Chapter 2

They had been on the road for about an hour when they encountered the next troop of Kaedweni soldiers.

There were only half a dozen lightly armed men. The entire fight was over in about half a minute, posing not much of a challenge to Geralt and Vernon, who had discovered the enemy first and had been able to ambush them.

Vernon was about to put away his sword when his friend held up a hand and stood still, listening intently.

"Be careful, there's an archer hiding in the trees."

Roche froze in mid-movement, straining his ears. Once again he found himself wondering about Geralt's inhumanly sharp sense of hearing. But then again, the Witcher was not exactly human to begin with.

Vernon scanned the area around them carefully, hoping to find the archer before his arrow would find him. The forest was thick hereabout, keeping a lot of the sun's warming rays out and dipping everything in a dim, greenish light. The air smelled of damp soil and fir needles and moss.

He could not detect anything out of the ordinary. Well, except maybe for the six dead bodies on the forest floor.

Suddenly something thumped to the ground behind them, making the commander spin around wildly and raising his sword in alarm. It turned out to be the right decision.

In front of him stood - bow and arrow in hand and aimed at Vernon's chest - none other than Iorveth, leader of the squirrels. Luckily, Vernon had reacted fast enough and was now pressing the blade of his sword against the elf's throat, drawing a thin line of blood.

Iorveth looked horrible (even for a non-human, Roche added in his mind). His face had become sunken and strained, making him look even more serious and cold then before. Of course he had lost the hereditary beauty of his race long ago when someone had taken his eye and scarred his face, but now it was hard to believe that he had ever been handsome. His clothes were torn and singed on the hems and there was dried blood and earth on his skin.

The two men glared at each other with hate-filled expressions, neither of them willing to back down. Roche tensed, grinding his teeth while trying to restrain himself from cutting the elf's throat here and now.

"Well, well. Look who crawled out of his rathole.", he snarled.

Iorveth looked at him with hatred burning in his eyes.

"We meet again, Vernon Roche." He spat out his name like a tough piece of meat stuck in your teeth after chewing. It pissed Vernon off quite a lot.

"What a pity you didn't die at Vergen. And there I'd hoped the Kaedwenis had gotten rid of you for good."

"Sorry to disappoint, commander.", Iorveth said acidly. A nerve twitched just below his good eye. "I chose not to get slaughtered by one of those birdbrained, whore-ploughing drunkards your kind seems to like relying on so badly."

Vernon could feel hot anger boiling inside of him, starting to take over control.

"Oh shut up! You non-humans have no loyalty! Where's your squad of highly trained battle-elves, naming themselves after the most dangerous of creatures living in the forest, huh? Did you leave them behind at Vergen and ran, like the little bitch you are?"

Suddenly something changed. An expression of pure rage swept over Iorveth's features, robbing him of the last trace of humanity left on his disfigured face. His eye opened wide, his lips pulled back showing his bared teeth, and a low growl of fury escaped his throat.

Vernon flinched slightly against his will. He had never seen the elf like this. But just a second later, after he had come over the shock, it just pissed him off even more. He could feel the hand holding his sword shaking violently in anticipation, could hear a snarl of his own rising up from inside his chest.

"I've defeated you once, and I can do it again.", he spat.

"You won't be as lucky as last time, Vernon Roche." Iorveth's voice was not more than a whisper, sounding nothing like his normal voice.

"That's enough, filthy elf! Say your prayers!"

Vernon could see his opposite's bow stretching, ready to shoot and bore the arrow into his flesh.

He did not mind. For all he cared the two of them could kill each other right here and now. At least then he would be free of his guilt and his suffering. And he would have died in battle - a privilege that had been denied to his comrades.

What a great end to the story, he thought. The great Temerian war hero Vernon Roche, commander of the Blue Stripes (and also the only survivor), lost his life in a deadly duel with the wanted non-human criminal Iorveth. Not bad, yes.

And so he put all his strength into his sword arm, feeling the adrenaline pumping through his veins, aiming for the kill. He did not fear death.

But suddenly he stopped. No, he was stopped.

A strong hand gripped his wrist and prevented his blade from cutting off Iorveth's head. Irritated, Vernon looked at the person restraining him. Geralt stared back, his eyes gleaming dangerously. Now Roche saw that the Witcher's other hand had grabbed Iorveth's weapon and that the elf was glaring at him as well. He was about to open his mouth to protest, but Geralt spoke first.

"Okay, enough. Stop this nonsense! Could you perhaps lay down your lover's spat for a while and concentrate on the matter at hand? I don't want to spoil your fun, but there's a group of soldiers coming our way."

"Lover's-", Vernon began, rounding upon Geralt, but Iorveth suddenly interrupted them.

"As much as I'd like to rip out your throat right now and feed it to the Arachas - the Witcher has a point."

"Thank you.", Geralt said to Iorveth. Then he turned back to the commander, who looked angry and not at all convinced. "Come on, Vernon. I'm not saying you have to work together. Just try not to kill him for about 10 minutes, until we've sorted this out, okay?"

"I'm going to regret this.", Vernon murmured, but he obeyed.

Geralt let go of them, ignoring Roche's suspicious glances and Iorveth's piercing stare while drawing his sword and preparing for the fight to come.

Vernon did not know what to think. He had escaped death, just to find himself fighting side by side with his worst enemy? Well, that didn't go as planned. But still... A small, selfish part deep inside of him was glad he was still alive. Vernon despised that tiny part of him, but it was there nontheless.

Keeping a wary eye on Iorveth, he positioned himself carefully, listening into the forest. There was a faint noise somewhere behind the green, lush trees; the familiar clinking of steel armor and the thumping of heavy boots on the muddy ground.

"There are too many.", Geralt said suddenly from his right. "If they surround us, this is going to become a real pain in the ass. We should get out of here for now."

Before Vernon could protest, the Witcher sheathed his weapon and turned away from him. Iorveth sighed, strapped his bow to his back and followed, his expression grim, but not nearly as horrifying as before.

Roche watched the two of them disappear into the forest at a fast pace and frowned, wondering how the hell it turned out to be like this.

Sure, he despised Iorveth, but the Witcher was his best chance to get to Loc Muinne, where he would finally be able to get his revenge. If he killed the elf now, Geralt would probably not forgive him. Besides, Vernon had to admit Geralt had indeed had a point: Iorveth was a talented fighter, as he had witnessed himself.

And at the moment there was a whole Nation hot on their heels, thirsting for the blood of Henselt's murderer. Vernon was used to making enemies, having always had more foes than friends in his life. But in this time of war and chaos, of pain and loss and guilt and hate and death, he was probably better off not being alone, even when one of his companions was a ruthless, backstabbing, non-human terrorist.

Oh well. He would just go along with Geralt's plans. What other choice did he have anyways? There was still enough time to kill Iorveth after they had kicked some Kaedweni ass. But if that elf made one suspicious move... Vernon would not hesitate for a second to cut his head off, and this time for good.