While they waited, Floris not once let go of Roos' hand, even while Elora carefully treated his wounds. Her own cuts and bruises had started to heal due to the potion, her skin tingled and itched from the accelerated regeneration. She remembered Floris' earlier remark, that a Witcher's age was measured in scars, not years. It was true, apart from the fact that they frequently cheated by using regenerative potions. When imbibed in time, scarring was minimal. The toxicity from their Witcher's potions was another problem, however; when not kept in check, it could drive them mad. And the only thing that the common folk dreaded more than a Witcher, was one who had completely lost it.
They ate and drank from their supplies quietly. Elora intently listened and frequently looked out of the barred windows. It didn't take very long until she spotted a carriage drawn by a single horse in the distance. "He's here."
Elora gestured Floris to remain where he was, and set to untie the young lad. "Listen. You will do exactly as I say, or you won't live to see how you might look with a beard. Ask him who he is, and then let him in as if nothing had happened. Shut the door when he's in, and get out of the way. Got that?"
The boy trembled. "Y-y-yes, M-m-mistress."
"I doubt that will work when you stammer like that." Floris said unemotionally.
Elora nodded, and grabbed the boy by his shoulder, the fingers of her left hand forming the Sign of Axii. "Relax. Do as I said, any everything will be fine."
"Yes. As you wish, Mistress," he said. Elora resisted the urge to grin with triumph. The Sign of Axii was the hardest to learn for a young Witcher, since it didn't concern tampering with the elements, but dealing with living creatures (without the killing part), which was neither a significant element in their training, nor made particularly easy by most humanoids.
Someone knocked at the door. Elora picked up her blade. Floris grabbed his, and grimly stood before Roos' like a bear mother would in front of her cubs.
"Who is there?" the lad asked.
"He who asked you to come here" a voice said. Elora nodded to Floris. It was the voice she recalled. The lad opened the door, revealing the hooded man, who took a few steps inside the mill before making sense of the situation.
"You again!" he said to Elora, as the lad pushed shut the door behind him, and quickly ran away across the room. The hooded man drew his blade, but his stance betrayed his insecurity.
"You wanted a Witcher to play intimidating bastard freak, and you will get one fine performance! I want to know who you are, and if you have anything to say in your defense before I decide what to do with you." Elora snarled back at him. "What is your excuse for taking a child from its father? Fate? Destiny? Don't overestimate your place!" Elora felt anger well up in her, but tried to bite it back. This was a touchy subject for her, but it should not distract her in a fight.
"I…" The hooded man seemed uncertain what to do. "No… well… it's complicated!" He glanced at the three bodies on the floor, and at Floris, who fiercely stared back at him. "I never wanted to harm her. I just…"
"What? Speak, or…" Elora waved the tip of her sword towards him.
His shoulders slumped and he dropped his weapon. "I don't want to die. Not like this. Not as a common criminal, and not in this condition…" He took a deep breath, and pulled back his hood. His face was of a translucent silvery grey hue, his blood wessels were swollen and protruded from his skin, in his face and down his neck, presumably over his entire body.
"You see, I was not always like this…" he gestured at his face.
"A curse?" Elora inquired.
"Yes. I fell from grace with my master, a powerful wizard, but at times, a particularly mad one. In one of his worse phases, he thought I had stolen and sold his grimoire. He was furious and didn't care who had done it, and punished me."
"If he was your master… you're a sorcerer, too?"
"Yes, but the curse stripped me of my powers. He said he would lift it if I returned his book. I've been trying to do this ever since, and I've gotten close. I am pretty certain I know who has the book." He sounded excited, but that quickly faded again when he continued. "Then I heard that my master had fallen ill, it was serious. I thought that his death might lift the curse, but… as you can see, it didn't... and I wasn't going to take chances. I returned to him, told him in his last sane moments that I was close to finding his damned book. He said it was too late, and he had not the strength to lift it himself, but he told me to look into his crystal orb for how to lift the curse."
