Chapter 11
"Mother Nenneke was not just a genius healer and ardent priestess of Melitele, she was also responsible for producing some of the greatest, most selfless and altruistic medical practitioners that this world has ever known, literally inspiring hundreds of other 'mothers', many of whom were sought out by the Kings of the Northern Kingdoms as personal physicians. Not that they would ever directly work for royalty of course, being as they were very much focused towards the greater good and healing, both physical and spiritual, for all. It is easy for us to look down upon the less scientific methods that these healers adopted but I can tell you from personal experience how effective they are, having seen many a fellows life saved by their salves and prayers that we so readily dismiss as superstition and placebo. I have seen men die under the likes of our 'practiced' hands who would have been saved by these priestesses and we would all be bloody fools to think that we are somehow above them and in no need of their learning"
Dean Shani of the department of medicine addressing the criticisms of the Temple of Melitele by her peers at the Oxenfurt Academy.
Even though there were a throng of nobles, merchants, and palace guards in attendance, all of whom were busily milling around and interacting with each other nervously, the Pont Vanis palace grand hall was silent.
Through the large, beautifully multicoloured stained glass window arches snow could be seen gently falling and a very quiet whistling howl, akin to the sound of a crying wolf pup occasionally interrupted the oppressive silence. The wind was picking up its tempo outside.
Tancred growled. Sat atop a cushion on his large ornate gold and white marble throne, at least a dozen feet above the great hall floor, he was furious. He looked down through narrowed eyes at the men and women below him as he rested his chin on his fist with barely concealed fury. In early years of his youth, he would not have been able to hold a straight face and would have likely blown his cool and said something he later regretted. Times like that had been numerous still in the early years of his reign but age and painful experience, normally provided under the guidance of his closest advisors, had provided him with the opportunity to develop his temper control. He would never be like his father who seemed to have been able to take everything in his stride and was a model of steadiness at times of crisis. No, he was made of more volatile humours than his father had ever possessed, and every day was a fight against those humours, many of whom would have loved to have simply waded into the throng below him with a bared blade.
"Your grace?"
Tancred snapped out of his dark revelry at the sound of his secretary, a young hawkish looking man who was clothed in fine black tunic and trousers. The man stood at the base of the throne and resembled a raven.
The king rolled his left hand dejectedly and the next noble stepped forward and bowed lowly.
"My greatly loved king. I must press upon you, for the sake of the good faith of your dearly respectful and honest nobles, that you take direct action against this threat to our beloved city. We are unable to leave our houses without fear of murder from the shadows and my daughters, as many others, leave in daily terror to the point where they are being traumatised. Everyone fears it will be them next. It is crippling trade and without free movement around the city, crippling the good management of Kovir at large".
Same words, different mouth Tancred mused. He paused uncomfortably, letting the man kneel for a few moments longer than was tactful.
"Stand Lord Gunther and please understand that I acknowledge the situation and we are taking decisive action. As we speak, I have the best people on the hunt, and I expect that you all ensure that you pass this information on to your families and networks. Whilst the recent days have been traumatic for all, and I wish to be rid of this menace as much as any of you, it is not a simple task and my guards and network have been entirely unable to identify and bring this culprit to justice".
The noble nodded as he rose, hands nervously fiddling with his flamboyantly decorated purple hat.
"And mark my words, all of you, that this pathetic monster that prays on our young women will be brought to…"
Tancred was interrupted by a commotion at the end of the great hall. A few shouts of anger and rustling of steel was soon superseded by the quick pacing of riveted boots on marble. He watched, furious at the interruption, as his secretary ran to the end of the hall out of sight to challenge whoever was responsible. Moments later the man returned gingerly holding a steel plate on which an object was covered in a thick black cloth. He placed it down in front of the king and the nobles before retreating from it slowly.
"This has arrived for you your grace, courtesy of the docks guard Captain. It was delivered by one of your agents with this note, for your immediate consideration"
Tancred beckoned the man to come forward with the note. His secretary did so slowly and then retreated.
The atmosphere in the great hall was tense as the king popped the wax seal and slowly began to read the note. Those who were watching him intently could see the veritable storm of emotions that played upon his face as he worked his way through the roughly scratched penmanship. At the end he smiled and rose from the throne causing the two guards who flanked his throne to immediately snap to attention.
Tancred slowly stepped down the throne and passed the note back to his secretary. "Read the note" he said flatly.
