Book 3: The Wolf Dies

Chapter 10

Nilfgaard

Fringilla lay in her bed, but her eyes were wide open. She hadn't slept all night, too consumed with guilt to ever find peace. If Malek was caught…if he was executed, she'd be the one to blame. Donato and his men only knew where he was heading because she'd been tracking him with her magic. Of course, she hadn't meant it for harm. She'd only been looking in on him out of concern, but it had turned into a mess, all the same. Just as it always did with her – with her and men.

With a sigh, she threw the covers off of her and slowly got out of her bed. With slumped shoulders, she moved to her third-floor bedroom window and opened the drapes. The sun was just rising, and as she looked into the east, she knew that's where he would be that morning.

She wasn't a fool. She had no illusions that he loved her. To be honest, she didn't even think that she loved him. But she could admit now that somewhere deep down inside of her, in a place that she'd thought she'd locked away tight years ago, there was a spark of hope for love. And wasn't it amazing how hope could change everything. People could manage weeks without food. They could survive days without water. They could even live for several minutes without air. But Fringilla wasn't sure how anyone could live even a second without hope. The hope for something better. The hope that someone could love her for her. Not for the way she looked, or her magical abilities, or her powerful, family name. Just love her for who she was down at her core.

As the sun continued to rise and then shine on the City of the Golden Towers, the petite sorceress reached up and touched the magical amulet that was around her neck and hidden under her dressing gown. Feeling it resting against her skin and knowing that it was linked to the one that Malek wore gave her strength, and that spark of hope inside her began to kindle until it turned into a blazing fire. Eventually, with her jaw set, she spun around from the window. She glared at her closed bedroom door – behind which were her two jailors - and then her eyes began carefully scanning the shelves throughout her bedroom, looking for anything that she could use. By the gods, she was Fringilla Vigo - a graduate of Aretuza, a survivor of the Battle of Sodden Hill, and a one-time sorceress of the Lodge. Even if she could never win Malek back, she'd at least save him from the gallows. Or she'd die trying. She owed him that.

oOo

Mount Dealande

The witcher, the Aen Seidhe, and the former Nilfgaardian soldier all halted their horses at the same time as they came out of the woods and into a clearing, and the eyes of all drifted upward. Off in the distance was a tall hill, covered in lush, verdant vegetation and spotted with the occasional thicket of trees. Flowing out of the mountain – from some underground spring - was a wide, clear stream that meandered its way down the hill and then through the woods that they'd just exited. High atop the hill, they could see a large, square-shaped, flat-roofed, stone structure. There was a smaller hill to the east of the large one, and it housed a similar looking building at its peak. It was a crisp, cloudless fall day, and the bright, mid-morning sun shone down on the high hill, giving it an almost magical glow.

"Is this it?" whispered Lydial, with a tone a reverence in her voice.

"Yeah," Geralt whispered back. "Haven't been here in…it's gotta be over two decades. I was just passing through at the time, but, yeah, I remember this place – especially all the butterflies. It was quite beautiful."

Malek turned his head and stared at the witcher's profile. The big man had a contemplative look on his face, but he didn't say anything.

"Ready?" asked the witcher, looking at his two companions. After receiving nods from both, he snapped his horse's reins, and they all headed across an open plain towards the base of the hill.

"Where to first?" asked Malek.

"How about the very top and then work our way down?" answered Lydial.

Geralt nodded but also smiled. "You just want to see Essea's temple."

The she-elf smiled back. "Am I that easy to read?"

"Starting to get to know the way you think – just a bit, anyway. You're a female…so I'll never understand you completely."

Lydial casually reached for her skin of water hanging on her horse's saddle, acted like she was about to drink, and then squirted the witcher instead.

"See? That's just what I mean," said Geralt with a small smile, shaking the drops of water out of his hair. "I never would have expected that reaction."

"We females have got to keep you on your toes…or you'll get bored with us."

