The Wolf Lives

Book 3: The Wolf Dies

Chapter 1

The Continent; 1273 Years Ago

"My brothers, I urge you one last time to reconsider," pleaded Gaineamh. "Please, do not do this. It is a violation of Essea's will."

The priest of the elven nation and leader of the Holy City faced the rulers of the other eleven, major Aen Seidhe communities. Behind him stood his two sons, Taibhsear and Maccarreg.

"My brothers," said the beautiful stranger, dressed in gleaming white robes, "did your God really say that you were not permitted to visit his realm? It seems to me that he would want you in his presence."

He, too, was addressing the eleven kings of the Aen Seidhe city-states.

"Of course, he would," the stranger continued in his commanding voice. "But we should have compassion on pitiful Gaineamh."

He then faced the priest and smiled.

"The old and feeble always fear the new. They tremble at progress. They find comfort and safety in the bonds of tradition – even when those bonds do nothing but enslave you."

The radiant figure looked back at the eleven kings.

"I am here to give you freedom – the freedom you desire. Listen to your hearts, my brothers. I know you can hear it – your hearts calling you to be free."

He looked each elf in the eye.

"Oh, yes, I can sense it in you. You long to taste it…for liberty is so…sweet," he said with a smile. "So, break these bonds and truly live."

Finally, Doille, the king from the largest city-state spoke.

"Apophis speaks truth, Gaineamh. We have heard your warnings. For centuries, we have heard nothing but your warnings. They have never come to pass. Your fear of Essea has unhinged your mind…and our decision has been made," he finished, looking at his fellow kings lined up beside him. He saw heads nodding in assent.

Doille stepped forward towards Apophis and reached out his hand.

"My friend," he said, "I would be honored to activate the disk."

Apophis clasped Doille's shoulder in a fraternal manner and smiled into his face.

"Unfortunately, my brother, none of you are quite ready to wield my staff…not yet, at least. But soon, very soon you will be. Soon you will have all the power in the world. But, for now, I will have to activate it myself."

As the man in white stepped toward the large device positioned in the middle of the Essean temple, Maccarreg began unsheathing the sword on his hip. Gaineamh threw his right arm out to stop his son's advance.

"No, Maccarreg," he said, turning to face his youngest. "They have made their choice."

He then looked back at the eleven.

"Do not be deceived, my brothers. Essea will not be mocked. You will reap what you sow."

Apophis gave a final smile in Gaineamh's direction before turning and inserting a long, silver rod into the middle of the large contraption. On a thick base, rested a reflective oval disk that was at least ten feet high. The disk was able to spin on two separate axes and was made of a strange type of glass with a silver sheen. As soon as the rod was in place, Apophis took several steps back, and the disk started to slowly move.

The eyes of everyone in the temple were transfixed upon it, anticipating just what would happen next. Gaineamh shifted his eyes to Apophis to see him staring straight back, a large grin on his face. As the disk began to rotate faster and faster, the stranger began to laugh. The faster the device spun, the louder his laughter became until it was eventually echoing throughout the temple.

"You will now know the power that brings true freedom!" Apophis yelled.

The disk was spinning so fast that it became a blur, and then, suddenly, the temple was filled with white light.

King Laije shielded his eyes from the bright sparks flashing forth from the vibrating, spinning device, and one thought filled his mind, "This is wrong." He had known listening to the beautiful stranger was a mistake. So, then, why hadn't he sided with Gaineamh? Why hadn't he stood with the elven priest and leader of the Holy City against the other ten kings? He had recognized the truth in Gaineamh's warning against building Apophis' device and attempting to enter into the divine realm without Essea's permission. So, then, why hadn't he voiced his opinion?

But, deep down, Laije knew why. He clearly and shamefully knew why he hadn't opposed them. His city was the smallest of the twelve. Though the other leaders never said anything explicit or overt, he could always see the condescension in their eyes when they looked his way. He could hear the ridicule in their voices when they mentioned his city's name. He was Laije, leader of the smallest, ruler of the weakest. It was still a mystery to him why he'd been anointed the town's leader in the first place. But, at least back home, he felt sure of himself, confident in his abilities. He took pride in how the citizens of Beag looked up to him, sought out his counsel. But, within this group of Aen Seidhe giants, he was a nobody, and he hated how that made him feel. He would have liked to have shown them that he – and, by extension, his city - was no less important than they were, but the few times that he'd tried, their mocking smiles had shamed him. He could tell that they were only humoring him in listening to his opinion, just like they would with a child. They'd made him feel insignificant. Therefore, since the last time, he had simply always gone along with the majority.

