Book 2: The Wolf Hunts
Chapter 18
Azabar, Zerrikania
"I've never, in my life, seen a city this crowded."
Even though the witcher was walking right beside her, Evie had felt the need to raise her voice just to be heard over the din of noise coming from all around – chickens squawking, dogs barking, merchants yelling, even a random person repeatedly banging two pans together for no discernable reason. She was also grasping tightly to Geralt's arm with one hand while firmly pressing the other hand over the satchel at her hip. She was wary of pick-pockets and cut-purses, and she had already been jostled by passers-by more times than she cared to count. The five Westerners – their ship's captain had told them that's how the Zerrikanians would refer to them - were walking through the stone-covered streets of the warehouse district heading towards some lodging on the other side of town that the sailor had suggested. When Geralt had told him how much money they were more or less able to spend, the captain gave a short laugh and told them that they had two choices – The Golden Dragon Inn near Dreamer's Row or sleeping on the docks.
"The Golden Dragon Inn…Dreamer's Row," Benny had remarked with a nod and a smile. "Those actually have a rather pleasant sound to them."
Upon hearing that, the captain had guffawed.
"My friend, you'd be wiser choosing the docks. Enjoy your stay in Azabar," he'd said before chuckling again and walking away.
As Evie walked through the city, surveying her surroundings with a historian's eye, she quickly recognized that the Zerrikanians seemed to only have three main style of dress. She hated to make assumptions, but she figured the style of clothing was equated to their social class. The most common ensemble was worn by what she assumed to be the ordinary, working-class citizen. Almost all wore some variation of a light weight, white or cream-colored cotton shirt with short sleeves ending at the elbow. In addition, their trousers were also made of a light-colored cotton, and almost all had sandals on their feet. The women dressed the same except for a few touches of fashion. Some had colorful stitching in their blouses. A few wore shirts of either pale blue or pink instead of the standard white, and the occasional, sheer scarf could be seen on their heads or around their necks.
A second group, which Evie believed to clearly be Azabar's wealthy, stood out from the rest with their very colorful ensembles. They were draped in fine silk and other equally high-quality fabrics dyed in deep reds, bright blues, metallic golds, and dark purples. Both the men and women of this group all wore expensive jewelry, made of gold, silver, and gemstones. The women styled their hair in complicated braids or piled high on their heads, and the men – if they had facial hair – all kept their mustaches and goatees trimmed and waxed.
But it was the third group that had Evie the most on edge. In addition to its mythological golden dragons, warm climate, and exotic spices, Zerrikania was also known for its fierce warrior-swordsmen. She had only seen a few of them so far, but there was no mistaking them, with sabers at their sides and tribal-looking tattoos covering their muscular shoulders and arms. Even their faces sported multiple tattoos, which made them look quite savage.
They also dressed quite differently than everyone else. They did wear armor, but Evie thought initially that, frankly, it wasn't very practical – especially from what she'd seen of the female warriors' armor. Half of their body wasn't even protected. They had knee-high, leather boots and leather body armor covering both the front and back of their torso, but their arms were completely exposed and their muscular thighs were only covered by a short skirt. It just didn't seem to offer much protection. The male warriors weren't protected any better as they wore the same style of gear except that they sported cotton trousers instead of the skirt.
However, when Evie thought more on it, she could actually see the benefit of wearing such a small amount of armor despite the lack of protection it offered. Given how hot it was in the region, she assumed it would be much more comfortable than, say, what Geralt was currently wearing. In fact, she didn't know how the witcher wasn't boiling in his specially-treated, leather armor that completely covered him from neck to toe. Another factor was that the Zerrikanians' very light-weight armor would also aid them in terms of quickness and agility. Despite those obvious benefits, there was a part of Evie that thought that the warriors – both the men and the women – also wore the skimpy armor because they were simply interested in showing off their physiques. Though, Evie had to admit – she couldn't really blame them. They were impressive.
As they continued making their way through the crowd, two random female warriors were on the other side of the street, walking in their direction. Upon seeing the sword on Geralt's hip, they smoothly slid their hands near the hilt of their own. Behind his tinted glasses, the witcher easily saw their hands move, but he could tell it was simply done out of habit – as a precaution. He knew an actual attack wasn't imminent just from the way they walked and carried themselves. After the warriors passed, neither even bothered to turn and give the White Wolf a second glance. Normally, they would have been quite interested in a witcher from one of the Western schools, but Geralt, prior to disembarking from the ship, had chosen to disguise himself – tinted glasses, no swords on the back, scars magically concealed, and his medallion under the shirt. He knew he'd made a wise choice. He had no desire to be the object of interest by which some foolhardy warrior wished to test his or her mettle.
"Have you ever seen a Zerrikanian warrior in action?" Evie asked Geralt after the two warriors had passed.
Immediately, images flashed through Geralt's mind – a memory from many years back with Villentretenmerth and his two, female body-guards. He had, indeed, seen one of the warriors in action – in a very intimate way. The witcher successfully kept his face stoic and simply nodded at his wife. But he didn't look at her. He told himself it was because he needed to keep his eyes on his surroundings.
"Are they as good as it's said?"
Again, Geralt kept his face neutral despite the urge to smirk. He simply nodded again.
"Get ahold of yourself," the witcher thought. "You shouldn't let those memories come to mind. You're married now, asshole. How would you feel if she was thinking about some naked guy from her past right now?"
"Better than you?" she asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.
"Pardon?"
"The Zerrikanian warriors – can they fight better than you?"
"Don't know. Never actually crossed blades with one. Their sword skills are legendary, but they'd be hard-pressed to beat me. My Signs would be tough for them to handle."
"Well, let's not find out who's better, okay?"
"Hey, you know me. I never go looking for trouble."
"I know…but, it does seem to find you."
The witcher nodded. "No doubt."
While Geralt was doing his best to detect any danger around them – and to also keep images of nude Zerrikanian women out of his head - it was an impossible task given the overcrowded city streets and markets. Even if he had turned around and looked behind him, he never would have noticed the two, male Zerrikanian warriors blending in with the mass of humanity. The two warriors who had been following them since they had stepped off The Master's Hand and onto the Azabar docks.
oOo
"The Golden Dragon? More like the Dragon's Bunghole," said Barcain while gazing at the front of the dilapidated inn. "And what the hell is that smell? It's making my head spin."
"You, too?" asked Lydial. "I thought it was the heat getting to me," she said, as she looked up at the scorching sun. It wasn't even noon yet.
"I'm not 100% sure because I've never actually smelled it myself," said Evie, "but, based on my research, I think it's papaver fumes."
"What's papaver?" asked Lydial.
"A very powerful drug, derived from the papaver plant," answered Benny. "It makes fisstech seem like nothing more than a sugar pill. It can be used in palliative care, to reduce pain. But it also causes intense euphoria and, in large doses, extreme disorientation and drowsiness."
"Hence the name Dreamer's Row," said Evie. "It must be nearby."
"If it's this obvious, why don't the authorities do something about it?" asked Lydial.
"Because, here, it's not illegal to grow, sell, or use," answered Evie. "And it's not just for the low-class. Even the upper-crust partake in it. It's a huge business. In fact, if what I read was accurate, the local government is actually the city's biggest producer of it. It brings an incredible amount of money into their coffers."
"Speaking of money, we have got to do something about our money situation," said Barcain, still sniffing the air. "And maybe find other lodging – on the other side of town.
"Geralt," said Evie, "what do you think? Should we try to find someplace else?"
