Chapter Five
Not wanting to provoke a reaction, Geralt slowly set down the jar he had been holding and turned to face the man that had spoken. It was the witcher. The red-headed one Geralt had seen earlier.
Geralt's heart jumped into his throat, yet at the same time, the world came into crystal clear focus. Fear was not the enemy. It could be paralyzing if men let it be, but it also granted an edge to those that knew how to use it, rather than be used by it. That edge had saved Geralt many times. He could only hope that it would do the same here.
As far as Geralt knew, there was only the one door out of this room and the witcher was standing in it. Geralt was in a bad way when the best thing that could happen would be the witcher getting closer.
A fight was imminent, that much was certain. Geralt couldn't hope to talk his way out of this. His hand at his side, Geralt cast Quen preemptively, but said nothing.
The witcher took a step into the room. "I knew I sensed someone earlier. I told myself that it was nothing, that no one would be stupid enough to come here. And yet curiosity eventually got the better of me and I headed to the lab, the place Ralen told all of us you would try to break into." He smiled. "What do I find but an open doorway? And a fool witcher wishing to die."
He's stalling. Quit letting him stall for time. But there was nothing to do. Geralt was trapped. So he replied, "I'm surprised Ralen didn't come himself. Where is he now? Doing things too important for a lackey such as yourself?" As much as Geralt wanted to keep from making the witcher mad, at least anger might unseat the man. Might make him lose focus.
Geralt had to get to that door.
The witcher's notstrils flared ever so slightly to Geralt's comment, but he spoke calmly. "Ralen does and goes where he pleases. He left me to kill you, should you show up." That wicked smile again. "I think we both know that's more than enough."
Unfortunately, Geralt had to agree and he supposed his silence signaled it. The witcher's grin only deepened. But why hadn't he attacked yet? If Ralen truly had left this man to stop Geralt, then the witcher had to be powerful. One blast of Aard or Igni at this distance and Geralt could be dead.
And then it hit him.
He didn't want to destroy the lab. They needed it. Needed it to make more serum. That's why they knew Geralt would come here.
"Where's the serum?" Geralt hoped his blurted question might catch the witcher off guard and get some kind of involuntary reaction telling him where the serum was. A final, desperate attempt at locating it.
Geralt had no such luck. The witcher's eyes didn't even waver.
He laughed. "You think Ralen would leave it lying around unguarded? You really are a fool."
Geralt believed him. And chastised himself for thinking exactly that. Maybe he was a fool. He came here on a fool's errand, after all. At least Geralt would have no qualms about what he was going to do next.
Returning the smug smile that the witcher had etched into his face, Geralt raised his hand and pointed his palm toward the other side of the room. Too late, the witcher realized what Geralt was up to and rushed forward, fear filling his eyes.
It didn't stop the blast of Aard from shattering everything along the side wall.
The witcher barreled into Geralt on the far side of the room, both drawing their knives in unison. The space was much too small to wield a greatsword. Blades flashed around them as they both sought to gain the upper hand. Geralt didn't have much experience fighting with a knife other than the skills he had been taught in training. Luckily, neither did the other witcher. Their clash was one of reaction more than expertise. In this case, however, that fact favored the red head.
He was fast. Too fast for Geralt to block every incoming blow. Quen had saved him a few hits, but the shield was waning. By now, Geralt had backed far enough that he had turned the corner and he was the one closer to the door. But if he couldn't disengage with the man, then it wouldn't matter. The second Geralt did, though, he knew the witcher would strike.
He would have to risk it.
Knowing it would leave him completely vulnerable, Geralt kicked out at the witcher. The space he won came at a cost. Seeing the move Geralt was making, the witcher brought his knife down on Geralt's leg, crashing through the last of the shield and slicing through his thigh.
Geralt didn't even take the time to grunt. The kick and the dispelled shield bought him a few seconds and he wasn't going to waste them.
He sprinted for the door, turning just before he crossed the threshold to send another wave of Aard into the room, followed closely by as much Igni as he could summon. Not only would it slow the witcher down, but Geralt wasn't going to leave this lab standing if he could help it.
Geralt didn't wait to see what happened. He could hear flames roaring up behind him and glass bursting as he crashed through the library, past the taxidermy room, and out into the hallway, the door there blessedly open.
He didn't stop there.
Legs pumping, the gash in his thigh burning with every stride, Geralt sprinted through the castle, using his mental map to retrace his steps and throwing caution to the wind. Speed was his only ally now.
He knew the blood leaking down his leg was leaving a trail. The witcher would have no problem finding him. The only chance Geralt had was to make it to the flooded tunnel quickly. Unprepared, he doubted even Ralen could have followed him through there, let alone this witcher.
The corridors were considerably emptier than they were when Geralt had come in. It would be about dinner time right now—an unbidden blessing. Still, there were a few men wandering the hallways. Turning one corner, Geralt ran headlong into a guard. Geralt's speed was such that he bounced off the man, smashed into the wall, and stumbled to the ground. Stunned and winded, Geralt nonetheless pushed himself to his feet and kept going. The other man was on the floor, out cold.
From there, the small number of men that stood in Geralt's way, he blasted to the side with Aard without breaking stride. Some, Geralt ran straight past before they could even gather their wits. He easily outpaced them, but the volume of footsteps behind Geralt was mounting.
Downward he spiraled, his chest heaving, his leg soaked with blood.
When he reached the top of the staircase to the flooded tunnel, Geralt stopped to catch his breath. Not only that, but he needed to take the second Killer Whale and Cat to make the return trip.
He undid the buckle to the bag at his hip and shoved his hand inside—
"Ahh!" Geralt yelped in shock as broken glass sliced into his finger.
Dread boiled up in him. He threw back the flap of the bag and peered inside.
All of the remaining bottles were broken in some capacity, their contents swirling at the bottom of the leather bag and soaking into the rag that hadn't cushioned them sufficiently.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
He needed those potions. He would never make it out of here without them. By the amount of liquid sloshing around in the bag, Geralt could tell that the majority of the contents were still there, but now the prospect of taking them filled him with even more dread than when he thought they were gone.
There had been six left when he had entered the castle. Six very potent witcher concoctions that even Geralt could only drink maybe half of at a time. While useful, witcher potions were highly toxic, even to witchers themselves.