"Bored? Not bloody likely," said Malek. "Amazed and confused by…frustrated with – without a doubt, but bored? Never."

They all smiled at that.

A half hour later, the three finally reached the peak of the high hill. Along the way, they had seen a few foundations and partial walls made of stone, but even these remains were mostly covered over by grass and other vegetation. They assumed that these were the ruins of first-century, Aen Seidhe homes, probably from the city that had surrounded the Holy Temple. There were also large colonies of butterflies, either nesting in trees or flying about. They'd all paused to take in that colorful sight.

When they reached the large structure at the top, they dismounted and began walking towards its wide and tall portico. Geralt pointed to a very similar building located on a nearby hill, about a hundred feet lower in elevation.

"Looks like they built two temples. Wonder why?"

"I remember reading about this in one of the scrolls," answered Lydial. "After the Conjunction, Gaineamh – the Essean high priest at the time – believed that the original temple had been irrevocably desecrated by both the Aen Seidhe disobedience and some murders that had taken place within. So, they built a second temple."

"Then, why didn't they just tear down the original. Why leave it standing?" asked Malek.

Lydial shook her head. "That I don't know. The scrolls didn't say."

By then, the three of them were standing at the temple's large, wooden doors. Time and weather had taken their toll on the entire structure, but especially the doors. Much of the wood was rotted, and there was a small hole at the bottom of one of the doors where it looked like a wild animal had burrowed its way through.

"Seen better days," said Geralt.

At some point in the past, one of the doors had been pushed slightly open, but Malek went ahead and pushed it open wider by another couple of feet so that he could slide through. Once inside, only Geralt could see clearly as it was quite dark. The small amount of sunlight illuminating the interior came in through either the handful of holes in the ceiling where stones had fallen down over the centuries or the open front doors. The main hall was very large, with numerous colonnades scattered throughout supporting the ceiling.

"There's nothing here," said Malek, "which I guess makes sense. It was abandoned."

"Guarantee the other one's empty, too," said Geralt. "Whatever the Gearrlonians didn't take with them back over the mountains, I'm sure was looted at some point over the last thousand years."

"It's such a shame. All that history lost," said Lydial with a sigh. "Still, it's pretty amazing to be standing here, where such giants of our faith once lived and worshipped."

She looked at Geralt.

"Evangeline would have loved this."

Geralt met her eyes for a moment and nodded but then quickly turned away. He began walking around the large hall, inspecting the walls and seeing if his medallion could detect anything out of the ordinary. After a few minutes, he returned to Malek and Lydial, telling them that he'd found no doors or stairs – and certainly none leading down into the mountain's "womb."

"I don't think there's anything here," he said. "Let's try outside."

"This may take a while, huh?" said Malek. "I was hoping this would be easy."

"If we're meant to find it, Essea will provide the way," said Lydial.

"You really believe he exists, don't you?"

"It's more than belief. I've been convinced."

As the two continued their conversation on the temple's portico, Geralt limped down the steps and walked a short distance down the hill. Eventually, he stopped and stood still, letting the sun's rays warm his face. Then, he closed his eyes and just listened to the nature around him as he slowly breathed in and out for several minutes. He almost felt as if he was meditating, except that he had a lot on his mind. Finally, he spoke in a hushed voice.

"Lord, Evie said that…as long as I'm still breathing, then that means you still have some use for me," he said in a whisper. "So, show me your will, Father. I am your servant. Just…tell me what you want me to do."

He then opened his eyes and looked around him. He felt the breeze kick up a bit, but nothing else seemed to have changed. He was just about to turn around and face Lydial and Malek when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. It was two Monarch butterflies flittering about upon the breeze. To Geralt, it looked as if they were playing "chase" with one another. As they started to fly off, for some reason, he decided to follow them.

