The Witcher: A Deep Mark

Chapter 2.

A few days later in Oxenfurt, the aforementioned witcher gladly submerged himself in a tub of hot water with Yennefer beside him. They were cleaning themselves in the aftermath of their latest erotic adventures atop Yen's stuffed unicorn. Her insistance to ferry that thing around literally everywhere was astounding, as were the related transportation fees. But Geralt was not one to complain; he had his own brand of royally espoused wine and an entire estate churning it out back at Touissant, both courtesy of her highness Anna Henrietta. Apart from his regular exercising and his spars with Ciri whenever she visited, the aging witcher seldom bothered taking contracts anymore these past months - and whenever he did, it was out of habitual needs than financial worries. Yennefer was teasing him in accordance that he'd be wasting away in retirement, and that, odds are, he'll die amidst pillows, or atop her favourite equine-shaped fetish object. Geralt hearthily responded in turn that nothing would give him greater pleasure. Yen seemed awfully content with this.

For now, they have taken a break from Touissant's ever peaceful and idyllic scenery, journeying back to the north at the invitation of Triss Merigold for a friendly reunion, for old times' sake. The romantic animostities between the three of them have long been sorted out, and the witcher's and sorceress' stay in the city had been a pleasant one thus far. The war was stopping, however temporarily. Following the demise of Caleb Menge, and especially king Radovid, the Church of the Eternal Fire would inevitably come to blows with the more worldly, politically oriented Redenian nobility. The sole person who could have acted as a unificary force, Sigismund Dijkstra, was no longer around either, his life ended by Geralt's blade in defense of Vernon Roche and his fellows. The remaining power groups had to face up to reality: without a strong central figurehead, submission to Nilfgaard was unavoidable. Hence, they sat down to try a diplomatic approach, hoping to preserve their titles and privileges. Emhyr var Emreis was open to negotiations, but he had the upper hand, and an undisputably bigger military.

Momentarily, the war was put on a halt; the two sides called for a ceasefire for the duration of the negotiations. The church called off its mage-hunts, and public persecution of non-human became significantly less frequent as both the landowners and the clergy had much more pressing matters to focus on. The general populace was breathing sighs of relief on the streets; life was returning to normal in Oxenfurt, its famed academy warmly welcoming its students and tutors back. Triss could take walks on the streets unhooded, and was considering signing up for a part-time magic theory lecturer at the academy. It was not a far-fetched idea; whatever terms Redenia would negotiate with the empire, it would inevitably touch upon the subject of magic users. Nilfgaard, whilst strict in regulating its magicians, would not cull them pointlessly like Radovid did. Dandelion himself wrote in a letter not long ago that he'll be seizing this vaunted chance to expand his enterprise, and open up a second tavern in the seat of his former scholarly pursuits. He sent Zoltan to measure up a few estates, Dandelion himself being too occupied with running the Rosemary and Thyme - and, more truthfully, frolicking with Priscilla at every opportunity. If nothing else, Geralt was looking forward to meeting Zoltan again.

Yennefer was moaning peacefully, until she turned her head the other way to feel the Sun's rays. - "Oh... the Sun is that high already? I'm going to be late for meeting with Triss!" - she realized, and hurriedly got out of the tub, drying herself with a towel, and began dressing in an outfit that could have been qualified fairly plain as far as her usual clothing choices were concerned.

Pushing himself up by the tub's rims with his elbows, Geralt sat, observing her curves as the black silk smoothed itself out against her skin. - "You know Yen, I'm been thinking you might actually be keeping something away from me." - he stated, before elaborating: - "Triss yesterday seemed... how to put it... tense. I could just read it off of her, even despite her tipsyness. And now, asking you for a private chat..."

"Oh hush, Geralt." - she shot his arguement down. - "You heard her out, didn't you? Unless you were half-sodden yourself, too. She's just disappointed that she didn't get that advisory position in Kovir that she wanted so much. And you know how just bare weeks ago, this town had witch hunters patrolling the main streets? Not exactly invoking good memories for her."

"Mmmh, yeah. You have a fair point." - Geralt nodded in acknowledgement, folding his arms behind his head. - "Or, this could be one of your secret Lodge of Sorceresses' slumber parties and you're keeping me out of loop deliberately."

