Chapter 7

'You talk of honour and duty like its something that you can put your finger on and point to. Let me tell you man that I have seen as many heinous acts committed by the so-called 'paragons' of honour and duty than I have by commoners and guttural soldiery. I spit on your words. Most knights are just rapists, murderers and degenerates that happen to be born with a silver spoon in their mouth and a mount between their legs. I've seen better paragons amongst beast.'

Mercenary Captain Harald de Wett of the 3rd regiment of Lyrian freedman arguing with Count Roland of Aedirn about the knightly code and its place in the modern age.

She had thought it was a good idea and the only option she had available to save her life and hopefully bring Sinda's killer to justice.

Over the years of running with the wrong crowd, Mina had managed to make some contacts in the city guard, but many of them had moved on, and those who remained had little love of the gutter trash of the city. Mina couldn't blame them.

Arriving at the merchant district guard post late morning, entirely frazzled on whatever fisstech she had left, half-frozen to death and partly insane from the previous night's horror, she had babbled incoherently to the youngster that was staffing the desk. He had struggled to get anything sensible from her and was just about to kick her out of the door back into the cold until she blurted out the words 'murder…last night…'

Suddenly the guard took her far more seriously and before she could react the massive portal door had been slammed shut, and she was being detained, forcefully, by two other guards who had appeared out of thin air. She briefly resisted as best she could, but even if she had been at peak health, she wouldn't have been able to fight the guards off. Before she even had time to scream, Mina had been shackled by her wrists and was being carried further into the guard post.

"Help!" she finally managed to screech. "What are you doing?!"

"Shut up. You will have plenty of time to speak later girl. The Captain will want to chat with you shortly, don't you worry!" the smaller of the two guards spat back at her.

"What do you mean? There must be some mistake!"

The pair ignored her protests and dragged Mina past the young guard she had initially been speaking to who watched the scene unfold before him with dead eyes.

"You don't understand! The murderer is out there, and he is coming for me. I saw him kill Sinda last night and I heard his voice. Please, you have to listen to me!". Mina's eyes burned as she was shoved between the pair. Her throat was so painful that she felt like someone was running a knife across it, slowly cutting her windpipe.

"Don't worry lass" the small one growled. "You will be safe in here from anyone trying to kill you. Well, at least from the outside!"

The other guard, taller and thinner than his friend who also sported a wispy, dirty moustache chuckled at his colleague's poor joke.

"I don't know anything!" Mina wailed as they threw her heavily into a damp and freezing cell and shut the doors.

"Have no fear lass" the tall one replied menacingly. "As the Nilfgaard bastards in the south say, we have ways of making you talk…'

The pair left her alone in the dark cell as she began to sob quietly to herself. In the distance, receding rapidly, she could hear the guards laughing and chuckling as if they had just won a game at dice.

Out of sight, something shifted, and it startled her, causing her to squeak pitifully. It soon transpired to be just a large, black rat that was desperately trying to find a corner of the stone cell to hide in and disappear.

Mina started to sob again. It was all she could do.

The lazy sun was high in the sky, hidden behind a blanket of thick black clouds as the trio of riders stopped for a short journey break just off the main road in a copse of dense pine trees. No fire was set as the party wanted to break camp quickly and continue as soon as possible. The weather had turned and was inclement once again with the rain refusing to make up its mind, switching between sheer hell and slight soaking drizzle that didn't seem to want to end. A fair wind had also rolled in from the north bringing with it even colder weather that numbed uncovered flesh in moments.

In short, it was miserable Kovir & Poviss weather. The kind that the oft hear rumours in the southern kingdoms joked about. The turn of the weather meant that the winter months were now very much on the horizon and that the capital would be moved to Lan Exeter, the winter capital of the kingdom. The royal court would soon abandon Pont Vanis for the next few seasons in search of warmer and less aggressive weather.

Snowdrop snorted unhappily at the cold and stamped a hoof in frustration. Her heavy warm breathe sent steam clouds spraying from nostrils making her resemble more of a demon steed than a fine, thoroughbred Kovirian mount.

