Chapter 10

"Now gentleman, if that is what you truly are for you are most definitely not yet sorcerers. Today I will introduce you to an alchemist's experiment laboratory. Much of what you see here is benign, little more than coloured water and very diluted tinctures and mixtures of common herbs. However, some of the vials you see here contain some of the most dreadful substances, and many of them look identical and smell identical to brews that you may already be used to. Be careful what you touch and what you smell and don't drink anything that you don't firmly recognise…wait…you there…boy…don't drink that!"

Montague Helganguff, senior professor of alchemy at the academy of Ban Ard.

The palace was eerily quiet as the royal party returned from their foray into the city proper. As they passed under the brilliant white ornamental arches, their horses shoes ringing out in the cold still air as they struck the cobblestones, no-one in the party spoke a word. Triss was feeling a little better now and her head did not pound as much as it had even just a few minutes earlier, but she could feel her lips beginning to swell with the force of the blow she had received. It would be easy to fix the swelling when she returned to her chambers but right now, she was more focused on finding where the kings guards had taken the tortured girl. The king was seemingly non-plussed by the last hour or so of activity and simply remained regal and strong atop his mount, ignoring the looks of the courtiers and stablemen who were now trailing the royal party, waiting for their time to help their liege and his knight's dismount. Snow was falling heavier now, building on the saddle in front of her and covering her beautiful mare in the very substance she was named for, snowdrops. The horse clearly did not care much for the name or the falling snow and she regularly snorted and threw her head against the reins. Besides her trotted Roach, patiently and loyally for a change. No witcher sat in her saddle now for he was off doing the kings bidding.

Triss pulled Roach's reins a little to bring the horse closer to her, as if bringing Geralt a little closer by doing so, but Roach simply ignored her demands and carried on following the path she felt like following. 'Never has a horse matched her rider better than this one' Triss reflected sarcastically.

In response Roach tilted her head to face Triss and snorted, covering the sorceress's cloak with snow and saliva.

"Yeah, back at you" Triss grumbled angrily as she brushed herself down.

"The mare likes you it seems" Tancred observed sarcastically.

"The feeling is mutual, sometimes".

Tancred chuckled and racked his reins a little, forcing his charger to speed up and trigger a similar response from his mounted guards. "I have matters to attend to when we reach the palace. I assume you do also, but I expect news the moment you hear from your witcher".

"As you wish your grace" Triss replied.

"See to the woman. She looked terrible but if anyone can help her it's Ube and yourself".

Triss smiled slightly, her pale complexion hidden so well in the darkness of her fur trimmed cloak. "Well, I have to say your praise does me credit. I only hope that I get there before any of my peers start to ply their trade".

"Mages. Indeed, a good point. I assume you have them under control?" and with that Tancred turned to face Triss. She could not help but need to look up to meet his gaze due to the size difference in the mounts and the fact that Tancred was significantly taller than she was regardless of the horse. "Since I helped extract them from Radovid's clutches and placed you in charge of the new council I have heard precious little. Then again, I should probably be glad of that…"

"I assure you that it is very much under control your grace and we can't thank you enough for the help you provided in avoiding the fate of so many of our peers. There is no scheming that I am aware of now, which is unprecedented in my experience, but unfortunately, I cannot say that reigning them in has been easy, especially as many are far older than me and the fact, they are…"

"Men?" Tancred interrupted, finishing her sentence for her.

"Yes, men" Triss replied flatly. "Apparently having a penis dangling between your legs makes you more important".

"Works for me" Tancred laughed.

"Apparently so!"

They shared a few moments of mirth, their breath fogging in the cold air before the king regained his composure. "I will depart you here then Triss. Do not be a stranger this evening. If your witcher returns empty-handed, which I fear he probably will join me later for wine, food, and discussion. I have much to ask your husband and alas I am forced to hear the same voices so very often it becomes stale. I must say that none are as melodic and soothing as your own".

Triss blushed a little and smiled deeply again. "I will let you know as soon as he has returned my king. But for now, goodbye!"