Yennefer turned her head to meet Geralt's gaze, her stare sparking up with irritation. - "Ugh, Geralt! Honestly...! We've talked this over a hundred times. On my part, the Lodge is done, finished. Philippa can keep running and wrecking whatever is left of it for all I care. Last time she tried to contact me was... oh come on, you were there!"

"Oh. Right. That time." - Geralt stared blankly before himself, remembering the occasion all too well - some time following the defeat of the Wild Hunt, and Ciri saving the world, he and Yennefer were mounting her infamous inanimate mare for a maraton-lenght ride when Philippa attempted a projected conversation through the megascope Yennefer forgot to power down. They were right at the peak of joy when her illusionary reflection showed up and interrupted them with her inelegant, shocked rephoaches; this resulted in Yennefer demolishing the megascope with a fireball, and burning down half the tavern they were renting a room at in Skellige. They only survived because Yennefer would hastily teleport the two of them to the outside - with the unicorn included - and landing in the snowy landscape naked. Consequentially, the two women's relationship had become rather chilly.

Yennefer tilted her head upwards as she reached for a brush and started fixing her hair. - "Well, that's settled then, I believe. Zoltan should be coming later today, from what I recall. You two hit the pubs, play gwent, or whatever it is you men do when I'm not around." - she said, then suddenly put down the brush with a loud knock. - "My wardrobe and megascope are strictly off-limits."

Geralt merely shrugged, hazily recalling the drunken antics he and his fellow witchers committed themselves to at one time in Kaer Morhen. - "Point taken."

It was late in the afternoon already, and Geralt was getting quite bored sorting through his gwent decks. He was also done polishing his swords and medallion, read a few random articles from Yennefer's books, and even did a half-hearted cleanup after the bath, which was a clear indication of how low his mood was sinking. Finally, however, there was a loud thudding noise outside, followed by someone knocking on the door of the tavern room they have been renting with Yen for their stay. - "It's open!" - Geralt said to whoever was outside.

Zoltan Chivay entered, his cheeks painted in a rosy shade. - "Geralt! It's been ages!" - he came bumbling in.

Geralt damn nigh jumped up from the armchair he was sitting in, ready to exchange a friendly pat on the back. - "That's what you always say. What took you so long? Trouble in town?" - he inquired.

"Something akin to that, yea." - Zoltan said. - "Had to check places all over bloody Oxenfurt for that dandy Dandelion to rent. But he wrote you, didn't he? I actually found a fancy spot, right beside the Western Gate, ripe for renovation! Just had to barter the price with that scrawny wimp of an owner."

Geralt folded his arms, leaning against the wall. - "Let me guess: it belonged to one of the families involved with the academy?"

"Aye, the de Lomvards, or what the fuckever they call themselves. This one was named Viscont, an inksucker in training. More like 'wise-I'm uncultured', if you ask me, too bad he ain't either. His family had a long unused furniture storehouse. Got a twenty percent discount on the deal after we drank a few rounds and I agreed to do some favours for him." - Zoltan explained, with a wide smile, wholly satisfied with his achievement.

"Namely?" - Geralt pressed the matter further.

"Booted some bastards who picked on him. Then some vagrants who took to dwellin' in the storehouse. Aaand..." - he kept a dramatic pause - "...I may or may not have signed you up for an interview."

Geralt blinked. - "Excuse me?"

"That Viscont lad is doing his bloody research on witcher history, of all things. I brought you up by chance in conversation after the deal was done, so he leapt on the chance like dung beetle on a shiteheap. Almost started kissing me boots downright, the syrup sipper! Swore to throw in another ten percent if I arrange it. Had to kick 'im off me, told him I'll see what I can do." - The witcher let loose a disapproving stare, to which Zoltan raised his hands defensively. - "Don't stare like that, Geralt! I promised nothing for certain. Won't press you into nothing. But come now, you could be recorded in history like you truly deserve!"

"Oh right. And you will get that extra ten percent, all at the expense of my good nature." - Geralt remarked dryly, but still couldn't help but smile. - "Well, go ahead and try to persuade me. Got wine and gwent at the table both. Ready to taste Touissant's newest royally endorsed liquid wonder product?"