Malek and Lydial stopped their conversation and watched the witcher, not entirely sure what he was doing. When they saw him limp off towards the butterflies, they looked at each other, and without even speaking, they decided to follow. The threesome tracked the insects about a quarter way around the hill through bushes and trees until they finally came to the edge of the river that flowed down toward the plain below. Once there, the butterflies – and their pursuers - moved back up the hill, eventually coming to a sheer cliff face. The three could see one side of the temple at the very top of the cliff, and about a hundred feet below that, the clear spring burst forth from the mountain, creating a long water-fall down into a large collecting pool below. From there, the water morphed into the river along which they'd just been travelling.

Geralt watched the two butterflies continue to fly higher and then back behind the waterfall, itself. A minute later, when the two insects still hadn't emerged from either side, he shook his head at the sight. Had they gotten caught up in the water and drown? He wasn't sure, but something about them was calling to the witcher. He limped along the edge of the collecting pool, and then he suddenly stopped. Now that they were behind the waterfall, they could see a large opening higher up in the cliff face. And, more than that, there was a way up to it. All along the cliff face, there were hand-sized indentions in the rocks that were several inches deep. To Geralt, it looked as if someone had once chiseled a type of ladder into the rock face.

The witcher looked at his two companions.

"Could that be our 'womb?'" he asked.

Lydial nodded, but Malek said, "That can't be it, right? I mean, if it's up there, it's not very well hidden."

"Well, we don't know what's waiting for us up there," said Geralt. "But there's only one way to find out. Come on."

Even with his wooden leg, the witcher had no difficulty climbing the twenty-foot rock face due to his incredible upper-body strength. Lydial came next while Malek stood at the bottom waiting to catch her if she slipped. A minute later, all three were inside a small cave that was barely wide enough for them to stand shoulder to shoulder and that only went back into the mountain about twenty feet. As soon as Geralt had reached the top, he noticed the same two butterflies flittering about, but when he approached them, they flew out of the cave, out from behind the waterfall, and headed somewhere back into the sunlight.

"Did I see those two butterflies flying down as I was climbing up?" asked Malek.

Geralt just nodded.

The big man looked into Geralt and then Lydial's eyes.

"This is not normal," he said. "I may be starting to believe that this God, Essea, actually exists."

They both just continued to look at him and nodded again.

"What's his deal with butterflies, though?"

"I have no idea," answered Geralt.

Geralt," said Lydial, looking around. "It doesn't look like there's anything here. Can you see anything?"

The witcher then turned and inspected the cave.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I don't see anything, but…let me go in a bit deeper."

"Wait, Geralt," said Malek, pulling a torch from the satchel on his side. "Can you light this, please?"

The witcher signed an Igni, and then the three began walking slowly through the very small and narrow cave. As they came to the end, Lydial let out an exasperated sigh.

"There's nothing. I thought for sure this was it."

Geralt stood still, facing the cave wall, and then he shook his head.

"No…there is something here."

He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a palm-sized, circular disk – Nehaleni's Eye. He waved it out in front of him, and suddenly the rocky, moss-covered, back wall of the cave disappeared, leaving another wall in its place. But this wall was very different. It was made of smooth stone and on its surface was an elaborate drawing. The drawing had a king sitting on his throne at its center, and around the throne, in a circle, were drawings of various objects. Above the king's head was a drawing of a sword; to his left was a set of scales; near his left foot was an open scroll; by his right foot was a pile of coins; and finally, close to his right arm was a drawing of a wall with two sets of shackles imbedded into it. Each of the five drawings were connected to the throne by what looked to be small dots.

Above the drawing, etched into the stone, were words written in the oldest variant of the Elder speech.

"Only the one called by God who follows the path of Altachadh shall enter," said Lydial in a reverent voice.

oOo

Nilfgaard

"You look awfully young to be a royal guard," said Fringilla. "Just how old are you?"

"I'll be nineteen in the spring," said the young man proudly.

Fringilla batted her eyelashes. "Oh, nineteen. Well, then, you are a man."

