II
...
To Annalise's surprise, the Nilfgaardian camp was still quite awake. Soldiers drank heavily and sang without any sense of tune at their unit's campfires. Occasionally she caught the scent of cannabis or tobacco on the air and found men lounging and laughing raucously at something that probably wasn't very funny to anyone sober. Lieutenant var Hess gave the occasional nod to sergeants, who raised their cups in salute. More than a few of them stared openly at her as she passed. Of those, some whistled and called out to her, calling her "Red" or some other overly familiar nickname. She didn't care. Hadn't in a long time. She was, after all, an oddity, and a woman at that, and should not be surprised to be treated as such. An icy stare usually stopped such nonsense anyway.
The two eventually got to the back of the camp, where a large officer's tent waited for them. The lieutenant opened the flap and motioned for her to go in. Inside was fairly well furnished, with a sturdy oak table with chairs, a liquor cabinet, and a bed that looked far more comfortable than the bedroll she'd been neglecting for the past few days. She looked him up and down and considered briefly whether she should take him to that bed just so she could have a decent night's rest. He was tall and grizzled-looking, with thinning black hair and a drooping mustache. He wasn't ugly by any means, but the silver locket on his neck made her reconsider.
The lieutenant entered after her and went for the liquor cabinet, grabbing two mugs and a bottle of Evreluce. "I hope you don't mind the mugs, mistress witcher. Glass has a tendency to break on long campaigns like this one," he said in accented Common. He set the mugs on opposite sides of the table and filled them, motioning for her to sit. She obliged. "I don't mind, sir," she said aloud. I would drink potato vodka out of a shoe if it meant getting drunk right now, she thought.
"Forgive me if this seems rude," Lieutenant Eiric said, "But I would prefer we get straight to business. If this keeps happening, Command will be up my arse and I can't have that."
She took a sip of the Evreluce and made a face. Evreluce was a very sweet wine and she preferred her wine dry and slightly bitter. "If what keeps happening?"
"Ever since we made camp here, patrols have been going missing out to the northeast. Every time I send someone to investigate, they don't come back. I've had to stop all patrols in that direction."
Anna leaned forward, thinking. "Not toward the battlefield, so it's not necrophages. Northeast is deeper into the forest, right?"
"Correct."
She ran through her mental catalogue of forest creatures with the ability to kill trained soldiers and found she had difficulty in doing so. Henri would usually handle that kind of thing. Shit. Unwelcomed memories came flooding into her mind. Memories of studying with him for hours on end, him teaching her how to taste wine, gazing into those intense blue eyes of his, his chestnut hair entangled in her fingers. She must have been pondering them for a while, because Eiric cleared his throat and brought her back into focus.
"Well?" He asked.
"Well what?"
He rolled his eyes, "Will you take the job?"
"Oh. Yes, of course. I will get started immediately."
He raised an eyebrow. "Immediately? Gods above, woman, it's past midnight!"
"I know. I just want to find a fresh trail when I get there," she lied, "Besides, I'm sure you want this done as soon as possible."
"I do, but-"
"Let's talk price."
The lieutenant shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He looked concerned. "Are you sure, mistress? You look exhausted. I'm sure we have a spare tent-"
"Three hundred and fifty florens and a letter of safe conduct."
Eiric pressed his lips into a thin line. A long, awkward moment passed before he leaned back into his chair and said, "Done."
"Excellent." She raised her hand so he could shake it. He did so, gingerly. She then rose to go find her horse.
"Wait!" The lieutenant said, "What is your name, mistress?"
"Why do you need to know?"
"So we know what to put on your burial marker if we find you out there."
She hesitated, said, "Annalise of Kovir," and left the tent.
She went to the stables and found her stallion, a handsome white beast named Enid, greedily munching on a pile of hay. When she went for the saddle, Enid knickered and stamped a hoof. She felt a pang of guilt. "I know, boy. I'm tired too. A few more days and I'll get you a nice stable and some apples. For now though-" she saddled Enid and patted him affectionately on the neck, "Let's do one more job."
She mounted Enid and rode out of the camp onto the northeastern road. It was still dark, of course, but now she felt an obligation to pay attention to the underbrush. She dilated her eyes and scanned the shadowy places where horrible things might hide. Her ears pricked at every sound and her nose followed every scent, no matter how insignificant. After fifteen minutes or so of riding, she came across what was left of a patrol. She dismounted, analyzing the scene.
The first thing she noticed were the arrows sticking out of most of the bodies. She considered for a moment whether she'd taken a wrong turn and ended up back at the battlefield. The lack of bodies wearing Cintrian colors told her she was wrong. The bodies were still in a semblance of a patrol formation, so they were taken by surprise. She drank her vial of Cat for good measure before looking into the forest again. Nothing outside of the ordinary squirrels and foxes caught her attention. No, what killed these men was not a monster, or at least intelligent enough to fletch arrows. Somehow, that made her even more nervous.
She mounted her horse and kept moving on the road. Eventually, after having drawn her sword on a badger at least twice, she came across a second patrol. These had died more recently, but were in worse shape. Some of them had been torn completely in half, while others were gored with claws big as kitchen knives. Some even seemed half-eaten. Breastplates, swords, and spears lay scattered and broken like children's toys. This was the work of a beast, and a rather large one at that. A small fiend or large chort, no doubt about it. Annalise was just about to look for tracks when she felt a sting at her neck. She reached for it, but found only the terrible, smothering embrace of unconsciousness.