Geralt's frenetic washing drew Lambert's attention away from his own cleaning. At first he didn't suspect anything. After all, Geralt always preferred being clean, a fact that living with Yennefer reinforced. No, it wasn't until he heard mild cursing and the other witcher stalking away that Lambert looked up.
Geralt was likely arguing with Cregennan because the man, Olgierd, didn't seem actively participating in Geralt's sudden ravings. The witcher was talking in clipped whispers, and despite Geralt's attempts at secrecy, Lambert still managed to catch the occasional snippet: namely, "Why...?" "How...?" and "Can this be fixed?". The last one, especially, caught Lambert's attention. What needs to be fixed?
"What's your friend on about?" Mumbled the woman beside him. "'e off his rocker or something?"
"Or something..." He answered, a bit unsure of how much he should be trusting these people.
Lambert figured he was as clean as he was going to get and moved to join Geralt, but Olgierd beat Lambert to where the other witcher stood.
"Geralt, you alright? It's just a bit of red..." Olgierd's once-jovial visage suddenly turned sour. "It's more than that, isn't it?" Geralt kept his face neutral. Instead, Olgierd looked to Lambert as if he had the answers that Geralt wasn't willing to share.
Lambert's still expression seemed to be all that Olgierd needed.
Olgierd sighed. "Well, let's see to getting you a horse." The man ran a hand through his hair and finally rested the wandering limb on a hip. "You, Lambert was it, will you need one as well?"
"No. Got my own stashed up a ways," answered Lambert, tossing his own bloodied linen back into a nearby wash basin. The cloth disturbed the soapy water momentarily with a soft splish.
Olgierd nodded curtly before turning to the dark-haired woman. "Adela, can you see to setting up our witcher friend here a horse? Hopefully we still have a few loyal stable hands around here."
Adela acknowledged Olgierd's request then departed, presumably to head to the stables.
"She going to be alright?" Geralt asked, gesturing to the slight limp Adela walked with.
"Adela's a tough one. If the injury was something serious, she'd have said something about it..."
"Mmm."
"You don't sound convinced."
"Hard to be when I see an injury like that. Could be she's putting up a brave front."
"Sounds like you're speaking from experience, Geralt."
"Just seen my share of injuries and stubborn fools who think they know better."
Olgierd grew silent, sighed, and grew silent again. "Very well, come. Let's make sure she doesn't strain herself."
The three men walked, with Olgierd taking the lead because neither Geralt nor Lambert knew where to find the stables. Also, Lambert wanted to trail behind so he could keep an eye on Geralt - only now noticing the crimson streaking the older witcher's white hair.
Lambert paused, short enough that Geralt and Olgierd hadn't noticed. It couldn't be. It shouldn't even be possible. The second set of trials that had stripped Geralt of his natural pigments made him faster, stronger than any other witcher, and now ...? What did it mean if those pigments were coming back? Maybe he was overthinking things. After all, Geralt, a red-head? Hard to imagine. But... Lambert just couldn't shake the nagging feeling.
"Where are you two headed?" Olgierd's boisterous voice had pulled Lambert from his pondering.
Surprisingly, Geralt was the first to answer. "Novigrad," he stated simply, as if the previous night's disagreement had never happened. A slight twinge of reluctance pulled at the corner of Geralt's lip, and Lambert couldn't help thinking that Geralt's change of heart had something to do with his earlier discussion with Cregennan.
"Novigrad," repeated Olgierd, smoothing his fingers over the short hairs of his beard. "Odd place for a pair of witchers."
Geralt and Olgierd approached the stables alone, Lambert having since left to retrieve his own horse.
Seeing the saddled and ready Pinto did little to ease Geralt's growing disquiet. If anything, it reminded him all too much of why he now had to go to Novigrad. For once, Cregennan honestly didn't seem to have any explanation of what they both sensed. And for once, Geralt had to agree they needed help.
"Adela!" Olgierd barked. "Go get that leg dealt with. I can see you limping from here."
She looked up, away from her brushing, and earned an irritated stamp from the horse beside her at the sudden interruption. "Jus' finishing up 'ere," acknowledged Adela.
"Now. You're no good to me with an infected leg."
"Aye..." Adela answered before roughly tossing the brush she was using into a small bucket at her feet. She didn't have far to hobble. A white tent had been quickly set up nearby to attend to the wounded of those that remained, and Olgierd waited to make sure she made it.