Earlier that morning, she'd thrown open her bedroom door, confessed complete boredom, and asked the guards if they'd like to join her for a morning cup of tea. The two had quickly agreed – for very few men would ever turn down an offer to be in Fringilla's presence. The three had been sitting in her bedchambers having a pleasant conversation for the last ten minutes. During that time, she'd done her best to keep her eyes from darting to the guard's pocket which possessed the key to her shackles.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Oh!" said Fringilla brightly. "That must be our breakfast."

"Allow me, m'Lady," said one of the guards standing from the bedroom table and exiting the room.

As soon as he'd left the room, Fringilla quickly turned her attention to the younger guard.

"Would you like to see something amazing?" she asked seductively, standing up and stepping close to him.

"Uhm, uh, sure…I mean, yes, m'Lady," he stammered.

Fringilla opened her hands in front of her, revealing a small, glass vial. It looked like something a woman would use to store her perfume. The sorceress jerked her head to the left, towards the outer room. She could hear the maid-servant rolling in their breakfast on a cart. Fringilla quickly turned back to the young guard.

"Look closely," she urged.

Once she noticed the young man gazing intently at the vial, she pulled the stopper and tossed the contents towards his face while closing her eyes and turning her head. An incredibly bright flash of white light filled the room as the alchemical ingredients in the bottle reacted with the air.

The guard let out a shout and fell backwards out of his chair, and Fringilla was on him in an instant, her hands searching through his pockets. But the young man was too strong for the petite sorceress and easily pushed her away. He yelled out for his companion as he staggered to his feet. He was waving one hand out in front of him while he had his other hand covering his eyes.

"She blinded me! She blinded me!" he yelled.

Desperate, Fringilla rushed towards the guard, and when their bodies collided, he tripped backward, crashing right through her third-floor window. As he fell, he blindly reached out and grabbed the sleeve of her dress, pulling her through the window, as well.

The sorceress heard the fabric of her dress rip, and then the guard plummeted with a yell. Fringilla lunged backward with both hands, miraculously catching hold of the window sill. She immediately cried out in pain as some of the jagged glass sliced through her fingers and palms, but she somehow was able to maintain her grip. A moment later, she heard a sickening thud as the young guard smacked against the ground of the courtyard below, his final shout dying in his throat.

Breathing heavy, Fringilla – wide-eyed - looked over her shoulder, but she quickly glanced back up when she heard a noise coming from the interior of her bedroom. The other guard was suddenly there, standing above her and glaring into her face.

"I've got you now, you little witch!" he growled, reaching for her manacled wrists.

She couldn't let herself be captured again. Not knowing what else to do, Fringilla immediately let go of the window sill, kicked off the side of the castle wall with her feet, and fell three stories towards the courtyard below.

oOo

"The path of Altachadh - what does that mean?" asked Malek, looking at Lydial.

"He was a beloved elven king that ruled a city in the north several centuries before the Conjunction," answered Geralt.

Malek looked at Geralt, surprise clearly on his face.

"What? I read," said the witcher.

Malek raised his hands, as if in surrender.

"Sorry," he said with a smile. He then turned back to the wall. "So, then what's with these objects around his throne…and what's his path?"

"Well, King Altachadh was beloved and well-known for a lot of things," said Lydial, who then stepped up closer to the wall.

Geralt quickly grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Careful," he said. "My medallion is twitching so…there's something magical here."

She nodded and then stepped up close to the wall but was careful not to touch it.

"He was a very powerful elf," she said, pointing to the drawing of the sword above the king's throne, "so, perhaps the sword is a symbol of his strength."

"And I'm assuming he was a fair king," said Malek. "Hence, the scales."

"Yes," said Lydial, nodding.

"And the pile of coins seems pretty obvious," he continued, "but what do the other two drawings represent?"

"Well, he was also revered for his wisdom so…I think the scroll is a sign of his intellect and education."

"And that wall?" asked Malek.

"It's a 'purification' wall," answered Geralt. "It's where he dispensed his justice."

"Got it," said Malek, nodding his head. "So, there's obviously some way past this wall. Anyone got an idea how to do it?"

