Book 3: The Wolf Dies

Chapter 7

The Dragon Mountains

"Your Grace," said a soldier, bowing low, "we have found a cave."

"Good, good, it is about time," responded Radovid, standing along a very old trail, high above a deep gorge, as thick snowflakes filled the air.

The near four-score of soldiers had been scouring the mountain gorge most of the day. Finally, less than an hour before, a cave entrance had been found on one end of the ravine. It had been mostly covered with rocks, soil, and a thin blanket of new snow, but a handful of soldiers with shovels had taken care of those obstacles.

The Redanian monarch then turned to look at the tall man beside him.

"Would you like to lead the exploration of the cave, Barcain?"

He gave a bow of his head. "You honor me, Your Majesty."

"I do know how to reward my faithful servants."

"And your servant hopes to place the Sword in your hands before the sun rises – on both a new day and on a new northern empire."

Radovid smiled. "I like your way with words, Barcain. Let's hope your actions don't disappoint."

oOo

The witcher was lying on the forest floor, and the branches of an evergreen tree - weighed down by the recent, heavy snowfall – were hanging low, giving him concealment from his prey. Not that there was much need for concealment given that it was well after sundown. He was shivering slightly from the cold, but, fortunately, his mutations and a special elixir were protecting him from developing hypothermia. His thick, heavy cloak would have helped in the fight against the frigid temperature, but he was using it for another purpose at the moment. He peered down the ridge to the campsite below - a campsite consisting of a handful of tents set up in a circle, all arranged around a large, blazing fire. Just outside the perimeter of the tents, more than a dozen horses were tied to a thick rope pulled taught between two trees. Next to the horses were a couple of covered wagons, positioned in a way to act as a barrier against the biting wind.

After he'd had Yennefer teleport him a mile south of Barefield, Geralt had then spent the next two days stealthily tracking the large Redanian contingent northward, past the ruins of a small town that had once been named Chiava and then further up into the Dragon Mountains, themselves. Earlier that morning, the caravan had finally reached a point where the wagons could no longer travel. About two dozen soldiers had stayed behind and made camp while the rest of them continued higher toward the mountain peaks. Since then, he'd been conducting a thorough reconnaissance on the campsite and, then, after developing his plan, all he'd had to do was wait.

Unfortunately, the Redanians were not following his plan. The witcher gazed down at the campsite through the darkness once more. Instead of heading into their tents to sleep, well over half of the soldiers were still huddled around the campfire sharing several bottles of – what he assumed to be – the finest Redanian herbal. His eyes zeroed in on one person, in particular. He watched the person light a small torch in the campfire and then make their way into a small tent.

"Damn it," he whispered to himself.

The tent that the person had entered was on the "wrong" side of the camp – on the side opposite to the path heading back down the mountain.

Geralt laid there for several moments longer, trying to decide what to do. Finally, he realized that he had to act. There was no telling when Radovid and the rest of his men might return from their foray higher up in the mountains. The witcher crawled out from underneath the tree and then reached back and grabbed his balled-up cloak, a cloak that was much, much heavier than normal. He brought both of his hands together and made a Sign. Suddenly, the witcher disappeared, including the frost from his breath. He then made his way as quietly as possible down the slope towards the tent on the "wrong" side of the camp.

oOo

Barcain lowered his torch and peered as far down into chasm as he could, but all he saw was blackness. For the last couple of hours, he'd led over fifty men through the caves, searching every nook and cranny for the Sword before eventually making their way to the back of the cave. Barcain stood at the edge of the abyss and then tossed his torch forward, watching it fall for several seconds before finally landing on the cave floor close to a hundred feet below.

He turned to face the soldier behind him.

"I'm going to need ten to twelve more torches and a very long rope," he commanded.

oOo

Malek looked up as the tent flap was pulled back, and Lydial walked in with a lit torch in her hand.

"Oh, dear," gasped Lydial. "Your face looks awful."

"Then it looks like how I feel," he mumbled through bloody and busted lips.

"Why did they do this?"

Malek, lying on the ground and trussed up like a pig with both his hands and feet tied behind him, simply shrugged.

"I don't blame them. I'm the enemy," he said. "I represent the Empire that destroyed their country. At least, they let me keep my winter clothes. I'd freeze to death otherwise."

Lydial knelt down next to the big man, jammed the torch into the ground, scooped up a handful of snow, and packed it tight. She pulled a handkerchief from the inside of her coat and wrapped it around the snow before placing it gently onto his swollen, left cheek.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, his teeth slightly chattering.

