire life in or around the Ban Ard Magical Academy. And despite his kindness and humility, he hadn't made many true friends over the years. Ban Ardians were clearly appreciative of his healing skills, but they had also always been a bit wary of him due to his magical abilities. And his fellow sorcerers? Well, they seemed to look down on the meek and unambitious – at least, in their eyes – man with middle-of-the road power. It wasn't that they were hostile towards him, but in the society of magic, where the most powerful were advisors in royal courts and whose actions influenced the fate of nations, who really cared to befriend a short, portly fellow who cured peasants' tummy aches? That's why Benny had always cherished Geralt's friendship more than the witcher ever knew. Geralt – despite being the famous White Wolf – had always treated Benny as an equal. It's what had caused him to decide to follow Geralt on this adventure. And he was glad he had. He had found acceptance in the group.
The sorcerer breathed in and out very deeply and purposefully. "Okay, get it together, Benny. They're counting on you."
He then nodded his head several times to reassure himself before walking slowly back towards the window.
In addition to the padlocked-hinge, the shutters were also barred closed. As carefully as he could, he slid all three, flat, metal bars to the right. He paused and looked over his shoulder one last time before slowly swinging the shutters open. However, even with them now open, the hallway was still dark, for the light coming through the window was negligible. Thick clouds filled the night sky, blocking out nearly all illumination from the moon and stars. He looked through the glass panes into the darkened alley below. Not seeing anyone, he cautiously raised the window inch-by-inch. Suddenly, he saw three men appear out of the shadows and run towards the bank's outer wall.
Benny was about to poke his head out the window and look down when suddenly two hands appeared and grasped the window sill. A second later, Geralt was crawling through the open window and then standing next to the mage.
"Great job," whispered Geralt.
"Yeah…piece of cake," replied the sorcerer, still breathing heavily.
"Hey, you okay?"
"You bet. Like I said, easy-peasy."
The witcher nodded. "Have they been making rounds?"
Benny shook his head. "I haven't heard them come up here even once. Sounds like they're all down in their barracks."
"Looks like things are finally going our way. Come on."
oOo
Ratibor carefully looked into the eyes of the seven men sitting around him at the large table.
"I bet…fifty," he finally said, keeping his face impassive, and then he placed the coin in front of him on the table. His face may have shown nothing, but his heart was thumping hard.
"Too rich for me," replied the guard to his left, as he tossed his cards toward the dealer.
Two of the players thought long and hard on their decisions, but, eventually, both men, in turn, folded their hands. As the last man mucked his cards, the tiniest of smiles crossed Ratibor's face. He picked up the two cards that were face-down in front of him.
"Gentleman," he said calmly, and then he made eye contact with each of the men again. Then, he exhaled deeply. "You each owe me a golden dragon," he said with a huge smile as he showed everyone his cards. "I got the hammer."
Ratibor let out a huge laugh – one of both joy and relief – as he heard shouts of "No!" and "Damn it!" from his friends. Prior to the start of the game, they'd all agreed that if anyone won a pot with the "hammer" – the worst starting hand possible – then each player would owe the winner a golden dragon. The game-within-the-game certainly increased the betting action.
As the bank guard was reaching for the coins in front of him, he suddenly picked up a movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could move, he heard the sound of shattering glass coming from the middle of the table, and when he looked there, he saw a broken cannister. As the card-players all jumped to their feet, two more projectiles were tossed into the guards' barracks, exploding on the floor near the men, and then, suddenly, the lone door of the room slammed shut, seemingly all on its own.
Ratibor grabbed his sword that was leaning against the table. He unsheathed it and started rushing towards the closed door when he started to feel light-headed. He took several more, unstable steps forward and grabbed the door handle, but when he pulled, the door wouldn't budge. He heard a crash behind him. When he turned, he saw several of his mates falling to the floor. He shook his head as his vision began to darken. He took a step backward, stumbled, and then he felt himself falling as his world went black.
On the other side of the closed door, stood the witcher. With both hands on the handle and one foot up against the wall, he was pulling back with all his strength. Benny, invisible, was beside him.
After about a minute, Geralt turned to his friend.
"I don't hear anything. They should be out, right?"
"Gotta be," answered Benny.