The secretary nodded slowly and cleared his throat. Tancred started to move closer to the silver plate which lay only a few feet away.
"My lord king, defender of the lands of Kovir, Poviss and the north, paragon of justice and…"
"Skip to the content Franz" Tancred interrupted.
"During the course of our patrols, my Sergeant at arms was regaled by the sound of explosions nearby and hurried forth to investigate. He and his patrol encountered two men in armed conflict the like of which he, and other experienced guards under his command, had never seen. The two combatants fought with such speed and ferocity that he at first thought they must be monsters, so he sent for reinforcements. Shortly, one of the men succumbed to death after having his head removed by the other combatant. We arrested the still alive fighter who, though wounded, insists that he is a witcher under your direct orders. He looks like a witcher, though I have only seen one before. The eyes, your grace, and the speed give it away. The witcher, a creature named Geralt of Rivia, insists that you must see what has been sent to you immediately or he will break out and bring it to you himself. Your grace, he is a most difficult fellow to question, and I believe he will follow through on his threats."
Tancred closed the final distance to the plate and tore off the veil, revealing the very dead and severed head of a painfully normal black haired looking human. The plate was pooled with congealing blood. The king picked up the head by its hair, raised it to his own eye level and stared coldly into the dead eyes of the face that had plagued his life for the last week. He then turned to the throng of nobles and merchants.
"I give you the face of the monster" he proclaimed. "The man has been found and dealt with, as you can plainly see!"
A lady in front of him fainted at the site of the head and was caught by a middle-aged merchant.
"Reinard!" the king bellowed, still grasping the head.
The captain of the guard suddenly appeared to his left after pushing his way through the crowd. "Your grace?" he asked. "What do you wish of me?"
"Take a patrol down to the docks and go and release our witcher. I want to see him as soon as he is able to speak with me".
Reinard slammed a closed fist into his chest in salute and turned to comply with his king's request.
"Oh, and Captain, one more thing"
"My king?"
"Go and let Lady Merrigold know please or I shall be in a great deal of trouble"
Tancred smiled and left, commanding three other guards to follow him outside.
"Go back to your families, unbar your windows and open up the doors my good fellows" Tancred laughed. "You are safe now. The monster is slain!".
The crowd burst into joyful thanks at the news, many of them eager to step forward and congratulate the king on his success, completely at odds with the scene only a few minutes before. Tancred smiled and accepted the thanks from many but as he did so, he turned to his secretary and thrust the severed head into the man's hands, shocking him terribly. "Take that to the sorceress, Franz, and have her preserve it. I want it as a trophy"
"Yes…of course…your grace…" the man stumbled.
"Oh, grow a pair of balls man" the King scowled. Have you never held a severed head before?"
The riders pulled up sharply outside docks guard post, their mounts snorting with disgust at having been dragged unwillingly from their warm and humid stables to be thrust into the cold frigid temperatures of Pont Vanis cobbled streets so soon after having left them.
Reinard shivered as he dismounted and rubbed his numb hands together. The snow was building steadily, and it was sticking. He hated the snow more than he hated the rain.
"Wait here" he commanded the two cloaked guards that had accompanied him. They grumbled in response, clearly having hoped they would be permitted to warm themselves in the guard post and maybe even partake in some hot food and mulled wine.
Reinard banged on the heavy wooden door of the guard post, rattling it in its thick hinges. Snow fell from his gloved hands and cloaked frame as he did so, mingling imperceptibly with the surroundings. The visibility was becoming limited in the snowfall and the darkness of the encroaching evening cast shadows in every nook and crevasse. He waited patiently for only a few moments. He banged again.
"Open up damned you. In the name of the king, I order you to open this godforsaken door before I freeze my balls off!"
The door remained closed and unmoving for a few moments. Suddenly a shutter, located at eye height, opened with a metallic clunk revealing an old pair of eyes on the other side. "What's the king got to do with it?" an old and gravelly voice which perfectly matched the eyes stated flatly.
"I am Captain Reinard of the kings royal guard, and I am here to collect a witcher to transport him back to the palace and to speak with the king in person. I expect this to happen immediately".
The old man mumbled and spent a moment discussing the situation with someone out of Reinard's line of sight. Reinard could hear the barking of a curt order from somewhere beyond the door and a few moments later the portal opened slowly on creaking, freezing hinges. In front of him, framed by the doorframe and silhouetted by the glow of a well-managed fire in the corner of the room, an old Sergeant stood barring the entrance, pike in hand and a thoroughly dented steel cap sitting slightly lobsided on his head.
