Chapter 9

"I used to keep dogs for hunting. I had a large pack of them. Big, terrifying blood hounds they were from Aedirn. I swear they could scent out a particular rat in the sewers of Oxenfurt if I simply asked them. Then one day I had need for the service of a Witcher, oh what was his name again? Trondek, that right, Trondek. He carried two swords like they do and wore the medallion of a screaming cat around his neck. A small fellow he was. Strong in a wiry way and faster than anything I have ever seen. He had feline and wicked eyes which matched his medallion perfectly. Anyway, one day I had need to hunt down more than just monsters and this witcher happily obliged. He found his man alright, using nothing but his senses, intimidation and pure cunning. Id never seen anything like it till then but he found his target within a few days and all the rest of my useless informers had turned up nothing in months. Ever since then, when I want a man found, I do not use dogs or spies I use a witcher. Best gold you can spend on hunting debtors"

Duke Forhue of Kaedwen speaking to retainers whilst on a stag hunt.

'So, the promised Witcher has finally arrived…' the shadowed figure thought to himself and he observed the scene in the marketplace from a distance. Sat as he was, far back into the recesses of the room, it would have been impossible to see him as he smiled wickedly. He watched as the white haired Witcher observed his artwork at the fountain and how he talked to the king and the sorceress he had arrived with. The mutant remained still for some time, as if ignoring them, and then finally motioned to a patch of the snow. The king and the sorceress became immediately interested and joined him.

"Impossible…" the assassin gasped quietly. "I left no tracks. I never leave tracks".

The Witcher stood and after discussing something more with the others, he left them both, pacing off in an easterly direction. He was walking in the same direction that Blackhand had walked with the body. He was unerringly accurate.

"I've been compromised" the assassin growled and gripped the handle of his wickedly designed belt knife out of anger. "They haven't summoned a Witcher, they have summoned a bloodhound to sniff me out!"

Blackhand span sharply, his cloak wrapping around him dramatically as he did so. For the first time ever, he was the one that was now evading the blade and it was critical that he remove himself from the location and burnt anything that could be traced back to him. Standard practice that all the Hands assassins followed dictated that everything he owned was easily portable and it was already packed for just this eventuality. But there were ways of throwing a dog off your scent and Blackhand was confident that despite the Witcher being supernaturally good, it was possible to break the trail and possibly kill the Witcher at the same time. He would not let the mutant interfere with the plans of the Hand and get in the way of what was shortly coming.

If he were successful, Greyhand would reward him handsomely for the Witcher's head and, more importantly than that, it would be the greatest kill of his life.

The assassin quickly rummaged through his equipment and withdrew a short and thin black box that strapped to his right forearm with the aid of a few leather straps and supports. After securing it in place he tested the device by depressing his right hands outer fingers and, as he was expecting, a low 'thump' sounded from the innards of the device. Blackhand took five of the small circular discs that he kept with the device and carefully loaded them from the top into a chamber. Finally, he took a delicate vial from his belt and tipped the contents on top of the discs which resulted in a toxic green steam and vapour beginning to rise from the chambers. He closed the lid quickly to prevent himself from inhaling it.

From the lavishly decorated bed he picked up his scabbard and secured it to his waist. Once done, a quick flick of his wrist drew the long thin rapier blade, and he practiced a few quick strikes and defensive rotations to ensure that everything was it should be. Slowly, and with great care, he applied an oil to the blade with the use of a swab and then sheathed the weapon.

Finally, and as more of an afterthought, he restocked his supply of vials from his bag, inserting them into each of the slots on his waist belt. He very rarely went out on a foray as fully armed as he was, but this was a special situation, and he was hunting a special kind of prey. Witcher's were notoriously dangerous opponents and supremely capable swordsman and one did not trifle with a Witcher lightly. Blackhand shuddered with delight at the prospect of coming face to face with a worthy opponent and his nerves were firing, causing his fingertips to tingle.