"You may be the enemy, but it doesn't mean they can't treat you with dignity."

Malek looked intently into Lydial's eyes and gave a small smile.

"I see where Hannamiel got her kindness from."

"Yes, well…Dilis was even kinder," she said with an embarrassed smile of her own. "Now, maybe you can repay the kindness and let me stay in here with you tonight."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just…I just don't like the way some of them out there were starting to look at me."

Malek's face suddenly turned very serious.

But, before either of them could say anything else, they both heard a noise coming from behind them.

oOo

A yard from the bottom, Barcain let go of the rope, and a moment later his feet landed on the chasm floor. He then quickly moved over to one of the still-lit torches, picked it up, and looked around. The chasm was huge, with large rocks and stalagmites scattered about.

He turned as he heard noise coming from above him. He walked back over to the wall of the abyss and watched one of the Redanians using the rope to repel down the side. Within a minute, a half-a-dozen soldiers were with him.

"Let's spread out. Call out if you find anything," he ordered, and then he and the others dispersed in different directions.

The southerner slowly walked forward, holding the flaming torch above his head. Despite the fire in his hand, he felt a chill go through him, and he quickly swiveled his head from side-to-side. It was as if the darkness was pressing in on him from all sides.

Suddenly, his foot stumbled against something hard and heavy, and he fell to the ground with a whispered curse. He rolled over and directed the light of the torch toward the chasm floor. Barcain involuntarily held his breath at what he saw. He quickly looked around him to see if any of the Redanians were nearby, and then he scrambled forward on his knees.

Breathing fast and heavy, Barcain looked down at a long, metal case – a case that could very well hold a sword. Still on his knees, he inspected the grimy and dirt-covered box. He placed the torch, upright against a nearby rock and then began frantically brushing the dust and dirt from the box. Despite the chill in the air, beads of sweat were now running down his brow. The case was dented and scratched in several places, but it looked to be completely intact and held shut by three clasps on one of its sides.

He quickly looked up and around him again to see where the Redanian soldiers were. He smiled upon seeing that they were nowhere near him. He wanted to experience the opening of the case all by himself. He wanted to be the first and only one to gaze upon the Sword for the first time in over a thousand years. He had earned that privilege. There'd be time later for others to sing his praises. With slightly trembling hands, he reached forward, unlatched the clasps, and slowly opened the metal box.

oOo

Lydial watched wide-eyed as a small rip mysteriously appeared on the back side of the tent, starting at the top of the canvas and slowly moving its way down. The opening then widened, and a moment later, she heard the sound of crunching snow coming towards her.

The footsteps in the snow stopped right in front of her, and then she heard a muffled – but familiar - voice.

"Don't scream, Lydial. It's me – Geralt."

A look of disbelief filled her face as she slowly reached out a shaky hand toward the voice. She gasped as she felt an invisible hand gently grip her own, and immediately, the witcher materialized in front of her eyes. She couldn't say anything for several moments. She could only stare at the man before her.

"I…I thought you were dead," she finally whispered.

He nodded. "I thought I was, too." The two stared into each other's eyes for a moment. "Come on, I'm getting you out of here," he said as he gripped her hand tighter and began to turn back towards the opening in the canvas.

"Wait," she whispered, tugging on his hand.

The witcher looked back at the elf.

"Evangeline?" she asked.

The look on Geralt's face immediately changed, and then he simply gave a small shake of his head.

A small sob broke free from Lydial's throat, and she quickly brought her free hand up to cover her mouth as the tears filled her eyes.

"Lydial, let's go," urged Geralt. "We can cry later."

She looked into his tender eyes and nodded. She was just about to follow him out through the back exit of the tent when she saw the witcher's face turn murderous. He let go of her hand and rushed past her. He grabbed Malek roughly by the front of his coat and put the tip of his knife an inch from the eye of his wife's killer.

Malek stared into the witcher's eyes and then at the knife that was trembling in his hand. He then looked back at Geralt and saw a war of emotions across his face.

Malek then just gave a small nod of his head.

"I didn't mean to kill her, Geralt. But go ahead and do it," he said calmly. "I deserve it."

The two men continued to stare at each other until, finally, the witcher's jaws unclenched and he exhaled deeply. He then gave a small nod of his own.