Laije could hear the ominous laughter of Apophis echoing in his ears, but when he squinted his eyes against the flashes of light to catch of glimpse of the stranger adorned in glowing, white robes, he was nowhere to be found.

"Where did he go?" he yelled to no one in particular.

Any answer from the Aen Seidhe elves around him was drowned out by the loudest clap of thunder Laije had ever heard. Various works of art and decorations started falling off the walls of the Essean temple, and he instinctively threw his arms out to his side to maintain his balance as the entire stone floor below his feet began to shake. As deafening rumblings continued to sound around them, he saw Gaineamh rush to the front doors of the temple and throw them open. A gale force of wind swept into the temple causing even more damage within. Like the rest of the elves around him, Laije ran out onto the portico of the temple where he, then, stood awestruck at the display before him. Down in the city and further down on the plains below, lightning strikes were hitting the ground one right after another.

Then, suddenly, Laije felt the oddest sensation, as if the air all around him had become heavy and alive. He quickly looked down to see if the elf next to him was grabbing his arm, but he saw nothing there. He felt something on the nape of his neck, but when he spun around, there was nobody there either. Was he losing he mind? Because he could swear that he sensed some unseen force pushing and pressing against various parts of his body, even causing his ears to "pop."

"What in Essea's name is this!?" he heard someone from beside him shout.

And that's when he saw a large, bluish oval ring appear out of nowhere fifty feet away, just inside the temple courtyard. Suddenly, his vision was filled with dozens and dozens of these portals as they began to materialize – each time with another loud peal of thunder – across the landscape below. Laije stood, with his mouth agape, as he watched an enormous, winged creature step out of the nearest portal. He had never seen anything like it. The creature let out a hideous screech and then stretched out its scaly wings. With a forceful downward thrust, the monster left the temple ground and took flight, heading higher and higher into the air.

Laije's attention was suddenly pulled away from the giant, flying monster as he noticed smoke, fires, and cries from numerous Aen Seidhe coming from the Holy City. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw Gaineamh, his two sons, and two of his fellow kings running down the steps of the portico, through the temple grounds, and out into the city streets - presumably to help those in distress. Just as he was about to follow along, he heard a bone-chilling howl coming from below. Out of the nearest portal stalked another beast, slowly swiveling its head side to side, as if hunting for prey. Fear instantly flooded Laije's mind.

The monster walked on all four legs, as a dog, but that's where the similarities ended. It was the size of a muscular elf but completely hairless. It had lizard-like, black and red skin; ten-inch, black claws coming from each of its paws; and dozens of small, ebony spines protruding from the top of its back and head. But it was the beast's face that frightened Laije the most. It looked almost elf-like, with eyes, nose, ears, and mouth all similarly positioned, but its eyes were the darkest of night, and its mouth was filled with serrated, triangular teeth, and long, strings of reddish drool fell from its lips. The creature's eyes locked onto the elven kings on the portico, and then it let loose with a piercing scream that seemed to knock Laije back a few steps. He caught his balance, and when he looked back at the monster, he noticed two things – its previously small spines were protruding almost two feet from its body, and it was charging fast toward the elves.

Laije and the other Aen Seidhe immediately scrambled back into the interior of the temple, slamming its doors just seconds before the spike-covered beast crashed into them. While four of the elves pressed the full weight of their bodies against the thick, wooden doors, two others grabbed heavy, metal rods and slid them into their appropriate slots to bar the entryway closed. They all instinctively breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived as they heard the monster clawing ferociously on the exterior of the doors and emitting a terrifying cry.

