Book 3: The Wolf Dies
Chapter 9
Mount Dealande; 102 Years Post-Conjunction
"I regret leaving Narriel alive," said Maccarreg. "I should've killed him, too."
His brother, walking alongside of him, shook his head.
"You said that he didn't pull his sword. So, you did the right thing."
"But what if he talks?"
Taibhsear shrugged as he continued walking under the midnight sky.
"Well, if he talks…and if he says that the Sword is up in the Dragon Mountains near Chiava…and if those rumors make it all the way down here…and if someone asks you about it, then just lie."
"Really? You know as well as I that lying is a violation of Essea's Code," he said with a smile. After he paused, he asked, "And just what would I say?"
"The best lies are those that are mostly truth. So, just tell anyone who asks that the Sword was lost up in the Dragon Mountains. Which is almost completely true. That's where it did become lost to almost the entire world. Only you and I will ever know its true resting place. Of course, if you don't want to lie, then just tell them that it's none of their damn business."
"Yeah, I think I like that better," said Maccarreg, who was holding a long, thin object wrapped in several blankets under one arm and a small, stone vase whose lid was sealed with wax under the other.
The two brothers walked up the steps of a portico that was lined with elaborate, thirty-foot tall columns. They eventually stopped at two enormous, wooden front doors which Taibhsear proceeded to unlock. It took both elves to push open one of the doors as its hinges were nearly rusted shut. It had been decades since the doors had last been opened. After entering the completely dark building, they closed and locked the doors behind them and then slowly looked around at what had once been the Aen Seidhe nation's most hallowed ground. There were no torches in any of the sconces lining the walls, and there were no windows through which the rays of the full moon could pass. Only the flames from the torch in Taibhsear's hand allowed the brothers to see. The eyes of both elves landed on a tall, stone structure in the middle of the great hall. To most anyone, it would have appeared to be nothing more than a small, square room, with stone walls fifteen-feet high and ten feet wide. But the two brothers knew better.
Maccarreg breathed in deeply and then exhaled slowly.
"I don't feel right being here."
"I know. Makes the hair on my neck stand on end," Taibhsear said with a nod. "Come on."
The two walked across the expansive first floor and towards the back of the temple. They came to another wooden door – this one normal sized – and Taibhsear unlocked this one as well. Maccarreg stepped into the total darkness and then his brother followed. After the elder sibling re-locked the door, they made their way down a rickety, circular, wooden staircase. It felt to Maccarreg as if the temperature dropped one or two degrees with each step that he took downward.
Less than a minute later, the two Aen Seidhe were standing in a fairly large, empty cavern. Though it was empty, there were sconces that had been chiseled into several of the stone walls, and after Taibhsear placed his torch within one, he turned and looked at his brother. They both gave each other a small nod, and then Maccarreg stepped toward a thigh-high, rectangular-shaped, rock slab in the middle of the cavern and placed the blanket-covered object in the middle of it. He then set the vase down right in front of the long, thin object.
He looked up at his brother and smiled. The first that had crossed his face that entire evening.
"Being down here brings back good memories."
Taibhsear smiled back. "Yeah." He then inhaled deeply. "It's been a hundred years, but I swear that I can still smell the scent of father's parchment."
Maccarreg nodded and then closed his eyes. "I can still picture him – right here – on his knees in prayer, hour after hour."
The younger sibling then opened his eyes, looked at his brother, and then glanced over to the thirty-foot-tall staircase that they had just descended.
"Are you sure?" he asked. There was a trace of doubt in his voice.
"I am," said Taibhsear.
"Okay," answered Maccarreg and then he took out his sword, walked over to the spiral staircase, and swung his blade into the wood. After only a few swings of his sword, the partially-rotten wooden structure came crashing down to the cavern floor.
Maccarreg then looked upward at the ceiling of the cave and shook his head.
"I really don't like it being so close to that thing up there."
"Neither do I. That's why when we're done here, I'm going to have the door up there walled off."
"Not good enough if you ask me. I still wish I could've dropped it to the bottom of the ocean."
"I agree. That seems the safer decision, but…we've really got no choice, right? Essea's angel told you to place it here. We have to obey," said his brother.
"I know. Though…are you sure we're not making this thing too difficult to find?" Maccarreg asked, nodding his head towards the object on the slab.
