Book 3: The Wolf Dies
Chapter 8
"Drink this," ordered the witcher.
Malek, sitting on the ground and leaning back against his horse's saddle, glanced at the vial in Geralt's hands and then looked into the witcher's eyes. But he didn't reach for the potion.
"If I was gonna kill you, I'd have done it back in the mountains," growled the witcher. "This one's safe for humans. Now, drink it – unless you wanna die."
The southerner, with the left side of his upper torso exposed, nodded his head slightly and grabbed the vial from the witcher's hand.
The two men and Lydial had ridden hard all night. They'd only stopped near a small creek as the sun was rising because they knew that their horses would die if they rode them any longer without a rest. Geralt didn't know exactly where they were – just that they were in a forested area somewhere between the Dragon Mountains and northern Redania.
"Why didn't you kill me?" Malek asked, after downing the health potion.
Geralt was quiet for a moment, his eyes boring into Malek's, before he finally spoke.
"I trust that God will take care of you – one way or the other." He then turned and continued with his preparations.
"God will take care of me? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Did I stutter, or are you just stupid? What's so hard to understand?" Geralt said coldly. "God – in his justice - will either rightly punish you for all the hell you've done against him – including killing my wife. Or…in his mercy, he'll forgive you…if you turn to him in repentance."
The witcher then shook his head.
"Personally, the way I'm feeling right now, I hope it's the former. Perhaps, in time, he'll change my heart so that I'll hope it's the latter, but either way…it's out of my hands."
Malek's eyes narrowed as he looked at Geralt.
"So, you're…you're actually willing to forgive me for what I did? How? I can't even forgive myself."
The witcher turned his face away from Malek. He looked down to the ground, his eyes scanning – but not truly seeing - all of his alchemical ingredients laid out before him. His thoughts were elsewhere. Finally, he sighed and spoke.
"It's probably going to take me some time. Maybe a long time. But, yeah…I'm trying to forgive you." He then lifted his head and looked at Malek. "How can I not? I've offended the holy God of the universe more egregiously than you've ever wronged me. And, yet, he has somehow found it in himself to forgive me. If he's willing to do that, then…how could I ever withhold forgiveness to someone else – including you?"
"So…you're a peace-loving witcher now…because you found religion?"
Malek's tone wasn't mocking, just baffled, but Geralt didn't bother to answer. He simply went back to his preparations.
"So, if I came at you with a sword, you'd just…let me cut you down?"
The witcher slowly turned to face the big man.
"Try it," the monster-slayer said very calmly. "I'd love for you to."
"Then, I'm confused, Witcher. How about you explain it to me?"
Geralt exhaled deeply.
"It's simple. I'll still kill – in a heartbeat – to save a life. Especially someone else's. But I will never kill out of vengeance again – ever. That's God's business. I learned my lesson. Evie is dead because -" but he didn't finish. He just shook his head and looked away.
Malek furrowed his brow at the witcher's words, but he didn't say anything. He just stared closely at the white-haired man in front of him as he, again, turned his focus back to what he'd been preparing.
Geralt then picked up a small, metal bowl that had a greasy paste in it. He moved over to Malek's side and rubbed the paste over the shaft of the crossbow bolt that was sticking out of the back of Malek's shoulder. He then rubbed it around the entry wound, making the big man wince a little.
"This has antiseptic properties," Geralt said quietly, as if he was talking to himself.
He then grabbed something from the ground next to him and held it out in front of the southerner.
"This is gonna hurt like hell," the witcher said. "You might want to bite down on this."
Based on the arrow's point of entry and the angle of its shaft, Geralt had earlier calculated that the easiest course of action would be to simply push the arrow head straight through the flesh of Malek's shoulder and through the other side. Trying to pull it out would rip his shoulder to shreds. The witcher had already broken off the end of the shaft that contained the fletchings.
Malek gave a half-smile to the witcher and then placed the cut piece of leather in between his teeth. He bit down hard, clenched his fists, and gave a nod of his head. Geralt grabbed Malek's shoulder with his left hand, put his right palm against the end of the broken crossbow bolt, and then shoved as hard as he could.
oOo
Nilfgaard
Fringilla was sitting at her bedroom table, nervously staring at the vision in the bowl when she heard a knock on her chamber door. She immediately ended the magical spell, causing the vision to disappear. She rose from the chair, cinched her robe a bit more tightly around her body, and stopped briefly in front of a mirror. More than satisfied with her magically-enhanced looks, she quickly cast a spell to freshen her breath and then continued towards the door. She opened it to find the emperor of Nilfgaard, with several of his royal guards behind him.
"May I come in, Cousin?"
"Just you or everyone?"
Donato smiled. "I think I can trust you."
He then turned back to his guards. "I'll be five minutes."
After entering Fringilla's living quarters, he made himself comfortable on her sofa.
"I'm glad that you finally decided to move here to the royal palace," he said. "For a while there, I was thinking that you were trying to avoid me."
"Not at all. I just really didn't want to leave our family estate. You know how much I've always loved it."
Donato nodded. "I do, and…speaking of family, I've got news for you."
"Are you finally sending me to Beauclair? You did promise me the duchy for my assistance."
"I did, and I am," he answered with a smile. "But…there has been a slight change of plans."
Fringilla's face remained of mask of stoicism, but her voice was icy. "What change?"
"Congratulations, Cousin. You are to be married."
"To whom?" she asked slowly.
"To Count Petit-Durand."
The sorceress glared at her cousin.
"I am quite familiar with the man. He is vile. I won't do it."
"He is…an acquired taste, I admit, but, Gilla, please understand. He's also the wealthiest noble in all of Toussaint, and since our dear Anarietta's untimely demise, it seems that he's consolidated quite a bit of power within the duchy. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that he has become…the de facto ruler. In the half-year since Toussaint has been without a monarch, it seems that the nobles have become quite accustomed to being in charge. We need to make an alliance with the man – and with all the nobles and peasants that he controls. He has agreed to become your husband…and your duke."
