Chapter Three

They pulled into Svorlag harbor on the island of Spikeroog late the next evening, the sun skimming the horizon. Golden light poured across the townspeople as they were finishing up their business for the day. Fishermen were stowing their nets and carting in their hauls, shopkeepers were shouting at last minute passersby, and craftsmen were packing away their tools for the night. Strangers as they were, Geralt and Gudrik garnered a fair amount of interest when they moored their boat, but Geralt got the impression that travelers were not too uncommon here and most people went back to their business quickly enough.

Geralt leaned over his shoulder to Gudrik. "Where did you say she was?"

"Up at the jarl's house. Jarl Udalryk hasn't been in his right mind lately. Most people blame old age. Cerys thinks differently. She thinks some kind of curse plagues him and set out to rid him of it."

"And has she made any progress?"

"Well, she hasn't been back in weeks so I don't think so. Though she hasn't actually sent any word."

"I guess it doesn't matter much now," Geralt muttered grimly.

They continued up the wooden planking of the dock until it gave way to sandy ground and they were in the market proper. The top of the modest longhouse could be seen a ways up the hill to their left past dozens of thatched roofs. The moment before they turned to make their way up the path, a woman's voice pricked Geralt's ear.

"More guards?"

Tracing the sound, Geralt swiveled to find a woman staring at them, not impolitely, but curiously. In one tanned and weathered hand she clutched a bouquet of dried ribleaf. The other was frozen in midair as it reached for a hanging bundle of lavender. An herbalist then.

Tapping Gudrik on the arm to follow, Geralt strode over. "I'm sorry, did you say 'more guards?'"

The woman's face flushed a bit at having been caught staring so brazenly. "Well, yes. A whole squad of them passed by just yesterday. Odd for Crach to send any guards this way. And now he's sent more."

So word hadn't made it yet of Crach's death. At least they wouldn't be contending with that.

Gudrik stepped forward. "They were An Craite guards? You're sure?"

The woman smiled. "Of course! I know all the clan emblems. It was the An Craite sigil on their armor." She pointed at Gudrik. "Same as the one on your tunic."

At this information, Geralt and Gudrik shared a significant and worried glance.

Stepping even closer, Geralt questioned, "Where did they go?"

Seemingly confused by the sudden change in demeanor, the herbalist shifted back in response. She lifted a finger toward the hill. "Up to see the jarl. They were asking after Cerys."

Eyes wide with panic, Geralt did nothing more than meet Gudrik's own gaze, and they took off running toward the longhouse, leaving a bewildered herbalist in their wake.

Arms and legs pumping, they needed no words shared between them to know what was going on. Ralen had sent them to kill Cerys. And they had a day's head start.

They made good time up to the longhouse, though they startled many a Skelliger along the way. A few angry shouts were hurled in their direction, but they didn't slow down until they came up the stoned pathway leading to the jarl's home and that was simply to keep from frightening the guards who could potentially block their way. It wouldn't do to be denied access because they were too brash in their approach.

A bit breathless, they stated their desire to speak to the jarl. On official business from Crach, they added. The guards on either side of the door shared a confused glance, but let them inside.

It didn't take long to find the jarl, planted as he was in his throne. Although throne was a generous word. They stood in a long, empty hall, a large fire burning in a pit down the center. On the far end, on a platform raised a step, was a tall-backed wooden chair. It was plain, yet elegantly made and on its edge sat a wiry man, his head in his hands. He didn't seem to notice their approach until they were directly in front of him.

Geralt cleared his throat. "Jarl Udalryk?"

Startled, the man jumped up, hastily stepping a few steps away from the throne with a rosy blush tinting his cheeks. "I, uhh… no. No, umm.." He straightened his garments sheepishly. "I'm Hjort. I'm Jarl Udalryk's advisor," he added, finally regaining some measure of composure. "Jarl Udalryk is currently indisposed so I will be handling all matters directed toward him." Hjort took them in for a moment, then squinted. "Are you two with the guards that came through yesterday? I don't remember there being a witcher among them."

"No. Listen, Crach—" Geralt started.

Gudrik nudged Geralt aside. "—Crach sent him later," he said, thumbing over his shoulder at Geralt. "He didn't know if the guards would be enough so he commissioned a witcher as well. I doubled back to bring him to Cerys, but now I can't remember how to get back to her and we wondered if you could give us directions."

Marveling at Gudrik's smooth lie, Geralt held his face in check. He, personally, was going to go with the blunt truth. Geralt had never much cared for games. But, then, he could appreciate how expertly Gudrik was playing this one.