"That's kind of the point. Are you saying you want it to be found?"
Maccarreg shook his head. "Of course not, but you know Father's prophecy as well as I do. Yes, it's totally vague, so we don't know who and we don't know when, but we do know that someone, somehow is going to end up using this damned thing at some point. So, we can't make it impossible to find."
Taibhsear shook his head. "We have to trust that Essea is in control of this. If Father's prophecy truly came from God, and if the angel that spoke to you truly came from him, too, then we have to trust that he'll make it all work somehow. If someone's truly meant to use this, then Essea will somehow get it into their hands."
Maccarreg sighed again. "I know you're right, brother, but…I'm just having a hard time trusting right now. For over three years, I saw this Sword repeatedly display its power and destruction. So…I'm having a real difficult time believing that it could ever be used for good…even in Essea's hands."
Taibhsear nodded. "I agree, and that's why I wrote what I did," he said, looking at the sealed vase. "I just hope that whoever one day finds this will read what we wrote first."
Maccarreg nodded and then exhaled deeply. "Okay. It's in Essea's hands." He then smiled. "Now, do you remember how to get out of here?"
"Well, it's been a century. So, forgive me if I take a couple of wrong turns."
oOo
Maecht; Fall 1273
The Riverside Inn was the most popular eatery in Maecht, with both its delectable food and its beautiful vista of the Imlebar River running right below its elevated patio. However, as it was early in the week, the tavern was mostly empty and, therefore, very quiet. At a table in the back room sat a foursome, hunched over empty plates and tankards and whispering amongst themselves. A single candle sat in the middle of the table, reflecting off a pane of glass in a nearby window and doing its best to fight back the shadows lurking along the tavern's walls.
"You must be joking," said Yennefer, the incredulous tone in her voice obvious to everyone else at the table. "That's the prophecy that started this whole mess?"
Geralt just shrugged and nodded.
"And the chosen one is a virgin?'' she continued sarcastically, shaking her head. "Why is it that all these religious nuts are so hung up on sex, in one way or another?" Then she looked at Lydial and smirked. "Virginity is so overrated, if you want my opinion."
"Well, I don't, and we are not 'hung up' on sex," whispered Lydial with some heat in her voice. "We are the only ones who have a proper and respectful view of it. It is a gift-"
She stopped her counterargument when she felt Geralt's hand gently squeeze her leg under the table. She looked at him to see a warm smile on his face.
"My hope is that we can argue to our hearts' content about sex and religion when this is all over. But, for now, let's all try to stay on the same side – what do you say?" he asked, looking at Lydial and then Yennefer.
Lydial gave a short nod of her head, and the sorceress raised her eyebrows, as if to say, "What did I do?"
"I've pondered on this long and hard," Geralt continued, "and I don't think the 'virgin' in this prophecy is dealing with sex at all."
"Then, what's it talking about?" asked Malek.
"Well, when I think of the word, obviously, the first thing that comes to mind is a person who hasn't had sex, but…I also think about a pristine, snow-covered mountain. A blanket of snow unblemished…untouched, not a footprint to be seen."
"White," Yennefer said unexpectedly.
"What?"
"Maybe it's got something to do with the color white. Virgin is synonymous with 'white.' The 'virgin' snow-covered field is white. A virgin wears white at her wedding."
Malek smirked and looked at Geralt. "Then, maybe the prophecy is about you…White Wolf."
The witcher didn't smile back. "Unlikely. You fit the bill better than I do."
"How's that?" he answered with a laugh.
Geralt shrugged. "The prophecy also talks about a 'right hand,' and you were once Emhyr's 'right hand' man. And what's Emhyr called? The white flame dancing on the graves of his foes." He then nodded and a small smirk came to his face. "The pieces are starting to fall into place."
"That does sound logical," said Lydial with a grin.
Malek smiled back. "This is getting us nowhere."
"Agreed. Evie…" the witcher then paused and gave a little sigh. "Evie, Lydial, and I have already discussed this prophecy to the point that I'm sick of it. I'm resigned to the fact that we'll probably never know what it truly means – if it's even a true prophecy at all."
Suddenly, Lydial yawned, which caused the others to start yawning, as well.
"Guess that's our cue," said Geralt, standing up. "Let's get a good night's rest. We've got a full day's ride ahead of us tomorrow."
