Book 2: The Wolf Hunts
Chapter 17
Southern Tretogor
Two hours after rescuing Claude from the palace dungeons, Geralt, Evie, and Benny finally made their way out of the catacombs and rendezvoused with Lydial and Barcain south of the city, and then the six of them headed east, pushing their horses hard under the cover of darkness. East was the opposite direction that they ultimately needed to go, but at that point, they wanted to get away from the Nilfgaardian invasion as quickly as possible, and they figured east was their best bet to do so. They weren't alone in those thoughts. They passed hundreds of frantic Tretogorian peasants – and displaced Novigradians - fleeing the city on foot. Only time would tell if the city's rich and privileged would stay protected behind the walls or would decide to flee, as well.
Once they reached the forest located north of Rinde, Geralt felt more at ease since the thick woods gave them concealment from anyone in pursuit – not that he thought there was an actual pursuit. And when it finally dawned on him just where they were, he also became very reflective. Being back in that forest brought to mind the last time he'd been there, fighting – and burying – the giant-sized, rock troll. He shook his head when he realized that that event had only been a year ago. It seemed like a lifetime. He was amazed at just how much had changed in those twelve months. It had been, without a doubt, the darkest time in his life. He had been so overcome with grief due to Ciri's death that he'd really wanted to do nothing else but die, as well. And then he thought about where he was now – mentally, emotionally…and spiritually. Just the fact that he even thought of himself in a spiritual sense was evidence of how much he'd changed, and he knew that he owed God his gratitude for that awakening. He was convinced that Essea was responsible for his complete turn-around. In Geralt's mind, there simply was no earthly explanation for it. It was only now, in retrospect, that the witcher could see Essea's at-the-time invisible hand working in all the details of his life in the past year. Even though he still had questions and doubts about who Essea was and what his ultimate plans were, he found himself talking to God more and more often – especially in the middle of the night when he stayed up watching over the others – specifically Evie – as they slept for a few brief hours, getting much-needed rest from their escape from the war-ravaged land.
It was during these travels that Evie explained to Claude their ultimate mission and why he had been jailed and interrogated by Radovid. She showed him the Essean tome that she'd stolen, and they spent hours discussing it, its implications, and how the details inside might just relate to the Sword of Destruction.
"Tell me again about this sword," said Barcain in a quiet voice that first night around their cold campsite.
Since they were still in Radovid-controlled territory, they had been staying off main roads, and when they had stopped that night, Geralt had suggested no campfire. Thus, except for the witcher, they could just barely make out each other's faces from the moon and stars' illumination shining through the tree branches. After sitting down in a tight circle, Geralt had listened closely to the surroundings. Even though he told them he couldn't hear any human sounds close by – there was only the noise of forest creatures scuttling through the underbrush and their horses neighing softly nearby – he still recommended that they all whisper.
"Well, not a lot is known," Claude started. "But a couple of documents have been found that date back to over a thousand years ago."
"Dad had one," Evie added.
"Had?" asked Benny. "You don't have it?"
She shook her head. "No. After he and mom were murdered, I eventually made it back down to Vicovaro, but their house had been ransacked. A lot of things stolen. I don't know if it was the murderers who also stole everything or if others looted the place afterward. But, either way, a lot of stuff was missing. I spent one full day in his library going through his collection. There were several books and journals of his missing, and that was one of them. I specifically looked for it because it was one of his most prized books."
"Did you ever read it?" asked Benny.
"Yeah, once, when I was a teenager."
"Really? What did it say?" asked the mage.
Evie sighed. "I'll be honest, I don't remember any of the details of it. I read it twenty years ago, and at the time I didn't take it seriously. I just thought it was a fairy-tale."
"So, Claude, do you know what these documents say about this sword?" Barcain asked.
"Well, the text that I had the chance to read was found in an excavation site in the far southwestern part of Aedirn," said Claude. "It was near the Mahakam Mountains, a few miles outside of current-day Aldersberg. It appeared to be a man's diary, and it wasn't in the best condition. Like I said, our best guess was that it dates back to around the first or second century. The diary's owner never saw the Sword himself. He just wrote down the news he'd hear from travelers who passed through his town."
"So, as you said, this sword could be nothing but a folk-tale, right?" Benny asked Evie.
"Yes. And a very obscure one at that since most people have never even heard of it. In the circles of academia – history and archeology - it's always been considered nothing but a myth," she answered.
"I've always thought it was," said Claude to everyone.
"So, what exactly did this diary say?" asked Geralt.
"Well, it was odd. The diary owner wrote that the Aen Seidhe were in the middle of an incredible civil war, which goes against everything we historians have ever known about the Aen Seidhe. The elves have more or less always had a contentious relationship with humans, true, but not really amongst themselves. Or, at least, that's what I always thought – until today." He looked at Lydial at that point.
"Well, you're not alone. Until recently, I had never heard or read of an Aen Seidhe civil war, either," Lydial said. "I knew that after we came to this land, we eventually separated into clans and moved into different areas of the Continent. But I'd never heard about any of those tribes fighting amongst themselves…until I read Evie's tome. A civil war is referred to in there."
"And this possible civil war is important – why exactly?" asked Benny.
"Well," answered Claude, "because, according to the diary, it apparently revolved around who possessed this Sword. The stories this man was told – and wrote down – were fantastical. Tales of a magical sword, capable of wiping out entire armies of elves."
"Just elves?" asked Geralt. "Were the Aen Seidhe not using it to kill humans, too?"
"Possibly…and given the history between the elves and humans, you'd think so," said Claude. "But the diary never mentions the Aen Seidhe attacking human towns. Just each other."
"That's…strange," whispered the witcher.
Claude nodded in agreement.
"Well, remember," said Evie, "this was, in theory, only happening a hundred years or so after the Conjunction of the Spheres. At that point, the human population wasn't what it is now. The Aen Seidhe were still the dominate race back then. Perhaps, the humans weren't attacked simply because they just weren't that significant yet – weren't yet considered a threat."
"You mentioned magic," interjected Barcain. "What kind of magic could the Sword do?"
Claude shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Call down fire from the skies? Rend the earth apart? Who knows? Like I said, there's never been any corroborating, physical evidence of its existence. It's always been considered a myth."
"If the Sword was so powerful, then how was it possible to even have a civil war. It seems to me that whoever possessed it would just wipe out all his enemies no problem, right?" asked Benny. "I mean, who could actually fight back against something like that?"
"I agree," said Claude. "The diary I read didn't address that. Or, if it did, then it was on the pages that had disintegrated. The diary wasn't in the best condition."
"Perhaps the only thing that could stand up to the Sword's power and magic was other magic. Maybe that's why the Aen Seidhe initially began researching the Power. Historically – and even recently – we have had some very impressive magic-users," said Lydial.
"This is real interesting and all," voiced Geralt, "but the main question is – where is the Sword now?"
Claude looked at Evie, and she took over the story.