Toxicity was a strange thing in witchers. And it was different for every individual. It was as if the Trial of the Grasses set a limit for each witcher and that limit never changed. Some could hardly drink one mild potion. Geralt was one of the lucky ones. He could withstand quite a lot. More than any witcher he had known. The thing was, no matter the witcher's limit, once they tipped over the edge, that was it. The toxicity amplified a hundred fold. And it would take days, weeks for the effects to clear rather than a few hours. That is, if the witcher survived long enough to see the effects clear. Most didn't.
The mixture that stared up at Geralt was more than enough to send him over the edge.
Adding to Geralt's troubles were the sounds of the encroaching horde growing ever louder. They were so close, their voices were echoing down the hallway, the witcher sure to be among them.
Geralt would never make it through them.
Not giving himself enough time to rethink his decision, Geralt downed what was in the bag, even wringing out the rag to claim every last drop. There was no way to know what potion was where and he needed to be sure he was getting the full amount of Killer Whale at the very least.
He told himself that one of the potions was White Honey. He told himself that it would make everything work out alright.
But it didn't help him when the toxicity shot through his body. When the blood boiled in his veins and sent white hot daggers through every nerve of his being.
A scream tore from him and he doubled over, collapsing to his knees. Every muscle tensed. His fingers clawed at the stone, leaving nail marks in their wake.
Only his instinct to survive, to keep going when conditions were dire, saved him. The red-headed witcher had come tearing around the final corner and bellowed at his compatriots to stop Geralt. That was enough to wrench Geralt from his misery. His head whipped up to note the incoming threat. The man's hand was raised as he closed the gap between them, a spout of flame burgeoning from it.
A rush of adrenaline hauled Geralt to his feet and he leapt from the edge of the staircase and plunged into the cold water a few stories below, the torrent of Igni passing harmlessly overhead. Geralt kicked for the tunnel, but hadn't gone a few feet before something splashed into the water next to him and grabbed his foot.
Through the mass of bubbles rising in a curtain, Geralt could see the witcher's rage-filled eyes. There was something else there too. A listlessness that clouded them—it was shock. It was only for a moment, but Geralt didn't need any more than that. He drew his knife and sunk it deep into the witcher's neck. The witcher's eyes filled with rage and pain and fear and surprise. It didn't matter. The icy waters had killed him just as much as Geralt's knife had. He hadn't been prepared for the bone-chilling cold that even Ralen's serum couldn't protect against. The witcher went to grab at his neck, but it was too late. The light was already leaving his eyes as blood swirled around them.
A whorl of red followed Geralt into the tunnel as he broke for the safety of the darkness down there, the muffled sounds of shouting dying out behind him.
The journey was arduous. Sheer power of will had Geralt keep swimming. The lack of a full dose of Killer Whale wasn't helping either. Geralt nearly drowned, his lungs burning as he sped upward on the far side. He sputtered and coughed when his head broke the surface, a startled Ermion rushing over to help him from the water. When Geralt lifted his face, Ermion gasped.
"Geralt!" Shock was pouring from Ermion. Geralt had seen illustrations of the effects of toxicity and knew that black veins now spiderwebbed across his face, throbbing with the toxins that flowed through him. "What happened?"
It wasn't until Ermion dragged Geralt from the water that he realized how much the coldness had been helping him, had numbed the agony writhing within.
When that numbness faded, Geralt curled inward, his teeth clenched so hard, he thought he might break his own jaw. Somehow he managed to grit out, "Need… White Honey. Get me back… to Gedyneith."
"Ok. Ok, come on." Ermion threw one of Geralt's arms around his shoulders, grabbed him around the waist, and towed him up the stairs. When they reached the top, Ermion asked tentatively, "Did you find it?"
"No," he stuttered out. Geralt didn't have the wherewithal to explain further. He could hardly see, the world closing in around him. His legs felt like jelly. Ermion had to shove him through the cave opening and heft him onto his horse.
Vaguely, Geralt heard Ermion speaking as he mounted his own horse ahead. "I'm going to get you back, Geralt. Just hold on."
Geralt didn't know how Ermion had meant that, but Geralt could do little else. He held onto his saddle. Held onto his sanity. With each passing hour, the latter slipped further away. Time melted into a meaningless construct, everything passing by Geralt in a blur. Trees and grass and dirt and pounding hooves and sweat and groaning. Was that coming from Geralt? He couldn't tell. Sunlight glared down on them. Or was it moonlight? Geralt could grasp onto nothing.
Time was against him. Its only purpose now was to bring him pain.
Most of the pain Geralt had experienced eventually relented, either in diminishing itself or beating him to unconsciousness. This pain was cruel. It wouldn't let up. It wouldn't let Geralt fade away. There was molten fire in his veins. He was burning, burning, burning.
He was losing track of himself. Of everything.
One moment, Geralt opened his eyes to see open fields. He blinked and he was in a forest. One more blink and the great tree at Gedyneith was bearing down on him.
There was shouting then and the world tumbled, Geralt now staring up at the sky. He closed his eyes. Someone shook him until he opened them again and pressed something to his lips. A face appeared. Its mouth was moving, but Geralt was beyond comprehension. Some kind of liquid slid into Geralt's mouth and it was cold, so blessedly cold against the burning in Geralt's core that he swallowed it down. Then again. And again.
And then nothing.
The fire abated, snuffed out like a torch dropped in the ocean. The tension in Geralt's body sunk along with it, his chest sighing its release. Geralt could finally let go, the relief so profound that he plunged gratefully into the peace of oblivion.
Geralt screamed awake, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. He had been burning. Burning like he was drowning in a sea of fire.
Yet here there was nothing.
As his mind slowly comprehended that fact, his breathing eased, his senses kicking in where only pain had resided before, the memory of it still lingering. The smell of damp earth mixed with the darkness that surrounded him, and, as his faculties fully returned, Geralt realized where he was—in his room at Gedyneith.
Then he remembered.
Remembered the castle and the mission. Remembered that Ermion had saved his life.
Geralt didn't know how he had survived the toxicity for so long. He supposed the fact that he had taken a double dose of Swallow and a White Honey in that mixture had kept him alive long enough to save him. All of the potions seemed to have had a muted effect.
He was lucky, really, that he had survived. He felt like he was in the School of the Cat, his nine lives running perilously low. And it had all been for nothing.
He hadn't found the serum. Hadn't found the formula. He had done all of that to be right back where they had started.
At least Ralen is one witcher down, Geralt thought to himself, finding the slimmest of silver linings.
He needed to find Ermion and figure out where they stood. Maybe they had discovered a way to manipulate their formula without the serum.
