Finally, they were back on the road again. After a little over two weeks spent in Vizima, they were now trekking north of the city. Roach neighed and shook her head. The mare was as impatient as he was, eager for a quicker pace. He spurred her into a gallop and Ciri did the same to her horse, the Nilfgaardian stallion Emhyr had gifted him. As gorgeous as the horse was, he couldn't trade in his Roach so easily. She was still young and, besides, he had always preferred mares over stallions.

Ciri rode up next to him. The wind swept and ruffled her hair, but she looked like a fish in water. With a mischievous little grin, she nudged her stallion and hurdled down the road in front of him.

"Come on, old man! First one to the next crossroads wins!" she shouted over her shoulder.

He laughed at the challenge and urged Roach on. If it was a race she wanted, then a race she'll be getting. His trusty Roach had won plenty all over the continent.

The horses galloped as fast as they could, hooves kicking up dirt and bits of grass in their path. They were neck to neck grinning like fools and inhaling the scent of fresh autumn air, sprinting like arrows down the country road.

He looked ahead at the next bend. If he jumped over the fence, he could overtake her easily. Roach responded to his command and leapt gracefully over the dilapidated wooden boards that bordered the road.

"Hey, no fair!" Ciri protested and spurred her own horse, but it was too late. Geralt already had the lead, and he wasn't giving it up now that the crossroad loomed ahead.

Once he made it past the signpost, he pulled back on the reins and the mare slowed down. He patted her neck.

"Good girl!" he cooed. "Guess who's getting a bushel of apples for making me look good?"

"You cheated!" Ciri yelled from behind.

"Did I?" he asked with a grin. "I don't remember anyone saying we have to stick to the dirt road. Face it, you lost, fair and square. Lucky we didn't place a bet, or you'd have to pay up... your Imperial Majesty," he snickered.

She rolled her eyes at the title and outright laughed.

"You need to get used to being called that."

"I'm just thankful you didn't use the whole long-winded title. Someone has to come up with something shorter than that or I'll fall asleep on the throne before they finish reciting the damn thing."

He laughed and nudged Roach forward. "Come on, we have a long journey back to Novigrad," he said.

"Eager to get back?" she asked with a knowing smirk.

"You know I am. It's been near a month. Even as patient as I know her to be, Criss must be fuming by now."

"If she's still there," she said with a shrug.

His head jerked back at her words. He knew she could have left, and he couldn't even blame her if she did, but the reminder stung.

"I'm sure she is," he answered, although doubt was already growing in his mind.

He rode in silence and swore to the gods that if she was still there waiting for him, he'd do any penance she'd ask from him just to get back into her good graces.


By nightfall, they drew close to a small village, but as they got nearer, his senses picked up the telltale signs of a necrophage infestation. They were hoping to find a nice place to rest their head for the night, but instead they had to gear up for a fight.

He reached over his shoulder for his sword. The wings of the crossguard, then the blade flashed in the light as he grasped it.

"There are ghouls ahead," he said, drawing his sword. "Do you remember your lessons?"

"Of course," she answered.

"Stay close to me. We need to clean up this place before making camp."

He dismounted and approached the village on foot, not wanting to spook Roach. Besides, he didn't want to run the risk of a ghoul getting his claws in either of their mounts or they'd have to walk the way back to Novigrad.

With Ciri behind him, they cleared through the necrophages that had overrun the village, then burned down their lairs. When they were done, Ciri went to retrieve the horses while he gathered and set the corpses on fire with a powerful burst of Igni.

He walked the dirt roads of the village again, focusing his witcher senses to make sure he hadn't missed anything until he was sure there'd be nothing there to attract the monsters. Maybe people would once again settle there once the war was over. He stopped next to a signpost and, with a swipe of his hand, he cleared the grime off it. Toderas. He remembered this place. It used to be a small community of farmers before the ruthless war passed over their doorstep. For now, it was a ruin and their place to camp for the night.

He returned to Ciri's side with an armful of boards he had collected to make a campfire.

"Normally I'd suggest we go inside, but the smell is overwhelming," he said as he approached.

"I agree. Tonight we sleep under the stars as long as it doesn't rain."

They took turns keeping watch that night while the other slept and in the morning they set out down the road leading west. Their next stop was somewhere south of the bridge leading to Mulbrydale.

By the time they got there, it was pouring down hard. A small cottage laid next to the road and Ciri looked hopeful.