"So is it true witcher that you have two swords, steel and silver, and that the steel one is for humans and the silver for monsters?" Reinard asked through chattering teeth as he tried his best to cut a slide of salt pork.

Triss stood between the pair but kept her distance. Geralt had hardly talked at all since they had left the village, communicating in grunts and vague noises whenever she had asked a question or wanted confirmation. His face was dour and, bathed in shadow as it was under his thick black cloak, he looked terrible.

If she hadn't known him for so long and seen him at his very best and his very worst, she would have been terrified by that visage. Triss had listened intently when Geralt occasionally discussed witching and the finer, gruesome parts of his trade, often naked and wrapped around him as they passionately cuddled post lovemaking. It was when she found him his most talkative and If she probed him for more detail, he sometimes tried to explain the feeling of a situation or a monster with what words he could muster. It was clear to her that he was convinced that particular creatures projected a magical aura, whether intentional or not and that a trained witcher was capable of feeling unease, danger or impeding peril before it appeared. He had tried to explain to her that it was like a sixth sense that every being possessed but many ignored or dulled through intoxication and vice. He told her that if you observed you could see the feel in action best demonstrated in prey animals that, despite not having seen, heard or smelt a predator, simple knew that something was out there watching and bolted, ultimately saving their life.

Triss had met and tried to help many men and women that seemed to possess a heightened level of awareness which was entirely self-perpetuating, causing what some Oxenfurt doctors referred to as 'hyper attention disorder' which had unfortunately turned them into nervous wrecks that couldn't help but see knives in every shadow. The result was a destructive fear of life based on no logical or rational evidence.

She had seen it kill people.

Triss had also listened intently as the witcher discusses the opposite side of the coin, though far less often and only if she pried. Geralt would try to explain the feel of a predator hunting its prey or guarding its lair. The almost physical threat that the animal or monster exuded. He said that he had felt it often, especially from some of the more intelligent of his prey such as wyverns and gryphons. It was a jarring, offputting and disquieting feel, affecting everything about your person on a primal, guttural level that was impossible to quantify. It was both terrifying and exhilarating and could paralyse if you let it worm into your bones, leaving you helpless to your often gruesome fate, sometimes willingly.

She felt him as a predator now, and he projected his aura of threat and violence, hunger and rage. She was not sure if it was because she knew him so well, that she was magically attuned to feel it more keenly, or both, but his feel was overpowering her senses. It made her weak at the knees with both fear and longing, and at that moment she could quickly have fallen to the ground and begged to be taken by the wolf, to whatever end he chose.

"They are both for monsters…" Geralt growled in response after some time had passed. His response broke Triss from her trance with a start.

"Ah-ha, very good witcher. I see what you have done there. Both for monsters…very clever and very apt as well. You know, we are no so different you and me. After all, I have meted justice out on some of the pure filth of this world. Why just last week we hung some neer-do-wells that had torched a homestead owned by a young widow and…"

"Enough, Reinard" Triss barked. "Have some of this warm pine tea and save your words for a time when we can hear them in better spirits". She offered the knight a small wooden cup of tea that she had made from the nearby pine boughs and heated with a little of her fire magic.

"Thank you m' lady" Reinard replied as he took the cup and sipped noisily.

Triss glanced sideways at Geralt who simply remained immobile, anchored to the spot. She couldn't see his face but knew he was doing his best to stay calm. She guessed that the conversation about the reason she came to find him was not sitting well.

Reinard handed back the small cup, and she took it gently, tipping out the remains to the soft floor, blanketed as it was in a carpet of discarded soft needles from the surrounding trees. The scent of the pine was powerful, and it mixed to a heady aroma with the musky, thick smell of the damp earth below. The combination was intoxicating.

"Come. Let us continue. We can increase the pace if we get some better weather."

