}!{
The task force company pitched camp when dusk started to fall.
They had ridden some miles away from Cintra for the last three days, stopping at the banks of some brook running along the Windsomer Valley to rest for the night. A large rock set upon natural earthen pillars provided a good shelter for the knights, while those who've grown used to outdoor living preferred open grassy ground to sleep upon. Among those of the latter was Vandal, who delighted in feeling the living grass beneath his feet.
As the fire sprang to life, the knights set up a roasting spit for the whole camp to watch the meat cook over the flames, skewered some pieces of venison upon the shaft and set it over the fire. The sweet smell of roasting flesh assaulted their nostrils, and the hungry warriors stared at the sweating meat as it was turned about on the spit. The company had grown used to being around the witcher by then, and beckoned for him to sit with them. Geralt obliged, though only due to convenience, for he too was hungry and wished to be close to the spit so he could eat sooner.
As for Vandal, the men requested him to impart some of the knowledge from his experiences with fighting the enemy, eager to soak up anything that would be of use in the coming battles. The young knight gradually got accustomed to opening up and enjoyed the camaraderie displayed among the knights, a familiar feeling he experienced for far too long ago.
"So, have you faced dragons before?" Sir Weyland asked. The fair-haired knight sat down on the dirt beside the log that Vandal was sitting on.
"I have, the lesser kind." Vandal replied.
"Well, what's the difference?" Enris inquired.
"On my world, there were two kinds of dragons- the greater dragons and the lesser ones we called simply as drakes." Vandal explained, "Drakes are the most common, inhabiting swamps, forests and deserts. Sometimes, there are the breeds that live in the waters, like in rivers or oceans. Their sizes range from a horse to...I dunno... perhaps two carriages. Greater dragons are a different story entirely, and usually we'd like to leave them alone."
"Why? Too strong to handle?"
"Worse, they're smart." Vandal revealed, "Imagine a beast so fearsome; whose wings span the size of two mainsails on your largest galleon, the strength of a thousand men in ever single sinew and muscle, teeth and claws harder and sharper than any spear or sword, scales tougher than the hardiest armor...and then possessing the minds of a dozen of the world's smartest strategists."
"Oh." Weyland nodded, "So you didn't hunt them?"
"We didn't hunt them, no sir." Vandal said with a shake of the head, "We recruited them."
Geralt glanced up at Vandal, up till then only listening with half-interest. But at the thought of kingdoms enlisting the aids of dragons, it certainly got his attention. "Recruited?"
"Yes, Geralt, recruited." Vandal answered, continuing his tale with growing enthusiasm. He shared the stories he'd heard, and the few chances he ever got to see the noble greater dragons fighting alongside his people against Lorosi's madness. "For all their power, dragons love gold. Can't get enough of the stuff, and they get righteously mad at anyone who'd come and take their treasures. A king who promises tribute to a greater dragon and provides ample protective measures to safeguard its hoards earns a greater dragon's aid for life. A mountain of treasures, for the most powerful creatures in the world at your side."
"Ye gods, that must've been quite the army you had then!" Enris exclaimed.
"And well worth the coin spent." Vandal agreed, "Dragons served as advisors to kings, some bonded enough to become their mounts, though the most common relationship would be as close as a mercenary would be to its employer. I have no doubt we'll have not much trouble with the dragons when we face them later."
"I wouldn't be so sure, we can't be certain they're from your world." Sir Kane, another knight among the company interjected.
"I have to ask, then." Vandal took this time to inquire about the nature of the Continent's dragons, "Are your dragons similarly held in noble regard?"
"They're beasts." Weyland was quick to answer, "No better than those vile creatures that attacked the walls of the capital. They'd sooner set you on fire as so much as look at you."
"Wrong." Geralt growled, and all eyes turned to the witcher. His cat eyes gleamed with seething anger at the knight's careless words, "They're far nobler than you can possibly imagine. They weren't so blessed with noble kings who saw allies in them, they were instead cursed with greedy cowards who hunted them into near-extinction all for the promise of mountains of gold."
A long awkward silence passed, only to be broken first by Vandal, who expressed his deepest sympathies for the unfortunate creatures. "Perhaps, when we settle things with the dragon threat, such hatred for them would begin to evaporate."