"Think there's anyone there? Maybe they'll take us in for the night if we pay."

Geralt sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose.

"Only after we carry their corpses outside."

Her lips curled down in disappointment. After their overnight camp, they had to stop two more times to clear out nests of necrophages from around the road. It looked like there was barely anyone alive on this entire stretch of land, but they did it even if there was no one there to repay them for their efforts.

"I'm sick of this war," she said as Geralt pushed in the door of the house.

She glanced at the two corpses, a man and a woman. No more than a day had passed since they had been killed.

"I wish we could give them a proper burial at least," she continued.

Geralt looked at her and sighed. "Ciri..."

"I know, I know. It's better if we burn them. I just wished we didn't have to do this so often. The stench of charred corpses hasn't left me the whole day and I'm sick of it."

"I'll do it. You can wait here. Make a fire while I'm gone. There are some logs and kindling over there," he said as he was dragging the man's corpse outside.

He found a resting place for them under a large oak tree near the water. With no preamble, a burst of Igni licked the corpses. He kept his focus on the flames until nothing but ash remained. A gust of wind blew them into the river and thus ended the lives of two ordinary people who had the misfortune to find themselves in the path of thieves.

That night, they slept in the beds of the dead couple and warmed themselves on the hearth in their home, a dark mood upon them both.

The next day they set out for Mulbrydale. At least there they knew they'd find proper shelter.

Having left the barren wasteland that was Velen, they crossed the bridge north and came across living, breathing human beings. Even the weather improved and, although it grew colder by the day, at least the rain had stopped.

In Mulbrydale, they passed by the blacksmith's house and greeted him, but didn't stay. Since they were no longer in hiding, he didn't have to worry about catching anyone's eye. They had with them a sealed letter of safe conduct signed by the Emperor himself. And the town had repurposed another building into a tavern and inn. It wasn't the peak of comfort, but it was better than sleeping in the stables next to the horses. For a modest fee, they even drew them a bath. After so many days on the road, sleeping where they could and tangling with necrophages every so often, they were both ripe to the point where the innkeeper winced when they approached the bar.

They set out the next day refreshed and with full bellies from the spread the tavern offered to break their fast.


Close to afternoon, Novigrad's walls loomed ever closer and Geralt nudged Roach to go a little faster, his anxiety rising the closer they got. The thought that she might have left was stuck in his mind. It must have been painted on his face because even Ciri took notice of his grim mood.

"I expected you to be more cheerful now that we're almost there," she said.

He simply hummed and rode on. Soon they'd be at the gates. After they took a quick glance at their passes, the guards let them through.

They headed for the Chameleon, and he felt his heart thumping in his throat as he opened the tavern door. In a darker corner of the inn, at a wide table sat Yen and Triss, with Margarita between them, all of them wearing travelling cloaks with the hoods drawn over their faces. It looked like the Lodge of sorceresses had partly reformed.

Ciri pulled him out of the door frame as he was blocking the entrance for everyone else. He shuffled out of the way and towards the table where the sorceresses sat. Both Yen and Triss rushed to hug Ciri once they laid eyes on her. He walked past them, took off his gloves, and slumped into a seat, nodding politely to Margarita.

When Yen was satisfied that Ciri was alive and well, she finally turned to him.

"So he lives," Yen greeted him with a wry smile and a raised eyebrow. "I take it you were successful."

He hummed and brushed the hair out of his face, retying it in a neat half ponytail.

"We did what we set out to do and a little more. Ciri will tell you all about it, I'm sure," he said, as he glanced around the room, looking for familiar faces.

Zoltan was crossing the room, coming over to their table, carrying three pints of ale. Dandelion was perched on his stool, strumming his lute with Priscilla next to him, singing a soulful ballad. His eyes scoured the rest of the tavern, hoping to glimpse warm, dark eyes, but no matter where he looked, Criss was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she is in her room, he thought. With that in mind, he stood and picked up his bag, heading for the stair, without as much as a word to Yen or the others.

"You won't find her there," Yen's voice rang out behind him. Clearly, she had kept the annoying habit of reading his mind whenever she fancied.

His shoulders slumped and his jaw clenched. She left, he thought and swallowed hard his bitter regret. After all, he had no right to expect her to wait for him so long when he hadn't even had the decency to leave a note before setting out. He left without an explanation and he got exactly what he deserved. Again, he was alone.