"You're asking the wrong guy," he answered. "It looks fine to me, but…on the Path, a rat-filled barn is considered a luxury so…" The witcher shrugged at his wife.
"Alright," Evie said with a nod. "We'll stay here for tonight. Maybe tomorrow we can find something better. Hopefully, we'll be leaving town for Gearrlon as soon as possible anyway."
oOo
After checking into The Golden Dragon, Evie asked the innkeeper for the location of Azabar's best library. The woman suggested that they head to the Azabar Academy, located at the base of the small mountain, Mount Omaan, on the western side of town.
It was early afternoon before they found, first, the Academy and then the library itself. When they finally passed through the front doors, Evie felt a calmness wash over her – a calmness that she hadn't felt since stepping off of the ship. She was indeed fascinated by Azabar and its unique culture and history, but its loud, crowded, chaotic and dangerous streets frayed her nerves. While it was true that her profession did take her into the field on occasions, most of her time was spent in the quiet and peaceful indoors reading and doing research. The library had the same odor that libraries all over the Continent possessed – a combination of parchment, old ink, and dust that just soothed the historian's nerves. She was in her comfort zone.
Evie, feeling in control, led the group to the main desk and spoke with the librarian.
She introduced herself and then asked if the librarian spoke the Common language. While Evie was quite proficient in the Quaruntithi language – the tongue from which all eastern languages, including Zerrikanian, were derived – she wasn't totally fluent in it and preferred to speak in Common if she could. After discovering that the librarian did, indeed, speak Common, she informed him of what she was searching.
"Gearrlon? My, my, that is quite the popular subject recently," said the gray-haired, bespectacled librarian.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Geralt, suspicion in his voice.
"Well, while the tales of Gearrlon are well known in Azabar, they are really nothing more than popular ghost stories. Nothing more than fantasy. Those who actually do serious research into the lost city are very few. However, just a fortnight ago, another came here asking for texts on Gearrlon. A man – a Westerner, like yourselves, in fact."
Now, the entire group was suspicious.
"Do you remember his name by chance?" asked Evie.
"Oh, I'm sorry, but no. I could definitely pick him out of a crowd if I saw him again, but the name eludes me. My humblest apologies. But, if it would please you, I can lead you to the shelves you seek. In fact, I must escort you there as access to them is restricted."
oOo
"Are you sure they are the Westerners that the Eilhart witch wants dead?" asked Jezrai as she was sharpening her blades. She was sitting on the floor of her small home, cross-legged with her weapon in her lap.
"Positive, my love," answered Nebo – short for Nebomazzalar. "Tiki overheard them discussing Gearrlon. It must be them, don't you agree?"
"Yes, most likely," she said. "Speaking of Tiki – where is he? Why did he not return with you?"
"He is following them to the Azabar Academy. I told him that I would meet him there after informing you of our discovery."
Then, a small smile came to Nebo's face at the thought that he was here with Jezrai and not the other way around. Both he and Tiki – short for Tikimazzalar - were Jezrai's lovers, and both became slightly jealous when one was in her presence alone. It was only the two brothers' strong love for each other that allowed them to share the Scorpion witcheress. They would have been too tempted to kill any other man that Jezrai chose to bed. Though, the truth was that she'd had occasional sexual encounters in the past with both men and women, and the two brothers had always wisely chosen to keep their swords sheathed. They knew better than to cross their lover by killing one her temporary play-things. As skilled as they were with their swords, they knew they stood little chance to survive if she unleashed all of her fury against them.
"And just how do you know where they were going?"
"After they left the inn, I spoke with the innkeeper. I was persuasive. She informed me that they asked her about the best library in town."
"I'm pleased, Nebo," said Jezrai, finally looking up from sharpening her blades. She then stood and kissed him deeply. "Now, go to Tiki. Come back when they return to The Golden Dragon." She kissed him again. "Tonight, we will earn the other half of my fee."
oOo
"Oh, my…oh, my," said the clearly upset librarian. "This is very disturbing."
After coming to the shelves in question, they'd found that all the texts on Gearrlon were missing.
"And you're sure they weren't checked out?" asked Evie.
"Oh, goodness, no. The texts in this area of the library cannot leave the building," he answered. "Oh dear, what will the chancellor say?" the librarian asked himself under his breath. Then, he started pacing back and forth mumbling to himself.
"Hey," interjected Geralt, getting the librarian's attention. "I'm sorry for your distress and all, but could this man – this Westerner – have stolen the texts. I mean, you said that he's the last to have asked about them, right?"
"Well, yes – I mean, no," said the librarian. "I mean, yes, he was the last to have read them, but he couldn't have stolen them. Notice the guards?" he asked, pointing to two armed men standing near the door of the restricted area. "All must have their bags and persons checked before leaving this room."
"Well," said the witcher, "they walked out of here somehow."
He then proceeded to closely inspect the shelves and floor where they were standing. It was useless, though. The stone floors of the library were too clean to reveal any clue to follow, and when he smelled the air, he couldn't detect any unusual odor.
As Geralt was busy with his sleuthing, Evie asked the very distressed librarian a few more questions.
"Are there any more libraries in Azabar – personal or public - that might have texts on Gearrlon?"
"No, no…not that I'm aware of. This is the only public library with those specific texts. Now, there are many wealthy citizens in Azabar, with extensive private collections. While I am familiar with many of them, I am not privy to the contents of all, but I have not even heard rumors of a private collection of Gearrlon texts. They are impossible to come by."
"Forgive my ignorance, but why is that exactly?" asked Evie.
"But…I thought you knew. The city-state of Gearrlon cannot be found. It has been lost for nearly a thousand years."
"Lost? What the hell does that mean? How do you lose a city?" asked Barcain.
"I cannot say. At some point, it was simply wiped from the map. Many have tried to find it over the centuries, of course, but to my knowledge, none have found it. In fact, most who venture out, never return. Hence, the genesis of the ghost stories of Gearrlon."
"Fantastic," said Benny under his breath.
"So, no one knows where it is…or was? Your now-stolen texts didn't give its location?" Evie asked.
"To be honest, I've never actually read them. It's my understanding that they mostly told of Gearrlon's history – or myths, depending upon one's perspective. While the texts did provide a general idea of where the city was located, they gave no specifics. As I said, many have tried to find it. They don't return."
"No one's come back?" asked Evie.
"Well, there is one who claims to have found the city, but…I'm even hesitant to mention him. He is…well, he is not stable. All consider his tales the imaginings of a fractured mind."
Evie sighed deeply in frustration. It seemed they were hitting one obstacle after another.
"And let me guess – you don't know this man's name or where to find him, do you?"
"Oh, no…on the contrary. He is a former professor of antiquities at Azabar Academy. And I am fairly certain I know exactly where you can find him…almost every night."
oOo
The sun had set, but the night air still hadn't cooled, and heat radiated upward off the city's stone streets. To make matters worse, as the five of them approached the street corner leading into Dreamer's Row, the stench of papaver grew thicker. The drug's fumes seemed to be acting as a blanket over the entire street. It was an oppressive combination, thought Evie, as she looked into the darkened alley. She'd been in some rough neighborhoods before in her life, but this place made The Bits in Novigrad look like a stroll through the quaint streets of Beauclair.