"How gracious of him," she said snidely. "You've been emperor little more than a month, and you're already being pushed around like a street urchin."
Donato's face changed immediately, and then he slowly stood.
"You know nothing of politics," he spoke with steel in his voice. "I don't want bloodshed…and we can't afford another war at this time, anyway. Not so soon after the disaster Emhyr led us into up north. I'm giving you the chance to be the duchess of Toussaint. I don't expect to ask you again."
The petite sorceress also stood and looked Donato squarely in the eye.
"He told me not to trust you," she said, shaking her head.
"Who?"
"Good day, Your Grace. I expect that you can see yourself out."
And then she turned and headed to her bedchambers, closing the door behind her.
oOo
Malek laid back against the saddle, and he gazed down at his shoulder as Geralt quickly stitched up his anterior wound. He'd already stitched up the entry wound on the back side. The southerner had received enough stitches in his lifetime to easily recognize the witcher's expertise, but it was also clear that he wasn't going out of his way to be slow or gentle.
Now that the pain receptors in his brain weren't exploding, his mind was clear enough to ask the question that had come to him earlier. However, before he could ask his question, Geralt beat him to the punch.
"You got something magical on you. What is it?" asked the witcher as he kept stitching up the wound.
"How do you know?"
"My medallion. It's vibrated several times."
Malek nodded and then slowly reached up with his right hand to pull the collars of both his coat and his shirt away from his neck. Around his neck was a thin piece of leather from which dangled a small, purple amulet.
"What is it?" asked Geralt, who had finally stopped with the medical procedure and was looking at the circular, glass-like object.
"After our encounter in Novigrad, when you hexed my mind, I asked Miss Vigo if she could craft something that might counteract your magic. I didn't particularly like being at your mercy."
"And yet, here you are. Your life in my hands."
"Yeah, quite ironic."
"Wanna see if it actually works?" asked Geralt, nodding at the amulet.
"Alright."
The witcher cast an Axii Sign at Malek and then said, "Cluck like a chicken."
Malek looked at Geralt, smirked, and then said, "Go cluck yourself."
The witcher gave a nod of his head.
"Looks like it works," he said. "Crafting magical amulets always was one of Fringilla's specialties."
He then immediately turned his attention back to Malek's shoulder. The southerner watched Geralt continue to work for a moment, then said, "Now, I've got a question for you."
The witcher just grunted.
"You explained why you didn't kill me in the tent," Malek started, "but 'forgiveness' doesn't explain why you cut me loose. You could've easily left me there on that mountain. And 'forgiveness' doesn't explain why you're helping me now."
Geralt stopped what he was doing for just a second to stare into the large man's eyes. He then nodded.
"Let me finish up here, then we'll have a nice long chat."
Malek furrowed his brow but nodded back.
Five minutes later, Malek wounds were stitched up and slathered in healing balm. He was fully dressed, sitting opposite Lydial, who had returned with the horses. Earlier, Geralt had told her to lead them a good distance away so that they wouldn't get spooked by any of Malek's painful grunts or thrashing about when the arrow was removed.
Finally, the witcher finished putting away his gear and sat down on the ground, resting his back against a nearby tree, his right leg straight out in front of him. He stared at Malek and shook his head as a contemplative look crossed his face.
"You know – it just dawned on me. I spent a lot of time patching up Evie, too. Kind of – I don't know the word I'm looking for – coincidental…appropriate, maybe."
Malek didn't say anything. He just looked back at Geralt with a slightly confused expression on his face. He was about to respond when the witcher spoke again.
"You asked me why I'm helping you."
He then paused and looked up into the blue sky, partially obscured by the forest's canopy. He closed his eyes and kept them closed for several long moments, just breathing slow and steady. Finally, he opened his eyes, exhaled deeply, and he looked back at Malek.
"Evie was the love of my life," he said quietly. "And I know her – know what she would've wanted me to do. She'd want me to show kindness and compassion…and forgiveness…to her father."
Malek just blinked his eyes several times but didn't say a word.
"What?" asked Lydial in a high voice. "Geralt, what are you talking about it?"
But Geralt never looked in Lydial's direction. He just kept staring ahead right at Emhyr's former right-hand man.
"Why didn't you ever tell her…that you were her father?"
Malek shook his head. "I…I never knew. I suspected, but I never knew."
He then looked away, lost in thought, before turning back to Geralt.
"Did she tell you? Is that how you know?"
The witcher shook his head. "As far as I know, she never knew, either."
"Then how…how do you know?"
"Her blood."
"What? I don't…"
"I had a friend perform some magical spells on her blood in order to find Lydial. It was supposed to show Evie's closest, blood relative, which should have been Barcain. But the vision showed you instead. Which can only mean one thing."
Malek was breathing very heavy. "So, Evangeline…she…she really was my daughter?"
The witcher nodded back.
Then, the look on Malek's face changed – revealing the thought they had just come to his mind.
"I killed my own daughter," he whispered, his voice breaking.
Geralt simply nodded again.
Malek closed his eyes and bowed his head. After a moment, he slowly got to his feet, looked at Geralt one last time, and then turned and walked off into the forest.
oOo
Dragon Mountains
Philippa stood atop the ridge and looked down to the other side. She was flanked on either side by two arachnomorphs. While she had ultimately been victorious against Radovid and his nearly-one-hundred men in the mountain gorge, the battle had proven costly. The two giant spiders were all that were left of her arachnid army, and they were both making clicking noises.
"Yes, yes, my dears," she said in a soothing voice to both of them, "I know that you're cold."
Peering down the mountain slope, she saw what looked to be smoke rising up into the clear morning air several miles away. She then smiled.
"But it looks like our prey are in sight. A nice battle, followed by a feast…that should warm you up."
oOo
Lydial wiped the tears from her cheeks.