Picking up his small bag he quickly scanned the room once more for anything incriminating and, once he was satisfied that all was well, he selected one of the small metal balls from his waist and muttered a few words. The ball started to hum quietly but it began to rapidly increase in volume. Blackhand rolled the device over his shoulder as he closed the door to the room.

The assassin was already out of the building and three streets away when the sounds of the locals screaming 'FIRE!' at the top of their lungs started.

Geralt moved slowly at first, focussing very closely on the barely perceptible footprints that he could make out in the snow. To anyone else, except perhaps another Witcher with as much experience as he, the snow was just that, snow. To his practiced and supernatural eyesight though he could make out the mark of a heel here and a squared toe there. There was nothing like a full footprint at any point, no that would be far too easy. What he had to work with was the impression of a footprint, vaguely pointing in the direction of travel out of the marketplace. He had to reluctantly admit that whoever had left this print, and it was most likely human due to the size, they were the single most light-footed individual he had ever had to track. Even without the added burden of the dead elf's body he should have left a clear trail. It occurred to him as he moved that it could be magic in action, possibly some kind of spell to remove weight or make the user float, if anything like that was possible. He had never heard of it or seen it in action, and this was something he was going to have to ask Triss about later when they met again. Right now, though, he had one task and one task only, to hunt.

The tracks led him east, towards the exit of the marketplace. Since moving to Kovir after Triss's insistence, he had entered Pont Vanis on only very few occasions and always under duress. He detested large cities as they always made him feel trapped and under surveillance. Someone was always watching every move and in all the years of his life, he had some of the worst experiences in cities. He had seen too many on fire and too many swarming with zealots and psychopaths. Cities like Vizima, Oxenfurt and Novigrad were literal cess pits of scum and villainy the likes of which would turn any good man to base pleasures and deeds in short measure. Granted, the cities in Kovir and Poviss were very different to the Northern Kingdoms and, it had to be said, were far more civilised and welcoming, but it still did not sit right with him. Where large groups of people congregate you get tribes and tribes, regardless of what their collective rationale, always war with each other.

'Also, politics…' Geralt mused as he left the square and entered the streets, brightly coloured and oddly narrow merchant houses looming on either side of him, cutting off much of the dim light from the cloudy sky. "I bloody hate politics…" he grumbled.

He slowed his pace even further now as the trail started to become even less visible. As he moved, he knelt regularly, taking deep breaths to calm his senses and focus on the task at hand. The trail was now almost impossible to read and only by taking a significant amount of time on every few metres of ground could he tell the story and identify the direction of travel. To make matters worse, he was aware that people were watching him from the windows and he occasionally caught the glance of some children and their merchant parents glaring at him though ornately decorated glass. It would not be long before the word got out that the marketplace had been cleared and that the world had become normal again. When that happened, the trail would be gone completely as thousands of shoes and boots obscured the precious little he had to work with.

Suddenly thirsty he removed a small drinking flask from a leather pouch at his belt and took a few gulps of water. This was going to take some time.

He resumed his hunt. He estimated that at best he had managed only a few hundred paces in the last hour or so and if the killer was moving at pace he could be anywhere in the city or beyond. This was not going to work.

"What are you doing?" a middle aged and strongly built man asked him suddenly. He had opened the emerald green front door of his house and was stood in the threshold, hands on hips. He wore a sensible but ornately decorated tunic and leggings and a sported a very voluminous thick brown beard. If he was not so tall Geralt might have mistaken him for a dwarf.

"Hunting" the witcher replied flatly, the cold air steaming in front of his lips. From the look on the mans face the sight of the heavily cloaked and armed individual moving slowly past his house startled the merchant but not enough to drive him back inside.

"You're a witcher aye?"

Geralt drew back his hood slowly, revealing his white hair and thickening beard. The man grunted in response. "Yes. I am a witcher"

"Looking for the killer?"