The helpful librarian had told them that, several years past, Azabar Academy's former professor of antiquities, Kandhal Uziraiha, had led a large, heavily-funded expedition of colleagues, students, and other adventure-seekers into the desert in a search for Gearrlon. Several weeks later, the professor stumbled out of the desert and back into Azabar all alone. He was immediately admitted to the hospital to take care of his physical ailments. However, his mental and emotional wounds weren't so easily healed. The tales he told of Gearrlon were non-sensical and utterly unbelievable. Everyone began to suspect that the professor had simply lost his mind out in the desert. Soon, Uziraiha discovered that only the powerful effects of papaver could calm his disturbed and deranged psyche. Unfortunately, said the librarian, the drug eventually dug its claws into the professor, and in time, he lost all interest in his profession, family, and friends. It was rumored that, like almost all who dallied with the drug, Uziraiha had been caught in the spider's web of the papaver dens and could be found down on Dreamer's Row every night. The sad tale of Professor Uziraiha had served as a warning. No one had ever attempted to locate Gearrlon again.
"What's the plan?" asked Benny. "Looks like there's close to a dozen buildings on the street. Probably all of them are papaver dens."
Dreamer's Row was lined with dark and depressing, two-story structures on both sides of the street. And as a fitting metaphor, the street seemed to terminate in a dead-end.
"I'd like to get out of this dung heap as quickly as possible. My head's already getting foggy," said Barcain. "So, I say we split up. That'll allow us to find this guy faster. Geralt can handle himself so that leaves me with Nain and Angel with Benny. I figure-"
"You're out of your damn mind," interrupted Geralt. "There's not a chance in hell Evie's going into one of those dens with just Benny." He then turned to Benny. "No offense."
"Absolutely none taken. And, frankly, I agree," said the mage. "I'm not entering any of them with just Evie…no offense to Evie."
"I honestly don't want to go into any of them, no matter who's with me," said Lydial. "I'm starting to feel woozy just being out here in the streets. I can't imagine what I'd feel like if I went inside one of those places."
"Look, I should be the only one who enters any of the dens," said Geralt. "With my mutated metabolism, this stuff won't affect me near as much or near as fast as it will you. And I can be in and out real fast. I'll go in, Axii everyone in the joint, and find out quickly if he's in there or not. And if not, we'll move on to the next one."
"And what are we supposed to do?" asked Barcain.
"Stay outside in the fresh air – relatively fresh air - and watch each other's backs," answered the witcher. "There's safety in numbers."
Barcain shrugged. "Alright."
Geralt assumed Evie would protest him going in alone, but like everyone else, she too saw that his plan was the wisest choice. She had no desire to step inside one of the papaver dens as, like the rest, her brain was already feeling the effects of the fumes.
oOo
Korath Desert
"Congratulations, Professor," said Philippa.
She could see nothing but empty desert dunes around her, but her magic detected evidence that her eyes could not.
"You seem to have finally found it. There's Power here, somewhere nearby. I can sense it."
"Well…um…yes. It was, uh, simple really. Just a matter of…um…reading the texts and…uh, you know…following the clues," said Gigglethorpe as he clutched one of the Azabar Academy books in his hands.
"Indeed. You're quite the detective. I only had to teleport us across this desert seven times until you guessed the correct location," she replied sarcastically.
"Well…you know…archeology is not always-"
"Shut up, Gigglethorpe," instructed the sorceress. "I'm tired…and tired of your prattling."
"Uh…yes…okay." After he paused, he asked, "What will we do now?"
"Now, we'll rest…until I recover magically. Then, I'll head back to Azabar and teleport the others here."
"Yes, that, uh, does seem like-"
"Gigglethorpe, don't make me silence you."
The professor gulped, nodded, and wiped the sweat from his brow.
oOo
The witcher opened the door and, as expected, fumes poured out into the night air. He dilated his pupils as wide as he could and then crossed the threshold, not bothering to shut the door behind him. This was the seventh papaver den he'd entered in the last hour, the first six obviously not entertaining Professor Uziraiha. Though he'd had no success yet, he did, at least, learn one fact about the former teacher in the second establishment he'd visited. Down on Dreamer's Row, the man was simply known as Uzi.
Geralt had been correct about his witcher metabolism fighting off the effects of the drug's vapor. Had the other four spent the last hour in the papaver dens as he had, they'd be passed out in the street right now. Even with his mutated body's best efforts to resist the powerful drug, he'd still felt the need to drink down a White Honey potion prior to entering this seventh den. Luckily, it had worked as he'd hoped and cleared both his system – and most importantly his brain – of the euphoric and delirious effects.
He walked up to the counter and spoke with the attendant, who like all the other den workers he'd met that night was wearing a protective mask over his nose and mouth.
"Looking for Uzi," said Geralt. "He here?"
"And who you be?" asked the attendant in a thickly accented effort at speaking in the Common tongue.
"His long-lost brother."
"You no look like brother."
"Yeah, I know. We've got different dads. Now, is he here or not?"
"Customer privacy - very important here."
The witcher already knew where this was heading, having gone through it three times already with other attendants trying to swindle money from him. He didn't even bother with continuing the conversion. He just signed an Axii at the attendant.
"Is Uzi here?"
"Yes, Uzi here."
"Finally," thought the witcher. The answer he'd been looking for all night.
"Excellent. Now, take me to Uzi."
"Yes, yes. I take you to Uzi."
"Appreciate it."
As he followed the attendant down the dark, smoke-filled hallway, he suddenly heard faint singing coming from a room up ahead on his right. It was a song that he'd heard before, and it sent a chill through his spine. The attendant walked past the open doorway, leading Geralt further into the den, but the witcher stopped at the threshold and peered into the dark room.
"His smile fair as spring, as towards him he draws you. His tongue sharp and silvery, as he implores you…" sang a clearly doped-up papaver user.
He was slurring the words, but the song was unmistakable to the witcher. Those lyrics and that tune were as seared into his brain as the brand had been on his face. At the memory, the witcher's hand automatically came up and touched his left temple – just to confirm that the mark was no longer there. Geralt peered deeper into the room, trying to see which denizen was singing the words. But there were dozens of bodies lying about on the floor, on mattresses, on couches, and the witcher couldn't pinpoint the origin of the voice. It seemed to be echoing off the walls of the room. That's when he heard another voice to his left.
"Coming?" asked the attendant, standing in the hallway, facing the witcher.
Geralt nodded. "Yeah," he said as the voice inside of the room kept singing.
"…he'll snare you in bonds, eyes glowin' a fire, to gore and torment you, till the stars expire…"
As the witcher turned to follow the attendant, something caught his attention in his peripheral vision. He jerked his head to the left and instinctively reached for his sword. He could have sworn that he'd just seen a very familiar – and unwelcome - figure with a sinister grin and a shaved pate staring out of the shadows at him. But when he looked, there was nothing and no one there. Just an empty, shadowy corner. He lowered his hand back to his side and shook his head a couple of times, thinking that the papaver fumes must already be affecting his mind again, and then he turned to follow the attendant.
oOo
Jezrai, Nebo, and Tiki had been discreetly observing the five Westerners since they'd left The Golden Dragon over an hour before, just after dusk. Despite the fact that he didn't wear his twin swords on his back, Jezrai easily picked out the witcher in the group. Even if she hadn't known he had white hair, he would have been easy to spot compared to the other four simply from the way he walked – like a predator. Good, she thought. It had been a while since she'd had a challenge. And it would make collecting the other two gemstones from the Eilhart witch all the more satisfying.
oOo
As the night dragged on, Evie's anxiety increased along with the darkness. By that point in the evening, there was very little illumination along Dreamers' Row. Not only because there was very little moon light penetrating down into the street but also because all of the dens boarded up their windows to keep the sunlight out during the day, which also meant that any candlelight from within the buildings couldn't shine out into the street at night. However, having her three companions next to her alleviated some of her fear and strengthened her courage. The four of them stood in a tight semi-circle, with their backs to the papaver den, facing out into the shadowy street.