Tancred nodded and watched as she peeled away from the group, skilfully weaving snowdrop and the other horse that clearly did not like her much, through the throng and in the direction of the complex of structures that the king had gratefully granted to the newly reformed magic council. He marvelled at her lithe figure, gently bouncing atop the pure white mare he had gifted her years before. The horse's powerful muscles bunching and relaxing under her ever so beguiling figure.

"She has something about her Reinard".

The recently returned captain of the guard turned to watch Triss as she trotted off into the distance. He too had marvelled at the sorceress's fire and beauty many times since they had first crossed paths years before. "That she has my lord king".

"The witcher treats her well I presume?" Tancred sighed, almost longing for the answer to be one that would please him.

Reinard grunted in response. "I don't think he would be alive if he didn't. I would not like to cross any sorceress, least of all miss Merigold".

Tancred thought back to other sorceresses which he had had varying levels of pleasure in meeting. Out of them all, Triss seemed to be the most normal. He had never really warmed to Shela de Tancarville who had been close to his parents, as she had a very odd dress sense and had been far too uptight and interested in power for his liking. Triss was down to earth and clearly dedicated to magic for magic's sake. She had been burnt before by politics and scheming, roped into the machinations of the lodge, and was evidently closed to anything of the kind again. He trusted her, as far as any king could actually trust a magic-user, and she had helped him and this family in many ways over the years.

"He's a lucky man that witcher" the king finally added as Triss disappeared into the distance. I find myself wishing I were that mare quite often to be truthful!"

Reinard smiled at his king's words but said nothing. A quick look around his mounted knights, all of whom had been pretty much staring at the sorceress as she left them, told him all that he needed to know.

Tancred, king of Kovir and Poviss, was not the only one.

As Triss entered the stable she was met by a few young men who stopped their game of knucklebone dice upon seeing her approach. The stablemen had been sat around a small makeshift table atop a bale of hay, trying to fleece each other of their hard-earned pay. All were presentable, despite being lowly stable hands, as the king was very insistent that any servants in the employ of the royal household be far better dressed than any from the southern kingdoms. They immediately sprang into action, providing Triss a step for her to dismount and beginning to take care of the tack and grooming of the sorceress's mount.

"A new horse today?" an old man asked from the shadows, barely visible but for the occasional red glow of a pipe.

"Indeed Hubert. My husbands, a witcher, and I warn you in advance she can be particularly grumpy" Triss replied without looking in his direction. "A wide berth and minimal fuss are best for her. She is very much a one-man horse".

"Best kind of woman that, be it mare or lady if you don't mind me saying so".

Triss chuckled at the stablemasters crude joke. They knew each other's sense of humour well. "See to them well please Hubert. I must dash. Did you happen to see a group of royal guards carrying a litter?"

"No sorceress. But what I did lay my weary eyes upon was a group of royal guards carrying a corpse in the king's own cloak if I was not mistaken. They headed towards the infirmary not more than twenty minutes ago by my count, in somewhat of a rush".

Triss nodded and patted Snowdrop gently on the face before leaving her in the capable hands of the old man and his crew.

It did not take her long to cross the open ground between the stable and the main building, a large four-storied structure that sprawled out in almost all directions. The architecture was classic Pont Vanis, being an interesting combination of imposing pillars and facades delivered in such a beautiful and ornate way as to be breath-taking. White marble, grey granite and a great deal of gold and silver from the local mountains was used in a tasteful way to ensure that everyone knew that whilst it looked beautiful it was very much a defensible building. As she stepped through the main gate and into the courtyard beyond, she was met by two younger women, dressed in white robes and aprons. "Welcome back mistress" the first of the two, a wiry and hawklike woman with severely pinned blonde hair announced. "The patient has been taken to the treatment hall and is being cared for already by Mother Ube".

Triss nodded in recognition and continued to walk, now heading in the direction of the treatment hall. The two girls tagged along behind her as she paced past them. As she walked, Triss removed her gloves slowly and dropped her fur-lined hood. "I trust she is alone?"