Geralt uttered a humorless laugh and shook his head, "Oh you poor stupid boy..."
Vandal grew sad at the witcher's cynical words, "Do not confuse hope for stupidity, witcher."
"That's not hope, that's naivete." Geralt retorted, "And you've been carrying it with you since the day we entered the capital. But I'm not one to harp on about it, so you can keep wearing it for all I care."
"Well, call it hope or call it otherwise." Enris defended his friend with an assuring pat on his shoulder, "He wears it well."
Geralt drew a dagger and got up to walk closer to the fire. He sliced off a few bits of meat for himself and started off towards his spot atop the overhanging rock, muttering all the while. "Indeed he does."
A figure approached from the darkness, and those that took the first watch announced its arrival with a harsh guttural warning. "Halt! Who goes? Speak or forever be silenced with a bolt to the heart!"
"Peace, sir!" The voice of the unknown figure said. "I approach not with ill intentions, I only wish to speak with the Champion of Cintra!"
"I do believe that would be you." Enris said to Vandal as they all rose up to see what was going on.
The stranger was pulled to the middle of the circle of knights as they stood with weapons halfway out of their sheaths, so he would be better seen under the light of the fire. Two torches were lifted high and the man's hood was drawn back, revealing the face of none other than Craven Boshly. The knights' looks turned sour at the sight of him, many spat on the ground in disgust, but they saw no threat in him so their swords sank back down into their sheaths.
"Ah, if it isn't the Man Who Fled!" Weyland sneered, "Boggles the mind why you're shadowing us."
"Isn't it obvious?" Kane said, seeing but one reason for the man following their company like a dog desperate for a morsel. "He's here to try and curry favor from us, like the dog he is. What happened, your new life not suiting your tastes for comfort?"
Seeing the Champion of Cintra, Craven Boshly set aside whatever pride he had left and fell to his knees before the younger man. A pitiful sight, for how far the mighty had fallen. All this he suffered, because when the time came for him to be tested, he failed and was thusly punished. It was a just but equally cruel sentence, for without it the knights elite would be filled with cowards like him.
"Champion, I beg you, hear me!"
"Don't even entertain him, let this mongrel begone from us!" Weyland laid his hands on him, bent on tossing the man back into the wilderness.
"Leave him!" Vandal surprised everyone, including himself, with his firm declaration. "He addresses me, so I shall hear what he has to say!"
The knight reluctantly removed himself from the man and let him go. Craven Boshly raised his haggard, ill-kempt face all matted with stinking, black and dirty locks from his damp long hair and scraggly beard. There were half-healed wounds where the stones had struck him from the harsh treatment of the spiteful cityfolk of Cintra, though they started to fester due to his unclean living. He had not bathed in days, and stank from sweat and manure. His clothes were rent and tattered from the journey out of the capital when he set out to follow them. All in all, he no longer looked like the proud knight he used to be and was no better than a vagabond or hermit.
He was robbed of all dignity, but there was still hope in his eyes. A faint glimmer of a dying ember. It looked to Vandal, the burning heart of flame, to reignite his fire.
"Speak, Craven Boshly." Vandal beckoned. "Why did you follow us?"
The vagabond closed his eyes and hung his head in shame, as though the confession stung like a dagger thrust into his very soul. He had little to lose now, humility left no room for pride as it was so violently wrested from him in days past. "I failed my king and country...for I fled when both needed me most. And so they stripped me of my title and lands, then cast me out."
"You deserve far worse than that." Weyland reminded him, "Yarrin had the balls to stand his ground and died at the hands of that blackguard bastard, whereas you tucked tail-"
"I know what I did!" Craven Boshly said, lifting his sorrowful eyes to the knight elite. "I know what I am! I was a coward, and nothin' will ever justify that! But I can atone...I wish to atone!" He turned to look at Vandal once more, "I swear, if you will have me, I shall serve you in all your endeavors! Help me cleanse myself of this great dishonor, I beg you!"
Vandal was silent for a while as all eyes turned to him, expecting his answer with baited breath. Geralt watched from atop the rock as he sat down to eat his dinner, finding amusement over the scene as his legs dangled over the edge.