Seemingly satisfied once Adela's figure disappeared behind a wall of white canvas, Olgierd turned to the mouse-like stable boy. "I hope she didn't do the whole thing herself..."
"Ummm."
Olgierd arched a brow at the boy's lacking response.
"I t-t-tried ser. I insisted m-most adamantly, but she just wouldn' 'ave it." The boy managed to stutter out.
"Sounds like something she would do," breathed Olgierd, as he smoothed his hair back tiredly. "Well, you can make yourself useful now boy."
"Ser?"
"Ready me a horse. The surly black one, and be quick about it."
The young stable hand looked puzzled briefly then gave a mock salute before scampering off with reins and saddle in hand.
"Olgierd..."
"Geralt, as I see it, I owe you more than just a horse." Olgierd said, the man's eyes not leaving the boy rushing to ready a mount. "I could spend my whole life trying to repay you for what you've done, and still be indebted. Had you not intervened... well, I suspect O'Dimm wouldn't have let me off so kindly." The once-immortal laughed weakly, and shook his head.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Geralt gave a faint nod, his eyes focusing on a spot on the ground. "What of the Estate? Of what you built here?"
Olgierd rocked back on his heels, his hands cradled behind his back. "I'm sure Adela can handle things while I'm away. After the thrashing we gave them, I doubt the Wild Ones will be causing anymore trouble... for a while at least."
The boy returned, leading a docile black mare by the reins.
With a nod, Olgierd accepted the horse from the boy. "So, which one do you want?" Olgierd gestured first to the Pinto, then the black mare – a knowing glint in his eye.
Black horse eyes met Geralt's, and a jolt of familiarity struck the witcher. "Roach?"
"Figured she was yours," he said as the black horse pulled easily from his hand.
Geralt braced himself as Roach ploughed into him head first. "I thought I left her at Corvo Bianco in Toussaint." Awe laced Geralt's voice as he nudged her nibbling teeth away from his neck.
"Perhaps you did, but she seemed rightly determined to find you," Olgierd said giving Roach a quick pat. "Found her wandering the outskirts of Oxenfort about a year back, giving some drunkards the run-around."
Geralt nodded, he could see that. "But what made you think she was mine?"
"For starters, she recognized me. Followed me and Avis back here." This time Olgierd gave the Pinto a gentle rub along her nose. "At a certain point your horse even ran ahead, but stopped when she got caught on a low fence. I still can't fathom how though; she clearly could have gone around it."
If horses could look sheepish, then Roach definitely was. "That can't be all." Geralt stated.
"Oh, it wasn't," replied Olgierd as he crossed his arms over his chest. "For a long while she seemed restless, refused to eat, and even broke through a few fences. The help thought I was mad to keep her." The once-immortal paused, sighing slightly. "Eventually, I figured the best thing would be to sell her, but even that didn't work out. A day later she was back in the stables as if nothing happened." The memory brought a small chuckle. "Things did get better when we started leaving her pen open though. During the day she'd go wandering, and come nightfall, return. Thinking on it now, I guess she was looking for you..."
"But..."
"By this time of day she's usually long gone."
Geralt raised a brow, then returned his gaze to Roach. "Mmm," he nodded before climbing up into the saddle.
"Right then. Let's go meet up with your friend. I'm sure he's waiting for us by now." Olgierd gave Avis a quick pat, then swung up into his saddle, resting his feet comfortably in the stirrups.
The pair found Lambert leaning up against a rickety fence post. His grey mare stood nearby, antsy to get moving.
With a small nod, Lambert mounted his own horse and joined them on the well-worn road. The other witcher didn't seem curious about their additional companion, and Geralt was grateful he wouldn't have to explain it to Lambert.
XxxxX
"Ahhrgh! Fuck!"
Geralt slowed Roach's gait to a canter. Judging by the looks from the others, he wasn't the only one who heard the cry.
"Leave it be. We don't have time for this," came Lambert's crisp response. The other witcher clicked his tongue and nudged his horse back into a faster pace.
"No, no, no, no, no! Aw, bloody 'ell not Manfred." the voice sobbed, drawing Geralt's attention again.
"Geralt-"
But Geralt was no longer listening to Lambert. Instead, he turned Roach towards the sounds of distress and urged her away from the road and into the brush.
XxxxX
The witcher emerged into a small clearing, startling a wounded man who fell from his perch in a nearby elm with a crack. At first, Geralt suspected the distressed man had broken a bone, but it was only the man's short bow - now in two pieces.
