"I tell you now a tale of triumph and woe, of love and loss, and of friendship stronger than steel. I tell you of two souls were brought together. The skeptical and foolish would call their meeting chance, but we, dear reader, know differently, don't we? We know of fate, of destiny, and of the secret ways of the world. Things move, great wheels turn, and though our choices are our own, there are paths we will walk without ever knowing it.
To say it is my privilege to have known the witchers now titled as the Red Giant and the Burning Blade would be to say it was the privilege of a field of wheat to know the light of the sun. Though our paths did not run parallel as often as this work might imply, rest assured, that a most reliable source is the primary citation for this work.
'And who are you', I hear you ask, 'to be an authority on this matter?' Why, there is no other on the Continent who knows these witchers as well as I. Yours truly is many things: a bard, a dancer, an author, an adventurer, and indeed, a sorceress. Some of the trevails I speak of in the volumes to come after this one were experienced firsthand, you see, the rest obtained directly from the source.
Our heroes' tales begin separately, each trained in one of the newly founded Witcher Schools in the wake of the Second Conjunction of Spheres. The secrets of that training I dare not reveal, dear reader; to do so would endanger not only my own life, but yours. I shall tell it thusly; it is a long, grueling process that many do not survive. Those that do…well, it is not for nothing that tales of witcher prowess exist.
I could recount the early careers of our subjects, but I shall, instead, advance past the drudgery and immediately to that fateful convergence on the Path that truly begins our tale…"
-excerpt from "A True Accounting of the Storied Careers of Riordan of Undvik and Akari of Lyria, Volume 1", by Nadia Lantana of Beauclair
Foller's Ford, Temeria
7th April, 1295 IC
Riordan's mentor had told him that though the details might change, almost every little backwater village could be expected to share similarities with its hundreds of counterparts scattered across the Continent. The witcher recalled Skarin's words as he crested a hill and Foller's Ford came into view.
These places are always the same. Everyone there will be almost too stupid to speak and so dirty you'll be glad we're resistant to disease. They'll beg your help and hate you for it all the while. Don't bed anyone that's married or betrothed unless you want run out of town without being paid. That business is what brothels are for. And remember, above all else; they'll want a reason to hate you even more. Don't give them one.
It seemed like an awfully antagonistic attitude to have toward the people that witchers were supposed to protect. But, Skarin of Ard Skellig was originally of the Bear School, and they had a long list of reasons for bitterness.
Foller's Ford was a few dozen wattle and daub buildings that had grown off of a toll keeper's checkpoint. What had been a ford across the Riage River at some point in the past was now spanned by a wooden bridge. No, that wasn't right. The tollhouse was newer than the village, as was the bridge.
Riordan rumbled a thoughtful sound deep in his throat. He was an imposingly large man, as most of the Giant School had ended up being thanks to tweaks of their mutagens. He was a pale man, with long, ginger hair he kept tied back. He was working on a beard, but it hadn't quite filled in yet. The Giant was clad in dark brigandine armor, carrying two axes on his back and pair of short blades at his belt. Around him was draped a Skelliger kilt of black, orange, and white; the tartan adopted by his school.
Another witcher brought her horse up alongside Riordan's. Akari was of middling height and wiry build, her raven hair shorn down on the sides, the rest of it gathered in a braid. Her leather armor superficially resembled Riordan's brigandine in some ways, but lacked the steel plates beneath the leather. She carried a pair of curved swords on her left hip, a shorter blade on her right, and a small crossbow in the small of her back.
Both of them looked upon Foller's Ford with orange eyes that were slit like a cat's. Akari's were almond-shaped, a sign of her heritage from beyond the Continent.
"Awfully small for a tollhouse." Akari noted.
"Was thinking the same thing." Riordan agreed. He scratched at his beard. "Have a feeling the ford was being used to avoid another one."
"Makes sense." Akari agreed. She cracked her neck.
"Shall we?" Riordan asked.
"After you." His companion said.
Riordan tapped his horse's flanks. The big beast was a stormy grey, dappled with black speckles. He called the horse Kreveson, after the storm god, Kreve. Akari's smaller black mare, Lunch, was named for its most likely eventual fate.
The two witchers had met by happenstance on the road, both bound from western Temeria for the capital of Vizima. Riordan was following rumors of a growing ghoul infestation in the capital. Akari was planning on meeting some friend of her School to exchange information, the nature of which she did not share and Riordan did not ask.
They descended the hill, passing by fields empty of crops. Subsistence farming and fishing would be the order of the day in this village, animals being kept for milk or as draught beasts instead of butchering. The few villagers that Riordan saw were in the midst of planting. They looked up and saw the two riders, shading their eyes to watch them pass.
It was late morning as Riordan and Akari rode among the huts. Villagers who were mending clothes, weaving baskets, thatching roofs, and all the other work that didn't involve the fields, had a better view of the pair. Their clothes were dull and well-worn.
Witchers. The word followed them, whispered loudly enough that not even a witcher's advanced hearing was needed. Riordan didn't look at them. Skarin had taught his students that it was best to neither be antagonistic nor attempt to be too friendly. Speak only when addressed directly. Use as few words as necessary. Taunts are only words; unlike claws and fangs, they can't hurt you.
Beside the tollhouse was another fairly new building. Judging by the sign bearing a beer mug hanging over the door, it was a tavern. It was a two-story building, probably with a few dingy, dirty little rooms for travelers going over the bridge. It, like the tollhouse, was constructed from timber. The tollhouse, meanwhile, was surrounded by a palisade wall. On guard beside the bridge were two soldiers in chainmail and kettle helms wore tabards bearing the livery of the Temerian crown; blue with white lilies. So, the tolls here were for the crown and not the local feudal lord. The soldiers were staring at the witchers. One of them left his post to enter the tollhouse.