Steadying himself, Geralt swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, hissing at the forgotten injury to his thigh. A line of light peered around the door to Geralt's left. He made for it, pulling the door open to the bright, morning sunlight beyond, the tranquility of Gedyneith layed out in front of him, though it was somewhat disrupted by the myriad of pitched tents and soldiers milling about.
Famished, Geralt ate his fill in the dining hall then wandered over to Gremist's house and workshop. Ermion spent most of his days there working on their concoction.
Geralt knocked at the door.
"Enter!" came Ermion's voice followed quickly by Gremist's grumbling that it was his house.
Entering anyway, Geralt greeted the two men inside.
Ermion rushed over and exclaimed, "Geralt!" at the same time that Gremist said, "Well look who it is."
Initially smiling, both Geralt and Ermion turned at the enmity in Gremist's voice.
Gremist went on. "When I helped you make those potions, I thought you'd at least be smart enough not to use them all at once."
Geralt bared his teeth, but Ermion stepped in front of him. "That's quite enough, Gremist."
Wishing nothing more than to punch Gremist in the face, Geralt thought better of it and spoke to Ermion instead. "Can I speak to you? Alone?" he added with a pointed look at Gremist.
"Of course," Ermion replied, steering Geralt out of the house. "But I think there's someone else you'll want to speak to as well." At the confused look on Geralt's face he said, "Come with me."
Ermion led them to the circle beneath Gedyneith itself, the shade created by the tree's enormous boughs embracing them as they neared the trunk. Cerys, Gudrik, and Drom were there chatting, their faces solemn.
Cerys was the first to see Geralt and her features brightened. She ran past her compatriots and greeted Geralt enthusiastically. Gudrik was quick to follow and he and Geralt clasped arms, their grins stretching from ear to ear. Drom brought up the rear and offered Geralt a sincere smile.
"It's so great to see you up and about, Geralt," Cerys said cheerily. "We were all shocked to see you return in such a state last night."
"You know I like to make an entrance," Geralt said dryly.
"Yes, well, feel free not to make another entrance like that anytime soon," Gudrik commented.
"Considering the state of things, I can't make any promises," Geralt answered soberingly.
Ermion shifted uncomfortably. "Speaking of which, I have some bad news." He gestured to Cerys and the others. "I've already informed them, but…" He struggled with the words.
"But what?" How could there be even worse news?
Sighing, Ermion muttered, "Ralen may know where we are."
"What! How?"
"You were in a bad way when you came out of that tunnel. I knew I needed to get you back here as quickly as possible and I chose speed over stealth. No one was able to follow us back, but enough soldiers saw us that if they asked around, they could piece together where we were going."
That really was bad news. Though Ralen was going to figure out where they were eventually.
"The good news is," Cerys cut in, "I've gathered all the forces I can."
Geralt was impressed. "Did everyone agree?"
She nodded. "Lugos isn't exactly popular with most clans. When I mentioned what he did and what he was planning, they jumped at the chance to put him in his place."
Gudrik stepped forward. "So where do we go from here? As great as this place is for hiding an army, it's no battlefield."
Drom looked horrified at the thought that Gedyneith might be laid to waste.
"Nor should it be," Cerys answered coolly. "But it's too soon to make a move. We can't take the fight to Ralen. Not at Kaer Trolde. We send out scouts, wait for him to move. Then we decide where we strike."
"There's something else we need to discuss," Ermion chipped in. At all of their curious glances he said, "The compound we plan to deploy against Ralen."
Amiably, Cerys asked, "What is there to discuss?"
"Whether we use it."
At this, Geralt spoke up. "We don't have a choice." As much as he hated to admit it, Ralen was the biggest factor here. More than Geralt or Ermion or the druids. If Ralen's power couldn't be quelled, they didn't stand a chance.
"You're sure there's no way to narrow down its effects?" Gudrik questioned hopefully.
Ermion shook his head. "Not without more information, no."
Geralt knew that by "more information," he meant the serum or its formula. What little hope they had of finding them was now gone. Everyone turned to Geralt, their thoughts following his own.
Gudrik's voice was filled with concern. "What happened in there, Geralt?"
Had anyone else asked, Geralt might have taken the question as a challenge. A challenge to his failure. As it was, Geralt knew Gudrik was more concerned about Geralt's well-being than the acquisition of the serum.
So Geralt told them what had happened and when he was finished and their eyes were filled with awe and horror, he added, "From the way that witcher talked about it, I don't think Ralen lets the serum out of his sight. I think we need to move on without it."
Reassuringly, Cerys said, "We'll make it work."
Geralt sure hoped so. It was going to be hard, watching the battle from a distance, but if that's what he had to do, then so be it. Still, his mood soured a bit at the thought.
Cerys must have sensed his feelings, sensed all of their downtrodden moods, because determination filled her eyes and she looked to all of them. "We're going to defeat him." She waited until they all nodded their agreement before adding, almost to herself, "Ralen won't get away with this. He won't get away with any of it."
No, he won't, Geralt heartily agreed.
Their plan in place, the only thing left to do was prepare. Geralt helped however he could; building portable fortifications, stocking supply wagons, and assembling the "bombs" Ermion and Gremist had devised.
Though Geralt knew they were more complicated than that, Ermion had told them to think of the bombs as modified, extremely potent dimeritium bombs. When thrown, they would disperse a powder into the air that would suppress any and all magic in whoever was unlucky enough to inhale it. Geralt, and all the druids, of course, were exceedingly cautious when handling the bombs or any of their components. While Ermion and Gremist had been certain they would work, there was no way to test them fully and no one wanted to be an unwitting subject.
Preparations continued day and night, Gedyneith buzzing with activity and nervous energy. Every person there was willing to put their life on the line to stop Ralen and Lugos, but war was never fun and underneath the determination and bravado ran a layer of fear.
They were outnumbered. Clan An Craite and Clan Drummond were the two largest clans in Skellige. Even with the combined forces of the others, they had a hard fight ahead. Ermion's bombs levelled the playing field a bit, but Ralen and the others were witchers. At their lowest, they were still highly skilled swordsman.
The days crept on, the menace of battle looming over them all, a cloud that darkened with each passing hour.
Two weeks later, the thunderheads gathered.
While Geralt and the others were eating dinner one night, one of the scoutmasters came bursting into the hall, her face frantic.
Cerys, her face full of laughter a moment before, now assumed the firm face of a commander. "What's wrong?"