"This is what Claude and I have been discussing for the last day. The diary he read and Dad's journal both date back to around the same time – the late first to early second century. After that, as far as history is concerned, the Sword is never mentioned again. Thus, that's when we think it went missing – somehow."
She then held up the Essean tome that had been resting on her lap. "In here, it talks about an invasion of the Continent by an unknown, foreign force. And this foreign army supposedly defeated and captured most of the Aen Seidhe tribes. This event was apparently called The Great Exile by the Aen Seidhe. And just when did this invasion and exile take place?" She slowly looked at everyone. "During the second century – the same time we think the Sword vanished."
"So, you think this foreign nation not only conquered the Aen Seidhe but also stole the Sword?" asked Barcain. "Doesn't sound like the Sword was that powerful then?"
"Well, obviously, we don't know. These are just educated guesses. It could just be a coincidence that the exile and the Sword's disappearance happened at the same time, but that's a big coincidence. And we don't really have anything else to go on. But even if the Sword wasn't taken by this conquering nation, then perhaps the full Essean Scriptures can be found there. This thin tome I have is clearly just one of many books. Perhaps, when the Aen Seidhe went into exile, they took their complete religious scriptures with them, and if we can find them…then perhaps they'll lead us to the Sword's location," she answered.
"How amazing would that be to find the complete Scriptures," gushed Lydial. "I'd honestly rather find them than the Sword."
Evie smiled at her grandmother and nodded in agreement. "I know."
"So, who was this foreign nation?" asked Geralt, looking at both Evie and Claude.
"Maybe the other tomes tell us, but this one doesn't," said Evie. "It just states that they were foreign invaders. That's why I wanted to speak with Claude. Despite his relatively young age compared to others in the field, he's one of the best and most knowledgeable there is."
Geralt turned to look at the archeologist.
"Thanks, Evangeline," Claude said before addressing the witcher. "My research has shown that a foreign army did, indeed, invade the Continent during the early second century. There is actual archeological proof – swords, armor, and the like. From the Gearrlon nation."
"Gearrlon? I've never heard of it," said Benny.
"Not surprising. It doesn't exist anymore. They were supposedly conquered by the Zerrikanians many centuries ago. Some think it was close to a millennium ago."
"A millennium?" asked Benny. "But that would have been right after they took possession of the Sword." After a breath, he continued. "You know…I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this weapon. The Aen Seidhe had it first and look what's happened to them. Then, the Gearrlons get it, and they get wiped out."
"It's called the Sword of Destruction for a reason," whispered Evie.
No one said anything else for several long moments, just contemplating Evie's last words. In the stillness of the night, the forest noises around them were amplified. However, they were all so focused on the implications of what they'd just discussed regarding the Sword that they didn't even notice. Finally, the witcher broke the silence.
"If the Zerrikanians defeated them, then is it safe to assume that Gearrlon must have been somewhere east of the Tir Torchair Mountains?" asked Geralt.
Claude nodded.
The witcher looked at his wife. "And you think this Sword might be there?"
Evie looked hesitant to answer. Finally, she said, "I don't know. And even if it is there…" she paused and gave a sigh, "I'm not even sure we should bother with it anymore."
"What?" asked Geralt. "Why not?"
"Well, if it is there, then it's almost half a world away. Most likely completely out of either Emhyr or Radovid's reach. And if it's stayed hidden this long…then maybe it just needs to stay that way. Maybe we're messing with things that should just be left alone."
Geralt looked closely at his wife. Something had changed. For the last month, she'd been on fire with idea of finding this sword, but now, suddenly, she was having doubts. He was definitely going to discuss this change of heart with her, but he'd do it later in private. He certainly wasn't going to confront her in front of everyone else.
"Well, we don't have to decide tonight," he finally remarked. "Right now, our immediate goal is to just get out of Redania and as far away from Emhyr and Radovid as possible. Hopefully, we'll be in Temeria by tomorrow night."
"From your lips to Essea's ears," said Lydial with a small smile.
Benny shook his head. "I can't believe it. Never thought I'd say these words, but I'm actually looking forward to being in Temeria of all places."
"Yeah," agreed Barcain. "Where your bowl of stew is served with a side of Catriona plague."
oOo
Cidaris
It had taken the crew almost a week to travel from Tretogor to the capital city of the kingdom of Cidaris – also called Cidaris – on the west coast of the Continent. After sneaking across the Pontar and into Temeria in the middle of the night, they had made a hard turn to the west. Claude was desperate to find his wife and kids. After giving him the unfortunate news of Novigrad's destruction but also the encouraging news of his family's escape through Fringilla Vigo's portal, he had decided to head to Oxenfurt. Given that they had friends and family there, he figured that it was their most likely destination.
The journey was hard and took a little longer than usual for they had decided that it was still safest to stay off the main paths. Even so, they were surprised at just how little Nilfgaardian presence they came across. The peasants and farmers that they did encounter told them of the enormous Black army heading west towards the coast well over a fortnight past. They all assumed that was, most likely, the same army that had attacked Tretogor.
The six of them eventually came to the north-south road connecting Oxenfurt and Gors Velen. It was there that Claude bid them farewell and headed north in search of his family. After saying goodbye to the others, he faced Evie.
"Whether you find the Sword or not, promise me you'll track me down in Oxenfurt afterward. I'd love to know that you're safe…and also to hear of your discoveries," Claude said to Evie.
"We'll see," she replied with a sad smile. Then, she hugged him. "I want to say again how sorry I am for what happened to you and your family. Please ask Celeste to forgive me."
Claude chuckled. "That might be a lot to ask. She's…well, she's never really liked you. Not surprising, really. But you did save my life – and hers and the kids, for that matter. If you hadn't shown up when you did, they probably would've died in Novigrad. That should count for something, right?"
He then turned to the witcher and shook his hand. "Keep her safe, Geralt."
The witcher nodded. "Count on it."
After watching Claude ride off, the rest of the group looked at one another. They still had not made a definitive plan with regards to the Sword but, eventually, they decided to make their way to a coastal city regardless. Finding a port with a ship heading to Zerrikania would be necessary if they did, in fact, continue the hunt. And it was for that reason that they wound up in Cidaris.
They found a small inn several blocks from the harbor and rented two rooms. Since money was starting to get tight and they had a possible long voyage to take, they'd chosen an inn that, after looking at its façade, Barcain said wasn't fit for pigs. After entering the establishment and getting his first smell of the place, Benny disagreed and said that it was. However, it did possess bathtubs with lukewarm water, beds filled with mostly non-biting bugs, and plenty of semi-edible food served without a whiff of Catriona. So, all things considered, it could have been worse. After their last week in the woods, none of them complained too much about their lodgings.
That night, the still-newlywed witcher and historian made love, but in the middle of it, Evie started to cry.
Geralt immediately stopped and looked into her face. "Baby, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. Please don't stop, Geralt. Okay? Don't stop, please," she pleaded, the tears running down her cheeks.