The Sergeant saluted half-heartedly by reaching to touch the peak of his steel helmet. "My apologies Captain, it's been a long day and we can't be too careful. Please enter".
Reinard nodded and stepped into the guard post vestibule, immediately feeling the benefit of the warmth the fire provided. "Very well Sergeant. Take me to the witcher without delay".
The guard grunted and span on the spot with surprising dexterity for a man of his years and girth. "Follow on Captain, if you will".
Reinard trailed the Sergeant as he led him through the guard post, passing the entry desk and side rooms which acted as temporary barracks for the troops. He noticed that the common room was packed with guards laughing and joking over some ale and games of Gwent. The overall atmosphere was one of joviality and, the captain noted, ill-discipline. He made a mental note to do something about that. This was the second guard post in one day that he had reason to attend and neither of them were fit for purpose. They would have a rude awakening over the coming days.
"Here you go Captain" the Sergeant reported curtly after suddenly stopping in front of a barred door. He brandished an iron key, pitted with age, in his calloused hand. "You will need this sir but be warned the thing on the other side of this door is not human and moves like nothing I have ever seen. We took his weapons and equipment away from him, and to be fair he offered no resistance really, other than decking the custody officer when he tried to offer a jest on the monster's behalf. You should see the eyes sir; they are like a cat and full of evil. It gives me the willies just thinking about them sir. He moves likes they say vampires move, so fast you can barely register it. The swords he was using were some of the finest things I have ever seen, and the Captain said one of them was silver. Silver! What would anyone need a silver sword for sir? Me and the lads just can't figure it out!"
Reinard snatched the key from the old guard's hand and all but pushed him out of the way. "It's for monsters you halfwit, silver is best for monsters" he growled as he fumbled with the lock and key.
The Sergeant recoiled from the push and pulled himself up straight. "Don't go opening up that door without backup Captain. You look like you can handle yourself but not against something like him beyond the door!"
Reinard ignored him and finally managed to get the key registered in the lock. He turned it and with a dull clunk the lock opened and he all but kicked the door open revealing the dark, damp, and cold interior of the main cellblock. The cell, easily big enough to hold four prisoners was inhabited by only one man, who was seated on the rush strewn floor, propped up against the furthest stone wall. Reinard immediately recognised the muscular and menacing figure whose scarred face was framed by the striking grey white of his unkept mane of hair. The man did not move, but his yellow cat eyes bored into the Captain, unsettling him. Reinard could see the haft of a wicked blade still sticking out of the witchers leg, a shoddy bandage of torn cloth wrapped around the wound. He opened his mouth to speak.
"Its about fucking time" Geralt all but spat, interrupting him. "Now shut your trap and get me to a bloody healer, and not some back yard veterinarian like they tried to foist on me earlier".
Reinard smiled. He could not blame the witcher for being furious. He stepped forward and offered the seated man an outstretched right hand to help him to his feet. "Well done witcher, you are a bonafide hero".
Geralt muffled a yelp as he was pulled up by Reinard. "Go and choke on your hero worship and as far as I am concerned the king can go plough himself as well. What did I tell you? Nothing ever good happens to me when they are involved!"
"Careful white wolf, you may be in pain, but I won't accept you talking of the king like that…" Reinard responded flatly as he pulled the witchers arm over his own shoulder to take some of the man's weight from his injured leg. "Can you walk?"
"Somewhat" Geralt grunted.
The pair staggered to the doorway and stood in front of the bewildered Sergeant who recoiled at the sight of the witcher. The guard began to make the sign of Lebioda's grace over his heart, an old and completely useless habit that was supposed to ward off the devil. "The eyes…" he gasped.
Geralt stood up straight and leant one arm on the shoulder of Reinard. He glared at the Sergeant. "Its not the eyes you need to worry about" he replied curtly and with a movement so fast it barely registered he kicked the guard square in the balls with his good leg. The man doubled up in agony and then fell over with a loud crunch to the floor. "That was for deliberately twisting the knife earlier…" he grunted in pain. He followed up immediately with another kick to the stomach of the guard who spat out his fake teeth as the breath was forced from of his lungs "and that was for trying to steal my medallion".
Reinard gripped the witcher tighter as he struggled to regain his footing. "Are you finished assaulting officers of the law now?"