As the other elves slowly backed away from the temple entryway, Laije turned his head to stare at Apophis' spinning device. It was no longer humming or emitting flashes of light, and it appeared to Laije as if its revolutions were gradually decreasing. The leader of Beag began slowly walking towards the contraption. By the time that he was standing in front of it, the spinning had completely ceased. He caught his reflection in the silvery-glass, and then he noticed the end of Apophis' rod protruding from the middle of the once-spinning disc. As he tentatively reached out his hand to grasp the staff, he heard a voice from behind.

"Laije! What are you doing? Stay away from it!"

Laije recognized the voice belonging to the king from a neighboring city to the north, and he turned his head slightly to peer over his shoulder. But ignoring the warning, he turned his eyes back to the device in front of him. His hand hesitated an inch from the staff for just a moment. Then, he reached forth and grasped its end, and pain instantly exploded throughout his body.

Laije yelled out in agony, his body falling to the floor. The rod, still grasped tightly in his hand, was pulled completely from the device.

The other Aen Seidhe watched in shock as his body twitched and convulsed on the temple floor and cries of torment erupted from his throat. Eventually, one brave elf rushed forth and knelt by Laije's side. He reached down to grasp his shoulders, but as soon as his hands touched Laije, he was blown backwards twenty feet by some invisible force. The elf's head cracked against the stone wall of the temple, and his body fell limply to the floor.

Laije continued to emit excruciating cries for several minutes, feeling as if his body was melting on the inside. He could sense parts of himself literally shifting and changing within. Just as the pain throughout his body was starting to subside, he experienced the most intense agony yet in his brain. He instinctively brought both hands up to his temples, his right hand still grasping tightly the metal rod. As he closed his eyes and yelled again, an image flashed before him of thousands of tiny, ribbon-like worms – their mouths full of sharp, saw-like teeth – slowly burrowing and twisting their way into the deep recesses of his mind, coiling tightly around the tendrils of his psyche. He screamed and screamed until his vocal cords eventually ruptured under the stress. Eventually, slowly, the convulsions and moans stopped, and the elf lay on his side on the temple floor, curled up in a ball and gasping for breath.

Blood was seeping from Laije's eyes, nose, and ears. With a moan, he rolled over onto his front and then lifted himself up to his knees. The elf was breathing deeply, and blood-tinged saliva hung from his mouth. He brought his left hand to his face and wiped the blood from his chin and then from his eyes, trying to clear his vision. He blinked quickly several times and then looked down at the rod of Apophis in his right hand. To his complete surprise, the staff had changed its shape and was now the most beautiful sword that he'd ever seen, with a silver blade so void of impurities that he could perfectly see his reflection. He paused when he noticed that his hair had turned white. As he stared at himself, the smallest of disturbing smiles formed on his blood-covered face.

Laije slowly stood, and he felt a surge of strength within that he'd never known before. His muscles rippled with power, quivering beneath his skin just waiting to be unleashed. He continued to peer at his reflection in the blade of the sword, and then his eyes shifted to the now-terrified Aen Seidhe who were standing behind him. Hatred flashed through his mind as he remembered the shame and embarrassment that these elves had routinely caused in him with their mocking arrogance and condescension. He slowly turned and faced the remaining kings before him, glaring deeply into their eyes.

"So, I'm Laije the Weak, is that right?" he asked rhetorically, his voice now raspy and harsh from damaged vocal cords.

"Laije, are you okay?" and "What are you talking about?" were just two of the confused responses.

He slowly rotated his wrist in front of him, the sword flashing from side to side, and a cruel, predatory smile emerged across his face. He then held the sword up and to his side, staring at it in wonder and awe.

"You Aen Seidhe will now see just how weak and insignificant you are," Laije growled.

He turned his head, locked eyes with the closest elf, and inhaled deeply. Suddenly, he pointed the sword in the direction of the elf, and to everyone's astonishment, a stream of fire erupted from the sword's tip, engulfing the elf. The look on Laije's face was one of pure joy. As the interior of the temple filled with both the screams and the stench of the burning Aen Seidhe, Laije quickly flicked his wrist, and a flash of black light poured forth from the sword blasting a second elf off his feet. The blackness seemed as if it was actually alive. It seeped into the supine elf's skin and then began crawling throughout his veins. His screams of agony now matched those of the still-burning elf.