"Lunch?" Riordan asked Akari.
Akari's horse looked up at him.
"Not you." Riordan said.
Lunch snorted.
"Sounds good." Akari agreed.
They hitched their horses outside before a water trough. Riordan gave Kreveson an oatcake and scratched the horse's ears, then joined Akari in walking through the tavern's front door. The Giant walked with a barely perceptible limp in his left leg.
The interior of the tavern was, surprisingly, pretty clean. The rushes scattered across the dirt floor were relatively fresh, the stench of urine and spilled ale was not nearly as strong as Riordan had been anticipating. The Temerian lilies were proudly displayed on a wooden shield hanging above the bar. It appeared a couple of locals were eating lunch at one of the homemade tables. There were also two merchants in good linen doublets at the bar, watched over by a wolfish sellsword in patchwork armor.
The already minimal conversation in the room went quiet as the witchers entered and sat down in a corner. Akari looked towards the bar.
"Ale and food for us both." The Phoenix said, holding up a few oren coins to show they were good for it.
"Yes, Mistress."
"Gwent?" Riordan asked.
"Of course." Akari agreed.
They both started getting their Gwent decks out. The card game had been popular among Riordan's fellow initiates at the Giant School's fortress of Kaer Trellig. Countless practice duels had been fought over the ownership of different cards.
Two pints of ale and two bowls of steaming fish stew arrived, each with a crust of bread and a bit of cheese. The witchers settled into their game of Gwent and eating their food.
After what felt like only about two seconds, three peasants entered the tavern. Two were youths in their late teens, strong frames indicating both years of hard labor and a diet good enough to put on some bulk. They were led by a middle-aged, pudgy man whose right leg was a wooden prosthetic below the knee. He walked with a cane.
"Master witchers." The man said, approximating a bow. He glanced around, cleared his throat, and said, "I ain't ever been one for talking 'round the point, masters, so I'll call it as I sees it; we need your help."
Riordan and Akari looked up from their game. Riordan raised an eyebrow. Akari gave a slight nod, then spoke.
"Help with what?" The Phoenix queried.
"Uhm, so, the name's Daird. I'm what passes for the headman hereabouts. And you should know there's a beast been stalking our poor little village." The one-legged man said, almost pleadingly.
"The werechanger." One of the youths mumbled with a shiver. Neither of them wanted to look the witchers in the eye.
Daird seemed unaffected. "Aye. The werechanger. I seen it walking about the village just last night! Weren't natural, I tell you."
"Uh-huh." Akari said, neutral as could be.
"Has it killed anyone?" Riordan asked, expecting it to end there.
"A whole family. Mistoslan's steading, about an hour's ride east. Butchered them in the night, just three days past." Daird said, taking off a woolen cap and placing it on his chest. "I seen a thing or two fighting the Black Ones, master witchers, but what I seen there…" He shuddered. "And so I was up late last night; leg was bothering me, you see, lost it at White Orchard. Anyway, was up late last night and saw a shadow moving all unnatural like about the village, growling to itself. Scouting for its next victim, says I. My boy Rolf here, his wife's with child. Goddess save me if it comes for her…."
"Witchers don't work for free." Riodan reminded the man.
"I'll take a collection while you're looking into it. Folk are afeared. They'll pay." Daird insisted.
"Not to potentially lose out on work, but what about that checkpoint full of troops right there? Shouldn't this be their problem?" Akari asked.
"Yes. It should be, indeed." A new, oily voice said.
A man in a good silk tunic and a tilted beret entered the room. He was skinny and hawkish, carrying a rapier. Riordan could tell from the way he walked that this was no fop with a pretty sword. How skilled he was remained an open question, but the man at least knew how to fight.
"Daird. Begone." The newcomer commanded.
The headman went as fast as his bad leg would allow, helped along by what Riordan assumed were his children.
Both witchers resumed eating, waiting for the newcomer to speak.
"I am Sir Norleft Krentz." He said. "Tollkeeper, garrison commander, and magistrate to the surrounding area."
Riordan heard chainmail clink outside. Soldiers. At least a half dozen.
"Pleasure." Riordan grunted as he ate.
"Gods bless you." Akari said with disinterest, sipping her ale. It was her turn when Daird had entered so she picked up her Gwent cards.
"The matter of the so-called 'werechanger' is being handled by my men. You are not necessary. Leave by sundown or you'll be charged with disturbing the peace." Krentz warned.
"Can't abandon a contract. Reflects poorly on our Order." Riordan said, then tilted his bowl back, shoveling what was left into his mouth, and belching
Akari added, "we can solve it. Peasants are already paying for it. You can take the credit." She thoughtfully pursed her lips, looking at her hand before laying a couple of cards down. "Seems like everyone stands to gain here."
Krentz's hands were on the table, resting atop some of the Gwent card. Both witchers glared up at him.
"I don't need you freaks meddling in my town. You have until this time tomorrow to leave or I'll charge you with disturbing the peace." Krentz threatened.
Riordan considered giving him attitude. But that would help no one, and in truth, he didn't care that much. Witchers' emotions were desensitized by their mutations. They weren't completely gone, but it simply took more to get a rise out of a witcher, for good or ill.
"We hear you, Sir." Akari confirmed.
Krentz lifted his hands from the table. "You had better." He growled, then departed as quickly as he had arrived.
Riordan sighed, picking up his cards. Akari rolled her eyes.
"Charming fellow." Akari noted.
"Aye." Riordan agreed.
"Thoughts on this 'werechanger?'" She asked.
"Hm." Riordan rumbled. "My bet's bandits. Maybe Scoia'tael. Too far from the coast for Skelligers and too far from the borders for Redanian, Aedirnian, or Cintran raiders. 'Werechanger' was probably just some drunk stumbling home."