Hjort looked relieved that their request was so minor. "Of course. It must be some beast haunting the manor to send ten guards and a witcher. I dread to think what they'll find up there." He glanced up at the last light of the sun streaming through two opened windows high up in the rafters. "They'll be arriving there soon, I expect."

They didn't have much time, then. Assuming the guards waited until they reached the manor to attack. And Ralen sent ten?! Though Cerys knew how to handle herself, anyone could be overwhelmed by such a number. It could already be too late.

Gudrik adopted an apologetic wince. "I hate to ask, but do you have a couple of horses we could borrow? Our witcher here arrived later than we hoped he would and I want to get there as soon as possible. Like you say, who knows what they will find up there."

Nodding emphatically, Hjort responded, "Of course, of course!" He motioned to a housekeeper nearby and sent them off to the stables. "It will just take a minute to ready them and then they will be brought out front. I'd do anything to help Cerys after all she's done for our jarl. Or at least, what she's tried to do." The mask of poise slipped from Hjort's face leaving only weariness in its place.

"She's had no luck then?" It was Geralt, this time, who spoke.

The advisor lowered his eyes and shook his head solemnly. "No. Nothing has helped. And he's only getting worse. He hasn't said a word in days. Hasn't eaten since yesterday. If we don't find whatever is wrong with him soon… I don't think he'll see the end of next week."

"I'm sorry," Gudrik chipped in.

Geralt grumbled his assent.

"I'm hoping with your help we might find a solution. Though I'm not prone to superstition, it wouldn't surprise me if there were some curse lingering in that old house. Speaking of which, I believe you needed directions." He proceeded to give them very detailed directions to Udalryk's old family home, which had been abandoned since Udalryk had been a child. Hjort even showed them where it was on a map for good measure. By the time he was done talking, the housekeeper he had sent off earlier had come back with news that the horses were ready and waiting out front.

They said a brief farewell with a promise to do all they could to help Cerys (not technically a lie, Geralt told himself) and then turned to leave. It wasn't until Geralt was halfway across the room that he heard Hjort muttering to himself under his breath, so quiet that Geralt didn't catch all of it. What he did hear stopped him in his tracks.

"…strange to see another witcher here."

Geralt's skin prickled.

Swiveling around and marching up to Hjort, Geralt said, "What did you say?"

Looking ashamed and a bit surprised that Geralt could have heard him, Hjort backpedaled. "I meant no offense. It's just that we don't get many witchers passing through here and—"

Geralt waved away Hjort's awkwardness. "No, I mean, there was another witcher here?"

Initially left behind, Gudrik had made his way back over.

Hjort took a breath. "Yes. A little over a month ago, I think."

"Do you remember his name?"

Pulling a face, Hjort thought for a moment. "Umm..hmmm. What was it? La.. no. Ra… Raiden, maybe?"

"Ralen?" Gudrik answered while Geralt's stomach dropped out from underneath him.

"Ralen! Yes, that's it. He came and spoke to Jarl Udalryk for a time."

Geralt jumped in. "About what?" What could Ralen possibly want on Spikeroog?

"I'm not sure, to be honest. They spoke privately. I assume Ralen was looking for work. Then, after a few days, he left." Hjort tilted his head in query. "Why?"

Geralt wanted to tell him exactly why. He wanted to explain everything that had happened between him and Ralen, everything Ralen had done, and was planning to do to Cerys. Most of all, he wanted to tell him that he knew exactly what had caused Udalryk's sudden decline.

Then again, much as Gudrik had discerned earlier, now was not the time for the truth. Udalryk was beyond help and they had wasted too much time already. Cerys was their priority now.

Geralt opened his mouth to speak, but Gudrik cut in once again before he could. "Just someone we're looking for, is all. Thank you, again, for your help." With a pert nod of the head to Hjort and a meaningful eyebrow raise to Geralt, Gudrik walked away.

He certainly wasn't going to spill the whole truth to Hjort, however Geralt couldn't in good conscience leave this man or his people defenseless. So Geralt merely left him with a cryptic parting message, willing as much sincerity into his voice as he could. "If you see him again, don't trust Ralen."


Without ceremony, Geralt and Gudrik took the horses offered to them outside the longhouse and galloped off into the darkening countryside.

They had been lucky. Lucky the guards had only arrived yesterday. Lucky that they had left this morning rather than immediately after they had gotten to Spikeroog.

Geralt wasn't going to trust to luck anymore.