A slow, deep laugh began to emerge from Laije's throat as he took in the death around him. Suddenly, two of the remaining elves started running for the locked front doors while two others rushed towards Laije with their weapons drawn. With a simple twist of his wrist, several bolts of lightning shot forth from the sword and struck the two attackers, their bodies convulsing uncontrollably before falling to the floor. Two Aen Seidhe were frantically trying to open the temple doors, but he quickly – and almost effortlessly - dispatched of them with his powerful weapon. He, then, slowly removed the metal bars himself and threw open the heavy doors with ease. The alghoul, still on the temple portico, immediately leapt in the air, its claws extended to shred the elf's body. Laije swung the sword hard, cutting the monster completely in two.

The ruler of the tiny city of Beag stood atop the portico of the temple of Essea, staring down at the chaos and destruction below him in the Holy City and on the plains beyond. And he smiled. He gazed at the sword in his hand for a moment and then turned his focus back again to the carnage before him.

"They will all kneel…or die…or both," he declared with a snarl and then slowly descended the steps of the temple.

oOo

The Nilfgaardian Province of Maecht; September 1273

Lydial sat in a dark room in a small inn on the outskirts of the city of Maecht. She was tied to a chair, and on the table next to her was a single candle, its small flame doing just enough to keep her from being swallowed by complete darkness. She could hear the normal noises of a busy tavern just below her – chairs scraping against the wooden floor, muffled voices of the patrons, doors slamming shut.

She'd been in non-stop prayer since leaving the cavern, and she was doing her best not to give up hope, but given the condition of Evie and Geralt's fallen, bloody, and broken bodies the last time that she'd seen them, she knew just how unlikely their survival was. Had Essea promised her that they'd survive, then that would have been different. She could have then rested in that promise, knowing full-well it would be fulfilled. However, she had received no such promise from her God and, therefore, knew that, while Essea heard her prayers, there was no guarantee that he'd answer them the way she wanted. So, she simply prayed that Essea was comforting them, wherever they were.

Lydial was in the middle of this prayer when the door to the room opened and Barcain walked in. The aroma from the plate of food he was carrying wafted over to Lydial and made her mouth water. Barcain set the plate and a mug of some beverage on the table in front of her and then reached around to untie her hands from the chair.

"Here you go, Nain," he said. "I trust you won't run off."

Lydial was conflicted. She had much to say to her grandson – they hadn't spoken to each other since leaving the cavern in the mountains – but she was also starving. She'd been so upset the last few days that she'd had trouble forcing anything down. She had simply had no appetite. Finally, she decided she could eat and talk at the same time and began digging into her meal. After a minute of shoveling food into her mouth, she washed it down with some mead and looked at her grandson.

"Why, Barcain? Why would you betray your own sister like that?"

He slowly shook his head.

"Nain, I think you're conveniently forgetting that it was Angel who started all of this when she stole the book from Emhyr. Had she not, then she'd still be alive. And, anyway…I never wanted her to die. That was never part of the plan, and I had nothing to do with her death."

"But you still lied to her – to me. Is the Sword more important to you than your own flesh and blood?"

Barcain narrowed his eyes at his grandmother.

"My blood? Do not talk to me about my blood. My blood is cursed," he said with a sneer.

"What? What are talking about?"

"The Aen Seidhe are cursed, Nain. Don't deny it. The world hates you. The world wants nothing more than to eradicate you from existence, and it's done a damn fine job of it. It's almost complete. And, honestly, I don't even blame the world. You Aen Seidhe are despicable – with your arrogance…your disdain for anyone not full-blooded. You treat the rest of the us with contempt. Growing up – and hell, even for the last year and a half living with you – I was treated worse than a mangy mongrel."

"Okay, you're right, I can't deny that, and I'm sorry you went through it. But I never treated you that way. Evangeline never treated you like that."

"Maybe so, but you chose to live with them. You chose to live in that society when you didn't have to. You chose to blend in with those pricks, thereby endorsing their behavior."

"I never endorsed it. I fought against that kind of prejudice."

"Yeah? Well, you did a hell of job, Nain." He then shook his head. "You know, when you got raped and pregnant, you should have just aborted it."

"What? How can you say that about your own mother? How can you say that about you? You wouldn't be here if I had."