"Sounds reasonable to me. Still. We'd better go check out that steading." Akari said.
"Aye." Riordan said again. "That magistrate, though…weird he'd give us until tomorrow, isn't it?" At first, Riordan had thought that Krentz might be involved, but again, why give them a full day to figure that out?
"He actually wants us to solve it for him, but doesn't want to appear weak or incompetent, is my guess. Hell, maybe also wants to arrest us so he can sell all our gear. Who knows? We'll deal with him if it comes up." Akari reasoned.
That made sense. Witcher gear was finely wrought, worth a fortune to collectors and warriors alike.
Riordan won the round of Gwent. They finished their food and drinks, then paid and left. First up was another conversation with Daird, and then it would be off to Mistoslan's steading.
The conversation with Daird was enlightening. It seemed the bridge, toll house, and tavern were, indeed, fairly new. Sir Krentz had apparently fallen out of favor in Vizima and been assigned here as a punishment. They also learned that the owner of the steading in question, Mistoslan, had once been one of the famed Blue Stripes, Temeria's intrepid guerrilla fighters.
A look around the village revealed nothing out of the ordinary. There were no tracks, no spoor, no claw marks on walls, no fur snagged on fences, no unnatural scents. If it was something that could change shape, that could explain some of it, but Daird had implied the thing was in a bestial form. Neither witcher's medallion reacted to anything.
So, they mounted up and followed the directions Daird gave them, bound for the unfortunate steading. "An hour's ride" turned out to have been measured by either a horse-drawn wagon or a rather slow nag's canter. Riordan and Akari arrived in half that time.
Mistoslan's steading was on the larger side for a peasant's farm. The house was only one story, but constructed from timber logs, even having an A-frame roof tiled with wooden shingles. There was a small barn that opened into a pasture that was bisected by a small stream. A milk cow, a plow horse, and two goats roamed within the fence. The steading had a dedicated outhouse, a well, a tool shed, and Riordan could even see the ground-level roof of a root cellar. Trees surrounded the steading.
"Were doing well for themselves." The Giant noted as they rode up the dirt path that led to the steading. They passed beneath a simple, arched trellis that had a quartet of wolf skulls mounted upon its outward face.
Akari pointed to the pasture. "What kind of beast leaves four defenseless livestock alone but butcher's a family? What kind of bandits, for that matter? There's a lot of meat out there for outlaws living rough."
"Aye. Good point." Riordan agreed.
The rode up to the house and dismounted. As the two of them approached the front door, Riordan felt his medallion vibrate. He glanced at Akari, who was already looking his way. A witcher's medallion could detect monsters and magic. It took training to discern what its different vibrations were trying to convey.
"Magic was cast here recently." Riordan said. He reached for his belt, drawing one of his short blades. The seax, as it was called, came in a variety of forms. Riordan's had a two-foot long, single-edged, heavy blade good for both chopping and stabbing. The one in his hand was steel. The one still sheathed was silver. Akari drew out her steel katana, as well.
Even before they entered the house, Riordan could smell decay in the air. Flies filled the air with their buzzing. The witchers stepped inside and were confronted with a scene of utter carnage. Furniture and belongings in the main space had all been flung against the walls with incredible force, breaking much of it. An interior wall had even been knocked down, revealing a ruined bedroom. Scattered bones were joined by splatters of coagulated blood and putrefying organs. It was impossible to tell which remains belonged to which member of Mistoslan's family.
"This wasn't the work of bandits." Riordan stated the obvious. He knew that he should feel disgusted, perhaps sad about the tragedy of an entire family being killed in such a gruesome fashion. Riordan felt nothing. He didn't know this family. He had no reason to feel sad at their passing. People died every day. Some could be saved, some couldn't.
"No. Definitely a spell, and a powerful one at that. But that opens more questions than it answers." Akari noted. She crouched looking at the floor. "There's a set of footprints leading out of here. Leather boots, I wager. No evidence of anyone coming in to look around. Huh. The magistrate's men didn't even bother to loot the place."
"Too scared to come in, I bet. We can do the honors later." Riordan said as he carefully walked among the unfortunate remains. His foot tread upon a loose board that sounded different from the others. He grabbed a fallen kitchen knife and used it to pry the board up. The implement was bent by the effort, but it gave Riordan enough of a spot to grip that he could wrench the board free.
"What is it?" Akari asked as Riordan used the bent knife to scoop dirt aside.
"Unless I'm mistaken…", Riordan started to say as his purloined knife hit something solid. Exchanging the knife for his hands, Riordan managed to uncover a small, wooden chest. It was just about the perfect size to fit under Riordan's arm. He set it down, wondering where the key might be for the lock.
Akari approached. She made the Igni Sign and directed a small beam of condensed heat at the lock. Her control over the Sign was impressive. It was what the School of the Phoenix was known for. Heat was a reliable way to harm most monsters, and as Akari was showing, Igni had plenty of other uses.
Riordan struck the lock with the hilt of his seax. It broke, and the lid flipped open, revealing that the chest was full of coins. Most were Nilfgaardian florens, but there were some other coins in there, too, all from nations other than Temeria. He'd expected to find some hidden talisman or magical fetish was the source of the carnage, not money.
"Looks like someone managed to make a killing during war in more ways than one, if I had to guess. Probably managed to hit a baggage train fighting with the Stripes." Riordan guessed.
"Split it fifty-fifty?" Akari asked nonchalantly.
"Sounds good to me." Riordan said, closing and latching the chest. He couldn't lock it, but that was ok. The Nilfgaardian floren had never been used in the North outside of occupied Aedirn, but there were money changers in Vizima. The changers would scalp them with conversion fees, of course, but free money was free money.
"I don't think we're going to learn anything else here." Akari said. "Let's see if we can pick up the trail. Outside."