"Do you think he's going to be okay?" she asked.
It'd been at least a half an hour since Malek had first walked off into the forest. During that time, Lydial had done a lot of crying, not only from the latest, shocking news, but also because she'd finally gotten the opportunity to ask Geralt the countless questions she had - about Evie's last moments in the cave and about what had happened to him since she'd seen him last.
"I have no idea," Geralt answered. "Would you be okay if you'd just found out you'd killed your own daughter?"
"No. No, I wouldn't," said Lydial, shaking her head. She then let out a long sigh. "Geralt, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"Back at the campsite, you told me that the Sword wasn't on the mountain. If you know where it is, then why did you even bother to track us down? Why didn't you just go get it instead?"
Geralt looked back at her with a furrowed brow.
"Lydial, I tracked you down…to save you," the witcher answered. "I, obviously, didn't know that Barcain was serving Radovid, but I did think that he and Malek were working for Emhyr, which is just as bad, in my opinion, and I wanted to get you away from them. You're much important to me than the Sword is. You're…family."
Lydial smiled warmly at Geralt, and then she got up from where she was sitting and started walking towards him. Seeing her approach, Geralt got to his feet. She stopped just a foot away from him and then looked him in the eyes.
"Thank you, Geralt. You're a true friend."
And then she put her arms around him and hugged him.
The witcher stood rigid for just a moment, but eventually he closed his eyes and embraced her back. As he held her, his thoughts ran to the one place where they always ended up. To the one person that was always on his mind. And, suddenly, he felt something break inside of him. He squeezed her more tightly and tried to say something, but he couldn't speak. The knot in his throat was so thick that he could barely breathe.
"I miss her, Lydial," he finally whispered. "God, how I miss her."
Upon hearing his words and the heartache in his voice, Lydial started crying, but she didn't let go of him. In fact, she squeezed him harder.
"She knew how much you loved her, Geralt. She knew. When you weren't around, she and I talked about it. And she loved you so much," said Lydial, as the tears fell. "I'd never seen her so happy – ever." Then, she began sobbing. "Let's…let's hold on to that memory…of how much she loved us."
Geralt didn't say anything. He just nodded, and the two of them stood there in the forest, just hugging each other tightly and not saying another word – because there was really nothing else they needed to say.
oOo
Thirty minutes later Geralt and Lydial were still waiting for Malek to return. During that time, they'd rubbed down their horses and led them back to the stream to get another drink of water. Geralt was repacking his saddle bags and placing them back on his horse when Lydial asked, "So, what do we do now? Do we go after the Sword? Do you even know where it is?"
"That's something I'd like to know, too," said Malek, who had just walked up on the two.
Geralt almost laughed at him. "Like I'd tell you. Just because I'm doing my best to forgive you doesn't mean I trust you."
Malek nodded. "Then…let me earn your trust."
"And just how do you propose to do that?"
"I don't know," he answered, shaking his head. "But you've got to let me help."
"Yeah? And why's that?"
"For Evangeline. Please…let me make it up to her. I've wasted my whole life…fighting for the wrong thing – for Nilfgaard instead of for the people I love. I should've fought for Hannamiel all those years ago. She and I loved each other, but she wouldn't leave Holsted, even though it was a completely loveless marriage. She said that she knew my career would be over if I married a half-elf, and that she wouldn't let me throw my career away. But, damn it, I should have fought for her, showed her that we were meant to be together, no matter the cost. And I should've fought for Evangeline."
He looked intently at Lydial and then back at Geralt.
"This may be sad to say, but…you two are the closest thing to family that I have left. Let me come with you, please. I promise you - I'll never pick the wrong side again."
Geralt was quiet for a long time. Finally, he turned to Lydial.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"Well, I've gotten to know him fairly well in the last month. I…I think he's being sincere."
The witcher shook his head and sighed. Then, he looked up towards the sky.
"Swell," he whispered to himself.
He then looked at Malek and nodded his head.
"Fine. You can come along."
Malek looked Geralt intently in the eyes and nodded back. He then walked forward and extended his hand.
"Thank you, Geralt."
The witcher paused for a moment – his eyes shifting between Malek's face and his outstretched hand. Finally, he nodded back and then slowly grasped Malek's hand and shook.
"Yeah…I just hope this doesn't come back to bite me in the ass."
"Me, too," agreed Malek, with a small smile. "So, where are we heading?"
Geralt shook his head. "I honestly don't know."
"What?" asked Lydial. "I thought you knew."
Geralt just shook his head.
"Then, how do you know the Sword isn't actually back there, in the Dragon Mountains?"
The witcher raised his eyebrows slightly.
"It's a pretty unbelievable tale."
For the next ten minutes, Geralt recounted to Lydial and Malek the events that had happened during the storm atop the Tir Torchair mountains. He explained the appearance of the mysterious, light-emitting butterfly and how it miraculously was able to fly through the raging wind and rain until it landed right on his outstretched hand. He told them of how it then led him back into the cavern, down into the abyss, and to the small scroll next to the Aen Seidhe corpse that had held all the other Essean scrolls.
"So, I have no idea what Essea wants me to do with the Sword, but I am convinced that he wants me to find it…because there is no earthly explanation for the existence of that little, glowing butterfly. That had to be from God," said Geralt, finishing up his story.
"Do you still have the scroll?" asked Lydial excitedly.
Geralt shook his head. "It got destroyed when I fell in a river."
"But you remember what it said?" asked Malek.
"Yeah, it wasn't very long. Just a few sentences. Though, it was in the older version of the Elder speech so there were a handful of words I just couldn't decipher. But I think I got the gist of it. It was written by some elf named Maccarreg who -"
Lydial gasped, interrupting him. "Maccarreg was one of the sons of Gaineamh, the Aen Seidhe prophet and priest!"