Neither Lydial or Geralt immediately answered him, both of their eyes moving quickly over the drawings. A moment later, Lydial leaned in a little closer to the wall.

"These dots…aren't dots," she said, her face just a foot away from the drawing. "They're actually little footsteps."

"The path of Altachadh," the witcher said in a whisper.

"Great. So…we just need to figure out which path he took," said Malek. "Perhaps, if we touch the right drawing, then the wall opens?"

"Maybe," answered Geralt. "But we probably need to be very careful. I've faced riddles like this before. There's always a consequence if you guess wrong."

"Right. So, then, which drawing is it? You said he was known for all of those attributes."

"Lydial, can you read the inscription again, please?" asked the witcher.

"Only the one called by God who follows the path of Altachadh shall enter," she said. After a pause, she continued. "It could be a play on words."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, 'Altachadh' is more than just his name. It's also a derivative of two words in the Elder speech - 'undeserved favor.'"

"Grace?" said the witcher. "His name actually means 'grace'?"

She nodded.

"So, the inscription could be saying that whoever follows the path of grace shall enter?"

She nodded again, and the two immediately turned and looked at the same drawing.

"What? What is it?" asked Malek. "What are you thinking?"

"It's the 'purification' wall," answered Lydial in an excited voice, and then she quickly explained the story of King Altachadh and his son Eirich to Malek.

"Okay. That makes sense," said Malek, after hearing their theory. "But which one of us touches the wall. Who's 'the one called by God'?"

Lydial and Geralt stared at each other.

"It's gotta be you," the witcher finally said.

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

"Because the Aen Seidhe are Essea's chosen race, and you're the only full-blood Aen Seidhe here."

"Maybe," she said, "but, Geralt…you believe, as well, right? Essea is your God, too, isn't he?"

The witcher looked into her eyes. While he'd certainly contemplated those very topics many times in the last month, this was the first time that anyone else had ever directly posed those questions to him. He only had to consider them for just a second before he clearly realized what his answer was. He gave a nod of affirmation to the elf.

She nodded back. "Then, that means that he's called you, too."

Nobody said anything for a moment until Malek spoke up.

"I agree with Lydial" said Malek, nodding his head and looking at the witcher. "I vote for you, too. You're the one that Nazairene carpenters are having strange visions about. You're the one that's been sent butterflies – both the glowing and non-glowing types. You're the one finding lost scrolls in caves. I think it's you."

Geralt looked at the two of them and sighed.

"Well, I don't feel like the one," he said.

Lydial smiled and said, "Since when has faith ever been about our feelings? Our faith is based on Essea's promises. And, Malek's right, Geralt – Essea has clearly been leading you up to this point, and somewhere in all of that leading, there's an implied promise of some kind, even if we don't know exactly what it is right now."

The witcher didn't respond. He dropped his eyes from Lydial's, and then reached up and rubbed his hand down over his beard. After a moment, he exhaled deeply, nodded his head, and looked at the she-elf again.

"Alright. In that case, you two need to back up. Way back…just in case we're wrong."

As they moved behind him, he approached the wall, stopping just a step away. He raised his hand and then slowly – with his palm out – reached out toward the drawing of the purification wall. But when he was just inches away from touching the stone, he suddenly stopped, for it was at that moment that he remembered the details of the story of King Altachadh. He quickly closed his hand and then brought it back down to his side. He stood there, staring at the drawing of the purification wall, and remembered the mercy and grace that the king had shown his son. But while that grace had come free to Eirich, it had not been free for the king. It had cost him dearly. It had cost him his blood.

The witcher looked down to the knife strapped to his right thigh, quickly pulled it from its scabbard, and then made a shallow cut across his palm. He sheathed his blade and then watched his blood begin to drip from his hand. And then, once his entire palm was covered with his blood, he raised his hand again and firmly placed it against the drawing.