Triss replaced her riding gloves and walked over to Snowdrop. With a swift leap and sweep of her leg, she mounted and turned the horses head towards the track once again. Snowdrop responded with a snort of appreciation, happy to begin to move again whilst Reinard followed on his mount, a large black warhorse called Warrior. She whipped the reins and Snowdrop began to pace ahead, Warrior in tow, leaving Roach watching on seemingly without care.

As the pair reached the road and turned to continue the journey Reinard spurred Warrior to catch up next to Triss, slowing as he pulled up alongside. He waited for a while until the copse they had sheltered in was long out of sight before speaking.

"I don't mean to intrude Miss Merigold, but I don't think your witcher is particularly happy".

Triss snorted. "You think correct Captain".

"May I ask why?"

Triss sighed. "I tried to explain the situation in the capital and why we came to find him. He doesn't want to get involved, and he feels trapped. He can't refuse to help for fear of putting me in danger or jeopardising my position with the king, but equally, he wants nothing to do with the situation and most definitely never wants to speak with the king…"

Reinard was silent for a while as the words sunk in. Triss knew that he was struggling to comprehend the situation. As Captain of the royal guard and a knight faithful in every way to the king, the thought of ignoring a request of aid from his monarch was utterly alien to him. "But it's his duty?"

Triss shook her head, causing ripples of water droplets to spray gently in all directions. She turned to face the Captain. "No, it's not. He has no duty to Kovir, Poviss or King Tancred. He is a free man, a soul that has spent almost all of his long life on the road under his own steam and direction doing his very best to avoid getting involved in anything political or polarising. He is a monster slayer Captain, and he is only here because I asked him to come to Kovir and live with me, to settle down and finally stop for a time. To try to live a life that, for both of us, never looked possible. I promised him that I would keep a wall between my position at court and our relationship. It turns out I lied."

"But surely you cant fail to respond to the king's request".

"No, I cant. But he can. He is caught in a no-win situation, and one thing you might learn about Geralt is that when he feels trapped, he fights. He fights to the death, and his default response is always to attack. You can't win an argument with him when he feels threatened. Trust me; I've tried."

Silence, interrupted by the returned heavy rainfall and the occasional ring of a horseshoe, descended over the pair as the knight pondered her words. It seemed like minutes before Triss finally spoke up.

"Captain, please don't try to judge Geralt by your moral compass or knightly code. It won't work. You don't know the history we both have with kings and the things we have seen, the things we have lived through or the deeds we have been forced to do in the name of monarchs that want to use us both, and especially the witcher, as nothing more than a precision blade to fix a dirty problem".

"Foltest?" Reinard replied.

"But one example…"

The sound of hooves breaking through the heavy rain behind them ceased their conversation, and shortly Geralt pulled up, though intentionally keeping his distance. He said nothing but followed them like a black-clad wraith.

They continued on the path in silence until dusk.

The goblet span across the privy council chamber, spraying red wine in all directions. It had been batted with enough force that when it struck the substantial marble column, the vessel was entirely ruined. Gold crumpled under the impact and rubies the size of thumbnails skidded across the floor as it hit the ground. The strike echoed for some time.

The chamber remained deathly silent except for the low, slow, furious breathing of the king as he paced the floor. De Vries considered his monarch stalking up and down, one hand on his sword the other crunching the note he had received earlier that day into a small ball. Clothed as he was in a thick chestnut coloured fur cloak atop golden and cream tunic and trousers he looked like a Zerrikanian lion, albeit a lion that had a festering thorn in its paw that it could not remove despite trying mightly.

"Have you heard De Vriess? Have you heard what was found atop the statue?"

"Unfortunately your grace I believe that everyone will have heard by now".

Tancred gripped his sword even tighter, and De Vriess could see the veins bulging on his neck and muscular forearm. Never a good sign. "Whoever wrote this is mocking me, my lord".

"It would appear so your grace".

Tancred paused for a few moments and opened the note again slowly, fighting to control his anger. "Have you read this note that was found pinned to the body, or whatever was left of it that could be called a body?"

