20. Justice and Mercy

Letho sat in the middle of the large city square, forearms resting on his wide-spread knees as he casually tossed and caught a small jewel repeatedly. Behind him, a pile of charred corpses still smoldered, piled ten feet high in what had once been a large, ornate fountain. The stench of burnt hair and entrails, which had been uncomfortable at the edge of town, was almost overwhelming at the source.

Geralt had to fight the urge to cover his mouth and nose as he approached the eastern door to the expansive, column-lined courtyard. He pushed on the heavy, twelve-foot tall wooden door without hesitation. This confrontation had to happen, and he wanted it over as soon as possible. Triss tried to convince him not to go, pleading with tears. "You're in no condition to fight," she said. "You've done enough for Temeria and for Vernon Roche. You don't owe anybody anything." She was right on both counts, but this wasn't about what Geralt owed to anyone - it was about what Letho owed to him - an explanation. He insisted on speaking with the kingslayer, and on doing it alone.

Letho grinned slightly when the door's rusted iron hinges creaked open, though he didn't look up. His intuition told him the invitation had been accepted. Geralt walked briskly across the grass-infested stone floor, the clacking of his boot heels echoing off the marble walls in the disturbing silence of a city now populated by corpses.

"Took you a while," the kingslayer said without looking up, speaking with his typical relaxed, rural accent.

"Mmhmm. What's that you're holding?" Geralt responded, eyeing the milky white polished stone in Letho's hand.

"My final prank," he answered, looking up and holding it up between his thumb and forefinger. "As you well know, sorceresses use these to channel energy. Well, Síle keeps her gem in her dress pocket, rather than around her neck. While she was sleeping, I took it, replaced with another that had a flaw - minute, but just large enough to distort things… like portals, for instance. The emperor's magic theorists assured me the effect would be spectacular."

"They didn't exaggerate," Geralt replied plainly, still wearing bits of Síle on his jacket. "I got your letter. Gonna explain why you want to meet?"

Letho put the gem away in a pocket on his vest, inhaling end exhaling slowly, then slapping his palms on his knees and looking Geralt eye to eye. "You still a gwent-playing man?"

"Mmhmm."

"There comes a point in every game when all the players need to show their cards. No more hidden motives, no more tricks, no more let-downs. I love that moment. But first… vodka?"

Geralt snorted in surprise, tilting his head a bit, then shrugging. "…I suppose my throat's a little dry."

Letho grinned widely. "In that case, let's drink to old friendships."

He picked up a dark brown bottle, uncorked it, and handed it to Geralt, who, sniffing it first, drank several shots' worth before handing it back. Letho took a mouthful, swallowing it in one gulp, and closed his eyes for a moment to appreciate the burn and aftertaste. "Black ones can be real pricks sometimes, but they do have a discerning taste for liquor. I'm curious - did you recover your memory yet?"

"Not entirely. I'm missing one last piece… the part where I wound up in the hands of the Wild Hunt."

Letho bobbed his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. "Makes sense. It was a hell of an ordeal."

"Recount it for me."

"… alright. You remember tracking the Wild Hunt together?"

"I do."

"Remember Midinvaerne, the Hanged Man's Tree?"

"No."

"Those elves like their damned holidays. Got sloppy. We figured as much, that's how we got the drop on them. You, me, Serrit and Auckes. Gotta admit, up until that point, I wasn't sure about your theory that they were mortals, but wraiths don't bleed, and we bled 'em. A whole lot of 'em. Problem is, they had superior numbers. We fought to a stalemate - that's when their leader stepped up to talk. Asked us what we wanted. You said 'Yennefer.' You offered to trade your life for hers, and he accepted your offer without hesitation. They carried you off in chains, and that was the last I saw of you, until the monastery in La Valette. Figured you'd be dead. You're a hard one to kill, White Wolf."

"The Hanged Man's Tree… I remember now. Yes. I remember."

"Good. So, Geralt of Rivia, cards out on the table. Why did you come?"

"You owe me some explanations."

"Let's say I do."

"For starters, why are you still here? Why did you wait, why here?"

Letho sighed and shrugged. "I knew you wouldn't give up. I knew you'd keep pursuing me. I'm tired of running, tired of hiding. Fact is, only you know the truth about me - well, you and a couple of folks whose word isn't worth shit anymore. I never saw you as a foe, Wolf. I want to go my way, but if I have to fight you first, so be it."

"Why should I let you live, after what you did?" Geralt asked, staring unflinchingly into Letho's witcher eyes.

"Remember how we first met?"

"Yeah. Slizzard stabbed you through the gut. I saved your life. Couldn't think of a nicer way to pay me back?"
Letho frowned. "Frankly, I couldn't. I mean, taking care of another man's woman is noble enough, but… Yennefer? I can't fathom what you saw in her, but I suppose there's no accounting for taste…

"You cared for Yennefer?"

"Well, somebody had to. When the Wild Hunt released her, she was all kinds of messed up - feverish for days, delirious, in agony. We thought that was it - she was on her way out. Somehow, she recovered, but even then, she was disoriented. Amnesia, like you."

Geralt felt the confluence of guilt, hope and longing well up inside him. He pressed the emotions back down as quickly as they appeared. There was no time for that sort of thing - at least, not yet.

"What then?" He asked, as soberly as if he were collecting background information for a contract.