There was no choice but to push the animals as hard and as fast as they would go. Up the long, winding road to the manor they rode, swinging their mounts around every turn up the mountainside. The further they went, the more wild the road became, a harsh, pine forest soon enveloping them in its cocoon.

Geralt led the way, his superior eyesight unfaltering even as the conditions deteriorated. Night was falling in earnest now and a storm was creeping in, a light trickle soon becoming a steady rain. Geralt didn't know how Gudrik kept up, but somehow he did, perhaps letting his horse find its own way to follow Geralt's.

Despite the rain, the horses were still foaming with sweat and steaming when they reined them in on the final approach to the manor. Desperate as they were, it would have been unwise to go running in blindly.

Moonlight was filtering in now through the thinning trees that signaled the last few turns to the house. Geralt pulled his horse to a stop. His horse's head dropped to the ground, his sides heaving, and his legs shaking. Giving the beast a laudatory and apologetic pat, Geralt dismounted, Gudrik doing the same. They swiftly, and quietly, snuck the rest of the way to the house, weapons at the ready.

It was a little trickier to tell over the drumming of the rain, but Geralt couldn't hear anything. No idle conversations between comrades, no pinging of metal against metal. Nothing.

Geralt wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

He peeked up over the rise to the old manor and beheld just that. An old house and not much else. The forest around it was creeping in, bushes and weeds clawing their way toward the unkempt building.

It was abandoned alright. And, by the looks of it, for quite some time. It didn't even seem as though anyone had passed through.

There were no lights coming from inside, no smoke rising from the chimney to indicate that perhaps someone was weathering the storm. In fact, half of the roof was caved in, the rest of the house looking like it could go at any moment.

Now that he was here, Geralt wasn't even sure that Cerys and the guards had come this way. The rain had washed away any chance for footprints and he had been too frantic to reach the manor to check for a trail along the way.

Geralt's chest tightened. They were here now. They may as well check the manor and go from there.

He motioned Gudrik forward.

As soon as the entryway came in sight, Geralt knew they had come the right way. A few rotten steps led to a dilapidated porch over which a still intact steep sided roof protected the boards beneath it from the weather. And there, kept from being washed away by the roof, were dirty footprints. A lot of them.

Happy as Geralt was that they hadn't chosen the wrong path, the revelation left more questions than it answered.

Where was everyone? He didn't have to wait long to find out.

Inside was utter wreckage.

At this point feeling like it was safe to do so, Geralt grabbed an old candelabra from a nearby table, one that was in the still-sheltered side of the house. He handed it to Gudrik and snapped his fingers, the candles lighting instantly. While Geralt had already seen the extent of the mess before them, he knew Gudrik was fully taking it in for the first time.

Underneath the collapsed side of the house were mangled and broken An Craite guards. Geralt counted six. Some had snapped necks, others bones protruding from arms or legs. It looked like one had been crushed by a chandelier. When Geralt pointed this out, Gudrik theorized that it was likely the cause of the collapse.

"A place like this," Gudrik mused in a lowered voice, "It wouldn't take much to cause the roof to cave in." His eyes wandered and then he pointed toward a high part of the back wall that was still standing. "Look! There!"

Geralt followed his eyeline and saw a sword protruding from the wood, the blade stuck in a few inches. "Is that?"

Gudrik nodded. "It's hers alright."

Picking his way through the rubble, the rain resuming its assault on Geralt's back, Geralt fished out the rope attached to the top of the chandelier. It was neatly sliced. Geralt grunted his approval then held it up for Gudrik to see. "Clever. But we still need to find Cerys. And if Hjort's count was correct, then there are four guards left. And Cerys doesn't have a weapon."

"Lead on, then. I never was much of a tracker."

Geralt carefully clambered back over to Gudrik. "It'll be difficult in this rain." His eyes wandered around the room and settled on the back door. It was open. "There's a good start, at least."

Stepping past Gudrik, Geralt strode for the back door. There was blood on the handle, the wind not strong enough to blow the rain that far into the house and wash it away. Geralt wordlessly pointed out the detail, both of them defaulting to silence now that they were back on the hunt. There was no telling where the rest of the guards were. Although it didn't take long to find one of them.

A mere fifty feet out the back door was another guard, face down in the mud. His arm was mangled, the bone near his elbow protruding from the skin. A fate likely caused by the collapse inside the house. He must have followed Cerys outside, but bled out before he got too far.

That leaves three.

