ã€ŠTales of the Witchersã€‹


 A Promise Once Given

    A Promise Once Given

    The purse bulged like a fat man¡¯s stomach. It was more gold than Alayna had ever seen in her young life. The alderman opened the pouch and laid fourteen ducats on the table.

    ¡°That, little lady, will be your pay, should you complete the job.¡± He scoffed and spat into his cup. ¡°Which I doubt.¡± She frowned, not at his disdain, but at the paltry sum he offered.

    ¡°Fourteen ducats isn¡¯t enough.¡± He frowned in return. ¡°For four necrophages I¡¯ll need twenty four.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t give you more than eighteen.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t go below twenty two.¡±

    ¡°Twenty,¡± he said with exasperation. ¡°And you¡¯ll have a room upstairs when you¡¯re done.¡± She hesitated, and he grinned. ¡°A deal, then. Twenty ducats for four drowners by the river.¡± He proffered his hand in a sign of goodwill, expecting her to shake on the deal.

    A promise once given was a test of virtue. The virtue of such a promise is twofold: the virtue of wisdom that comes from making good promises, and the virtue of honesty that comes from keeping bad promises. A deal, once struck, was one such test. Twenty ducats was cheating her, but it was more than she might have gotten in Kalkar or Vattweir. And she could certainly never return to Vengerberg. Not after¡­ no, never again. Alayna took the hand he offered and shook it firmly.

    ¡°It¡¯s a deal.¡±

    She left the house and gently led her horse, Calliope, away from her tether. Together they walked down the road that left the village. Guleta did not seem a bad place, but the onset of winter made the Path wearisome; she longed for home, where she would settle down for the winter and prepare for new contracts in the spring. Home was nestled in the mountains north of Dol Blathanna, hidden from the eyes of King Demavend and the Scoia¡¯tael. In those mountains there stood a proud tower which was once home to the Griffin School of Witchers, and now home to just one young witcheress. Though the walls were now crumbling, and she alone called it home, Kaerhen du Loc was still cozy in the winter and the griffin emblazoned above the main gate still boasted of their proud history.

    The river was within sight. She exchanged her steel blade for one of silver and slid two corked vials into her waistband: one auburn, one a misty green. Her griffin medallion bounced on her breast as she walked alone to the water¡¯s edge. Calliope would buck and run away if she brought her any closer. The grass mingled with sand, and there Alayna stopped. Then she knelt on the ground and waited for night to fall.

    The slim girl was not an imposing sight. No girl at seventeen summers had fully grown into her body, but a body mutated by magic and mutagens was, for all its fine tuning and superior abilities, an aberration from the natural. Her hair, when brushed and braided, had a beautiful brown sheen. But she had not worn braids since she had ridden away with the witcher so many years ago ¨C now it blew loose in the wind. There was still an innocence in her eyes that belied the sharp sword on her back and the forest-green aketon she wore. Witchers ought to be fierce and unyielding, but she still seemed delicate at the tender young age, to those who had not yet dealt with her. Despite all, the alderman had misjudged her. She was every bit a witcher.

    The slimy black heads emerged from the still water without creating a single ripple. Five heads, ten webbed feet paddling silently through the dank river. Alayna uncorked the misty green vial and imbibed it ¨C the potion of Cat coursed through her veins, and the pitch of night melted away as her vision attuned alchemically to the dark. The movement drew their attention. Five fanged grins, ten sharp claws led the drowners towards what they doubtless thought was an easy meal.

    But they had not reckoned on finding a witcher.

    In one swift movement, she stood to her feet and twisted her fingers in the sign of Aard. The blue force of magic struck them, and the leading three stumbled back into the river and fell. She leaped forward and twirled between the remaining two, slicing the stomach of the first and bisecting the second from shoulder to hip. That one fell dead. She glanced at the three still climbing out of the muck of the river and faced the first drowner again. It hissed, baring its long teeth as green blood dripped from the shallow cut across its belly. Alayna watched its hips. When she saw the slight bend in its knees and the slight forward lean in its hips, she hurled herself to the side and let her sword trail behind her with a strong two-handed grip. The monster leaped through the space she had occupied just moments before. Instead of a young girl, the monster hit a cold silver blade. The razor sharp edge bit through flesh and bone, and the second drowner fell dead.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    Three of the five corpse-eaters remained. The alderman had said there were four. He had been mistaken. Already she felt the initial surge of adrenaline wearing off. The Aard sign had required more strength than she had anticipated, and she was beginning to feel fatigued. If she survived, Alayna swore that she would get extra coin from the alderman, even if it meant sleeping on the road again.