"Perhaps," Yen said in response to his thoughts.

Geralt turned with a frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"She's been taking odd trips every so often, pretending to go sightseeing, and four days ago, she failed to return from such a trip."

"You think someone might have taken her?" he asked with a sinking feeling in his gut. His mind spiralled through all the possibilities. The witch hunters might have gotten her, she could be in a dungeon or tied to a pyre. Or maybe she went on one of her jobs and some monster bested her. He forced his mind to stop barrelling down that road, still mindful of her wish to keep her work a secret from the Lodge.

"If they have, then they were very clever about it because they've left no trace to follow."

He turned on his heels and headed for the stairs.

"I told you there's nothing to find," she called behind him.

"Perhaps there's a trail I can find that you can't," he said, his stride lengthening as he moved through the tavern crowd.

He took the stairs two at a time in his rush to get to her room, before he even realized that he had no idea which room was hers. As he was about to turn back to ask Dandelion for information, light footsteps padded toward him. He turned to see a young maid who served in the tavern approach him with a key in hand.

She held it out for him to take. "First room down the left."

He supposed that Zoltan sent her and mumbled a thank you before taking the key. The young woman followed behind him as he opened the door.

"Everything is as she left it. Didn't touch a thing. Just aired out the room in the morning and dusted."

He glanced over the room. It had her characteristic air of organized mess. Even if books and papers lay scattered over the desk, he knew each was in a certain place for a reason. He sifted through the items. History books, unfinished sketches, a few quotes scribbled out on a parchment in her own language and a pair of dimeritium cuffs. Her bag still laid at the foot of the desk, some fresh parcels sat on top of the bed, and a robe and a few other items of clothing were hung on a rack. It all pointed to her intention to come back. No, she most certainly didn't leave of her own accord.

The woman still hung about like a shadow, watching him search.

"If you're worried I'll steal her belongings, you can relax," he said, a tinge annoyed. "This was supposed to be my room as well."

"I know," she answered in a heartbeat. "You're the witcher who left her behind."

"That's what she called me?" he asked with a lump in his throat.

The woman tilted her head to the side and grimaced. "No, but each evening when she'd come back from the hospital, she'd ask if you and your girl were back. Always had a sad smile when I told her you weren't."

"The hospital? Thought she told Dandelion she went sightseeing."

"Don't know what she said, but I know she went to the Vilmerius Hospital often. My sister's a nurse there and she saw her."

"How did your sister know it was her?" he asked, intrigued.

"She didn't really, but I figured it out. Only told me there's a woman who brings them ointments and tinctures every so often and ever since she showed up, all their hopeless patients miraculously recovered. I put two and two together after Mistress Priscilla got her voice back a day after she showed up."

"Yeah, that sounds like Criss."

He threw a glance out the window. Daylight was fading, but there was a chance he'd still catch Von Gratz at the hospital if he hurried. He left his things in the room and headed for the hospital.


The doctor was still tending to his patients, going from bed to bed, checking for fevers, changing wound dressings and giving directions to his staff. Geralt wasted no time in taking him aside to question him.

"Ah, witcher! I wasn't expecting to see you here. Lady Priscilla has been discharged, fully recovered a few weeks ago."

"I'm here about the woman who healed her."

"Woman? What woman?" Von Gratz said, feigning ignorance.

"Relax. I'm not in the business of selling out people to the Church. She's… a friend and I need to find her. Any idea where she went?"

Von Gratz shook his head. "Sadly, I don't know where she could be. I was expecting a delivery from her a day ago, but she never showed up. I thought maybe she was otherwise occupied."

"And she never said anything about going anywhere?" he asked, still hoping something important had slipped into their conversation.

"No, not at all. But the last few times I saw her, she looked quite preoccupied. Like something was eating at her. She said something about wheels for hamsters and asked how far I'd go to achieve something. Wouldn't say what it was about, just that it was important."

"That's all? Nothing else? Like maybe places she had been to recently?"

"Oh, yes, she said something about a very talented tailor on the outskirts of Novigrad who made her a stunning dress. Something with E... El… something."

"Elihal?"

"Yes, that's it."

"Thanks," Geralt said and set out once again, this time for the small tailor shop run by Dandelion's elf friend, Elihal.


It was past dark when he knocked on the tailor's door and there was no answer, but his sharp hearing caught a faint rustle inside, so he knocked again a little harder.