As the other three stood up from the table, they all heard a deep rumbling sound coming from outside. A moment later, they felt vibrations coming up through the wooden floor of the tavern.
"That can't be thunder," said Yennefer, slightly alarmed.
The witcher looked at the sorceress and then immediately pulled his silver sword.
Malek also drew his weapon and said, "I've heard and felt that before – in Novigrad and Tretogor. Eilhart's monsters."
Suddenly, the front wall of the tavern exploded, and the witcher immediately cast a large Quen dome that shielded all four of them. A moment later, shards of timber and glass bounced off of the protective barrier, and when they looked up, they saw a fully-functional gargolem barge into the middle of the tavern, let out a roar, and breath fire upwards at the ceiling.
The witcher looked over his shoulder towards the back window, and as he turned back to face the monster, he yelled out to the others, "Move away from me!"
He then quickly tossed a Dancing Star bomb at Eilhart's monstrosity while his three friends scattered. The explosive only slightly singed the monster's tough hide, but it clearly got its attention. The gargolem immediately let out another roar and charged at the witcher. Geralt quickly cast a standard Quen and then stood still, staring down the rampaging creature. A fraction of a second before it reached him, he dove hard to his right, and the gargolem crashed through the back wall of the inn, across the back patio, and through the railing - falling a good twenty feet into the deep Imlebar River below.
The four then crowded around the hole in the tavern's back wall, looking down into the dark river, huge waves rippling outward from where the monster had just sunk toward the river's bottom.
"Think it can swim?" asked Malek.
"Hope not," answered Geralt.
"Oh, I am so pleased," came a voice from behind them.
They all turned to see Philippa Eilhart standing where the tavern's front door had been only moments before.
"Holy hell," whispered Geralt, seeing the giant spider-witch.
"Philippa?" exclaimed Yennefer.
Philippa laughed. "Oh, the looks on your faces are priceless. And here I was, thinking that I'd only get to kill Malek. But, Witcher, you're here, too. I'm going to have twice the fun."
Never taking his eyes off of the sorceress, Geralt said quietly in Malek's direction, "I thought you said you killed her."
"I thought I did."
"Not hardly," Philippa snarled, casting a spell at Malek, and everyone moved at once.
Malek dove to the floor as a pulse of black energy passed over him, shattering the wall behind him. He scrambled through the hole in the back wall towards the patio, and as Philippa cast again, a giant, purple-looking shield quickly materialized, blocking the spider-witch's next barrage.
Philippa dropped her spell and slowly turned her head to gaze at Yennefer, who was still holding her magical shield in place as the ceiling above them became more and more engulfed in flames.
"Yenna, you and I haven't always seen eye to eye - what two sorceresses do? But it doesn't have to come to this, you know."
Yennefer glanced at Geralt, who was quickly helping Lydial to her feet and out towards the back of the tavern. She then locked eyes again with Philippa, and the witch from Montecalvo shook her head, a look of disgust on her face.
"I have never understood you two. Never understood his hold on you."
Yennefer gave a small, sad smile.
"Me neither, Phil," she said with a shrug. "But…understand it or not, I can't let you harm him."
"Then, you've made your choice," Philippa hissed. "So be it."
She immediately began to motion with both hands and moments later waves of deadly Chaos pulsated forth toward the raven-haired sorceress.
oOo
Geralt had just helped Lydial onto the back porch of the burning tavern and was turning to head back inside to assist Yennefer, when he heard a whistling noise in the air above the river. An instant later, a dripping-wet gargolem came crashing down onto the warehouse district docks on the far bank. The magical construct stared at the three of them on the back patio, let out a menacing roar, and then suddenly vanished with a whooshing sound. The witcher quickly jerked his head upward and then back down again at Lydial and Malek.
"Run!" he yelled as he grabbed Lydial by the shirt sleeve and dragged her toward the edge of the elevated porch.
Just as the gargolem smashed down through the roof of the tavern, Geralt, Lydial and Malek all dove off the patio and plunged into the river below. The dark, swift currents of the Imlebar immediately began pushing them down stream and away from danger. Their heads eventually bobbed above the surface, and despite the fact that the Imlebar was over a hundred feet wide, they began frantically swimming for the opposite bank. They were halfway across when the gargolem charged forth from the burning tavern, and a moment later, the entire building collapsed in on itself. The now towering inferno reflected off the water's surface, making the blaze appear twice as immense.