"Alright, if you say so," said Geralt. "Anyway, he had the Sword in his possession. He wrote that he was on his way to toss it into the ocean but that he'd received a vision from Essea while he was up in the Dragon Mountains. Told him not to destroy the Sword, but - and here's the part I don't understand – to hide it in some woman's belly."
"Well, that doesn't make any sense," said Malek.
"Yeah, I know."
"Are you sure you read it right?"
"No, I'm not."
"Wait, Geralt," said Lydial. "Do you remember exactly what it said?"
"Yeah. Maccarreg wrote that he hid the Sword in Dealande's womb. I'm assuming Dealande is a woman. I don't know of any males that have wombs."
"Dealande? That means 'butterfly' in the older variant of the Elder Speech," said Lydial.
"Well, that makes even less sense," said Malek. "How did he hide a sword in a butterfly's stomach?"
"Wait!" Lydial said suddenly. Then, she quickly reached into her satchel and pulled out a thick scroll. She looked at both men, and a small smile came to her face.
"I stole it while Barcain wasn't looking. I couldn't get all the scrolls back, but I, at least, got this one."
She then began skimming quickly through the pages. After a few minutes, she stopped, her finger in mid-page, and looked at Geralt.
"I was right," she said, with a big smile. "Dealande was the name of the mountain on top of which sat the original Holy Temple of Essea. The temple that the Aen Seidhe originally built after Essea first brought them to the Continent from across the Great Sea."
"So, he hid the Sword inside the mountain?" asked Malek.
Lydial shrugged. "I…I don't know."
"Does it say where this mountain is located exactly?" asked Geralt, nodding at the scroll. "Or about it having a 'womb?'"
"Give me second," she said, before skimming through the scroll again.
Eventually, after a few minutes, she looked up, a frown on her face.
"No, there's nothing here about a 'womb' or a 'stomach.' And it doesn't give an exact location either, but it does mention that it's in the southern part of the land, in between two large rivers. And it doesn't appear that it was part of a large mountain chain. It was an isolated hill surrounded by a few, smaller hills. It had a river flowing down from it. And that it got its name because of the hundreds – if not thousands – of butterflies that lived near it for much of the year."
"Holy…damn," whispered Geralt.
Malek and Lydial immediately looked at the witcher.
"I think I know where that is," he said quietly, looking at both of them. "I'm pretty sure that I've been to that mountain. With all the butterflies."
"Where is it?" whispered Lydia, leaning forward.
"The other end of the Continent," answered Geralt. Then, he clenched his jaws. "In Nilfgaard."
"Then, I'd say we've had a long enough rest," said the elf. "We best be on our way."
The witcher reached up and smoothed down the whiskers on his cheeks.
"Lydial, I…I don't think you should come along."
"And why is that?"
The witcher let out a long sigh.
"Because we're all gonna die – that's why," he stated, staring right at her.
The she-elf smiled. "Are you a prophet now?"
"I'm serious, Lydial," he replied, looking into her the eyes. "And no, I'm not a prophet, but I don't have to be. It's just common sense. I've had enough loved ones die already because of this damn Sword. I don't want to lose you, too."
"Geralt, we're all going to die – at some point," she replied, the smile now gone from her face. "And none of us know when. Could be today. Could be in another century. But, regardless of when it happens, for us who know Essea, it's actually a good thing. And I've been on this journey with you almost the entire way. Let's finish it together."
The witcher shook his head. "You don't understand, Lydial. It's not just the Sword that's dangerous. I've got…someone or some…thing after me."
"Who?"
Geralt paused for moment. He looked at the two of them, debating on what to say – if he should even continue at all. In his mind, even though he knew it didn't make sense, he thought that by even telling them his name, they'd be crossing a bridge from which they could never return. As if, just by knowing his name, that they would then become his next target. He looked down to the ground, lost in thought, until he eventually gave a small sigh.
"His name's Gaunter O'Dimm," he finally said, looking back up at the two of them, "and he's like…nothing I've ever encountered."
"You said that he could be a 'thing.' What did you mean by that?" asked Malek.
"Truthfully – I don't know what he is, but I can tell you - he's not human. He could be a demon, an evil djinn, or, hell, the devil, himself. But whatever he is, he's more powerful than anyone or anything I've ever come across. And it's not even close."
"How powerful?" asked Lydial, now sounding a bit frightened.
"He can stop time, Lydial. Literally stop time with just a clap of his hands."
"But how…how is that possible?"
Geralt shook his head. "I have no idea. But I've seen it."
"Well, what does this O'Dimm want with you?"
"I don't rightly know, but earlier this year, he roped me into one of his schemes. I didn't play along exactly like he wanted, and he ended up losing something valuable to him. So, my best guess is that he just wants revenge for what I did."
"If he's as powerful as you say, why doesn't he just stop time, and then kill you?"
"Again, I don't know. He easily could if he wanted. I've seen him do it."
Geralt shook his head and then continued.
"I don't know for sure, but I…I think more than anything – more than even killing – he just enjoys causing people to suffer. But not the kind that you can learn from and grow from, where you end up stronger when you come out on the other side. No, he just wants to bring torment. The kind of suffering that crushes your soul, strips you of all peace and leaves you hopeless."
The witcher gave a slight nod.
"I think that's what he wants the most – to leave the world feeling hopeless. And then, when you're at your rock bottom, he'll swoop in and just make things worse."
"How could he possibly make things worse than that?" Lydial asked in a soft voice.
"By playing on your worst fears…and your strongest desires. To the point that you'll even forsake your own soul."
"And you're sure he's after you?" asked Malek.
The witcher nodded.
"Positive. He confronted me in the mountains right after Evie died." He then turned to Lydial. "I also saw him in the papaver den in Azabar, the night Benny was killed. Though, I wasn't sure at the time it was him. I thought I was just…hallucinating from the drugs in the air."
"So, what you're saying is that when this O'Dimm guy shows up, people die," said Lydial.