"Yes"

"Well, a word of warning to you witcherman. The mood in the city is bubbling and the latest murder in the marketplace has just raised the temperature even more. We are not like the Northern Kingdoms and clearer, more rational heads rule here but it will not take long before the mood builds to a frenzy and the mob mentality kicks in. When that happens, anyone that looks different is a target. I've seen it before many times south of here but never in Pont Vanis. I thought I had escaped the madness when I left Novigrad a few years back with the family, but apparently not".

"Thank you for the warning" Geralt responded "though I have no intention of being around when that happens. I have been caught up in too many pogroms and lynching mobs to be any less than a hundred leagues away from here if it comes to that".

"Wise man" the merchant responded "and good luck hunting whatever hell spawn is praying on the common folk".

Geralt nodded and pulled back up his hood slowly. It had started to snow as he talked to the man and even though the overhanging houses blocked much of it, the task of continuing the hunt using footprints was now all but impossible. He also did not relish continuing as the temperature dropped further. The simple fact of the matter was that he was not the young witcher he had been so many years before and the wounds and injuries he had sustained during his career often flared up in the cold. The back of his skull still ached from a few days before and if he moved quickly, he felt dizzy and nauseaus. Triss had promised him he would regain full health, whatever that meant to a witcher who perpetually trod that thin knife edge between lying in pieces and being almost healthy, but it would take time and that was time he did not have right now.

"I won't be going any further on this track anyway… too much snow now to follow the prints" he growled angrily.

The merchant nodded slowly and beckoned to someone that Geralt could not see behind the door. A small girl appeared next to the man, carrying a petite silver plate with a steaming loaf of bread and a hot drink.

"Witcher. Many of the folk wont like you but truth be told I have had recourse to use your kind in the past and found you to be truthful and honest folk. I do not remember the witchers name fully, but I am sure it began with a V. Take this small token of goodwill and remember that not everyone in this city is a complete dimwit. Come forward Gertie"

Geralt lowered his hood again and did his best to smile kindly. He stepped forward and took the drink and loaf from the young girl as gently as he could. The youngling, probably no more than eight years of age, was remarkably unfrightened of him, even when he locked his eyes with hers. She was a fierce little thing and he almost chuckled at the pure defiance in her eyes. It reminded him so very much of another, now not so young girl, that he had once mentored. He took a bite of the loaf and a gulp of the sweet, honeyed drink. Due to their rush to the capital Geralt had not eaten anything but hard tack for the last few days and the flavour of the drink and spiced bread was almost overpowering to his dulled senses. "Thank you kindly" he replied.

"Keep the bread witcher. You are going to need your strength" the man added after he had left Geralt a few moments to drink and eat. The merchant dismissed the young girl with a motion of his big left hand and started to close the door but before it closed fully, he stopped.

"Oh, and Witcher…" he added, clearly as an afterthought.

Geralt looked at him flatly whilst wiping a few crumbs from his beard with his leather gloved right hand.

"When you find the bastard that is doing this, give him a few from me. I am close to the first girl he murdered family and id like to know the devil suffered before his lights went out and he returned to whatever hell he was spawned from"

"You have my word" Geralt nodded and held out his hand.

After a moment, the merchant opened the door again and took Geralt's hand in his. The witcher was not surprised to feel the strength in the man's grip as they shook. "Good day witcher and happy hunting"

"Good day…?"

"Beorn. The name is Beorn".

"Good day Beorn".

The man closed the door with a dull, wet thud and Geralt found himself returned to the cold, quiet and darkened streets of the merchant district.

"I'm not getting any further with this" the thought to himself gloomily. "It's time I headed back with my tail between my legs and tell his royal highness I failed to find the prey".

He was just about to turn away and retrace his steps to the marketplace when in the distance his acute hearing picked up panicked shouts and screams.

"Damned it!" he growled as he took off running in the direction of the shouts leaving the loaf lying half eaten in the deepening fresh snow his thick cloak billowing out behind him like the dark wings of a spectre.