Eilhart's monster, also engulfed in flames, roared again when it saw its prey in the middle of the river. Immediately, the gargolem vanished high into the air before falling straight down towards its quarry. The witcher sensed an enormous splash right behind him, and he was propelled forward by a forceful wave as the monster just missed driving his body straight to the bottom of the riverbed.
About a minute later, the three drug themselves out of the river, onto a stone platform that was level with the water, and then they climbed the ten, stone steps up to ground-level.
"Think…it'll stay down there…this time?" asked Lydial, bent over and completely out of breath.
"The water's gotta be affecting its magical core, but we can't sit here and find out," said the witcher, getting to his feet. "Give me your bandolier."
"Why?"
"Just hand it over."
After she did so, Geralt pulled two Dancing Star bombs from his own bandolier, handing one each to Lydial and Malek.
"Go! Hide in the shadows," he said, nodding his chin towards the warehouse buildings on the other side of the walkway. "And when I say 'now', you toss those at it."
"What are you gonna do?" asked Lydial, her voice full of both fear and concern.
"Just go!"
The witcher signed a Quen and then turned and faced the river, not even bothering to watch Lydial and Malek running for cover. Geralt's eyes moved upriver to the blazing tavern, and he frowned.
"Damn it, Yen," he whispered as he took a Dimeritium bomb into his hand.
But he quickly shook his head and looked up, surveying the night sky. A moment later, he heard what sounded like a meteor barreling straight at him, and he immediately dove hard to his right. As he came out of his roll, the one-ton gargolem slammed into the ground, and the witcher threw the dimeritium bomb, hitting the monster right in the chest. The special alchemical dust interfered with the construct's magical core, and once Geralt was sure that it was – at least momentarily – incapacitated, he hopped towards it. Unfortunately, being so close to the just-detonated explosive made his Quen protection malfunction, but he didn't have time to think about that. He quickly slung Lydial's bandolier around the top part of the monster's thigh and then buckled it tightly in place, and he then did the same with his own bandolier on the other thigh. He had just finished when he sensed the gargolem coming back to life.
"Now!" he yelled just has he turned toward the river.
He'd only taken one step when pain suddenly shot through his ribs as he felt a massive punch from the gargolem land squarely on his side, knocking the witcher through the air and into the Imlebar River ten feet below. As he sank underneath the water, he opened his eyes, and suddenly his vision was filled with a tremendous flash of light as a ball of flames passed above him.
He kicked upward, and a second later, the witcher's head broke through the water's surface and he deeply breathed in the cool, night air. Holding his left arm to his side to protect his broken ribs, he slowly swam with one arm and his one good leg back to the flood wall. He staggered to his feet on the river platform, climbed back up to ground-level, and limped towards the still "living" monster. Its bottom half was obliterated and it was missing one hand, but it was still crawling towards Malek, roaring and breathing out fire in his direction.
As Geralt walked up behind the gargolem, he made a quick Igni Sign with his fingers, and, to his relief, a small flame did appear. Fortunately, the river water had washed off the dimeritium dust, allowing him to once again cast his Signs. He stepped up close to the monster and blasted him repeatedly with Blyx until it finally stopped moving and fell dead to the ground. It was then that the witcher turned around and looked at the town on the other side of the bank. The flames from the tavern had spread to the neighboring buildings, and the witcher could hear screams and shouts coming from somewhere in the distance. But what he couldn't see or hear were any magical spells being cast, and he didn't like the sound of that at all. He immediately began running for the nearest bridge so that he could cross over to the other side. He had to help Yennefer.
oOo
Yennefer elevated the turned over and broken pieces of furniture in front of her and then dove for cover. Philippa's spell impacted the wooden tables and chairs and blasted them into pieces, sending shards and splinters in all directions. Yennefer got to her feet, out of Philippa's line of sight. Hiding in the stairwell that led up to the second-floor bedrooms, the raven-haired sorceress had a momentary respite from the battle. It was then that she realized that the tavern was about to burn down around her. She cast a quick teleportation spell, and a moment later, she re-materialized out in the street.