"Not just people, Lydial. People I care about," said Geralt. "Now you see why I don't want you coming along?"
"Son of a bitch," interjected Malek.
Both Lydial and Geralt suddenly looked at the big man to see fury on his face. He was looking right at the witcher.
"What?"
"You said you've seen him stop time before, right?" asked Malek.
Geralt nodded.
"Can he move people – their bodies – while time is stopped? Put them in different positions – something like that?"
"Definitely. Why?"
"It was him. There's no other explanation. That son of a bitch moved my arm when I fired at Eilhart. He's the one who killed Evangeline."
oOo
Nilfgaard
Fringilla sat at her bedroom table staring into a bowl filled with clean, clear water. She had just severed the magical connection between the amulet around her neck and that of her former lover. The two amulets – hers and his – were almost identical copies. Months back, when Malek had asked her to create something that would interfere with Geralt's ability to overtake his mind, she had gladly complied. Little did he know that she had also linked his amulet with hers as a way to both eavesdrop on him and to track his location.
At the moment, Fringilla just sat there, too stunned to get up. She was at a complete loss for words at the revelations she had just heard. The historian was not only Malek's daughter but she was also dead; the mythical Sword actually did exist and that it was close by in Nilfgaard; and there was some incredibly powerful being coming after Geralt. The petite sorceress was suddenly overwhelmed with fear for Malek. If this man named O'Dimm was targeting the witcher, then that meant whoever was with Geralt would be in danger, too. She had the sudden urge to go to Malek, to do whatever she could to protect him.
"But he's made it clear, he doesn't want me…or trust me," she whispered to herself as she turned her head from the bowl and looked out her third-floor window.
In a hidden, narrow passageway right next to Fringilla's bed chamber, sat a man all alone. All along the wall that connected her boudoir with his secret chamber were several tiny holes that allowed the man to both see and hear what was happening on the other side.
Several minutes passed, and when Fringilla finally rose from the table and began to dress, the man quietly but quickly moved down the secret passageway. He had a lot to tell his new emperor.
oOo
The Dragon Mountains
Philippa looked around at the Redanian campsite and cursed. The snowy ground was covered in burned tents, body parts, and the bright crimson of human blood and the greenish bile from arachnid bowels. In addition to all the soldiers, her two remaining giant spiders had died in the skirmish at the campsite, as well. Though, frankly, that was not what was irritating her the most - for she knew she could always find more arachnomorphs to heed her call. Malek's absence from the camp was what had her blood boiling. She had been so looking forward to his painful demise.
As Philippa skittered around the campsite, she noticed more recent horse tracks leading down the mountain, and that got her attention. She headed in that direction, but she suddenly stopped when she felt a trace of magic in the air.
She raised her arms to her side and closed her eyes as she tried to pinpoint its location. Only the most knowledgeable and skilled of magic users knew that whenever the Power was used, it left a faint residue – like a scent of perfume lingering on a pillow long after a lover had departed. More so, if the magic user was powerful enough, their spells even had a distinct signature. As Philippa felt the pull of the Chaos, she quickly moved on all eight legs towards its origin, and a moment later she halted and simply began turning in a slow circle.
"Well, well," she said to herself with an evil and satisfied smile. "I recognize this magic. Just what were you doing here, old friend?"
She took one last look around the mountain terrain and said, "Well, it shouldn't be too difficult to find you."
The sorceress from Montecalvo then began chanting and waving her hands, and a few seconds later, after transforming into her owl form, she flew down the mountain chasing the scent of familiar magic still lingering in the air.
oOo
"Evie once told me that you are…well, that you were Nilfgaard's greatest patriot. That there wasn't anything you wouldn't do for the Empire. But I also once had a conversation with Barcain. He mentioned that you're not a true Nilfgaardian," said Geralt in Malek's direction. "Of course, at this point, I don't believe a word that ever came out of that little prick's mouth."
Geralt then turned his head and spoke over his shoulder.
"No offense meant, Lydial. I know you still love him."
Geralt and Lydial were co-riding the slightly larger of the two horses while Malek rode the other. The three of them were heading west towards the late afternoon sun, following the path of the Buina River, which ran down and out of the Kestral Mountains and formed the northern boundary of Redania. The river eventually emptied into the Gulf of Praxeda, and their plan was to follow it all the way there in order to find a ship sailing south to Nilfgaard. None of the three particularly wanted to travel all the way back down to the other end of the continent on horseback.
"No offense taken, Geralt," answered the Aen Seidhe. "I completely understand. I may still love him, but I don't trust him, either."
"And you didn't offend me, either. The little shit killed both Hannamiel and my best friend," said Malek. "When this is all over, I will definitely have to track him down. But," the big man continued, "he was telling the truth in that case. I wasn't born or raised in Nilfgaard. I'm originally from Ebbing."
The witcher nodded. While on the Path, he'd many times traveled through the province that was just north of Nilfgaard itself.
"Then – and I hope you don't mind me asking – but just how is that an Ebbinite came to be Nilfgaard's greatest patriot?"
Malek was silent for a moment, simply looking out in front of him. Geralt could tell he was deciding what to say. Eventually, he looked at the witcher and gave him a small nod before turning his eyes back to the terrain in front of his horse.
"Ebbing became a province of Nilfgaard before I was born, but we still had a lot of autonomy. We still had our own royal family that passed laws and decrees. They were subservient to the Emperor, of course, but they still had quite a bit of power within our country's boundaries.
"When I was six, the king of Ebbing died in a coup. His brother – and the brother's mage advisor – had tried to usurp the throne. They weren't successful in actually gaining power, but they did manage to throw the entire country into chaos…because the king didn't have a legitimate male heir. Only bastards. So, of course, a dispute arose over who should next wear the crown. Anyone and everyone with even a hint of royal blood came forth to stake their claim. And, then, of course, there were other noble families that claimed that they had true rights to the throne since their line had been usurped generations before. With everyone fighting for power, no one actually ruled, and it turned into anarchy.