"We all deserve it," he said, before rolling Malek over and cutting through the ropes binding his wrists and ankles.

Before Malek could completely free himself of his bonds, Geralt had already grabbed Lydial and had exited the tent. The big man quickly followed right behind them, crouching low and stepping through the opening.

"What's in your coat?" Lydial whispered, looking down at the heavy cloak that he'd left outside the tent. It was bunched up, like a bundle, and there was clearly something alive inside.

"A surprise for them," he answered, nodding his head in the direction of the Redanians by the campfire.

"What's the plan?" asked Malek.

Geralt didn't even bother to look at the big man.

"I'll get some horses and bring them back here," he said, looking at Lydial. "Then, I'm going to cause a serious distraction, and you're going to ride hard, past the camp and down the mountain. Hopefully, I'll be waiting for you on the other side of the camp, and then we can get the hell out of here."

"Down the mountain?" Lydial asked. "Don't you mean up? That's where Barcain, and Radovid, and all his men went. That's where the Sword is."

Geralt shook his head. "No. We're going down."

"What? You're okay with them getting the Sword?"

"They're not going to find the Sword, Lydial. I -"

"But they are," she interrupted, an urgent tone in her voice. "Barcain has Holsted's journal. It gives a description of its location."

The witcher peered into the elf's eyes for a long moment.

"Lydial," he said calmly. "Do you trust me?"

She stared back and then let out a small sigh.

"Yes, of course."

The witcher gave a small nod.

"Okay…then let's get off this mountain."

oOo

Barcain lowered the torch to the open case, and then he, himself, leaned over to get a closer look. Inside the box was a very long and slender object wrapped up in different types of cloth, though most of the cloth was disintegrated. He reached out and began to pull the cloth away to reveal a sword inside its rusty sheath. The air seemed to go out of Barcain as he got his first glimpse, and the smile fell from his face. The sword and sheath looked very unimpressive.

"Well, who cares what it looks like," he whispered to himself. "I only care how it handles."

He placed the torch to his side and reached down with both hands – one grasping the scabbard. He paused just as his right hand was about to grip the sword's handle for he heard a loud yell echoing down into the chasm from up above. He jerked his head upward and squinted into the darkness. He heard more and more shouts in the distance, and then, to his surprise, he heard yelling getting closer and closer and coming fast. His eyes went wide as he realized someone was falling towards the chasm floor. Suddenly, the approaching shout stopped as a body smashed into the rocky ground nearby. Barcain was breathing fast, wondering just what the hell was happening up above.

Whatever it was, he knew it wasn't good. Now, more than ever, he needed the Sword. He turned back towards the box, knelt down, and grasped the hilt with his right hand and quickly unsheathed the blade. He paused, staring at the sword, expecting something fantastic to happen – expecting a sense of magic or power to pulsate through his body. Instead, there was nothing. With a look of confusion on his face, he then swung the sword through the air and then thrust the blade forward, all the while picturing a deadly curse exploding from its tip. But the only explosion he heard was the sound of another Redanian soldier's body smashing against the chasm floor after falling from above.

A moment later, the rest of the soldiers at the bottom of the abyss gathered together close to Barcain, the yells of their falling comrades getting their attention and drawing them near.

"What the hell is going on?" asked one.

"We gotta get up there!" shouted another, as he moved towards the rope.

Quickly the others followed him and began climbing up towards the top, but Barcain simply stood still – too in shock over the sword's apparent lack of power.

"I don't understand," he whispered to himself, looking down at the blade in his hand.

Was there something that he needed to do to activate the Sword's abilities? Was this even the actual Sword of Destruction? But, if not, then where was it? It was impossible that anyone had it. Otherwise, they'd have been using it during the last millennium.

"Was the whole damn thing a hoax?" he whispered.

Barcain was suddenly pulled from his thoughts by screams coming from above. He quickly backpedaled as the five soldiers who had just ascended the rope came falling out of the darkness to their deaths on the rocks of the chasm floor. A moment later, he noticed that the rope itself fell to the floor, as well. It had either snapped or been cut.

And, then, the cavern went quiet. The southerner heard no more screams. There was no shouting nor the noise of battle coming from above. And, then, he heard it – a skittering sound coming down the chasm wall. With a shaky hand, he raised the torch above him and squinted into the darkness. He saw the fire reflecting off something that was crawling down towards him, and whatever they were, they were approaching fast. Before he even had the chance to turn and run, he heard a rustling sound, and suddenly, he yelled out as his vision was filled with an apparition-like whiteness.

oOo

"Vladimir, pass the bottle," ordered one of the Redanians sitting around the campfire on a large log.