"For now," Geralt responded flatly. "And don't forget my weapons and armour. If any of it is missing, I will be back here tomorrow and there won't be any guards left standing".
Reinard turned the witcher away towards the exit, leaving the Sergeant wheezing and spluttering on the floor behind him. Four guards stood blocking their way, clearly confused, and incensed at the treatment of their Sergeant. They looked inebriated and ready to fight. The Captain sighed. "I hope that was worth it witcher?"
Geralt forced a wolfish grin and raised himself up as best as possible. "Absolutely" he smiled.
"Thank you for arriving with haste my friends. We have important business to attend to and our recently departed colleague has already set the foundations. However, our benefactor has now requested we increase the tempo somewhat".
Greyhand observed the cloaked figures that sat in a rough semicircle around her. The outlines of the cloaks which ensured their anonymity from each other talked volumes about who might be under them. The hand members were coded by colour as to what specialisation they embraced from an early age and one could easily guess, if you knew what colour of cloak and accessories they wore, the skill set the individual possessed. To her left was the physically most intimidating of the assassins, a short and extremely well-built fellow cloaked in a deep crimson marking him as one of the Redhand, extremely destructive and volatile individuals with a penchant for large scale death and destruction. Next in line was a far less robust but taller figure, cloaked in a deep emerald, a Greenhand, masters of targeted assassination from range. In complete opposite to its Redhanded colleague Greenhand were notoriously patient and willing to wait for the perfect kill shot. The next seat was, until recently, filled with Blackhand and at this time lay empty until a replacement was sent, which was likely weeks away. Next, another slender figure in a beautiful yellow cloak of fine silk. The socialite, the hidden blade amongst the aristocracy, the poisoner of nobility and the femme-fetale concubine of royalty. Yellowhand assassins were beautiful males or females that were perfectly suited to charm and seduction, able to access individuals that would otherwise prove troublesome for more conventional and direct assignments. Finally, a deep purple cloak, another slight figure but one emanating a deeply controlled aura of power. Purplehand, the mage, sorcerer, wizard, or whatever others might label them in their own parts of the world. Capable of at once delivering death individually or mass casualties from a particularly flamboyant spell. Purplehands were essential when dealing with other spellcasting marks or ones protected by such individuals.
So many hand assassins in one place was a rarity and as a controller, the role of which the kind the grey assassins always took, Greyhand had only seen twice before.
No-one moved or talked. The room and its inhabitants remained completely silent and still for a few moments. Eventually Greyhand continued.
"You will find your assigned marks on your personal briefs. The task will be executed by no later than noon in two days' time. All the marks must be terminated by that point. Do I make myself clear?"
Nods of confirmation. Good.
"Questions?"
"What happened to Blackhand?" the yellow robed assassin asked, her voice so smooth and soft it could have been made from warm honey and cinnamon.
Greyhand remained quiet for a moment and stared at the empty seat. "Overconfidence" she responded after some time. "They have a witcher as a lapdog. He is the husband, would you believe, of the kings personal sorceress, Triss Merigold".
"I've heard of mistress Merigold" Purplehand replied, his voice dark and ragged in complete odds to his yellow cloaked colleague. It was of an accent that Greyhand was not familiar and could only have come from the far east. "She commands what remains of the council of sorcerers and was in league for some time with the lodge of sorceresses. A simple, idiotic and naive little girl with a penchant for fire magic and, it would appear, witchers cock".
"And yet, still very dangerous my friend" Greyhand replied flatly. "Do not overestimate yourself or underestimate your opponents here. Look at the empty chair if you need to be reminded. This Witcher is not to be trifled with and is well known and, strangely for his kind, renowned. The mutant you may encounter is none other than the white wolf himself. I am sure you will have heard of him by now? Even for some of you that have travelled far to be here?"
"The butcher of Blaviken" Redhand growled. "Aye, I have heard of him, but I fear him not. He isn't the only one that is known as the butcher". Redhand's voice was even deeper and more menacing than Purplehand's, thickly accented with a curt and combative tone of the dwarfs. The voice matched his stature.
"Again, my fellows, I urge caution when pursuing your marks. Do not follow your erstwhile brother and if you encounter the witcher in combat my suggestion is that you find a way to ensure the odds are tipped in your favour"
Redhand snorted in disgust at her words. "I will mind your words Greyhand but I for one won't be running anywhere. I will dice the mutant into pieces and send each of you a souvenir".