They could. To anyone trained in tracking, not just a witcher, the trail would be obvious.
"A bit deep to be so small." Akari noted as she crouched beside the boot prints.
"Was carrying something heavy. Loot maybe?" Riordan suggested.
Akari rubbed her chin. "Maybe. But what would a peasant farmer, even a well-off one, have that was that heavy and worth carrying away?"
Riordan furrowed his brow. It didn't make sense. Then it clicked.
"Six people lived here. I bet if we go in and count up the skulls, we'll only find five." The Giant said.
Akari frowned, but nodded. More than one kind of beast liked to carry children off into the night, to say nothing of unscrupulous traders in flesh, or even foul rogue mages wanting fresh subjects for their vile experiments.
Without another word, they set off. Akari led, following the tracks, while Riordan led Kreveson and Lunch behind her. The trail brought them into the forest around the steading. Having the horses along would ruin any chance at stealth, but leaving them behind would be a poor idea. It was possible Krentz's men would learn the witchers came out here and follow them. They would have little reservation informing the witchers that their horses had "mysteriously run off and were nowhere to be seen."
Akari held up a hand. The Phoenix pantomimed tying something up. Riordan took the hint and hitched the horses to nearby trees, then crept forward to join Akari. She pointed through the forest towards a rundown shack that seemed to only be held up by leaning against the trunk of a old birch tree. Akari pointed at the ground, then slowly raised her finger to point at the shack. The trail led there.
Riordan took his steel axe from his back as Akari drew her crossbow, covering him with it. The Giant moved forward, light on his feet in spite of his size, as all witchers were. When he was within range of a lunging strike on the door, a voice stopped him.
"Wait! Wait, do not attack, please!" A high, refined voice pleaded.
Riordan stopped, his grip on his axe firming.
"Show yourself. Now." He growled. His medallion was humming to him. Magic.
A man emerged from the little shack, his hands displayed before him. His clothes were plain in form but expensive in function; a good wolfskin cloak, comfortable travel robes that were dirty but showed no signs of mending, and a simple padded cap. The man had a sickly paleness about him. A pair of round spectacles were perched on his nose. Riordan guessed him to be in his late twenties or early thirties.
"A witcher…?" The robed man wheezed, somehow becoming even more pallid.
"Aye. If you make a wrong move, my friend will stick a crossbow bolt between your eyes." Riordan threatened. "Identify yourself."
"Detmund. Detmund of Thwyth, mage of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers." The man introduced himself with a nervous, quavering voice. "You are…?"
"Riordan of Undvik, joined by Akari of Lyria. Did you kill the people in Mistoslan's steading?" Riordan's question came out closer to a demand.
Detmund blanched. "No. I did not. I have the…culprit here with me."
Riordan blinked. "What?"
"Here, just…look, I'm going to move slowly, ok? If I intended hostility, I would have blasted you with a spell without bothering to speak first." Detmund said.
Riordan said nothing, but he allowed the mage to reach into the shack with one hand. Slowly, he guided a child out. The boy wore the plain garments of a farmer's child. His eyes were distant, even sightless. He was probably about seven or eight years old.
"I don't get it." Riordan said. "This kid killed his family?"
Detmund replied with a grave nod, then, "not on purpose. It's…can you please have your friend back there come out? I'll tell you everything. There's no need to be pointing weapons at anyone."
Over his shoulder, Riordan said, "up to you, Akari."
The Phoenix emerged from her place, still holding the loaded crossbow, but no longer aiming it at Detmund.
"Start talking, sorcerer." Akari demanded.
"I operate out of Vizima. I came here some years ago looking for alchemical ingredients in the forest. Rather than stay in town, I paid Mistoslan a fair sum for his family's hospitality for a few days; not an uncommon sort of arrangement. And in that time, I…well…", he cleared his throat, "...I, ahm, got to know his wife, Klara. Got to know her, shall we say, intimately."
On another day, Riordan would have snorted a laugh. Today was a poor day for it.
"The boy is yours, isn't he?" Akari asked.
"I suspect so. On my return visits to 'gather more ingredients', Klara certainly thought we looked alike." Detmund confessed. "Mistoslan isn't…wasn't a good man. He was greedy and cruel and ruled his house like a tyrant. Klara said he never laid a hand on the children, but controlled everything about their lives. Klara herself received his ire, always out of sight from the children." In spite of his apparent weakness, Detmund managed to become red in the face with anger for a moment, then calmed himself with a breath. "I was working on a plan to take them away from here, to get them to Vizima where I could find Klara and the older children work, let the younger ones go to school. Then, on one visit, I discovered Marek here not only had the gift for spellcraft, but that he is a source."
A source. A powerful, potentially unstable magic user. The Signs used by witchers were amusing parlor tricks compared to what a source could unleash.
"I'm guessing Mistoslan didn't take that very well." Akari said. She seemed to believe him. Riordan wasn't sure, but reading people wasn't exactly his strong suit.
Detmund nodded. "I was a fool. I had thought any parent would, one, be excited for their child to have access to the education and opportunities of a mage, and two, wouldn't want the lit fuse of an untrained source in their house. I told Marek I was going to take him away to learn to be a sorcerer like I was, and by the gods, the excitement in his eyes…" the mage shook his head, "...Mistoslan refused, of course. Flew into a rage. Said no son of his would become a 'filthy magician.' which is when Klara revealed Marek wasn't his son." A deep, weary sigh from the mage. "Mistoslan came at us with the very same sword he once hunted Nilfgaardians with, I wager."
Riordan thought he was putting the pieces together, but let Detmund finish his tale.
The mage went on. "Strong emotion or a traumatic moment, especially after years of suppressing anger, can cause a source to…snap. Violently. Marek did so. I just barely managed to protect myself and the effort almost killed me. But the rest of the family…Klara…", he trailed off, eyes squeezing shut.
