Chapter 2


'It is true that many forests and mountains are home for the prey we seek but know that most will be homes to nothing more than stories made up around the early morning campfire while men try to come to terms the world around them and the fail miserably. Remember that for every successful hunt there are dozens of others which turn out to be nothing more than an ugly looking tree or the wind whistling amongst the rocks. It is for that reason that we insist on the payment up front.'

Hector of Cidaris, a witcher of the griffin school.


A crowd had slowly formed around the message board in the small village of Malgrat. The village had, at best, only thirty inhabitants but all had dropped their tools and returned from the fields to see what the commotion was about once they realised something was amiss. The ruckus started just after midday when a pair of the village children, with little else to do to occupy them, had finally decided to ignore the warnings of their elders and headed north into the local woods for some frolics. The woods were widely suspected to be haunted by ghosts and patrolled by monsters, the frightening calls of which could be heard at all hours of the night.

The crowd had focused around a sobbing mother who was being barely kept upright by another woman. The mother was entirely dumbstruck and unable to speak at all, merely gibbering and rocking back and forth.

"Bloody hell" one of the farmers, a large and stocky young man called Bram spat once he understood what was going on. "We must go to them!"

"Don't be an idiot Bram" another man, far older, replied while chewing on a piece of straw. "They are already dead."

A loud groan from the crowd let the old man know what the rest of the village thought about his lack of sympathy and poor timing. The mother wailed even louder.

"Don't get me wrong" the man added. "I liked the lads, but that forest takes people. We all know it. No-one that ever goes in there comes back out again, and the noises have been getting louder."

"I don't believe they are dead" Bram growled at his elder and lifted a large pitchfork he was clasping. "I'm going in there to find them who else is with me!?"

If he was expecting a roar of approval and many others to step forward to cast in their support at his bravado, he was very quickly mistaken. Bram stood, pitchfork raised to the sky, looking as best as he could like a hero of the tales he had heard as a child, and he couldn't believe that no one else stepped forward. The only acknowledgement he received was a faint smile by his occasional lover Evi who at least seemed to be mildly encouraging him.

"Plough you all, cowards" Bram seethed at the masses. "You would let Sem and Luuk just disappear? Do you want to add them to the list of the others over the years that just brush under the rug? What about Tess three years ago? I was too young to do anything about it then, but I won't let that damn forest take another one of our children!"

"And what are you going to do with your pitchfork Bram?" Fenna, the village matriarch, scolded him. "Are you going to go in there and stab the trees? Lay about the demons with your farming tool? You are not a warrior boy. You may have grown into a strapping lad who I am sure could handle himself in a tavern fight, but this is not humans we are dealing with We are talking about old things, old evils from before our time that haunt that forest. You have nothing to achieve other than your own, pointless death and this village can ill afford any more men dying needlessly".

Bram lowered his pitchfork and met her gaze. She was a fierce woman, well respected by everyone in the village and generally had the ear of all. He would need to be careful not to blacklist himself, especially if he wanted to keep sharing the bed of Evi who was heavily influenced by Fenna, living as she did, in the next homestead. Still, his heart wouldn't let it go that easily. "Very well, Fenna, what do you suggest?"

The mother of the children took one long sob and suddenly became still, falling into the arms of the woman that was doing her best to support her. The crowd was deathly quiet, and even the dogs who were wriggling and yapping between the legs of the villagers stood still to hear her.

Fenna waited for what seemed to everyone like an age before replying.

"There is hope that the children still live, but I do not know for how long. If we can do something quickly, we may yet find them well. Luuk, you mentioned you were in Old Hallow yesterday and that there was a commotion when someone delivered the head of a swamp crawler and demanded payment?"

"That's right, Old Fenna" the middle-aged, lean old man who was missing most of his teeth replied. "Caused a right uproar he did. Rode into the middle of the town, right up to the burgemeesters front door and unhitched the head of a swamp crawler from his horse right on the man's doorstep. You wouldn't believe it but, brazen as anything, he sat down on the fence directly opposite the door and just started waiting all patient like. I've never seen the like before."