Yennefer coughed out some smoke and then stared wide-eyed at the inferno in front of her. Even standing thirty feet away, the heat was alarmingly intense, and sweat ran down from her hairline and through the streaks of soot that were smeared across her cheeks and chin. Her focus on the front entrance of the tavern was interrupted by shouts coming near her as many of the town's citizens began rushing out into the street to gawp at the fire. Suddenly, she heard a noise high in the air, and a moment later, she watched Eilhart's gargolem smash right through tavern roof, causing all the town-folk in the street to scatter.
Then, out of the fiery carnage skittered the spider-witch, tendrils of smoke rising up from her body where the flames had singed her thick, course arachnid hairs. Despite that, she had a wide smile on her face as she leapt off the tavern porch and into the middle of the street. Without a word, she cast a spell at Yennefer, and their battle resumed.
The sorceress from Vengerberg was a proud woman, but she could freely admit that Philippa had always been able to control more raw Power than her. On top of that, Yennefer's forte had never been offensive, magical spells. Thus, she knew that in a battle with Eilhart, she'd be at a disadvantage, but she'd always thought that she should be able to hold her own. However, now, the speed and power with which Philippa cast her spells were greater than Yennefer had ever seen. The raven-haired sorceress was literally back on her heels, completely on the defensive. She was barely getting a shield up in time to block Philippa's attacks, and even more concerning was the fact that she could tell that she was quickly draining of stamina while Philippa seemed to be not tiring at all. Her head was spinning, and she was starting to feel faint.
Though her vision was starting to tunnel, Yennefer saw a bright orange wave of energy coming right at her, and she lifted her arms, quickly casting a spell of her own. The dirt at her feet immediately swirled up in front of her and then transformed into a rock-hard shield. Her eyes went wide with shock, though, as she saw her floating shield inexplicably move to the side, and an instant later, she felt pain sear through her chest and she was knocked from her feet as Philippa's spell impacted squarely. The next thing she knew, she was on her back, staring up at the stars high above her in the sky. And then her vision was filled with a giant figure as the spider-witch walked over the downed sorceress.
"What to do…what to do," said Philippa as she stared down into Yennefer's eyes. She then sighed. "You know, despite my appearance, I'm not a monster, and it would be such a shameful waste to end a powerful and elegant wielder of magic as yourself. I'm not even angry with you, Yenna. This was actually quite fun."
Then, her faced turned deadly.
"Your boyfriend and Malek, on the other hand…well, I see that they serve no greater purpose…so they shan't be missed. Ta-ta."
Philippa chanted a spell, and after a couple of seconds, she transformed from a giant spider into her small owl. Yennefer's eyes followed the owl flying off into the dark night, and then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a magical crystal. With shaking hands, she brought it to her lips, pushed out all the remaining energy that she had, and whispered something unintelligible into her cupped hands. The small crystal began to glow a bright blue, changed into a black raven, and then soared into the air. Yennefer's hands fell limply to her side, and as the blood poured out of her, the sorceress from Vengerberg slowly closed her eyes and thought longingly of an ashen-haired girl with emerald-green eyes who had once called her "Momma."
oOo
Philippa, high above the Imlebar River, was looking down at a clearly injured witcher. He was running along the docks but with a visible limp and while protecting his ribs. She lowered the angle of her wings and slightly adjusted her descent, moving silently towards her prey. There would be no warnings, no gloating this time. She had learned her lesson when dealing with him. She would cast a spell right into the back of his cursed head and be done with him. Then, she could turn her full attention to Malek. Now, with him, she'd have some fun.
She floated downward, as quiet as a feather, a few more feet and positioned herself right behind him. Because of her beak, she couldn't smile, but Philippa was very much smiling on the inside. The anticipation was nearly overwhelming. Just as she was about to let loose with a lightning spell, she heard a horrendous croaking sound coming from behind, followed by an immediate and painful collision.
oOo
Geralt heard the cry of a raven just a moment before a lightning bolt shot over his shoulder, causing the ground to explode in front of him. He instantly dove to his right, tucked into a roll, and came to his feet looking into the night sky. He watched in confusion as two birds were in a mid-air battle. Suddenly, a blast of lightning shot forth from the owl, hitting the other bird squarely in the chest, and it shattered into a thousand, glass-like pieces. If there had been any question before, then seeing the owl perform magic confirmed for the witcher just who the bird was, and it was now swooping down toward him.