"So you carried him here. Now what?" Akari prompted.
"I took some provisions from the steading. I hoped to recover my strength here." Detmund rubbed his face in frustration. "I've been coming to this steading for years now. I'm known in the area, and so is Marek from travelling to markets with Mistoslan. I didn't pass through Foller's Ford to get here, but other villages did see me. I need to get us to Vizima but if we're spotted and caught, one or both of us will be hanged. Or burned." He gulped, looking pleadingly at the witchers. "It's not the only option, true enough. But crossing here is the best one, I think."
Riordan grit his teeth. According to the contract, he and Akari should take the boy and deliver him to Daird. Not even his dulled emotions could stomach the idea of handing a literal child over to the slaughter. He couldn't think of another way out of this.
"Do you know any concealing magic?" Akari asked Detmund.
The mage nodded. "Some. Why?"
"Do you think you could, say, conceal yourself, Marek, and a horse for long enough to pass through town and cross the bridge at Foller's Ford?" Akari asked further.
"It…would be a test of my abilities. Especially now. But I could. However, I don't have a horse." Detmund pointed out.
"There's one in the paddock at the steading. They don't need it anymore." Riordan recalled.
"That solves that problem. But we'll need to get as close as possible without being seen to minimize how long I'll have to hold the spell." Detmund said.
"Have no fear. I have that covered, too. I'll need to borrow your cloak, Master Detmund." Akari said.
"My…cloak?" The mage repeated.
"Yes. We'll need to take some things from the steading as well." Akari looked at Riordan. "If this goes like I think it will, we'll be able to kill two nekkers with one bomb."
"Huh?" Riordan grunted.
"The people of Foller's Ford are expecting a werechanger." Akari said with a slight smirk. "So we'll give them one."
Riordan blinked. Then it hit him.
"Fuck." The Giant groaned.
They returned to the village. Akari informed Daird that he was correct; the village was, indeed, under threat from a werechanger. It had, indeed, been scouting for its next victim the night before. But, not to fear. Though the werechanger would return that night, that simply meant the witchers could prepare a trap for it.
Akari went around the village, using chalk to inscribe powerful "witcher wards" upon the walls of various houses. These would corral the werechanger into a house graciously abandoned and cleaned out by its owner, where Riordan would be lying in wait, allowing the two witchers to fall upon the beast from either direction. It was imperative, however, that the people of Foller's Ford remained in their homes, else the werechanger might target them and ruin the trap.
Then, Akari knelt in the center of the village, her silver katana across her knees. She fell into a meditative trance, and waited for the sun to go down. The Phoenix was undisturbed; further proof of Sir Krentz's true intentions. If he truly wanted the witchers gone without meddling in the problem, he'd never have allowed such blatant preparations to deal with it. It was the sort of scheme that an average, boring person would think was deviously clever. Well, the witchers were more than happy to go along with the magistrate's plan.
Night fell fully over the village. No doubt, some of the residents were beginning to doubt the witcher's words, if they weren't already. However, those naysayers were silenced when the werechanger arrived.
It lumbered into the village, a hulking thing of dark fur that snarled and twitched as it walked. Occasionally it would stop to snuffle at a door, even dragging a claw across a few of them, drawing curses or cries from those within. In one house, it sounded like a woman was screaming in utter terror, or agony, but muffled by cloth or a clamped hand. However, the werechanger kept seeking out the exposed prey in the center of Foller's Ford.
There was a burst of light and magic that echoed through the village, kicking up a cloud of dust. The werechanger let out a guttural howl and stumbled back from the witcher ward. Akari sprang into action, pursuing the werechanger, driving it back with a burst of fire from her hand. The beast recoiled from the flames, trying to flee from the witcher hunting it.
The chase went around the village for several minutes. The werechanger kept running into wards, causing more blasts of magic. Whenever it tried to turn on Akari, it would be faced with a gout of flame, yet the beast was always just quick enough to get out of the way of the fire.
Eventually, Akari managed to hound the creature down into the dwelling set aside to serve as a trap. The moment it passed through the front door, it roared in fury, but Akari dove in after it. There was the sound of a struggle for ten dreadful seconds as the two witchers battled the horrible beast, their blades slicing and hacking. The fight was ended by an extended blast of flame. When it was over, smoke drifted out from the hut's door and chimney along with the stench of burned hair.
Riordan and Akari emerged from the hut, sheathing their respective blades. They were sheened with sweat and smudged with grime, but both appeared unharmed.
"It's alright, everyone! You can come out! The werechanger has been slain!" Akari announced. She repeated herself a few times just to make sure.
The villagers began to emerge, some carrying lamps or torches, others with pitchforks, wood axes, and sickles. Soldiers from the checkpoint were also among them. The people converged on the hut, many coughing or even gagging at the smell. Daird limped up, the old veteran clearly unbothered by the stench. He leaned into the hut, holding up the torch to see a pile of blackened bones and scraps of smouldering wolf hide. Atop the bones was a wolven skull, smoke curling out from its eye sockets.
"Goddess above…you killed it…", Daird breathed, amazed. He held an old soldier's falchion that was nicked in a few places but mostly well cared for.
"We certainly did." Akari said with a shrug.
"You said something about taking up a collection." Riordan reminded the headman.
"Yes, yes, of course." He turned to one of the young men that had accompanied him in the tavern earlier. "Ivo. Go get the collection bag, boy, and be quick about it." As Daird's son ran off, the headman looked to the witchers and said, "we'll never forget this. Long as there's a Fuller's Ford, folk here will sing your praises. You've saved all our lives."
"It's what witchers do." Akari said neutrally.