It did not take long for the King's personal retinue to reach the guard post where the girl who had witnessed the murder had been detained. Triss was not quite sure on the circumstances around the whole situation but she was sure that the girl had not committed a crime. She knew too well, and with plenty of first-hand personal experience, that justice in cities was especially brutal and that the life of the common man or woman was worth very little in the grand scheme of things. She expected that the girl had been left to rot in a cell and that would have been a death sentence if she were malnourished and already in poor health to begin with.

As they approached the thick, dark, reinforced oak doors of the guard post she was surprised to see them closed and with a pair of, frankly, idiotic looking guards providing security. The royal guards approached the pair first, completely silent and with their armour clinking and rattling in the quiet late morning air. The dim sunlight occasionally managed to penetrate the thick grey overcast clouds and radiated a blinding reflection from their highly polished plate. She watched the scene ahead unfurl exactly as she had more than a few times before. Perched as she was atop Snowdrop, she sat quietly as the pair of guards almost shit themselves as they realised who was visiting. They fumbled their halberds, the taller and skinnier of the pair dropping his with a clang to the cobbled floor by mistake, and rapidly opened the portal doors, bowing all the while. It would have been comical had the situation not been entirely serious.

"Captain, if you would be so kind, take a few men and go and find what is to be found" the King commanded flatly from atop his grey stallion. "And do hurry, it's getting a little white out here".

Reinard saluted and dismounted from his mare gracefully and with practiced ease. He barked the name of a few of the guards and then began to stride into the building, his men in tow.

"I will go with them" Triss announced. "It may do good for the first eyes the girl falls on to be that of a woman, not more armoured men".

The king nodded in recognition of her sagacity and he leant over to take the rains of Snowdrop. "Very well sorceress, far be it for a lowly king to talk you out of it…".

Triss cast him a sly and dismissive glance whilst dismounting. "I won't be long your grace".

"Good. It is getting cold enough out here to freeze a walrus's balls".

Triss smiled and a few of the guards close enough to overhear could not help but chuckle out loud at their king's joke. In truth, Tancred was well liked by almost all his retainers.

The sorceress caught up with Reinard and, by placing her gloved hand on his shoulder, she indicated him to move aside and let her lead. He did so without reluctance.

"Come now gentleman. We have a damsel to rescue".

He saw the smoke before he saw the rest of the scene. A few merchants were running around carrying loads of water in anything they could get their hands on and he followed them to the cause of the smoke. Skidding to a halt on the wet cobbles his eyes beheld a large and old building, of a style of architecture not commonly seen in the city, whose upper floor had been already gutted by fire. Its clear that the merchants and servants had done an excellent job in dousing the flames and it surprised Geralt to see how organised the response was, with lines of welldoers forming human chains and passing water up to the men that were doing the actual firefighting. Occasionally flames still licked out of the window frames of the wreckage of the first floor but he guessed that the main inferno was now under control and in no danger of spreading to nearby buildings which was always the main concern in a city fire.

"What happened?" he asked the nearest spectator, a young woman. She did not even turn to see who had asked the question.

"What does it look like man. Obviously, a fire. Probably started by some idiot leaving a candle on unattended. That's what causes most of them round here" she replied flatly and dismissively.

Geralt nodded and looked over the crowd. He had no intention of helping fight a fire today, so he spent the time to observe the scene a little further. The smoke was still thick above the building and, because of the frigid air, it had thankfully stayed up and not come down to choke everyone. After a few moments of loosely scrutinising the crowd he concluded that nothing out of the ordinary was taking place and that it was clearly just another city fire. The smoke was beginning to irritate him.

'No, that's not just smoke' he suddenly realised. 'There is something more. Something out of place. Something chemical'

He pushed his way through the crowd slowly, eventually making his way into the clearing between the building and throng. Taking a few deep breaths, he slowed his heartbeat and forced out the din of the fire, spectators, and the shouts of those trying to fight the fire. He drew back his hood, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. After a few moments, the smell came back. It was chemical and biting and entirely un-natural. He was sure that had smelt something like it before in an alchemist's laboratory but right now he did not care what the substance was only that he could potentially follow it. There was nothing else to press forward with and he did not relish the thought of returning to the king or Triss empty handed, so he resolved to see where the smell led him.