He looked at his wife with concern across his face, but eventually he nodded. "Okay,
baby. Okay."
He'd never felt his wife holding onto him as tightly as she did then.
Afterward, they lay spooned together, with Geralt behind Evie, her wrapped in his arms.
"You haven't been yourself," he said.
She nodded. "I know."
"Ever since Tretogor."
She nodded again.
"Wanna talk about it?"
She was silent for a long time. Geralt held her close and just listened to her heartbeat and her breathing. Eventually, she spoke.
"Maybe not exactly, but…I think I finally know how you felt after Blaviken."
He hadn't been expecting her to say that. "How so?"
"You chose what you thought was the lesser evil, and events still turned out badly. You tried to do the right thing, but people still died and you were run out of town."
"Yeah."
"Geralt, not killing those guards in the Tretogor bank…that was the right thing, wasn't it?"
The witcher paused to collect his thoughts.
"Evie, the more I'm around you, the more you're rubbing off on me. And the more that I hear the voice of goodness inside of me – Essea's voice - telling me not to kill unless it's absolutely necessary – to not give into the dark voices. So, yes, I think sparing their lives was the right choice."
"And, yet, had we not, had we let Roche kill them, they never could have come down in the cavern and killed Roche's men. They could have killed you…or Benny, too."
"That's one way of looking at it."
"How do you look at it?"
"Roche should have done a better job of tying them up...so they couldn't escape. That's how I look at it."
She sighed. "Yeah…maybe. But I just felt so guilty at the time. I still do. Heck, I still feel guilty about Isaac's death and all the rest at Kaer Morhen. And hearing Roche say what he did…him accusing me…I felt like their deaths were completely my fault. Then, we found Claude…and I thought that he was dead, too. And then Benny almost died saving him." She sighed again. "If another person dies because of me, because of what I've done…I think I'll lose it."
"And that's why you're doubting if we should keep searching for the Sword."
Evie nodded. "I'm tired of feeling guilty. I don't want the responsibility anymore. Too many people have already died because of this – because of me…because of all the decisions I've made."
The witcher was quiet – for so long, in fact, that Evie eventually said, "Geralt, are you awake?"
"Yeah. I'm just thinking because…I want to make sure I say this right."
"Okay."
Finally, he spoke. "Do you remember our conversation in Novigrad, right before we entered the sewers, when I told you that I wanted us to run away together?"
"Yes."
"Do you remember what you told me?"
After a moment, she said, "Yes…I said that finding the Sword was the right thing to do."
When she didn't continue, he said, "You said more than that, right?"
She sighed and nodded. "I said that I thought finding the Sword was Essea's plan. That he was leading me…us to find it."
At that point, Geralt crawled over Evie to the other side of the bed so that he could look into her eyes. Their faces were less than a foot apart, and she was staring right back at him.
"Right. I told you then that I didn't sense him leading me at all with regards to this sword. And I still don't. But I know he's telling me to be with you, to do my damnedest to keep you safe. So, listen to me, when I tell you…that wherever you go, I go. Whether it's to Zerrikania – after the Sword, whether it's giving this Continent the finger and heading to the other side of the ocean, or whether it's to our home at Corvo Bianco. Wherever God's telling you to go, I'm going, too. Do you believe me when I tell you that?"
She nodded.
"So, the crucial question is this – do you still sense him leading you to find this sword?
She looked him in the eyes and nodded.
"And are you still committed to obeying and following his leading?"
She nodded again. "Yes."
"Then, I'm sorry, baby…you may not want this responsibility anymore, but you've got it. For whatever reason, he's chosen you."
A look of resolve came to her face, but Geralt could still see worry in her eyes.
"But that doesn't mean you're gonna have to do it alone. You, me…Lydial and Barcain and Benny – we're all in this together. And think about this - if Essea is leading you to do this, then it's gotta turn out okay, right? I mean, what kind of cruel God would he be if he led you to do something that he knew would end in failure?"
"Right," she said and then sighed again. "So, you know what this means, don't you?"
This time Geralt nodded. "Uh huh. Tomorrow morning, we gotta find a boat heading to Zerrikania."
She looked into his eyes and gave a small smile. "Thank you, Geralt. That was just the right thing to say."
"Hey, I'm just as shocked as you."
Evie's smile grew wider, and she shook her head. "I love you, husband."
"I love you, too, wife."
oOo
Krollas Forest, Redania
"I will have his head," Emperor Emhyr said to himself as he looked at the thick, gray smoke filling the entirety of the sky towards the southeast.
After setting loose his magical gargolems in Novigrad, the emperor and his men had sailed north towards the Ostrynos Peninsula, the location of his main force's amphibious assault. After destroying the meager defenses on the peninsula, almost the entirety of his army departed for Tretogor while a small unit – of just a hundred men – had stayed behind to await the emperor's arrival.
Upon setting foot on Redanian soil, Emhyr had calculated that he was four or five days behind the main assault force so he and his contingent had ridden hard for the capital city, hoping to arrive before Radovid's surrender. Emhyr wanted the privilege of having the Nordling king bow down to him personally. But, now, seeing the smoke angered him. He had made it clear to his commander that razing the city should be avoided. They would need the city's food rations and shelter if the battle turned into a siege, especially since – being in enemy territory - they would be cut off from their own supply lines.
An hour after first seeing the smoke, Emhyr and his men reached the edge of the forest, finally getting their first glimpse of Tretogor. His jaw momentarily dropped at the sight. Virtually the entire city was nothing but still-smoldering ash and ruin. But what was most disconcerting was that he couldn't see or hear a single, living Nilfgaardian soldier anywhere. In fact, there didn't appear to be any living souls – neither soldiers nor citizens – left in the city, at all.
"Your Grace," said his next-in command. "Your orders?"
Emhyr didn't respond immediately. Finally, he said, "Take a scout team. Find my army.
Four hours later, the scout team returned and gave their report.
"All of them?" Emhyr asked.
"Yes, your Majesty. We found no survivors."
The scout commander went on to inform the emperor that, from what he could discern, the Nilfgaardian forces had successfully breached both the city's walls and the palace itself. For the palace was where most of the Black One corpses were found. Of course, most of them were buried under tons of rubble. The high walls and the towering keep itself had been knocked to the ground.
Emhyr didn't know what to say. The war was lost. For even though Tretogor had fallen, he had virtually no army left. He had risked everything on this assault. While he had small garrisons of Nilfgaardian soldiers stationed throughout his empire in the various vassal states, he had sent essentially his entire fighting force – more than ten thousand men – to defeat Radovid and capture the Redanian capital. Now, the only troops at his immediate command were the hundred or so men he currently had with him. He knew that he would be crushed by the other Redanian battalions dispersed throughout the north when they eventually rallied against him. In fact, he was surprised that the Redanian troops along the Pontar River had not already arrived to counter-attack.
