Of cavern conversations and mountain monsters
"I was lucky. The Citadel was not quite as bad as the other dungeons. My father must have paid an arm and a leg to bribe the guards. They let a healer in who patched me up again. I got some extra, non too filthy blankets against the cold and the food wasn't that horrible, not like in Vizima where it was mostly stale water and mouldy bread. There even was some fruit sometimes. Then, after two years of solitary confinement, they let me out. I was to meet the Emperor in Cintra. I put on the new armour they gave me, got on my horse and galloped there in record time. It turned out I was to sail to Cape Bremervoord and meet with an elven sorceress, Francesca Findabair. Rience was there, too. And Fringilla. With a commando of elves under the command of Isengrim Faoiltiarna, also known as the Iron Wolf, and Rience we sailed to Thanedd. Finally there was my second chance, the one opportunity to redeem myself, the way out of all this shit. I could not mess it up." Cahir paused, then continued. "Well, you know how splendidly that went. Rience had given us medallions to protect our ears in case Cirilla would scream like when she escaped from me outside of Cintra. So I was quite confident that it would be easy when I had finally cornered her in that courtyard with the fountain. Seize her, sling her across the saddle and gallop to where the ship was waiting for us. Never had I anticipated that the Princess would attack me. But she did. She was so fast, wild, mad, terrifying in her fury, like a real lioness defending her cubs. I was stunned, paralysed with shock. And pain. And fear. I did not even think of drawing my own sword to defend myself. Then, as suddenly as she had started, she stopped. I don't know why, she could easily have ended me with a single blow of her blade. Instead she urged the horse into a gallop with a cry, leaped into the saddle in full flight and was gone. Then my elven squad arrived. And Geralt. You know the rest."
There was a long, heavy silence after Cahir had finished telling his story. He had done so in a quiet, detached tone of voice, more like a matter-of-fact military report while looking into the glow of their strange little fire. However, the occasional quiver in his voice had given away how difficult and painful this all must have been. And they had seen his scars. It was not hard to imagine the details that he had left out.
"And there I thought my life was a fucked up pile of pigshit," Angoulême finally said.
Cahir looked up at the young girl. "Only you did not deserve any of what happened to you. I did. And it's still not enough. It can never be enough," he finished darkly, looking into the fire again.
"That's why you begged me to kill you on Thanedd," Geralt then said. "Your life was forfeit without fulfilling your mission. Without capturing Ciri and delivering her to your Emperor. Well," the Witcher smiled at his young companion, "I'm glad I did not."
"As am I." Cahir smiled back at the older man. Only a couple of months before, Geralt had told him to his face that sparing his life on Thanedd had been the biggest mistake he had ever made. They had truly come a remarkably long way, the Witcher and the former Nilfgaardian commander. Suddenly, however, the Witcher's face darkened, a very unpleasant thought crossing his mind. He looked at Cahir sharply.
"In that cave after Belhaven, you assured me that you wanted to join our company to finally do right by Ciri after everything you had done to her and swore that it was not your intention to capture and take her to your Emperor."
"I did," Cahir said, confused at the sudden change in Geralt's tone of voice and facial expression. Had he said or done anything wrong? Well, he had done plenty of wrong in the past, but just a moment before the Witcher had said he was glad he had not killed him in spite of everything. Why was he glaring at him like this now? Cahir did not have to wait long for the explanation.
"And now it turns out you owe your life to Rience and Vilgefortz of all people who quite literally saved your neck," Geralt growled. "How then can we be sure you won't betray us to them to pay your life debt? After all, we are riding to kill those fucking sons-of-bitches!"
"You still don't trust me? After everything?" Cahir asked quietly, more surprised and sad than angry.
"I want to, Cahir," Geralt conceded. "However, I think I know you well enough by now to be convinced that you would not take something like a life debt lightly and just ignore it. And I can't risk any last-minute surprises."