"Who was it? Did you know him? Was it one of the constable's men or one of the guards?" someone asked from the crowd.

"It could have been a mercenary…" someone else chipped in.

"Or a travelling knight, I've heard about them in stories…"

"Plough me if I know" Luuk replied, dismissing them all with a wave of his bony hand. "Didn't look like any of the constable's men or the guards though. He could have been a sellsword though, but it didn't look like anyone in the town had hired him by the way that the burgemeesters nearly had a heart attack when he opened the door, and the man demanded payment from him."

"Was he paid?"

"Aye, after a time. The burgemeester couldn't argue that he had done the town service, owing to the swamp crawlers head gracing his doorstep, but he didn't want to pay the man as he had never hired him in the first place. There was a bit of a commotion, and some threats were issued; I think, but the burgemeester eventually handed over a bag of coins and told him to get out of town."

"How far away do you think he might be now?" Bram asked, hopefully. "We might be able to hire him?"

"A swamp crawler is one thing Bram" the old man who had previously been so dismissive replied. "But he can't help against what lies in that forest".

Fenna waited for silence again and then continued. "Luuk, when you took a gander at the warrior, what was he like?"

Luuk spat on the floor and rolled his tongue around his one remaining tooth. "A big lad for sure, about the same size as young Bram here, but he was much older. He had a nasty looking scar running down his cheek and forehead" he replied while running a finger down his face to emphasise his point. "But the thing that stuck was his hair and beard; they were white."

"Old then" Bram scoffed. "Not what we need."

"Not old" Luuk clarified. "More like a grey-white, like it is supposed to be that way, not through age. And by the way he held himself, I don't doubt he was a capable warrior. Not the kind of man you would want to get into a fight with at all."

Fenna tapped her chin a few times and looked around at the crowd. All eyes were on her. "What was he armed with? You don't just kill a swamp crawler with your bare hands."

"A sword, on his back, but now you come to mention it; I think there were two."

A few of the older members of the crowd inhaled loudly and crossed their hands across their chests. Someone even started muttering a prayer to Lebioda quietly.

"Bram, if you want to be useful you will get yourself a horse this instant and make your way to Old Hallow. Find out where this warrior went, catch up with him and ask him for help. The faster you can get back here with him in tow, the better. We might be able to save the children yet."

Bram stayed rooted to the spot, clearly not convinced. "And what can this warrior offer us Fenna?"

"This 'man' is a probably a witcher, boy, and as much as it pains me to say so we need his help and will have to pay for it if we are to get the children back. Go, now, there is no time to spare. Get the horse and come back here before you go."

Bram turned and started to run towards the fields where he could unhitch one of the mares from the ploughs. He didn't know what a witcher was, but Fenna gave him no reason to doubt her wisdom. She was old, knew things that he didn't, and many of the other villagers seemed to know what a witcher was as well, which he hoped was a good thing.

Once he had gone, Fenna addressed the rest of the crowd that had now started to grow concerned. "The rest of you grab whatever coin you can spare and return here immediately. We need to hire this witcher to help us, and we have an opportunity to get rid of the forest demons once and for all. We might not get this chance again, and it is only by the prophets good graces that he seems to be in the area when we need him."

She watched as some of the crowd started to return to their homes, while others were slower. The mother had begun sobbing again, having now recovered from her fainting fit.

Fenna tutted loudly and pointed a shaming finger at those who remained. "Don't be misers now" she scolded, I now you all have something you can give to the task.

The mother wailed loudly.

"And for the sake of the good book will someone please take Maud back home and give her something to drink, she isn't helping at all!"