The girls clearly knew exactly what she meant. "Yes m'lady. No sorcerers have been requested" the other girl, a brown-haired, heavier set and unfortunately faced youngster replied quickly.

"Very good Gertrude. Now please run me a bath and have some snacks laid out. I need am famished and will need to be presentable to the king later today".

"As you wish m'lady" the pair responded in unison, soon scurrying off to their chores.

Triss was just about to enter the large open door which led to the infirmary when she was all but ambushed by a pair of sorcerers that had clearly been awaiting her presence. Both were overly dressed and wore wiry beards that did nothing to help improve their rodent-like features. "Mistress Merigold!" one of the men called out as she approached. "Can we please have a moment of your time?"

"Not now gentleman" Triss replied curtly. "The meeting of the council is tomorrow, and I will be available then. Right now, I have urgent business to attend to". She moved to push past them when the smaller of the two stepped in front of her, demanding her attention.

"I'm afraid it is rather urgent and can't wait!" he almost squeaked.

Triss stopped and crossed her arms in frustration. "Oh well then, if that's the case please go ahead Eldwald" she ordered rather sarcastically.

"We, and by we, I, of course, mean my esteemed colleague and trusted professor Ha…"

"Eldwald. You have exactly five seconds".

The man recoiled and, somehow, raised himself up which surprised Triss as she had always assumed that he did not possess a spine with which to do so. "Very well. We may have some information on who is committing these murders and it isn't good".

Triss sighed and cocked her head. Her mouth still hurt, and her head was still pounding, albeit greatly reduced from earlier. She had a half-dead witness to attend to, a king that demanded answers from his magical council, a killer on the loose and a witcher husband who was currently out, somewhere, hunting the potential assassin. And now she had two of the most annoying of the sorcerers demanding her time to, undoubtedly, waste it. "Later gentlemen. Right now, I will deal with the urgent thing first. We will discuss this later."

Eldwald bowed ever so slightly, more out of habit than in actual deference. He stepped aside and let Triss past, doing his best to act as unphased as possible.

"Her ego is getting far too big for her own good" the sorcerer seethed to his silent colleague. "It is completely improper to have our council led by someone appointed by a king and especially such a young sorceress with a chequered history such as hers. One day, and mark my words Harald, there will be a reckoning and Triss Merigold will get her comeuppance!"

The other sorcerer nodded energetically in agreement with his fellow as unfortunately, that is all he could do owing to the fact he no vocal cords left. Accidentally drinking acid in a poorly controlled laboratory experiment will do that you.

He had no experience in this part of the city.

After he had left the merchant district Geralt knew that he was venturing into personally uncharted territory which immediately raised his vigilance. It was not a sudden change in housing that announced a movement from wealth to, if not poverty then close enough to it. There was no door he passed through, no sign he passed or line in the ground he crossed over. Like every damned city he had ever visited, even those in the far south such as Toussaint, there was a slow and almost imperceptible blend from opulence to drudgery. As he moved down the streets slowly, he could feel the cobblestones under his leather boots decrease in quality and become rougher. He could see occasional tell-tale signs of the rot setting in such as an unrepaired window, rubbish simply dumped outside into the street and the doors of the houses becoming far less ornamental and colourful.

In truth he was already far happier here, having spent most of his life in places such as this, and he felt more at home amongst the squalor than he ever did amongst the finery and fakery of court life. This was what he was built for, hunting prey be that monster or men, albeit sometimes the difference was arguably minor, amongst the filth and dark places of the world.

He felt alive.

The streets were still quiet, and it was clear that the general lockdown that had been ordered still had not been lifted. Still, he was very aware of the occasional shuffle in the darkness or the ringing sound of metal as it struck an object. Glass smashed somewhere in the distance and a cat hissed loudly, starting a feline battle of noise between it and some other unseen assailant. Geralt prowled the streets, keeping close to the walls and trying to stay out of eyesight of potential ranged weapons. The smell he was tracking was becoming stronger now and he did not really have to concentrate to follow it at all. It hovered in the air, the strong and odd chemical smell stinging his nose and irritating his eyes.