From there, the tracking became a little trickier. As Geralt had intimated, the rain tended to wash away many signs of passage. The one thing they had going in their favor was that the forest was quite dense surrounding the manor. Not only would that prevent as much rain from washing away a trail, but the mere act of pushing through the foliage would be trail enough. At least for one such as Geralt.

Sure enough, there was a slight channel through the bushes where someone had pushed their way through.

With renewed urgency, Geralt waved Gudrik forward and they dove into the brushwood.

It was slow going through the forest. The trail was faint, the darkness not helping matters. Gudrik could only trudge along behind Geralt as the darkness deepened into the trees. It had always been a little strange to Geralt, to watch people fumble blindly in the dark when he could see them do so clear as day.

Nonetheless, he kept his focus forward, allowing Gudrik to follow along behind, as much by sound, he supposed, as by sight.

Then he smelled it. Blood. Blood and something else. Something foul.

"This way," he said in barely more than a whisper.

He led them on through the scrub and the tall, coniferous trees that filtered the cascade pouring down on them. Led them toward the smell that he could only hope was the blood of the guards and not Cerys. Kept going until the familiarity of that unknown scent stopped him in his tracks.

Endregas.

And by the stench teeming out of the woods, they had to be close.

He explained as much to Gudrik.

"Wait here," he ordered. When Gudrik made to protest, Geralt explained, "That poison could kill you in minutes. The endregas themselves in even less time. Wait here and don't come out until I say it's clear."

Gudrik grunted, clearly unhappy about the turn of events, but obeyed. "Fine."

Turning back to the putrid smell, Geralt drew his silver sword and crept forward. As he approached, he wished he had had a golden oriole potion. All of his stash was lost during his escape from Undvik. Since then, he hadn't had much of a chance to restock.

He would have to make do.

Unlike with Gudrik, endrega poison wouldn't kill Geralt. At least, not in small doses. Hopefully there weren't many around.

Fifty yards further and Geralt came to the slightest clearing in the trees, the spotty moonlight piercing through the canopy much more readily here. It was made so by a massive pine tree whose roots were partially ripped from the ground. It hadn't quite fallen, just tipped over as though a giant had leaned too heavily upon it, the forest so dense around it, that it could fall no further. Under its gnarled roots that shot up out of the ground was an endrega nest.

Two drones were present just outside of the small den the roots had formed, their distinctive knobbed tails bobbing in time with their movements. They were picking at something on the ground. When a small squabble broke out between the two of them, Geralt could finally see what was there.

Several bodies littered the ground. So decimated were they, it was hard to tell who they were or even how many there were. They were torn apart, their limbs and organs strewn across the damp bed of leaves.

At the very least, a few of the guards had been killed, Geralt told himself. From that distance, he couldn't tell if Cerys was in there along with them. He would have to get closer. And there was only one way to do that.

Stepping out from behind the tree, Geralt padded swiftly toward the nearest endrega, whose back was turned toward Geralt. It was too preoccupied fighting with its partner to notice Geralt's approach, though Geralt knew that a few steps further and the other one would spot him coming.

Sprinting the last few strides, Geralt swung his sword up from the ground, seeking to slice into the underside of the endrega's back leg. The bottoms of their legs and bellies were more exposed than the rest of their bodies, covered in chitinous armor as they were.

The second endrega was already screeching when Geralt's slice on the first struck true, having seen him approaching at the last moment. When the hobbled endrega's shrieks added to the cacophony, Geralt continued his sword's arc back around over his head, pivoting and thrusting his left hand forward to send forth a blast of Aard. With the second one stunned for the moment, Geralt turned back to the first.

It was still confused by the sudden attack, its leg nearly severed, the untouched armor on top the only thing holding it together. The endrega flailed around to the right, unable to support itself fully on the right side. This brought its head toward Geralt, which was what he was hoping for. There was a sweet spot at the exact point where an endrega's head met its body where the armor plates were thinner to allow more movement. One stab straight down on that point would kill one instantly. But it was a risky maneuver for obvious reasons.

Nonetheless, Geralt stepped in close and reversed his grip on his sword, angling the tip behind the creature's large, bellowing mouth. One quick thrust downward and the beast went limp.

But the fight wasn't over.

Geralt barely had enough time to extricate his blade from the oozing corpse before the second drone came charging in. Hopping backward, Geralt managed to avoid its chomping pincers. He swung at the endrega's upraised tail as it ran past, but it was only a glancing blow. Enraged, the drone swiveled back around and advanced on Geralt, its jaws and pincers snapping at Geralt with every step.