Every time someone entered the Row and began walking in their direction, all four of them tensed and put their hands on their respective weapons. Then, they'd all exhale deeply upon seeing the person enter one of the papaver dens. So far, people had only been entering the dens. None had been seen leaving. After a while, Evie just decided to keep her crossbow in hand instead of returning it to its carrier on her back. At first, she felt a little silly – letting the paranoia get the best of her – but when she saw that Barcain still had his sword unsheathed and that Lydial was grasping two bombs on her bandolier, she realized that it wasn't just her. Maybe it wasn't paranoia. They were just expecting the worst. Given what they'd all gone through in the last three months, that was actually probably just good, common sense.
oOo
"You Professor Uziraiha?" asked the White Wolf.
Uzi removed the papaver pipe from his mouth and stared at the witcher with semi-glassy eyes. He was lying on a chaise lounge in a room with a few other papaver aficionados.
"I knew you'd come for me eventually," he said, in slightly slurred Common.
"The hell you talking about? You know me?" asked Geralt.
Uzi slowly shook his head. "But you want to know about Gearrlon, don't you?"
The witcher nodded. "I do."
Uzi continued to shake his head. "I'm not going back. Kill me now if you want to, but I'll never go back."
"Not going to kill you. And I'm not asking you to go anywhere. Just want you tell us how to get there."
A small, sad smile came to Uzi's face. "You'll die. They all died. And you'll die, too."
oOo
The witcheress was hidden in the darkness of Dreamer's Row, standing in a narrow alley between two papaver dens. Though the sun had set well over an hour before, she had waited until thick darkness had overtaken the city.
She sensed her two soldiers just behind, and she spoke in a low voice.
"Remember - you may kill any of the four outside," said Jezrai to Nebo and Tiki. "But the white-haired witcher is mine. Understood?"
"Yes, my love," they both answered in whispers.
She gave a short nod of the head and stepped out into the street with Nebo and Tiki fanning out on each side of her, and then they began walking slowly towards the Westerners a half a block down.
oOo
"He's been gone longer than usual," said Evie.
"Maybe that's good news," replied Benny. "It might mean that the professor is in there."
"Yeah, I hope so. I-"
She suddenly stopped midsentence as she saw three people approaching. She wasn't sure why, but something about that didn't sit right with her. Then, it dawned on her. Every other person that they'd seen come into the Row that night had been by themselves. But here was a group of three. That was an oddity.
The papaver den they were in front of was at the end of the Row. Geralt had checked all the dens on the right side of the street, and they were in the process of going back up the other side. She noticed that the three individuals still had not stopped to enter any of the other dens. It appeared that one of the dens at the end of the street was their final destination.
"Be alert," said Barcain. "Three approaching."
Evie watched as the three strangers kept coming closer and closer. When they were ten feet away, Evie could see that two of them carried blades on their hips. Then, suddenly, Evie felt the medallion on her neck twitch.
"Danger!" she screamed at the top of her lungs and immediately brought her crossbow up, aiming at the person nearest to her. Before she'd even pressed the trigger, the three strangers were already moving, weapons in their hands.
oOo
Geralt wanted to get the professor out of the den and into some fresh air, but Uzi politely declined the witcher's offer to speak elsewhere. The White Wolf was just about to use his Axii Sign on the Zerrikanian, when he heard a scream coming from out in the street, immediately followed by the sound of a bomb detonating.
He rushed out of the room and back down the hall towards the front door, unsheathing his steel sword as he ran. When he got to the closed front door, he turned the knob and pulled, expecting it to open as easily as it had when he'd first entered the establishment. But it wouldn't budge. He looked closely at the door but saw no locks. What the hell was going on, he thought.
He pulled against the door again, this time with all his might, but it still didn't open. Suddenly, he heard more shouting and explosions coming from the street.
He immediately took one step back from the entrance and then signed the most explosive Aard that he could, blowing the door into pieces. The shards and broken planks of wood flew out into the street, followed a moment later by the witcher himself.
oOo
Evie's witcher medallion – sensing the magic in Jezrai's - had saved them. Without its warning, the four Westerners would have been cut down by the witcheress and the two Zerrikanian warriors in a matter of seconds. However, it only saved them temporarily. They were now in a literal fight for their lives.
Immediately after Evie yelled out, Benny cast his bright-light spell at the attackers, momentarily blinding them. As they shielded their eyes, Evie fired her crossbow and Lydial tossed two bombs in quick succession at the Zerrikanians. By luck, one of the bombs was a Dancing Star, and when it exploded, it singed all three of the attackers, and one of them started screaming as his upper body caught on fire, the flames lighting up Dreamer's Row. As he was thrashing about on the street, trying to put out the flames, Evie tried to quickly re-cock her crossbow, Barcain swung his sword, and Lydial threw two more bombs in the attackers' direction.
After finally getting her crossbow armed again, Evie looked up to see chaos around her. She watched her brother parry his attacker's blade, but the second thrust came quicker than Barcain could handle, and he was slashed across the chest. She saw the Zerrikanian moving in closer to finish him off, and she knew she didn't have time to aim properly. She brought the crossbow up to her hip and pressed the trigger. She heard a cry of pain as her bolt pierced the attacker's torso, sinking into his chest just below the right armpit.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure approaching and turned to meet it face-on. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw a witcher's Quen shield shimmering around her attacker's body and flames reflecting off of cat-like witcher eyes. Evie knew she was going to die.
The witcheress lunged towards Evie and thrust her weapon forward. But, suddenly, out of nowhere, Benny was there, standing in front of Evie. The witcheress' blade sunk deep into Benny's belly, and he let out a huge gasp. The portly mage's face carried a look of both confusion and surprise. He stared into his attacker's eyes, and as she was about to pull her weapon from his body, he reached up and grabbed onto it, squeezing the handle with all the strength that he had left.
It was then that the door of the papaver den exploded into pieces.
The witcheress, in an instant, took stock of the situation. The attack had not gone as she'd planned. She jerked hard and pulled her weapon from Benny's grasp. As she withdrew the blade, the sorcerer dropped to his knees. He reached up and pressed both hands against his bloody abdomen a moment before falling over onto his side in the middle of the stone street. Jezrai turned and ran over to Nebo, who had finally extinguished the flames that had been covering his upper body. She pulled him to his feet, and they sprinted from the scene just before Geralt rushed into the street, with his sword poised to kill.
Like only he could do, the witcher assessed the scene in a fraction of a second. Three men were down. Barcain was injured but getting to his feet, but Benny was lying flat on his back, both hands covering his belly. He quickly moved over to the Zerrikanian warrior, who was lying on his left side. The witcher had to make sure that he no longer posed a threat. Geralt saw that he had crossbow bolt through the right lung and another bolt sticking out of his right thigh. After kicking the man's sword away from his reach, the witcher grabbed his knife and sliced two long strips of fabric from the warrior's trousers. He then quickly and expertly bound the attacker's wrists and ankles. The witcher would deal with him later. At the moment, he had to check on his friend.
Geralt rushed over to Benny's side and knelt next to him. Evie, Lydial, and Barcain were already crowded around him.
"It's too dark. I can't see anything," said Benny in a weak voice. His breathing was shallow and rapid. "How does it look?"
The witcher gently moved Benny's hands to the side and then opened the mage's vest and shirt to get a clear look at the injury. It was too dark in the street for the other three to see how serious the wound was, but Geralt could tell.
"Damn it, Benny," he whispered. The wound was gushing blood.
