Chapter Six

Shani had waited until a few hours after dusk before she dared to go back to the house. She had easily found all of the supplies that she needed at the market. Plus a few that she didn't, just in case. While she had shopped, she was careful to hide her face, feigning an extreme aversion to getting wet. No one seemed suspicious of it. They probably thought she was some spoiled child, sent to get medicine in the rain. Still, she was careful not to buy too much in one location. She must have gone to half a dozen merchants, which took a lot longer than was actually necessary.

With her bag filled to the brim, she cautiously strode towards the abandoned house, checking her surroundings to make sure no one was watching. Preoccupied as she was with making sure she was alone, she didn't even notice the door was open until she reached for the handle.

That's when her heart plummeted.

The door had been bashed open, swaying on its hinges. Mouth suddenly dry, she rushed inside. There were bodies everywhere. Two were right next to the door—witch hunters. Her eyes landed on the third only to realize that it was Geralt, dead on the floor.

No—not dead.

The slightest movement of his chest restored the color that had drained from her face. In two steps she was next to him, feeling for his vitals. "Geralt?" He was ice cold and there was a lot of blood collected around him. It wasn't good. She could barely feel a pulse and her touch engendered no response.

It was easy enough to find the source of his decay. The bandages were soaked through with blood radiating outward from a nasty stab wound. Shani dashed to the back room for her suture kit, knocking over a dozen other bottles and medical instruments and almost tripping over yet another dead witch hunter in her haste.

She hadn't seen Triss. That could only mean one thing. They had taken Triss and left Geralt for dead. There was nothing she could do for Triss, not yet anyway. She needed to focus her attention on Geralt right now.

The stitches were the easy part. She could have stitched someone torn in half back together again with her eyes closed. It was maneuvering Geralt to where she could get at his wound that took some effort. In the end, she just pulled his legs out further so that he was lying flat on his back, then flipped him over to treat the exit wound. She had even packed in a few ointments of her own making that would help stop the bleeding and facilitate healing. But her work wasn't done yet.

Geralt was cold, much too cold. Especially for how much blood he had lost. Gods, he was practically blue. If she didn't warm him up soon, he might never recover. The front door wouldn't stay closed on account of how damaged it was so she had to drag the armchair in front of it. It would work as a nice barricade in any case should the witch hunters decide they would return. Geralt was too heavy for Shani to carry to the bed by herself so she made him as comfortable as possible where he lay on the floor, placing a pillow under his head and throwing as many blankets and cloaks as she could over him. She lit the stove, grateful herself for the heat it emitted.

She had done all she could.

It was up to Geralt now.

In his waking dreams, Geralt was burning once more, drowning in flames. He made to scream, to run, to fight in any way he could. But as logic returned to his mind, he realized this was a different kind of heat. It was pleasant, warm. Like a cat basking in the sun, he soaked it in, relishing in its comfort. Thankful for once that he could enjoy its soft touch.

Suddenly the warmth had a sound. Gentle crackling and spitting. The smell of damp wood burning pervaded his senses.

Then that crack of pain reared its ugly head and everything came flooding back.

His eyes shot open. Cobwebbed rafters bathed in a diffused glow greeted his sight. He was weighed down by a multitude of blankets that hindered his attempts to sit up. The movement caused pain to flare across his body, not as intense as it had been the last time he had awoken, but still there. Still debilitating.

"Geralt!" Shani rose from the chair. The sight of her sitting in a chair propped in front of the door was almost comical. As if she thought that the best way to guard it. "Here, let me help you." She helped Geralt to sit and scoot backwards enough that he could lean against the wall. Geralt tried pushing himself to his feet, but Shani stopped him, placing her hands on his shoulders with enough pressure to hold him down. He was so weak. "Easy, Geralt. Let's take this one step at a time."

Panic and fear set him struggling against her. Didn't she know Triss was in danger! He couldn't just sit there and do nothing. "Shani, they took her!"

"I know—" Shani tried to say, but Geralt didn't seem to hear her.