The chestnut mare resisted mightily at first, being unused to anything other than pulling a plough. Bram was no cavalryman, but he had at least some experience on the back of a horse and after a few minutes of coaxing, followed by a smack to the head and some choice words about the uncertainty of her future employability, she eventually came around to the new concept. Bram managed to return to the crowd in time for Fenna to thrust a small leather bag into his outstretched hand. It clinked when he took it from her.

"It's all we can spare," she said flatly. "Be warned lad, when you catch up with him, he will likely have questions and will try to haggle with you. I don't know what the price of this kind of job is for a witcher, but we don't have anything else to spare. If you must offer him anything else to convince him, we could maybe entertain him for a day or so and take care of his horse. We have nothing else to give."

"I understand Fenna" Bram replied flatly from his mounted position. "But surely he would help…"

"No, it doesn't work like that boy. Witcher's work for pay or service and not for any trumped-up sense of nobility. I haven't seen one in over thirty years around these parts, but I doubt that much has changed in that time."

Bram tied the pouch to his belt securely and checked that his knife was still attached to his other side. "I will be back as soon as I can".

"I know, now go like the wind" Fenna replied as she slapped the mare's rear, sending the shocked animal off like a comet with Bram struggling to hold on.

"Oh, and if you manage to come back with some coin that would be good!" she bellowed as an afterthought as she watched the mounted figure disappear over the hill in a cloud of dust.


Mina woke with a start and, as always after a binge on fisstech and poor-quality alcohol, regretted doing so immediately. She could barely open her eyes, gummed up as they were by sleep and filth. By the noise outside the window of her room, she judged that the new day was already well underway. Merchants were loudly handling the heavy loads from the piers, cursing as they got in each other's way in the narrow lanes of the port.

To try and brace herself, she took a few deep breaths and slowly began to roll over on to her stomach. Her brain was muddled, and her eyes couldn't focus on anything, swimming in and out of clarity with a sickening motion. She could taste blood, sweat and bile clinging to the strands of her hair that were in the corners of her mouth, and the floor was covered with the same mixture. She was weak, very weak, and her entire body burned like it was on fire.

Trying to steady herself on her shaking arms, Mina spat out the wretched hair and slowly crawled away from the pool of vomit she had fallen asleep in. She managed to make the long journey to her privy bucket in the corner of the room just in time before she started to heave and wretch again, her stomach wanting to make sure it had nothing left to hold on to, unhappy with the movement and the vertigo it induced. After a few minutes of puking, she managed to regain enough clarity to notice with horror the amount of blood that it contained. The bucket was almost pure red. "Not again…" she whimpered.

Her eyes span at the sight of it, and then she passed out again.

Mina stayed glued to that bucket for the next eight hours.


It was mid-afternoon when he finally reached the oak tree that he had spotted a few hours before from the vantage point of the hill outside of the village they called Old Hallow. The tree was immense, and even the smallest of its branches was as thick as his calf. It stood alone in the cold meadow overseeing the surrounding lands like a proud king surveying his realm. On closer inspection, its gnarled bark was very thick and scorched in places from lighting strikes that had, remarkably, failed in sundering it. The tree was hundreds of years old and acted as a perfect landmark for navigation.

In short, it was a perfect tree for hanging, and it, therefore, hadn't surprised him to find four decomposing figures swaying slightly in the cold breeze when he reached it. On each of their chests was pinned a weather-beaten note and after reading the charges it transpired that the men were all robbers, outlaws or bandits that had been caught harassing traders and villages only a few days before by the constable's patrols. It was a swift end to a career that, based on their ages, hadn't lasted very long.

He lent over the saddle slowly and ruffled Roach's mane to calm her. The horse wasn't happy at being forced to stand so close to the smell of death, and even though she was far from skittish, and well accustomed to the scent, it still bothered her. "Steady now Roach" he soothed, "there is nothing to fear, just a few bodies".

Roach snorted and stamped a hoof as if in acknowledgement at his words and Geralt of Rivia, witcher and bearer of many other titles, most of which did not bear repeating, smiled at his horse. He knew that she couldn't understand him but her reaction to his words made him question the fact at times.