"There won't be any. I give you my word. Knight's honour," the young man said gravely. "You are right though," he continued, "I would not take a life debt lightly. But, as Rience, on Vilgefortz's orders, must have planted the bogus princess in Nilfgaard and Vilgefortz's failed plan with the northern mages cost us the victory at Sodden Hill, I do not feel particularly indebted to either of them. Rience is probably dead anyway." Cahir paused, looking Geralt in the eye. "Even more importantly, Vilgefortz intends to hurt Ciri. I owe her a life debt, too. And you several. I fear I've lost count of how many exactly."
"Forget it. And forget what I said earlier. It was stupid and I am sorry to insinuate that you might be working for Vilgefortz. The moment I spoke the words the idea already sounded ridiculous even to me. I do trust you, Cahir aep Ceallach."
"You won't regret it, Witcher, I promise."
"And I promise that you will regret it in the morning if you go on talking all night." Milva yawned demonstratively. "We do want to make it out of these pigshit mountains tomorrow, so we better get some sleep." She stood up, got her bedroll and spread it out in a corner not too far from the fire. "Cahir, you get your non-Nilfgaardian ass over here, you can share my bedroll. Guess I've gotten used to you warming my back."
"And who is going to warm my back?" Angoulême piped up. "I'm fucking colder than an icicle."
"You can come, too, punk," Milva sighed. "Just don't call me auntie."
"Never, mama," Angoulême grinned, ducking quickly to evade any missiles Milva might be throwing at her. Then she grabbed her recovered bedroll and spread it out next to the archer's, ready to drop. All three of them were. And fell asleep almost instantaneously as soon as they lay down. Only Geralt and Regis remained sitting around the fire keeping it burning and watching the entrance.
"You can go get some sleep, too, Witcher, you know? I can manage the fire and any possible monsters."
"I am aware of it. But I don't feel like sleeping yet. Too much to think about."
"Well, that was quite a dark tale our young Vicovarian friend has finally shared with us. So much pain, trauma and guilt bottled up inside one single human being is definitely not very healthy. We are very fortunate indeed that we have Milva. If somebody can keep him from falling apart it's her. Just look at them," Regis gazed fondly at the three humans in their company, who lay there sleeping snuggled up against each other for warmth and comfort, the archer having put her arms protectively around both Cahir and Angoulême.
The vampire smiled broadly, showing his pointed teeth. "Seems to work as effectively as a sleeping drought, and with no side effects."
"Hmm." Geralt smiled back at the barber-surgeon. "Hope you are right. But you always are."
The two unlikely friends sat in companionable silence for a while dwelling each on their own thoughts and listening to the soft snoring of their sleeping companions and the quiet crackling of the fire. Then there were other sounds. At first an almost imperceptible shuffling like a blanket dragged across the floor. As the noise came closer it became more distinct, a soft tapping of furry paws on stone. A dozen paws at least, and not tiny ones. Without making a sound the Witcher reached for his sword. Maybe the creatures had not noticed them yet and would just pass by their little side cavern. But no such luck. Soon Geralt and Regis could see the glow of one pair of huge, pale eyes in the entrance. Then two. Three. Finally there was a whole group of creatures, seven or eight of varying height, maybe more behind them. They kept standing there, not moving, not making a sound. Geralt and Regis did likewise. Even with their enhanced night vision they could only make out vague, furry shapes against the glow of their fire. And the eyes. Now the creatures started to whisper, first very quietly, then increasing in volume, a murmur turning into an agitated chatter of squeaking, babbling, puffing and rumbling noises. They seemed to argue about something in a language that did not resemble any human one, nor any other language the Witcher had heard. They still did not move.