Later, the young knight came to a decision. "You have fallen far, Craven Boshly, this is true. Yet every man who embraces humility to ask for atonement, a second chance deserves. If it is your wish to serve, then you will serve." He pulled the man to his feet, not minding at all that he smelled as bad as an unwashed hog. "I shall be your master, and you my servant. Until I break such a bond, your life shall remain in my hands. Serve well, and you will gain atonement. Serve poorly, and I shall cast you aside."
The words tasted foul in Vandal's mouth, for his compassionate heart did not wish it so. And yet, he knew he couldn't be soft about this, for much was expected of him. He found the neutral ground in his decision, neither becoming generous nor cruel- but just. "Do you accept these terms?"
"I do! I do!" Craven Boshly bowed and kissed the man's gauntleted hand. He wept tears of gratitude and gave voice to his relief, "Thank you! Thank you, my liege!"
Vandal withdrew his hand and pointed to the brook, "Your first task, Boshly. Bathe, cleanse yourself and let this symbolize your transition into a new life. Go!"
Craven Boshly bowed and obeyed his new master, heading for the bubbling brook to wash away the stench from his body in its clear waters. Vandal's decision was received with mixed views, most in favor of his compassion while others saw it as unnecessarily generous. They had no patience for cowards, but they did at least respected chivalry in that regard.
Geralt, on the other hand, shook his head at the complexities of human lives and returned to his mat so he could meditate the night away.
Morning came, the company had gotten a good night's rest, free from troubles save for the little spectacle brought upon by their newest recruit.
Craven Boshly, after bathing himself in the brook and having the first good meal he's had in days, now looked like a presentable if not decent looking human being. While the general opinion shared by the other knights about him had not changed, if it ever will at all, Vandal took responsibility over the man in a similar fashion as a liege would his squire. He bought a good suit of clothing, a spare provided by one of the knights, and handed him his spare sword. Lastly, Vandal bought a spare colt from the same knight for Craven Boshly to use, as he preferred that his servant would not lag behind or weigh them down.
Vandal did, after all, possess the flaming sword Ashseeker and his trusty flanged mace. Craven Boshly, if he was to serve him on the field, would need a weapon. His skills as a former knight did not disappear with his title, and Vandal saw that he would prove useful in that regard.
The company broke camp and rode off for the south, heading deeper and deeper into the blighted lands of Southeast Cintra, where the source of the undead was said to stem from.
When they happened upon the ruins of a village, the knights along with their mercenary comrades were met with a grim sight. Howling necrophages feasted on fallen corpses, drawn by the scent of rotting flesh. Hollowed undead, most likely remnants of the village that were left in the flight towards the cities, wandered through the abandoned fields and streets. In the middle of the square stood a dark crystal obelisk leaning to the south like a sundial. Black mists emanated from it, and the warriors felt the hairs on their arms stand on end at the inexplicable feeling brought upon by the sight.
There was evil in that place, twisting the magics in the air. Geralt could feel it keener than any one of them, and the medallion on his chest showed just as much as it hummed with increasing intensity.
"They're in our way." Enris said to Geralt and Vandal, more of a suggestion as he spoke to the impromptu leaders of the band. "We can ride on if you wish, but just as well, we can also cleanse this filth. The delay is...acceptable."
"True." Geralt mused, pulling his silver sword free from its sheath. "I'd rather they'd not pose any danger to anyone else. Let's be quick."
"Lads, to arms!" Weyland announced, also drawing his sword. "Formations! Now, attack!"
"For Cintra!" The knights roared, all riding forward to trample the undead and necrophages into the dust. At the helm was the white-haired witcher and the knight who bore a flaming longsword aloft. The surprised screams of ghouls and alghouls, along with the raspy howls of shambling undead, were all drowned out by the warcries of the company and the screech of their warhorses riding below.
Vandal kept close watch over Craven Boshly, wary of his investment should it seem all for naught if he fled. Surprisingly, his servant seemed every bit the eager repentant, for he fought again with the same fervor as the other knights. So, proud that he made no mistake in vouching for him, Vandal returned to fighting alongside the other knights elite, his fiery blade cutting down their enemies by the dozens.
Soon, the ruined village was cleansed of its unsavory inhabitants, with not a single one of the task force company lost to the fight.
"Praise the Maid, Mother and Crone!" Kane exclaimed, pausing to clean his sword from the disgusting ichor that covered its blade. "We are victorious!"
