Chapter Two: Cemetaur
A couple of loud bangs jarred Ciri from sleep, causing her to sit up in a flurry and slam her back onto the wall behind her, fearing a potential threat. Her eyes took in the Inn's bedroom as the memories of the last couple of days' events caught up with her. Geralt was looking at her cautiously as he approached the door. "It's just Jaskier, knocking like an obnoxious fool," he explained. Ciri's posture relaxed, and she pulled the blankets up over her chest; she was still in only her underclothes after all.
While Geralt spoke with Jaskier, scolding him for banging on the door so loudly, Ciri quickly slipped on her outer dress and combed her fingers through her hair. She wished that she had a proper brush so that she could begin to get the knots out of the rats-nest that her hair had become. It was so tangled and needed a wash, but it didn't seem like that was going to happen for a while.
She walked up behind Geralt, and caught the last end of their conversation. "…get the horses tacked up and ready. We'll be down after she eats."
"Yes, sir," Jaskier saluted jokingly and winked at Ciri before turning and marching away from them down the hall.
Geralt looked at her. "Get your cloak."
Ciri did as he asked, and tied it around her shoulders and lifted the hood up to cover her head. Geralt guided her out of the room and down the stairs where they sat at a table. The hall was almost empty, with only a few people sitting around the large number of tables. Ciri ate a simple breakfast of porridge, and while it was terribly bland, Ciri was so grateful to have warm food. "Thank you," she murmured, looking up at Geralt as they headed out the front door of the Inn. He merely nodded in response.
Roach and Ciri's mare, whom she really ought to give a name to, were being held by Jaskier, who was waiting for them outside. In his other hand, was a set of reins leading to a large plucky pony. "This poor sap was the only mount I could afford. I guess he'll have to do," Jaskier chuckled, as he eyed up the shaggy brown pony.
Ciri stifled a giggle as she mounted her mare, stroking its neck gently in greeting. A smirk lifted the corner of Geralt's lips as he watched Jaskier mount the pony. "A fitting steed for a Bard," he stated, humor obvious in his tone.
"Hey! This strapping young steed will do just fine," Jaskier scoffed, moving to run his fingers through his pony's mane, only to have it get caught in the thick wild tangles, and he ended up having to yank his hand free - much to the displeasure of the pony.
After Geralt swung up onto Roach's back, the three set off back out of the stronghold. "Where are we going?" Ciri asked as they turned their horses onto a steep, rocky path climbing up the side of a small mountain. The rocks were sharp and jagged, but the horses maneuvered slowly and carefully, climbing with ease.
Geralt turned his molten gold eyes to look at her, his brows slightly furrowed. "There is word of a Cemetaur hanging around where the stronghold buries their dead."
"What is a Cemetaur?" Ciri asked curiously, though from the tone of Geralt's voice and he being hired to hunt it, it was probably something terrible.
"It is a type of Necrophage," Jaskier answered, shuddering on his pony. "They are ugly creatures, with sharp teeth and blood red eyes… things of nightmares really."
A chill crept up Ciri's spine. "Why must I come along?" she whispered, half to herself, except Geralt's keen ears picked up on what she'd asked.
"I am sworn to protect you, and I can't do that if you are not with me," he stated. "It will be dangerous, but you will be safe, I promise."
She nodded, though a bit of worry still continued to gnaw at her gut, but she tried not to let it show, as she urged her mare to keep following after Roach. The plucky pony continued to trail behind them, but Ciri could hear Jaskier cussing as the pony stumbled on some of the larger rocks. She couldn't hold back her chuckle, and she caught a smile grace Geralt's face.
"I heard that your highness," the Bard snapped. "How about you, being the smaller of the party, trade horses with me?"
Ciri's head twisted around to look at Geralt, her eyebrows lifted high. He wouldn't make her ride the pony, would he? "Not a chance," Geralt chuckled, looking over his shoulder at the Bard. "You bought the pony, you ride it."
A look of gratitude passed over Ciri's face as she looked at the Witcher. He had bought the bay mare for her to ride, so she could keep up with him and Roach. So of course, if he kicked her off the horse, she would have had to oblige, but thankfully he let her stay on the mare.
They climbed up the mountainside until the sun was high in the sky, warming their backs as the trekked on. Ciri couldn't help but wonder why the dead were buried so far from the stronghold of Yarrin, but it was probably more comfortable not having the dead lying so close by. Just as she was thinking this, they came upon a wide open, tall gate, which lead to a flat top in the side of the mountain, littered with tombstones.
Geralt and Jaskier dismounted their horses, and Geralt quickly walked up beside Ciri and held his hand out for her to help her get off. "Thank you," she blushed, as she swung her leg over the horse's back and grabbed Geralt's hand to ease down off the tall horse. Quickly, she released his hand and stepped back to look around while Jaskier tied the horses up to a nearby tree.