"Don't be a fool" the Greenhand assassin finally interjected, her voice so melodic and dismissive at once that she could be an elf. "Do your job and stay professional".
"Enough of this" Greyhand growled. "I asked for questions not a show of bravado. You have your targets now deliver on them. Payment will be made via the normal course in no more than a weeks' time from proof of success. Now go and make preparations".
The other assassins nodded in unison, stood, and filed out of the plain room, leaving Greyhand sat alone in her chair. For a few moments she simply sat still but then began to drum her long bony fingers on the armrest, deep in thought.
"Bring me some food" she eventually called to no one for she knew that her servant would be listening. "And make it plain. You know that anything rich upsets my bowls terribly".
She stood in the coldness of the early evening covered in a heavy green cloak of the most luxurious design and construction, the garment standing in stark contrast to the wintery scene around her. The snow continued to fall and build, coating the streets with ever-deepening powder.
Triss did not react when she saw the cart approaching from the darkness. Though her heart feared the worst her mind was very clear that her husband would be ok. He had the devil's own luck at times. Even as the cart came to a stop a few feet away, its old wheels screeching in disrepair, she could feel his presence. Reinard himself was manning the cart and horse, his two colleagues flanking the vehicle as a guard. Warrior, the captains own large destrier, was pulling the cart and was clearly not happy at having to do so. The mount snorted grumpily in the freezing air.
Stood by her side Mother Ube waited patiently in a thick white cloak, the snow gathering on her hood and shoulders. Triss had summoned the master healer when she had heard of Geralt's leg and arm wounds and whilst she was no stranger to patching the witcher up and sewing wounds, she wanted to be sure that there was a professional healer at hand.
Reinard dismounted slowly and stepped to meet Triss and Ube.
"Lady Merrigold, Mother Ube" the Captain bowed lightly.
Triss immediately noticed the mild bruising on the Captain's face and his split lip. He did not have that earlier. "You are bleeding Reinard. Please tell me that you didn't…"
"Have no fear Triss" Reinard smiled wickedly. "We didn't fight".
Ube snorted and stepped forward to the cart out of Triss's immediate sight. "What happened?" the sorceress demanded.
"Just a little misunderstanding at the guardhouse. No harm done really".
One of the guards laughed at his Captains response and spat out some blood himself, staining the now snowy cobbles with bright crimson. There had clearly been an altercation.
Triss rolled her eyes and touched the Captains mouth with her gloved hand. He recoiled slightly. "I am assuming we will have to explain this to the king tomorrow?".
"You could say that" Reinard smiled again. "Now if you don't mind id prefer to get out of this thrice-damned cold and get some warm wine inside my guts".
Triss leaned forward and kissed the Captain gently on his bruised cheek, her touch leaving a light mark of lipstick on his rough skin. The man almost recoiled in surprise. "Thank you, Reinard. You have been an angel these last few days and I appreciate your support and strong arm".
Reinard blushed whilst pulling back, fake coughing in embarrassment. "You are welcome m'lady. I am but doing my job".
Triss smiled angelically and the guard Captain blushed even further.
"I can't help you if you don't sit still, you damned fool!" Ube shouted from next to the cart, causing Triss to turn to startle and look at the vehicle. Geralt sat propped up against the side of the cart, a covered human-shaped body lying next to him. The witcher was gripping the healer's wrist tightly, eyes narrowed in agony. He turned slowly to face the sorceress, a determined but pained and tired look upon his features. "Do I get a kiss?" he asked playfully, still not releasing Ube's hand from his vice-like grip.
Triss looked at the covered body and then finally at Geralt. Her husband, unarmoured as he was and covered in snow that perfectly matched his unkempt hair, remained good-hearted despite the blade still sticking out of his thigh. She melted under his gaze but remained solemn. "Maybe later witcher but first release Ube, then you have some explaining to do. One day I hope we will meet without you needing medical attention" she sighed.
It only took a few hours for Ube to skilfully remove the blade from Geralt's thigh. She had, however, required the strength of two of the stablemen and four nurses to hold the witcher down steady enough to extract the serrated and wickedly sharp weapon. Triss watched on unconcerned as the master healer worked. It still fascinated her and sickened her in equal measure, how interesting she found a witchers anatomy and their resilience. She knew all parts of Geralt's body intimately and could recount the tales of how he picked up the numerous scars that covered his still impressive physique, but still witchers were ultimately alien. They may possess all the physical traits of a human male, albeit amplified by their training and magical manipulation of the trial of the grasses, but they were still something else entirely. He fought as little as possible, but you do not have something that looked as horrible as the blade removed without pain and suffering.
