Geralt hadn't done many jobs in Mahakam. Now he remembered why. Dwarves were notoriously stingy. They also loved being underground. That meant they had come across some beast in the slimiest, filthiest place imaginable. He was getting too old for this.
Sixteen dwarves had been sent to explore a new area they had broken through to. One returned. Why were they always digging up old ruins? He supposed he should be happy for a job. He was planning on just passing through Mahakam on his way back from dropping off Ciri when the notice caught his eye. Ciri was now in the hands of Yennefer. She couldn't be safer.
A slight movement caught his eye.
"Calm yourself. I'm here on the same task."
The man speaking emerged from the shadows. Cat eye slits. He was a witcher.
"Who are you?" asked Geralt. "The dwarves said nothing about hiring another witcher."
The man was tall and had flowing black hair. He wore it similar to Geralt. He wore swords on his hips, and on his back. They were smaller, not the two handed swords like Geralt used. That could mean only one thing. He dual wielded. He was an assassin from the School of the Cat.
The stranger extended his hand to Geralt. "Damien, at your service. As you appear to have deduced, I'm from the School of the Cat. I know all about our reputation. The dwarves do too. I was under the impression they wanted me to do you some harm here."
Geralt just looked at his hand. "Do you?" he asked.
"Are you kidding? You are the greatest swordsman that ever lived! I wouldn't stand a chance. I would be willing to share the coin I am to be paid if you want to take this beast on together."
"You have trouble fighting a Graveir?"
"No, I just want to see that little cunt's face when we walk in together and drop the head on his table. He badmouthed your girlfriend pretty badly. Apparently she froze his best friend, preventing him from killing a dragon."
Geralt was still suspicious. "Your eyes seem perfectly developed. I thought the School of the Cat was just a group who failed to mutate properly, but didn't die."
"In the past, yes. There were very few back then. To survive the trial of the grasses is rare enough. To survive and not completely mutate is even rarer. Your school simply kicked them out, told them to figure out where to go from there. Is it any wonder they found themselves taking on the role of hoodlums, thieves and assassins? Who else would have them?"
"So why are you taking on a witcher contract?" asked Geralt.
"Because I am a witcher. I mutated completely."
"Yet you carry the swords of an assassin. They won't be much good against a Graveir. You need a two handed sword to get through its hide and cut to the bone."
"Perhaps you are right," said Damien. "I'll tell you what. I'll give you all that I am promised. You don't have to do a thing, just sit back and watch me fight the monster. If I get in trouble, step in."
"Sarcastic and boastful," said Geralt. "Definitely a School of the Cat witcher. Lead on. I hope you don't mind if I don't want you behind my back."
"Not at all." Damien led the way further into the ruins.
"So tell me, why are you in the School of the Cat if you have full mutations?" asked Geralt.
"There has been an official school for some time."
"What?" asked Geralt, a little too loudly. "Are you saying they perform the Trial of the Grasses? Where did you get a mage to perform them? Where is this place?"
"I'm sorry, I cannot answer any of those questions. You understand."
They entered a long hallway. On one side it looked like something had actually chewed through the wall. Long strings of some slimy material hung over the opening. There was no way to avoid it. Geralt cursed under his breath.
The opening was one of many entering a large cavern. The floor was covered in broken sarcophagi. It was a long abandoned collapsed graveyard.
Damien nodded to a crude totem erected in a puddle of sludge. He pulled out both silver swords.
Geralt looked at the totem. "Shit," he said. This wasn't one Graveir, but a whole nest of them. They were in trouble.
The Graveirs came out of nowhere. They had large heads with domed crowns on either side. They were fast. Geralt was faster. He cut down one, then another. There were at least twenty of them.
A whirling dervish flew by. Damien was having no problem with them either. He lopped off one's head with his one handed sword, then one behind him with the other sword. His talent was amazing.
Another large swarm came from nowhere. Geralt used Igni to soften them up. Damien looked to be in trouble with a large number attacking him. Geralt leapt into the fray and started dispatching the Graveirs right and left. They had cut through the majority of them when Geralt felt something slam against his leg. He looked down and saw bleeding, then looked up to see the largest Graveir he had ever seen. This was the Papa of them all.
His leg felt broken. He managed to pirouette on the other leg when the huge beast took a swipe. He countered with a strike that sunk deep into its chest. The monster roared in anger and swatted Geralt aside. He felt his ribs crack as he slammed into the wall. When his head hit, he lost consciousness.
*
Geralt woke up with the sun streaming onto his face. He was in a cart. That was never a good place for a warrior. He looked down to see that his leg had been bandaged and splinted.
"About time Wolf," said Damien from the coach's seat above his head.
"Didn't finish me off and turn me in? I appreciate it."
"I was tempted, but those dwarves would have figured out you were still alive. They tried to cheat us on the reward as well. A dagger to the balls got their attention. The satchel with both rewards is lying next to you."
Geralt looked at the bag then back to his leg. "How did you get me out of there?"