Geralt moved through the crowd again, continuing to try and keep the acrid smell in his vicinity. It was difficult through the press of bodies due to the combined nausea of body odour and perfume the merchants seemed to wear in gallons, but he eventually managed to pick up the trail again after double backing on himself three times. It led to the south.

"Got you" he stated as he started to follow the vapour trail.

"Simply incredible" Blackhand sighed as he observed the Witcher from atop a large, snow covered shingled roof. He had sat watching the mutant pick up a scent from the burning building and turn to follow the path that he had taken only a few minutes earlier. The assassin had no idea what smell the Witcher had picked up, but it was clearly enough to point him in the right direction even amongst the overwhelming stench of the smoke and crowds of people surrounding him.

He resolved himself to combat there and then. There would be no escaping this mutant whose eyes and nose were keener than anything Blackhand had ever seen so it would simply have to be death for the beast. 'So be it' he smiled.

It took only a few moments to move the next few roofs and put a little more distance between himself and his prey. Blackhand realised that would need to ambush the Witcher as to confront him head on would likely mean certain death. He needed cover and no spectators who could aid the Witcher or get in the way of the conflict and he knew exactly the right place to launch the attack. If he were going to kill this mutant, he wanted to do it up close and face to face, to see the life drain from the Witchers feline eyes. Forget the stupid wenches and girls I have been forced to paint with the last few days' he thought to himself cruelly, 'this is going to be a pure masterpiece'.

Blackhand dropped down to ground level with barely a sound. The Witcher was now only a few hundred metres behind him now and the adrenaline was starting to course through his veins, warming him for the coming showdown. He began to sprint south towards the shades and the claustrophobic streets that held so many side alley's and confusing warrens. The shades would be almost deserted in this weather and it was the best place he could think to go that would remain undetected, but if there was one thing certain in this city it was that there was always someone watching everything of note in the shades.

Triss moved past the entrance desk flanked by the royal guards and Reinard. As she moved deeper into the guard post it did not take long for her to pick up the sounds of a girl crying in agony. She started to run in the direction of the wails, but a thick door barred entrance. From behind the door, she could feel the heat from the room and the sickly, acrid smell of burned flesh and hair. It was a smell she knew only too well.

She tried the door handle, but it did not budge the door.

"Captain…" she growled.

Reinard stepped forward. "Open this door!" he bellowed.

"Who are you?" a deep voice responded after a few moments. Triss could hear the low whimpering of a girl in pain beyond.

"Kings guard" Reinard responded. "Open up now and hand over the girl. The king wishes to speak with her!".

Nothing happened for some time but Triss could hear metal being dropped to the floor.

"Open this door now or face the consequences" Reinard ordered.

The door started to creak open slowly revealing a large, hairy, and barrel-chested man. The surge of heat from the room almost took the sorceresses breath away as it mixed with the cold air of the corridor, she was stood in. However, the man was not who Triss was interested in. Her eyes were firmly drawn to the blackened and beaten figure hanging from her wrists in the centre of the room that looked every bit like a wildlife ravaged corpse.

"My name is…" the man started to say.

"I know what your name is you bastard" Triss yelled at him. "I know your kind far too well".

The man took a step back in shock and the door opened fully to reveal another guard, in armour, completely prone on the floor, unconscious.

"Reinard, seize him!" Triss ordered as she stepped into the room to push past the huge man.

"I am the captain of the district town guard!" the man roared and stepped into her way. His heavy hand, more akin to a bear than a human, hit Triss across the side of the face and sent her sprawling to the floor.