She would have to make it up to him later, after all, he had suffered this on her bidding.
Ube had, with the utmost professionalism, treated him kindly and ensured that the wound was well cleaned, stitched, and secured with fresh sterilised bandages. She had urged him to return to have them changed later that night but knew immediately that she might have just been talking to a wall. Geralt had all but ignored her after offering his thanks.
The witcher now dozed, almost entirely naked except for a light silk sheet covering his hips and upper legs, on Triss's sumptuous bed. She had requested that he was brought to her personal apartment in the palace after he was treated, and he had apparently stopped resisting when he knew where he was being taken. He was now almost asleep, breathing shallowly, his scarred and muscled frame taking up only a small fraction of the large soft mattress he now rested upon. In all the time she had been the king's sorceress she had never brought Geralt here as he would have never agreed, being as it was far too close to the palace, but needs had necessitated the event. Geralt's long white hair had been knotted back into its warriors' tail, leaving the hair on the sides of his head short as he preferred it. His beard was becoming unkempt after days on the road and she had already planned for him to be tidied before they met the king again on the morrow. Of course, he would feign that he did not like the fuss, initially resisting for the required amount of time until he realised how good it felt being pampered and then relaxed. It was the same every time, childish but undeniably cute. Sometimes the wolf-like to gnash his teeth but then enjoyed rolling onto his back and exposing his neck.
The room was warm and lit well from the flickering light of the massive fireplace that sat centrally in the main wall of the bedroom. In one corner sat a steaming bath speckled with rose petals and essential oils, the vapours of which were delightful and cleansing when inhaled. To ensure they were not entirely steam-cooked she had opened two of the large bay windows which led out on to the balcony overlooking the rest of the capital. In the distance, the harbour could be seen and to the right, nearby, the main royal residence. Lights from windows dotted the night sky and the great hall was very much active.
Triss sat on the beautifully decorated golden chair opposite the bed. To her right, atop her dressing table, lay all manner of ointments and lotions that she used to help maintain her youthful visage and she took a moment to look at her face in the large gilded mirror that dominated the table. She cursed quietly to herself as she prodded her still slightly bruised lip that the brute had given her and, after rifling through the contents of her medicinal drawer, applied a few drops of an ointment that stung immediately.
"Beautiful" the witcher mumbled from the bed.
Triss looked over her shoulder in the mirror at Geralt. He had not moved at all. "Thank you" she responded quietly. "Though my lip would say otherwise".
"Too much kissing other men I think"
She smiled at his jest. Such a child at times.
"Unfortunately, not this time husband. Shortly after leaving you at the square we paid a visit to the guardhouse and the Captain there took a disliking to me".
"He hit you?"
"Backhanded more like"
"Stupid man" Geralt replied flatly.
"Indeed" Triss responded. "I will deal with him later". She picked up a large hairbrush from the table and began to comb her red locks slowly, occasionally peering at Geralt who remained unmoving. "Are you in pain?".
Geralt grunted. She recognised the grunt as a semi laugh. Geralt was an expert in conveying so much meaning with grunts and sighs.
"I have some of your potions stored here. Swallow?"
"Already had some. More later".
Triss went back to combing her hair. "I have had a bath run for us Geralt. I expect you to join me. I am glad that Ube and her staff washed you thoroughly after being in that cell. You stank of decay and rat piss".
"One day Triss you will figure out how to bottle that smell and we can sell it. It seems that you find it attractive".
Triss laughed playfully. "Ah yes, eau de witcher. I am sure it would sell like sticky hot buns at the winter market. I can imagine the unscrupulous merchant now, holding aloft the vial shouting 'come and get it, au de witcher, it turns your men into the devils you want in the bedroom. It will drive you wild with desire for your monster-slaying partner who will be sure to ravish you in turn!'."
Geralt grunted again. This one was a mocking reply.
Triss slowly returned the hairbrush to the desk and stood. She walked over to the large wooden four-poster bed that her husband lay upon and began to trace a long-nailed finger down his exposed shin. "Come now".
Geralt raised his head slowly. He had a grumpy look upon his face. "I was just about to fall asleep".