He signed a Quen and reached back for his crossbow, and just as Philippa cast a spell, he fired his bolt. Her magical wave of Chaos cracked his protective shield and blasted him off his feet. Though his projectile had just barely missed its target, it did cause Eilhart to dip and dodge and then nosedive down.
As Geralt got to his feet, he saw the owl, now resting of the ground, morph into her giant spider form and start scurrying in his direction. The witcher quickly signed another Quen, reloaded his crossbow, and as he lifted his weapon to aim, his protective shield shattered again, and, again, he was knocked off his feet, landing hard on his back. However, unlike the first time, he felt pain shooting through his right shoulder. He reached up and placed his hand over his shoulder, but he didn't even bother looking at. He could feel the blood on his palm. Geralt shook his head slightly. He'd never known Philippa's spells to be this strong. The last mage that he'd come across who was this powerful was Vilgefortz. If she could shatter his Quen, then his only defense would be to dodge, and with only one good leg, he didn't like his odds of staying alive for long.
The witcher slowly began to rise but was suddenly slammed back down - a giant, hairy, arachnid leg pinning him to the ground. Standing proudly above him was Eilhart, wearing a maniacal grin.
"Well, well…this spider has caught a squirming, little bug," she taunted.
She had told herself that she wouldn't gloat, but the sorceress just couldn't help herself. For just as dogs return to their vomit, so do proud fools always repeat their folly. A haughty spirit would always lead to a fall - which was fortunate for the witcher, for Philippa simply couldn't resist reveling in a victory.
Before she could even say another word – much less end his life – the witcher shot his left arm forward and blasted forth a continuous stream of Igni right into her face. The spider-witch caught fire and leapt back off of the monster-slayer. She quickly skittered backward, hissing and howling, while he maintained his Sign. She continued to retreat until she was finally out of range of the witcher's Igni, and then she quickly patted out the fire around her face and head. The flames had done significant damage, but at the moment, the sorceress was more angry than hurt.
Philippa raised her head to glare at the witcher, but he was no longer where he'd been. She got just a glimpse of him as he fell from the top of the flood wall and into the river below.
"You'll not escape me that easily," she snarled, before transforming into her owl.
After soaring into the air, she saw the witcher a surprisingly long distance away. He was climbing back out of the river onto a small, stone platform that led into the city's sewers. Thirty seconds after he'd disappeared from sight, she landed on the same platform and changed back into a spider.
"You should've just let yourself drown, Witcher!" she yelled into the darkness of the sewers. "Know this – your death won't be quick!"
The sorceress' words echoed down the stone tunnels of the sewer and past the witcher as he limped along as fast as he could. He actually had no idea where he was going or what his plan was. He just knew that in his current condition – one leg, broken ribs, and bleeding out - there was no way that he could defeat Eilhart. As he splashed through the knee-high water and sewage, his eyes scanned for any kind of cranny or hidey-hole where he could avoid detection. At the same time, he reached into his pouch, pulled out a Swallow and poured it down his throat.
"If nothing else, I'll be feeling better when she kills me," he thought to himself, a twisted smile coming to his face.
The witcher turned a corner, and thirty feet later, he came to a closed and locked gate. He pulled on the gate's door with all of his strength, but even at his best, he'd have been hard-pressed to bend steel. That's when he heard a noise behind him and turned to see Philippa taking up almost the entire tunnel. She didn't say a word.
Suddenly, the sewers were illuminated in a bluish glow as she cast a magical shield that materialized five feet in front of her. As she began to slowly walk towards the witcher through the sewer water, the shield moved forward, as well. When she was fifteen feet away, the witcher let loose with a powerful Igni stream. After holding it for five seconds, he released the Sign but saw that her shield was as strong and as bright as ever.
Philippa sneered.
"Never again, Witcher."
Geralt honestly didn't know how he was going to best Philippa, but he instinctively pulled his silver sword, anyway. If he was going to die, then he figured that he should do so like a witcher – with a sword in his hand – because, up until the last month, being a witcher was all he'd ever known.
It was then that his eyes drifted down, and for the first time since entering the sewers, it truly dawned on him where they were. He slowly brought his eyes back up and saw the smile on Philippa's now scarred face.
"Philippa," said the witcher said, holding his sword in his right hand, "It's not too late. I'll let you surrender."