"With our military leaders divided on who should rule – and even one of our generals trying to take the throne himself – our army turned against each other, which meant there was no rule of law in the land anymore. Chaos reigned. Crime became rampant. Bandits would just travel from town to town, doing whatever they pleased. I saw homes and crops burned. People…raped and murdered. It got to the point where – when we heard the hoof beats of horses approaching – we'd just flee into the woods."
Malek then turned to look at the witcher.
"You can't imagine the amount of fear we all lived under every day. Fear, that consumed your every thought. Even your dreams – turning them into nightmares. Always wondering if today would be the day that they'd finally get you and your family. And one day, our luck did run out."
At that point, Malek broke eye contact and looked straight ahead again.
"I watched my father tortured and murdered. I watched my mother and my sister tortured and raped." Malek exhaled deeply before continuing. "I can still hear their screams when I close my eyes at night. The bastards even had their fun with me. And then they left, promising that they'd be back. And I knew they would. If not them, then some others just like them.
"Mom died the next day, and my sister and I ended up more or less hiding in the woods for the next two years. We became scavengers, learning how to live off the land. At one point, we traveled to the nearest city, but…we wound up in the slums, which may have been even more dangerous than being out in the forests. So, we left and went back to the woods that we knew so well. Where we felt at least semi-safe.
"And, then, one day, I heard a different sound coming from our village. It was the sound of horses but not like bandits' horses charging through the streets like they normally would. It was slow and steady – measured. And I could hear a repeated clinking of metal. Letty and I hid at the edge of the woods and watched as rows and rows of black-armored men, both on horse and foot, entered our town. It was their armor, glistening in the sunlight, that was making the clinking noise. And I saw bandits being marched along with them, their hands tied behind their back. I watched as the bandits were hanged in the middle of town. I watched these Black Ones restore order to our town; re-establish law and peace, allowing us to live without fear again. And I wanted to be one of them. To wear the black armor and do what they had done.
"A little later, Letty and I moved to Vicovaro to live with my uncle…and my cousin, Holsted. But I never forgot the sight of those Nilfgaardians marching into our country and driving out the chaos. But I also never forgot the fear and shame I'd felt. I've never wanted any child to ever experience that, to experience what I went through. I swore then that I would do whatever was necessary to keep law and order in this world. And I always believed that Nilfgaard was the best option for that. Always believed that what was good for Nilfgaard was good for the world. So, when I got old enough, I left Vicovaro and headed south to the capital. With my size, strength, and…determination, it didn't take long for me to find a place within the Black Ones' ranks."
Malek then, again, looked over at Geralt and Lydial.
"Of course, I also never forgot what started it all. That one mage advisor, whispering his schemes in the king's brother's ear. It's why I've hated magic users virtually my entire life."
Geralt made eye contact with Malek and gave a small nod of his head, but, after a moment, he smirked.
"I guess some things have changed though. Otherwise, you wouldn't be wearing Fringilla's amulet."
Malek nodded and a sad smile came to his face. "Yeah, Fringilla…"
Just as he was about to continue with his thought, Geralt interrupted him with a whispered, "Whoa," and pulled up on his horse's reins.
"Lydial, get off," he quietly ordered.
She jumped off the back the horse, and he dismounted right after.
"What is it?" she whispered.
"Not sure," he said to both Lydial and Malek, who had also dismounted and was crowding close. "I thought I heard something up ahead."
"Really?" asked Malek. "All I can hear is the sounds of the river and forest."
"Trust him," said Lydial.
Geralt handed the reins to Lydial and said, "I'll be right back."
He immediately turned, drew his steel blade, and began walking toward the thick underbrush of the woods. Halfway there, his eyes slightly widened as he felt his medallion vibrate. He quickly sheathed his steel sword and, just as he was pulling his silver blade, a roar bellowed in the air, and a monster charged out of the underbrush.
The witcher dove to his right, and as he got to his feet, he signed a Quen right before a large, hard fist smashed into his chest. The Quen protection shattered, and he flew through the air, slamming hard against the trunk of a nearby tree.
At the same time, the two horses let out cries of fear and then reared up on their hind legs. Lydial's horse broke free from her grip and fled in the opposite direction. Malek's horse did the same when he let loose of the reins in order to grab his weapon, but when he dropped his hand to his thigh, it grasped nothing but air. He looked down, suddenly remembering that he'd been stripped of all of his weapons. He cursed and then jerked his eyes back up to the monster, which was, at that moment, charging towards the witcher.
Geralt got to his feet, quickly cast another Quen, and saw his enemy approaching fast. He immediately recognized it – one of the strange gargolems from Novigrad. Unbeknownst to the witcher, the magical construct was only a shell of its former self. Its magical core was nearly drained, which meant it had lost its ability to breathe fire, to teleport into the air, or fight with the same strength or speed. Even so, it was still very lethal, and it also still remembered its orders from the Emperor – to destroy everyone in its path. And at that moment, the witcher was in its sight.
Right as the gargolem approached Geralt, the witcher pirouetted to his left. As he came out of the turn, he slashed the twelve-foot-tall monster across its abdomen, but his razor-sharp blade only sliced into the creature's resilient flesh barely an inch. When Geralt's right, wooden leg landed on the soft soil, he lost his balance and slipped to the leaf-covered, forest floor. Now, flat on his back, he looked up to see the gargolem raise its massive leg, ready to smash him six-feet-deep into the ground. He quickly rolled to the side as the monster's foot just missed crushing his head by mere inches.
It was then that a massive bolt of lightning shot forth from out of the woods and struck the gargolem, slightly stunning and damaging the monster. Geralt took immediate advantage and scurried between the giant creature's legs and came up standing behind the gargolem's back. He slashed the creature across the back of its legs, but he could tell that his blade was doing little harm. He had enough experience with monsters to know that it'd take at least hundred slashes with his blade to finally bring it down.
