The Dragon and the Wolf

Chapter 4 -- Witch in the Wild

*****

I walked in on Yennefer and Geralt enjoying a private moment. Considering it had been quite some time since they'd last seen each other, I turned and walked out, but heard Yennefer laugh lightly as she called me back into the room. Geralt had that look of smug satisfaction a man generally has when back with the woman he loves.

She added further detail to what the emperor had told Geralt and I. The Wild Hunt was searching for Ciri, Yennefer holding her hands up immediately, admitting her own search for Ciri had attracted attention. She added that, for now, she would no longer use magic, but rely on Geralt's skill, and my own brute force if required, to help find her.

"Start in Velen," she suggested, "You know the Inn of the Crossroads?"

Geralt nodded. "Smack bang in the middle of Velen."

"No man's land," I muttered, "Nilfgaard to the south, Novigrad and Redania over the river. It's not going to be pretty. Obviously I've spent a little time around there. Absolutely no law and order. Bandits running amok. Local peasantry barely scraping by."

"Speaking of Novigrad, there's a good excuse for you to head there, Ragnar." I met her eyes as she smirked. "Rumour has it that Triss Merigold has made her home there."

Geralt groaned. "Great, he's going to piss off and leave me to deal with Velen while he tries to get laid."

I patted him on the back. "Don't fret, Geralt. I'm sure there are plenty of women around Velen..."

Yennefer scoffed. "Gods, I'm amazed it hasn't fallen off yet. Anyway, rumours of Ciri in Novigrad are, at best, rumours. But if Ciri would attempt to make contact with anyone in Novigrad, it would be Triss. But make contact at the Inn with my agent, fellow by the name of Hendrik. He should provide you with more information."

"Why are they after her? The Wild Hunt?" I asked.

Yennefer shrugged. "I don't know, Ragnar." Well, at least she was honest. "I can make some guesses, but until we find her, and perhaps gather more information, we'll simply have to do what we can to avoid their detection."

"Where are you going while we're doing this?" Geralt wondered.

"I'm heading to Skellige. One or two things have happened that gained my attention." She smirked, looking my way. "I'm sure Cerys will be asking after you as soon as I arrive, Ragnar. I understand you've made quite the impression on the young lass."

"Another redhead. See a theme, Yen?"

She laughed and kissed his cheek. "I'm going to travel there by portal. If you want, I..."

"No. Horseback it is. You can send Ragnar if..."

"Fuck that," I muttered, "I'll give you two a moment. Good luck, Yen."

"You too, Ragnar. Try not to sleep with every woman in Velen while you're working."

"If I say 'I'll behave', we'll both know I'm lying. So I'll try not to lead Geralt astray."

Walking out of the room to give them either a couple of minutes, or even a couple of hours alone time, I ended up having a conversation with Ambassador var Attre, who proved to be a real source of information, filling in plenty of gaps in regards to what was happening on the continent. Being in only one place in the field, and then spending a few weeks around White Orchard, I had no real idea what was happening elsewhere. It was an interesting and rather thought provoking conversation, left with the feeling that the war, which was currently paused, would end with one climactic battle between the remaining Northern Kingdoms, led by Redania, and Nilfgaard, with Novigrad as one of the crown jewels for the taking.

Still waiting for Geralt, I grabbed a drink and took a seat by the fireplace, my thoughts immediately turning towards Tomira. She'd definitely remain in my thoughts for a few days, even weeks. The idea of seeing Triss again was appealing, though it had been quite some time since we'd last seen each other. I could name other lovers but... I figured I might see them in due course. Life usually found a way.

"Ready to go?"

"Aye. We are getting changed, right?" I asked.

"Yennefer might like the look of me in these clothes. But she's gone so..."

Retrieving our clothes, we immediately changed back into our armour, leaving what we had to wear behind, grabbing the rest of our belongings and made our way out of the palace. Before we mounted our horses, I noticed Geralt take a last look around. "Wonder what will happen to this place," he muttered.

"Depends on who ends up winning the war. I think the days of independence are over, though. Temeria will become a vassal of one empire or another."