"We have to save her! They're going to burn her at the stake!" He continued to throw himself forward, desperate to stand. Desperate to do anything. Then agony sliced across his body, doubling him over.

"Geralt, stop!" It was Shani's tone that halted Geralt in his tracks—not authority, but fear. He fought to catch his breath and met Shani's gaze, truly seeing her for the first time since his awakening. "Killing yourself won't do her any good. Besides, it's too late to go after her now. You've been out for a few days. The trail's gone cold."

Geralt ceased his struggle and sagged back to the ground, wincing as he hit the floor. Shani knelt down next to him.

"Well, then I need to get out there, find where they've taken her. You don't understand—"

"I do, Geralt. I do. Just listen to me, alright?" She paused, waiting for Geralt to argue. At Geralt's bidding, she continued, "I've contacted some friends from the academy who I thought might know where they took her. Unfortunately, no one knows where she's being held. And these are the friends who knew where Roth was holding you, so she's definitely not at that outpost. All they knew is that she is being held somewhere in the city."

"Why are you telling me this? That doesn't change anything."

"You didn't let me finish," Shani chided. "I know where she will be taken. They're transporting her to Novigrad." Reluctantly, she added, "To be burned at the stake."

Geralt's jaw clenched. He already knew what they would do with Triss if they caught her, but it was always an if. A distant fear. Now, the thought of it made him sick. "When?"

"Tomorrow night."

"They could still be doing who knows what to her until then. We can't risk waiting that long." He knew all too well the extent of Roth's hospitality.

"We don't have a choice. Look, Geralt, we both know I can't fight. And I'm not naïve enough to believe we have any other options here. You're Triss' only hope at this point and you need to recover if you want to stand any chance of saving her. Besides, I bet they are going to want Triss unmarred for her grand appearance. And there's no way they are going to kill her secretly in some dungeon. A sorceress as well-known as her? They will want to make an example of her. A very public example."

As much as he hated it, Geralt had to admit Shani was right. He would be no good to Triss right now. And the transport was undoubtedly the best chance they had at rescuing her. He just had to recover as best he could until then. But there was one thing he needed if he was going to stand even a chance at being ready by the following night.

"I need to brew some Swallow."

Shani seemed relieved at his words, that he had seen the wisdom of her argument. "I'll make it for you, just tell me how. Then you need to eat. And sleep." She looked pointedly at him. He merely let himself lean back against the wall, resting his head with half-lidded eyes, still a little breathless with pain and fatigue.

Within half an hour, Shani had brewed the potion. She had had just enough of the ingredients for one dose. Any other medic probably wouldn't have had them at all. Geralt marveled at his luck in friends. She handed him the small cup of Swallow and set down a large chunk of bread, a good amount of cheese, and a bag filled with dried meat next to them as she joined him on the floor. Geralt nodded his thanks and gulped down the potion in one long draught. It went down about as smooth as drowner blood, but he knew its abilities well and he was in desperate need of them. Grimacing with the aftertaste, he delved immediately into the food, mouth already watering. He hadn't eaten in days.

Now sated, stomach full to bursting, Geralt felt weariness settling over him once more. Shani helped him to the bed. As he stood, the extra movement stretched his wounds and a blinding flash of pain hit him. He blenched, nearly pulling Shani down with him. After a moment, the agony dissipated, leaving him groaning with the aftershocks, Shani silently bearing him onward.

How could he fight like this? He couldn't even walk on his own. Nor move without ripping himself apart. If he made one wrong move during the battle, he would be killed and, through his failure, so would Triss. Maybe even Shani if they found out she was helping him. One false step and it would all be over.

He couldn't think like that. There was nothing for it, he had to fight. It was as simple as that.

And so he would.

Geralt collapsed into the bed, enjoyably cool pillows and blankets welcoming him into their embrace. He forced back the pain long enough to enjoy that feeling of something nice. Something pleasant. If only for a moment.

"I'll mix something up to help you sleep," Shani said, turning toward the dresser along the wall.

But exhaustion had claimed Geralt before he could even reply.