Barcain shrugged. "Better that than carrying around Aen Seidhe blood in my veins." He then shook his head, the contempt clear on his face. "Just a quarter. That's all I'm tainted, but that's been enough. That cursed elven blood has been the bane of my life. It's bad enough that the Aen Seidhe look down their noses at me, but that gods-forsaken blood has kept me from everything that I've ever wanted. When I told you that I was ostracized in my unit when they found out about my heritage, that wasn't a lie. All I've ever wanted was to follow in Malek's footsteps, to move up the ranks, to be a leader of men. But that dream was stolen from me – because of this cursed blood."

Lydial's brow was furrowed.

"I'm sorry, Barcain. I really am. And I understand why you hate the Aen Seidhe. You're right. They treated your mother, you, your brother and sister, even me horribly. I can't defend their behavior. But what I don't understand is why you're helping Nilfgaard if you hate them so much, too. They treated you just as poorly."

Barcain stared at Lydial and breathed deeply several times.

"I don't need for you to understand. I just need for you to read those Aen Seidhe scrolls and then tell us where the Sword is located."

"You can't be serious," she said with steel in her voice. "What in the world makes you think I'll actually help you – and the Black Ones - find the Sword after everything you've done?"

At that point, Barcain scooched his chair up close to Lydial's – so close that his knees were touching her thighs. He then leaned over and spoke softly.

"I'm not going to threaten you, Nain. You've always been good to me. But you will read those texts and you will find the clues we need. Because if you don't, I will burn down the entire Dol Blathanna palace, including all of your precious unborn babies on the third floor. And I promise you – I can. Don't think Malek and his two lackeys are the only friends I've got."

oOo

The Nilfgaardian Province of Nazair

Yeshua was soaring through the clouds, his eyes focused on the white crow that was flying in front of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he should be enjoying the experience – the freedom of breaking gravity's grip and floating through the sky - but he wasn't enjoying it at all. His heart and mind were troubled. The confusion of what was transpiring was robbing him of peace. He knew that this experience wasn't normal. It was trying to convey some type of message, but he just couldn't figure it out.

Suddenly, the crow flapped its wings several times and flew higher and out of the clouds. Yeshua followed him closely and then saw the summit of Mount Gorgon up ahead. Seconds later, the two of them passed over the peak and began soaring down the eastern slope. Yeshua looked down to see the trees of the forest zooming past him. When he lifted his gaze, he saw the land of Toussaint spread out before him in all of its beauty. He easily recognized the duchy just to the northeast of Nazair since he'd been there before in his travels.

As he and the white crow approached the city of Beauclair, his vision suddenly went black, and an image flashed before his eyes – a vision of an albino wolf. Its greyish-white fur was streaked with dark blood in several places. As it hobbled along a small, dirt path, it would occasionally lift its head towards the full moon above it and let loose with a mournful howl.

It was then that Yeshua heard someone calling his name.

"Yeshua! Yeshua, come back to me!" said a feminine voice. It sounded as if it was coming from the bottom of a deep well.

Yeshua knew that voice. He adored that voice. Hearing it brought some peace to his troubled heart. As the voice became louder and louder, he felt his body shaking, and, then, he opened his eyes.

oOo

The Tir Torchair Mountains

Sweat poured down the witcher's brow and into his eyes. He reached up feebly, wiped his forehead, and then let his hand fall limply back down to his thigh. His side was in pain, but it was bearable. His right leg, though, was in absolute agony. It was throbbing and felt on fire. The witcher had always thought he was immune from infection, but this amputation was proving him wrong. He'd taken a shot of Swallow that morning, but it didn't seem to be fighting off the toxins at all. What he really needed was a White Honey potion, but he was completely out of the necessary alchemical components to brew it.

Two days had passed since Evie's death, and it had taken Geralt that entire time to make it to the western side of the Duilichinn Pass. He had quickly discovered just how long routine activities took with only one working leg. He'd spent hours trying to find and then cut enough tree limbs to construct a litter on which to pull his wife's corpse. Then, it had taken him over a day to clear the rockslide from the pass just enough to allow his camel to climb over.