"Two of our scouts have gone missing," the woman reported breathlessly.
Pushing back from the table, Cerys stood. "Where were they posted?"
"Up north, through the pass to Kaer Gelen."
Cerys shot a look at those around the table, the wheels turning behind her eyes. Though no one said it, they all knew what this meant.
Ralen had made his move.
After only a second's hesitation, Cerys turned back to the scoutmaster. "Send your best squad to their last known position. And tell them to act with the utmost caution. They are to return at the first sign of trouble. We don't need any heroes. We need every man we have alive and well for the fight to come."
Clearly dismissed, the woman dipped her chin and left.
"Gudrik?"
Gudrik stood at attention. "Yes, my jarl?"
"Double the watch around our borders and get everyone prepared to leave. The second we have confirmation of Ralen's position, we march."
Leaving his half-eaten meal, Gudrik strode from the room.
Geralt had been poring over maps of Skellige for the past few weeks, wanting to acquaint himself with the surrounding area. As such, he knew that Kaer Gelen was an abandoned fort up in the mountains to the northwest of Gedyneith. The pass that led to it from its east and west made up the most direct route from Kaer Trolde to Gedyneith. It would make sense for Ralen to head that way. And the fort was an ideal place to house an army.
He broke the silence that had fallen. "You think Ralen is at Kaer Gelen?"
Cerys pulled out of her contemplation. "I hate to jump to conclusions, but yes."
"It would make sense," Ermion said, mirroring Geralt's exact thoughts.
"It does," Cerys agreed. "Then again, we know Ralen is crafty. I don't want to jump at this only to wind up with Ralen falling in behind us in the pass."
Knowing full well how crafty Ralen was, Geralt asked, "What if Ralen is there, but it's still a trap?"
Cerys considered his words. "Then that's a risk we will have to take. We can't face Ralen here. Gedyneith is too vulnerable."
Drom looked out of his depth at their talk of warfare, but he tendered a proposal. "If Ralen is at Kaer Gelen, could you lay siege?"
Backed against a mountain, Kaer Gelen was decently defensible, but vulnerable to being cut off. Though Geralt would be shocked if the place didn't have hidden tunnels beneath it for just such an eventuality.
Ermion shook his head. "That won't work." They all turned to him inquiringly at the firmness of his statement. "If we lay siege, Ralen could strike at our forces and retreat repeatedly, dwindling our numbers. We'd be virtually defenseless against it and we are outnumbered as it is. The ingredients for our bombs are rare. There were only so many we could make. We can't waste them a handful at a time. We have to use them in one stand against him and his witchers. We have to take them all out at once."
They all fell silent once more at the enormity of the task he had set them. They only had one chance at this.
Cerys spoke, her voice low. "Very well, then. If we get verification that Ralen has his army at Kaer Gelen, we meet them there to make our stand. With him and his witchers confined in the fort, it will be easier to keep them within the radius of the bombs." A feral light glinted in her eyes. "Once they're powerless, we strike."
It only took a couple of days for the scouts to return. Though they tried to hide it, their faces were grave. Ralen had brought his and Lugo's full might to Kaer Gelen.
They hadn't been able to get close enough to get an exact number, but they had guessed Ralen had thousands. "More than we have," they had said with a look of doubt creeping into their eyes. It didn't matter in the end. If they didn't meet Ralen at Kaer Gelen, then he would come to Gedyneith and wipe them out.
There was no point in waiting any longer.
The troops marched at daybreak.
Though they couldn't participate directly in the battle, Geralt and Ermion went with them. The other druids had stayed behind. They wouldn't have been any help in the battle with Ermion's bombs in play and, they had decided collectively, if the worst should happen, they would be the last defense against Ralen razing Gedyneith to the ground.
With a full army in tow, it took several days to reach Kaer Gelen, the once proud fort that now lay in utter ruin. The air grew colder and thinner around them with each step they had climbed into the mountains, the trees thinning as they neared the fort. When they broke free of the pass, a collective hush settled over the crowd.
Kaer Gelen, Geralt presumed, was once similar to Kaer Morhen. Several walls surrounded a tower building at the very back, with various courtyards meant to trap invading foes. It must have once been an imposing sight. Now, the mere outlines of the walls were visible. The only thing left standing was the tower and part of a wall connected to it that extended into an L shape before tapering off into rubble. Even those structures were dilapidated, with large chunks missing here and there.
The entire complex was backed up to a cliffside, the arms of the mountains pulling around to either side to offer more shelter. Where the front wall used to be now lay a row of pikes. Not so many as to be impenetrable, but enough to be a nuisance. Outside of that was flat, open ground. Scrub grass carpeted the expanse, only the occasional tree breaking up its uniformity.
Though Geralt instinctually took in the lay of the land, that wasn't where he or anyone else was truly looking. They were looking at the thousands and thousands of bodies that stood at their approach, for they were just as easily seen as their enemy.
Ralen's forces were ready for them, waiting.
It hadn't hit Geralt until then how hard of a battle they had ahead of them. He still believed they could win. There numbers were fewer, yes. But these men were fighting with a will and Geralt knew that that would count for more than pure strength. Nevertheless, the course of the battle would depend largely on if they could neutralize Ralen and his witchers. For all their planning and scheming, they still didn't know if the compound would work. If the deployment would work. There were too many if's and Geralt didn't like it. Especially since he wouldn't have a hand in any of it.
There was no way of knowing if the compound's effect would last an hour, a day, or a lifetime. Even if Geralt were to risk it, he had become so used to his life as a witcher, that he would be highly impaired by losing his abilities. It would have been like tying Cerys' legs together and sending her into the battle. Ermion had warned him against entering the fray and Cerys had agreed. Gudrik, too, had come to him and told him not to risk his life. Not like this.
So as the army filed into formation facing Kaer Gelen, Geralt headed off with Ermion toward a rise overlooking the area. It was a bit of a climb to reach the top, but the view of the battlefield was unmatched.
From there, he could see Cerys and Gudrik, clad in armor supplied by the allied clans, shuffling into place at the front of the army, the jarls of the other clans doing the same along the flanks. Shields adorned the arms of the majority of their troops, most of them situated to the front. Archers were lined up a few rows back and even a decent amount of pikemen marched on the front lines. As the army streamed in, Geralt shifted his focus to Ralen's forces.
