Chapter 6

Adam Pangratt was dead.

They found him the next day, pinned to a tree with his own blade like a letter against a notice board. It had been hard to identify him, given that the complete left half of his face had been burnt off. His body was swarming with flies, and a dark puddle of blood had formed at his feet.

Oh, this is just great, Vernon thought. Another thing that's going to haunt me in my dreams.

He stood aside from the others, leaning against a rock with his arms crossed and watching Iorveth and Geralt grimly as they examined the corpse.

Finally, Iorveth straightened and took a step away from Adam's dead body. "He didn't seem like a bad man.", he said.

Geralt wiped his hands on his trousers and turned away. "Yeah. Most people with his profession turn into cruel, thoughtless killing machines eventually. Either that, or they become numb and cynical. He was neither. I guess in the end he just worked for the wrong people."

"Dethmold's apprentice? The one he told us about?", Vernon interjected.

"Most likely. His torso is burnt down to the bones. This is definitely the work of a sorcerer."

Too much information. "The bastard. It's about time someone cut him down to size. And I mean literally."

Geralt just nodded absent-mindedly. "We shouldn't angle for a confrontation, though. Our main goal is to get to Loc Muinne as fast as possible."

Vernon shrugged. "Yeah, right. I still hope we run into him on accident, so I can smash his head in."

They spent the rest of the morning walking silently. Vernon's mood had worsened since yesterday, but if due to the nightmares or Adam's death he did not know. Also, the nightly conversation was still coursing through his mind.

Suddenly a noise from somewhere ahead made the group stop dead in their tracks. It was a quiet moan that was only barely audible in the silence that followed their sudden halt. Vernon and Geralt exchanged an alarmed look. Iorveth pulled out his bow.

"Who's there?", Vernon shouted, his sword halfway drawn. Another groan.

"H-help..."

His heart beat faster as he remembered his dream, the dead, Ves calling for help...

"Show yourself!", he bellowed, his voice a bit more harsh than he had intended.

Geralt held up a hand to silence him and moved slowly around the large tree from behind which the voice was coming. Iorveth and Vernon followed carefully.

On the moist forest floor behind the tree sat a woman, smeared with dirt and desperately clutching a bloody knife to her chest. She looked flustered and scared. Strewn around her were several corpses of Nekkers. As they approached, the woman started and raised the weapon again with shaking hands.

"D- Don't come-"

"Calm down, Miss. What happened here?" Geralt asked.

"Th-the monsters, they just... Oh god, I... They just appeared out of thin air, it was so f-fast I couldn't..." She spluttered hysterically. "I- I didn't even see them coming!"

"Okay, it's fine now, just drop the knife-"

"Witcher.", Iorveth suddenly interrupted, his voice very calm and quiet. "The Nekkers."

Vernon looked away from the woman and stared at the monster's corpse Iorveth was pointing at, confused.

"What is i- Oh."

With a pang, Vernon suddenly realized what Iorveth was getting at. He and Geralt noticed at the same time.

The corpse did not show any signs of stab wounds. Instead, there were definite burn marks on it's arms and legs. As he turned his eyes back to the woman, she was no longer cowering in fear, but grinning madly at him.

"Oops!", she said in mock surprise. "You got me!"

And suddenly, without any warning, she raised her hands and the next second Vernon was flying through the air, blasted off his feet by an invisible force. He did not even have the time to open his mouth to cry out. Everything became blurry, rushing past him at impossible speed. The moment stretched and stretched until Vernon almost begged it to stop. Then he hit the ground hard.

On impact the air was knocked out of his lungs, leaving him choking and gasping for oxygen. A second later the pain set in and would probably have made him hiss in agony had there been any air left in his body to make a sound. His vision clouded over and the rushing of his own blood filled his ears.

While Vernon was writhing on the ground in pain, completely blind and deaf to what was going on around him, hell broke lose. Countless soldiers emerged from the bushes, charging at Geralt and Iorveth. The sorceress had gotten to her feet and was duelling the Witcher with spells, filling the air with sparks, flames and crackling bolts of electricity. And to top it off, all the commotion soon attracted another group of Nekkers that joined the fray happily and with bared teeth.

After a minute of seemingly endless anguish, Vernon finally managed to roll over and catch a few shuddering, achy breaths. His vision had cleared slightly, and the previously excruciating pain in his back had now reduced to a steady, sharp throb. He grimaced as he tried to turn his head and look around. Though he still felt dizzy, he could at least make out Geralt and Iorveth in the distance, fighting like lions against both beasts and men in the midst of the chaos.