Triss smirked and seductively raised her hands to her robe, unclasping the buckle at her neck with a sigh. The robe fell messily to the floor revealing her naked figure, pert breasts standing invitingly towards him, her legs slightly bowed and crossed. After giving him a moment to take in the scene she reached up and unpinned her bundled chestnut red hair, letting it fall invitingly across her upper chest, shoulders, and neck. Her whole body, covered in a slight coating of scented steam, glowed and smouldered in the light from the fireplace. She watched with glee as her husband relished in her figure, his eyes moving from her face downwards.
"That it very unfair" he responded, his curiosity now clearly peaked.
Triss chuckled and padded slowly over to the large tub. With exaggerated movements, she dipped the toes of her right foot into the steaming water and sighed as she did so. Gently she lowered herself into the bathtub, the top of her breasts just visible above the water. "Ahhhhh, perfect" she purred, her eyes closed. "Well, almost…" she continued, opening her eyes, and looking directly at Geralt.
"I swear that you will be the death of me" he replied happily as he pushed himself to rest on his elbows. With a wince of pain, he rolled off the bed, the cover falling away from him, and stepped over to the tub, his bandaged leg and arm at painful odds to the rest of his entirely naked body. He lowered himself into the tub alongside her gingerly at first, entirely expecting the throb of his wounds to increase as the warm water caressed them. After he settled Triss moved round to join him, leaning into his torso so that they looked out over the cityscape. Outside the snow fell with relish, coating the city in a thick blanket. The moon, bright but heavily clouded, struggled to fight through the thick snow so the night was surprisingly dark for the time of the year.
Triss locked her legs gently into Geralt's and rubbed his chest with her long-nailed hands. The low grating noise they made as they traced patterns in his grey hair joined with the crackles and spits of the fireplace.
"I am glad you are ok" she finally said. "I am also glad you found the killer".
"It wasn't easy. And he nearly had me".
"How?"
"Well, first he was incredibly difficult to track. It was made much harder by the snow and the surroundings. Secondly, I have not seen another non witcher move like that. Whoever he was had some serious training and skill. It was over so fast and could have gone either way if I am honest. I had plenty of time to think about it sat festering in that cell and just a few more seconds could have been the end of me. I've had less trouble fighting Eskel or Lambert in training, even when I know they could have killed me".
"How do you get that good without the mutations?"
"I have no idea. I just hope there are not any more of his kind out there. It was only my experience that won out in the end. I am pretty sure he was faster than I was at times".
"Well let's just be glad of your experience then" she replied quietly.
"Indeed."
They remained quiet for some time just enjoying each other's company and staring out of the window, the dichotomy of the frigid temperatures outside and the warmth of the fire and steaming water amusing them both.
Triss finally interrupted the silence. "The king wishes to see you tomorrow".
"I'm sure he does"
"Be nice. He will probably want to shower you with honours and gifts. He may even try to knight you".
"Not again".
Triss smiled. "Sir Geralt of Kovir and Poviss, knight of the realm and defender of the…"
"Enough Triss. You know I can't stand it".
More silence.
"What is wrong?" she asked worried, picking up on the still reflective and quiet nature of her partner. He was never this reserved when they shared a bath together. Normally he could not keep his hands off her and there would be very little water left in the tub by now.
Geralt remained stoic and quiet, staring out of the window at a point in the distance she could not fathom.
"Geralt?" she asked, moving in closer. "What is it?"
He shook his head slightly as if trying to force himself out of a melancholy mood. "It's nothing Triss, just something…"
"Just something what?"
"Just something the murderer said before he died is playing on my mind".
"What was that?"
"It was just as he plunged the knife into my thigh" the witcher remembered painfully, grimacing as he did so. "He said that this changes nothing. Its only just starting."
Now it was Triss's time to be quiet. She remained so for some time, questions forming and disappearing on her red lips and she processed the information her husband had just shared. "Do you think he meant it?" she finally asked.
"I bloody hope not" Geralt sighed and rested his head back against the rim of the wooden tub. "But either way you best tell the king tomorrow".
Triss nodded slowly and rested her head on his chest again. After some time, she slowly moved her hand to caress his stomach and inner thigh.
"Sorry, Triss. Not tonight. Despite the fact I would normally jump at the chance to empty this tub of water and ravish you as you so eloquently put it earlier, I am feeling particularly sore".
Triss smirked and nuzzled him some more. "I understand" she replied.
"No, you don't" he chuckled.
"No, I don't" she chuckled in response.