The witcher suddenly felt his medallion twitch, he heard a rumbling noise, and then the stone wall split into two pieces and swung open, revealing a very dark passageway behind it.

oOo

Nilfgaard

Fringilla plunged through the air, bounced off a thick branch of a nearby tree, shattering several ribs, and then continued on her descent. A moment later, she hit the ground and cried out in agony as she heard several bones snap, intense pain radiating throughout her body.

She turned her head to look at the dead guard next to her and then began crawling towards him. As she was rifling through his pockets, she could hear people yelling in the distance, causing her search to become more frantic. She quickly found the key and unshackled herself from the dimeritium cuffs. As she tossed the manacles away from her, she glanced down because something had caught her eye. Her eyes widened to see that her dress was soaked with blood.

She reached for her skirt, and pain shot through her wrist. She looked at it to see that her right forearm was hanging at an unnatural angle. She let it fall to her stomach and then grasped her skirt with her left hand and pulled upward. She almost vomited at the sight. Her left shin bone had snapped in two and had sliced right through her muscle and skin, poking out right below her knee. The whiteness of the bone was offset by all of the bright, red blood pulsating out of the wound every time her heart beat.

Fringilla quickly let go of her skirt, and with a moan, she rolled off the guard's body. She reached up to the amulet around her neck, held it tightly and concentrated. And then, with a chant and a flick of her wrist, a portal opened right next to her. She crawled towards the magical opening as the yelling voices of palace guards got closer and closer.

oOo

The witcher stood motionless with Lydial on his left and Malek – still holding a torch – on his right. The three of them were all staring down at the same two objects that were resting on a thigh-high, rock slab. One was long and thin and wrapped in some kind of old, mostly-disintegrated material. Through that porous cloth, a sword's scabbard was clearly visible. In front of the weapon was a small, stone-like vase.

The witcher suddenly bent down – eye-level with the vase – and gave it and the sword a very close, visual inspection. He inhaled deeply but didn't smell anything out of the ordinary. He then slowly walked around the rectangular, stone slab, all the while trying to detect any type of danger, but neither his medallion nor his senses warned him of anything magical.

Now, standing again in between his two companions, he said, "I don't sense anything so…I say we see what's in the vase."

He looked at both of them, and they gave him a nod. He could easily hear both of their hearts beating fast and loud. He then reached out and carefully grasped the vase with both hands. When nothing happened, he then picked it up and brought it to his chest, but he didn't look down at it. His eyes were rapidly scanning his surroundings, just waiting for something evil to pop out.

After about thirty seconds, he exhaled. He hadn't even realized that he'd been holding his breath. He reached down and grabbed his knife and then slowly cut through the hard wax that was sealing closed the vase's lid. He sheathed his knife and then carefully removed the lid. As he did so, all three automatically brought their heads together to look inside. They saw two, thin scrolls.

Geralt looked at Lydial.

"Why don't you do the honors?"

Lydial slowly reached her hand in and pulled out one of the scrolls. She very carefully opened it and then turned it towards the light of Malek's torch.

She quickly looked up at Geralt and Malek.

"It's from Taibhsear," she said excitedly. "He was the last Aen Seidhe high priest before they were taken into exile."

She then looked back down at the scroll and continued reading. A moment later, she inhaled sharply.

"It's a warning…about the Sword."

"What's he say – exactly?" asked Geralt.

"'If you are reading this, then I trust that you are the one called by Essea, the one of whom God's angel spoke to my brother, Maccarreg. But be forewarned of the sword you see before you – the Sword of Destruction. It has earned its name. It is a weapon of tremendous power and overwhelming evil. If you choose to possess it, then know this - it will possess you. You will kill your neighbors, your friends, your family and loved ones. You will eventually even kill yourself. This sword truly destroys everyone it touches so I urge you to use the wisdom of God. May Essea keep you.'"

"Well, that sounds…ominous," said Malek.

"Yeah," agreed Geralt. He then looked at Lydial. "What's the other one say?"

She reached into the vase and pulled out the other scroll. She again used care in opening it and then began to read.