"Aye! But not alone. See, I brought someone along!" - he trotted to the door, yelling down the stairs while Geralt stood confounded, curious. - "Pick yourself up already, you meek shite of a witcher!" - his demand was met with painful moans, followed after with slow, burdensome limping upwards, until Geralt saw the all too familiar face.

"Lambert!" - he recognized him rather easily from his attire; his fellow witcher from the school of the Wolf was dead tired, walking rather oddly, keeping his legs apart a bit as he took his steps. - "What happened to you? Are you injured?"

"Hi, Geralt. Nice to see you, too." - Lambert replied, and from his weary but typically jerky voice, Geralt already knew he was going to keep on living. - "I was just passing by in town, ran into Zoltan. We hooked up. As for my legs..." - he kept a bit of a pause, seemingly embarrassed. - "Let's just say... Keira and I are still together, and she has some wild taste in poses."

Geralt let out a little chuckle, along with Zoltan who was much less subtle about it. For once, Geralt though, someone else in the world was suffering more than him. Zoltan skipped the unnecessary further chatter: - "Gentlemen, come now, we haven't got all day before your ladies drag you both off! Let's savour the occasion. Pouches out, let liquor flow!"

And so they got down to business. Zoltan had a refreshed Scoia'tael setup, and Lambert assembled a brand new Monster deck. They had a few tricks up their sleeve, but still, Geralt carried on, and a couple of initial losses paved his way to success. Lambert and Zoltan both paid up in orens, while Geralt cunningly offered a choice between coin and his personal brand of booze anytime he lost. It was an all too obvious what his friends would decide in favour of.

"Well, well! Who would have thought! Geralt of Rivia, bane of monsters, learned to run a bloody fine winery!" - Zoltan nodded in admiration after the first tasting.

"What can I say? I was lucky to hire some professional staff." - Geralt leaned back on his armchair, stretching his legs under the table. - "Still, the end result surprised me too. Ciri carried a few bottles off herself last time she visited."

Lambert finished downing his shot. - "Cirilla, hm? You're spoiling her, I tell you. First, a masterwork silver sword, then you let her borrow one of your steel ones... Vesemir made us sweat blood and tears to earn our own back in the day."

"I am not Vesemir to make her run the drills 'till she drops wheezing, and she's not quite the same class as us." - Geralt stated. - "Rest assured, I'm expecting the steel sword back. Told her she's got to earn money for her own with proper work. Have to keep her motivated somehow."

"Telling a wee lass to slay monsters for a piece of coal-enriched iron? Responsible parenting at its finest!" - Zoltan grinned mockingly, albeit he was fully aware that there was absolutely nothing that posed much of a threat to Ciri. - "Where is the dearie these days, anyhow?"

"Last we spoke was in Touissant. She said she'd be up here in the north for a while, maybe go to Novigrad to visit some friends. Haven't kept tabs on her, but you both know she's all grown up. She can look out for herself." - Geralt answered, before looking to Lambert. - "What about you and Keira Metz, Lambert? I never took you for the type to be interested in Dandelion's favourite city."

"Rest assured, I am not." - Lambert shrugged as he poured another swig. - "We're just passing through. I heard monsters were moving in to the east in a few spots, and Keira is interested in some plants which grow in the region. Being a village witch seems to have rubbed off on her somewhat." - he smirked. - "Oh right, and just the day before yesterday, she got this message on her megascope from Triss. She wanted to speak with her in private or something. Thought it was odd, but I said fine by me! My man-parts could use a rest."

All too suddenly, Geralt began sobering up. - "Wait. Triss messaged her? We met her with Yennefer just previous day. She also wanted to chat face to face with her. And you say Keira is involved too?"

There was a bout of silence in the room. Lambert furrowed his eyebrows. - "You think... they are doing that Lodge business again?"

"Possible." - Geralt emphasised his agreement with a firm nod. - "Or even if not, I think it could be something serious. Triss at the very least seemed somewhat out of her element. She acted all cheerful as usual, but her body language betrayed her. It was like... like when she agreed to enter the witch hunters' captivity as a ruse. That sort of unconscious, barely visible, but still sensible quivering and uncertainty. That's the impression I got."