Throwing up Quen around himself, Geralt endured the onslaught, parrying the monster's blows with his sword when he could, letting the shield take the brunt of the hit when he couldn't. The drone backed him all the way across the clearing before letting up.

It hadn't stopped to give Geralt a break, however. In the dim light, Geralt could see the beast's tail engorging, the drone's body shaking slightly. Geralt had fought enough endregas to know what that meant. It was about to release a cloud of poison gas.

Geralt backpedaled as quickly as he could and watched the drone disappear into the greenish fog that burst forth from its tail. That poison wasn't nearly as deadly as the fluid form that glazed the barbed quills it could also shoot from its tail, but it could very well slow Geralt enough that he would be killed anyway.

Sidestepping around the dense cloud, Geralt readied his sword, knowing the endrega would charge from its cover. Geralt could just see the outline of the drone in the slowly dissipating fog when it made its move. It leapt for Geralt, pincers raised and mouth agape. Geralt heaved himself backward and to the side—

Something massive smashed into Geralt from behind, the force of it sending him flying. Right into the poison cloud.

Geralt landed on his ribs, all breath driven from his lungs. Instinctively, Geralt sucked in a breath the first chance he could, despite landing in a cloud of poison, his mind too slow to override his need for air. The gas sent Geralt sputtering and coughing which only forced him to suck in more of it. Through the mist that was no longer only surrounding Geralt, but starting to invade his mind, he could see an endrega warrior emerging from the woods, lining up alongside its remaining brethren. They both screeched in victory at the prey they would soon kill.

Mind fuzzy and vision blurring, Geralt's instincts kicked in and had him shoving himself backward, fumbling away as best he could from certain death. He flipped over onto his hands and knees, crawling when his legs wouldn't obey his commands to stand. The pounding of the endregas drew closer and Geralt's hand unconsciously reached for a sword that wasn't there. He hadn't even realized he had lost it until then.

He kept moving, the ground stretching and contracting underneath him, the sounds of clicking pincers and heavy footfalls pounding in his head. His mind could only fathom one thought at the moment: get away. Time lost all meaning. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours. There was no way to be sure. Something struck Geralt's thigh, but his mind was too addled to take more than a passing notice.

Then, everything started to get clearer. The fog was dispersing, helped along by the rain. A flood of urgency rushed back into Geralt. Followed quickly by pain.

Groaning, Geralt flipped himself back over in time to see the warrior bearing down on him, the drone evidently content to let its brother do his job. It was clear then that mere seconds had passed since Geralt had entered the cloud. It didn't matter anyway. Geralt's situation was no less dire.

The warrior grabbed Geralt by the leg and pulled him closer. Now fully on top of Geralt, the warrior dove for Geralt's head. Geralt did the only thing he could and grabbed a pincer in each hand, struggling with everything he had to keep them at bay. He wouldn't be able to keep this up for long. Geralt's cat like reflexes and inhuman strength were the only thing keeping him alive now. Time and time again the pincers broke through his grip and punched into the ground, Geralt only just managing to twist his head to the side, a shower of rotten leaves obscuring his vision more and more.

Then, clearly frustrated, the warrior raised itself up, its intentions clear—to slam down into Geralt and end this. It roared its fury, every inch of its salivating mouth on display.

A slight whooshing was the only warning before an axe imbedded itself into that gaping maw.

The creature thrashed and squawked in pain, trying in vain to back away from whatever had injured it. Geralt had to scramble to keep from being trampled. Finally finding his feet, Geralt didn't dare take his eyes off of the warrior in front of him or the drone advancing from the corner of the his eye, to find the bearer of that axe.

He knew it was Gudrik. And hoped that he would keep his distance now that Geralt was back on his feet. He meant what he had said earlier about the deadliness of endregas. A fact that Geralt had nearly proven.

The warrior's cries lessened to Geralt's right, its movements slowing. It would be dead soon enough.

To Geralt's left, the drone was gathering itself, this time preparing to shoot out a volley of poison barbs. And there, directly in between the two of them, was Geralt's sword. Dropped and forgotten by Geralt's poison-addled mind. Geralt wasted no time in acting.

As the barbs shot out, Geralt dove and rolled under them, snatching up his sword along the way. He sprang up and surged the final steps to the drone, shooting out an Igni sign. The sign was no more than sparks in the rain, but it served its purpose. The endrega reared in shock, exposing its underbelly enough for Geralt to get in a hit. When it cowered to cover its sliced belly, Geralt went for the kill and finished it off just as he had the first one.

Glorious silence fell over the clearing. The warrior had expired in the time it took Geralt to kill the second drone, though its body still twitched occasionally.