    These moved cautiously. The creatures were not sentient, but years of surviving the long defeat honed the efficiency of their murders. The three fanned out, and Alayna was forced to retreat and swivel between them in order to keep them all in focus. The drowner on her left made a sudden leap out of her peripheral vision so that it was behind her. All three hissed in glee.

    Recklessly, Alayna threw herself forward. With a horizontal stroke she lopped the head of the first, and with a quick thrust buried her sword up to the hilt in the chest of the second. The fire faded from its eyes, and she felt blood dripping down her stomach where its claws had scraped through her aketon. Four drowners lay dead on the banks of the river.

    Then she remembered the fifth drowner.

    She spun and crossed her arms in the protective sign of Heliotrop, barely holding back the drowner with the orange glow of the magic shield. Instinctively, she drew her knife and thrust it beneath its chin and into its brain. A soft hiss was the only thing that had alerted her to the attack, so soft that it was probably instinct. But a witcher hears the sounds of ripples on the water, and a witcher well knows the sound of a murderous thought. It is as familiar as their own breath. The knife dripped green in the moonlight.

    She sat heavily on the sand. Five bent corpses bled green on the sandy shores of the river. The river had been infected but was now cleansed. Like a surgeon, her work required a strange contradiction: by excision is the patient made whole. The surgeon cuts out the tumor so that the healthy flesh might heal again; the witcher cuts out Evil and Chaos so that the natural order might be restored. But neither the surgeon nor the witcher had the luxury of time to entertain such lofty ideals.

    She washed her silver blade in the river and quickly bound her wound, grimacing as she did so. She uncorked the second potion and quaffed the auburn drink. She had not hoped to need the Swallow, but she felt quick relief as she felt her strength return. It was necessary to begin the long and ugly process that would follow. She drew her knife and sized up the five bodies lying around her. In this way the surgeon and the witcher differed.

    The surgeon did not collect trophies from his patients.

    **********

    ¡°Twenty five ducats.¡±

    The alderman smiled nervously. ¡°Little lady, we shook on twenty. A promise, once given, cannot be so lightly broken.¡±

    ¡°Twenty ducats were for four drowners.¡± She hoisted the string of five heads to the counter. ¡°Count.¡± He counted, then recounted, examining each head closely. She continued, ¡°Twenty ducats for four necrophages means each drowner is worth five ducats to you. There were five at the river¡¯s edge, so you owe me twenty five.¡± He nearly objected, but she slowly drew her knife and laid it on the table; her meaning was perfectly obvious: the honor of a promise could be broken though the promise itself remained intact.

    His face took the expression of curdled milk. But he paid her twenty five, his hands clenched as he counted out the extra five coins.

    She turned and walked away, grabbing her knife from the table. There would be no hospitality in Guleta tonight: she would sleep on the road.

    An instinct, a thought, a suspicion. Something in his eyes had unconsciously alerted her to the imminent trespass. She spun and crossed her arms in the sign of Heliotrop, barely catching the knife that the alderman had thrust at her back. Without thinking, she thrust her own knife under his chin and into his brain. A low growl was the only thing that had alerted her, so soft that he probably wasn¡¯t even aware he had made it. But a witcher hears the whispering of the wind, and a witcher well knows the sound of a murderous thought. Betrayal is as familiar as an old friend. The knife dripped red in the candlelight.

    She reached down for the tempting purse, then thought better of it and left only with the twenty five ducats he had given her. A promise, once given, cannot be so lightly broken. Yet her action did not preclude the screams and shouts of ¡°murderer!¡± as she left the village with a bloodied knife. They would count the heads, they would find the full purse which remained. But it would change nothing: the alderman, whitewashed through the lens of nostalgia, would be absolved, while the stranger, who by the very nature of her strangeness could never be one of them, would be maligned. It was the way of the Path.

    Order and Chaos, Justice and Defeat: whichever side the witcher fought for, that same side would soon snap at her heels. It was the way of the Path.

    A promise is a test of virtue, and the virtue of such a promise is twofold: there is the virtue of wisdom that comes from making good promises, and there is the virtue of honesty that comes from keeping bad promises. Where humans were not wise, they were at least honest. For civilization made a promise long ago to the witchers: we will ever need you and we will despise the necessity. We will invite you into our homes at the beginning and kick you to the road at the end. We will grow fat from the fruit of your labor and we will pay a pittance for the privilege of our lives and our livelihoods. Thus the inheritance of a witcher was a knife in the back. Such were the promises of humankind.