"It died with Foltest," Geralt stated, as we mounted our horses, "Nilfgaard inherited a corpse. Temeria is the same as any other nation to the south. Consigned to the history books." He sighed before stating, "Come on, Ragnar. Let's get out of here. With any luck, we won't have to return too often. Too many bad memories otherwise."

It took a couple of days to make it to the Inn of the Crossroads, which was in the heart of Velen. Having been on the Path further south for months, he hadn't seen the devastation the war had brought this far north, on the banks of the Pontar. The only positive was that, although it was cold, the sun was shining and the mud was hardened. The roads were in generally good condition, considering armies had spent weeks marching up and down them.

Passing by the enormous Nilfgaardian Army camp, bunkering down for the winter, we followed the main road, eventually passing by villages we'd quickly forget. Benek. Toderas. Lindenvale. We did pass by somewhere called Crow's Perch, which had once been the seat of the local lord of the area, no doubt now abandoned due to the war. As for the lord, he was either fled or dead.

The inn we were looking for was located on its own little isle named Mudplough. Not the greatest of names for an isle, to be honest, though perhaps rather honest of the area. I hadn't seen a single sign of any wealth through any village we had passed through or skirted. Everyone was doing their best to scratch a living and just survive another day, hoping that one army or another didn't come marching through again to 'requisition' anything worth taking.

I hadn't spent much time in the saddle lately, so my crotch was feeling rather tender by the time we made it to the inn. As it was growing dark, we agreed to sleep the night under a roof before moving on the next morning. Hobbling slightly as we walked into the tavern, it was deserted, no real surprise considering it was me distance from the nearest villages, and I assumed not many would risk walking home after dark.

The innkeeper was immediately suspicious. Luckily, Geralt was used to it so simply ignored the attitude as he ordered us a bottle of something strong for us to share, making sure we received two cups. Before he could ask the innkeeper about our contact, all of us heard hooves approaching. Geralt had an ear for these things, glancing back at me. "Six horses, all of them armed and armoured."

We positioned ourselves where we could unsheathe and attack if necessary, while also keeping an eye on wherever the six would eventually stand or sit. If they were locals, they would know we were not, and in areas like this, any stranger would arouse suspicion. I knew Geralt wouldn't want a fight. Nor did I, to be honest. But six men arriving on horseback suggested they were likely mercenaries, henchmen, or some other load of undesirables.

The first one slammed the door open and walked in as if he owned the place, his five colleagues following in his footsteps. I kept watch as Geralt stayed relax, listening to them step inside, no doubt able to ascertain each weapon being carried, able to sniff if they had already consumed booze, and hear in their tone how eager they were to start trouble. All of them looked in my direction at the same time, their eyes taking in my size, before three of them took a seat at a table nearby, the other three looking back at Geralt and the bar.

"Innkeep! Vodka!" the first man demanded.

"Who's this?" the second man asked, his interest in Geralt enough to be an immediate concern.

"Brave warrior, looks like. Got two swords, see?" his friend joked.

"Oi, grey boy! What's the point of havin' two swords?" the first man asked to the laughter of the others. Geralt glanced my way. Didn't have to do anything else. The look was 'Don't get involved' but with an added word of 'Yet.'

"Wonder if he keeps an extra prick in his trousers, too."

"You fuckin' deaf?" the first man asked, his tone increasingly and quickly irritable, "Gonna say who you are, or do I need to loosen your tongue with me knife?" I sighed, as I had a feeling these dickheads were just looking for a fight. Then he looked at me. "And who the fuck are you, just standing there watching?"

"Just call me an interested bystander, wondering how the man with two swords is going to react. Wonder if he'll wield them together, one in each hand?"

Geralt almost glared at me before he grabbed the bottle he'd bought for us. Turning around, he could do one of two things. Either slam it into the side of the head of the nearest man, and then we'd just slice and dice. Or he'd take the peaceful route. And considering his reputation, Geralt did take the peaceful route at times.

"Why don't we share a drink?" he asked.

It wasn't the answer they were expecting. I had a feeling they were disappointed not to get the reaction they desired. I knew they had wandered in, itching for a fight with someone. Usually thugs like these would pick on peasants and people who can't defend themselves. The only reason they chose Geralt is that there was only me, and they had six to his one. Little did they know...