"But the witch hunts are over!" - Zoltan raised his hands up vehemently. - "Caleb fucking Menge and flaccid cock-sucking Radovid are busy rotting six feet under, you've seen to that!"

"Sssh, not that loud, you crazy dwarf!" - Lambert warned Zoltan. - "Remember where we are. This is still Redenia."

Zoltan hushed immediately, muttering some barely audible apologies. Geralt was sinking into his thoughts. - "Say... either of you heard anything peculiar here in Oxenfurt? Something related to mages? Lodge members in particular?"

The two friends got thinking. Zoltan sounded up first. - "Nay, not a thing. But you know, maybe we're blowing things out of proportion. I'm betting half my beard the three of them are just debating new exciting ways they will be humping the two of you next."

Lambert snickered at the notion of that. - "Heh, wouldn't be surprised. But honestly, hearing anything of the sorceresses? Nah, can't say I did. Keira isn't keen on the whole Lodge thing anymore. Caught her chatting on megascope with Margarita and Fringilla every now and then, but only casual stuff. Or at least not politics." - he kept a brief pause before continuing: - "Biggest news I've heard in Oxenfurt is that a village near Aeramas' Manor was attacked."

"Whose manor?" - Geralt inquired, confused.

"Aeramas' Manor." - Lamber repeated. - "Habitat to some cheese-addled wizard? Where you got that smelling junk of a blade?"

"Ahh." - Geralt remembered. - "That place. So, who were the attackers?"

"Attacker." - Zoltan said instead of the other witcher. - "As in, a single person. I heard the news, too, from that Viscont kid. His family has a hand in the woodcutter business there, and he overheard some things they discussed with his old man. From what I was told, the deed was done by a witcher."

Geralt raised an eyebrow inquisitively. - "A witcher? Someone of the Cat school, perhaps? Some members might still be on the prowl."

"That's what I'm thinking too." - Lambert said. - "But things are a bit weirder than that. One version I got word of involved two witchers - as in, the villagers hired one for a contract. The other came to the village later that day, and wanted to hurt the one who took the contract first. Maybe some personal grudge, I don't know. Some of the peasants told him off - as in, threatened to throw him out. He didn't take kindly to it, hence the bloodbath."

"So what of the first witcher?" - Geralt asked. - "Did he make it out?"

Lambert shook his head. - "No confirmation on it. But at least, there weren't that many casualties. About a score or so men, including an academy student, and three adult women. Each had weapons on them - knives, pitchforks, clubs, hatchets, rolling pins... the rest of the inhabitants got away safely."

"So whoever did it is indeed pretty skilled. Worked with a steady hand. But wasn't entirely out of his mind. Someone professional." - Geralt summed it up. - "Disturbing, and, if witcher business, is something we should look into. But that's no reason for Yen, Triss and Keira to be concerned, is it?"

The three of them were in agreement: no, it is not indeed.

That is, until someone uninvited came knocking. The three of them exchanged meaningful glances. Zoltan reached for his axe, which he almost always carried with himself nowadays; Lambert got a grip on his sheathed sword, and slipped to the window, checking the view with his cat-like eyes for potential perpetrators. Geralt himself took off his steel sword that he hanged on the wall, and approached the door. - "Who is it?"

"Oxenfurt courier service!" - came the swift reply in a high pitched, but decidedly masculine tone. - "I am to deliver express mail to Geralt of Rivia! I understand he's renting a room here?"

Geralt looked to his companions. Lambert signalled him that there was no danger on the outside as far as he could tell. Geralt lowered his sword a bit. - "Your information is correct, but, um... I'm sick and might be infectuous. Just slide the letter and whatever you need signed underneath the doorframe."

"Aye, as you wish it, sir! You are enlightened to be so medically conscious!" - the heartfelt compliment was soon followed by two pergamen parchments, one stamped with Oxenfurt's town emblem - the certificate that the document was passed on to the right person - and the other bore a more forebowing seal: that of the Church of the Eternal Fire. Geralt quickly filled out the certificate and passed it back, along with a couple of silver coins to tip the vocally effeminate courier, who departed with a multitude of gratious pleasantries. He picked up the letter to examine it, only for a couple of items to fall out of it.