    And a promise, once made, cannot be so easily broken.

 The Fear of Witchers

    The Fear of Witchers

    The ghastly visage hung in the air across from Alayna. The two circled each other in a deadly dance. Her thin silver blade spanned the distance between them and kept the otherworldly other at bay. The specter vanished. Alayna wordlessly twisted her hand in the Yrden sign and threw it at the floor, allowing the magical trap to disperse in a small circle. The witcher of the griffin closed her eyes and trusted her other senses to alert her to the next attack. The chill of night swept across the back of her neck. She spun, slicing her blade through air where a moment before the wraith had been. It was gone. Yet she felt no fear.

    She did not fear the wraith because her training had prepared her to fight the wraith. Nor did she fear werewolves, fiends, wyverns, endrega, or any other monster that prowled the land. The life of a witcher was spent surrounded by death, but Alayna was not bothered by that. The fear of witchers is not death. Death is the dance partner of witchers, and though the dance may have beautiful steps it is still an ugly dance. Those who hire witchers do not see the steps, for they are only witness to the bows at the end; the blacksmith and the herbalist, the tracker and the farmer: their sole encounter with the witcher in her professional duties is tainted by the smell of carrion and the musk of oils and potions. The fear of witchers runs as deeply as the fear of monsters.

    Alayna closed her eyes again and searched the room with her senses, while still pouring a slow stream of energy into the Yrden trap. Then to her left there was something. She did not feel the specter, but she felt its conspicuous absence where there ought to have been something. The griffin medallion hummed on her breast. She angled the blade so that, like a compass, it pointed to the heart of her foe. The wraith materialized with a sudden spectral flash, but the silver flash of Alayna¡¯s witcher blade was there to meet the attack.

    The soldier must stand over the corpse of his foe and wonder if he was truly evil. He sees the face of the fallen and sees a brother, a cousin, one who is not so different from himself. The knight must stand before the Scoia¡¯tael, those guerilla freedom fighters, and wonder if he fights on the side of justice. Even the jailer must wonder if the man behind bars could be reformed and rejoin society. The witcher has no such qualms. The fear of witchers does not lie in the ethical dilemma of slaying monsters, for unlike the soldier or jailer she is presented with an unconscionable Evil. The witcher is free of dilemma so long as she faces Evil.

    Alayna stood over the crumpled specter, and blew a breath of the Igni sign to illuminate the silent torches in the tomb. The undead lay dying, and on the floor, it shimmered away into spectral dust. This she collected and walked from the catacombs beneath Vengerberg to collect her pay from lady Raquel Hus-Roy, of the Hus-Roy family in whose crypt she now crept. Heretofore she had been offered contracts only in backwater villages from peasants who stank of mud and crawled with lice. The city of Vengerberg stank of sewage and crawled with rats, but its denizens were at least somewhat better arrayed. A particularly large rat scampered across her shoe, and with a stray thought she sent it running with a short flame from the Igni sign.

    She wished she could have done the same to the lice-infested villagers in Ban Glean.

    Stifling a short giggle, more from nervous exhaustion than black humor, Alayna watched the walls turn from a dark grey to a brilliant orange as she exited the catacombs into the dense twilight of Vengerberg. The light did nothing to aid her vision ¨C she could see perfectly well in dim conditions ¨C but the wash of vibrancy brought her mind from death and tombs back into the land of the living.

    **********

    Vengerberg was a city of six thousand people. As Alayna stood outside the quiet crypt and looked out at the streets, it seemed that all six thousand of the city¡¯s residents were out. Alayna had heard of sorceresses who could become invisible with their magic ¨C on the streets of Vengerberg, Alayna was invisible without any magic. Even with twin blades slung over her shoulder she could disappear in the crowd, for there was an older witcher who often visited Vengerberg. She began the long process of forcing her way through the crowd ¨C some coming from market, most simply leaving their jobs and returning to their homes ¨C in the direction of the Hus-Roy manor.

    The city was a good place. Perhaps it might be good to winter here instead of at Kaerhen du Loc, which would be lonely; she could still take contracts in the city and yet not be so alone. Lady Hus-Roy had been very good to her. Alayna decided that she would ask her about accommodations at the manor. As she left the main streets behind, the crowds thinned. The houses were more richly adorned now and stood further apart from each other. Some even had small plots of grass that sported trees or flowers. One industrious house, crawling with vines, had rows of grapes growing on a trellis in front of the house. Alayna furtively snatched a handful as she passed by. The plump fruit only further endeared her to the city.