"What happened?" The witcher asked, dismounting from his horse.
The man looked away from the opened gash on his calf and shakily came to his feet - one of which was missing its boot. "I-i-it came out of nowhere. We-we dinna see it coming..."
"See what?"
"It was big 'n white, with 'orrible claws and teeth. I ran as soon as I heards it..." The man began clutching his head staring off into the distance, his eyes not really focusing on anything. "Thomas... Manfred... Oh, fuckin' 'ell. Oh, fuckin' 'ell." His speech devolved into mindless repetition.
Not going to get much more out of him. Geralt sighed. Better look around.
Concentrating, the witcher tuned out the mutterings of the peasant. He tuned out the sounds of Lambert and Olgierd arriving and instead, the witcher turned his attention to the rustling of leaves, the depths of the claw marks scoring the trees and the ground, and the pungent odour of blood that dappled everything.
The scent of recent gore and dusty tracks led away from the scene; that, he could follow.
It led him to half a stag, its entrails spilling out where the hind legs should have been. The beast's recent meal, though the buck's rope-bound hooves indicated it was more complicated than that.
Geralt crouched by the deer carcass and looked it over. A deep wound near its shoulder suggested an arrow's point of entry. A messy kill. Would've taken a while to bleed out... an incision ran down what remained of the stag's cream-colored belly. Too precise to be a beast's work. Curious, the witcher pulled open the flap. The trachea, lungs, heart had been removed. It was being gutted out. The witcher gave a look of disapproval at the obvious mistake. Smell must have been what attracted the beast.
From the scattered footprints, the witcher garnered the hunters split, each running a different direction. Only two sets made any significant distance, while the third ended with a mess of spilled blood and scraps of fabric. Deer was left unfinished, but there's no trace of whoever died. The witcher's lips tightened into a line. Beast eats meat, but has a preference for human. Gonna have to deal with it before this becomes more than just missing hunters...
"Geralt." It was Lambert again. "We aren't going to get paid from this. Let's go."
"Can't. There's a man-eater."
Lambert sighed. Both witcher's knew the implications with a man-eating beast. "Body's gone?"
The witcher nodded as he inspected a large paw print. Five toed ... a bear? "No signs it was moved either."
"Shit." Lambert slid from his saddle. "Any idea what we're dealing with?"
"Not completely sure," Geralt said, rising from his crouch.
"Oh?"
"Evidence suggests it's a bear, a large one, but the witness claimed it was white."
Lambert visibly relaxed. "So? Seems like you got things figured out already. Just kill the thing and let's get moving. Sun's setting soon."
Somewhat lost in thought, Geralt frowned. "Haven't seen white bears since Skellige..."
"Could be a merchant brought it over. Hoped to sell it as some exotic pet," suggested Lambert somewhat impatiently. "Not the first time I've seen that sort of idiocy."
"Mmm." It felt like a sign, but whether a positive or a negative one, Geralt wasn't sure. He disregarded the thought and set to following the distinct bear tracks, leaving Lambert in the clearing.
XxxxX
Leaves rustled by the breeze while Geralt waited, crouching in the underbrush. His golden eyes pierced the foliage, as he spied the lumbering creature. Old scars littered its white, muscled body: many appeared to be from other bears. Broken arrow shafts dotted the beast's hide, and blood flowed from a fresh knife wound down the left side of its face, the cut crossing over its still-intact black eye.
The bear rose to its full, massive height. It paused and tested the air with a few short breaths, despite the witcher squatting downwind. The witcher tensed as the beast seemed to scan the forest for his presence. If it had seen the witcher, it gave no indication. The beast gave a quick snort then crashed back to all fours with a resounding thud, the ground shaking slightly from the impact.
Neither moved.
The witcher felt no vibrations coming from his wolf medallion. Steel sword then. His hand went for Iris strung across his back, sliding the enchanted sabre from its sheath ever so slowly.
The beast's head turned towards the witcher - drawn by the sound of sliding steel. It seemed almost content to wait for the witcher to reveal himself. The witcher obliged the beast and stepped forward into the small ring of cleared brush.
Casting Quen, the witcher's actions were met with an echoey snarl. The tonne of muscle, fur, fangs, and claws descended upon him. The witcher rolled out of the way of the devastating charge, a crack split a nearby tree's trunk as the beast rammed into it.