"Okay. I'll stay here just in case. You go let the rest in the backdoor."
oOo
It was well past midnight, and Private Durbin, standing atop Tretogor's city wall, was doing his best to stay awake. He and his company had been tasked with protecting the northern perimeter of the city. They had been on high alert for many days, but with each passing shift of guarding the wall with no Nilfgaardian attack, the 'edge' on the soldier's focus had become dulled. It was just human nature. He could only stare off into the distance with nothing happening for so long. It would have helped, he thought, if all of the peasants in the outer neighborhoods had been let inside the city's walls. At least, then, hearing a noise or seeing a person walking through a passing shadow would have warned him, without a doubt, of the enemy's presence. But, as it was, there was no way to distinguish between a Nilfgaardian soldier and a drunken bum stumbling his way home. And after a while, the sounds of shutting doors, barking dogs, and footsteps through alleyways just became routine. And it certainly didn't help that the homes and shops in the outer neighborhoods were built right up next to the city wall itself. Talk about giving the enemy good cover. He was just thinking about what would be served for breakfast when a crossbow bolt pierced his brain. As his body was toppling off the top of the wall, a dozen, black-clad men – all carrying ladders - emerged from the shadows below. Suddenly, shouts could be heard all along the northern wall of Tretogor. The Black Ones had arrived.
oOo
While Roche and his men were busy upstairs – first, letting the fumes in the barracks dissipate and then binding up the bank guards - Geralt had spent the last half hour in the basement of the bank. Common-sense told the witcher that if there was a secret passage into any catacombs, then he'd find it somewhere down below. In addition to the vault, the lowest-level also held several small offices. The White Wolf had already inspected two of them and was standing before a third. Unlike the first two, this office's door was locked. After closely examining the threshold and finding nothing suspicious, he easily gained access to the room with a swift quick near the door's handle. As soon as the monster-hunter stepped into the office, he sensed something out of place. At first, his brain couldn't discern what his instincts were picking up, but then he realized that the small room smelled different than the rest. It had a musty odor, as if no one had been it for weeks.
He scanned a small desk in the middle of the room. Unlike the desks in the other offices, this one had no papers tossed about on it. It appeared as if it was rarely – if ever - used. He rubbed his index finger across the top of the desk, creating a smudge through the layer of dust. The witcher stood still and breathed in and out deeply several times. In addition to the musty odor, there was some other smell that he was detecting in the small office, and the odor put him on high-alert.
He looked over his shoulder at Evie and Benny standing in the hallway, just outside of the office. Evie was holding a torch in her hand.
"Stay there. I think the entrance is somewhere in here, but give me a few more minutes," he informed them.
The witcher bent down and inspected the floor around him. He didn't notice anything suspicious near the desk so he began slowly making his way around the small office. He noticed some boot prints on the dusty floor. He followed them over to one side of the room, stopped in front of a book case, and bent down a second time.
"Marks on the floor. The dust has been disturbed," he said loud enough for Benny and Evie to hear. "Looks like this bookcase has been moved several times."
Geralt carefully examined the back edge of the bookcase that was touching the wall. He cast a standard Quen Sign, grabbed the edge of the bookcase and pulled, but it wouldn't budge. He put a little extra 'muscle' into his effort a second time, but still, the bookcase didn't move.
"Odd," he said quietly and then began looking at the books on the case.
"What's wrong?" asked Evie.
"Think the case is definitely hiding something, but I can't move it. So, there's gotta be some kind of lever or mechanism."
"Can we help?" asked Benny.
"Prefer not…at least, not yet. Told you…there could be booby-traps."
Geralt spent the next few moments inspecting the books on the case.
"Dust on all the books, too," he said to himself. Because the faint, suspicious smell was stronger near the bookcase, he didn't even risk touching any of the books, much less actually removing any from the shelves on which they were resting.
Eventually, he turned his head and looked at the waist-high table next to the bookcase. On one end of the table was a two-foot tall, bronze bust of King Radovid. Geralt bent over and carefully inspected both the bust and the area around it. He brought his face just inches from Radovid's. He inhaled deeply but didn't smell anything strange. However, he did notice that Radovid's head wasn't completely covered in dust. The top of the bust's head – where the crown rested – gleamed a bit in several spots, as if someone had grasped it with their hand. The witcher raised up and looked around the office before, finally, turning back towards the table. He reached out his hand to grab the bust but, then, stopped just inches short of touching it. He stood there, simply staring at Radovid's face. Finally, he dropped his hand to his side and stepped back two paces. He then withdrew his steel sword from his back and crouched down low.