"No, my king. I have not".

Tancred huffed and held the note out in front of him in the parody of a town-crier. "I am an artist painting the greatest works of art you will ever see. My art will continue to develop, and I will continue to paint regularly and, soon, on a far larger scale. I have decided that no longer will I be restricted to the poor quality material that I have been forced to make do with so far. From this point on, I will paint with only the finest of material, and for this, I need the patronage of the only the most beautiful, most noble and most influential of Pont Vanis. I will take the beautiful and make them magnificent. I ask you as you should be asking yourself now, where is your king?"

"Hmmm. A regular psychopath it would appear. What does he mean by finest of material?"

"He means nobles. Higher quality of blood. Possibly even the merchant lords and influential banking families."

"To what end is he doing this?"

"I am hoping that one of you can bloody tell me!" Tancred growled, barely controlling his anger. "Not one of the gold pieces I pour into our intelligence services is helping. Sometimes I have no idea why I bother with them at all. It's always half truth's and falsehoods. I can't believe I am saying this, but part of me admires that damned fat cretin of a man Sigismund Djikstra. Even though he looks like a bloated pig, he knows how to run a secret service!"

De Vries waited for the king to catch his breath before responding. "The way I see it, your grace is that whoever is behind these atrocities is after one of two things. If they truly see themselves as an artist, they are out of their mind and likely have no plans at all other than to continue to kill and 'paint' as he puts it. If this is the case, then we have little to worry about other than your safety, and we can wait until the monster makes a misstep where he will be indeed caught and dealt with".

Tancred crumpled the note and stood watching his minister of coin like a statue. "And the second?"

"We have to consider this is a coordinated and deliberate attack on your person and your authority. If this monster starts killing highborn or influential women and girls, it won't take long for the guilds to rebel and the highmen to begin banging on your doors wanting answers. Impotence in the face of adversity has been the downfall of some of the previous rulers of Kovir and Poviss your grace".

"Thank you for the history lesson De Vriess".

The minister bowed gently, unsure if he had been praised or scolded.

"What do you suggest?"

"It's difficult to say your grace, but I think a show of force and your presence can only do wonders to calm the mood. Maybe we can hang a few perpetrators of other crimes whilst we continue to hunt down this monster".

Tancred nodded. "Very well. I will attend the market and see for myself the location this latest painting took place. I heard that there is a girl locked up in the merchant districts guard post who claims to have seen the killer?"

"Apparently so but I very much doubt she will be of use. She is, at best, a whore and fisstech abuser. Her word is worth shit, and she was probably lying to try to get a meal and a bed for the night".

"Captain!" Tancred shouted so that the guards outside of the doors would hear him. It took only a few moments before they swung open and the four fully armed and armoured knights of his guard stepped into the chamber, led by an officer. The young man bowed gracefully even in full plate revealing a lifetime of training in one seemingly simple move. "I am sorry my king, but the Captain has yet to return from your last errand. However, I am, as always, at your disposal".

"Lebiodas ballsack!" Tancred boiled. "Why are Reinard and my damned sorceress not back from collecting that witcher of hers yet?"

"The patrol returned early this morning your grace. Five of the knights have fallen. Reinard, Merrigold and the witcher are returning at haste and will be back at the capital shortly".

"Fallen? Are you telling me that five of the knights from my household guard died simply retrieving the witcher?" the king asked incredulously.

"Apparently so your grace. The witcher and your sorceress were responsible for slaying a vile demon that was plaguing a village by killing the inhabitants, in this case, a few children. The men have no wounds on them at all your grace, and I have never seen the like. It's almost like their very 'being' has been removed. The survivors of the patrol report that the phantom struck them once and they died on the spot, cut down like nothing so much as wheat. The witcher was injured in the fight, and Miss Merrigold insisted on nursing him to health".

"And Reinard?"

"He refused to leave the sorceress unprotected and stayed with her as you ordered your grace".

Tancred's face was white. De Vriess wasn't sure if it was rage or concern.