For a fleeting moment the bear was stunned; the witcher spun and brought down his blade, cutting into its exposed flank. He dived backwards, barely avoiding a retaliative swipe of a huge paw. With his sabre held out defensively across his body, he strafed to his right trying to take advantage of the beast's obscured vision on its left.
The beast wouldn't have it.
Its head turned with the witcher's movements, the blood-free eye always on him. It lunged at him, striking forward with both paws.
The witcher stepped back, the bear's paws missing and instead thumping heavily onto the ground. He stabbed forward grazing its neck with his sabre, before retreating quickly from an angry snap of its jaws.
The pair circled each other, each looking for some weakness, some opening.
The witcher acted first, his hand thrusting out towards the bear, his finger's bending into the sign of Igni. The magical flames surged forward in a wave, scorching everything they touched. The beast cringed back from the heat, as the witcher kept the fire coming.
Suddenly, something inside of him snapped. His stamina suddenly spent. Too soon. Geralt gasped, his muscles seizing. His arm went to his side to clutch at the agonizing pain shooting through his nerves. He gritted his teeth, trying to focus through the agony.
The beast saw its chance and rushed the distance, shrugging off the tiny flames that still touched its pale fur. Its head dug into Geralt's belly, forcing the air from his lungs.
Quen shattered the force of the explosion driving the beast back as Geralt fell to his knees wheezing.
Again the beast was upon him, rising up on its hind legs. It let out one last roar before it let its weight fall, its teeth going for Geralt's throat.
XxxxX
The air settled, and a starling lighted on an overhanging branch, sending the thin limb wobbling. The mass of white fur moved, startling the bird into the air again.
With a groan, Geralt eased himself out from under the bear's corpse, his front thoroughly drenched with blood. For now, the pain had stopped, but still he felt residual twitches trailing along his body.
It took some effort, but he managed to free his blade from the creature's throat. He wiped it down on a pant leg, then sheathed the blade once more across his back.
As he was leaving the clearing, a form caught his eye. It was small – the size of child – and barely visible where it lay amid the low growing bushes. A bear cub. Dead. Its skinned flesh, just dry, flies already buzzing around the acrid-smelling carcass. Geralt released his hold on the brush, covering up the body once more. It wasn't skinned by any animal, the knife wounds made that clear enough.
XxxxX
Wordlessly, Geralt passed by Olgierd and Lambert, ignoring their stares as he stiffly clambered back on Roach's back. Wordlessly, he urged the mare back to the road.
"Master witcher, ser..." The voice drew his attention, and he pulled back on the reins stopping Roach's trot. It was the man he had encountered earlier. A younger man stood beside him. "I don' have much to give you fer helpin me an Thomas, but I'd want you to have this-" He held offered Geralt an ashen pelt. The ashen pelt missing from the cub back in the clearing. The man shrunk back under Geralt's sudden scowl and mumbled "Thought you might be able to sell it fer something."
Kicking his heels into Roach's sides he started her towards the road again, not bothering to check to see if Lambert and Olgierd were following.
Olgierd pulled up beside him. "You're not going to take your reward?"
"No." Geralt replied tersely. "I killed the wrong monster."
"What d-" Olgierd stopped himself, taking in the look Geralt gave him. He nodded then fell back beside Lambert.
Fortunately, Novigrad wasn't far now. It was going to be a very quiet trip.
XxxxX
Geralt dismounted, tying Roach's reins to a post just outside of the Rosemary and Thyme - renamed the Chameleon by its current proprietor, Dandelion, who appeared absent at the moment. Lambert and Olgierd silently followed suit, Geralt's soured mood evidently wearing on the other two.
The trio entered the cabaret and were met with the jaunty tune of Dandelion's hired troubadour. A few patrons looked up from their drinks, but most were content to ignore the travelers.
"Lambert!" The blond woman trilled, pushing past Geralt and wrapping her arms around the other witcher's neck. "Finally. Where's-" The thought died in Keira's throat as Lambert coughed his eyes staring fixedly at Geralt. She turned, recognition taking a second before she mouthed Oh.
"Keira? Is-" Yennefer had appeared in the far stairway, looking to the young sorceress, then to the trio who had just entered. Her eyes narrowed then widened in surprise as she noticed Geralt. In quick steps she closed the distance, barely disturbing the cabaret's guests. "Geralt?" She asked, for once a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
"Yen- I" Geralt began.
Yennefer's hands went to cover her mouth, as shock touched her violet eyes. "Geralt. What-" She bit her lip and leaned closer, trying to find something in his eyes but not seeing it. "Your eyes..."