    The Hus-Roy manor was a stately building, one of only six private buildings in the city to have three levels. Outside the gates, which were adorned with steel wyverns, two guards absentmindedly barred the entrance. One, old and stout with a gut like a keg, was swaying in a way that made Alayna believe he had recently spent time at a similar keg. The other guard was young, about her age, with a fair face and clear blue eyes that smiled at the corners.

    Unsurprisingly, it was the gut who spoiled the silence, and not the deep blue pools. ¡°Toll f¡¯r th¡¯ gate, mester¡­¡± he eyed her swords, ¡°¡­witcher. Ten duc¡¯ts. Mebbe elev¡¯n.¡± Unsurprisingly, the image of a keg was as appropriate as she had imagined.

    ¡°I have fulfilled the contract for your mistress, Lady Raquel. She will be displeased if I am barred entry.¡± She silently pleaded with the blue eyed boy, who held his pike as stiffly as she imagined he held a girl at a dance. He sidled close to the older man.

    ¡°Say, Harry, she don¡¯t have coin yet. She gots to get paid first, yar? Toll ken come later.¡±

    There were several moments of quiet reflection from Harry, during which Alayna suspected that he had fallen asleep. Only his hand twitching on his tightly wound crossbow prevented her from simply walking by. Then Harry stirred.

    ¡°Aye¡­ s¡¯pose she ken pay th¡¯ toll on¡¯er way ou¡­¡± With spittle still hanging from his lower lip, he slipped back into the happy dreaminess from which they had disturbed him.

    The young guard unlatched the gates and let Alayna through, who muttered a quick word of gratitude and flashed a smile at the boy. His face lost its color, as though she were seeing it in the dark with her witcher¡¯s eyes that were attuned to shape but not color. She was a witcher, after all. The fear of witchers runs as deeply as the fear of monsters; yet the fear of witchers runs deeper still in cities. Vengerberg had built tall walls to keep out the monsters, but witchers strode through the gate unchallenged. Witchers protected innocents from the monsters, but who protected the innocents from the witchers? That was what the boy¡¯s face communicated in the span of a breath.

    Just as suddenly as it had paled, his face snapped back into a weak smile. Perhaps his expression had merely been reactive, like a wolf shying away from a torch. Maybe the city was a good fit for a witcher after all.

    The manor was dimly lit in the transitory space between twilight and nightfall. Servants bustled about with candles, lit and unlit, livening the manor for the evening. Impulsively, Alayna gently twisted her hand in the Igni sign and lit a tray of candles with a single breath of flame.

    The servant jumped and nearly lost the tray in her surprise. From an upper level a clear, accented voice rang out.

    ¡°My, what a delightful trick. You would do wonders as my new housekeeper, darling. But I suspect that is not why you have returned.¡± Alayna craned her head to catch sight of the grand woman who descended the staircase. Her silky green dress trailed lightly over the curtained steps, clinging to the woman¡¯s curved legs; her padded shoes were noiseless. Were it not for the shifting of her knees beneath the dress, the sight suggested the illusion that Lady Raquel Hus-Roy floated rather than stepped down the staircase. Here was another sort of magic. For a moment Alayna imagined herself in a cream blue dress with her hair bound up in an elaborate coiffure, but only until she remembered her matted hair and scuffed elbows. No, this was magic reserved for the highborn, whose inner grace was abetted by the hereditary sums of ducats and crowns and orens that they passed from each generation to the next. This was not the life of a witcher, who passed ducats and crowns and orens from one bawdy tavern to the next. Alayna bowed clumsily.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°To be the housekeeper in the Hus-Roy manor would be a delight. But I come as a witcher having fulfilled my contract. The troubles in your family crypt have been dispatched.¡±

    ¡°And was it a difficult job? What was it that haunted the tomb?¡±

    Alayna paused, remembering the fears of the nobles. ¡°It would be best not to mention what was in the tomb. Regardless, it is gone, and I have some proof of its passing should you wish to have it verified.¡±

    Lady Raquel waved the suggestion away as she might with an ornery gnat. ¡°Nonsense. You are a professional, I trust that you have your standards as my hairdresser has hers.¡± Alayna looked admiringly at the long amber tresses that adorned the woman. ¡°You must see her. I¡¯ll have one of my servants bring you her name.¡±

    ¡°I would be delighted, but¡­¡± Alayna hesitated.