"'I, Maccarreg, son of Gaineamh and Darab, and faithful warrior for Essea, have this word from the LORD -'"

Suddenly, a loud bang and a bright light flashed inside the cave.

Geralt and Malek immediately drew their swords as a magical portal opened up just a few feet away, but for several long seconds, they just stood there, waiting - for no one was stepping through and into the cave. Finally, they all noticed a petite woman with short, black hair crawling out of the opening. As soon as she was clear, the portal closed and disappeared.

Fringilla looked up and quickly found Malek's face.

"Forgive me," she said weakly, collapsing to her side. "They're coming for you."

All three rushed toward the sorceress at once. Malek got there first, kneeled down next to Fringilla, and held her head in his hands.

"Who's coming?" he asked.

"Donato…and his army," she said before going into a coughing fit, which made her then cry out in pain. When she looked back at Malek, tears were in her eyes.

"You were right, Malek…please forgive me."

Geralt looked at Lydial.

"Evie, give her one of your health potions."

Lydial didn't even bother to correct him. She removed a vial from her pouch and helped the sorceress drink it down.

"Damn it," said the witcher, inspecting Fringilla's legs and seeing both the shin bone sticking out and bright red, arterial blood flowing fast.

"Gotta stop this bleeding."

He then grabbed his knife and sliced off a lower portion of the sorceress' dress. He pushed her skirt up towards her waist, and once he had her upper leg exposed, he began wrapping the long strip of fabric around Fringilla's left thigh as tightly as he could. He then grabbed the empty potion vial, twisted the ends of the fabric around it and began twisting the vial in a circular fashion – causing the fabric to cut into her flesh even tighter.

He grabbed his water skin and poured it over the site of the wound, washing the blood away. While he inspected the site, he put his hand on Fringilla's leg, just above the wound, and applied more pressure. At least a minute passed before finally he released his hand, but he continued peering closely at the area where the bone was protruding.

"Okay, it looks like the bleeding's stopped – for now," he finally stated. "Lydial, give her another potion."

After the sorceress drank it down, Geralt asked, "Where else do you hurt, Fringilla?"

"My wrist…my ribs."

Geralt turned to Malek.

"I'll deal with her. Go see if we've got any visitors."

Malek nodded, grabbed a second torch from his satchel, lit it from the first, and then ran out of the room and into the passageway.

oOo

It took Malek a quarter of an hour to reach the top of the hill, but once there, he quickly found an ideal position which would give him both concealment and a perfect view of the south and west – the most likely direction of any Nilfgaardian approach. He'd only been scanning the terrain down below for about five minutes when he saw them.

"Son of a…" he whispered to himself, and then he got up and starting running down the hill, back towards the water fall.

Fifteen minutes later, out of breath and sweat pouring down him, he entered the cave to see Geralt and Lydial both kneeling next to Fringilla. He looked at his former lover and winced. She was a pale as a sheet and not moving. He stopped at her feet, and both Lydial and Geralt looked up at him.

"Is she…?" he asked.

The witcher shook his head. "No. But she's lost a lot of blood. She needs medical attention beyond what I can provide."

"Well, then let's hope the Nilfgaardians brought a surgeon with them."

"Damn it. So, they're here?"

Malek nodded.

"How many?"

"At least two hundred, maybe more."

"What are we going to do?" asked Lydial. "We can't let them get their hands on the Sword. We know what will happen."

Geralt shook his head. "Even at my best, I couldn't beat fifty men at once. No way I can defeat hundreds. Not now."

No one said anything, the silence lasting several seconds.

"We don't have to beat them," said Malek. "We just gotta keep them from using it, right?"

Geralt and Lydial both nodded.

"Right," continued Malek. "So, we destroy it."

"Alright," said Geralt. "That doesn't make any sense, but alright."

"What? What doesn't make sense," asked Lydial.