As he was reaching for the bottle, he noticed something in his peripheral vision. He quickly turned his head to see a large, dark object flying straight at him. The object hit him in the chest, knocking him off his log and causing him to let out a yelp. He – along with his comrades – quickly scrambled to their feet and gazed at a large, black cloak balled up near the campfire. Suddenly, the cloak opened up and out jumped three, very angry Rodospinas – more commonly known as thorny, mountain-badgers. And chaos ensued.

The Rodospinas were not large – about the size of a very large cat – but they were fierce and covered with sharp, spear-like spines that they could powerfully expel from their bodies when attacked, which they did in that moment. Several of the soldiers yelled out in pain as the little creatures' spines shot through the air and pierced their necks and faces, and one unfortunate Redanian fell backward into the campfire. Several of his friends tried to pull him from the flames while his screams of agony added to the confusion.

At the same time, an incredibly loud explosion occurred about halfway between where the horses where tied up and the blazing campfire. Several minutes before, the witcher had sliced through the rope to which the horses were all tied, so when his Samum bomb detonated, it not only temporarily stunned and blinded the Redania soldiers but it also frightened their mounts. The horses immediately scattered – all of them hightailing it from the campsite.

As soon as he saw the horses fleeing down the mountain, the witcher – on the opposite side of the camp from where he'd freed Lydial – cast an Igni and set the tent next to him on fire. Then, as fast as he could – half-running and half-hopping along on his wooden leg - he began heading towards the rendezvous point, pausing only long enough to set each subsequent tent on fire as he passed by them.

Within a minute, Geralt was near the trail that led down the mountain, and he saw Lydial and Malek on horseback riding fast in his direction. Malek had an extra set of reins in his hand and was leading a spare horse for the witcher. Geralt began climbing up the embankment towards the trail but, suddenly fell down, face first in the snow, when he stepped into a deep snow drift. As he was scrambling to get to his feet, he saw several Redanians out of the corner of his eye. They had just stepped out of the campsite and had their crossbows aimed at the backs of Lydial and Malek. Before he even had a chance to yell a warning, the soldiers fired their weapons.

Lydial's horse let out a horrible scream as one crossbow bolt penetrated its hindquarter and another pierced a back leg, and the mount instantly crashed to the ground, tossing the she-elf into the air. Malek had just seen Geralt step out of the shadows and hop onto the trail when he heard Lydial's horse bellow behind him, and he turned in the saddle to see Lydial landing hard, a huge cloud of snow billowing into the air around her. He immediately turned back towards the witcher and threw the reins of the extra horse towards him, and then he spurred his horse back in Lydial's direction.

Malek's eyes were shifting rapidly from Lydial – who was just standing up – to the half-dozen soldiers near the campsite who were busily re-cocking their crossbows and aiming in his and Lydial's direction. His eyes went wide as, suddenly, three of the soldiers were mysteriously lifted off their feet and tossed head-over-end into the darkness. The big man tugged the reins to the right, and as soon as he had passed Lydial – who was now running down the slope – he pulled back and to the left – spinning his horse on a button. He snapped the reins, and the horse's hooves dug into the snow and soil and shot forward – back in the direction from which he'd just come. Malek leaned down in the saddle, and as his mount passed by the fleeing she-elf, the big man scooped her up in his left arm like she was nothing more than a rag-doll and pulled her in front of him on top of the horse.

The witcher was now in the saddle of his mount and watching Malek's incredible skill of horsemanship. Geralt's eyes drifted over the southerner's shoulder to see a handful of soldiers aiming their crossbows in his and Lydial's direction. Just like before, they were suddenly and mysteriously lifted off their feet and flung through the air a great distance away. However, one of the Redanians was able to let loose with his crossbow just as he was being tossed through the air, and the bolt drove right into the backside of Malek's left shoulder.

"What the hell?" whispered the witcher, as he furrowed his brow at what he'd just seen.