"That bad?" Benny wheezed.
"Yeah."
"The liver?"
"Yeah."
Benny nodded his head in understanding.
"Geralt, what can we do to help him?" asked Evie. "I have a healing potion on me."
The witcher didn't answer. He just stared down into his friend's face.
Benny feebly reached up a bloody, trembling hand towards Geralt, and the witcher immediately grasped it with his own.
"Ah…damn, Geralt. I… I really hoped…I'd see this…to the end." His breathing was becoming faster and even more shallow. "Thanks…for being my friend…Geralt."
The witcher squeezed Benny's hand tighter and nodded. "You, too, Benny."
"Maybe…we'll…see each other…"
But he never finished his thought, and Geralt felt his friend's grip go slack as his breathing stopped. The other hand that had been resting on his belly fell down to his side, laying palm-up in the street. The witcher looked down at his friend's hand in his own and then gently placed it to the mage's side. He clenched his jaws tightly as he suddenly felt something in his chest go cold.
It was then that he heard Evie and Lydial crying. He turned to Evie and she instinctively wrapped her arms around him. As the White Wolf listened to his wife's sobs, the cold rage inside of him began to deepen.
Eventually, he said, "Let go, baby. I've got work to do."
"What…what are you going to do?" she asked, fear in her voice.
"What I do best," he growled.
"Geralt, no, please don't," she begged.
But the witcher simply released his wife, stood, and walked over to the trussed-up warrior. He knelt down next to him and rolled the Zerrikanian onto his back. The man's breathing did not sound good. The witcher figured there was probably blood leaking into his right lung cavity.
The Butcher of Blaviken grabbed the crossbow bolt protruding from the warrior's leg, and then he asked in a low voice, "Who are you and why did you try to kill us?"
Tiki looked up at the witcher with pure hatred in his eyes. He then cleared his throat and spat a bloody mass of phlegm into the witcher's face.
"Go to hell, albino dog," he said before chuckling.
The monster-slayer slowly wiped the spit from his face. He stared into Tiki's eyes and, then, suddenly and violently twisted the crossbow bolt in his hand. Tiki let out a horrendous scream, but the witcher didn't stop. He just kept twisting the bolt around and around, deeper and deeper, making the screams intensify. Finally, after perhaps a minute, he let up on the pressure so that the screaming eventually turned into moans.
"I can do this all night," said the witcher in a soft voice. "Question is – can you?"
"Screw you! Screw you, bastard! I'll die before I say anything!"
The White Wolf twisted the crossbow bolt again, which again elicited screams of agony. After about thirty seconds of torture, the witcher finally stopped. The warrior was breathing fast, and his face was drenched with sweat.
The witcher stared into the man's eyes.
"I don't plan on you dying. In fact, I'm going to save your life," he said in an eerily calm voice. "Not sure if you know this, but witchers are great at healing. I've patched up plenty of my own punctured lungs before," the witcher lied. "Yours will be a piece of cake."
The warrior's wild eyes held confusion.
"But you are a dangerous animal, and I can't in good conscience just release you back out into civilization. Can't have you killing anybody else," said the Butcher of Blaviken as he unsheathed his knife. He then placed his razor-sharp blade against the man's right wrist.
"So, what I'm gonna do is this. I'm gonna cut off both of your hands and both of your feet. Then, I'll use my Igni Sign to cauterize the wounds so that you won't bleed out."
At that, he turned his left hand away and blasted a stream of fire to give the warrior a demonstration.
"Impressive, huh?" said the White Wolf. "So, you're gonna live…though, I'm not sure a Zerrikanian warrior would really call that living…never being able to grasp a blade again…having to go through life as a beggar. In fact, I think maybe I'll even cut both your eyes out, too. That'll make you a more sympathetic figure. You'll get more coin tossed your way."
The Zerrikanian's eyes held nothing but terror. He could tell that the witcher was making no idle threats.
"Or…you tell me what I want to know."
"And you'll just let me go? Yeah, right."
"Oh, no. But I will kill you quick," he answered in the most frightening whisper Tiki had ever heard. Tiki would swear it was pure evil. "You've only got two choices – die whole or live in pieces. So, I will ask you one more time – and only one more time. Who are you and why did you try to kill my wife and friends? I'll give you ten seconds to think about how you're going to answer."
The Butcher of Blaviken then reached down and grabbed the man's right forearm with his left hand and placed his knife to Tiki's wrist. He then gave the man a gruesome smile.
"This is your sword hand, right?"
Then, he began to count. "One…two…three…four…"
oOo
"Quit squirming," commanded Jezrai, applying more ointment to Nebo's burned skin.
The two of them were in the front room of her small cottage high up on Mount Omaan. It was very secluded, set far back from the main road that wound its way back and forth through the mountain's lush vegetation.
"We have to go back for Tiki!" he yelled.
"Nebo, listen to me. I'm sure that, by now, the city watch has arrived."
"Even more reason to get him. I'll not let him rot in a jail cell."
"He won't be in a cell. I saw his injuries. They'll take him to a hospital. And while he's there, I'll speak with my connections. You know that a few high-placed members of the city's council owe me favors. I assure you, we'll save Tiki," she said calmly. "But right now, we need to treat these burns, okay?"
"And then we'll kill those Western dogs?"
"Slowly and painfully."
Upon hearing that answer, Nebo seemed to calm. He looked into Jezrai's eyes and nodded.
Suddenly, one of the front windows of the cabin shattered, shards of glass flying all over the front room. Nebo sprung up from the table on which he'd been lying, while Jezrai immediately grabbed her weapon. The witcheress heard a low, guttural sound coming from Nebo's throat. She glanced over at her lover and saw him staring at the floor. She shifted her eyes downward to see Tiki's decapitated head. Before she could say or do anything, Nebo, in a craze, ran towards the now open window.
"Bastard!" he screamed. "I'll-"
Instantly, his head snapped back, and he fell to the floor dead, a crossbow bolt right through the eye.
Jezrai cursed to herself, but she made no other sound. She was listening for any kind of noise coming from outside of her home. As she was waiting quietly, she reached into a pouch located on her belt, took out two potions, and quickly downed them both. She crouched down and duck-walked over to her other front window. As she was getting ready to quickly poke her head above the frame to take a peak outside, she heard a voice.
"It's just the two of us now. Come on out."
She'd never heard the voice before, but she had no doubt as to whom it belonged. She took a quick peak through her window and saw the white-haired witcher standing alone in the clearing in front of her house with his sword in hand. She duck-walked to the other side of the room, to the smashed window, and quickly peaked through it. She didn't trust this witcher, but he didn't seem to be playing any tricks. He was still there, just standing and waiting for her. So, she slowly stood, moved to the door, calmly opened it, and stepped out into the late-night air. She walked towards the witcher, never breaking eye-contact with him. She stopped when she got within fifteen feet of him.
The White Wolf looked at Jezrai. He was neither surprised by her gender or by the fact that she was a witcher. Tiki had told him everything.
"His name was Benny," said the Butcher of Blaviken. "He was a good man. And he was my friend."
She sneered at the witcher. "And I don't care. You come here to fight or to talk?"
"Neither. I came here for a reckoning."
The witcheress brought her short staff up in front of her into a horizontal position and grabbed it with both hands. Geralt heard a "clicking" sound, and, suddenly, the length of the staff doubled as two feet of steel blade shot out of both ends. She then whirled the staff in front of and around her body in an impressive display of skill before bringing it to a sudden stop, pulled tight against her right side.
"No one's ever bested me yet…old man."