Now, he was just trying to do his best to stay astride the camel's back. His vision was blurry and his head felt heavy, his chin continuing to fall to his chest. But as bad as shape as the witcher was in physically, his fevered mind was in worse torment as it kept replaying the events in the cavern over and over.

The White Wolf was disembodied, floating above the fray. He looked down on himself, standing over Evie's bloody, dying body.

"Give her the potion…the potion," he mumbled weakly.

But he watched himself – instead of caring for his wife - staring across the chasm at Malek.

"Give her…the potion," he said, his voice full of anguish.

But the Geralt in the vision never knelt and tended to his love. Instead, full of rage and seeking vengeance, he rushed towards his enemy an instant before being stabbed by the invisible man. Even through the fevered fog clouding his brain, he knew that he'd lost his chance to ever save his wife.

"No…no."

The words came out slurred as his head rocked back and forth in time with the camel's steps.

Suddenly, the witcher came out of his thoughts as the camel made a bellowing noise and a roaring sound filled his ears. He blinked his eyes and raised his head to see the Imlebar River blocking his path up ahead. The heavy storms two night previously had filled the river to overflowing, and the trail that he was on and that headed down the mountain now looked unpassable. He wasn't sure if there had once been a bridge at that location to cross the river, but if so, then it had clearly been washed away. He urged his camel forward anyway.

When the animal came to within fifteen feet of the roaring rapids, it suddenly stopped, and when Geralt tried to spur it forward, it jerked its head back in defiance. In his weakened state, the witcher tumbled backwards off of the camel, and as he fell, his flailing right arm crashed against the litter. He shattered one of the litter's arms that was attached to the camel's end, and the make-shift carrier tipped over onto its side.

Geralt hit the ground on the right side of the camel with a thud and then began to roll down a gentle slope. He let out a grunt as his back slammed against the trunk of a tree, and when he looked up, he saw the damaged litter, with Evie's corpse, sliding down the slope in his direction, finally coming to stop about ten feet away in the thick green grass. The witcher's breathing was coming shallow and fast, and his body, lying on its left side, was covered with sweat. He blindly reached over to the small pouch on his belt and pulled out the last vial inside, but he fumbled it with his fingers. The health potion fell to the ground, and as it began to roll away, he reached out to grasp it, but it evaded his grip and his hand caught nothing but several blades of grass. Luckily, however, the vial rolled to a stop against his thigh instead of continuing down the hill and out of reach. On his second attempt, he grasped it and brought it to his mouth, where he removed the cork stopper with his teeth. After swallowing down the potion, he rested his head on the ground and closed his eyes.

But, before the nightmares from the cavern could again start playing through his mind, he heard the sounds of footsteps softly approaching, accompanied by the whistling of an ominous tune.

oOo

Nazair

Yeshua blinked his eyes several times until his vision cleared, and he looked up into the anxious face of his wife, Leyna.

"It happened again?" he asked.

She nodded, concern clearly in her eyes.

For the last month, her husband had been suffering from unexplained seizures. The two of them had visited every healer, herbalist, and alchemist in and around the small town of Aranbhaile, but none could discover the cause of this new malady in the young and, seemingly, otherwise healthy carpenter. She was so desperate that she had even suggested that he travel the hundred plus miles to Neunreuth to visit one of that city's pellars or witches, but Yeshua had refused since he had no other disturbing symptoms – so far. He was experiencing no headaches or other pain, and frankly, he had always been a bit leery of magic. The whole idea of it made him uneasy.

"Did you have the visions again?" she asked.

"Yes."

"The same one – the white crow and the wolf?"

He nodded and then raised himself up into a sitting position.

"Anything new or different this time?"

"Yes," he said as he scratched his chin through his thick beard. "The wolf was injured in this vision." He then sighed deeply. "Of course, I still don't understand what any of it means."

"If it actually does mean something." The skepticism was clear in her voice.

"Leyna," he chided. "I've told you. These visions are more real than any dream I've ever had. They are as real as you are right now."

This time Leyna sighed.

"Then hurry up and figure it out. I'm tired of seeing my husband thrashing about on the floor. It's scaring me to death."

Yeshua brought his wife into a hug.

