Chapter 4
The next day they decamped at dawn.
Vernon was tired, hungry and in a very bad mood. He looked accordingly, which was probably why Geralt and Iorveth refrained from bothering him and kept their distance. They exchanged an occasional word or two, but apart from that there was not much talking. The atmosphere between the three silent travelers was icy.
Roche, much like the others, was occupied with his own thoughts. Yesterday's conversation kept popping up in his mind every once in a while, no matter how hard he tried to keep it out of there.
Over night the feelings had slowly returned to him, like little droplets of water trickling from the tap into a bowl, filling it up until it's full. And the more liquid there was in the bowl, the more the falling drops rippled the surface. Some time before dawn, maybe around four in the morning, the bowl had finally run over. As a consequence, Vernon had mutilated a tree beyond recognition and cut down most of the bushes around him in blind rage. When he came to, he had been standing in the midst of this chaos, his body trembling and aching all over. With the last of his strength he had sat down on the hard ground with his back against a tree and fallen asleep at once.
Now he merely felt numb, both physically and emotionally.
One more hour for himself, he resolved, and then he would be his old self again. He could not allow himself to mope around for any longer.
"Pull yourself together, you washout.", Vernon told himself again. "You're a soldier, not some whiny, weak coward."
If only it were so easy. He squared his shoulders, still feeling yesterday's fights (both with humans and plants) in his bones.
"Maybe I'm getting old", he thought. Or maybe it had just been the tree he had involuntarily cuddled with tonight. Talk about sleeping like a log.
Oh the Gods, there was definitely something wrong with him.
Some minutes later another question that had bothered Vernon for some time now crept up in his mind: Why exactly was Iorveth here? He decided that wrestling with the problem on his own would not solve it, so he fell in beside Geralt - who brung up the rear of their little group - and said:
"We should kill him."
"Well that was subtle.", Geralt deadpanned. "Even for you. Why the sudden change of mind?"
"No need to be sarcastic."
"You're a fine one to talk."
"Oh shut up. What I'm saying is - he's dangerous. And the longer I have to put up with him, the more I fail to understand his reason for accompanying us."
"You think he has some kind of plan?"
"Elves always have some kind of evil plan, Geralt.", Vernon sneered. "It's just what they do."
Geralt obviously was not keen on discussing his view on non-humans with the commander, so he returned the subject to Iorveth's possible motivation.
"Maybe he felt lonely."
"Don't make me laugh."
"You want to hear my opinion or not? I think he's not that different from you. His men got killed by Henselt's army. He's the only one left, and now he's out for revenge. Sound familiar?"
Vernon shot him a sharp look. "Well, then he can shove this revenge up his elven arse. Dethmold's mine."
"Oh, you can have him."
Vernon and Geralt stopped dead in their tracks. Iorveth had turned around and was adressing them with a half amused, half disgusted look on his face.
"I can hear you, you know."
"Damn your ploughing elf-ears.", Vernon muttered.
"I don't plan on taking revenge on this sorcerer of yours. I'm just looking for someone I lost along the way.", Iorveth continued, ignoring Roche. "Revenge is pathetic. It only leads to more bloodshed. Unfortunately for you, that's what the foolish D'hoine love most, and with revenge, you ensure that the fighting never stops. You killed Henselt, are you happy now? Revenge is not just. It merely makes the one seeking it feel better along the way, and in the end it only gives him more despair."
Vernon snorted contemptously. "They say the journey is the reward. I say shut your dirty mouth and mind your own business."
The attack came around noon, catching the group by surprise this time.
Geralt (and Iorveth, much to Vernon's dismay) did hear the soldiers approaching, but before all of them had drawn their weapons they were already surrounded. Roche cursed, while Iorveth just grimaced at the sight of all the enemies and Geralt did not show any sign of emotion whatsoever.
There were about twenty men in total, all of them carrying swords or axes or clubs and wearing suits of heavy, gleaming metal armor. Something seemed off, however. Vernon could see the Kaedweni colours on the soldier's trousers and helmets - one of them even had a small banner on his spear - but there was something different about this particular squad. It seemed oddly familiar to him...
Then, as the leader of the troop stepped forward, Vernon suddenly understood who he was facing. The Witcher let out a low whistle of surprise, shifting his weight slightly to the right.
"I don't know why, but you seem to attract people acquainted to us like an oil lamp attracts moths in the evening.", Vernon noted drily.
"Must be my incredibly irresistable charm.", Geralt deadpanned. "I thought you wanted to get as far away from here as possible?", he then asked the man standing before them.
Adam Pangratt, former leader of the sly cats, recent commander of the mercenaries' group and current deserter from the Kaedweni army, did not look happy at all with his situation. Neither did the other mercenaries, for that matter.
"I did.", he confirmed uncomfortably, "but something, or rather someone, has interfered with that plan. It pains me more than you can imagine to face you here in battle again, after you have spared me in our previous encounter, Witcher Geralt."
"Then tell us why you are here, Pangratt.", Vernon said, somewhat annoyed.
"As you know, Henselt is dead."
"We are... aware, yes."
"Dethmold the Sorcerer is now completely out of his mind with paranoia. Got himself holed up in some tower in Loc Muinne, probably never wanting to take a step out into the sun ever again. He's, let's say, very concerned with his safety-"
"Get to the point, will you?", Vernon snapped.
"He offered me more money than I have ever earned in my entire life as a fighter for stopping you two from getting to the city. He did not mention the elf, though." Pangratt gestured toward Iorveth, who was following the conversation with only dampened enthusiasm.