Jezrai swung her staff forward and immediately went on the offensive. The White Wolf back-pedaled and parried a flurry of attacks coming from all angles. He'd obviously fought against staff-wielding opponents in his life before, but none with a staff like Jezrai's and certainly none with her speed and skill. It was taking everything he had to avoid her blades.
As she was coming out of a pirouette to strike again, the witcher took his left hand off his sword and blasted the Zerrikanian with an Aard Sign. She flew backwards a good five yards, winding up on her back. Before she'd even landed, the witcher sprinted after her, hoping to finish her off with a downward thrust. But she flipped up-right onto her feet in a flash and easily parried away his attack. He hadn't really even come close.
Then, she took a few steps backwards before casting a Sign of her own. Once her Quen shield was activated, she immediately went on the offensive again. And again, the White Wolf was unable to counter-attack. All he could do was defend – to parry and dodge. Normally, after he parried an enemy's attack, he'd have time to make an offensive move of his own, but with her double-bladed weapon, he had no chance for as soon as he parried one blade, she was already swinging the other one at him. He rolled away from a final thrust and came to his feet a good five paces away from the witcheress. While both his heart-rate and breathing had increased a bit, it didn't appear that she was being taxed at all physically. For a moment, he wondered just how young this witcheress was, and that was when he noticed some slight pain in his left arm. He reached over with his right hand and touched his sleeve. He looked at his hand to see blood.
"That's just a taste of this Scorpion's sting, old man. Prepare for more. That is, if the venom doesn't kill you first."
Not good, thought the White Wolf. If she truly did poison her blades, then he needed to finish this fight soon and get a White Honey down his throat. But Jezrai didn't give him time to formulate any kind of plan. She cast another Quen Sign and then charged ahead for a third time, spinning her staff around her in a whirlwind. When her weapon got within ten feet of him, the witcher threw a dimeritium bomb. She saw it coming and smashed it in mid-air with one end of her staff. The cannister ruptured, and dimeritium dust exploded all around. Luckily for the witcher, just enough of it got on her person that her Quen shield blinked out.
Jezrai expected him to immediately go on the offensive. However, despite having the advantage, instead of attacking, the witcher actually backed away. He didn't want to walk into the area where the dust was still lingering in the air. Having temporarily lost the use her Signs, the aggressive Jezrai was content to fight defensively until she regained her casting abilities. Thus, the two witchers were simply standing and staring at one another from fifteen feet away, with a cloud of dimeritium dust floating in between them. At least now, she seemed to be breathing a little faster, too, thought the witcher.
The White Wolf tossed another bomb at the witcheress, but with her reflexes and from that distance, she was easily able to roll away from its explosive range. He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to defeat her for her staff was a very odd weapon to fight against. But, more than that, the witcher thought that she might actually be quicker than he was. In fact, she may have been the fastest human he'd ever gone up against. She was, certainly, as fast as any bruxa that he'd ever faced. Nenneke had warned him that he'd lost a step, and, hell, that had been a decade past. If he was a step slow then, then what was he now?
He knew that he had to think of something – and that he needed to do so quickly - for the pain in his arm was becoming more intense – as if the poison was beginning to spread. In that instant, the witcher looked over Jezrai's head at her house behind her. He stared at the house for just a moment before quickly shifting his gaze back to the witcheress, and then he began to slowly move to his left.
As the witcher moved, Jezrai did the same. They both circled the dimeritium cloud that was in between them. Once he had finally positioned himself between her and the house, he turned and sprinted across the clearing and through her front door.
Jezrai stayed where she was, surprised and slightly confused by the witcher's move. She was fairly certain that he hadn't run into her house out of cowardice. He clearly wasn't trying to escape. So, he must have had some kind of plan, but she sneered at that thought. If he had run in there so that he could down a potion to neutralize the toxins, well, she had a remedy for that. She was planning on skewering his heart and removing his head. No potion could save him from that. And if he had retreated into the house to neutralize her weapon, knowing that a long staff would be difficult to maneuver in such confined quarters, well, she had an answer for that, as well. She pressed a button and twisted her staff so that it separated into two pieces. She now had essentially two swords in hand. Whatever his plan, she'd make it backfire on him. She knew her house much better than he did. She nodded to herself and then headed for her front door.
At the last second, she turned and ran towards the broken window. She dived through the opening, curled her body into a ball, rolled as she hit the floor, and popped to her feet with her two swords at the ready. She quickly scanned the area, but he was nowhere to be seen. The witcheress slowly knelt down, placed the sword in her left hand on the floor, and attempted to cast a Quen Sign but to no avail. The dimeritium dust on her body was still interfering with her ability to use magic, but she just shrugged it off. It mattered not to her. She had no doubt that she could kill this old witcher with or without her Signs, and she had him on the run.
She quickly picked the sword back up and then moved to her right, keeping her back to the front wall. She knew that there was only one place in that front room where he could be hidden. As she approached a counter that she'd set up to separate the kitchen area from the rest of the front room, she readied herself for battle. She took one more side-step to the right but relaxed slightly upon seeing that the witcher was not crouched behind the counter. That meant there was only one other place he could be. Given that she only had two rooms in her house – the main, front room housing the kitchen and living area and a smaller back room where she slept, then clearly the white-haired witcher was hiding somewhere in her bedroom.
"You wanted me, old man. Be careful what you wish for," she said as she slowly stalked towards the backroom.
She approached the threshold leading to her sleeping quarters and noticed that the bedroom door was halfway closed. However, she felt confident that the witcher wasn't behind it for her medallion had not twitched. She knew that the magic in his medallion would have caused hers to vibrate if he was anywhere nearby.
She kicked the door, and it swung violently on its hinges, smacking hard against the wooden wall. She smiled. He clearly wasn't hidden behind the door. As she stepped into her bedroom, she suddenly felt an incredibly sharp pain coursing through her torso – so intense that it knocked the wind out of her. The nerves in both her back and chest were on fire, and the pain was so debilitating that she involuntarily dropped her weapons and fell to her knees. Gasping for breath, she reached up to her chest and pulled away a trembling hand – a hand now covered in blood. She suddenly fell to the floor, landing on her side before slowly rolling over onto her back. Spasms of pain shot through her again, and the witcheress coughed, blood spewing from her mouth and splattering her face. She didn't understand what had happened. She looked up to where the witcher should have been if he'd attacked her from behind, but he wasn't there. And, then, suddenly, he appeared right in front of her. He was standing in the doorway, looking down at her with cold eyes. He held his sword in his hand, and her blood was dripping off the blade. Again, she was confused. He'd materialized out of thin air.
As if he was reading her mind and seeing her unspoken questions, he sheathed his sword, raised both of his hands in front of him, and twisted them into a shape that she'd never seen before. Two seconds later, the white-haired witcher disappeared. It couldn't be, she thought. It shouldn't be. The bastard had tricked her. And even if he could make himself invisible, why hadn't her medallion warned her of his presence? It should have sensed his magical medallion. It also should have sensed him harnessing the magic to cast his invisibility spell.
And, then, it dawned on her – the dimeritium. No one had ever used dimeritium against her before so it hadn't even occurred to her, but the dust must have interfered with her medallion, as well. There was no other explanation. As she lay there bleeding out, she'd never felt like a bigger fool. She had been so sure that she could easily defeat the old man that, in her zeal to kill him, it had not even crossed her mind that her medallion might not be functioning properly. She knew that her recklessness had cost her, and she knew that she would soon pay in full.
Suddenly, the witcher was right next to her. She still couldn't see him, but she heard his voice very near to her face.