They were largely in place when Cerys' army had arrived, but they further traipsed into loose formations and readied their weapons. There were archers along the standing wall, a swordsman spread every so many along the line. The front lines bore shields and their choice of weapon, shields becoming less common as the lines receded toward the tower.
A pang of worry whipped through Geralt when he couldn't spot any witchers. No one had two swords, no one even had a sword strung across their back. Not one. And then there was Ralen. He certainly was nowhere to be seen.
"Do you see Lugos down there?" Geralt asked Ermion out of curiosity. Geralt had never seen the man so he couldn't pick him out.
"Over there," Ermion pointed.
Lugos was standing toward the middle of his men, up on a pile of stone rubble. His stance was relaxed, smug. Geralt couldn't see his face, but he would have bet there was a sneer curling across it.
"What about Ralen?" Passing over Lugos, Geralt returned to scanning the throng.
"No." A clipped answer. "Do you think he's even down there?"
Geralt took a moment to consider. He couldn't see Ralen sitting out this fight. Nor his host of witchers. He had to know as well as Geralt did what a factor they would play. If conquering Skellige was his goal and he had marched his army all the way here, then Ralen wouldn't have stayed behind. "He's down there. He has to be."
But where was he?
The last of Cerys' army were taking their places, the sound of thousands of feet crunching through the dry grass ceasing. The front lines glared at each other past the defensive row of pikes, no more than fifty yards apart, each assessing, waiting.
Neither side had to wait long.
Cerys had long since decided to make the first move. Ralen wouldn't be expecting it and waiting would only fray their nerves. At a shouted command from their general, the first two rows used slingshots to lob bombs as far as they could into the enemy lines. These weren't the bombs Ermion had devised, however. These were firebombs.
Fear and panic spread quickly at the sight of the unknown ordnance, Ralen's men dashing out of the way or hunkering behind shields as fire exploded in their ranks. It was an effective opening salvo. And more effective than they could have predicted.
Not only did horrified screams and the smell of burning flesh rend the air, but across the army, shimmering shields of Quen bubbled up in pockets. It was so unexpected that Geralt almost didn't catch what had happened. Supposedly ordinary men were holding up their hands, casting the shields. When Geralt looked closer, he could see that each of them was holding a greatsword.
Ralen had hidden his witchers amidst the horde, making it harder for Cerys' army to target them. In fact, as soon as they let go of the shields, Geralt found it hard to zero in on them again. Not only that, but Geralt had vastly underestimated how many witchers Ralen had behind him. There were at least twenty. All casting shields protecting the hundred or so men lucky enough to be closest to them.
This was bad. But at least they knew the witchers were down there. They had wanted to be sure before they used Ermion's bombs.
Now there was no reason to hold back.
When the screaming faded and order returned, Cerys looked to Geralt and Ermion up on the hill. She gave them a nod. She, too, had seen the witchers identify themselves. She was ready to begin this battle in earnest.
At another shouted command, the slingshots were loaded. It wouldn't be fire raining down on Ralen's army this time.
Next to Geralt, Ermion was preparing himself. They had found a use for him after all. He wouldn't have been much help in the battle itself, but he would be plenty helpful deploying the compound. On the ground beside Ermion were two massive bombs, so large that Geralt could have curled up inside of them. Ermion was to focus on the back half of the battlefield while the slingshots would cover the front.
Cerys raised her hand.
Ermion gathered his magic, the bombs shifting beside him. Every slingshot down below was pulled back and aimed high.
When Cerys brought her hand forward, everyone let loose. The smaller bombs were sent arcing over the frontlines. A second later, Ermion hefted his two bombs toward either side of the tower.
His job wasn't done there.
With a closing of Ermion's fist, the bombs exploded high over the heads of Ralen's forces. The powder flew everywhere. They had tested the dispersal mechanism with an innocuous powder back at Gedyneith. They knew it would cover a good twenty feet on its own. Even so, they weren't taking any chances.
Swinging his arms up over his head and then pushing down, Ermion stirred the air over Kaer Gelen and forced the compound downward and outward, spreading it through every nook and cranny of the fort. The ensuing fog obscured Geralt's view. He could hear a mass scattering of Ralen's men and coughing and hacking. There were faint glowing pockets strewn around, the witchers throwing up shields against the unknown powder. For a moment, Geralt worried that they hadn't been dosed, but, one by one, the glowing fluttered and died. The last one left seemed to be up in the tower, judging by how high it was. It held on much longer than the others, but it too receded in time.
With the compound spread, Ermion erected a shield of his own surrounding the entire fort. It would block the wind from clearing the battlefield. They needed the compound in play for as long as Ermion could keep it there, just in case.
His heart easing a bit at the success of their plan, Geralt caught Cerys' eye and gave her a nod. He could almost see the light of determination fill her as she raised her sword and bellowed forth the order to attack.
The pikemen lowered their poles, the shieldmen raising their shields. Both created a spiked wall with which they would batter through the enemy line.
They charged into the fog, the rest of the army swarming in behind.
The storm of battle had broken free. And all descended into chaos.
Like thunder rolling across the land, the roaring of battle billowed outward. Steel clashed, men and women shouted, and bows twanged.
What seemed a lifetime passed before the fog started to clear enough for Geralt to see anything down there. He frantically searched for any sign of Cerys or Gudrik, any sign of Lugos or Ralen. He couldn't find anyone in the mayhem raging below. Ermion was too occupied holding his magic to add to the search so Geralt kept at it alone. It was all he could do and his uselessness ate at him with every passing second.
Over every inch of the fort, the forces fought. Geralt could hardly tell which side was winning. There was no way to know whether any of the witchers had been killed. He had told them not to take any chances with them, to overwhelm them with numbers or, better yet, just shoot them with an arrow. No one was to face a witcher alone.
By chance, Geralt's eyes alighted on just such an occurrence. He only spotted it because a circle of ten men were surrounding one. The man in the middle, the witcher, was holding his own, fending the others off with broad swings of his sword. One foolishly charged in and the witcher dispatched him quickly. Then three from opposing sides came forward all at once. Still, the witcher held them back. Over and over, he would kill one and another man would take his place. With ten men, they were losing the fight. It seemed they would fail, only a handful remaining, until the witcher thrust out his hand at an encroaching man. Nothing happened and the witcher's momentary confusion was hesitation enough for the others to land debilitating and then killing blows. The survivors wasted no time returning to the fray.
The fog was mostly cleared now, though Geralt could see the particles sparkling in the air, hanging there like they had somehow attached to the air itself. Likewise, what had settled was being stirred up by thousands of scuffling feet, a dense layer of the fog ever present to knee height.