"Be ready," he warned Evie and Benny.
"For what?" asked Benny.
"For anything."
The witcher slowly reached his sword forward towards the bust. He placed the tip of the sword between Radovid's eyes, and then he tipped the bust backwards, the anterior portion of the bust's base coming up off of the table top. He heard a "click" and then a "thrumming" sound above his head as a spear shot out from one side of the room and impaled itself in the wall about an inch above Radovid's crown. Evie yelped and Benny jumped back from the doorway. A moment later, he poked his head back into view, his eyes wide.
"You okay?" Evie asked.
The witcher looked back at his wife and nodded. He noticed her breathing was suddenly very fast.
"What a maniac. Even his bust wants to kill you," whispered Benny.
The bust was partially tipped over with the head resting against the wall. This gave Geralt the chance to view the bottom-side of the statue's base. Evie thought that she heard him mumble to himself, and then she noticed that he grabbed the blade of his sword in his left hand. He reached forward – with the hilt facing away from him - and caught the back-side of the bust with the cross-guard of his sword. He slowly pulled the bust back up-right so that it was resting flat on the table top again, and then he continued to pull it forward. Once the back-side of the bust's base was two inches of the table, Geralt heard another "clicking" sound. However, this time, no deadly spears flew through the air. The noise had come from the bookcase. He quickly glanced over and saw that the bookcase was no longer flush with the wall. By now, his Quen shield had faded so he signed another and turned towards the bookcase. He, once again, used his sword – this time, to swing the bookcase away from the wall, as if it was on a hinge. Behind the case was a narrow, dark passageway.
"You found it!" Evie exclaimed.
As she and Benny stepped into the room, Geralt raised his hand towards them.
"Wait."
"What is it?" she asked.
The witcher pointed to the backside of the bookcase. Attached there were several dangerous looking cannisters.
"Just be careful," Geralt answered. He then stood, stepped forward, and examined them closely. "Thought I smelled poison earlier. Looks like they're connected to the books with wires. If I'd pulled a book off the shelf, they would have exploded."
"Uh, Geralt?" said Benny.
"Yeah?"
"No offense, but…I volunteer you to go through the passage first."
"Yeah," he said as he nodded and made eye-contact with his wife.
oOo
King Radovid stood eerily still in the dungeons of his palace. Flanked on either side of him were his two personal bodyguards, Ivan and Igor. The identical-twin brothers stood over seven feet tall, with arms the size of most men's thighs. The monarch had tried waiting in his war room to hear of the results of the imminent ambush in the catacombs. He had told Winski, the captain of his guard, to contact him immediately when the enemy's infiltration team had been captured. However, after several hours of hearing nothing, Radovid had grown impatient and come down to the lower-levels of the palace. He and his two guards stood in a secret room, the king staring at a man-sized hole in the rock wall – a hole that led down into the maze of connecting caverns below the city.
Not for the first time, Radovid pondered the existence of luck in the universe. For most of his life, if he believed in luck at all, he would have said it only came in one kind – bad. It was his bad luck to be, in his youth, educated and mentored – and tortured - by someone as despicable as Philippa Eilhart. But it had only made him stronger. He had been forged like steel in those years of abuse, and he told himself that, because of it, no amount of luck could now stand up to his analytical mind and his will to survive. Despite their attempts to usurp what was rightfully his, he had thwarted the plans of everyone who had ever opposed him, whether it was Eilhart; Dijkstra, his father's former advisor; Emhyr; or any other who wanted to remove his crown.
But, perhaps, he thought, good luck existed, too. For this spy – the one who had brought to him the knowledge of the Sword of Destruction and the one who had informed him of this attempt to sneak into his palace – had simply stepped right into his circle, as if a gift from the gods. Radovid had spent no resources in trying to manipulate and turn one of Emhyr's agents – or, at least, not in regards to the Sword – since he hadn't even known of its existence. One day, this spy had just, figuratively and almost literally, knocked on his door. Of course, given who this spy was, Radovid had been suspicious at first, but over time the agent had earned his trust. He still wasn't sure that he even believed in the existence of this mythical sword. It sounded like a fairy-tale to him. Therefore, initially, he had focused no attention on finding its location. Obviously, defeating the invading Nilfgaardian army was his priority. However, when it became clear that Emhyr was actively seeking the Sword, Radovid starting taking its existence more seriously. If nothing else, he hoped to obtain it first just to crush the southern emperor's spirit. The North had lived in fear of Nilfgaard for too long, and he was determined to do what his father – and all the other Nordling monarchs – had failed to do. He would crush Emhyr and the Black Ones so thoroughly that they would never cross the Yaruga again.