Ivo returned, holding a cloth sack. Riordan could tell just by looking at it that it didn't hold very much. Not that he particularly minded in this case. Sure, they'd had to put on a little farce, but neither he nor Akari had been in any danger. A little disguise, a few uses of the Aard Sign for the "witcher wards", and some Igni from Akari. Riordan suspected there would be few contracts that took so little real effort in his career.
"You…have to understand, master witchers, we're just simple folk trying to get by. Y-You'll have food for the road, of course, and a skin or two of wine, iffin' you want. If there were any other way what we could repay you, goddess knows we would." Daird said, looking at the ground.
Riordan accepted the sack and opened it. There were some coins, a couple of silver spoons, a few pearls from river clams. Surprisingly there was a gold ring set with an, admittedly small, sapphire. He could demand more money, but why bother with that hassle?
Riordan handed the sack to Akari, then said, "in that case, I invoke the Law of Surprise. Whatever any of you might have but don't yet know about. That'll square things."
There were some murmurs of agreement. Riordan suspected it was both because they approved of honoring the old tradition, but more pointedly…
"Uhm, master witcher, we're happy to oblige. Aren't we?", Daird asked the villagers, to more agreement, "and I'm meaning no offense, but we were all just home. There'd be naught we don't already know of." Daird pointed out.
Riordan drew in a breath, intending to say that it couldn't be helped, that Foller's Ford had already given all it could, that they'd accept a few drinks at the tavern.
"Rolf! Rolf!" A older woman shouted, moving as fast as she could. She looked haggard and exhausted. There were stains on her apron and her hands, but she looked joyful. "Twins, Rolf! Your Nezka gave you twins, just like I said! Oh, Melitele be praised, I've not seen two more beautiful baby girls, and no mistake."
Riordan's eyes bugged for a moment. Then he recalled the muffled cries coming from one house, and Daird mentioning the wife of one of his sons was expecting.
"Wh-...what is it?" The midwife asked, smile leaving her face.
"Fuck." Riordan grunted.
The hopeful, even festive mood withered into silence as the reality of what had just happened sank in.
"N-No-Now, master witcher…", Daird started to say.
"The Law of Surprise was called, headman." Akari cut in. She tilted her head toward Riordan. "You heard him. And you said you'd be happy to oblige."
"Well, yes, but…", Daird began again. He looked at his son. The big lad, Rolf, was ashen faced, like the world had just been yanked out from under him. "Rolf, my boy, tell them. You tell them we'll find another way."
Rolf didn't say anything. He just stared at the witchers.
It was a ludicrous situation. Riordan and Akari had deceived the entire village to help the actual killer get away. That was one thing. Marek hadn't meant to do it, and didn't deserve to be punished for it. In trying to make sure the boy wouldn't be hounded for the rest of his life, the witchers were adding a second shattered family to the tally. And yet, that was the way of the world. Their choices were either to admit the lie and probably have to fight their way out of town, or hold up the deception. It would deprive Rolf and Nezka of their daughters.
But, it would mean the Schools of the Giant and Phoenix would each have a new recruit. Riordan drew himself to his full height, axe on his shoulder. He was not good at reading people, nor convincing them subtly, but sometimes a hammer worked better than a dagger.
"The Law of Surprise has been called." Riordan agreed with Akari. "And it will be honored. But we can't take newborns on the road. So. In five years and five days, we'll be back to claim them." He turned on Rolf, glaring at him. "And I swear to you, we'll be checking on them, time to time. If I find out they're being mistreated, or you've taken them and run, you'll fucking wish we let the werechanger get you. Got it?"
Rolf sucked his teeth, looking around, as if he hoped someone in the village would speak up in his defense. No one, not even his father, did so. It was settled.
"Yes, master witcher. I'll…I'll not have it said we of Foller's Ford have forgotten the old ways." Rolf replied, shoulders slumping.
"Look on the bright side. Now you have an excuse to make another one." Akari said.
Any further conversation was cut off by the approach of a half-dozen people. Two held torches. Leading them was Sir Krentz, the rest were sleepy looking soldiers. The magistrate had traded his finery for a gleaming breastplate and arming shirt.
"Take. Heed." Krentz commanded.
The soldiers among the crowd gathered to the magistrate's side. All told, there was about a score of them. It was a situation the witchers could fight their way out of. That could cause trouble down the line, of course. Riordan and Akari didn't need to be known as the Butchers of Foller's Ford.
"I warned you not to meddle, witchmen. And yet, you defied my commands." Krentz said in a voice as low and threatening as his nasally whinging could be.
"Your command was we leave tomorrow. Which we plan on doing. At no point did you directly tell us not to investigate, just that we weren't needed." Akari pointed out.
The villagers were backing away from the witchers now. The soldiers among the crowd remained where they were, but didn't draw weapons yet. Krentz was scowling fiercely, hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Men! Arrest them." Krentz ordered.
The soldiers hesitated. Riordan took his axe off his shoulder. Akari placed her thumb against her steel katana's crossguard.
"I don't know if we'll be able to kill all of you." The Phoenix said, pushing the blade from its scabbard by a couple of inches. "But we will be able to kill some of you. Ask yourselves; do you think you'll be one of the survivors when it's all said and done?"
The soldiers looked at each other uneasily. The tension in the air was rising.
"Do as I command!" Krentz snapped.
"Live to fight another day, lads." Riordan suggested, though calling them "lads" was probably erroneous since most of them were probably older than him.
"Arrest them! NOW!" Krentz shrieked, drawing his sword.
"These two just killed the beast you useless louts couldn't!" One villager suddenly shouted.
"You'd have us killed in our homes just so your useless toll house is safe!" Another cried.
Daird pointed his falchion at Krentz, "fuck off back to the capital if you don't like it!"