Milva, however, began to stir, woken up by the strange noise. Cahir, next to her, too. Only Angoulême was still fast asleep oblivious of the possible threat the company was facing. Geralt motioned his comrades to keep quiet and not move. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the chatter subsided and one of the creatures, the biggest one, slowly entered the cave and shuffled toward the fire. Cahir noiselessly inched his hand closer to where his sword lay ready to jump up the second the Witcher, who had grabbed his sword more tightly, gave the signal to fight. Milva did likewise with her bow, her eyes glued to the mysterious being that was advancing toward them.
The monster stopped midway. It was a creature Geralt had never seen before, but he had read about its kind. The little that was known about them. White fur, long beards, bipedal with enormous furry feet. A Barbegazi. Not of the kind that dwelled in mines and caves in the lowlands like the ones he had encountered in the cave system on the way to Toussaint before meeting the elf Avallac'h, but the rare variety that thrived high up in the ever frozen, snowcapped mountains. They were said to travel by skiing on their remarkably large feet or using them like snowshoes, their greatest excitement being surfing on avalanches. Little or nothing was known about their diet or if they posed any danger to humans like their lowland cousins who liked to attack and bite miners and other unsuspecting visitors of caves and tunnels with their razor-sharp teeth. One source claimed that the mountainous kind sometimes gave low whistling cries to warn humans of an avalanche or even dug them out from the snow. However, to Geralt this sounded more like wishful thinking than evidence-based science. And they had definitely not come to their aid when the avalanche had hit them the day before. Perhaps they were capable of imitating human speech like the lowland Barbegazi? If so, he might be able to find out about their intentions. Maybe parley with them to prevent any unnecessary bloodshed. It would not hurt to try, would it?
"Welcome, friend," he began feeling a bit ridiculous speaking to that furry thing. "We came here to seek shelter from the snowstorm, not to disturb or hurt you. If the weather allows it, we will be gone in the morning. You have nothing to fear from us." Geralt held up his empty hands to show his peaceful intentions. The creature did not react. Was it pondering on an answer? Or did it not understand the Common Speech? Just when Geralt wanted to repeat his greetings in somewhat simpler words, the Barbegazi opened its great maw. Sharply pointed conical fangs flashed in the orange glow of the fire.
"You meat. We hungry," it said very slowly in an odd, low rumbling tone of voice, unnaturally drawing out the syllables, the strange intonation of the words typical of a creature not accustomed to communicating using articulate speech.
"What? I'm no meat, you sucker! I'll give you a taste of my dagger if you dare -" As Milva was pressing her hands firmly against the mouth of the just woken-up Angoulême, the rest of the girl's words were muffled effectively, and lost. Which was very fortunate since the creature had started to snarl and hiss raising its hackles, its companions in the entrance echoing its angry noises.
"Sorry, a misunderstanding." Geralt hurried to say, making a placating gesture with his hands. Then he pointed at the pile of left-over roasted horse meat meant to be their breakfast and lunch. "You want this meat here, don't you?" The creature stopped hissing and made a sound that uncannily resembled one of Gerat's affirmative grunts. The Witcher took it for a yes and, with very slow and careful movements, shoved the pile of meat closer to the Barbegazi.
"Here, take it. It's all yours. As a payment for letting us stay in your cave." The Barbegazi grunted again and padded closer to the offered meat. Then, with an astonishingly quick movement, it grabbed most of it with its big, furry paws - or hands? - and agilely retreated toward the cave's entrance. An excited murmuring and strange purring noises emanated from the creatures there. Then they disappeared into the darkness.
"Damn, there goes our breakfast," Angoulême swore under her breath.
"Don't you worry, my girl, there is plenty more meat where this came from. We could feed another score of those creatures and still have enough for ourselves. Do you reckon we are safe from them for the time being, Witcher?"
"Of course, there is, as a certain vampire would say, never a 100% guarantee, but the Barbegazi here seem to be rather friendly in comparison to the ones I encountered in the past. I'm pretty confident that they won't attack us. But just to make sure, we could roast some more meat for them."