"You know who taught me this invisibility Sign?" he asked in a low voice. "My good friend…Benny…that's who. I bet you care now, don't you?"
She couldn't say anything. She just coughed up more blood as pain coursed through her chest. A few seconds later, the Sign wore off, and the witcher became visible again. He stood and noticed her eyes following his movement.
"You can see me now…good…because I want you to see this coming."
He unsheathed his sword and raised it high with both hands on the hilt.
As he stared down at the dying witcheress, he said two words, "For Benny."
Then he drove the point of his blade right through her face and into the wooden floor beneath.
oOo
After Tiki had chosen to tell Geralt everything he wanted to know, the witcher kept his word and killed the Zerrikanian quickly. He'd then searched the city until he found a donkey to steal. He told himself that he'd return it later. They'd draped both Benny and Tiki's corpses over its back and then, in the darkness of the night, they'd taken back alleys and empty streets to the southwestern side of town. The witcher wasn't too worried about being stopped. He figured he'd Axii every one they came across if he had to.
Once they got to the base of Mount Omaan, Geralt removed Tiki's head, tossed his corpse into the overgrowth, and ascended the winding road to confront Jezrai. The rest headed for the beach on the far west of town, outside the city's limits. They found and cut wood for a pyre, and then Lydial and Evie prayed for the witcher's return.
An hour before sunrise, Geralt found them on the empty beach. They'd already placed Benny's body on top of the pyre and were just waiting for him to arrive. When the witcher was fifty feet away, Evie looked up and noticed him approaching. She got to her feet and ran towards him until they stood just a foot apart. She looked into her husband's eyes as the noise of the tide rolling in sounded around them. She didn't like the look on his face.
"Are you okay?" she asked tenderly.
He just shook his head. "No, I'm not. I feel…empty."
Evie didn't say anything. She simply stepped forward, kissed Geralt on his cheek, and wrapped her arms around him. Eventually, he broke their embrace and grasped her hand in his.
"Come on," he said before leading her towards the pyre.
Everyone said a few words about their favorite mage, and Lydial said a prayer, asking for Essea to have mercy on his soul. Then, the witcher cast an Igni. Within a minute,
sparks floated upward into the sky as the flames engulfed the wood.
After about ten minutes of watching the fire turn his close friend's corpse into ash, Geralt turned and started slowly walking westward along the beach, further away from Azabar.
Evie watched him worriedly.
"It's been a long night. Why don't you two head back to the inn," she eventually said to Lydial and Barcain. "Geralt and I will be along later."
After the two agreed and began their trek back to town, Evie went in search for her husband, following his footprints in the wet sand. She found him about a quarter mile away, kneeling in the sand and facing the sea. She stopped and knelt beside him but didn't say a word. Eventually, he turned his left hand over and held it out slightly to his side. Evie immediately grasped it with hers. They stayed there in silence until the sun came up and changed the dark waters to clear, crystal blue.
"I gave into the voices tonight."
"I know."
He didn't say anything else, as if he was expecting for her to continue. But she didn't. So, eventually, he spoke again.
"Seeing Benny die right there in front of me…I just felt pure rage. Then, I looked at you kneeling next to him, crying…and for the briefest moment, I felt relief that it was him and not you."
The witcher shook his head, disgust etched on his face.
"What kind of piece of shit would think something like that?"
The monster-slayer continued looking straight ahead and then swallowed.
"At that point, the voices were…so loud – telling me that they all deserved to suffer a bloody, excruciating death. Last time they were that loud was…after Ciri."
The witcher shook his head again.
"I could've used Axii on that warrior in the street. Tried to get the information out of him that way, but…a part of me wanted to torture him…to make him feel the same pain I was feeling. If Essea's voice was saying anything to me then, then…I couldn't hear it." He swallowed and clenched his jaws. "Or, maybe, I just chose not to."
The witcher continued to stare out into the ocean. And Evie still didn't say anything. She just kept holding his hand.
"You know what's the worst thing about it all?"
"What?"
"Not what I did – torturing that man, killing the others – but that there is still a part of me that actually enjoyed it. Giving in to the darkness felt…delicious. At least, in the moment. Now, I just feel…soiled."
He shook his head again. Evie could see the confusion and hurt on his face.
"I don't understand," he continued, his eyes still peering out past the sea's waves. "I believe that Essea put his light or goodness or whatever you want to call it inside of me. So, how is it that the dark can still feel so good?"
"I don't know, Geralt. I don't know why that is. I just know that it is."
He just nodded his head and sighed deeply.
"Do you still love me?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"Oh, Geralt…of course, I do. I'll always love you."
"No matter what?"
"Yes, baby, no matter what."
Finally, he turned his head to look at her. She saw nothing but pain in his eyes so she gave him a nod and a warm, reassuring smile.
"No matter what," she repeated.
He just swallowed and continued to stare into her eyes for several long moments.
"You're taking all this fairly calmly," he eventually said.
Her smile grew a little.
"Ranting and raving, insulting you, telling you what a disappointment you are – none of that would help anything. It wouldn't change what happened last night. It certainly wouldn't strengthen our relationship. And it wouldn't change how you might act in the future."
"No?"
Evie shook her head. "Whatever exactly those dark voices are – pure evil, basic human nature, the consequences of your mutations, whatever - that's…a spiritual thing, Geralt. I can't change that. Heck, you yourself have admitted that you can't change that. I think only God can."
Geralt gave a short nod.
"So, the best thing that I can do as your wife – the most loving thing that I can do as your wife – is to just keep supporting you, praying for you, loving you…and pointing you towards him."
The look on his face almost made Evie break into tears.
"Thank you, Evie. For loving me. I know I don't deserve it, but I'm grateful for it," the witcher said in a voice barely above a whisper. "My life is so much better with you in it."
"Mine, too, Geralt. You make mine better, too."
The witcher then glanced down at his armor, still covered in blood. He looked back at Evie and nodded his head again, as if he'd made up his mind about something.
"I'll be right back, okay?"
"Okay. I'll be right here."
The witcher stood, dropped his weapons to the sand, and then began to slowly take off his armor. A few minutes later, after he'd stripped naked, he walked off the beach and into the sea. He kept walking out until the water was up to his neck, and then he crouched down and completely submerged himself. He scrubbed his hands all over his body – his scalp and chest and hands, even rubbing his finger across his teeth and tongue. Then, he just let himself float, his eyes closed, allowing the water to move him where it wanted. And he talked to Essea.
"God, please have mercy on me. Have mercy. I know I'm not innocent. I speak to you now, knowing full well that I am guilty. Guilty of torture. Guilty of taking vengeance into my own hands. And guilty of enjoying it all. But I ask…I humbly ask that you somehow forgive me. I don't know how a just God like you can forgive, but I ask that you do, like King Altachadh did for his son. Because I have no way to cleanse myself of this guilt…so please have mercy."
Geralt continued to talk until he had nothing left to say, and then, he just lay still, his eyes still closed, floating calmly on the waves.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been out in the sea when he, suddenly, felt something bump against both his forehead and the middle of his upper back. Startled, he quickly stood up and opened his eyes. To his amazement, he saw two Delphilumens swimming around him in circles. Then, at once, they both approached him and began to gently bump their snouts against his body. He tentatively reached out with his hand and stroked the body of the creature in front of him. Its light gray skin was smooth to the touch, and up close, he could see just how powerful the creatures were. It was clear why they were able to leap fifteen feet or more into the air. In the bright sunlight, the animals didn't seem to be giving off their luminescent glow, but Geralt still thought that they were beautiful.