Reinard did not hesitate to respond and simply punched the man square in the nose, staggering him. Reinard was also a big man, athletically built and with a lot of combat experience, but even his blow was not enough to fell the giant. He followed up again immediately with a few more punches to the side of the head and a knee to the face, sending the captain to the floor with a thud.

The guard captain roared again and drew himself to his feet brandishing an iron bar that had been discarded. "Fuck you. You have no authority here!" he yelled as he launched himself at Reinard.

Reinard caught the man's swing in his hand but was forced back against the wall, desperately trying to hold the weight of the huge opponent off him. "A little help perhaps?" he yelped to the rest of the guards who stood dumfounded in the portal door.

Triss staggered to her feet gripped the wall to try and stop the dizziness she felt. With a few flicks of her fingers and a mutter of an incantation the guard captain suddenly became very still and rigid. "Allow me" she seethed.

A few of the guards grabbed the now paralysed man and dragged him away from the scene, back towards the king's retinue.

"Are you ok?" Reinard asked Triss quietly.

"No. I'm not ok" she seethed. "Firstly, ignore me and cut that poor girl down but be very careful about it as she is barely clinging to life as it is. Secondly, drag that other guard out of here because I want to know what he knows and third if you would be so kind please let me hold on to you for a moment as I am very dizzy. It feels like I was hit by a bull".

"The king will have his head for striking you" Reinard replied whilst holding Triss upright gently by her shoulders.

"I know, but if you wouldn't mind ensuring he doesn't do that before we have a chance to speak with the captain it would be very much appreciated" Triss responded groggily as she ran her thumb across her plush lips. When she removed it, there was a trace of blood. "Damn, I think I bit my lip!" she growled.

Reinard motioned to the guards stood beside him and they set about cutting down the girl. Others leant down and dragged the older and still unconscious guard behind the sorceress as she walked back outside and into the dim light of the day.

The king said nothing as the group appeared slowly in front of him. He simply sat in the saddle watching the scene unfold in front of his eyes with a stony face. His eyes rested for a few moments on Triss being supported by Reinard, but she waved him away with a quick and dainty sweep of her hand. His eyes then moved to the corpse that two of the guards carried between them on a litter made of one of their cloaks. Finally, as rigid as a statue, a large hairy man appeared being carried, quite literally, by the rest of the guards that had entered with his sorceress.

"I am going to assume that this will all make sense later over a hot cup of wine and some pastries" he said flatly, and to no-one in particular. "But right now, I have better things to be doing with my time. Please dispose of the body in the graveyard and we will return to the palace to conclude these matters".

"She isn't dead your grace" Triss replied. "Though very close to it. This is clearly the girl that observed the attack on the elf woman, and we need her alive to answer questions. Please allow me to take her to the palace and see to her wounds. I can't promise she will live but its right that we give her the best chance we can".

"She looks dead to me sorceress" the king grimaced. "And I have seen my fair share of corpses".

"I know your grace but trust me, there is still something left".

The king nodded and motioned for a few of the guards to help take the woman's form to the palace. As an afterthought he unclipped his thick ermine decorated blue cape and passed it down to one of them. "Wrap the girl in this or she won't make the palace without freezing to death".

The guards did as they were commanded and began to wrap the girl. Once done they made off at haste to the palace, leaving the others still standing outside the guard post portal.

"And him?" the king asked slowly after watching the procession disappear through a wall gate. He was clearly asking about the paralysed bear of a man still held between the heavily armoured knights of his retinue.

"Oh him?" Triss responded wickedly, the beautiful visage of her face souring and becoming almost evil in a way the king had never seen before. "He has answers to provide and a price to pay for his actions".

"What did he do?"

"Despite having clearly tortured the innocent girl and not following due process as required by an officer of the law, my lord king…" Reynard replied "he also struck your sorceress about the face most cruelly. I would have cut him down there and then if mistress Merigold hadn't bewitched him!".

Tancred smiled. "Very well sorceress, that settles it, he's all yours. Do what you please".

"Thank you, my king," Triss grinned wickedly. "Thank you very much indeed".