Emhyr shook his head at the irony. His invasion plan had worked to perfection except for one unforeseen complication, and it was obvious what that complication was. It was clear to him – and to all of those men who had seen Novigrad burn – just what was responsible for the disaster before him. He reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out the two, metallic discs. He had wanted to keep them as a memento of his historic conquest. The two discs were no longer connected, for he had intentionally separated the magical objects from each other – with the specific purpose of deactivating the gargolems - once he set foot on Redanian soil. But, obviously, that hadn't worked because – clearly – the magical creatures were still active and leaving destruction in their wake.
He wondered if that had been Philippa Eilhart's plan from the beginning – for her monstrous constructs to run amuck. Whether she actually planned it or not, her creatures had created absolute havoc for both sides, and who knew when – or even if – they'd ever stop. Perhaps she wanted them to rampage through the Northern realms until she finally put a stop to them, demonstrating to the peasants that it was she who possessed the real power of the world and should be their rightful ruler. He could picture her right now, off somewhere safe and biding her time, laughing at both his and Radovid's downfall. He dropped the two discs to the ground, silently cursing the witch in his mind. He also cursed himself for being so foolish. Since when had trusting magic-users ever truly turned out well?
Suddenly, his thoughts turned towards survival. He knew if his enemies back in the empire heard of this outcome, his reign would end quickly. He had to solidify his power. At his disposal, he had a hundred men who – he believed – were loyal to him. Now, more than ever, he needed that mythological sword. He wondered just where Malek was.
oOo
Montecalvo
"Gearrlon? I've never heard of it. Are you sure?" asked Philippa.
She, Oran, and one Thurston Gigglethorpe – former department head of history at Oxenfurt Academy – were sitting in her library. The professor had been there a week examining Geralt's Essean tome and scribbling copious pages of notes.
"Well, uh, no," said the professor, pushing his spectacles back up his nose with his index finger. "This is just…uh…my best assumption…um…based on the data you've given me to peruse." He ended the statement by reaching up and wiping several large beads of sweat from his brow.
Philippa couldn't believe that this milquetoast professor had actually hired her brother to murder someone. He seemed afraid of his own shadow. And he certainly didn't look impressive, with his skinny frame, weak chin, and thin hair plastered flat to his skull by his, seemingly, constant sweating condition. It was just another reminder not to judge one's character by appearances.
"Explain to me how you came to this conclusion," she ordered.
It was a good fifteen minutes later, after a roundabout discourse involving a half-dozen maps and several other history texts that he'd previously begged Philippa to "acquire" from the Oxenfurt Academy library, before Professor Gigglethorpe finished his lesson.
"Well, then," said the sorceress, "I hope you two have some warm-weather clothes. It appears that we'll be going on a trip. And Professor, this time, when we take the portal, I highly advise you not the vomit in my direction."
Gigglethorpe gulped, nodded, and wiped more sweat from his brow.
oOo
The Great Sea
Benny and Geralt were by themselves on the forward deck of The Master's Hand, the merchant ship on which they'd booked passage in the port city of Cidaris. Luckily, the cost of the trip hadn't completely emptied their money pouches, but they had been forced to sell their horses to come up with the payment.
The ship sailed exclusively for an import-export company that dealt in exotic spices, specifically from Zerrikania. They'd set sail that morning, and now, the two friends were standing on the starboard side of the ship, resting their elbows on the railing, and watching the sun set behind the western horizon.
"So…I've been meaning to ask you. Did you know what was gonna happen to you in Radovid's dungeon when you cast that spell?" asked Geralt, glancing over at Benny.
The mage continued looking straight ahead, staring at the scene in front of him. He gave a slight nod.
"I knew it was a possibility. I'm not that powerful a sorcerer, Geralt. You know that. I'd only used that spell one other time, back at Ban Ard, with the aid of a Place of Power. The same thing happened then, too, but I had a couple other mages there to revive me."
"Then, what the hell, Benny? Why'd you risk it? He was a complete stranger. You didn't even know him."
Benny was quiet for few moments. "Geralt, have I ever told you about my childhood?"
The witcher shook his head. "No, we've known each other a long time, but you never have. You from a long line of sorcerers?"
Benny glanced over at Geralt and smiled.
"Not hardly. I was the eleventh child of Mortimer and Sally Anne Bendiak. Three of them died young, but I still grew up with seven, much older siblings. None of them were magic users. We were all simple farmers. And it was a hardscrabble life. When you live on a farm, you start working about the time you learn to talk – even if it's nothing more than picking weeds. Everybody's got to do their part just to survive."
"Must have been where you got your strong work ethic."
"Definitely. It was a hard life, but our home was full of love. Sure, we squabbled like all families, but at the end of the day, we all cared for each other. Though, to be truthful, I was probably closer to my next-in-line sibling than I was to even mother or father. In a family that size, it was hard for mom and dad to show love to all the kids all the time. Like I said, they were just trying to keep us alive. So, my sister, Verna Kate, who was five years older than me, basically raised me." Benny paused for a moment. "Sorry, I'm getting off-track. Anyway, growing up the youngest of the bunch – and younger by a lot of years - I never felt very useful. I was always the smallest, the weakest, the slowest. I always wished that I could do more to help them."
He turned his head and looked at Geralt with a sad smile. "And, then, came the day I found out I could do magic. It set me apart. Made me feel special. But, more than that, I can remember having dreams of becoming a powerful mage so that I could help out my family. We basically had no money so the Ban Ard Academy took me in on scholarship. Walking up to that giant castle – as an eight-year-old kid - was one of the happiest and scariest days of my life."
Geralt smiled. "I bet. Hell, I was a little scared myself going in there just last month."
"Yeah, right." The mage then sighed. "Anyway, I soon found out I wasn't special at all. Compared to a lot of my classmates, I was a very weak sorcerer. My work ethic was strong. I studied hard, but I just didn't possess the natural ability to wield the Power like so many others did. Being there kind of reminded me of being back home again – being the weakest, the least useful. But I told myself that that was okay. I was there for my family. I was going to become the best mage that I could be. I'd specialize in healing and alchemy so that once I graduated, I could go back home and help my parents. Cure our livestock when they got sick. Rid our crops of harmful insects. Make our land more fertile, our well-water cleaner."
"Sounds like a noble plan. Sounds just like you."
Benny smiled at the compliment.
"So, many years later, I finally graduated from the Academy. I headed home so full of pride in my accomplishments. And so full of hope for how I could help." The mage paused and sighed again. "Long story short, I never got the chance. In one of this Continent's many pointless wars, an invading army put a torch to the farmhouse and barn, destroyed the crops, and killed every member of my family. And I couldn't even get revenge for them. It had happened two years before. By the time I got home, the invading army had already been beaten back and defeated."
Geralt shook his head. "Damn, Benny. I'm sorry."