After an hour of fighting, the numbers were thinning, the bodies piling up. A river of blood streamed from the fortress and crows circled overhead.
It was only then that Geralt spotted Cerys. A space had opened up and it took a moment for Geralt to realize why. Across from her, back to the tower, was Lugos. Both looked worn and bloodied, though neither seemed seriously injured, by their bearings. Then another man walked up to Cerys from behind. He was limping badly, a rough bandage tied around his leg. It was Gudrik.
Gudrik seemed ready to fight, but Cerys waved him off and hefted her sword, Lugos mirroring her with his axe on the other side.
Everything froze for a single moment and then they hurtled toward each other, sword and axe swinging.
Their fierce cries echoed up to Geralt. What Cerys had in calculating efficiency, Lugos made up for in brute strength. He swung and swung and swung, Cerys dodging and ducking out of the way, biding her time. He came at her again and she caught his axe with her sword, kicking out at him underneath their locked weapons. He was forced to back off, but he hooked her sword and pulled as he retreated, intending to wrench the weapon from her hand. Cerys went with her sword instead, leaping forward and rolling to recover, coming up into a crouch.
She rolled again to avoid the overhead swing Lugos leveled at her and found her feet as he turned. This time, she struck, slicing downwards. Lugos leaned back and retreated. Cerys didn't let up, pressing her advantage. Lugos was powerful, but slow, and was having a hard time deflecting Cerys' blows now that she was setting the pace. Her blade flashed around him like a bolt of lightning until his slower speed failed him and she cut inside his defenses.
A quick slash to the arm had Lugos' axe falling. Another to the leg had him borne to the ground. He didn't even have time to sneer up at her before her sword fell across his neck and severed his head.
It was almost like something shifted across the battlefield, then. Like they had climbed to the very apex of their goal and now had only to descend the other side.
Lugos' head rolled, but Cerys had already regrouped with Gudrik and pushed toward the wall. It was the only way into the tower as several collapses had blocked the lower entrances.
Just when all seemed won, a torrent of fire poured down from above and Geralt's attention snapped to its source.
Ralen was there, on top of the tower, fire issuing forth from his hand to the courtyard below. He seemed not to care whether it engulfed his own troops so long as it swallowed Cerys'.
A shield of Quen, somehow denser than those Geralt had seen before, protected Ralen. Geralt knew that kind of shield. As a witcher, he had rarely used one himself, though he knew its effect. It was solid. Not in the way that would stop a sword or magic, but in the way that would stop everything except the very air. Ralen was using it to keep the compound out and still had enough power to blast Igni down on the troops. Yet it flickered. And the fire; that, too, was weaker than Geralt remembered it.
It looked like Ralen must have taken in a small amount of the compound before erecting a shield. It wasn't enough to strip his powers, but enough to dull them slightly.
Nonetheless, Ralen was still a major threat. And the vehemence with which he was attacking meant he was angry. Perhaps he had noticed the shift in the tide of battle as well.
Now he planned to shift it back.
Cerys and Gudrik made it to the stairs by the wall, as yet unnoticed by Ralen seeing as how his focus was still on the men in the courtyard, who by now were running from each blast of fire as it pummeled the ground below. Lugos' corpse was aflame.
Cerys and Gudrik hadn't noticed Ralen either, their focus too tunneled on the men opposing them. By now, they had to have believed that the compound had affected everyone.
That was the last straw.
Geralt couldn't take it, seeing his friends rising toward danger, toward certain death. They would storm that tower expecting men only to run into Ralen. He wasn't at full strength, but he was more than capable of wiping them all out.
Geralt had to get down there. To warn them. There was no way to do so from where he was now. Once he was down there, he would help however he could, consequences be damned.
They had to stop Ralen.
Geralt was moving before he even realized it, heading down the hill. Then Ermion's voice stopped him.
He must have sensed his intentions. "Wait! You can't go down there." There was sweat beading on Ermion's temples. He had been holding the compound in place for over an hour now. Ermion's arms shook where he held them aloft, his breathing heavy.
Pausing to glance over his shoulder, Geralt replied, "I know." Yet he was going to do it all the same. He made to move again, but Ermion called out for a second time.
"Geralt." Geralt turned at the softness in Ermion's voice. "Here." He reached behind him and pulled out a single bomb from the bag strapped across his shoulder. Still with one arm holding the shield, Ermion proffered the bomb to Geralt. "I kept one, just in case." Geralt hesitated a moment. It was like Ermion had known it would come to this. He added, "I can clear the air above the wall. Get there and use that bomb on Ralen. Or force him to ground level." Taking the bomb from Ermion and tying it to his belt, Geralt nodded. "That's the last one, Geralt. Use it wisely."
Nodding again, Geralt swiveled and took off running down the hill. Laterally, their vantage point had been just behind the front wall of Kaer Gelen. Geralt angled himself toward the standing wall to his left wanting to get as close as he could before he entered the fort where the compound subsisted.
At the threshold, Geralt cast a shield to match Ralen's. The power it took from Geralt was staggering, the effect immediately noticeable. He stumbled a step as his strength waned. Catching himself, Geralt willed himself onward, breaking into a run.
He had to get to that wall quick. He couldn't hold the shield for long.
Geralt didn't bother fighting. He dodged and skirted through the battlefield, throwing all of his energy into his shield and let any passing blows ping off of it. With each strike, his shield shrunk.
Three-quarters of the way there, he knew he wasn't going to make it. Geralt wasn't even heading for the stairs, having long since determined they were too far. He was heading for the edge of the wall where it crumbled down to the ground. He would have to climb up from there.
But a wall of men blocked his path. Filling and emptying his lungs a few times, Geralt drew in a great breath and held it. He let his shield fall and put that energy toward a blast of Aard aimed straight toward the men in front of him. They toppled backward and Geralt kept running, stamping on one of their faces because he couldn't be bothered to go around.
It was another hundred yards and a steep climb to make it to fresh air. Geralt wouldn't be able to summon another shield now. He simply didn't have the energy left to conjure it.
So he held his breath and pumped his legs up the gradual slope to the wall, having to draw his sword to deflect incoming attacks, each pause making his chances of reaching the wall dwindle.
His lungs were on fire when he made it to the crumbled stone. They begged him to take a breath, but he ignored them, sheathing his sword and beginning his ascent. Blessedly, the archers were all out of arrows at this point and no one bothered to follow Geralt up the rubble.