"Please open, Elihal. It's Geralt, Dandelion's friend. It's important that I talk to you."

The door creaked open and Elihal peered through. Once he was convinced it was indeed the witcher and not someone else, he invited him in.

"I thought it was the hunters. I don't usually take clients this late in the evening, but for Dandelion's friend, I'll always make an exception. What do you need tailored?" His eyes swept up and down Geralt, taking his measure. "Perhaps a doublet. Something in black with discreet embroidery around the neckline, nothing too flamboyant."

"I'm not here to commission work. I need to find someone. A woman who recently ordered a dress from you. Dark hair, dark eyes, smiles a damn lot."

"Ah, I know just who you mean. Also a friend of Dandelion. She came by four days ago to pick up her order, paid and left. Very good customer."

"Didn't say where she was going?" Geralt asked.

"No. She's always friendly, but I'm hardly her confidante. We spoke about the witch hunters, something about a halfling herbalist who was assaulted by them."

Again, Geralt left dejected and nowhere closer to tracking Criss down. But he planned to leave no stone unturned, and any small thing could prove to be a good lead. On his way back to the Chameleon, he took a minor detour to Glory Lane where he knew of a herbalist shop run by a halfling. It was the only one of its kind in the city, so that must have been the shop Criss frequented.

Alas, the shop was closed for the night, so he had to return to the inn empty handed. No sooner had he walked through the door, that Ciri dragged him to a table where Zoltan and Yen sat.

"Geralt, where have you been?" Ciri asked after pushing him into a seat. He was too tired to fight her. "I've just finished telling them all about the Sabbath. It's your turn to tell them about the troll contract in Vizima."

"That's not the look of a man looking to boast," Zoltan said, measuring him with worried eyes.

"Yeah, not really in the mood for chatter. If I didn't have to keep a clear head, I'd be talking to a bottle of dwarven spirits right about now."

"You have found no trail of her, I presume," Yen said. "I feel offended that you don't trust me. Both Margarita and I looked for her, and there was nothing to find."

"Who are you looking for?" Ciri asked.

"Criss," Geralt answered without glee. "But I haven't finished searching just yet. Need to talk to a halfling tomorrow morning. If that amounts to nothing, there's a guard who owes me a favour. Maybe I can get him to look through the Church's dungeons. And if that fails, I don't know, but I'll think of something." He rubbed a weary palm over his face. He had to find her. No one just vanishes without a trace.

"I know an elf friend of hers who does. Perhaps she shares his skill set," Yen mused in reply to his thoughts.

"An elf friend?" Geralt asked. "Was his name Lyari by chance?"

Yen smiled enigmatically, and he knew the answer was yes. He was about to ask how she knew of him when Dandelion cut him off.

"Speaking of elves," Dandelion's voice came from behind. "That damned haughty elf you've brought has been pestering me every day with questions. He's insistent that you both see him the moment you arrive."

Geralt groaned and Ciri rolled her eyes. "Can't we just get one night of rest? We barely got here!" she said.

Dandelion shrugged unphased. "Take the night, take the week, it's not my place to stop you. But he was so insistent that it was important, that I had to tell you right away."

"He can wait until tomorrow," Geralt said. "Besides, if I see him tonight, I might take my anger out on him."

After having supper, half-listening to Ciri's rendition of his adventure with the troll in Vizima, he excused himself and went up to get some rest.

He laid in bed, twisting from one side to the other for hours, constantly tortured by her scent lingering on the bedsheets. Thoughts rolled through his mind, each more unpleasant than the last, until he gave up and got up. It was stupid to think he could sleep in his current state of worry. He knelt on the floor and tried to meditate instead. At least this way he might relax his mind. His steady breaths were the only thing he had to focus on, and the dull rhythm of the routine brought him peace. Before he knew it, it was morning, and it was time to resume his search.

The whole inn was quiet, aside from faint snores coming from the occupied rooms. He donned his armour and strapped his sword to his back, then descended the stairs. The herbalist shop was still closed when he got to it, so he waited across the street until the halfling appeared and unlocked the door. He gave the man a few moments to settle in before he walked into the shop.

"I'm looking for a woman who trades with you," he said to the halfling who was busying himself arranging boxes on shelves.

"Plenty of women come to buy teas from me, but I can't say I know any of their names, so you're looking in the wrong place."