He was close now. He could almost taste it.

Over a century of being an alpha predator told him that his quarry was close. His heart slowed as he controlled his breathing and he reached for the steel sword upon his back, loosening it in the scabbard and then drawing it slowly. He was sure that he was facing a human or elf of some kind, so the steel sword was the right choice. To give him time to prepare he ducked into an alley of a pair of decrepit looking buildings immediately to his left. Once happy he was not observed he opened his only vial of hanged mans venom and used a rag to gently coat the keen edge of the weapon, taking care not to spill any on his own skin or inhale it. The venom hissed as it was applied but eventually settled down and spread out over the blade, gathering in small black pools in the deep fuller. He patted down his belt to make sure that the grapeshot and samum bombs he had equipped before he started the hunt were still there and finally, more out of habit than for any reason, he stretched his muscles under his armour, rolling his neck and shoulders to free up any knots.

The movement triggered a bolt of pain from the nape of his neck causing him to reflexively bite his tongue before he yelped and gave his position away.

After a few long and deep breaths, he managed to control the agony again and refocus. It was clear that his skull was still far from fully healed so he had to be careful. Very careful.

When he regained his balance and felt hale enough to continue the witcher emerged from the alley and continued, sword in hand, along the street. He crouched low now, fully expecting to be attacked from any angle or direction at any moment. He was prepared as best as possible for the for, now regular, the onrush of violence that marked the daily life and toil of a professional monster hunter.

"This one is a complete mess, mistress" the middle aged and haughty woman, covered from head to toe in fresh linen and a tight fighting pristine white apron announced as she looked up from the bed and its inhabitant. "Were it not for her pulse and her occasional eyes flutter I would have sent her to the mortuary".

Triss sighed as she approached the bed and finally got a good look at the girl. Had she not been a sorceress and being bound by the proper unwritten rules of personal conduct, she may have shed a tear at what she laid her eyes upon. The girl was youngish, probably early twenties and was malnourished. What could be seen of the skin around her eyes under the heavy bruising was taught and older than it should be. Her nails were bitten to the wick and her body, laid open to the elements as it was, was covered in burns, blisters and open wounds recently caused by the brute she had subdued in the guard post. The girls breathing was almost impossible to register and her mousy blonde hair had been all but burnt away to the scalp. She looked more like a ghoul than a woman and the stench of burnt flesh and hair was difficult to ignore. "Prognosis, Henrietta?"

The medic grunted in displeasure and picked up the girl's thin right hand in her own. "Even before the assault and burning, she wasn't in great health. A clear fisstech addict which you can see from the shrivelled skin around the eyes. Malnourished and probably mentally unstable due to her likely violent upbringing and a lack of adequate diet. The injuries she has recently sustained are open and likely already infected. To be frank mistress, I would be surprised if she lasts the night even with all of my skills and knowledge".

"I suspected as much Henrietta, but please do what you can. If she survives then maybe, we can talk to her in a few days. If not, they will find a space for her in the graveyard".

The healer stood up and replaced the girl's hand to the bed slowly. Triss was aware of the gaggle of orderlies and trainee medics that were waiting in the wings, poised to move in and begin administrating care under the watchful eyes of Mother Henrietta Ube. Ube was a prodigy of the apex school of healing which Mother Nenneke had led until her death and had studied under her in the twilight years of her life. Triss had personally requested Ube to lead the apothecarion in the newly reformed headquarters of the council of magic, having spent a lot of time with Nenneke, who was literally a mother figure to Geralt and had been responsible for patching him up on countless occasions. It had proven to be a wise choice.

Ube was, like her late teacher, a master healer and easily the best north of the Pontar. If anyone could nurse the girl back to life it would be her.

"I always do what I can Triss. Now leave us. We have work to do".

Triss knew when she was not welcome and did not argue. In truth she would be glad to be out of the infirmary and return to her own chambers to bathe and wipe off the sweat and dirt of the last few days of adventure. Hopefully Geralt would return sooner rather than later and they could spend some time together before the king undoubtedly requested an audience. As she turned and walked away from Ube the trainee healers descended on the occupied bed like a pack of wolves on an injured foal.