Stupid! So stupid, Geralt berated himself. Not checking to see if there were any more endregas in the area. His haste in wanting to find Cerys had blinded him to standard precautions and had almost cost him his life.

Gudrik was up next to Geralt in a moment, concern evident in his voice. "Are you alright?!"

As adrenaline drained from Geralt's body, pain took its place and he groaned as he turned, letting that be answer enough.

"Geralt, your leg!"

Following Gudrik's alarmed gaze, Geralt discovered a poisoned barb protruding from his right thigh.

Shit.

Sheathing his sword, Geralt steeled himself as he grabbed ahold of the few inches sticking out the front of his leg. He was lucky, really, that it had gone all the way through. Spined as it was, it would have been a lot worse to pull it out the other way. That's what Geralt told himself, anyway, as he ripped it free, agony slicing through his leg. His knee buckled for a moment, but Gudrik caught him by the arm and held him upright.

"Gods, Geralt. Is that… will that…?"

When Geralt mastered himself enough to stand on his own, he could see that the blood had drained from Gudrik's face. "Kill me?" he finished through clenched teeth. "No." Gudrik audibly sighed in relief. "But it won't be very—" Geralt blenched as another wave of pain hit him, "—pleasant either. The witcher mutations mean my body should fight the poison off in a few hours. It most certainly would have killed you, though." He gave Gudrik a pointed look. "Which is why I told you to stay back."

Without an ounce of shame, Gudrik said, "Good thing I didn't."

The corners of Geralt's mouth twitched. "Good thing."

Letting the moment of shared gratitude pass, Geralt turned back toward the reason they had come there in the first place. "Come on. We still need to find Cerys." And an endrega nest was a dangerous place to linger, he added to himself.

With a minor limp, Geralt led the way past the dead endregas to the fallen tree, Gudrik freeing his axe from the warrior along the way. The foul smell hit Gudrik especially hard and he threw up an arm to his nose. Geralt, he supposed, was more used to it.

Again, it was difficult to tell who was before them, or how many. Geralt resorted to counting torsos. There were three, one of them practically melting in the thick poison it was coated with. Still, he could conclude that they were all male by the relative size and shape of them. Unless the endregas had eaten a body whole, Cerys was still out there somewhere.

"I don't think she's here," Gudrik voiced, coming to the same conclusion as Geralt.

"I agree. But where would she have gone?" Geralt glanced around as though he might see a trail leading off into the trees.

"I don't know. Back to town, maybe?"

"Mmm," was Geralt's only response. Something was bugging him. The trail here was too straight for Cerys to have run into the endregas by accident. She had to have known where she was leading them. And she did so knowing, or at least hoping, that the endregas would finish off the guards. But where could she have gone? With the guards presumably right behind her, she would basically have had to run headlong into the endregas to get the guards to follow. And then it hit him.

Geralt swung his eyes upward, into the large pine whose longest branches were skimming the ground.

"What is it?" Gudrik asked, noticing Geralt's focus. A second passed. "Wait. Do you think that she…"


Cerys had watched everything unfold from her vantage point up in the tree. Had watched the remaining guards battle with the endregas she had found on a previous trip up to the old family home. Had watched as the endregas had handily beaten them, and then as they tore them apart.

And then she had waited.

When the An Craite guards had shown up the day before, she'd thought nothing of it. Thought that her father had been worried about her. She knew he had sent Geralt after Hjalmar to help him with the giant so it hadn't been a stretch to think that he had sent guards to help Cerys as well. He had even sent a suggestion with them—that they try going up to the "old haunted house," as they had put it. Cerys, of course, had been there several times already and found the rumors to be utter nonsense. Nonetheless, to placate her father's wishes, she had relented. And, in any case, she couldn't think of anything better to try in order to help Udalryk. Nothing seemed to help and her investigations always came up empty.

So they had trekked their way up to the house, arriving just as the last light of day was waning. As soon as they had stepped inside, that hairs on the back of Cerys' neck had stood on end. And not because of the house.

Something was wrong. And those instincts had sent her running when their swords and axes started flying. She had fought them off long enough to get to the stairs, where they could only come at her one or two at a time. There, the battle had continued, persistent around the entire upper level.

Then Cerys had had nowhere to go. The only way back down was through and skilled as she was, she couldn't take on ten men all at once in a space such as that. As they had crept closer, her attention flicked upward, to the massive chandelier overhead. It was a longshot, but she hadn't had much of a choice.