"It wasn't easy. Are all witchers from the School of the Wolf so fat? Too much stew and porridge, my friend."
"Ha! Fine. Thank you for helping me out. I owe you one."
"Actually, no," said Damien. "If you hadn't come along I would have been dead stumbling into that nest. You also killed the big one. He just knocked you out before he died."
"I see. Where are we headed?"
"Temeria. I wasn't going to leave you in the hands of dwarven medicine. We will find a healer soon."
"Can you tell me anything more about the new School of the Cat?"
Damien thought for a moment. "They still train us to fight like assassins. What we do on the path is our own choice. You do have a point, these swords are useless against a rock troll or an earth elemental."
"What do you use against them?"
"Bombs. Lots of bombs."
They both laughed. Geralt felt himself starting to like this oddity from the School of the Cat. He had come across a few during his days. All the previous ones were no better than a common thug. If they had started to train legitimate witchers, that was a good thing. They needed to be taught to use a two handed sword, however. Assassinating a human was easy. Their flesh could be rendered with the one handed sword efficiently. Monsters were tough. Powerful strokes with a much heavier sword were often necessary.
Darkness suddenly came over Geralt's eyes. Ciri was in trouble. Not only was she in trouble, Yennefer had betrayed them both! Yennefer was under the Deathless Mother's spell.
"I have to get to Cintra as quickly as possible! Hurry, we have to find a mage."
"We do if you intend to stand up in Cintra," said Damien. "That leg is broken badly."
"Please, someone is in desperate trouble." Geralt pulled himself up and looked Damien in the eyes. The thought of two witchers sharing emotion through their eyes is almost laughable, but it worked.
"Hold on to something," yelled Damien as he urged the horse to a gallop.
*
The tiny village of Winter Haven had rarely seen a witcher before, let alone two together. They were ready to gather their pitchforks and axes when Damien calmed them.
"Peace, please. I have an injured man here. Have mercy. He needs a healer."
A burly, bearded man spat on the ground at Damien's feet. "He's no man," he said, "he's a wretched mutant. Be gone with you."
A soft, feminine voice spoke. "Fergus, this man is injured. I must help him. Carreas is more than a day's ride."
"Are ye daft, wench? They are mutants. They will curse us, or bring pestilence to the village."
"Take your superstition back to the tavern and think. Are they likely to curse us if we help them or if we turn them away?"
Fergus deflated. "Ye have a point."
"Good boy, now run along. You two, with me."
Geralt was lifted out of the cart and he hobbled with the assistance of Damien into the soft spoken woman's hut.
"Thank you Miss, I am Geralt of Rivia. This is Damien."
"I know who you are, White Wolf. I am Ekaterina."
With no further formality she got to work. After washing and debriding the wound on his leg, she reached in and held onto both ends of the broken tibia. A purple glow appeared. Geralt was impressed. She couldn't have been more than a common hedge wizard. They were the few who were a source but managed to overcome madness without training from the elders of Aretuza. Those who didn't overcome it turned into drooling oracles or simply killed themselves.
"Madam Ekaterina, we have one more request. We need a portal...to Cintra."
Ekaterina gave them both a sharp look. "You were headed in the wrong direction. Someone forget something there?"
"Someone is in trouble and was taken there," said Geralt. "It suddenly came over me. We supposedly share a destiny."
"And you believe that?" she asked.
"I don't know. More than I did a few years ago.
She touched his forehead with her finger then closed her eyes. She said some words under her breath.
"The Law of Surprise," she said. "Tell me, why would you take her to your home? She can't be the first girl that silly law ensnared."
"Can you make us a portal?" asked Geralt.
"Fine, keep your business to yourself. I don't operate that way. My business is your business. If you want a portal that is."
Damien sighed. "We should have taken Fergus' advice and rode to Carreas."
"Then you would have lost a day," snapped Ekaterina. "Maybe more. I can heal Geralt in a day. Those morons, two or three at best."
"Who are you?" asked Geralt.
"Not a hedge wizard, if you are thinking that. I felt the source at a young age, yes, but I didn't fight off madness alone. Look around you. You are in a deep forest at the base of the mountains. Some of the world's most ancient magic is here. I can't say what it was that taught me, but I've learned things that they don't teach at the magic schools."
"That sounds dangerous," said Geralt.
She smiled and the purple glow inside his leg grew brighter. "Oh it is," she said.
"Let's move on to business," said Damien. "What do you want?"
"It's not what I want, it's what I need, for the portal. Ancient magic doesn't use them. I had to learn them from a book."
"Wait! Have you made a portal before?" asked Geralt.
"Of course I have. I just haven't used one."
Geralt groaned. He had to do it. Ciri was in trouble.
"So, what do you need?" asked Damien.
"Specter dust. A couple of caves nearby have wraiths in them. I don't need much."
"I'm off then. Good luck Geralt. Don't die before her portal does gods know what to you."
"Thanks, friend."
*
Damien lowered himself into the cave. Its entrance was a 30 foot drop. The local farmer assured him the cave was haunted, and that this steep opening kept the specters inside.