"This one doesn't buy teas. She's been ordering medical supplies from you every few days."

"You must have the wrong shop. We don't deal with medicine. Just herbs and teas, you'll find nothing else here."

"I have it on good authority that she's been coming to a shop run by a halfling, and yours is the only one in Novigrad."

"Whoever told you that is a shameless liar," he said, finally turning to face Geralt. "Now, if you're not buying anything, please get out of my shop. Your kind scares away the customers."

Geralt took a few quick steps toward the herbalist with a menacing scowl. "Listen, I need to find her…"

The herbalist ducked behind the counter. "I don't know who she is. Honest, I don't." His eyes darted behind Geralt with a look of horror.

The shop door opened with a small creak, and a group of witch hunters and a retinue of guards walked in.

"That's him," one guard said, pointing at Geralt, and the rest came forward, cutting him off from any escape.

"What's this about?" Geralt asked.

"The king requested you be brought to him, so either come with us willingly or we'll take you by force."

This was the last thing he needed and, as angry as he was, for a moment, he considered killing them all and going about his search. Fortunately, he had enough wits about him to stop himself. If the king sent his men once, he'd send them again, and he had more than himself to consider. Being a fugitive would put a target on the backs of everyone he knew, so he stood down and let himself be surrounded by the guards.

He was expecting to be taken to Radovid's ship in Novigrad port, but instead, he was led up to the north part of town, to the Church of Eternal Fire. The tower of the cathedral stood in front of them and he wondered if they would take him into the church, but the guards ushered him into a nearby watchtower. His armour and weapons were stripped from him, and he was left to wait while one of them went out to announce their arrival and receive new orders.

When the guard returned, instead of being taken to the king, he was shoved down a steep set of stairs.

"Thought you said the king wanted to speak to me," Geralt protested once he understood he was going to the dungeons.

"The king is presently occupied. You witchers are a slippery bunch, so you're to be kept here until he asks for you."

"In the dungeon? Am I under arrest for something?"

"You'll wait wherever the king wants, arrested or not," the guard said and shoved him forward.

He pressed on, seemingly impassive, but constantly glancing over each cell they passed, looking at the other prisoners. After all, there was no better opportunity than this to search for Criss in the city's dungeons. Alas, she was nowhere to be seen, and he was thankful for it. At least the Church hadn't gotten her, but that also left him with fewer possibilities of finding her.

They reached the end of the corridor and he was locked in a dank cell, alongside other rabble the guards had picked off the streets. A collection of thugs, thieves, rapists and murderers. Apparently, the guards thought he'd fit right in.

The prisoners were huddled around two who were playing dice poker, but all turned their attention to him when he set foot inside the cell. Geralt measured the men from head to toe and recognized at least three of them. They had been Bedlam's men, but their boss either had no use for them or wasn't connected enough to keep them out of the guard's clutches. The other men gave him a quick glance and returned to their game of dice, while Geralt sat on one of the wooden benches lining the walls. He rested his head on the cold wall behind him and stared at the ceiling, fixating on a smudge that looked like a footprint.

For hours, the dice rolled again and again, the ring of their ivory hitting the wood box filling the silence between curses and cheers. Daylight was fading between the grates blocking the cell windows and Bedlam's men whispered among themselves, quiet enough that no one but Geralt could hear them.

"Fuckin' 'ell, all this sheit over a fuckin' horse. You think the boss'll let us rot 'ere?"

The other grunted. "Maybe not rot, but we'll come back lashed for sure."

"Getting lashed over a fuckin' horse," the first man scoffed and shook his head. "If we'd had some fun with the wench first, then maybe it'd been worth it. But for a horse, that's just pathetic."

"Fuck the wench! I'm not sticking my prick into any sorceress's hole. I heard they can make you limp with their buggerin' magic," a third man chimed in.

Geralt's ears perked up at his words, and he listened more intently to their conversation.

"Yea, there's plenty of whores at the Passiflora and we'd have the coin to pay for all of them to line up ass first if we'd have gotten that bracelet off her."

"Still would have given her a good fuck after taking it off her wrist," the first one said. The others rolled their eyes at him. "What?" he continued. "I don't believe in your superstitions. Sorceress' cunt is still cunt, magic or not, and I wouldn't have to pay for it."

"That thing was all diamonds and gold. Never seen anything alike. Could have sold it for a fortune," the second man mused, his mind still stuck on the bracelet.