The villagers all joined in the chorus, angrily shaking their torches and various improvised weapons. Riordan found himself shocked by it. He'd figured they'd have jumped at the chance to keep their money and prevent Rolf's daughters from being taken. But, perhaps this resentment against Krentz had been building for some time.
The magistrate saw that he had not just two witchers to deal with, but several dozen angry villagers. He was purple in the face with rage, his soldiers gathering defensively around him. The soldiers were clearly afraid, both of the angry mob and, no doubt, the wrath of Sir Krentz if they disobeyed. If it came to a fight, it would be a bloodbath.
"WE'RE GOING!" Riordan boomed, his voice echoing and silencing the villagers. The Giant addressed everyone present. "The contract is done. We'll leave. No one else needs to die over this shit." He let out a sharp whistle. Akari did the same.
In a few moments, Kreveson and Lunch came out of the darkness. The villagers parted for them. Wasting no time, the witchers mounted up, but before they rode off, Akari reached into the sack Daird had given them, pulling out two orens and tossing them to Krentz, who actually dropped his sword to catch them both.
"For the toll, sir." The Phoenix said with a saccharine smile.
Krentz closed his hand around the coins. He scowled with such force that it could knock down the walls of a castle.
"Let's go." Riordan said, eager to be away.
The witchers rode around the group of soldiers, leaving them and the denizens of Foller's Ford to sort things out for themselves. If they wanted to kill each other in the streets, now it was their own business.
"That's going to be a hell of a story to tell back at Kaer Trellig." Riordan sighed as they reached the bridge.
Akari held up the sack with the payment in it. "You know, I don't think this would feel so light if you hadn't handed over that chest to Detmund."
"Didn't hear you tell me not to." Riordan grunted.
"Scamming a village to keep a kid alive is one thing. Stealing the inheritance of a kid who just accidentally killed his entire family? That's something else. Though, did we really scam Foller's Ford? The killer is gone, after all." Akari said.
Riordan shrugged. "Don't really care either way." He scratched his beard, changing the subject. "Fuck. Never really expected to end up with a Surprise Child."
"Me neither. But, it's like Master Valenz always tells us. 'A wise witcher is always planning for the future. We've seen what happens when we don't.'" Akari quoted.
"Valenz." Riordan repeated, mulling the name over. "Valenz of Claremont? The Viper? How'd that happen?"
Akari nodded. "In Fuso, we had only one school; the Tiger, out of Kyuden Tora. It never suffered like the ones here on the Continent did. That is, at least, until the Second Conjunction. New intelligent monsters called oni arrived; strong, cunning, powerful with magic. They took over the Fusoan clans one by one within months, then sent an army against Kyuden Tora. It was a coastal fortress, so the survivors of the siege fled by ship. They were far from the only Fusoan refugees. The oni treated wars like games of Gwent against each other. So the survivors of Kyuden Tora joined a larger fleet that eventually arrived here on the Continent."
"Surprised they let an outsider be Master." Riordan observed.
"Valenz knew the Continent, knew how witchers worked here. It only made sense to put him in charge. So the Tiger School rose from the ashes and was reborn as the Phoenix." Akari looked over at him. "So, there you go. Your turn."
"Huh. Mine's a lot less dramatic." Riordan said. "The Island of Undvik was being resettled after the White Wolf killed the ice giant Myrhyff. Skellige didn't have a Witcher School, so the powers that be figured we may as well put one there since there was room. Our Master is Skarin, a Skelliger like me, but of the Bear."
"That's it? Aren't Skelligers supposed to be skalds that are good at telling stories?" Akari asked.
Riordan snorted. "I'll rhyme the ghouls in Vizima to death, then." In truth, the traditions of the seanchaidh, Skelliger warrior-poets and skalds, remained strong in Kaer Trellig. When they gathered there each winter, they spoke of their deeds on the Path in epic fashion. Riordan felt comfortable in his meager bardic skills among his fellows. Among strangers? Less so.
Akari chuckled. They left Foller's Ford behind.
The Open Road, Central Temeria
8th April, 1295 IC
"Hey, Giant."
Witchers tended to be light sleepers. It came with the territory of both being a trained killer and having such heightened senses. So, when Riordan heard Akari's voice, his eyes were open and his steel seax in hand in an instant.
"Our friends from the road are back." Akari warned him.
Riordan climbed to his feet, sheathing the seax. He always slept fully armored when out in the open, for the hunter never knew when they would become the hunted.
They had only rested for a couple of hours after leaving Foller's Ford. The next morning, they had ridden past a group of rough looking individuals that could have been mercenaries or bandits. To Riordan's understanding, the two classifications often overlapped. Akari had made a joke in passing that if the sellswords found their way to Foller's Ford, one conversation with Sir Krentz would probably see them turning right around. It turned out that the Phoenix's humor had been prescient. Hell, the mercs might have just turned around to follow the moment the witchers had left line of sight.
The fire Riordan had built was sullen embers now. The two of them had camped in a small clearing just off the road, with trees all around them. Riordan quickly added some wood to the fire. Hopefully, the mercs would see it and think their targets were sitting beside it. Rather than do that, Riordan and Akari moved into the darkness.
"Here." Riordan muttered, offering Akari a phial of black liquid from a pouch at his belt. "Hanged Man's Venom."
Akari accepted the phial, pulling the cork with her teeth and spitting it out before pouring it along her steel katana's blade. Riordan did the same with the remaining phial, applying it to the blade of his steel axe.
Their enhanced eyes caught sight of the humanoid shapes moving towards the witchers' camp. Even if they'd both been asleep, the clanking and clinking of the sellswords' gear would have given away the mercs' approach. Had they at least been smart enough to surround the camp, Riordan wondered?
Each witcher picked a tree and hid behind them. They heard the sound of their attackers getting closer, bushes and fallen leaves hissing as uncareful feet.