And so they did. Regis went on yet another errand to retrieve as much of the frozen horse meat as he could carry plus more bat guano to keep the fire burning while Geralt, Milva and Cahir busied themselves carving up and roasting the meat using their swords and daggers as spits. Only Angoulême had gone back to sleep lulled by the quiet conversation of her friends and secure in the knowledge that nothing bad would happen to her as long as she was with this particular and very unique hanza.
"So you met Triss Merigold," Geralt stated after a while addressing Cahir who had just stabbed another big chunk of meat with his sword to place it over the fire.
"Who?" Cahir looked at Geralt questioningly, obviously never having heard the name before.
"The chestnut-haired sorceress that patched you up after Sodden Hill."
"Triss Merigold. Sounds nice." Cahir paused looking into the fire as was his habit when talking about his past. "I never knew her name. She did not mentioned it and I never asked. I don't think I ever thanked her properly either. I should have."
"Indeed you should. Did you know she still bears the scars from where one of your men pressed a burning torch to her breast?"
Cahir looked aghast. "I - I did not know she was hurt. She was wearing a scarf, I believe. She - She must have hated me."
"Probably still does. Every time she looks into a mirror."
Cahir swallowed and nodded, guilt written all over his face. "Even so she tried to be nice to me although I never said a word to her in that dungeon. I wanted to but did not know how. My head hurt like seven hells after what that sorceress had done to me, and it was just impossible to string a coherent thought together. I understood what she said to me since it was mostly short orders, like 'drink' or 'eat', but saying anything myself was totally beyond me. I could not recall how to do it in either language. My brain felt like filled with nothing but muddled mush. I only remembered scattered bits and pieces of what had happened, where I was and why. Hell, I hardly remembered my own name."
"Your name is a bitch to remember, too, gives me a headache every time I try," Milva remarked, smiling at her friend.
"À propos, what is giving me a headache at the moment, dear company, might be an even more serious problem than intricate names, I fear," Regis said, rendering Milva's attempt at lightening the mood futile. "Assuming that the blizzard has died down by morning and we can actually set out continuing our journey, there is still the deadly threat everybody has been avoiding to mention but which is, unfortunately, very real. Or do you suppose the ice giant has given up on us and will just let us pass, Witcher?"
"You are right, Regis, he probably won't. Ice giants are stubborn buggers when they are set on keeping people from crossing their mountains. While the blizzard is still raging, it might be possible to pass by him unnoticed, but then we will most likely get lost and freeze to death in the snowstorm. At least, we non-vampires will. On the other hand, in clear weather the giant is bound to spot us if he is still keeping watch by the pass ..."
"... and will surely release another potentially lethal avalanche on us." Regis continued Geralt's sentence, one of his sometimes annoying and at the same time endearing idiosyncrasies. "It's quite a pickle we find ourselves in, a true tragic dilemma where both options that present themselves are equally undesirable, painful or horrible. A no-win situation where it is even hard to tell which choice would be the lesser evil."
"Problems are there to be solved," Cahir said into the silence that had ensued after Regis's vivid on-point description of the hanza's pickle. "And a dilemma is nothing but an especially nasty problem, right?"
"Right. Any ideas, whippersnapper?"
"No, sorry Geralt, not at the moment. But as my experience of not much less than thirty years has taught me, the best solutions sometimes present themselves in quite unexpected ways and on their own accord after ..."
"... a good night's sleep or a nice cup of tea or two. Very wisely spoken, son, in spite of you being barely more than a baby fledgling reckoning by vampire standards."
"Then you better put the kettle on the fire, vampire," Geralt grunted sarcastically. "The rest get some more sleep. There are still a few hours left before dawn reckoning by Witcher standards. And let's hope that Cahir is right and the dilemma will indeed magically resolve itself come morning. Although I doubt it."
As a matter of fact, it did. Or so it seemed. Despite Geralt's doubts and not magically, but as it happened in a quite unexpected way and on its own accord.