"Not just yet." Vandal said as he dismounted, leading Alfie towards the obelisk in the middle of the village. As he drew near, the horse started to grow restless, unnerved by the foreboding atmosphere brought upon by the presence of that unnatural, alien object. The shard hummed with life, and seemed to emanate a strange cold that set frost upon their skin.
The other knights followed, but found themselves struggling to keep their mounts steady as they also drew closer to the obelisk.
"Quiet, Roach!" Geralt snapped, "What's gotten into you?"
When Vandal was but a foot away from the thing, he felt the familiar burn in his chest grow more heated with each passing second. As he tried his best to ignore it, he peered through the surface and saw faint shadowy outlines of trapped souls within the dark crystal. When he peered even closer, Vandal could've sworn he saw the outline of an even fainter and distinct form of a coiled sword. Craven Boshly could not be blamed for his fear when he stepped back, slowly withdrawing from the obelisk much like everyone else.
"This...This is not the source of the undead scourge." Vandal declared. "Let us move on."
Geralt glanced down at the medallion violently shaking atop his chest, then arced a brow when he saw it did not stop but increase in intensity. He glanced up, drew his sword once more and pulled Vandal back, just in time to keep him clear away as a gauntleted hand two sizes too large for a normal man shot out of the obelisk to grab at the young knight!
"Knew that was too easy!" The witcher snarled, warning the others to make room. "Go! Spread out!"
The air was pierced by an unearthly howl of a hundred tortured souls. The ground shuddered, and the obelisk shattered into a thousand pieces, unleashing the monsters trapped within its crystal confines.
"Melitele preserve us!" One of the knights elite gasped.
They were unprepared for the writhing, screaming, contorting mass of bodies permanently mashed together into one. A serpent-like creature; its girth adorned with hateful, gnashing maws of the trapped souls within. Arms and legs spanned its length like the barbs atop a moth caterpillar, brandishing weapons of steel and gnarled iron. The head itself was a singular man, yet so horribly twisted by darkness that he no longer resembled anything human. Half his body from the waist down had molded itself to become one with the hundred cursed souls that writhed beneath him, the other half above was free to move about. A hateful visage of bronze, with a crown to match it, stared down with evil brightly glowing blue eyes at the living souls before him.
Vandal knew that monster's name, for he recognized the thorned bronze crown that adorned the creature's head.. A long forgotten legendary figure, a once noble prince of a dead land consumed by the curse.
"Charon the Forsaken."
"You all burn with the fires of life... your warmth offends me." The voice rang in his ears like and old resounding bell. In his hands he carried his signature flamberges, both crackling with blue lightning. The creature reared up and started swaying, ready to fling itself forward.
"He comes!" Vandal knew he had only a few seconds to warn them. With a hard slap, he forced Alfie to ride away. "Get clear before he-"
Too late, Charon slid forward with blinding speed, creating a deep trench behind him as he rode the knights down. Slithering from side to side, the giant snake-like creature propelled itself right on through the knights and into a ruined house, sending corpses, rotted timber and stones scattering in all directions. Those that were caught in his path were either crushed by his massive body or cut down by the many limbs that struck out at everything that lay within reach.
Vandal saved himself by dodging to the side, swiveling about as he turned to face the foe. He saw Geralt riding hard after Charon, fearlessly cleaving arm after arm as he drew close, immediately breaking off when the creature's many hateful souls fought back.
Charon stopped, reared back as he himself raised his flamberges and swooped down to attack the witcher. He missed, landing hard against the dirt and striking at empty air as Roach reared back and drove his hooves onto the monster's face. The creature roared in annoyance and slid forward, away from the witcher so he could let the writhing hands strike back for him.
The skillful monster-hunter pulled hard on the reins and forwent mounted combat for a chance to leap onto the creature's back.
"Charon!" Vandal called forth his challenge, seeking to distract Charon while Geralt fought his way to the top. He yelled, beating a gauntleted fist to his chest. "The Vestige of Warmth stands here, waiting! Come, duel with me!"
Charon heard him call, and with whatever sanity he still held he received the challenge as a prince would, "I duel only...with equals!"
Vandal drew Ashseeker and tossed aside his gauntlets, cutting his palms deep to feed the blade his burning blood to ignite the flames hotter than before. "Oh? How about now?"