She had flung her sword end over end to the rope tethering the chandelier to the ceiling. The effect was more than anything she could have hoped for.

The chandelier had come crashing down bringing a large portion of the ceiling with it, killing the men standing directly underneath it.

Its blessing hadn't stopped there.

The rotten floorboards had given way beneath their feet, sparing only the few feet of wood on which Cerys had stood shielding herself from the initial collapse. Most of the men had been caught up in it, though three of them had been far enough back that they were unharmed. They had stood there, dumbfounded, staring across the sizeable gap at Cerys, coughing, as she was, at the dust that had spewed upward. Then, before they could move, Cerys had slid down the broken wooden planks into the rubble below. She had caught a glimpse of them racing for the stairs before she had to focus on landing.

She had landed on a body of one of the men, turning her ankle a bit in doing so. Shrugging off the pain, she had picked her way out of the wreckage, a hand snatching at her as her feet hit solid flooring once more. She'd stamped on the man with her other foot and broke for the back door just as the other three guards had come barreling down the staircase.

She knew she couldn't outrun them forever so she had done the next best thing. Outrun them just long enough to lead them to an endrega nest.

It had been a close thing, getting to the tree before the endregas got her as well. Luckily, their attention had shifted once the guards came bashing into the clearing. And then, she supposed, the endregas had been too preoccupied with their "spoils" to remember she was up there.

The problem was, then she couldn't get down.

Hours had gone by while the endregas picked and picked at the men. They would leave on occasion, but by the time Cerys felt like they would be far enough away for it to be safe to come down, they would show back up.

And then came Geralt.

Cerys was so stunned by his appearance that she didn't know what to think. How could Geralt be here?

When she saw him fall into the poison, she found herself flying toward him, descending as fast as she could toward the ground, not knowing what she would do, but knowing she had to do something.

Then the other man had shown up. Cerys recognized him as one of her father's guards, though she couldn't recall his name.

Her feet planted on the last limb before the ground. Everything that had just happened came flooding back.

Was Geralt with them? Were there more out there? What was going on?

She stood frozen in that tree while the man saved Geralt and Geralt finished off the last of the endregas. When they came over to inspect the guards' remains, Cerys practically held her breath, indecision gnawing at her.

From what she heard, though, they were looking for her. To kill her or to help her, she didn't know. In her current circumstances, she couldn't take any chances. She would have to wait until they moved on as well.

Then Geralt looked up. Looked into the tree, like he knew she was there.

She knew Geralt's capacity with a blade. Surprise would be the only chance she had against him, let alone the other man. If they spotted her first, she was done for.

It was now or never, she told herself.

Seeing one of the guards' discarded blades on the ground below her, she jumped.


"… do you think that she's up in —"

A scattering of leaves and a heavy thud cut off Gudrik's remark. Geralt barely turned in time to see Cerys charging with a blade. No cry escaped her lips, just a ferocity in her eyes that told Geralt she was in this to the death.

His sword was too long to draw in the time he had, so Geralt went for the knife at his hip. Mostly he used it for utilitarian purposes: cutting and skinning and some other, more creative, uses depending on the situation. In this particular situation, the blade, though quite a bit shorter than his preferred sword, would block Cerys' just as well. In any case, Geralt wasn't trying to attack, only defend himself long enough to talk Cerys down.

Taking a step back, Geralt deflected Cerys' first blow in the same motion that he had used to unsheathe the knife. "Cerys, stop!"

She did no such thing.

She pressed forward, a feral snarl baring her teeth. From the corner of his eye, Geralt could see Gudrik fidgeting frantically, no doubt debating whether he should step in. He, too, was shouting at Cerys.

Cerys paid about as much mind to him as she had to Geralt. Her blade danced around Geralt, though he had no trouble keeping up. A few seconds later, Geralt spotted an opening in her defense. Cerys was skilled and any ordinary swordsman likely wouldn't have seen it. But then, Geralt was no ordinary swordsman.

He stepped inside her guard and grabbed hold of her wrist, stopping her mid-swing, leaving their faces a mere foot apart. "Stop! We're here to help you."

That fire in her eyes sparked again.

Taking advantage of his grip on her arm, Cerys hefted both feet off the ground and drove them into Geralt's ribs, a move that sent both of them sprawling. Pain twinged through Geralt's core as she struck his already sore ribs. While he was momentarily stunned, he saw her rising to her feet. On the periphery, Gudrik had decided it was time to join in.

Enough of this.

From the ground, Geralt threw a sign of Yrden at Cerys and it looked as if she had been dropped into a vat of honey. Her movement slowed to near-nothing, though the surprise on her face came through quickly enough.