He nodded. "So, I turned my horse around and headed back to Ban Ard. Where I've been ever since. And it hasn't been a bad life. I've done some good. Healed a lot of illnesses and injuries. Even saved a few lives. But I never felt like I fit in. The town folk have always kept us magic users at a distance even if they are appreciative of our services. And my fellow sorcerers…well, to them, I was just always short, fat, magically-weak Benny."
At that point, he turned and faced his friend. "But these last few weeks have been different, Geralt. I feel like I finally belong. But, more than that, I've never felt more purposeful in my life than I have since you came into my shop last month. I feel like helping in the search for this sword is more meaningful than anything I've ever done in my life. Unlike Lydial and Evie – and even now, you – I'm not sure I really believe in Essea. Or any god for that matter. So, I'm not sure I believe that this is part of some grand plan like you do, but…that doesn't matter. I know this is important. I know that all of you are important. And it feels good to be a part of something important. And I'm even willing to risk my life for it…and for my friends. And that's why I did what I did in the dungeon."
Geralt reached over and clasped his friend's shoulder.
"Benny, I've always thought you were special. Ever since you saved my life," he said with a smile. "And we're lucky to have you along with us. And I'm lucky that I can call you my friend." The witcher released his grip but continued to look the mage in the eyes. "When this is all over, come to Toussaint with us. We've got a vineyard there, and I'll put you on staff. We're gonna need someone with your skills to help us out. Apparently, a fungus attacked our vines last year."
"Thanks, Geralt. I might take you up on the offer, but…don't you think you need to consult with your wife first before you start giving out invitations to your home?"
Geralt pointed his finger at his friend. "Good call, Benny. Good call."
They both laughed.
"This marriage thing – always thinking of her first – it's still a bit new and strange."
"I bet. Speaking of your wife, have you told her about…" Benny asked, eyeballing the witcher's worthless medallion.
"Told Angel about what?" asked Barcain, walking up behind the sorcerer.
Benny winced and whispered "Sorry" under his breath.
"It's all right," Geralt whispered back as he turned to face his brother-in-law.
"It's no big deal. I'm going to tell her soon – once this is all over - but my medallion no longer works."
He then went on to explain to Barcain how that had happened.
"So, it doesn't sense magic at all anymore?"
Geralt shook his head.
"Then, you're right not to tell her. I guarantee you that, if she found out, she'd want to swap her medallion with yours. She cares more about your safety than her own."
"I know. But I care more about hers than mine. And that's why we're not going to tell her, right?"
Barcain smiled. "No problem. I'm great at keeping secrets."
oOo
Geralt leaned over the bed, gently shook Evie's shoulder, and whispered softly, "Baby, wake up. I want to show you something."
She came awake immediately.
"What is it? Is something wrong?" Anxiety was evident in her voice.
"No, relax. It's okay. It's just something that I think you'll really like."
Five minutes later, the husband and wife were holding hands and standing on the top deck. Except for a skeleton crew - the captain at the helm, a man high up in the crow's nest, and a couple others – Geralt and Evie were completely alone under a full moon and shining stars. Even after a week of sailing, Evie still wasn't used to just how bright the moon and stars looked each night. And tonight, the moon looked so large and so close that she felt like she could almost reach up and grab it. There was a sturdy wind filling the sails and blowing a few strands of Evie's hair about. She raised her hand up to her face and hooked the stray hair behind her ears. The breeze had also brought a chill to the night air. Geralt saw Evie shiver and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in tight against his warm body.
"It's so amazing…and peaceful out here," remarked Evie.
"It is," agreed Geralt, "but I got something even more special to show you. Over here, by the railing."
They walked over to the side, and the witcher pointed down towards the water's surface. Evie gasped out loud.
Swimming alongside of the ship were a half-dozen sea creatures about four to five times the thickness of an average man. They had sleek, tubular-shaped bodies that easily cut through the water. But the remarkable aspect was that each one emitted a colorful, luminescent glow – similar to when the witcher cast his Quen shield. Two were shimmering a bright yellow, two others pink, one purple, and the last one orange.
"Oh my…Geralt…they're so beautiful," she said in awe.
"Watch this," he said, and then he immediately cast a Quen, his body now covered in shimmering orange bolts of energy.
A few seconds later, the glow around each sea creature seemed to intensify – as if they were somehow answering the witcher. And then, suddenly, one of the creatures leapt high out of the water – so high that it was almost eye-level with Geralt and Evie – and then arced back down into the ocean with barely a splash. Evie laughed out loud as several more of the glowing fish followed their companion's example and jumped into the air. They kept doing so until Geralt's Quen Sign eventually disappeared.
"They're amazing," Evie said. "Do you know what they are?" she asked, turning to look at her husband.
"Well, according to Brother Adalbert's bestiary, their scientific name is Delphilumens, but our captain said most sailors call them, 'Divine Light.'"
"Really? The 'light' part is obvious, but why 'Divine?'"
"Well, you know how superstitious sailors are."
"Yeah, we had to pay them extra to take on me and Nain. They think females on board are bad luck."
"Right. Well, apparently these fellows" – and he nodded toward the glowing sea creatures – "are considered good luck. There are old tales of Divine Light fighting off krakens and other deadly sea monsters. Other myths tell of them guiding ships through storms, fog, dangerous, rocky straits. So, sailors started saying that they must be from the sea gods. Sent to protect those with whom the gods were pleased."
"And what do sailors say one must do in order to please the sea gods?"
Geralt smiled at his wife. "I don't know. But we must be doing something right…cause there they are."
She smiled back at him. "Thank you, Geralt. I'm glad you woke me. They're absolutely beautiful. I'll never forget this as long as I live, and the best part is that I got to share it with you."
She hugged him tightly before eventually turning back to watch the Delphilumens still swimming alongside the ship.
"Now, you gotta make a wish," he said.
"What? Why?"
"The captain said that if they're really pleased with you, then you can make a wish, and they'll make it come true."
"Really?" she asked incredulously. "He said that?"
Geralt smirked. "No. I made it up." He laughed as she playfully and lightly elbowed him in the gut.
"Butcher," she said, shaking her head.
"Hey, it sounded legitimate, right?"
"Yeah, no more far-fetched than most fairy-tales."
Evie looked down at the creatures and said, "You know what – I'm going to make a wish anyway."
"That so?"
"Yes. I'll start my own fairy-tale – of the wish-granting, flying glow-fish. And besides, I think they are good luck. I think Essea sent them to light our way."
Geralt nodded. "I like the sound of that. True divine light."
About ten minutes later, the sea creatures swam away, their luminescence eventually disappearing into the dark depths. Geralt heard Evie audibly sigh once they were completely out of sight.
"Thank you, again, Geralt."
"For what?"
"For this…for what you said to me in Cidaris...for everything. Obeying Essea - going after the Sword is the right thing, and I needed you to remind me of that."
"You're welcome. I'll always be here to support you, Evie." He then bent down and whispered in her ear. "So…what did you wish for?"