It took another minute or so for him to completely understand what was going on, and another to gather the strength to try and get up. Of course he had only been lucky until that moment. The other people had probably thought him dead, but now that he was moving, he had made himself a target again. As Vernon was just in the middle of trying to prop himself up on his elbows, a Kaedweni soldier in a dirt-streaked leather armor decided to attack him.

His heavy axe swung mercilessly down on Vernon, just narrowly missing his head by an inch. The injured commander rolled away ungracefully, the pain in his back flaring up again. He clenched his teeth and fought back a shout rising up in his throat. While his attacker was busy pulling the axe out of the ground, Vernon managed to push himself to his knees.

Then the soldier tried again, this time more successfully. As Vernon desperately tried to dodge the wild swing with the weapon, the blade scraped his shoulder. Hot pain shot up his arm, throwing him off balance.

Focus!, he shouted at himself in his head, unwilling to give up. Vernon gripped the hilt of his sword that was strapped to his waist and struggled to get it out of the sheath with trembling hands. Come on, come on...

His head snapped up as the soldier charged at him with a strange sort of battle cry. Vernon let out the shaky breath he had been holding and then forced himself to stand up, ignoring the horrible pain it caused him. With a flourish he pulled his sword, and then, with the familiar and self-acting accurateness, he slipped the blade through the hole in his opponent's defense and impaled him. The soldier gasped, coughed up some blood which splattered all over Vernon's hands and then collapsed to the ground.

Vernon breathed heavily. He could not even stand properly, but he had still killed this man as if he'd just cut a slice of bread. Geralt had been right; he had turned into a cold-blooded killing machine. But he supposed he had known that for a long time. No point in regretting anything right now.

Pressing a hand to his aching side, he fought the vertigo that suddenly gripped him, until it felt relatively save to move again.

"Alright, here we go." He muttered through clenched teeth, his jaw set.

He started running towards the fight that was going on around Geralt, Iorveth and the sorceress, his sword slashing and cutting mercilessly. Four Nekkers and two men fell by the commander's hand until he had reached the main site of the battle. By the time he got there he was bathed in sweat and panting. He could feel the warm blood trickling down his arm from the cut in his shoulder, but he did not care.

He charged madly at the sorceress who had her back turned to him. Vernon was pissed, he was furious, he wanted to slit her open from top to bottom and watch her entrails spill to the ground.

Geralt and Iorveth, who were still battling the last surviving soldiers and Nekkers, looked at him in surprise as he sprinted past. He came closer and closer to the mage until, just before he reached her, she spun around and looked directly at him. Again she raised her hands, but this time Vernon was prepared. As the ball of fire materialized in the air in front of him, he dove to the side. His battered body screamed in protest. He rolled off his shoulder and jumped to his feet again in one fluid motion, just as he'd learned in his days at the military academy. To accomplish this without hurting his cut shoulder, however, he had to drop his sword - but it did not matter.

The sorceresses eyes widened as he stormed towards her at a breakneck pace. She did not have the time to fire another spell at him. Vernon jumped and crashed into her, pulling her to the ground with him. Again, pain so strong that it almost drove tears into his eyes hit his back. The woman screeched and tried to push him off, but his grip remained firm.

White-hot rage coursed through him. It numbed the pain as well as his thoughts. He felt his hands grab ahold of the sorceresses throat and squeeze mercilessly. She struggled and clawed at him, the life draining slowly but steadily from her body. Vernon's face was contorted into a mask of fury, his eyes wild and full of hatred. His mind was completely blank. Now he only acted on instinct.

People with his profession turn into cruel, thoughtless killing machines.

Heavens, what happened to me? I'm a monster!

Revenge only leads to more bloodshed. Unfortunately, that's what you D'hoine love the most.

Revenge is not just. In the end it only leads to despair.

Suddenly Vernon jerked backwards, pulling his hands off the woman's throat. He looked around. Saw Iorveth and Geralt, saw them staring at him, their expressions grave.

Everyone else was dead. Vernon panted, gasping for air, his mouth suddenly very dry. He gaped down at his trembling, blood-splattered hands for what seemed like an eternity. He could feel the chest of the woman pinned below him raising and falling slightly, almost impalpably.

"Vernon-", Geralt said, his voice far, far away. Roche scowled. Then he passed out, his body slipping down from the unconscious form of the sorceress and hitting the ground next to her.