He looked down to his bandolier, grasped a dimeritium bomb, and just as he looked up to toss it, the gargolem spun wildly, swinging its massive fist once more. The witcher hopped back, but with only one good leg with which to propel himself, he couldn't evade the blow. Once again, his Quen shield shattered and he was knocked through the air.
As fast as he could, Geralt scrambled to his feet, just in time to see Malek slinging rocks at the monster's head and also to witness another bolt of lightning blast forth from some unknown source in the woods. The lightning charge hit the gargolem in the chest, again temporarily stunning the agent of destruction. The witcher then tossed his dimeritium bomb at the now-immobile magical construct. He limped a few steps closer, and not even bothering with his silver blade, he cast the most powerful Blyx Sign he could at the monster's "heart."
As he was doing this, a third lightning bolt from the woods struck the monster. The witcher continued to blast the monster with his own lightning-like charges until, eventually, he simply had no more energy left. He then immediately crouched low, ready to dodge, if necessary. But the monster made no movement. The witcher looked up, towards the gargolem's face. Its eyes were black and lifeless, but Geralt knew that meant nothing. He tentatively took a couple of steps forward, and when his medallion did not vibrate, he quickly exhaled and nodded his head. Apparently, all the lightning bolt-like charges had destroyed the monster's magical core.
The witcher, still highly cautious, slowly approached the monster. He walked around it once, simply doing a visual inspection. Finally, he sheathed his silver sword, put both hands against the back of the gargolem and, with a grunt, pushed as hard as he could. With only one good leg, he couldn't produce a lot of force, but eventually, the gargolem began to tip forward, and then momentum took over, and it crashed face down onto the forest floor, causing the ground to shake. The witcher took a few steps forward and unsheathed his silver sword. He lifted the sword high, and then, with all of his weight behind him, he drove the blade down and through the monster's chest, skewering its magical center.
After pulling his sword free, Geralt winced, feeling pain throughout his body. Even with his Quen shield activated, the witcher had felt the monster's blows. He was going to be quite bruised. He reached into the small pouch on his belt, removed a Swallow, and slowly drank it down. After putting the metal vial back in the pouch, he looked up and scanned the woods.
"Yen," he eventually called out. "You can come out now. No sense in hiding anymore."
A moment later, the beautiful, black-haired sorceress stepped out from behind a tree and began to walk slowly toward the witcher.
"And just how did you deduce that it wasspecifically me who was coming to your aid?"
"I wasn't a hundred percent sure, but I thought I saw your little, magical raven this morning. It needs to work on its stealth."
The sorceress didn't say anything. She simply gave a very small snort.
"I'm…we're very grateful for your help, Yen," Geralt continued, as Malek and Lydial walked up. "But what are you doing here? What about the lab at Dol Blathanna?"
"Don't fret," she said. "I called in a chit. I have someone watching over the fetuses."
"Who's that?"
"Triss. After all that she'd done…I figured she owed me a favor. And she agreed."
"Fair enough," he said with a nod, "but you still haven't answered my question. What are you doing here? Why are you following me?"
Yennefer looked at Geralt intently, and then her eyes shifted to Malek and Lydial.
"I would like some privacy with Geralt…if that is not too much to ask," said the sorceress, looking hard at Malek.
"Right," the southerner said, equally matching her stare. He then turned to Geralt. "We'll track down our horses. Come on, Lydial."
After the two had walked away, Yennefer turned back to Geralt.
"Why am I following you? Because I…I was concerned for your safety, that's why."
"What?" the witcher asked, with a confused look on his face. "You've never been concerned when I was out on the Path. Why now?"
Yennefer shook her head. "You truly are clueless, Witcher. I've always been concerned. Every time."
"Really?" he asked, sounding incredulous. "You never followed me before, though. So, why now?"
The sorceress stared at him and then let out a clear sigh of frustration. "Because before, you'd never come back to me…with a limb missing."
The two stared into each other eyes for a long moment. Finally, the witcher nodded.
"Alright. I can buy that," he said.
oOo
Philippa flew just above the tree-tops of the forest. For the past two days, she'd been following the faint trail of Yennefer's magical raven. The magical signature was unmistakable to the sorceress from Montecalvo – for it had, in fact, been she who had many years ago originally taught Yennefer the necessary spells for enchanting a piece of crystal into a flying, intelligent bird. Thus, she was having no trouble in recognizing its magic.
Despite this, because the raven emitted such a small amount of magic, Philippa had, several times, lost its "scent" and had been forced to fly in ever-growing concentric circles until she finally came across it again. But, now, the "scent" was getting stronger – which meant that she was getting closer, much closer. She didn't know exactly what she'd find when she came across the sorceress from Vengerberg, but she assumed Malek would be there at the end of her journey. And that made the little owl smile inwardly. She couldn't wait to show Malek her new form.
oOo
A half hour after the battle with the gargolem, after having found their horses, the four of them were standing together near the river as the sun was starting to set. Geralt had given Yennefer the full details of the mission that they were undertaking, and she had been adamant about coming along. At first, the witcher had protested, saying that it was too dangerous, but he had eventually acquiesced – especially when it became clear that she would, as always, do what she wanted to do and that there was nothing that he could really do to stop her from following them, anyway.
"So, do we want to camp here tonight or ride on for a few more hours," asked Malek, looking at Geralt and Lydial.
"I have a better idea," said Yennefer, with a cool smile.
Malek looked at the sorceress but didn't respond.
"What's that, Yen?" asked Geralt.
"Instead of slowly traipsing across the continent – as we've been doing for the last two days – and instead of wasting time on a vomit-inducing, month-long voyage on a ship…how about I simply teleport us to this…holy mountain?"
Geralt didn't even bother to comment on her sarcasm. He simply looked at the others and then back to her.