Blackhand watched silently as the witcher dipped out of the street and into a side alley. Frustration burst through him as he imagined the prey veering off track, causing him to fall back upon another plan that was not as thorough as this one. Thankfully, after a few moments, the witcher reappeared now grasping a long steel sword in his right hand and crouching low.

'He knows then' Blackhand smiled and he raised his right arm to point at the mutant. He steadied the limb with his other hand and aimed down the rudimentary iron sights attached to the device on his wrist.

With a slight twitch of his right little finger, he depressed the trigger.

Geralt concentrated now, far harder than he had been at any point since he started the stalk. The tension was building, and he was painfully aware of the tight confines of the street preventing any real freedom of movement which was a witchers ultimate advantage. He knew this was a trap, it was obviously a trap, the scent was far stronger here than it had been and if he was going to ambush anyone in a city, especially himself, he would do it where there was limited scope for manoeuvre.

It, therefore, came as no surprise when the heavy thud of a projectile ricocheted from the mail of his right shoulder, just under the thick leather shoulder guard, and span harmlessly away into the street. The force of the blow staggered him momentarily and as he fell back, he cast the sign of Quen to immediately throw up a protective shield around him. The follow-up shots which he had anticipated flashed on the permitter of the shield as it buckled under the blows and the shield finally gave way on the third impact.

Time slowed for Geralt now, as it always did when the adrenaline dumped into his system. For some reason, he was focussed on the smoking and hissing small disk in the centre of the ally, half caked in mud and snow.

He moved rapidly, sidestepping to the right and then the left, preventing a difficult target for follow up shots. He had not yet identified the location of his opponent amongst the dozens, if not hundreds, of potential hiding spots. He sprinted forward faster than any man his age, or one even half of it, should be capable and hurled himself behind a trio of barrels that were stacked to the left of the street.

"Nice toy" he goaded loudly, back to the barrels and still fascinated by the disc in the middle of the street. "I've not seen one before. When I take it from you, I will be sure to have a good look!".

There was no reply to his insult, but he had not expected there to be one. He was facing a professional, not an amateur thug.

"You know, I looked at your piece of art earlier and I have to say it was lacking in some fundamental details. It's my professional opinion that you are, at best, an apprentice painter. I have seen better arrangements left by nekkers after they have feasted".

A small spherical device landed nearby and rolled in his direction. It picked up a thin layer of snow as it rolled.

"Shit" Geralt snapped as he launched himself from his hiding place just in time for the device to detonate and cover the barrels, and the immediate area, in green fire. He could feel the heat scorch the hair on the back of his neck.

Blackhand chuckled to himself as the witcher almost leapt from his own skin when he saw the bomb. If the fool thought that insults would cause a hand assassin to make mistakes, then he was very much mistaken. Besides, 'what did a witcher know about art?'

He realised now that range was not going to work. The magical shield the mutant had thrown up to deflect his shots was impressive but ultimately useless. The witchers speed was also remarkable and he now did not doubt the rumours that they could block projectiles with their swords.

This was going to have to be settled close and personal. A challenge for sure and he was already bursting with excitement.

Geralt grunted and shook his head to try and clear the ringing sound caused by the explosion. He pushed himself to his feet and fumbled for his sword which lay nearby. 'So, he has bombs as well" he seethed as he regained his footing and stood, guard ready.

In the near distance, he registered a shadow extract itself from the second story of a roughly built home and drop to the floor without a sound. The shadow approached slowly, moving with complete determination, every movement calculated and precise.

"You move like a witcher" Geralt shouted.

When the shadow was only a dozen steps away, stood in the very centre of the street, he stopped suddenly. Geralt was fascinated by the lack of footprints that he left behind him.