He raised his head to look past the tree into the sky, scowling at the rapid darkening of the clouds.

"Looks like another rainstorm Roach" he grumbled. "The only weather in this damned country appears to be either rain, snow or a combination of the both. We are lucky that this tree will provide good cover for now, if you can ignore the bodies".

He dismounted and led Roach away from the corpses to the other side of the tree where he threw her rains around a stump jutting from the trunk. After rummaging in one of his paniers, he started a small fire with some fresh kindling, a few of the dead twigs lying on the ground and a quick casting of the igni sign. He leaned back against the tree, lifted the thick waxed hood over his head and wasn't surprised when the heavens opened almost immediately, crushing the blissful silence he had enjoyed only moments earlier in a deafening roar. His heightened senses were soon struck by the smell of, what he could only ever describe as 'nature', a combination of the musty smell of the sodden earth mixed with the sharper tang of tree sap and leaves as the heavy drops of rain pummelled them. The downpour buried any scent of the dead men only meters away, and Geralt couldn't help taking a deep inhale of the fresh, invigorating air.

He watched curiously as the raindrops arched their way slowly down the folds of his cloak. The new addition to his travelling equipment was doing a truly excellent job of keeping the water off and ensuring his warmth. Geralt mused that in all of his long travels and adventures, he had never had such excellent protection from the elements such as the cloak provided. Nott for the first time in the week since he left to go looking for 'work' he took a moment to promise himself that he would thank Triss profusely when he finally returned. The waxed cloak he wore was entirely waterproof and ensured that he was not cold, wet or grumpy in the rain, which was the standard lot of a witcher on the path. Her present to him before they parted had proved to be an excellent one.

The rain slowly thinned after an hour, so he stood and shook himself down. He trampled the small fire, threw back his cloak hood and mounted Roach again. "Farewell gentlemen" he stated flatly to the soaked corpses as he pointed Roach's nose in the direction of the next settlement, a small hamlet of only two dozen houses that the innkeeper in Old Hallow had sneeringly called New Hallow. The innkeeper had barely managed to contain his disdain but had made it very clear that the hamlet was where the rich folk that had decided Old Hallow was now below them had moved to a decade ago. The village market would be the best place to pick up on rumours of additional work and stock up on provisions.

He set off in a slow trot. The village was only an hour or so up the road, and he had no reason to rush. The sun still had some way to go before it began to signal the end of the day, and the smell of the damp ground and fresh air was refreshing. He felt almost happy with the current situation being as he was, warm, dry, not wanting for food or drink and healthy, despite the aches in his joints that were now a constant companion.

Roach happily stepped up the pace when they reached the poorly maintained path that ran between the two Hallows. Geralt didn't try to control her, and it was good that she seemed in lively spirits, so he didn't begrudge her the chance to stretch her legs.


The rest of the journey took less time than he anticipated, and within half an hour, he could make out the dark shape of a palisade and rooftops silhouetting against the grey sky in the distance. The drizzle hadn't ceased, but it now only served as a minor annoyance.

He approached the palisade slowly and spotted the guard who stood in a solitary vigil next to the only gate. It was clear the guard viewed the rain as far more than just a minor annoyance and was visibly shaking in the cold air. He stepped forward slowly to greet Geralt away from the wall and looked up at the visitor on horseback, straining to meet his eyes under his large steel helmet that looked entirely out of place with the rest of his leather armour. "Afternoon sir, welcome to New Hallow, would you mind stating your business?"

Geralt remained expressionless and slowly dismounted from Roach. "My business is mine, but I would like to stop at the tavern and to feed my mount."

The guard nodded and shook his head quickly to clear the rain that was building up on the brim of his helmet. "As you wish, sir, but I ask that you keep to yourself and stay out of trouble if you would be so kind."