"I don't drink with strangers," the man replied.

"We share a round, won't be strangers anymore. Then we go our separate ways."

"And where are you going?"

"Nowhere tonight. Tomorrow, we head over the Pontar. Maybe Novigrad."

"City of whores and whoremongers."

But the six men were pleased to be getting a drink, Geralt pouring each of them a cup, before pouring one for himself and me. We toasted each other silently, threw back the alcohol, exchanged a nod of the head, and with their own bottle of vodka, they headed off to a far table to drink in peace. I stood next to Geralt at the bar. "Well, I was ready to throw down if you gave the signal," I murmured.

"Definitely henchmen for some local lord."

"Baron," the innkeeper muttered, "They're his man. Often come around here, throwing their weight around. Thanks for not rising to the provocation."

"We're not here to fight. We're here for information," Geralt said, "We're looking for someone. Name of Hendrick."

"I know of him. He lives in Heatherton. Village to the west of here. You could head there now, though light is fading fast."

"No rush, and we need the rest."

"There are no rooms, but if a bench is okay?"

"That's fine. Slept on worse. Ragnar?"

"If I'm drunk, I won't care where we sleep."

"We'll grab a table. Is there a chance of any food?"

"Sure, sure. I have some meat already prepared. Can bring that over with some trimmings."

We took a seat, the food arriving a few minutes later. Having barely eaten all day, we polished it off in a couple of minutes. Geralt wasn't usually the chattiest of companions, and he proved it again that evening, though I figured hearing that Ciri was returned, and possibly in danger, meant he had a lot on his mind, so didn't blame him for being away with his thoughts most of the time. He did ask the occasional question of what I'd been up to, and to be honest, apart from fighting in the army for a while, I'd been adventuring around like he was doing.

"Think she's in danger?" he asked once we were well into a second bottle.

"Ciri is capable. She can look after herself."

"The Wild Hunt though, Ragnar. I keep having these thoughts..."

"Such as?"

"Nothing that I can put my finger on. Just a general sense that something is wrong. And why is Ciri back? Wherever she went, I thought she was safe. That was the whole point."

"Maybe the Wild Hunt found her there? She might have had no choice but to return."

"Maybe she's looking for me in return?"

"It's possible."

"Hmmm..." He knocked back his cup. "Fuck it. I'm going to get some sleep."

"Good idea."

I woke with a slightly pounding head the next morning. Geralt was fine, as always. Bastard. I knew he could get drunk, but he would have to drink the amount of alcohol that would put me in a coma. We broke our fast before heading outside, a grey, miserable day, but at least it wasn't raining. Mounting our horses, we headed west towards Heatherton. "I have to ask, Geralt. Have you really not been with anyone since you last saw Yen?" He gave me a look that made me laugh. "I'm assuming..."

"I keep it simple, Ragnar. Whores."

"Does she know?"

"Of course she does. Witchers do have a reputation, of course, because there is always an element of truth. If we didn't spend so much time apart, my eye wouldn't wander. You know I love her."

"Geralt of Rivia admitting love. Still find it amazing whenever I hear it."

"I do love her, and she knows that, whenever I make the choice, it's purely a physical need, a release I need which she isn't around to satisfy." He glanced my way. "You're one to talk, Mister 'I'm going to stick my cock into any woman who is willing and able.' You put most witchers to shame." Chuckling, with a shrug, I admitted he was probably right. "Didn't do all that much whoring while with Vesemir, of course. He's too old to be worried about such things nowadays. If I did head off for a night, he'd make a joke or two then just ask I returned without having caused any trouble."

The village of Heatherton was only a couple of hours ride away and, approaching its outskirts, our conversation ceased as we both definitely got the feeling something was wrong. Even the smallest of villages felt alive. There was always plenty of noise as men and women were hard at work, and children were always noisy. But there was next to no movement from what we could see.

We both unsheathed a weapon as we moved our horses along the road to the path that led into the centre of the village. It was deserted. Most of the buildings had sustained damaged, one or two destroyed completely. "Fuck," Geralt muttered.