They walked around the tombs, and Ciri gulped when she noticed that there was bright red blood staining the grass and rocks. "Over here Geralt!" Jaskier's voice shook, and Ciri could've sworn she heard the Bard gag right after. Geralt walked in front of her as they headed over to where Jaskier pointed, and Ciri inhaled sharply when she saw the bodies. There had to be at least ten, lying in a shallow hole, each torn apart and half eaten. Organs lay on the ground torn apart, heads were separated from their bodies, and limbs lay strewn across the dirt with large tears out of them.
Geralt immediately grabbed her and pulled her back from the awful sight. He went to say something, but before he could get a word out, a low hissing interrupted him, coming from somewhere in the trees. Ciri went as stiff as a rake as her head flung around in the direction, her blonde hair snapping at the speed in which she'd turned. Geralt tucked her behind him immediately, even though the Cemetaur wasn't visible, and drew his sword from it's sheath on his back.
Warm hands grabbed Ciri's shoulder, and she jumped before realizing it was the Bard. Geralt stepped towards the sound, as a dark shadow bolted through the trees that skirted along the burial grounds. The beast was making some sort of snarling sound, and Ciri swore she could almost hear its heavy breathing, as it clung to the shadows where it was barely visible.
Geralt continued to stalk towards the monster, his sword at the ready. As he stepped closer, the Cemetaur finally lunged out of the trees, and Ciri froze. It was a nasty looking creature, with green skin that appeared cracked and dry under the daylight sun. It's nails were long and claw-like, tinged red with blood. Its teeth snapped in Geralt's direction, all sharp as daggers and it's red eyes glinted with the desire of its next kill.
The thing lunged at Geralt, unbelievably fast and teeth barred. It's body slammed into the Witcher's, knocking him flat on his back before he could react. Ciri shrieked, stepping back into Jaskier, watching with wide, terror-filled eyes as Geralt rolled out from under the beast, and slashed his sword along the creature's back, spilling the black ichor that ran through its veins. The blood landed in thick splotches along the grass, looking like oil along the ground.
The Cemetaur reared back in pain, and hissed at Geralt as the Witcher advanced on it, sword ready to make a killing blow. It lunged backwards, trying to avoid the sword that was aimed at it. The blood was oozing slowly from the large wound on its back, and Ciri was shocked that the thing could still move with a wound like that. They swung back and forth at each other, with no hits getting in for either party. Ciri's blood was pounding in her ears, her adrenaline high as she watched the battle.
Geralt shot forwards, swinging his sword down at the creature's head, only to be blocked as its hand came up at grabbed onto the sword's blade, more black blood running from it's wounded hand. Geralt grunted as he went to pull the blade free, only to have the Cemetaur jerk it out of his grip and launch it across the cemetery. Jaskier cussed beside her, and his grip tightened on Ciri's shoulders.
The Cemetaur brought his mighty arm down, and slammed Geralt in the side, sending him flying into the tree line, and he landed with a great thud in the dirt. "Geralt!" Ciri yelled. The monster's head flung around to look at her, its course changing with the smell of a juvenile, fresh, female body ready to devour. It lunged in her direction, and she backed up as Jaskier stepped in front of her, his small dagger held so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were white.
He slashed when the creature got close, but failed to leave a mark as he too, was bashed aside and landed unconscious in the dirt. Ciri's body shook in fear as the red eyes turned to stare at her, it's teeth barred and ready to rip her apart. Her breath came out in short, panicked gasps, her chest tight from the terror. As it reached to snatch her, she felt the powerful scream break free from her throat, and exit with it's ear-piercing noise.
The monster roared and reared back, its clawed hands moving towards its ears in a failed attempt to block out her unearthly scream. Its knees buckled before it collapsed, claws scratching at its own ears like a wild dog in pain. She spotted Jaskier, who had come to, smashing his hands over his ears as he tried to block out the terrible sound. Lunging backwards, she stopped screaming and spotted Geralt, who'd grabbed his sword, heading towards the monster with anger in his eyes. He roared, and as the beast was still gathering its senses from the shrill sound that had pierced its ears, Geralt brought his sword down and sliced off the Cemetaur's head, separating it cleanly from its shoulders. Black ichor sprayed out, some landing on the bottom of Ciri's cloak and dress, standing out against the fabric and dirt.
Geralt lowered his sword, black blood sliding down to the tip of the blade. "Are you alright Cirilla?" Geralt asked, but as he stepped towards her, Ciri finally felt the terror and adrenaline leave her body. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and she saw no more.