"Roos… you saw Roos in it?" Elora raised a brow.
"The girl, yes. It would seem I need the grimoire and the girl. I have heard of other curses, which were lifted by…"
"…a pretty young girl staying with the – excuse me – monster for a year, they fall in love or even just have consensual sex, and the curse is lifted." Elora continued his sentence repetitiously. "That's what everyone knows. In truth, curses aren't all the same; they are as different as the people who utter them. And even if some girls may fall in love with you if you are a good person – to which we have proof to the contrary – and treat them well, you can't count on it. It just doesn't work that way."
"You… you know about curses?"
"Perks to being a Witcher, even though some might call that a curse in itself." Elora responded wryly. "Back to the matter at hand. It would have to be an incredibly strong curse if it could only be lifted by one particular person. There must be something else to it." She scratched her head. "Listen. I believe you. I cannot condone what you did, and your choice of accomplices was a terribly bad one, but I certainly won't kill an unarmed man in cold blood." Without taking her eyes off the slumped figure in front of her, she continued. "Floris, if it's okay with you… I will try to lift his curse. It has something to do with Roos, and I think it would be best if we could free her from this connection to malign magic. I will also see to it that he and the lad will be tried for their actions."
"If it doesn't harm her in any way, and if Roos agrees, so will I." Floris said.
"Good. Now, I must warn you," she said to the cursed man, "that the prisons they put mages in are said to be much worse than those for common folk. And in your current shape, even those won't be a stroll in the temple garden." She paused, studying his face. He looked desperate and wanted to say something. "Wait, let me finish. Under other circumstances, I would offer you a quick death if you preferred that, but I'm under contract to protect the girl, so I need to find out what's up with this condition of yours."
"You don't seem to understand! This is a prison!" He sighed. "I know your kind is treated badly, but people still need you. You have a purpose, a reason for being what and where you are. I have spent years and years to learn to use magic, and it has been stripped from me for something I didn't do. I wanted to search for people to help me, but I was driven away from any settlement before I could explain myself. Being treated like a monster for so long… you get used to it; it changes you. But I don't want to become one… I guess you can see how well this has turned out, kidnapping an innocent girl. But I am so tired of running, and hiding, and scaring myself when I see my reflection."
He looked miserable, and his words hit home. Elora knew too well how tempting it was to give in to the expectation people had of Witchers. It would be so much easier in the short run, using their fear for her gain, using violence to get what she wanted… but in the long run, it would deprive her of her own humanity, and make it that much harder to follow the Witchers' path. Yet it required self-discipline to stick to one's code of honor, and maybe not everyone were granted their share of it.
"I'm not your judge," she reminded him, as well as herself. "I will take you to the guard in Vizima. I hear the Guard Captain is a reasonable sort; he might treat you based on your behavior, not your appearance. I will tie your hands only, but if you decide to do anything stu –"
"I won't, I promise!" he blurted out, turned around and raised his hands behind his back.
"Good." She turned around to Floris to throw her the rope. While turning in his direction, she glanced at Roos, who was shifting. "I think she's is about to wake up."
While Floris returned to his daughter, Elora tied the prisoner's hands. "Same goes for you, lad. No tricks. I will tell the Captain you helped us, but you're nothing to me, so don't botch your second chance to get out of this mess alive."
"Yes, Mistress."
"You could also make yourself useful before we leave, and pack our stuff. Oh, and speaking of useful: I would like my swords back."
The lad grew pale. "M-m-mitress, we only have the smallish silvery one. B-b-bram here," he pointed at the dead leader, "he wanted to sell that one, and k-keep the other. But we… we lost it somewhere on our way."
Elora grimaced. The things people said about how Witchers cherished their swords were not exaggerated. She sighed, and began to search the room and dead bodies for valuables. It wasn't like they needed any of it anymore. Certainly not as much as she did.