"I'm sorry, Leyna. I'm sorry that you're going through this. I promise we'll figure this out soon. This isn't happening by accident. I know it."

"If you say so," she said. She still didn't sound convinced. "Are you hungry?" she asked, knowing well now how his body reacted to the seizures.

"Ravenous."

"Then, rise and come. I've got some goulash in the pot."

oOo

The Tir Torchair Mountains

"Greetings, Geralt."

"What in the bloody hell?" thought the witcher. He recognized that voice.

"My, my…you are in dire straits, aren't you?"

As Geralt heard the voice approaching, his heart actually started beating faster. For the first time in – maybe forever – he felt full blown fear. When the voice spoke again, it was much closer.

"It seems that every time you and I meet, you are in desperate need of help, but this time…well…your circumstances are most dreadful, aren't they? I dare say…they're almost hopeless."

Geralt slowly opened his eyes to see a being he had hoped he'd never be in the presence of ever again.

"I beat you, O'Dimm," he said in a weak voice. "You were supposed to go away. That was the deal."

"And I did go away, Geralt. I always honor my pacts," the bald man said. And then a smile came to his face. "But our deal never stated that I had to stay away."

"I forgot," said the witcher, feebly shaking his head. "You're the master of fine print and…twisted interpretations."

"Now, now…is it my fault if you mortals can't read a contract?" O'Dimm asked innocently as his grin widened.

The witcher didn't bother to answer. His mind was on other things – like just what in the hell O'Dimm was doing there. He lifted his torso from the ground and sat up, leaning back against the tree. He stared into the bald man's dark eyes.

"I knew that was you in that papaver den. Knew it," he said, blinking his eyes and trying to control his breathing. "You've been following me since Azabar."

"Oh, Geralt, I've been following you for much longer than that."

"What…Why?" Sweat was pouring from Geralt's face.

"You interest me, Witcher. It's not often that anyone gets the best of me. In fact, never. So, I've been watching you."

"Swell. So…here we are…just the two of us," Geralt rasped out. "So, what exactly do you want?"

"Why, Geralt, to give aid to an old friend. What else?"

"We're not friends, O'Dimm."

"Ahh, Witcher. You wound me."

The Merchant of Mirrors then crouched down so that he was face-to-face with Geralt.

"Are you saying that you don't want my assistance…because, you know, I could fix all of this for you. Would you like help in finding your friend, Lydial? Not a problem."

He then looked down at Geralt's right calf.

"What about a new leg? It'd be nice to walk again, wouldn't it?"

When the witcher didn't answer, he smiled and snapped his fingers.

"Oh, I know!" he then stood and walked over to Evie's corpse. "How about I bring your beloved back to you? I know you'd like that. Maybe the next time, you won't let her die."

The witcher looked into O'Dimm's smirking face. He clenched his jaws together and then swallowed. "You could do that?"

"Geralt, Geralt," he said with a chuckle. "There's little I can't do."

"But you won't do it for nothing, right?"

"Well, I am a merchant, Geralt, and I wouldn't be much of a businessman if I simply gave away my services for free."

"What would you want – to bring her back to life?"

"You already know the answer to that, my friend. What do I always want?"

The witcher nodded. "A soul."

"A small price to pay to once again be with the love of your life, no?"

Geralt stared at his wife's corpse for the longest time, his breathing still shallow and fast. He pictured the sparkle in her eyes, the mischief in her smile when she teased him, the feel of her lips when she kissed him. He missed all of that and more. He knew that he would have given anything – even his own life – to keep her alive. Would he now give anything to bring her back? But the bigger question was - would she even want him to. Finally, he pulled his eyes from Evie and looked back at O'Dimm, who was standing again and pacing back and forth in front of the witcher.

"I don't know," Geralt replied. "Essea might say…my soul would be a huge price to pay."

O'Dimm laughed. "Oh, please. Essea?"

Then, he stopped pacing, and his face turned serious.

"You still actually care what he thinks – after what he's done to you?"

"What…what do you mean?"