"Well, the woman turned out to be quite the character. Throwing temper tantrums, trying to seduce Auckes, trying to drive a wedge between us. Keeping her around wasn't easy, but after you so nobly sacrificed yourself, we thought it'd be dumb to just leave her somewhere. She wouldn't have survived a week on her own. The whims and vigor of a duchess, but she was just a sorceress with no memory. And a damn irritating one, at that. We were in the heart of the Empire, and as I'm sure you know, Geralt, in Nilfgaard mages who behave like that either drop their bad habits quickly or are drawn and quarter by horses in the middle of Victory Square."

"So I heard."

"So we set out, wandered through the provinces. Everywhere we went, she got into trouble and we pulled her out. And then one day they captured us - the Imperial secret police. Me, Auckes, Serrit and Yennefer. We were separated. They questioned us, long and thoroughly, but it was uneventful, there was no violence. That's how I met Vattier de Ridaux, and a couple of weeks later, the Emperor himself. Me - a simple witcher."

"Congratulations," Geralt said dryly. "What happened to Yennefer?"

Letho shrugged his shoulders, reaching over and taking another swig from the bottle. "I dunno. Never saw her again. The Emperor offered me a mission in the Northern Kingdoms. As for Yennefer, I had the feeling she was someone important to Emhyr. They recognized her, treated her like a valuable asset. Far as I can tell, they learned of the Lodge from her, though whether it was willingly or not, I couldn't say. They may look civilized on the outside, but behind closed doors… well, those imperial spooks have their ways. Last I heard, she was at the palace under close supervision. The rest of us went off to slay the kings of the north, and that's where my knowledge ends.

"So she's in the empire now?"

"She was when I left. Satisfied?"

"No," Geralt replied flatly, folding his arms. "How did a witcher agree to kill humans for money? You were taught better than that."

"It wasn't a farmer offering a contract, Geralt. One does not simply refuse The White Flame Dancing On the Graves of His Foes."

Geralt pressed his lips together tightly in disapproval. "What was your price?"

"Come on, Geralt - I thought you knew me better. The job paid well in gold, sure, but it was more than that. He promised to rebuild the school of the Viper. The rest of us out there aren't so lucky to have a hideout like Kaer Morhen to run home to. With Serrit and Auckes gone, there are only 2 other witchers left from my School. Haven't seen them for years. Now, they can come out of hiding. They can come home."

"So Emhyr wanted the all northern kings dead. Why?"

"Wouldn't every monarch wish for the death of his rivals?"

"They don't usually assassinate rulers they've worked out a tenuous armistice with."

"Yeah, well, he wasn't exactly forthcoming with his motives, but I picked up on enough. Way I see it, it wasn't really about them, so much as it was about spreading chaos. The mission was simple - remove crowned heads, blame the sorceress, soften up the north for invasion."

"Invasion?"

"What - didn't any of the sorceresses tell you? As we speak, there's an army of Black Ones thirty thousand strong, about to cross the Yaruga. War's coming. Again. And you know what's incredible? We could not have imagined more fertile soil for chaos. No matter who's on the throne, the northern monarchs accuse one another, pursue their 'god-given rights,' seek vengeance and are constantly at each others' throats. The north resembles a whorehouse on fire, as your friend Dandelion would say."

"Why blame the Lodge?"

"You guess is as good as mine, brother. I was just following orders. Secret society or not, it wasn't that hard to track down Síle de Tansarville. She never exactly kept a low profile. I stayed close to her, killed a few beasts for her, whined about how unhappy I was, how unfair the world was - so much, in fact, that I actually got her gander up a few times. At first, she was suspicious, but sooner or later, everyone starts treating me like a big oaf. I mean, I can't change how I look.

"I made sure a few potentially trustworthy witnesses saw us together, could link us… security, in case I was captured. I also prepared to assassinate the king of Kovir. He was actually supposed to be the first victim. But before I could do the deed, Síle asked me to slay Demavend. I couldn't believe my luck. Here, I'd been trying to figure out how to frame Síle, and now all I needed was to carry out the orders and follow through."

"When did she switch from hiring you to trying to kill you?"

"Early on. The Lodge panicked when I killed Foltest. That wasn't their plan - he was one of the few kings who actually listened to his advisors. But, a job's a job. Unfortunately, it got a lot harder to do once people were onto me. Between those scheming hags, Roche, Iorveth's squirrels and you… let's just say life has been unpleasant lately."

"And you expect to just walk away from it?"

"I do. The Lodge is disbanded, Iorveth's too busy worshiping the ground Saskia walks on, and Roche has bigger problems to deal with. Thirty thousand of them, to be precise. The only obstacle standing in my way is you."

"Where would you go? Roche hasn't forgotten, you know."

"Nazair. There's a plot of land along the shore of Lake Muredach where a castle used to stand. Not much more than a foundation left, but it's a start. I'll rebuild the School of the Viper, maybe even train up some new witchers. We are a dying breed, after all. It'd be a shame for one of us to bleed out in this god-forsaken dump." Letho took one last sip from the bottle, and tossed it onto the pile of bodies behind him. "Look at you, Wolf. Your fingers are burned to hell, you limped in here like an old man, and those ribs… you just won't let them heal. You're a mess. And me? Well, I've been whacked over the head, cut, bruised, and literally stabbed in the back. All things being equal, I'd rather not kill you. I actually kinda like you. But if we're gonna do this, then let's get it over with. I'm tired."

Justice, as so often was the case, was a complicated matter. After all, who was really to blame - the emperor who ordered the murders, the witcher who acted as his arm extended, or the sorceresses who endorsed regicide for similarly self-serving reason? Perhaps all of them. Geralt breathed in deeply through his nose, holding the breath for a long moment before releasing it slowly.

"I'm tired too."