After a few moments, the shadows lithe but powerful arms reached up and lowered his hood slowly revealing a face of absolute cold. Thin and highly pronounced features, almost elf-like in quality, were covered in a very well kept and styled short black beard. The man in front of him oozed action and pure violence somehow condensed into a package of a diplomat or a nobleman that would not look amiss in any court in the land. His eyes, despite looking human, were like voids, deep pools of chaos, fury, and well-controlled masochism.

"And here I was thinking you might just be something special" Geralt smiled. "Turns out your just another sadist looking for a plaything. I was hoping for something a little more challenging".

The man smiled horribly in reply and with slow and controlled movements drew a thin-bladed fencing rapier and a long curved and wickedly serrated dagger.

"I've never killed a witcher before" he replied. "But there is a first time for anything and I'm willing to try everything once".

Geralt nodded and backed away slowly, gaining space. He rotated his sword a few times, limbering his right arm.

"How much?"

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you ask. You know, and I expect such a creature as yourself would understand this, we do not discuss the fees".

The shadow nodded and raised his sword, pointing it directly at Geralt, the point hovering almost immobile in between them. "I hope it was worth it witcher. I would be a shame for you to die for nothing. Be aware though that you are playing a game you can't win and that you need to kill me because if you don't, I will find your precious sorceress and I will make her my next work of art."

Geralt almost laughed at this. "If you think that assassin then you really do not know her at all. It's not me you should fear".

"It's a good thing that I don't fear you in the slightest then isn't it?"

"Enough of the talk. It bores me" Geralt snapped. "Only one of us is leaving this street alive and I am willing to bet it isn't you".

The shadow bowed slightly, raised his sword to his face in a salute and approached.

Geralt gripped his sword tighter and watched his opponent closely. The man moved like a witcher and was clearly agile, dangerous and a proven killer. Mummers and actors like to portray swordfights to the dim masses as long, drawn-out affairs, with many ups and downs and to's and fros. This made the audience coo and moan with delight and rapture but in the real world, using real weapons, wielded by real killers the acting could not be further from the truth.

The simple fact was that one of them would make a mistake and the first to make that mistake would die.

This would be a quick encounter.

Triss sighed with relief as she slowly entered the steaming hot water of her scented bath. Covered up to her neck in the comforting embrace of the water she placed her head back against the soft towel that was laid across the metal tub. After a few moments, she lifted her right leg and rubbed her sore thigh caused by a great deal of horse riding over the previous few days. It would have been better if her husband could have helped knead the tight muscles, but he was not here. "Where are you now witcher?" she sighed as she slid gently under the water.

The first attack was a feint and Geralt had been expecting it, he did not parry but dodged to the right, under the swing of the sword and launched a counter thrust which would have impaled any normal opponent up to the hilt. Instead of the blow connecting it bit nothing but thin, cold air, and he instinctively jumped back to avoid the slash of the rapier coming in from his left which narrowly missed his throat.

The witcher backed away again, trying to keep the man in front of him and square which was proving to be quite a challenge. He was an accomplished swordsman and was making it very difficult to predict his movements. The thick black cloak he wore over his body prevented Geralt observing an obvious muscle moving, giving him warning of a potential strike.

Another savagely quick thrust was launched towards his right lung but Geralt sidestepped to the left and deflected the attack with his own blade, reaching in the last moment to land a punch with his gloved hand into the assassin's face.

The assassin staggered slightly but regained his composure almost immediately. He stepped forward and fired his hand weapon at close range.

This time there was no time for Quen to activate so Geralt relied on his skills and deflected both projectiles with his sword, sending them skittering to the ground with a metallic screech.

The assassin leapt forward and skewered Geralt in the left bicep with his rapier, causing the witcher to yelp in agony for a moment before reaching into the blow and twisting aside, using his armour and muscles to cantilever the thin blade from the assassin's hands. It hurt like hell, but it achieved its aim and the weapon span into the mid-distance, bouncing from the cobbles. As he rotated, he reached out with his own sword and managed to strike the assassin on the hand, opening a wound across the fingers.

The reaction was immediate, and the assassin began to shriek with agony as the hanged man's venom kicked in, entering his bloodstream, and inflicting pure havoc on his nervous system. He recoiled and fell back out of sword distance and gripped his wounded right hand in his left, creased over as he fought to control his actions.