A few yards from the top, the air still shimmering dangerously around Geralt, his lungs gave out, his need for air overpowering any control he had over his body. He clamped a hand down over his mouth and nose, cutting off the breath he was about to draw. His vision tunneling, darkness closing in, he climbed, one handed, until his fingers grasped the top edge of the wall.
Hauling himself upward into the clear, crisp air, Geralt rolled himself over the edge of the wall and gasped in a breath. He gathered himself, chest heaving, vision clearing.
He had made it. And true to his word, Ermion had cleared the air. Geralt felt nothing in the way of his powers being stripped.
As Geralt scrutinized himself for any sign of the compound entering his system, the din of battle returned to his ears and urgency took over Geralt once more. He shoved himself to his feet and drew his sword, ready for a fight.
There was no one in his immediate vicinity, but battle raged all along the top of the wall. From where he was, Geralt could see the stairs farther ahead. Cerys and Gudrik weren't there, though they had probably reached the top in the time it took Geralt to get down here. It was so much harder to figure out what was going on or where anyone was from down here as well.
Sparing a glance upward, Geralt could just see Ralen over the top of the tower, his shield still faintly yellowing the bright sky behind it. He, it seemed, hadn't noticed that the air had cleared. His spurts of fire lit the courtyard to Geralt's right intermittently, those unlucky enough to occupy that space scrambling to get away, their exits blocked by the masses.
Turning back to the wall, Geralt plunged into the fray. He had to break through to get to Cerys and Gudrik on the other side.
He fought his way across the wall, deflecting and dodging where he could, killing where he had to, and shoving people off occasionally. His only goal was to get through.
When he was nearing the top of the stairs, he spotted them. Cerys, Gudrik, and several of their men that had found their way upwards were fighting as one, tunneling through the men blocking the entrance to the tower.
Geralt didn't dare call out to them, lest he distract them and get them into trouble. However, he redoubled his efforts and cut a swath toward them through whoever was foolish enough to stand in his way. He did this with only his sword, so wary was he of using his powers. The normal sights and sounds of battle might not draw Ralen's attention, but a blast of magic would. Geralt wanted to avoid him knowing they were coming for as long as possible. And he didn't want to give the game up that Ralen could drop his shield either. The more power they could drain from him, the better.
Geralt was almost upon Cerys and the others before they comprehended that he was there. They said nothing as Geralt fell in with them, their band fighting to clear the space around them. When they had room to breathe again, Cerys and Gudrik swung to him, shock and concern on their faces.
"Geralt, you can't be here!" Gudrik exclaimed.
Shaking his head and holding his hands up, Geralt reassured them. "It's alright. I'm ok. Ermion cleared the air up here."
"But why are you here?" Cerys knew he wouldn't have been there without a good reason. Without a dire reason.
"I had to warn you."
"Warn us?"
"Ralen is up at the top of the tower. He still has his powers."
Gudrik flinched. "That… that's not possible."
Regret filled Geralt's voice. "I wish that were true."
Cerys had recoiled as well, but regained her composure. "How much power does he have left?"
The truth written in his eyes, Geralt said, "Enough."
Though she didn't balk at the news, Cerys took a deep breath. "You must have a plan."
It wasn't a question.
Pulling the bomb from his belt, Geralt held it out in his hand. "If we can lower Ralen's shield, then we still stand a chance. He can't hold that shield forever. Not if we can all attack him at once," he said gesturing to the dozen or so men crowding around. He looked around at them all. "Do any of you have any firebombs left?" A couple raised their hands. "Good, we'll need them. When we get up there, you throw them directly at Ralen and don't be discouraged when they're stopped by his shield. Our goal isn't to hurt him with them, it's to lower his shield, understand? That's the only way we can get to him."
When they nodded, Geralt looked back to Cerys and Gudrik. "Be careful up there. Ralen is dangerous enough as it is and as soon as he lowers his shield, he'll be even more so. If something goes wrong, get him down to ground level. The compound is still in the air down there."
Dipping her chin, Cerys took over then, yelling to the crowd. "You heard the man, everyone take extreme caution when we get to the top." A hunger filled her eyes, bitterness and rage lining its edges. Her voice dropped. "Let's go kill this bastard."
It was relatively easy to fight their way through the tower. Many of the passages were closed off and doors were blocked by cave-ins from long ago. What was left was a single pathway upward, over stairs and debris alike. They took a moment to gather themselves before climbing the final staircase to the top.
Geralt went first, a borrowed firebomb in his hand and a shield of Quen circling him now that he had recovered some strength. He was hoping they could sneak up on Ralen, but Ralen turned the second his head appeared over the floor, the witcher's hearing too sensitive to fall victim to an ambush.
Chucking the bomb toward Ralen as a distraction, Geralt shouted, "Run!" and dashed for cover. As he had predicted, the bomb exploded harmlessly off of Ralen's shield, but the ensuing flames did obscure his vision long enough for Cerys, Gudrik, and several more of the guards to break for cover on the roof as well.
Once here, Geralt realized that they weren't on the roof at all. That what now stood as the top of the tower was simply the tallest floor left standing, the stone from the collapsed floors above providing excellent cover to weave their way to Ralen.
Not waiting for the flames to clear, Ralen blasted Aard where he had heard Geralt shout and the two men who were coming up the stairs were sent flying from the tower. Then, a bomb arced from the opposite side that Geralt was on and engulfed Ralen in smoke and flames once more. Quicker this time, Ralen fired blindly, his wave of Aard crashing into the stone so hard that the whole building rumbled. Geralt took the opportunity to work his way closer, another Aard sent his way just as he dove behind an old wall. There was only one bomb left and it found its way to Ralen. A few more of Cerys' men had come up the stairs and made for cover in the time it took for the bomb to detonate.
Peering around the corner, Geralt could see Ralen's shield faltering, its edges dimming. He had to pull his head back, though, when an enraged Ralen let forth a pulse of Igni. Lasting only a second, the ring of flame spanned out in every direction, its flame so hot that it would have melted flesh from bone. From the hysterical screams that came from the stairway, it sounded like it had done just that.
Through a tiny crack in the wall, Geralt could see Ralen, his chest heaving, sweat pouring off of him, fury written over his features. His eyes scanned the rooftop, hands ready to dispense death at a moment's notice.
Shifting into a place where Geralt could see them, Cerys and Gudrik appeared on the opposite side of the building. Their eyes locked.