Dismounting near the well that was generally the centre of such a village, we heard shouting from a house nearby. A man was being bothered by a few wild dogs, managing to attract their attention, following us outside where we could take care of them. I headed off to look around as Geralt talked to the only survivor. The concern I had was the fact there was no sign of any other villager. If the army had passed through, they would have just left the bodies wherever they had fallen. They would have likely burned the houses as well.

Geralt walked over a few minutes later. I could have gone searching through houses for supplies, but I guess I had hope that they were alive. "Wild Hunt was here," he muttered. I sighed. No chance any of them surviving contact with those bastards. Still didn't explain the lack of bodies though.

"Hendrick?"

Geralt gestured to a nearby dwelling. "We'll likely find his body inside. I'll head in and see what I can find. Want to join me?"

"Not particularly but four eyes are better than two."

The Wild Hunt had made mincemeat of Hendrick. There was little remaining that I would consider human. The blood had long since soaked into the floorboards, the rest of his body butchered and bloody. Surprisingly, his face was just about recognisable, but it was obvious he'd been tortured. "By Talos," I muttered.

Aware the man would have had information, Geralt eventually found a key that opened a trap door. Heading downstairs, it was obvious that Hendrick had been rather well supplied, and before his run in with the Wild Hunt. But, more importantly, he had information. Shame he was dead, as we could have really probed him for anything he knew, but what we did find was enough to give us options. Heading back outside, we stood together in silence for a couple of minutes.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Well, we can do this one of two ways. We can investigate the witch and the baron separately, or we can do it together. It just depends on who they are and what they're going to want in return. We both know they won't help out of the goodness of their hearts."

"If you go see the witch, you'll end up trying to fuck or will end up fucking her. I know what you're like."

"Are you saying I should go see the baron?"

"No. We'll go see the witch first. We've been tasked to do this together. You don't have all my senses, but then I don't have your gifts for... fucking people up when it gets nasty. Always appreciated you at my back, at least."

"Think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Geralt."

"Fuck off."

"Where are we headed?"

"Midcopse."

I knew the name, like I'd heard the name of many of the villages around Velen, but I'd rarely visited any of them. I stuck to the larger settlements and cities. More chance of a bed in a tavern, of better food and beer, and also more women about who would interest me. Following the road south, we passed through a forested area, keeping our wits about us, the perfect place for bandits to ambush us, before we rode through the village of Blackbough. I did wonder how the peasants managed to scratch a living in villages such as the one we were riding through. I remembered what life was back on Skyrim, and I've got to be honest, life in Velen was almost horrific in comparison.

It was early afternoon by the time we rode into Midcopse. Like Blackbough, it appeared to have been untouched by the fighting. I liked to think Geralt was as relieved as I was that the peasantry was left to just get on with their lives. Dismounting our horses in the middle of the village, our arrival certainly attracted attention, and some of that attention was fear. Two armed and armoured men would cause many to worry about our intentions.

The village lacked any sort of tavern. "So..."

"We'll just ask around about a witch in the area," Geralt suggested, "Though we'll have to assure them we're not hunting her for being said witch."

The first couple of people he asked proved to be rather uncooperative, with other negative remarks about helping a witcher. As always, Geralt took that in stride. Even I was aware that he was generally distrusted and ostracised, except when they needed a monster needing to be killed. Tapping his shoulder, I gestured towards the old man and that I would go talk to him. He'd been watching us ever since we had ridden into town. After offering him a cheerful greeting, he quickly gave us the answer, admitting that he was giving us the information we wanted so we would leave.

"Your arrival here does not bode well for this village, at least under normal circumstances," he muttered, "I have heard of and recognise the White Wolf. I'm an old man and know enough. But you, stranger, have the stench of death on you as well. We owe the witch our thanks for helping us. I only hope your reason for finding her bodes well for us all."

"Thank you, old man," I said, tossing him a couple of coins. He quickly pocketed those and returned a grateful nod. "Regarding the witch, we only want her help."

Walking back towards Geralt, I couldn't help return a sarcastic grin as he grumbled to himself, walking back to and mounting our horses. You could almost sense the relief from the villagers that we were leaving as quickly as we arrived. Having to backtrack wasn't a problem, eventually turning onto a narrow path leading deeper into the forest, needing to dismount as the path narrowed and staying in the saddle was just too awkward.