The sorceress actually laughed.
"I'll give you this – at least you're consistent," she said. "A sarcastic ass to the end."
"So, that's a 'no?'"
"Witcher, I'm going to tear you apart, limb from limb, and then feed you to my spider friends."
He nodded, twisted his sword in the air, caught it in a back-handed grip, and raised the hilt up to eye-level.
Philippa snorted.
"Do you actually think you're going to use that to kill me?" she asked, still behind her shield.
Geralt shook his head. "No. It's for balance."
He immediately jabbed the tip of the blade into the mortar between two stones in the wall to his right and then raised his left knee, bringing his leg completely out of the water. The sorceress had a thoroughly bemused look on her face.
"Witcher-" she started.
But she was cut off when the monster-slayer cast the strongest Blyx he could right at the water just below her shield. The lightning-like bolts of energy passed through the sewer water and right into her eight, hairy legs. To Philippa, it felt as if every muscle in her body was seizing, contracting so hard that the tendons were about to be ripped from her bones. She didn't know how long the pain coursed through her body, but when it finally relented, her legs collapsed and she fell belly-first onto the sewer floor. She was seeing "stars" in all six of her eyes, and she reached up her hands to rub her two, large human ones. When she pulled her hands away, her vision started to come back into focus, and she immediately recognized the tip of the witcher's blade coming with great speed right at her face. It was the last thing the sorceress from Montecalvo would ever see before she died.
oOo
The witcher was breathing heavy and staring at the row of four, black spider eyes on Eilhart's forehead. After a moment, he slowly pulled his silver sword from the spider-witch's skull and then quickly swung his blade true, slicing through the monster's neck and severing her head from her body. It instantly toppled into the sewage water below and floated face-up.
As Geralt looked down into Philippa's hideous and bloody face, he remembered a brave, little boy back at Kaer Morhen. A little boy that the witch had so needlessly struck down. He exhaled deeply and slowly nodded his head, remembering the promise that he'd made to himself all those months ago.
"May you rest in peace, Isaac," he whispered.
He continued to stare at the witch's sinking head until it was completely submerged down into the sewage. It was then that his eyes drifted slightly to the right – to his right leg. To the leg that ended in a stump and a wooden prosthesis. Suddenly, a look of amazement crossed his face, and he furrowed his brows and slowly shook his head.
"Unbelievable," he whispered, still staring down at his amputated appendage. "Who would've ever guessed…losing you ended up saving my life."
He stood there in silence for a moment longer, still shaking his head in disbelief, and then, suddenly remembering Yennefer, he quickly sheathed his sword and moved with haste past Eilhart's corpse and towards the sewer's exit.
oOo
A half hour later, Geralt stood on main street, but he had his back to the still-blazing Riverside Inn. Lydial and Malek stood a respectful distance away, giving him some privacy. The street in front of the tavern was filled with hundreds of the town's citizens bringing up buckets of water from the river. The inn, itself, was a lost cause, but they were doing their best to contain the fire so that it wouldn't spread to the neighboring buildings. At some point, a kind soul had dragged Yennefer's body to the opposite side of the street so that it wouldn't get trampled.
Despite the chaos going on all around him, the witcher was alone in his thoughts, and he stared down at the sorceress for the longest time. She looked so small lying there in the dancing shadows. He, of course, was very aware of Yennefer's size, but her personality had always given her a larger-than-life presence. More times than not, she'd always displayed a fierce and haughty strength, which belied her true physical stature. It was only in those rare times when she'd been vulnerable with him that he'd viewed her as she truly was. But he'd never seen her look as vulnerable and as small as she did in death.
When he came out of his thoughts, his eyes were focused on her face, and he noticed something that he hadn't picked up on first glance. He bent down on his left knee next to her head, and what he saw made him clench his jaws tightly. Up close, he could see the tracks of dried tears that had streaked through the soot and dirt on her face. In his nearly three decades of knowing Yennefer, he couldn't ever remember seeing her cry. The witcher's chin fell to his chest as he sighed deeply. He may not have been "in love" with the sorceress any more, but he still loved her. And it hurt his heart to know that she'd died alone, crying with her last breaths. He closed his eyes, and just shook his head.
"How many more, Essea?" he whispered. "How many more?"