"You're not the only one that uses alchemy" Geralt stated flatly as he approached the man, intent on finishing the fight. As he did so the assassin lobbed another bomb towards him and Geralt simply batted it aside with his blade. The assassin moved to escape the encountered but witcher was quicker and cast Yrden, the purple glow of the sign appearing in the snow surrounding man and restricting his movement.

Geralt stepped forward again, raising his blade to strike down but somehow the assassin was quicker, and despite being wracked with agony from the venom, he thrust himself into his opponent and buried his knife deeply into Geralt's right thigh, the blade easily parting the leather covering the area.

Now it was Geralt's turn to roar with agony as he staggered back, the knife still very much embedded into his flesh. As a pure instinctive retaliation, he grabbed the samum bomb he had at his waist and lobbed it at the assassin who could do nothing but wait in horror, caught as he was in Yrden. It detonated at his feet, releasing the pent-up stunning effect so perfected over the years by the Zerrikanian wizards and the assassin was sent sprawling to the ground, utterly unable to respond.

Geralt growled in pain and fury as he looked down at the hilt jutting from his thigh. He couldn't remove it in haste without causing even more damage and the leather armour of his thigh plates had separated under the blow as if they weren't even there. There had been no resistance at all. He marshalled his determination and advanced, limping on the prostrate assassin who still could not make his own limbs follow his commands.

"Fuck you mutant" the man spat and he spasmed involuntarily through a combination of the samum bomb and the venom still working itself through his body. "This changes nothing. It's only just starting."

Geralt waved away some of the smoke from the bomb, the familiar alkaline stench of it now a mild hindrance and more like a welcome friend. "Shut up. No more talking. You are coming with me to meet the king".

The man winced, closed his eyes slowly and lay still. Geralt stood motionless watching the assassin, daring him to get up.

"You there! Drop your sword!"

"Fuck" Geralt spat as he turned to see a small army of city guard advancing on his position. The pain from his leg was excruciating but he had been wounded enough before to be able to fight away most of the fog of agony and stay clear. He looked down once more and was surprised to see the assassin's eyes wide open, his right arm pointing directly at Geralt's midriff.

"Surprise witcher!" the assassin laughed through bloody lips.

Geralt lowered the sword in a killing stroke, taking the assassins head from his shoulders with one deft swoop. A spray of blood splashed against the brown wall of the nearest house, possibly providing it with a richness of colour it had not seen since it was built.

"Drop the sword now or we will shoot you full of bolts!" one of the guards, probably the Captain, shouted at him again.

Geralt turned slowly, arms raised, and let his steel sword clang to the ground. The captain had not been joking and it was clear that whilst he was dealing with the assassin, he had been surrounded by ten crossbowmen and double that number of polearm and sword-wielding guards, many of whom looked like they know how to use them. He knew full well that the assassin had forced him to kill him and that the city guard who had just so happened to bravely arrive on the scene at the most inopportune time, had all witnessed a cold-blooded murder.

"I can explain…"

"Yeah, they all fucking say that…" the Captain responded, motioning a few of the guards forward to bind the witcher.

A few moments later, Geralt was being led away, limping, and still shackled at the wrists. Behind him, the headless body of the assassin slowly painted the snow in its own masterpiece of crimson red whilst some nonplussed guards gently jabbed it with the buts of their polearms.

Greyhand placed her quill down on the featureless desk and picked up the small, sealed missive that had just been placed on it by the faceless messenger.

With long and drawn-out motions, she split the wax seal and opened the letter slowly.

It did not take long for her to read the contents. She closed the letter.

If anyone had been close enough to see her and knew her well, and that person did not exist, they might have seen her imperceptibly shake her hooded head.

After pausing for a moment to think she reached out and took another boring piece of paper from the desk, picked up her quill once more and began to write.

'We require a new Blackhand agent. Pick one from the candidates immediately but ensure that you vet him carefully. The last one was somewhat unpredictable…'