"Very well, Lieutenant. Prepare a patrol to show force into the marketplace. I will be accompanying you. We leave in an hour".

The Lieutenant slapped a closed fist to his chest in salute as he walked back from the chamber. As soon as the doors had closed, Tancred could hear the young man bellowing orders like a seasoned professional. It was apparent that Reinard selected and trained his officer corps to perfection.

"What kind of hell-spawned demon is capable of killing five of my guard like they were toys and almost kill Geralt of Rivia?" the king asked De Vriess.

The master of the coin didn't respond. He had known Tancred for long enough to know when the king was asking a rhetorical question.

Greyhand dipped the quill in the inkpot at her side and paused, rereading the note she had just drafted and checking it for the third time for errors. The letter was written in a font and hand that was so completely bland and devoid of flourish that any intelligence agent that eventually read it would dismiss it as nothing of note. She was proud of her ability to write the most important of things in such a way that would put most people to sleep and throw them off the scent.

Slowly, deliberately and with meticulous attention to detail she signed the letter off with a single letter, a capital G which was set in place with a sprinkle of grey sand that, as always, could have originated from anywhere.

The note was folded with a precision that the far eastern Zerkanian paper sculptors would have been proud of. She sealed the message with a hot wax stamp, embedding the wax with the same boring G.

The waxes colour, of course, was grey. The kind of grey you can see anywhere without trying very hard at all. The wholly bland and boring sort of grey that can be found in the heavy rain clouds, in dry clay or on the faces of long-deceased corpses as they began to putrify.

Greyhand carefully placed the now sealed note on top of the other three that she had produced with the same attention to detail before this final one.

"Send them" she commanded.

The being she used to run her errands and manage visitors stepped forward, bowed slightly and then picked up the letters. He was about to turn away when Greyhand gripped him by his forearm with a speed and strength that, if anyone else would have been watching, would have startled them.

"Change, you have worn that face for too long".

The being nodded and, like a chameleon changing its colour to fit with the surroundings, it gradually morphed into a female figure of such complete vagueness that Greyhand released her grip and sat back happily in the heavy wooden utilitarian chair.

"Good. Now go".

The woman nodded once again and left through the only door, leaving the grey hooded figure sat alone at the ordinary-looking table in the middle of the large, utterly boring grey room.

They stopped for the night in a small hamlet that the dishevelled looking sign nailed to the beech tree on its outskirts ironically called 'Pleasant'. The hamlet was tiny and couldn't offer them anything other than an old barn that they were forced to pay for over the odds for. Before retiring for the night, Reinard had insisted they find somewhere to have a warm drink to help warm their bones and Triss, though thoroughly soaked and freezing, couldn't have agreed faster. They found a small inn that was dotted with regulars that had the same idea as they did and as she stepped over the threshold of the inn the heat from the roaring fire struck Triss like a firewall, almost taking her breath away. Within moments she had located a spare table and ordered two jugs of warm wine from the swarthy innkeeper. She enquired about the possibility of some food and gratefully accepted the offer of some basic bean soup and half stale bread for the three of them.

After letting the heat settle in for a while, she removed her cloak and gloves, tutting angrily at how wet they had become throughout the day.

Reinard sat opposite her, keeping quiet and merely observing the inn and its inhabitants. None of the folk in the inn seemed to pose any danger, and the majority were poorly nourished and clothed. He doubted that there was a single blade of worth in the room, other than the ones he and the witcher carried. There would be no trouble at this time.

"So have you decided to help my king witcher?" he finally asked blatantly. "Or are you going to return to the path and ignore a request for aid from the one who provides your wife with a position, coin, home and hearth?"

Triss's mouth fell ajar at the Captains words. He either hadn't paid any heed to their conversations during the day or chose to ignore them regardless.

Geralt clenched his right hand tightly. He had removed his hood on entering but still wore his heavy cloak and, as always, his swords. The air of menace had only started to cool a few hours before, but he hadn't spoken a word since they left the copse of trees around noon. He was still angry, frustrated and dangerous. "Plough your king and plough your problem" he growled.