Evie looked up into his eyes and smiled. "Well, I can't tell you that, Witcher. But…let's go back to bed, okay?" She then began kissing him on his neck before moving up towards his ear.
"Doable," he said, a smile coming to his face. "Definitely doable."
oOo
It didn't take long for Geralt and the others to find a routine on the ship. The witcher, of course, trained every day. He worked on his physical fitness and also practiced his sword forms. On the second day, when Barcain saw the witcher performing moves with the sword that he'd never seen before, he asked Geralt if he could train with him. It wasn't long until Geralt had Evie, Lydial, and Benny on the deck with him, too. Their training wasn't extensive, but he did give them some very simple and practical tips if they were to ever find themselves with a sword in their hands and an enemy in their midst.
Geralt also met with Benny for several hours each day down below decks in Geralt and Evie's tiny cabin. Calling it a cabin was a stretch. It was more like a closet, just big enough to fit a bed and two chairs. But it was sufficient for what the two men needed, which was practicing magic. Since having taught himself the new 'lightning' Sign last fall – Geralt had decided to call the new Sign Blyx – the witcher was curious to see if he could create any others. He wondered why the School of the Wolf only taught their witchers the five Signs since, obviously, it was possible to learn more than just those five. Not for the first time, Geralt wished Vesemir was still around. He missed the old man – not only for his companionship and dry sense of humor but also for his incredible knowledge.
Their routine, however, didn't just consist of the physical. They had nightly conversations about everything they knew about Zerrikania – the history, the politics, the culture, and climate. As the professional historian in the group, Evie invariably led those discussions, but everyone had some kernel of knowledge – or rumor - that they were able to share at some points. They also questioned the captain and the other sailors on what they knew of the land east of the Tir Torchair Mountains.
But probably more than anything else, they read, re-read, and discussed the Essean tome every day, hoping to glean new pieces of information that might help in their search. Geralt, himself, spent many hours each day either under Evie or Lydial's tutelage, trying to become fluent in the obscure variant of the Elder Speech that was used in the tome. It was during one of those reading lessons - one afternoon about two weeks into their trip - that Geralt asked Lydial a question that he'd been pondering upon for a couple days.
"Lydial, I keep reading about – and hearing you and Evie talk about – the grace of Essea and the mercy of Essea, and…I guess I'm a little confused. I know what justice is – when we get what we deserve. And I know what mercy is. It's like forgiveness – when we don't get what we deserve. But I'm not real sure what grace is. Is it the same thing as mercy? Just two words with the same meaning?"
"That's a great question, Geralt. I would guess that a lot of people probably think that they're the same thing…because they are very similar. But I define them differently, and I think that Essea views them differently, too. I agree with your definitions about justice and mercy, but while mercy is not receiving something that we deserve – something bad, like punishment – grace is actually receiving something – something good – that we don't deserve. So, for example, I view my daughter, Hannamiel, and my grandchildren as evidence of God's grace to me. I didn't deserve to have a child and grandchildren. Essea didn't owe me that. But he blessed me anyway, in his grace."
Geralt nodded. "Okay, I get it. Mercy – the withholding of deserved punishment. Grace – the giving of undeserved blessings."
"That's exactly right," she answered.
The witcher looked up into the blue, afternoon sky and gathered his thoughts for several moments before he finally spoke again.
"You know, this is one of the main areas where I have always struggled with the concept of God." He nodded his head towards his wife who was sitting next to him as he continued. "I discussed this with Evie in our first real conversion about religion. I told her that I need a God who is just but who can also somehow pardon my guilt. Who can take care of all the evil I've done. But, since mercy and justice are basically impossible to reconcile, then I've never been able to see how God could display both attributes. Would you say that Essea is both just and merciful?"
"Without a doubt."
"But how can that be? If he forgives us of our wrong doing, then that means he's not punishing us as we deserve. And that is not justice."
Lydial nodded. "Geralt, I truly understand your confusion. Our sacred scriptures say that Essea promises us that, if we repent, then he will adopt us as his children, forgive us of our rebellion against him and accept us into heaven. Of course, the scriptures also say that he is a holy, just God. What they don't truly explain, however, is how he's going to reconcile those two concepts."
Geralt sighed, clearly frustrated. "That's great. Just great. And here I was thinking that Essea might actually be the God I was looking for."
Lydial held up her hand. "Wait a second, Geralt. I'm not finished. While it's true that the writings don't fully explain how he – a just God – can forgive us, there is one passage that, I believe, clearly hints at it."
"Really?" He sounded more skeptical than hopeful.
"Yes. Have you not come across the story of King Altachadh in your readings, yet?"
"Hell, Lydial, I don't remember. All these old, Aen Seidhe names…I can't keep them all straight."
"Well, do you want to hear about him?" she asked.
Geralt nodded and handed her the tome, and less than a minute later, she said, "Here we are. The story of King Altachadh. It's long so get comfortable.
"In the 471st year of Gaineamh's reign as chief priest of the Aen Seidhe nation, King Altachadh became ruler of the clan of Gealuain in the city of Aranbhaile -"
"Oh, come on. Seriously?" interrupted Geralt. "See what I mean? How can anyone remember all those names?"
Evie chuckled. "Shush. Don't interrupt," she said with a smile. Geralt just shook his head.
Lydial smiled and continued.
"Altachadh was the strongest and most powerful elf of the Gealuain clan, and he came to power in the time when the clans in the northern lands turned away from Essea. The clans of the north spurned Essea's laws and turned to other gods – gods of their own making. But Altachadh pursued Essea with all his heart. He tore down the alters and poles of the false gods brought into his city. He decreed that Essea and Essea alone would be worshiped in Aranbhaile. He was a righteous king, and he desired a righteous city. Therefore, he followed the Code of Essea and ruled his subjects with the same.
"Though Altachadh was a beloved king for he was wise, just, and kind, all was not well in Aranbhaile for the king had no heir. And though he prayed to Essea, Nisha, the wife of King Altachadh, remained without child. For five years, Altachadh had no heir until Essea brought an infant – an orphan – to the royal palace.
"Altachadh and Nisha adopted the boy and named him Eirich. Despite receiving love and discipline, Eirich was a rebellious child, and he grew to be a rebellious young man who challenged his father. He squandered his wealth in wild living and brought dishonor to his family. He spurned his father's God and did unholy acts in the eyes of Essea. In his drunkenness, he and his friends one night visited an alter to Essea in the city of Aranbhaile. They desecrated the alter and burned it down. While Eirich's friends escaped, he was captured and brought before his father, the king.
"Essean Code specified that desecration against an Essean altar was an offense against Essea himself. Ancient tradition called for a punishment of forty-nine lashes against such a crime, and only the most robust could live from receiving such punishment.