It was now or never. They had to throw everything they had at Ralen in one, final push.
At the same time, they all moved, Cerys giving the order. Ralen didn't know where to focus as the horde swarmed him, ducking in and out of cover, creeping ever closer. He fired shot after shot of Aard, picking them off one at a time. Geralt thought he heard Gudrik cry out and his heart seized, but he didn't have time to consider it.
He had pulled up level with Ralen.
He had hoped that by now Ralen's shield would have dropped, that Ralen's power would have run dry. Geralt should have known better. The shield was weakened, but still there. And, looking around, Geralt knew that no one could get near him to attack his shield. When he had laid out his plan, he had thought that maybe between all of them they could have overwhelmed Ralen enough to break through his shield. Now he saw how foolish that hope had been.
There was only one choice left.
In the next breath, Geralt swung around the corner and played his final card. He let forth a stream of Igni, knowing that in doing so, Ralen would understand that the compound couldn't hurt him here. If Ralen's shield had dropped because he had lost the power to support it, then they could have attacked, knowing he was weakened. If Ralen dropped the shield willingly, then he had all the more power to attack them when they moved in.
It was a gamble Geralt had to take. Getting Ralen's shield down was the most important thing right now. Who knows? Maybe Geralt's Igni would be enough to break through it. Though, seeing the power on display before him, Geralt doubted it. He readied the bomb at his waist while his flames licked over Ralen's shield, senses alert to an incoming barrage.
Stunningly, Ralen didn't strike while Geralt was unleashing his power, the yellow orb lost to his sight behind his flames. When Geralt let up, the shield dissipated along with it.
Ralen was smiling back at Geralt. A smile that sent chills down Geralt's spine.
He drew his arm back, ready to launch the bomb, but had to dive to the side instead as Ralen raised his hand. A colossus of Aard smashed into the tower of rubble beside Geralt.
The ground lurched and Geralt had to fight to keep his balance as he struggled to his feet. Huge boulders of stone came crashing down from above, punching holes through the floor at Geralt and Ralen's feet. Then the ground dropped out from underneath Geralt. He scrabbled for a handhold, but couldn't grab onto anything and went tumbling, rebounding off of hard stone and wood and debris alike as he fell down into darkness.
He crumpled to the floor, hard, finally coming to a stop what seemed to be several floors down. Groaning, Geralt wheezed the dust from his lungs. It was dark down there, the only light coming through the collapsed ceiling high above. Geralt guessed he had fallen into one of the blocked off areas they had seen on their way up.
Geralt heard something coming from far above him, but the buzzing in his head prevented him from making it out. He shook his head, trying to regain his senses.
"Geralt!"
That was Cerys' voice, he blearily recognized. Rolling to look upward, wincing at his battered body, Geralt squinted at the faint outline of her form leaning over the hole, silhouetted against the bright sky above.
"Geralt!" she called again.
He didn't have the breath to answer her, but he quickly realized she wasn't calling to him for an answer. Her voice was panicked and she was pointing wildly.
"Geralt, look out!"
Moving past a crick in his neck, his heart beating faster and faster, Geralt turned to where she was pointing.
Ralen was on the ground across the room, the top half of his body captured by the light from above, his superfluous crossbow poking out over his shoulder, his sword lying next to him. He was stirring, no doubt in response to Cerys' voice. Coughing a few times, he pushed himself to his elbows.
It was only then that Geralt felt something grasped between his fingers and realized he was still clutching the bomb in his hand. This was it. He wasn't going to get a better opening than this. At the same moment that Geralt rolled to free his arm, Ralen's eyes alighted on him.
Geralt chucked the bomb anyway.
It was lucky that Ralen was still dazed. He tried to blast the bomb away with Aard, but the magic was weak. The only thing it accomplished was to set the bomb off early, the compound flooding the room instantly.
Geralt had known the moment the bomb flew that he would be caught in its radius. But nothing could have prepared him for what happened when the compound forced its way into his lungs.
He coughed and spluttered, clutching at his chest as the compound burned its way through him. Vaguely, Geralt could hear Ralen thrashing around as well.
Writhing on the ground, Geralt fought what he knew he couldn't. The world dimmed, sounds and smells and tastes all fading. What color there was leached from every surface. He felt heavy, so heavy. Like a wet blanket were draped around his shoulders. Geralt struggled to rise, still gasping for air as he pushed himself to his elbows.
Once the initial pain had subsided, Geralt fought down panic, took a few steadying breaths. He wasn't injured, he told himself. He could get through this.
It had been so long since he had been human, Geralt had honestly forgotten what it felt like—to be dulled from the fine edge he normally was. Everything was so dark, so colorless. Was this how people lived their lives?
With a deep breath, Geralt shakily stood and drew his sword. It felt abnormally hefty, but Geralt was expecting that by now.
The compound's fog obscured the room. Geralt could barely see a foot in front of him, the light from above filtering into a greenish glow.
Straining to hear, Geralt put all of his focus into locating Ralen. There was no coughing, no groaning. He had recovered as quickly as Geralt, it seemed. Pivoting to the sound of loose rocks skittering over stone, Geralt held his sword at the ready. A sad chuckle echoed around the room, its original location difficult to pinpoint.
"You always have to win, don't you, Geralt?"
His head swiveling, Geralt offered no answer. He wasn't going to give away his position.
"Even when we were kids, you always had to be the best."
What? Geralt's mind reeled at the comment. When they were kids? What did he mean?
The fog was starting to clear. Without Ermion's magic to hold it in place and in a much lesser quantity, the fog was dissipating more rapidly in here. When Geralt scanned the room again, he met Ralen's face staring back at him, his sword held loose, but ready.
Studying the face hidden in shadow, Geralt still couldn't figure out who he was. "What are you talking about?" He waited, searching Ralen's eyes. "Who are you?"
An amused smirk crossed Ralen's face. "You truly don't know, do you?" At the confused look from Geralt, Ralen reached into the neckline of his armor and pulled at a chain. The witcher medallion that emerged was that of a wolf. And there, past the dulled and scratched face of a snarling wolf, was a little chip in the left eye.
No.
A sickening feeling spread through Geralt and he realized why that sensation of Axii at their first meeting had felt so naggingly familiar.
No, no it couldn't be.
But it was. When Geralt searched Ralen's face again, he found that beneath that distorted visage were the vestiges of a face Geralt had known since childhood. His heart plummeted.
It was Lambert.