As the mass of bodies slid and slithered towards him, Geralt ascended the monster's back by grabbing onto the many hands that waved like hairs in the wind before him. He swung at Charon, but the monster placed one of his flamberges in between the witcher's silver blade and his back, showing that even in undeath he retained his skills with the sword. "Treachery!"
The witcher held on for dear life as the monster reared back again in an attempt to throw him off.
Vandal charged forward, seizing this chance to deal a blow to Charon, and struck his burning blade across the monster's belly- or whatever resembled one with that hideous form. Charon screamed as the flames of the bonfire that lived within Vandal's blood, the same primal fires that were used to successfully combat the curse, set him aflame with the same ease as one would light the wick on a candle.
The young knight smiled as he tumbled away to safety, pleased that his gamble worked.
Meanwhile, the witcher took advantage of the monster's panic and buried his blade through the head body's back. This, Charon did not take lightly, and the bronze visage turned to glare at Geralt. Their eyes met, and the witcher buried his sword even further. As the flames spread across his body like wildfire in dry season, the monster pried himself loose from his accursed cocoon. With the witcher still hanging on to the sword through his back, Charon emerged in all his unholy splendor, finally sending the witcher tumbling down to earth with a burst of darkness.
The cursed souls writhed and screamed as the flames ate at them, but the cursed prince himself did not care, for he was free to exact vengeance on the living.
He towered above them both, with a body impossibly smooth like marble and rippling with hard muscle. His curse's manifestation was not superficial, but it was still palpable. His skin had grown pale like the moon, contrasting the dark brown of his bronze mask. An old kilt-like tattered skirt hung around his waist adorned with broken off arrowheads of varying makes and sizes. Without the vile cocoon to hold him back he looked like a forgotten war god, bereft of the generations of followers that once adored him.
He retained much of the inhuman speed he displayed earlier, and very much the inhuman strength that those massive arms were thought to possess. Charon cleaved through the surviving knights with relative ease, stopping only when he faced Vandal himself. Again and again, the giant slashed at Vandal. The latter could not be dissuaded, though the wounds inflicted on him were agonizing. His increased regeneration proved to be invaluable, lest the fight would've overwhelmed him moments before and placed him at such a laughably swift end.
Then, the flamberges plunged deep into Vandal's belly, and the giant lifted him up above his head- a grave mistake that would soon cost him the battle.
Vandal did not let go of his sword, and even though he shrieked with the insurmountable pain of his wounds, he still fought. Ashseeker slashed left and right, robbing Charon of his arms and sending Vandal plummeting back down to earth.
Charon stumbled back in disbelief, finding sizzling black stumps where his arms used to be. A moment later, the giant halted in his tracks. A sharp snap reached Vandal's ears, followed by the sound of Charon's body falling to the ground next to him.
Geralt, having recovered from his fall, struck Charon when he least expected it and relieved the undead champion of his head.
Both he and Vandal sat down on the ground, taking a moment to rest from the day's battle. It had been won, but at the cost of half their company. Now, they were down to 15 men, not including Craven Boshly. Sir Weyland, Sir Kane, Enris and his mercenaries; at the very least survived.
Geralt gave him a begrudging nod, commending Vandal for his bravery.
Vandal nodded back, thankful that at least, even though they disagreed with some things, the witcher and he could at least work well together on the battlefield. Having healed from his wounds, Vandal walked over to the burning pile that was the hideous mass of undead bodies. The coiled sword was among the bodies, and Vandal realized that it was indeed a coiled sword that usually adorned the bonfires in Saggrel, just like Nelzhar's weapon.
Driven by impulse, Vandal reached into the flames, ignoring the blistering heat cooking his hand. His hand grasped the handle, and he plucked it free.
Suddenly, that all too familiar agony he felt the first time he opened that portal between Saggrel and the Continent came rushing back. This time, Vandal bore the pain with a mighty resolve, one that once in his life he never knew he could have. It helped him bear the pain as the coiled sword melted into white hot, molten metal. Again, it crept through his hands and seeped into his veins.
Geralt, at first, moved to help him but stopped when he saw the determined look on Vandal's face. The young knight's neck bulged as though something was strangling him, then he lifted his face to the heavens and let out a gout of flame from his mouth.
}!{