"Have no fear, I have no intention of causing any trouble at all. I just want somewhere warm to rest and shelter for my mount. I trust I will find both here?"

"Indeed, it can be sir. As with many other things. If you stay until the morrow, you will be able to visit the market, and I am sure you will find everything you need there."

"Thank you" Geralt replied and started to advance on the gate with Roach in tow.

"You! Sir! Good sir! Wait please!" a voice shouted from back up the road that Geralt had just arrived from. It was accompanied by the sound of frantic hooves hammering on the soggy ground.

The guard looked over Geralt's shoulder at the approaching figure and then back at the witcher who just shrugged in response. "Expecting someone?" the guard asked.

"No" Geralt replied without even turning around to see who was hailing him.

The chestnut horse that was carrying the man who had called out to him ground to a halt in a flurry of neighing, heavy breathing and metal horseshoes screeching on the pebbles of the road. Geralt looked at the horse first before the rider and saw that its sides heaved with effort, its mouth was caked with foamy spittle and its eyes were wild with a mixture of both joy and exhaustion. Finally, he set sights on the rider, a young and stocky lad with wavy brown hair that, while nowhere near as exhausted as his mount, was still out of breath. Geralt noticed that the lad had ridden the horse bareback as there was no saddle attached.

"Your either desperate or stupid lad" he stated. "You've run that horse into the ground, and I bet you won't be able to walk for a week after this. Whatever you want from me it best be worthwhile to treat your steed and arse so recklessly."

The young man leant forward and, with great effort, lowered himself down from the side of the horse. The moment his feet hit the ground, his brain finally caught up with the pain his legs, and he fell over, splashing into the puddles of the path with a grunt.

The guard stepped forward to help the lad up, but he refused, preferring to stay sitting on the ground. "Are you a witcher" the lad finally asked, his face creased with pain.

"I am" Geralt replied, crouching so that the lad didn't have to look up too far to speak with him. "And you are?"

"My name is Bram, from a village called Malgrat and I have come to ask for your help."

"Very well Bram from Malgrat, I am listing. Speak quickly for we are all getting soaked here and you don't want to ask a grumpy witcher for help, it raises the price."

Something in his voice and the way the light cast shadows across his face caused Bram to gulp, but he took a deep breath, biting down the pain. He couldn't help but notice the two large swords strapped to the man's back, his grey-white hair and the menacing scar than run the length of his forehead and cheek, just as Luuk had described in the village. "We need you to rescue a couple of youngsters that went missing earlier today in the forests to the north of the village".

Geralt shook his head slowly. "I doubt they need rescuing, haven't you been to look for them? They will probably just be climbing trees or have got lost in the dark. I am sure they are safe. You don't need a witcher to find children in the dark."

"You don't understand witcher; we can't just go looking for them, this forest isn't a natural forest. It's haunted."

Bram gasped with barely concealed shock when he realised the witcher had cat-like eyes. He had narrowed them menacingly, and he looked to Bram precisely like a wolf about to that had just picked up the scent of prey.

"Well, why didn't you start with that…" Geralt replied. "Go on now lad; you have my undivided attention…"


The captain of the royal guard stood silently by the vacant horse, his plate armour glistening in the low light of the afternoon. The rest of the small party of heavily armed and armoured mounted guard sat patiently on their horses in perfect order, ready to move as soon as their leader gave the command. Every horse was bedecked in striking red and yellow caparisons emblazoned with the Kovirian coat of arms, a mailed right arm and fist upon a red shield. The armoured fist was highlighted with five gold buttons and adorned with two golden rings meant to show the solidarity of the countries of Kovir and Poviss and the fabulous wealth that the kingdom enjoyed. The mailed fist represented the military might of the state; mainly, it had to be said, by paying everyone else a lot of money to fight their battles for them.