Diamonds and gold? Gerald thought dumb-struck. He got to his feet and walked up to their huddle. His hand clapped one man's shoulder and turned him around.

"That sorceress… What did she look like?" he asked between clenched teeth.

"What the hell?" the man growled and shook off his hand. "None of your business, white hair. Now shove off."

Geralt took another step and got in the man's face, his scowl deepening. "Answer the question," he threatened.

A pair of hands pulled him back and the man he threatened prepared to land a punch. He twisted to his side, escaping the hands that tried to restrain him and lashing out in turn. His fist connected with a jaw, and as he turned again, his elbow dug into another's gut before launching a punch into his face. In mere moments, the rest of the men all threw themselves at him, and the fight turned into an ugly mess of angry fists and kicks. Even with his agility, he couldn't dodge all of them and by the time the guards showed up to break them up, he had a split lip and a broken arch, with blood dripping down the side of his face. Other bruises were forming over his ribs and jaw and his knuckles were bloodied from the teeth he had knocked in.

He kicked the first man again, the tip of his boot plunging into his stomach with a dull thud. "Fucking answer me, you scum! What did she look like?" he growled, even as the guards pulled him back and restrained him.

The man folded on himself with a grunt and spat at Geralt. If the guards hadn't been holding him, he would have stomped the man's face in. Only when he saw himself being dragged up the stairs did he wake from his blind rage. He cursed himself, realizing he had almost killed a man without even being sure the woman they were speaking about had been Criss. After all, she wasn't the only sorceress in Novigrad and certainly not the only one with a diamond-studded gold bracelet. But maybe she was the only one careless enough to walk around with it in plain sight.

The guards brought him to the captain of the guards, who took a disgusted look at him, then nodded to the rest.

"Take him to the audience hall and make sure he doesn't cause any more trouble on the way there."

Geralt made an effort to stand up straight and walked with more purpose. At least being taken to Radovid was some sort of progress towards getting himself out of the dungeon. He focused his mind and will on bending the conversation towards that goal.

Radovid sat on his throne, impassible, twisting a jewelled ring around his finger. He only raised his eyes when Geralt was at the distance considered acceptable for supplicants. In one sweeping gaze, the king measured the witcher and smiled wickedly.

"Has the White Wolf become rabid?" he asked.

"Not at all, your Majesty." Geralt forced the title from between clenched teeth. Being meek is something Radovid expected from all who were brought before him and the witcher was no exception. "But your dungeons are not the most pleasant part of the city, and neither are the men in them."

"Then perhaps your long wait in them has served its purpose." Geralt raised an eyebrow and waited for the king to continue. "You will find yourself more often inside their confines if you don't come up with results. You promised me Philippa Eilhart and you've not delivered me anything yet. Some say you like consorting with witches, and with each passing day, I tend to believe them more."

"I never promised more than I'd look into her whereabouts. I'm a witcher, not a miracle worker. You're welcome to do better if you can."

"Still insolent, I see." The king leaned forward, resting one forearm over his knee and looking down at Geralt.

"I've returned to Novigrad only a day ago. And I can't exactly look for Philippa from within your dungeon. Set me free and I'll find her."

A smile played on Radovid's lips. "Fine. I'll release you, but your insolence needs to be punished lest you forget who you're speaking to." He nodded to one of the guards. "Give him a good lashing, then set him loose."


Geralt walked down the slope from the Church to the lower city, wincing each time the sword strapped to his back rubbed against the raw skin under his shirt and armour. The guard had been so thorough that he had broken through the skin in multiple places. He hurried along, ignoring the pain. They were supposed to meet with Avallac'h once he had returned from the herbalist, but it had been a full day since he had left the inn, and Ciri must have been worried by now.

He passed shops and merchants without as much as a glance until he saw something that made him stop in his tracks. Just in front of him, coming out of a dark side alley, was Criss bracketed by two armed thugs. Without a word, he drew his sword and launched himself at them.


A/N: Had one hell of a week, probably should have gone through this chapter a few more times, but had no time for it. Sorry if it's more scattered than usual.

You can throw stones if you like, I know I kind of tortured our boy Geralt in this chapter, but he was due for a little angst and hurt. Will make up for it in the next chapters. Soon the smut will return :D In the meantime, I've posted the second chapter in the smut fic for those who missed it.