"Loser pays for dinner tomorrow." Akari whispered.
"Loser?" Riordan asked. Then he got it. "Sure. You're on."
Four mercenaries walked right past the two witchers. Riordan and Akari waited a few seconds, ensured there were no more coming from this direction, then sprang into action.
Akari claimed the first kill, shooting one mercenary in the back with her crossbow. Riordan took a long stride forward, swinging his axe in a wide arc that cut off the head of one merc, chopping off the right arm of the one beside him. The fourth one made a confused, terrified yelp as he wheeled around, raising a spear, but Akari batted it aside, then slashed the merc across the chest. Chain links scattered and the sellsword fell back with a cry of pain. He, and the assailant missing an arm, writhed on the ground, screaming as the venom did its work in their veins.
There were voices through the trees, seemingly all around them. Torches were lit. Rapid footsteps began hurrying towards the sounds of screaming.
"Tied." Riordan grunted as he hefted his axe.
"For now." Akari agreed, katana held before her.
A woman in a padded gambeson came out of the trees with a flanged mace. Riordan let the attack bounce off his axe haft, then brought the pommel around to smash across the sellsword's jaw. Blood and teeth flew from between her lips and she dropped. She was followed by two more sellswords. A spear was thrust at Riordan, which he sidestepped, then parried the handaxe of the other. The pair tried some semblance of strategy, the spear merc keeping back, trying to hound Riordan like he was a bear, the axe merc trying to move inside the Giant's guard.
The Skarin had trained the Giant School witchers to rely on weapons first, saving Signs for moments of need. A blast of fiery light from behind him, followed by screams, told Riordan the Phoenix did not follow that idea.
Riordan drew his steel seax in his off-hand, slashing out. The surprise cut caught the axe merc in the throat, sending them down, gurgling and kicking. Riordan couldn't wield his axe effectively one-handed, but gripped high up on the haft, he could still use its bearded blade to hook the spear away, then lunge, driving it into the spear merc's belly. He threw his opponent down with a slam of his shoulder, then sheathed his seax as yet more sellswords emerged. Several more. This wasn't an attack on a whim. This had to be Krentz's doing. Still, sellswords didn't fight to the last if they didn't have to. Kill enough, and they would flee.
Riordan backed away from the sellswords that were fanning out in front of him. They'd learned feeding themselves by ones and twos to his axe wasn't working for them. He stopped when he made contact with someone else. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed it was Akari.
"Looks like we're tied." The Phoenix noted.
"For now." Riordan replied, then to the mercs, "whatever he's paying you, it's not worth it. Take this as a lesson and go." He reached toward a pouch on his belt.
The sound of a crossbow snapping was his only warning. Riordan made the Quen Sign, a bubble of force briefly surrounding him. The crossbow quarrel rebounded from the barrier.
"Your mistake!" Riordan barked, producing the bomb he'd been reaching for, igniting its fuse with Igni, and tossing it. He warned Akari, "Phoenix. Samum!"
It landed among the mercs with a loud SNAP and a blinding flash of light. Both witchers protected their night vision by briefly closing their eyes. Riordan would have preferred a grapeshot bomb, but this would have to do.
His own bomb exploding covered the fact Akari had thrown her own, much quieter ordinance. Sellswords were coughing and retching. A bitter tang was in the air. Hers had been a devil's puffball, producing a noxious, poisonous cloud. Devil's puffball. Another wise choice.
Riordan stormed ahead, wading into the blinded sellswords, his axe sweeping in great arcs. Bodies were cleaved open, limbs lopped off. Those who were not killed or felled outright felt the frigid burn of the Hanged Man's Venom searing through their veins. It was a hemotoxin, ravaging the blood vessels and bodily tissues of the victim, while also preventing clotting. It wasn't always fatal, but those that somehow survived the touch of Hanged Man's Venom were usually crippled for life.
Then, as if by unspoken word, the fight was over. The surviving sellswords were scattering into the forest, leaving their dead and wounded behind.
Riordan watched them go, waiting to see if it was a trick, ready to shield himself from another crossbow shot. It was unnecessary. The sellswords kept running and did not return.
Letting out a breath, Riordan leaned on his axe, wiping blood from his face. He didn't enjoy killing people. There were few qualms to be had for killing someone that intended to do the same to him, but a witcher's job was killing monsters, not people. Of course, even as he thought that, more of Skarin's words crept into his mind.
Silver for beasts, steel for people. We carry the latter for a reason. You will use it. Your job is figuring out when you should.
Puffing out a long breath, Riordan leaned down, cleaning his blades on the gambeson of a dead merc. Around him, a few of the sellswords were writhing and groaning piteously. He felt little compunction to ease their passing into the next life.
"Do the wounded count?" Akari asked behind him.
"I'd say out of the fight counts." Riordan replied, looking back to see the Phoenix appeared to be unharmed.
"Nine, then." She said.
Riordan did a quick count of his own inflicted casualties. Eight.
"Same." Riordan grunted.
A silence dragged on for several seconds.
"Try again, Giant." Akari said.
Riordan sighed as he stood up and put his weapons away. "Fine. You got me. We should make some distance, either way."
"Agreed." Akari said, sheathing her katana. "But, I'll tell you what. Tell me your formula for Samum bombs and we'll call it even. The ones I was taught to make aren't that loud or that bright."
"A good trade. Share it with the other Phoenixes." Riordan said. There had been a time when there was bitter rivalry, even violent conflict, between witchers. In this new age, even the most jaded members of the old guard like Skarin could see where that had led them the first time. Riordan hoped that even this small cooperation with a witcher from another school would be a building block towards something better for all who walked the Path.
Giant and Phoenix broke camp, mounted their horses, and rode off into the night.