Zoltan came to scrape them up the floor. - "You've dropped somethin- ...wait a bloody moment." - his eyes widened in shock. He was holding up a textile eyefold and a couple of owl feathers, which the two witchers found immediately familiar.

"Those are from Philippa!" - Lambert exclaimed, before turning to Geralt. - "Quick, what does that damn letter say?!"

Geralt read feverishly. He was expecting nothing good, but what was written upon that sheet of tanned animal skin was something right out of his nightmares. - "This letter is for me, specifically, to meet someone anonymus at the Hanged Men's Tree... and they..." - he paused, re-reading what he saw because he did not want it to be true. - "They have taken Ciri."

Deafening silence descended. Lambert was the first to break it after half a minute that seemed uncomfortably long. - "That's absurd! Capturing Ciri? If the Wild Hunt couldn't do it, nobody can! Impossible! Geralt, this is a setup to catch you, nothing else!" - he tried making sense of the situation.

"If that is so, how did the writer of this letter knew about Ciri?" - he posed the question rhetorically. - "Everyone beside the few of us believes her dead and gone, her father included. The Redenians weren't ever looking for her in the first place. And now, here's this parchment with a witch hunter seal on it to boot!"

"Witch hunters?" - Zoltan rubbed his beard. - "As in, the bastards out for mages, right? But then, this means... they got their hands on Philippa Eilhart of all people! Maybe even other Lodge members through her, too!" - he theorized.

"None of whom were defenseless damsels, as we all well know." - Geralt added. - "If they could track down her, and found a way to neutralize her magic... Philippa was always keenly interested in Ciri." - he walked in a circle around the room, linking one thought to the next as he paced about. - "It stands to reason she would be skeptical of her disappearence. Maybe she was looking for her, tracing her movement. And by extension, they found Ciri, who was up here in the north, taking contracts, and..."

Geralt's face went so pale as the realization sunk in, that his veins were bulging against his skin, as if toxic with potions without having taken any. - "The two witchers near the manor... that was no coincidence. The first could very well had been Ciri, while the second witcher must have been someone affiliated with the church, and got Ciri off-guard. That bastard got her." - he wrenched the letter between his clenched fists.

"So what are we waiting for?!" - Zoltan grabbed his axe enthusiastically. - "I got the solution right here!"

"Shouldn't we tell Keira and the others about this?" - Lambert brought up the touchy subject.

Geralt thought the idea over, but shook his head in the end. - "No. Yen, Triss and Keira broke contact with Philippa, therefore she couldn't share information about them. If the witch hunters found some new way to neutralize magic users, the best thing we can do is keep them out of this. Additionally, Oxenfurt is now officially open to mage visitors again, including imperial ones. That includes Yen, given her former ties with Emreis. There will be a diplomatic uphaeval if the witch hunters would start a mess here while the church is debating with Nilfgaard. Yen and the others will stay safest if we don't involve them and they remain inside the city." - such was his reasoning.

"And how do you plan to accomplish that?" - Lambert asked, folding his arms.

"I'll figure something out." - Geralt dismissed the issue momentarily. - "In the meantime, the writer didn't explicitly state I should come alone. So... let's get dangerous."

With that said, Zoltan went to his place to fetch his gambeson, and then to the blacksmith to buy a few... accessories, one could say. Lambert also set out to collect his belongings. Geralt pulled a heavy, locked crate from underneath the bed, containing his own gear. Soon, he was strapped in his Wolf school armor, two swords on back, belt and pouches laden with potions and bombs, plus the letter stuffed away in a pocket, his mind focusing on the task at hand. It didn't matter who caused this turn of events; someone out for vengeance for Radovid or Dijkstra, someone from Nilfgaard masquarading in Redenian colours, or even Gaunter O'fucking'Dimm himself, they will pay in blood.

When all was done, he was ready to storm out of the room in full combat regalia, only to awkwardly turn back for a minute. He got out pergamen and ink, writing a brief note for Yennefer, then left the room, locking it, and leaving the key with the barkeep.

The note's content?

"Met Zoltan and Lambert. The three of us will be hanging around town. Also, Lambert and I took a contract. Expect me to come back very late. Please keep Triss company in the meantime. Thanks. Love you: Geralt."