"I don't know, Yen. Can you even teleport that far? It's all the way down in Nilfgaard."
The sorceress rolled her eyes.
"Geralt, you know very well that no one can teleport that far. But I could cast several between here and there. We'd get there eventually – in a matter of minutes instead of weeks."
"Yeah, but you'd be absolutely drained when we got there, right? How long would it take before you could use your magic again?"
Yennefer tapped her chin with her finger.
"I suspect that I'd need to rest for a couple of hours – three, at the most."
The witcher was silent, nodding his head for a moment. He then looked at everyone.
"How about this?" he started off. "Instead of teleporting to Mount Dealande, we go to the nearest town, Maecht."
"And why would we want to do that?" Lydial asked.
"Several reasons. We have no idea what may be waiting for us at Dealande so…one, I don't want Yen there without the ability to use magic. Two, I'd prefer to have horses if we need to retreat quickly, and since there's no way to get them through portals, we could buy some more in Maecht. Plus, it's almost sundown. Whatever we're going to face, I'd rather do it in the light of day. I can see fine in the dark, but none of you can. Also, I think we could all use a good meal and full night's sleep. Especially, you two," he said, looking at Malek and Lydial. "You've been on-the-go for who knows how long."
Malek nodded. "Agreed. Plus, I need a weapon or two. I can get those in Maecht."
Geralt looked at Lydial. "So?"
"Sounds good to me," she said.
"Alright, then. Looks like we got a plan. Let's get the tack off the horses, and then, Yen, you can do the honors."
oOo
Nilfgaard
Fringilla released her magical spell, and the vision in the bowl disappeared. She had a resolute look on her face because, after what she'd just witnessed, she'd finally made up her mind. She would go to Malek, meet him in Maecht, and completely come clean with him. Somehow, someway, she'd convince him to trust her again. Or, at least, she'd convince him to allow her to try to earn his trust again. If he refused to forgive her and to give her another chance, then she'd even bring up the fact that Geralt had forgiven him. She knew there was no way that he could accept Geralt's forgiveness and not extend the same towards her.
She was suddenly pulled from her thoughts by a knock on the main door to her living quarters. She quickly made her way there and opened it to see one of her least favorite people in the world at the moment.
"Hello, Gilla," said Emperor Donato with a smile. "I've come to apologize. May I come in?"
The sorceress looked up at her cousin with a stoic face. She didn't say anything, but she eventually took several steps backs to let him across the threshold. He entered the room and came up close to her.
"Look, Gilla, I was wrong, okay? I shouldn't have asked you to marry someone you didn't want."
"You didn't ask, Donato. You ordered me to."
"You're right. You're right," he said quickly. "Again, I apologize. I guess the stress of the situation got the better of me. Right now, I'm just not sure how to handle the nobles in Toussaint." He then smiled again. "Remember, I am new at the job, right?"
Fringilla gave a short nod of her head.
"Okay, all is forgiven."
"Excellent," he said coming close and extending his arms for a hug. "I knew my little Gilla couldn't stay mad at me."
Fringilla let her cousin pull her into an embrace, and a moment later, she heard him say, "Now," in a loud voice.
Suddenly, two guards rushed into the room, each grabbing one of the sorceress's arms. Donato quickly stepped away from her, and before she even knew what was happening, she felt her wrists being bound together. She looked down to see shackles in the unmistakable color of dimeritium green.
She jerked her head up and glared at Donato. She raised her hands and said a spell, but when she cast her hands forward, nothing happened.
"Sorry, Gilla, but I no longer trust that you have the best interest of the Empire in mind."
Fringilla didn't say anything, but he could clearly see the fury in her eyes.
"You should know that I have spies everywhere – even here in the palace. Did you really think it wise to withhold knowledge of Malek's whereabouts…or of the existence of this powerful elven sword from me?"
Fringilla didn't bother to answer so he just shook his head.
"Jaakko, you may enter," he said over his shoulder.
A young man in obvious sorcerer attire entered Fringilla's living quarters and then went straight to her bedchamber. A moment later, he returned with the bowl of water in his hands. Donato looked at it and then into the young mage's eyes.
"And you're sure you know how to use it?"
The look of uncertainty was evident on Jaakko's face.
"It's…it's just a bowl of water, Your Grace," he stammered out. "I…I thought that it was, perhaps, filled with a magical potion. I am not, uh, well-versed in hydromancy, Your Grace."
Donato rolled his eyes.
"Tell me again why you're my mage-advisor. Did you actually graduate from Ban Ard?"
Before the sorcerer could answer, the emperor raised his hand and said, "Never mind."
He then looked back at Fringilla.
"It matters not. We know where they're headed – Vlinder Hill. It's the only place in Nilfgaard that matches the description." The Emperor smiled. "Who knew? They were galivanting all over the Continent, and this weapon was little more than a day's ride away the entire time." The smile then fell from his face. "Because we're kin, I'll spare you the indignity of the dungeons. You'll be allowed to stay here in your living quarters – guarded."
He then began his exit from the room. He turned at the door and looked back at Fringilla.
"Once we have the elven artifact, and once we capture Malek…and execute him, then I'll deal with you."
He then glanced at his two guards.
"Guard her well. And do not let her escape."
oOo
Philippa – with wings spread wide – floated down through the night sky and then landed softly on the ground near the Buina River. A moment later, she transformed back into her giant, arachnid form. She didn't even need to close her eyes and make an attempt to search for the magic in the air. The area was saturated with it. It was obvious that two portals had been opened nearby just a few hours before.
Under the light of the full moon, a large object on the ground several yards away caught her eyes and she quickly skittered over to it.
"Oh, my poor baby, look at you," she said to the gargolem, lying still and face down on the forest floor. "What has happened to you? You have been so neglected. Well, Mother's here now. Let's give you some tender love and care."
Then, a wicked smile came to her face.
"And, then, you and I will take a trip. See if we can find some fun."