Triss approached the captain slowly while tightening her riding gloves. The soldier bowed as she approached and motioned to her waiting horse, Snowdrop, a beautiful but lively five-year-old white mare that could be very headstrong at times. The captain held out a hand and bent his knee for her to use as a step when mounting which she accepted happily. She climbed atop Snowdrop, and the mare snorted as she felt the weight on her back and then stamped a hoof in protest. "Calm now Snowdrop. Don't make a fool of yourself in front of your friends. Thank you, Reinard. Most kind of you…

"My pleasure Lady Merrigold" the captain replied. "Are you ready?"

"I am, let us be underway if you please."

The captain walked to his horse beside her own and mounted quickly. With a slight nod of his head, the massive doors to the main portal opened, and the patrol moved as one. It took only a few moments for the patrol to walk through and into the cobbled streets beyond, heavy hooves clattering from the well-maintained cobblestones that were slick with recent rain. Here, on the outskirts of the main palace, the buildings were mainly trading and administration hubs but the further you rode from the palace the less perfect the construction became, clearly displaying the reduction in wealth for all to see.

"What is our aim?" Reinard asked once they had spent a few minutes on the roads.

"We seek a witcher" she replied with a sigh. "Though I don't think he will be pleased to see us."

"A witcher?" the captain smiled. "I've heard rumours of one that is close to your heart. Sir Geralt of Rivia if I am not mistaken."

"You are quite correct Reinard. He left our estate a week ago to stretch his legs and hasn't returned yet. I suspect he is enjoying himself and will loathe being disturbed."

"A week ago?" the captain replied, clearly shocked. "M'lady, please forgive me for saying so but I find it hard, if not impossible to believe that any man with your beauty to return to every night could be able to bear the pain of separation."

Triss giggles seductively at his thinly veiled suggestion but managed to regain her composure, though she was aware that her cheeks had now started to blush badly. "Thank you, captain, but Geralt knows exactly which side of his bread is buttered. He occasionally gets restless and becomes insufferable, so I encourage him to disappear alone to ply his trade. When he tires of the adventure and wishes to relax once again, he will come home and join me in the comfort of our estate. We have followed that routine since he joined me here in Kovir eight years ago and it suits us well though I regret that he chose this week to follow the path as we need his expertise in the palace."

They passed a merchant caravan winding its way out of the capital. The carts were laden with fish and oysters, covered with snow, that had just been purchased from the markets. The caravan master, a large portly fellow with an unfortunately large birthmark covering his forehead, was doing his best to keep the numerous carts under tight control and moving. He achieved this mainly through a great deal of shouting obscenities and laying about the cart workers with a bullwhip. He lowered his voice and whip as the patrol passed him and then raised it once again with enthusiasm when he thought that they were out of earshot. Reinard called up one of his knights from the rear and whispered something to him. The knight nodded his understanding, doubled back up the street and moments later Triss wasn't surprised to hear cries of agony as the caravan master was taught precisely how motivating a bullwhip could be. "I detest bullies" Reinard stated flatly as he caught Triss looking at him.

"Clearly" she replied.

"This may be a stupid question to someone with your talents Lady Merrigold," Reinard asked while ignoring the shrill sounds of agony in the distance. "But how will we find your witcher if you do not know where he is? It could take days of questioning in the villages to locate him."

"Fear not captain, I have my ways. I already have an excellent idea of where he will be now."

The knight returned with the bullwhip and handed it to Reinard before taking his place in the patrol once again. As they stepped onto the small bridge crossing one of the artificial streams created to assist with palatial drainage, Reinard casually tossed the whip into the water where it disappeared without a trace.

"So…then he did tell you where he was hunting?"

"Not quite captain."

"Magic then?"

"Call it a woman's intuition."

Now it was Reinard chance to chuckle dryly. "Very well, as you wish, lead on m' lady."

Triss spurred on Snowdrop with a slight tap of her heels. 'If Geralt ever finds out about the positioning spell I cast on that cloak I will never hear the last of it' she thought to herself as the horse dutifully picked up the pace.