Suddenly, Radovid was brought out of his thoughts by a knock on the door of the secret room. A Redanian officer entered, gasping for breath.
"Your Highness," said the officer. "The Nilfgaardians have breached the city's northern walls."
Radovid narrowed his eyes and then turned to his two bodyguards.
"You two remain here. When Winski and his men return with their captives, help him secure them in the cells and, then, notify me at once."
The king hurried out of the room and up the stairs to his war room without even waiting to hear their reply.
oOo
"Captain Roche, I don't understand you," said Evie.
"Lady, that's the understatement of the century. I'm quite sure you don't understand me at all," replied the Temerian commando.
Barcain and Lydial had snuck out of Tretogor earlier in the day and were at an agreed-to location south of the city with horses, but everyone else was down in the basement of the bank, anxiously awaiting the witcher's return. Except for Evie and Benny, they were all wearing Redanian soldier gear that they had confiscated through various means over the past twelve months of living in and around the capital city.
The witcher had been adamant that he should conduct a reconnaissance of the catacombs alone since he was the only one capable of seeing in the dark and he didn't want the light from torches giving away their presence to anyone – or anything – who might be lurking below. Roche's argument was that neither he nor his men needed the monster-hunter's protection, but he had acquiesced in the end.
"Hey, you wanna go down there by yourself and risk your life, that's on you," Roche had told the witcher.
That had been over ten minutes ago. The Temerian was now addressing the historian from Vicovaro.
"What exactly don't you understand?" Roche asked Evie, the small sneer on his face visible to all.
"Well, given your desire for Temeria's freedom, it makes more sense to me that you'd be fighting the Nilfgaardians – you know, the actual army that is occupying your country. Why are you so focused on Radovid?"
Roche just stared at Evie for a long while, as if contemplating on whether he should even bother to answer. Eventually, he relented.
"As a historian, I'm sure you're aware of the saying, 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.'"
Evie nodded.
"Well, in this case, that's a load of crap. Both sides are Temeria's enemy, and I'll do whatever I have to do to destroy them both. Regardless of how underhanded the means may be. No matter how bloody it gets. No matter how repulsive it may be to you."
Evie sighed. "What about me offends you so much?"
"You're naïve and foolish. You live in your safe, morally-superior tower of academia with your high-minded, elitist ideals, miles away from the stench and ugliness of the real world. You don't want to kill. Fine. But the rest of us" – and he motioned to his men – "are in the middle of a war. It's kill or be killed. Men like Emhyr and Radovid understand only one thing – violence. They don't compromise. Negotiate with them, and they'll kill you as soon as you lower your guard. They've both done it before. You can't bargain with them or appease them. So, it's simple. You can only cut their heads off. And that's what we plan to do."
"And you'll kill anyone who gets in your way." It was a statement from Evie, not a question.
Roche smiled, but it wasn't friendly.
"It's lucky we're on the same side then…isn't it?"
oOo
The witcher descended the ladder and stepped onto the hard ground of a completely black cavern. While his cat-like eyes allowed him to see in dark environments, Geralt had decided to take a Cat potion, as well, for there was not even the tiniest bit of illumination down below. Based on how long it had taken him to climb down the ladder, he figured that he was well over fifty feet underground. He paused where he stood and used his senses to take in his surroundings. He noticed that he wasn't in a narrow, man-made passageway. Clearly, the catacombs were natural, with stalactites hanging from the ceiling and stalagmites and boulders and other rocks scattered about. It was also quite wide – at least twenty feet across. He turned his head to face what he believed to be north – towards the palace – and saw that, up ahead, the passageway branched in several different directions. The monster-slayer listened intently. Somewhere in the maze-like caverns he could hear water slowly dripping, and behind him, to the south, he thought he could detect the sound of some type of non-human creature, but it was so faint that he wasn't sure exactly what it was. The White Wolf slowly unsheathed his silver sword and then, becoming one with the darkness, he carefully and silently began moving north.