Even Gudrik stopped in his tracks at the faint purple glow that now encompassed her.

"Enough," Geralt said as he pulled himself to his feet. His skewered leg flared white hot at the movement and Geralt had to bite back his groan. He held out his hands placatingly in front of him. "We're not here to hurt you." To reinforce the point, Geralt very slowly dropped the knife. Gudrik did the same with his axe.

Though the Yrden kept Cerys effectively trapped, she could still speak normally. "Who sent you? Why are you trying to kill me?" she spat.

Despite the venom in Cerys' voice, Geralt kept his own calm. "They tried to kill you because of a plot against your father. We came to stop them from finishing the job. Though, clearly, you didn't need much help."

Geralt could see the wheels starting to turn in Cerys' eyes. She always was the clever one.

"Plot? What are you talking about?"

Gudrik piped in. "There's a coup against your father, your family. Lugos has allied with a witcher named Ralen. We can only assume to somehow seize the throne."

Cerys searched Gudrik's face and then turned back to Geralt, her body language shifting. From anger to surprise. And now apprehension. The sign of Yrden was just dissipating as she asked, "My father? My family? But then… you stopped them too, right?"

Geralt ground his teeth, eye contact suddenly seeming so much harder than it had been a second ago. The moment's hesitation on his part was answer enough, but Geralt said anyway, "I found Ralen on Undvik. He had already…" A sad, apologetic look was all Geralt could muster to finish the sentence. Desperate disbelief was already welling in Cerys' eyes. "He nearly killed me when I tried to escape. By the time I made it to your father to warn him," a heavy pause, "I couldn't save him either. We fled Kaer Trolde and sailed here, looking for you."

Cerys dropped her sword and she stumbled back a few steps like Geralt had just shattered her.

"I'm sorry," was all he could offer.

Tears streamed down Cerys' face. She moved her mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out.

As much as Geralt hated to push her, they couldn't linger here. Not here, in the endrega nest. And not here, where Ralen might send more troops to come looking. "We need your help," he said softly. Giving Cerys something to focus on might help her pull through. At least for now. Until they had time to deal with all that had happened.

"My help?" she managed to eke out. "How could I possibly help?"

Gudrik stepped up next to Geralt. "Cerys, you now lead the An Craite clan, whether you hold Kaer Trolde or not."

Geralt added, "I have no doubt that Ralen and Lugos won't stop with Clan An Craite. They'll go after all of Skellige. Without a united front against them, the other clans will fall, one by one. You're the only one who can unite the clans against them."

Just for a second, it seemed as if Cerys would say no. Then her eyes brightened. "Do you have a plan?"

A hint of a smirk touched Geralt's lips. "This is as far as we got."

"We need somewhere to go. Somewhere to amass an army within striking distance of Kaer Trolde," Gudrik offered.

A contemplative silence fell between them.

"I think I know a place," Cerys declared. "There is a druid camp in Gedyneith Grove on the east side of Ard Skellig. I've always been welcome there. I don't know if they'd be willing to help us, but I think they'd at least be willing to shelter us until we came up with a plan."

"Any place where people aren't actively trying to kill us sounds good to me," Geralt chimed in glibly. "I'll leave the navigating to you two, but for now, we need to get out of here. There's no telling what other endregas might return to this nest. Or what beasts will be drawn by the smell."

Gudrik and Cerys both gave a pert nod, Cerys' red-rimmed eyes now filled with determination.

Contrary to what Geralt had just said, he led the way back toward the old manor, his night vision the only one good enough to see through the denser forest that comprised most of the journey.

Half way there he could feel the endrega poison worming its way through him. His body had delayed the effects as it had continually fought them and, ultimately, would spare him from death, but he meant what he'd said to Gudrik. It wasn't going to be pleasant.

A cold sweat soaked his clothes and his vision wobbled. Then the pain hit. It felt like thousands of tiny knives were bursting from the wound. Eventually, they swam through his veins, spreading throughout his body until Geralt felt like a pin cushion for a team of particularly busy seamstresses. Body clenching and unclenching, he staggered onward, shambling left and right as he fought to keep his feet.

Gudrik and Cerys, noticing his distress, both took up under each of Geralt's arms. They were practically carrying him by the time the trees thinned.

Geralt's breath hitched with each bout of torment. From a long way away, Geralt heard Gudrik ask if he was going to be ok. "I'll…be…fine," Geralt ground out faintly.

And that was the last thing he remembered.