"Geralt!" Triss hissed. "Remember of who you speak and in what company you find yourself in!"

Reinard sat back on his stool, and without hesitation, his sword hand gripped the hilt of his blade. "Apologise witcher. I tire of your attitude, and I will defend the honour of my king with my sword and life".

"The only thing that will happen is that you will wind up caked in mud, lying face down in a puddle of your blood outside that door before you even manage to draw that pretty blade of yours Captain" the witcher replied flatly. "I have no desire to fight you or anyone for that matter, so I urge you to remove your hand and continue to live".

"Retract your insult first…"

"Geralt!" Triss commanded.

"No".

Reinard was about to respond when the innkeeper slammed two jugs onto the table, interrupting him. They were shortly followed by two plates of suspect bread and a tankard of bean soup, delivered with all of the elegance of a rock troll.

"Please accept our thanks innkeeper" Triss smiled angelically whilst dropping coin into the mans calloused, grubby fingers. After the owner had retreated to his stool near the fire, out of immediate earshot, Triss turned to the pair in front of her, set her face in what she hoped was a stern look then whispered to them both. "Let me make it clear how this is going to play out gentleman. You are both going to drop any thoughts of a duel outside and chalk up any bad words or insults to being tired, wet and hungry. There will be no swords, fists or further insults. The three of us are going to eat, drink, warm up, dry off and then sleep. Tomorrow we will make haste for the capital. Though I am tired, I am also a sorceress, and though I have no desire to force you to comply with magic you will find it very difficult to fight each other if you are both frogs".

Reinard slowly removed his hand from his sword hilt and after a moment of reflection reached for a mug of warm wine. He poured three cups and pushed two of them across the uneven surface of the table, offering them to both Triss and Geralt in a show of forgiveness and deference.

Triss took the cup and nodded thanks to the Captain. Geralt, taking his time as if pondering whether the liquid was poisoned, finally took the cup with a grunt and downed the contents in one long draft.

"Fucking knights…" she heard him grumble as he poured and downed a second cup of wine.

As they lay entwined within each others embrace later than night Triss reflected on the day's events. Geralt had remained silent throughout the rest of the time in the inn and hadn't opened up as they prepared to sleep on the makeshift bed of rough hay. Now, with his arms wrapped around her and with them both covered as best as possible withing the thick cloaks and bedding they had available, the atmosphere had thawed a great deal to the point where Triss thought she might be able to open dialogue again. It would be down to her to do so though as Geralt was not one to verbalise his thoughts unless someone prompted. She held his hands in hers, fingers interlocked as they rested on her naked stomach just above the navel. She had released her hair from its buns, and it draped lazily over her shoulders and upper back. She could feel his heavy and warm breathing on the nape of her neck, shoulders and upper arms and in less tense times, it would have been enjoyable. At that moment though she couldn't relax enough to feel anything other than concern. "You scare me sometimes" she finally found the power to say.

"I know…" he replied gruffly. "I don't mean to. I never mean to".

"I know" Triss sighed.

Somewhere in the darkness of the stable a mouse or rat darted, breaking the silence with a flurry of activity and jilted hay.

"Reinard is a good man Geralt. He is brave, honourable and loyal to a fault. Please don't kill him. It would be difficult to explain to the king who likes and trusts him."

"I promise I won't kill him" Geralt responded. "He is just a knight. No different than you find everywhere around the empire and northern kingdoms. I've dealt with his kind enough to know how he thinks".

"True. But this situation isn't his fault. Its mine, and if you are going to be angry at anyone, then it should be me".

"I am angry at myself, not you".

"Why?"

"For falling into this trap in the first place. Can you not see the pattern Triss? Another country, another king and another problem. Another chance for us to get killed, hurt or ruined. I was nieve to think we could see this out to the end without someone with a crown popping our bubble".