But he didn't have time to pause and contemplate it because, a second later, Malek and Lydial blew past him on their horse. He glanced quickly at the Redanian camp, where he could hear frantic yelling coming from several directions. His eyes took in the flames rising high from the soldiers' tents, causing shadows to dance all across the tall mountain trees. He scanned the darkness one final time and then immediately turned and rode after Lydial, leaving the burning Redanian camp in his wake.

oOo

Barcain was lying completely immobilized on the chasm floor, and he was covered from chest to ankle in an incredibly strong net consisting of a white, sticky, string-like substance. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't free himself. In fact, the harder he struggled and the more that he tried to move, the more entangled it seemed that he became. So, he finally just stopped and lay still, waiting for his death.

"It's not fair," he thought to himself. All that he'd ever wanted was to make a difference, like his uncle Malek.

There were still a handful of lit torches strewn about on the ground, and he lifted his head to watch the unknown creatures hidden by the darkness coming in his direction. He swallowed hard as he could hear noises getting nearer and nearer – sounds that, without a doubt, could only be produced by post-Conjunction creatures.

Even though he was expecting monsters, his eyes still went wide and he sucked in his breath as several large, black, hairy spiders – each the size of a horse - became visible in the light of the torches. He involuntarily shivered as he saw the flames of fire reflecting off their glass-like eyes. He swallowed again and closed his eyes tightly, for he didn't particularly want to see their jaws up close when they began their feast. But as the seconds passed, he finally realized that he couldn't hear the monsters getting any closer.

"Open your eyes," came a silky and somewhat regal voice coming from the direction of his feet.

Confusion immediately flooded Barcain's mind, and he opened his eyes as ordered. He lifted his head off the chasm floor to see who – or what – had just spoken. And, then, out of the darkness crawled a monster that was straight out his nightmares. It looked like one of the cursed statues he'd seen in Aerensoska's mausoleum back in Gearrlon – half creature and half human.

Its lower body was no different than the giant spiders that were currently surrounding him – an enormous, black abdomen and thorax with eight, hairy legs. But, unlike the rest, this unique monster had a human chest, arms, and head protruding from the top of its body. The human parts, just like the spider portion, were also giant-sized. They looked to be at least twice the size of a normal human, and they were covered with thick, bristly, black hairs all the way up to the neck.

When Barcain looked at the creature's face, he did a double-take. He'd seen this person before, in the caverns atop the Tir Torchair mountains. But she didn't look exactly the same anymore. Now, her hair was wiry and stuck out of her head in every direction, and it appeared that she had fangs of some type protruding from her mouth. But it was her eyes that Barcain noticed the most. She had the same lifeless, completely black eyes of her spider brethren, and just above her two, large "human" eyes was a row of four smaller, spider eyes across her forehead. He involuntarily shuddered.

Barcain looked at the abomination before him and thought that his heart was about the explode from his chest, it was beating so fast and hard. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was completely dry.

"The witch…Eilhart?" he rasped out.

"Indeed," Philippa answered, and then she let out a small laugh. "Perhaps, O'Dimm was right. The look on your face brings me great joy. Though…it compares nothing to what I felt when I saw the look on his face."

At that, she lifted one of her human hands to show the decapitated head of King Radovid the Stern.

"This shall be a keep-sake. Even after his flesh rots off, I'll keep his skull as a memento – a reminder of the fear in his eyes when he saw me in all my glory."

She then lowered the head to her side.

"But before he died, I did take extreme pleasure in torturing him. He confirmed the existence of the powerful, elven sword – that it was thought to be down in this cave."

Eilhart then walked slowly forward until her entire body was above Barcain's, her eight legs straddling him. She then leaned her human torso low, bringing her face down close to his. He could see dried blood on her lips and chin.

"So, did you find it?"

Barcain knew that he was a dead man – no matter what he answered, and in that moment, his thoughts suddenly turned toward his family – to Angel, Abelard, and his mother. And to his two living relatives – Lydial and Malek. Finally, he nodded his head.

"I did," he answered, "I have it here in my hand, but it did nothing for me. There's no power or magic in it, at all. Turns out that the whole damn thing was a joke. Nothing but a myth. People died for nothing."

"Well, we shall see if you're being truthful. And if you are, then I'll simply interrogate your grandmother next." Upon seeing the look on Barcain's face, she laughed. "Oh, yes, Radovid revealed that he was holding her and your Uncle Malek hostage on the other side of the ridge. And I am so ever looking forward to having a visit with him. I'll keep his skull as a souvenir, as well."

Then, Philippa bent down further, just inches away from Barcain's face. She spread her monstrous mouth wide, her fangs ready to pierce his flesh. His cries echoed throughout the cave until, finally, there was nothing but silence.