"I'm all for destroying it, but…if God wanted it destroyed, then why did he tell Maccarreg to bring it here. Why didn't he just let him toss it into the ocean like he wanted to in the first place?"

"I don't know," said Malek, moving quickly over to the stone slab. "That's something we can ask him later."

"Wait!" said Geralt. "Just wait. Before we move it, what's your plan?"

Malek quickly looked around the cave, and then he spotted something in the corner.

"There, that boulder. We place the sword against this slab at angle and then we toss that boulder at it. Between the two of us, we should be strong enough to lift it, and it should snap the damn thing in two."

"That's actually not a bad idea," said the witcher. "Let's give it a shot."

He then got up, moved over to the slab and looked closely at the Sword.

"The hilt is on this end," he said, pointing. "Gotta make sure we don't come in contact with it. Only hold it by the scabbard."

"Be my guest," answered Malek.

The witcher then looked at Malek and then Lydial. He then took a deep breath.

"Okay. Here we go."

Geralt reached out and, gritting his teeth, grabbed the Sword's scabbard. A second later, when nothing happened, he exhaled slowly and gave a small smile. He quickly placed the Sword's hilt against the edge of the stone slab, with the scabbard's tip on the cavern floor. He then moved over to where Malek was already standing by the large rock.

The two men – with loud grunts – rolled the semi-square-shaped rock towards the Sword, stopping once it was only a few feet away. They then slowly lifted the nearly half-ton boulder to their waist.

"On three!" grunted Malek, and then the two began swaying the boulder back and forth.

"One, two, three!"

The boulder flew from their hands and landed right in the middle of the Sword, but instead of the weapon snapping in two pieces like they'd hoped, the large rock simply bounced off and crashed to the floor of the cave. All three of them just stared at the Sword, in shock at what they'd just seen.

"It's not even bent. Not even a little," said Malek, now bending down to inspect the Sword. He then stared at Geralt, the look on his face one of both amazement and fear. "That shouldn't be possible. What in the world is this thing?"

"Exactly," said Geralt. "That's what we've been trying to tell you – we're dealing with things not of this world."

Malek swallowed and nodded. He slowly stood and just stared down at the weapon next to him. He then looked over at Fringilla, still unconscious and lying on the floor of the cavern.

"If we can't destroy it," he said, "then…we've got to use it."

"What? Are you insane?" said Lydial. "We all heard Taibhsear's warning. We know what the Sword will do to whoever wields it."

"Several hundred soldiers are out there, coming this way," said Malek, pointing in their general direction. "And they are going to scour this mountain until they finally find us. My…my daughter died trying to keep this damn thing out of Nilfgaard's hands. I will not let her death be in vain. And, even if they don't actually find us, by the time they leave, Fringilla will be dead. So, we cannot just sit here. Using the Sword is the only logical choice."

He looked at the witcher, who was slowly shaking his head.

"I understand that, Malek, but if I use that Sword – if I even touch it – this whole world is doomed. With that Sword in my hands…everyone dies. Do you understand that? I know the evil that I already have inside of me, and I would not stop with those two hundred men out there. I would kill everyone and anyone I see. Hell, most likely, I'd turn right around, come in here, and slaughter you all, too. And there wouldn't be a damn thing you could do to stop me."

The two men stood there, staring each other down, until Malek looked over at Fringilla. He nodded, and then his eyes shifted back to the witcher's.

"You're right, Geralt. You're right. So, it can't be you. It'll have to be me."

Geralt gave an exasperated sigh. "Malek, that won't make any difference. What – do you think you're strong enough to fight off the Sword's influence?"

"No. No, I don't," said Malek shaking his head. "I'm pretty sure that it will overpower me as it has everyone else."

"Then, friend…what's to keep you from going off and terrorizing the rest of the continent - killing families and innocent children? What's gonna stop that Sword from turning you into the very thing you hate the most?"

Malek glanced down at the small pouch on Geralt's belt, and then he looked back up at the witcher. A small, sad smile came to the big man's face.

"You will, Geralt. You will."