She remained silent for some time pondering his words. "I tried to keep you at arm's length. I did my best to keep the king ambivalent about your presence whilst we both carried on. I've managed to do that for a long time Geralt, and it has been wonderful, it truly has, but I can't simply ignore the man. He is a good king, far better than any of pretenders and idiots we have worked for in the past, and he has been both kind and generous to me. To us. If it wasn't for Tancred…"

"You and the rest of the mages in Novigrad and probably the northern kingdoms would be dead. I know Triss. I was there. I saw what they were doing with fire and stake to spellcasters".

"I know you were their Geralt".

She felt him shift behind her, his naked rough and scarred flesh brushing against her own soft and supple back. The hair on his chest, stomach and groin tickled her as he moved and she gripped his hands even tighter in her own.

"What would you have me do?" he asked.

Triss could think of many things she would have him do at that moment, and the thought of some of them caused her blood to start pumping and her face to flush, but she knew the witcher well enough that he was serious and matter of fact about the situation he now faced. Any reference to sex wouldn't work as he was all business, and she couldn't blame him. "Come with me to Pont Vanis and help me investigate the murders. Someone is playing a game that none of us can fathom. I need your skills and experience to figure out what is going on. The intelligence service is drawing a blank, and my spells have so far proved utterly useless at picking anything up we can work with".

"I won't have to speak with the king?" he asked hopefully.

"I can't promise that. He seems intrigued by you and your complete disregard of royalty or authority. He wants you to cross swords with him and help him become a better swordsman and reading between the lines I would guess that he wants to see if the legends about the white wolf hold up to his scrutiny".

"I've noticed that when you speak of Tancred, you seem rather fond of him" the witcher enquired.

It was now Trisses turn to shift in place as her husband cleverly pivoted the conversation with the agility of a Nilfgaardian interrogator. "I don't know what you mean" she lied.

"Don't play coy".

"Fine. If you must know Tancred is a handsome and engaging man. Remember that the lodge wanted to match Tancred with Ciri and though I resisted that idea at the time, I am now confident they would have made a fearsome match. Tancred might have even had a chance with me if things had been different and I definitely wouldn't have kicked him out bed had he of pressed me".

Geralt was silent, and Triss didn't know if he was angry, surprised or amused. "If you can't handle the answer, don't ask the question" she added a few moments later.

He squeezed her tighter, causing her to sigh. "Well, its lucky things turned out the way they did, or I might have needed to take you from Tancred by force".

Triss chuckled childishly at his jest, but deep down she knew he would have done exactly that if he felt it had been necessary. He was nothing if not persistent and determined.

She rolled over, and they came to nose to nose. Smaller by some margin as she was Triss was forced to crane her head to look up into his rugged and scarred face. His eyes were wide open, penetrating her very soul, but his face was inviting. Her naked breasts rubbed against his chest sensitively, and she raised her hands to cup his face. "Oh, Geralt. You are such a romantic!" she joked.

He smiled and kissed her deeply as he ran his strong hands down her leg, causing Triss to almost purr. "Fine. I will speak with your damn king and find this killer but not for him. It's for you. When this contract is done, I will wash my hands with the court. There will be no more.

Triss blinked slowly. "Thank you. That's all I can ask".

Geralt nodded and leaned in to kiss her once again. His hands continued to trace a slow, sensual pattern on her naked thigh, and he moved his mouth lower to bite her neck gently, which caused Triss to arch in pleasure and anticipation. "Seriously?" she chuckled. "In this damp and horrible barn?".

"This barn is a palace compared to some of the locations we have used".

Triss bit her top lip and then returned his kiss passionately. "Fair point witcher. Fair point indeed. And I have missed you…"

Outside in the darkness of the late evening, the poorly mounted village name sign flew away into the gloom, ripped from its mount by the wind which had built into a freezing crescendo. You would have had to have been listening very intently near the barn in which the witcher and the sorceress lay to hear the moans of pleasure, masked as they were by the loud rustling of the beech trees and howling wind.