After reaching the bottom, he wiped his blade with specter oil and took some potions. After his encounter with the Graveir nest, he was taking no chances.
The floor of the cave was hard and cracked. Another ruin, or an old mine. He followed the lone path for a long way. It eventually opened into a stunning cavern of immense size. The walls were lined with glowing lichen and moss. A small stream trickled down the middle of the cavern. Sure enough, mining equipment was nearby. He approached cautiously.
Small skeletons were everywhere. Dwarf skeletons. They had been massacred. Some were impaled on the equipment. Some had been ripped in half. A few had their own axes embedded in their skulls.
A few books were scattered throughout. Damien found one that looked like a log. He leafed through it. The last entry was covered in blood. He didn't know dwarven, but he recognized one word. "Redania"
The poor dwarves. Non-human prejudice led to this kind of violence. It kept happening again and again. He looked over the broken machinery and came across one that was probably used to pull the dwarves apart. Sick bastards.
What was Redania doing here? They must have skirted the edge of the Mahakam mountains to avoid Temerian forces. The attack seemed to be fairly recent. How did Redania even know this place existed?
The familiar shovel through gravel sound came from behind him. Specters were fast. He was faster. The wraith carried an unusual sword. He parried the blow easily and sunk both blades into its chest, reducing it to dust.
Two more came at him. He spun and killed each. They dropped to dust easily.
Too easily.
"Fuck," said Damien loudly and reached into his jacket. The wraiths he had killed were simply minions. Thralls to a much stronger creature. A Nightwraith.
He barely got the Relievers decoction down before the creature attacked. It was very powerful and fast. Its first blow shredded Damien's left arm open.
That simply pissed Damien off. He attacked savagely with both swords. His muscles and tendons were exposed and could be seen sliding back and forth in the pulp of his mutilated arm.
Nightwraiths were particularly dangerous because they could summon minions and then feed on their life force. Cutting the minions down quickly was the key to defeating their master. This was one instance where dual wielding was actually better. Damien cut down the minions as fast as they spawned.
The Nightwraith still returned with full health. Something was wrong.
The potions left Damien immune to pain, and the Reliever's decoction greatly enhanced his damage, but this bastard wasn't going down. Something else was helping it. Damien tossed a bomb, filling the room with moondust.
A Goddamn vampire! This was not going to be a good day.
He filled his veins with the toxicity of black blood. It was his last potion. He watched as the blood oozing from his arm turned black.
The Katakan and the Nightwraith attacked at once. Again he had the advantage of using two swords. He slashed the Katakan across the chest with a sword covered in flames. His other sword dove deep into the noonwraith's chest. It summoned its minions.
The minions were faster this time, or he was getting slower from the loss of blood. They managed to get hold of each arm and pin him against the wall. The Katakan moved in for the kill.
It was a desperate move. He had no choice. Pressing his hand flat against the wall he summoned a powerful Ard. He tried to point a sword forward as he was blasted forward into the Katakan.
The vampire was ready and pushed the sword aside. Opening its mouth wide, it sank its large fangs into Damien's neck. Damien let it drink, deeply.
The Katakan suddenly screamed in pain. Smoke was rising from its body, which was shriveling. Damien leapt up and converted both of his swords to flame. Making a large X, he scissored off the vampire's head.
He turned to the Nightwraith. "Now you need to die, for good," he said.
Laying traps of Yrden on the ground, he was ready for the wraith's minions. The Nightwraith returned with no lifeforce gained.
But it had one more trick up its sleeve.
It started to emit a gas. A toxic gas. Damien was helpless. He had nothing left to counter it. He got in a few deep blows before he started swinging wildly. He was fading. He was desperate.
The explosion nearly woke up the village miles away. The wraith screamed and was gutted before Damien was covered in flame. Only his witcher mutations allowed him to survive. He was burned badly. His arm was a mess.
He didn't forget to gather as much specter dust as possible before he headed for the rope to get out of this hellhole.
*
Geralt was standing and walking normally when Damien arrived.
Ekaterina gasped. "You've been burned badly!" She cried. "And your arm! Lie down immediately. This will take some time."
"Not just yet," said Damien, and held up the bag of dust.
"But-"
"Do it, please."
She snatched the bag out of his hands and started her preparation.
Geralt looked over his wounds. "Trying to show off for the young healer?"
"She is rather easy on the eyes. In a sort of earthy, chicken feet necklace sort of way."
"I heard that!" she snapped. "Say your goodbyes. It's almost ready. Damien will take weeks to heal. You can come back and see him then. Although, I kind of like him this way. It's attractive, in a charred, roasted, melted marshmallow sort of way."
"Very funny," winced Damien.
"You've completely surprised me," said Geralt. "You are a man of honor. You are always welcome to ride or share a drink with me."
"Before you go…"
"Portal's ready."
"Tell Yennefer that she is not the only one that our father sold for a few coins."
Geralt's mouth dropped open. Ekaterina shoved him through the portal.