"Geralt, Geralt…poor, pitiful Geralt." The look on O'Dimm's face was one of pure condescension. "You know as well as I do that you can't trust him. He let you down. And don't pretend you haven't had the same thoughts. I heard what you said to him on the mountain. He led Evie to find the sword, but did he help her when she needed it most? Well, clearly not. What he actually led her to was her death. And you? He whispered in your ear to return to Tarsus. He whispered in your ear to save her life from those bandits and nurse her back to health. He whispered for you to stay with her, to give your heart to her, to marry her and protect her. But, in the end, did he give you aid to do what he commanded you to do? Again, clearly not. He is an impotent god, Geralt. The great breaker of promises…of promises that he either can't or simply won't keep. A god like that deserves no loyalty. In fact, I'd say a god like that is no true god at all. He does nothing but take. He took your leg, took your friends…he took your daughter…and your wife. You owe him no allegiance."

The witcher and Master Mirror stared at each other. Finally, the witcher swallowed, and then O'Dimm smiled widely.

"But me, you know I always follow through with my pacts. You've seen my power. You know I can give you what I promise."

O'Dimm once again crouched down low, close to Geralt.

"All you have to do is say the word, Geralt, and I'll make all your pain go away."

The witcher blinked his eyes several times. Drops of sweat were running down into them, making them sting.

"But, if I…if I give you my soul…" He was starting to have trouble thinking and speaking. He wondered if delirium was setting in. "I won't get…to see Evie in heaven."

"Ahh, Geralt…that's Essea's biggest lie. That only those who follow him get into heaven. Let me tell you a little secret, my friend. Everyone has an after-life. You'll get to spend eternity with Evie regardless of whether you worship Essea, Freya, Melitele, or any other god…or no god at all. The Essean religion is nothing but a big con; to get you to worship a weak, pathetic god; to enslave you and to stroke his massive ego. But it's nothing but a lie. So, what do you say, Witcher? For you, I'm even willing to bargain. That's how much I like you," O'Dimm finished with a smile.

Geralt stared into the eyes of the mysterious man. They were so dark that they were almost hypnotic. The witcher could see his face reflecting back in them. Eventually, Geralt broke his stare, noticed the small smile on O'Dimm's face, and then shifted his gaze over to his wife's corpse. He looked at her longingly for several long moments, and then his eyes flashed to the right – just past her body – for just an instant before he brought them back to center – staring down at his right leg. As he looked at his stump, he slowly gave his head a barely perceptible nod. Finally, he looked up at O'Dimm again, and O'Dimm's smile grew wide.

"I…" Geralt said, but he didn't finish his thought. Instead, he looked at Evie and leaned his body over to his right, falling onto his stomach.

A curious look crossed O'Dimm's face as he watched the witcher start crawling towards his wife.

"Yes, Geralt? You what?" asked O'Dimm. "You want my help?"

At that point, Geralt was next to Evie. He got on his knees and cut the straps that were fastening her to the litter. He then reached down and lifted her body off the ground and gently placed her over his left shoulder.

"Geralt," said O'Dimm, furrowing his brows. "What are you doing?"

The witcher was still on his knees, but he'd turned his back on the Man of Glass and was slowly making his way towards the river's edge. When he finally got there, he turned and faced O'Dimm. His hands were shaking and his face was covered in sweat again.

"You're right, O'Dimm. You heard me on the mountain…so I can't deny it. I was full of anger…and I'm still full of questions. So, I gotta ask myself – who do I trust more? Him or you?"

Geralt swallowed to catch his breath.

"I've gotta admit. You make a convincing argument. I'd love to have Evie alive and back in my arms. There's only one problem. While I'm still learning who Essea is…I know who you are. Maybe not exactly what you are, but I know who you are."

The witcher's breathing was incredibly heavy. Just the effort to hold Evie and talk was wearing him out.

"Remember, I've seen how you operate," the White Wolf continued. "There's no telling what kind of twisted stunt you'd pull if you did bring her back. So, even if I still have questions about Essea…I know that I don't choose you."

With that, Geralt – holding onto Evie's corpse – fell backward into the strong current and was swiftly pushed down river.

As O'Dimm watched the witcher disappear into the rapids, he had a small smile on his face.

"Oh, Geralt, you won't get away from me that easily. The fun is just beginning. Until the next, Witcher."

And then with a clap of his hands, the Man of Glass vanished.