"As was the custom, Eirich was stripped of his shirt, and his hands and feet were bound in shackles. As he was being chained to the 'purification' wall, with his back exposed, he cursed his father, he cursed Essea, and he even cursed everyone else present in the royal court. The officers and attendants in the court looked on in anticipation of Altachadh's royal decision regarding his rebellious and physically weak son. All knew that forty-nine lashes would kill the young man, and it was also known that, despite Eirich's rebellion, Altachadh still desperately loved his son. But King Altachadh was a just ruler. So, just what would he do? The court castigator stood with his whip in hand, awaiting the king's ruling. King Altachadh's voice rang out through the royal court.
"'My son, there is no question of your guilt. And since a crime has been committed – a sacred law broken – then punishment for that crime must be paid. The punishment of forty-nine lashes. That is justice. Eirich, I love you, and as your father, I would like to pardon your crimes. But a pardon would be a travesty of justice, and I will not be an unjust king.'
"King Altachadh then turned to the court castigator.
"'On my word, proceed with the punishment.'
"King Altachadh then stood, removed his crown, his royal robes and shirt. He descended from his throne and stood in front of his rebellious son. His large, muscled frame completely covered the frail teenager standing before him.
"King Altachadh said to the castigator, 'You may proceed.'
"The whip cracked, and the king took the punishment for his adopted son, the son he loved. His back was flayed, and his blood dripped from his body. After thirty lashes, Altachadh yelled out and fell to his knees. His court attendants ran to his side, but he spoke to them saying, 'No. It is not yet finished.' And he slowly stood again.
"After the punishment was fulfilled, Altachadh fell again to the floor, his hands and knees in pools of his own blood. He slowly stood and unshackled his son from the wall, the bloody imprint of his hands left on the metal clasps.
"Altachadh hugged his son and kissed his cheeks. With tears in his eyes, he spoke to Eirich, 'My son, the penalty for your crimes has been paid in full. You are free of these chains, and now, I invite you to the banquet hall. Let us all praise Essea that you live and celebrate with a feast of fine food and joyful music.
"'A royal robe for my son!' ordered the king to his attendants. 'He will sit with me at my table.'
"And so it was that King Altachadh took on Eirich's pain and bore his suffering. The father was broken for his child's transgressions, crushed for his iniquities; the punishment that brought the rebel peace was on the monarch, and by the king's wounds his son was saved."
At that point, Lydial slowly closed the tome and looked at Geralt. The witcher was simply looking down at the deck in front of him, silent and lost in thought.
"When justice and mercy were reconciled," she eventually stated in a soft voice.
Geralt looked up, an unreadable expression on his face. He stared back at Lydial, but he stayed quiet for several, long moments more. Finally, he gave a slight nod of his head.
"What happened with Eirich?" the witcher asked Lydial. "Did he go to the feast with his father, change his ways?"
Lydial shook her head. "We don't know. The tome doesn't say…but I hope he did. I'd like to believe that seeing such an amazing display of love and sacrifice from his father would cause a son to change, to want to change. But, Geralt, there are some with a heart so calloused that no amount of love will soften it. In fact, for some mysterious reason, an act of grace can actually harden a calloused heart even more. I've seen it. It's as if that person actually resents the kindness that they are being shown. Perhaps, because…of pride - they think they don't need such kindness or…maybe, because they don't think that they deserve it. I don't know. I can't explain it. But as the scriptures say elsewhere, 'The same sun that melts the ice, hardens the clay.'"
Geralt nodded his head again. "And you think this story – of Altachadh and his son – is a picture of what God is going to do for us?"
Lydial smiled. "Again, I don't know. But I do know that this story was recorded for us – and preserved for us – for a reason."
"So…Essea, himself, is going to pay off the penalty of our wrong doing…of our rebellion against him? He's going to - what - pour out his own just punishment on himself? How is that even possible?"
Lydial laughed, shaking her head. "You keep asking me questions I don't have the answer to. But, Geralt, I can answer this - I trust that Essea is just, and I trust that he is loving. And the reason I believe that is because he has shown himself to be those things over and over again – both to me personally and to the Aen Seidhe nation as a whole. So, I don't know how he's going to do it, but, yes, I believe he somehow will – just like King Altachadh did."
"But…why? What kind of God would do that?"
Lydial looked at the witcher, and a warm smile came to her face. "A God that loves you – that kind."
oOo
Cintra
"So, you're really going to take a ship instead of just letting me teleport you?" asked Fringilla.
"That is correct," answered Malek. "I told you. I'm not going to leave my men – or our horses – behind. I have a strong feeling that I'm still going to need both for where I'm going."
The southerners were standing on the docks of the seaside-city of Cintra. Having been on the opposite side of Tretogor from where Philippa's fire-breathing gargolems had initially attacked, they had miraculously escaped the Redanian capital city with their lives. Afterward, they'd fled south across the Pontar. It was during their time in Temeria that Malek's spy network finally – after almost a month of silence – came through again. He'd been informed that Evie was on a ship heading south. Though the spy was unsure of the historian's eventual final destination, the undercover agent was adamant that the ship was heading down past the Cape of Matija – the Continent's most southern point - and into the Southern Sea. So, at that point, Malek had directed his men westward to the first port city that they could reach.
He'd booked passage for himself and his men for the capital city of Nilfgaard. He decided that, even if he didn't know exactly where Evie was headed at the moment, he was going to journey in her general direction. If his spy reached out to him again in the future with new intelligence, then he and his men would at least already be in the southern part of the Continent. And if nothing else, he figured that he should travel to his home in the Nilfgaardian capital. He wanted to head to his rooms in the royal palace and collect a few personal effects that held sentimental value while he still had the chance. Malek doubted that Emhyr would be on the throne for long, and he knew that it'd be best if he was already gone if and when any usurpers arrived at the palace to execute their coup.
Fringilla and Malek were alone of the dock, the rest of his men having already boarded the ship. She stepped close and looked up at the large man.
"In that case…do you have room for one more in your cabin?" she asked.
Malek narrowed his eyes at the sorceress for just a moment, but he then nodded.
"You bet. You're tiny. If nothing else, I'll put you in my pocket."
oOo
Evie woke in the middle of the night in an empty bed. She called out to Geralt in the dark, but there was no answer. She quickly got dressed, left their small room, and headed up to the main deck of the ship. It was only a moment after she stepped out into the bright moonlight above that she located her husband. He was sitting on the top step of the stairs that led up to the foredeck of the ship, the Essean tome in his lap and his pipe in his mouth. She walked over to the bottom of the short flight of steps.
"Hi," she said. "Couldn't sleep? Nightmares again?"
"No. No nightmares tonight. Just…wanted to come up here and sit for a while." He then used his hand to wipe off the area next to him. "Join me?"
She walked up the steps and sat down next to him. She breathed in deeply, enjoying the scent of his burning tobacco, and then leaned against his shoulder.
"So, what have you been doing up here – writing a poem for me?"
Geralt could hear the teasing tone of her voice.
"Even if I was, I wouldn't let you hear it," he joked back.
"I guess I deserve that. I'm a pretty lousy wife, huh?"
"Nah…you're the best one I've ever had."