Then, thinking of his wife, he quickly turned to face the beach. He was about to yell at her to swim out when he looked down and noticed that suddenly, somehow, he was all alone. The two creatures had vanished. He looked around him, shaking his head. He didn't think it possible that they could swim away that fast, and he began to wonder if he'd just imagined the whole thing. He looked around one last time and then swam back towards the shore.
Evie watched Geralt intently as he walked towards her, the rays of the morning sun shimmering off the drops of water that were still running down his naked body. She looked up at him and smiled.
"Feel better?"
"Yeah. Not so dirty anymore," he answered.
He was just about to tell her about the Delphilumens, when he noticed the look in her eye. He smiled because he recognized that look. He knew it well. He loved it well.
Evie stood and stepped up close to her husband. "You know, I'm feeling a little dirty myself. I think I may need to go for a swim, too. Will you help me out of my clothes?"
"With pleasure."
The story about the Delphilumens could wait, thought the witcher.
oOo
Korath Desert
Philippa, in her owl form, flying near the ceiling of the enormous mausoleum, watched as Professor Gigglethorpe's body was torn in two. Screams were echoing in her ears, but the screams weren't from the professor alone. The dozen Zerrikanian warriors that she'd hired as escorts were being slaughtered, their skill with their swords proving useless. She quickly scanned the area and, to her relief, didn't see her brother among the dead and dying. She assumed that he was under his invisibility spell. She flew towards the long stairwell and passed over the hundreds of steps much more quickly than if she'd been on foot. Halfway up the stairwell, she sensed her brother's magical signature underneath her. Like her, he, too, was fleeing upward towards the crypt's open doors.
Once outside the crypt and under the night's sky, she immediately changed into her human form.
"Time is of the essence, Oran!" she yelled at the crypt's entrance.
Thirty seconds later, she heard her brother's gasping breaths. She instantly cast a portal, and the siblings both jumped through.
Five minutes later, after two more portals, the two landed in Philippa's luxury, hotel suite in Azabar.
"Holy hell," said Oran, collapsing to the floor and still breathing hard.
"That did not go as planned," the sorceress said in an understated fashion.
"Dear, sister, we're going to need every warrior in Zerrikania if we're going back into that."
"Actually, I have another plan."
"What's that? Just forgetting about the whole thing and going back home?" he asked hopefully.
"Don't be a fool, Oran. No, we'll simply let the witcher and his little friend do the work for us. And then, whatever they find down there, we'll simply take it from them."
"Yeah," agreed the Ghost, nodding his head. "I like that plan better."
"Let's just hope Jezrai has not already earned the second part of her payment."
oOo
The witcher opened his eyes upon hearing the unmistakable sounds of scurrying insects, and the first thing he noticed was that it was now nighttime. He stood up from where he'd been kneeling in meditation and picked up his silver sword that he'd earlier placed on the ground by his side. Time for work, he thought.
He was a three-hour's walk east of Azabar, just outside the small, agricultural town of Kradesh. He'd seen a contract on an Azabar notice board that morning from the town's alderman and had met up with the man in one of the city's local taverns. With Evie translating, the monster-slayer had discovered that the town had been recently abandoned due to a spate of monster attacks.
"Have him describe the monsters," Geralt had instructed his wife.
The alderman had spoken rapidly for half a minute before Evie finally turned to her husband with an unhappy look on her face.
"Scorpions," she'd said. "He says that they look like enormous scorpions…as big as a camel."
The witcher nodded his head. "Aculeomorphs."
"Are they dangerous?"
"Very," he'd replied. "But that's good."
"Why is that?" she asked in confusion.
"Because it means I can charge a lot…and we need the coin."
That conversation had taken place that morning. Now, under the stars, the witcher quickly downed three potions and pulled a Dancing Star from his bandolier. He could hear the 'clicking' of the monsters' mandibles as they approached, making their way to the entrance of their burrow.
The first creature was just coming up out of the ground when the witcher threw the bomb in its direction and then immediately cast a Quen. The giant scorpion-looking monster caught on fire, causing it to screech, but it didn't slow down. It was moving quickly to the witcher's left, and two more were now circling to his right.
He'd never seen an Aculeomorph in person before, but he'd read about them in his bestiary. He had to admit that the tome did an adequate job of describing their appearance. They did indeed look like large scorpions. They were the size of a large bear with two enormous pinchers near the front of their bodies – big enough to cut a grown man in two. As if that weren't enough, their mouths - in addition to rows of sharp teeth - also had a smaller set of pinchers inside. But their most dangerous feature, in the witcher's opinion, was their fifteen-foot long tail that ended in a rock-hard aculeus – or stinger. The witcher just hoped that John of Brugge had done just as adequate a job in researching these monsters' weaknesses as he had their appearance. Regardless, the White Wolf was about to find out.
oOo
The creature turned its head and bellowed loudly and wetly right in the witcher's face.
"I think she likes you," said Barcain after a chuckle.
"Swell," remarked the witcher before climbing aboard the tall animal. "At least her breath is better than yours."
The money that he'd earned from the Aculeomorph contract allowed them to buy all the supplies they'd need for several weeks in the desert. They had five camels in total – one for each to ride with a spare to serve as a 'pack' camel, which would carry their tent, food, and water supply. They'd also bought attire suitable for the desert heat, including coverings for their heads.
Prior to that, they'd again tracked down Uzi in a papaver den. Their second trip to Dreamer's Row was thankfully much less deadly. One Axii sign later, they'd escorted him to the Golden Dragon, where Evie had spent several hours asking him questions and taking notes. Now, with those notes in her satchel, she turned to the others with a small but excited smile on her face. She felt the same sense of anticipation that had always gripped her before she set off on some important journey to undiscover history's secrets – whether that journey was in the field or just in a library.
"Everyone ready?" she asked.
They all answered in the affirmative and then headed out of Azabar and into the desert, in search of the lost city of Gearrlon.
oOo
In the clearing in front of Jezrai's home, Philippa and Oran stepped out of a fiery, magical portal. It was mid-day, with the sun, as usual, shining hot and bright.
As the portal was closing behind them, Oran said, "You know, you never mentioned how you knew where this witcheress lives."
"That's none of your concern, brother," answered the sorceress. "Discretion keeps me…"
But she didn't finish her thought.
"Discretion keeps you from what?" he asked.
"Be alert, Oran," warned Philippa, pointing to the front of the house, with its shattered window and wide-open door. "Things are amiss."
"Stay here. I'll check it out," said Oran, and then he immediately cast his invisibility spell.
Two minutes later, Oran yelled out to his sister from inside the house.
"It's all clear in here…but you really need to see this."
As Philippa approached the house, she noticed two things – the flies and the stench. She knew what those two harbingers meant. Thus, she was not surprised when, after walking across the threshold, she saw a decapitated head and two corpses covered in flies. She was a bit shocked, however, to see that one of the corpses belonged to the witcheress from the School of the Scorpion.
"Damn it all," hissed Philippa. "I wonder if it was the witcher."
"I can almost guarantee that it was," said Oran, standing just inside the bedroom, next to Jezrai's fly-covered body.
"And just how, pray tell, would you know that?"
"Come into the bedroom, and you'll see."
Philippa sighed in exasperation but walked over to the back room. She stepped over her one-time lover's corpse and then paused at what she saw before her.
On the wall, written in large, bloody letters was one word – Eilhart.
"Well, there's good news," said Oran, also staring at the bloody message. "We can be fairly certain that the witcher is still alive. I mean, that is what you wanted, right?"