"I almost killed you last time. What makes you think you can win now?", Geralt asked with a perfectly level voice.
"I don't think I can win against you. But I don't have a choice. I'm in desperate need of money. You see, my wife-"
"No need to elaborate.", Iorveth interrupted. "Can we get this over with? I'm getting tired of all the people with weapons staring at us like hungry vultures."
Adam sighed regretfully. "Nothing personal, Witcher." He raised his huge broadsword and took a step towards him. Geralt shrugged.
"No offense taken. You're just doing your job. Again. But don't hold it against me when I kill you this time."
Roche rolled his eyes at the Witcher's infuriatingly nonchalant attitude. Then he positioned himself, grabbing the hilt of his sword firmly and grinning inwardly in anticipation of the upcoming brawl. He felt in desperate need of some physical exercise.
Then suddenly he realised how bloodthirsty he had become. He wanted to slash, pierce, kill - see Kaedweni blood. No, actually, it did not matter whom he fought, as long as he could use his sword...
Heavens, what had happened to him? He was a monster... Vernon's stomach turned as he remembered king Henselt with the dagger in his chest, sprawled on the floor with his arms stretched to both sides and the satisfaction he had felt at that moment. He recalled the soldiers he had killed after the destruction of their ship-
He shook his head violently to stop the flow of images flashing before his eyes, earning himself a slightly confused look from Geralt. This was not the time to feel sorry for the many, many people he had killed in his life as a soldier. Actually, that time was never. Vernon was not someone who dwelled on the past or cried over spilt milk. Usually.
Fortunately, he did not have to deal with those thoughts any longer, because at that very moment Adam Pangratt charged at Geralt and thus announced the beginning of the fight.
Two soldiers attacked Roche at once, one with a large bat, the other one with a vicious-looking axe in his hands. Vernon welcomed the rush of adrenaline flaring up inside of him and countered the first man's hit while dodging the other one's. He killed both of them in under a minute, leaving him out of breath and covered in sweat.
Vernon glanced at Geralt, who was duelling Adam while simultanously defending himself against three other attackers. He decided that the Witcher would probably be fine on his own and was about to turn back to his own fight, when he suddenly heard a noise from behind him. Unnoticed by Vernon, a scrawny mercenary had snuck up to him behind his back. Now he was charging with surprising speed, brandishing a large knife, a mad grin plastered over his face.
It was too late to block the hit. Vernon had reacted too slowly. His eyes widened slightly and his insides grew cold as he looked at his inevitable doom. Time seemed to run in slow motion as the screams and battle noises around him turned to a steady buzzing in Vernon's ears.
And then, without warning, the charging soldier stopped in mid-attack. His eyes bulged and his mouth stood ajar in an expression of almost comical surprise. He dropped the knife and made a choking, gurgling kind of noise before he staggered another step towards Vernon and then collapsed to the ground and stopped moving.
Vernon blinked, unsure of what had just happened. Then he saw the long, slender arrow that protruded from the mercenary's back just below the shoulder blade, piercing his heart. Now he understood, and was not exactly happy about it.
He shot Iorveth, who was standing to his left with his bow drawn, a look full of acid. Ire and shame surged through him and he could feel his face grow hot. With an angry snarl he turned away from the elf, ignoring the calm look on the latter's face, and occupied himself with the remaining foes.
In the meantime Geralt and Adam were still exchanging blows, but it soon became apparent that The Witcher was getting the upper hand quickly. He dodged and parried, pushing Pangratt back one step at a time. Finally, the mercenary stood with his back against a broad tree, and with a quick, strong slash Geralt disarmed him and drove him to his knees. What followed was a sudden but refreshing silence as the bluster of battle cut off abruptly. All the soldiers were on the ground, most of them injured or dead. Iorveth and Vernon stood amidst the bodies with blood-splattered weapons and clothes, looking exhausted but otherwise unharmed.
Geralt pointed the tip of his sword at Adam's throat and said, "So here we are again."
"Finish it, Witcher.", Adam wheezed, looking into the other man's eyes with a firm gaze. "I don't deserve your mercy."
"You don't. But now that you have failed Dethmold again, you can't expect him to be very friendly either. He's going to announce you a criminal, maybe a traitor, and hunt you down. You know how he is."
"Paranoid, aggressive, a lunatic?"
"Exactly. But as it turns out, everyone present seems to have a backstory of some kind with Dethmold. Why don't you join our jolly little party? The more the merrier."
"I know I'm not in the position to say this, but I'll have to decline. Revenge is not my business."
Vernon raised one eyebrow.
"Why don't we end this now?", Adam suggested.
"Alright." To everyone's surprise, Geralt sheathed his sword. "You can go. But this time I advise you to do it. Dethmold's probably not gonna be as generous as I am."
Adam pushed himself to his feet slowly. "I appreciate it. I'm in your debt, Witcher.", he said. "Oh, one last thing. Let me warn you. There are many more people after you. And one of them is the older of Dethmold's two apprentices. You should be careful."
Geralt nodded. Vernon considered making a snide remark, but decided against it. So they just watched Adam disappear into the forest, this time for good. None of the three ever spoke to him again.
For the rest of the day, Vernon kept his distance from Iorveth. He was not in the mood for the elf's gloating (or at least that was what Vernon imagined him to do), since he felt bad enough already for being saved by him.
Shortly before dusk they discovered another suitable location for their small bivouac and set up for the night. This time, Vernon did not even try to stay awake. His fatigue overcame him as soon as he settled down, pulling him downwards through a vortex of emotions and dreams into the depths of sleep.