"That so? You're not a bad husband yourself. I'd rank you at least in my top two."
They both laughed at that.
"So, if no poem, then what?"
"Just wanted to come up here, sit under the stars, and re-read the story of King Altachadh. There were several words that I still didn't recognize, but since Lydial read it to me this afternoon, I was able to figure things out from the context."
"Any new thoughts?"
"Just that it's an incredible story. And incredible to think about God in that way. I keep thinking about what Lydial said. 'When mercy and justice were reconciled.' I'm still trying to get my mind wrapped around it completely, but…the more I think about it, the more it makes sense."
"Yeah…it does. So, now that you know what you know, what's next?"
Geralt was quiet for moment. "Well, a lot of things. I want to keep reading this book so that I can understand him better. I still want to help you find and destroy the Sword – if that's his will. And, after today, I definitely would like to find any more Essean tomes that might be out there." Then he paused for a moment. "But, right now? I just want to lay back with my wife and look up at the stars."
Evie smiled. "That sounds like a great idea."
So, they laid down next to each other on the top deck of the ship. Geralt put his left hand under his head and stretched out his right arm so that Evie could use it as a pillow. He wasn't sure how long it took, but eventually he could hear his wife's breathing change as she drifted off to sleep, snuggled up close to him. But the witcher stayed awake – contemplating all the thoughts swirling through his mind, listening to the sails gently flapping in the wind, and gazing up at the endless universe above.
Just fifteen feet behind the two lovers, completely unseen and undetected, stood a bald man resting casually against the ship's railing. He was a man shrouded in shadows. His black eyes stared at the witcher for the longest time. Eventually, his gaze slowly shifted to the woman sleeping at the witcher's side. After a moment, a sinister, little grin crept upon his face, and as he turned his eyes back toward the witcher, it bloomed into a wide smile.
oOo
Azabar, Zerrikania; September, 1273
A month had passed since The Master's Hand had left the port of Cidaris. During all of those weeks, Evie had never been able to see land on any horizon. As majestic and awe-inspiring as the ocean could be, she was getting a bit stir crazy on the ship, and she longed to disembark. Thus, it was logical that she felt a sense of relief when the captain announced that they would enter the capital city's harbor later in the day. However, now that she was actually viewing Azabar with her own eyes, she was filled with wonder and excitement, as well.
The water in the bay was the clearest blue that she'd ever seen. There were pristine, white sandy beaches lining both sides of the harbor, and about fifty feet from the shore line were undulating sand dunes, out of which sprouted tall, leafy palm trees. On the beach to her left, behind those trees, were rows of large, expensive looking homes. It made sense that they looked costly given how popular that locale must be. She knew that if she lived in the city, she'd love to wake up each morning and look out her window at the scene before her.
Behind those beautiful homes – on the western side of the city - was a small, mountain that, where it wasn't covered with deep, green foliage, was spotted with hundreds of houses made of white and tan stone. At the base of that mountain – the center of the city – was located the harbor and the accompanying warehouse and business districts with countless multi-story buildings. To the east was a wide river – the Kozemel – that flowed into the Southern Sea. Further east of the river was the region's agricultural center, with verdant, irrigated lands stretching on for more than a mile. Zerrikania was known for its spices, and she would have sworn that she could smell the spicy fragrances in the wind – even though they were still a mile from the harbor.
When most people on the Continent thought of Zerrikania, they thought of dry, harsh desert dunes. And those certainly existed. Evie knew that as one moved further away from the Kozemel River, the more that the land turned arid and inhospitable. But here, she thought, here was paradise.
But Evie quickly put all those thoughts away. She reminded herself why she and her loved ones were there, and it wasn't for a honeymoon or vacation. As a historian she was aware of what was, most likely, the most important location in the city, and it wasn't the beaches or mountains or river-side gardens. The first place that she'd need to find was Azabar's main library.
oOo
Philippa had been in Azabar for two weeks, spending that time making very discreet inquiries. Resting out on the balcony of her luxury suite in the finest hotel in the city, she now believed that, perhaps, those inquiries had finally paid off. On this sweltering day, the sorceress was sipping a cool, minty beverage, and enjoying both the refreshing breeze coming off the Southern Sea and the shade provided by the balcony's awning. Through her tinted glasses, she inspected her guest, who was sitting, as still as a statue, on the opposite side of small table. In the most basic sense, her guest looked similar to most Zerrikanians, possessing the bronze skin and thick, black hair that was typical of the people who lived east of the Tir Torchair Mountains.
However, there were also some major and vitally important differences. Peering back at Philippa were a pair of cat-like eyes, and around the neck, was a chain that held a silver medallion. Atypical of most witchers, however, there were no twin swords attached to this witcher's back. A four-foot long staff lay across the monster-slayer's lap. Philippa had no doubt it was no ordinary staff. Finally, the witcher broke the silence.
"Word has come to me that you're in need of someone with my skills."
The witcher spoke the Common language with a bit of an accent and with a clearly feminine voice. Both made sense. The former because, while most Zerrikanians could speak Common, it wasn't their mother-tongue. The latter made sense because this witcher was indeed a woman.
Jezrai, of the witcher School of the Scorpion, was a striking figure. Though not classically beautiful, she possessed a quality from which others could not avert their stares. She never smiled, but when she sneered, her teeth shone bright against her bronzed skin, and her straight nose was only marred by a scar that ran across it and down onto her left cheek. Her thick, black hair was long and braided and was currently draped over her left shoulder. She had a dark-blue, crescent-shaped tattoo that framed her right eye. Philippa could see another tattoo consisting of a row of runic symbols on the witcher's neck.
Jezrai was as tall and broad-shouldered as most men, with long, lean muscles that bulged against the tight-fitting, light-weight armor that she wore. She could easily crush a man between her thighs. She was equally exotic, powerful, and deadly.
"Indeed," answered Philippa. "I need a local – someone who knows the customs, the history, and the land. Someone who-"
"There are hundreds of locals who know those things," Jezrai interrupted. "But you ask for someone with my talents, so…let's cut to the heart of it, shall we? Just what – or who – do I need to kill? And then, we can discuss my price."
"Oh…I do believe that we're going to get on smashingly well," remarked Philippa with a smile.
She reached into a pocket, pulled out a large sapphire, and placed it on the table between them.
"This is the first part of the payment. If my suspicions are correct, then it is highly likely that a certain white-haired witcher will be making his way to Azabar. You are to watch for him. This gemstone is buying a month of your time. Even if he never arrives, you may obviously keep it."
"You say 'first part of payment.' What is the second part?"
"Two more gemstones of equal quality – after you kill him," Philippa replied. "I'd do it myself, but, as I said, he may not even show up here, and my attention is required elsewhere."
Jezrai's gaze shifted between Philippa and the large gemstone on the table.
"So, do you agree to this arrangement?"
The witcheress nodded.
"Excellent," purred the sorceress. "Shall we drink to our partnership?"