    ¡°State your fear, my darling. In Vengerberg we speak our minds, from the highest lord to the lowest pauper.¡± She paused, a wry smile across her face. ¡°Though as a witcher you are regarded as somewhat greater than a pauper.¡±

    Alayna¡¯s relief must have been evident to Lady Raquel, for she chirped with laughter and waved for her to continue. ¡°I was only wondering ¨C for you have been so very kind ¨C if you might recommend a place that I might stay for some time. I am delighted with the city and the offers of work, but do not want to cause any alarm among the inns or taverns.¡±

    Lady Raquel was positively offended. ¡°My darling Alayna! An inn?! I would not hear of it. I shall house you for the evening in the servant¡¯s quarters.¡± For a moment a flash of embarrassment ran across her face. ¡°I regret that we cannot afford to house you in a guest room, but¡­¡±

    ¡°But the smell of the highway is my companion and my matted hair would not rest well on silk sheets. The servant¡¯s quarters in your manor are nobler housing than I have been afforded by those who could have offered better.¡± Walking to the fireplace, she kindled it with the Igni sign. ¡°My signs and potions are not fit for your world of nobility.¡±

    The Lady was relieved. ¡°Then I shall see to it at once. And to your pay, of course.¡± Then a twinkle entered her eye. ¡°You must know that there is a witcher residing in Vengerberg now. The White Wolf, who beds with our resident sorceress.¡±

    ¡°I have heard of him, but we have not met. I am of the school of Griffin. It is a rare thing to see him so far north, for I hear he travels often to Cintra and hails from Lyria.¡±

    ¡°Rivia,¡± the Lady corrected her. ¡°And he is well traveled. We are fortunate to have him, doubly so to have yet another witcher in our fair city.¡± And with a smile and a mellifluous flurry of skirts, she left, leaving Alayna alone in the grand hall with no direction and only a parlor trick.

    The hall was too grand for one witcher to stand alone. For all the kind words of Lady Raquel Hus-Roy, Alayna might as soon have been a brigand with her two swords slung across her shoulder and boots still muddy from the city. She glanced down and saw the faint tracks across the plush carpet. Perhaps only a witcher¡¯s mutated eyes could see the dirt, or perhaps it was eyes sharpened by the guilt of intruding in a world that would never belong to her. The dainty skirts of these ladies were not patched and rent, and their tiny ankles fit in the heeled shoes that were so unfathomably fashionable. No, her calloused hands were not fit to stroke silk or hold a teacup. They were fit only for the blade.

    She would slink away to the servant¡¯s quarters and rest where it was proper.

    **********

    Exiting the front door was as unceremonious as entering it had been. Yet as Alayna closed the door behind her she saw the warmth that effused from the manor, with lit candles and kindled chimneys now inviting her back against her better judgement. The fire bright manor blazed a stark contrast against the thick night of the smog and dust of the city. With difficulty and regret she turned away and passed back through the gates. Straight past the guards.

    ¡°All passage tax¡¯d by ord¡¯r of King Demawhosit, third of ¡®is mname.¡± This from the keg, still swaying with his loaded crossbow. ¡°Yer th¡¯ bitcher¡­ witcher, beg pardon, what passed hence twenny minnus er so. Yar?¡±

    She passed by the murmuring drunk without addressing him, looking about for the servant¡¯s quarters where she would pass the night. Hopefully in solitude.

    ¡°Yar?¡± He repeated hopefully. Then again with a tone that suggested his crossbow was pointed at her back. ¡°Yar!¡± She turned: her suspicion was confirmed. The younger guard, still tightly gripping his pike, was wider in the eyes than even she surely was. The drunk stumbled over his words, which no doubt sounded fair and noble to lesser men.

    ¡°Th¡¯ tax¡­ fer entry, an¡­ an fer nonhuman sorcerous witchin ways! Erryone knows witchers cast spells ¡®n fuckin¡¯ shite.¡± He spat and continued with the spittle dripping down his chin and onto his shined breastplate. In a no doubt rare moment of lucidity, he spoke clear enough to be understood. ¡°Witchers ain¡¯t like us folk. Witchers ain¡¯t folk at all.¡±

    Coolly, Alayna chose her words carefully. But not carefully enough. ¡°That matter will have to be taken up with Lady Raquel, your benefactress and mine.¡± At this, his face burned with rage.

    ¡°Thas Lady Hus-Roy t¡¯ ye, sorc¡¯ress bitch!¡±

    Alayna saw his finger twitching on the trigger, which was aimed at the griffin medallion swinging on her breast.

    Alayna reached for her sword, knew there was no time to deflect the bolt. She extended her hand and reached instead for the first sign to come to mind, the last sign that she had used.

    Alayna watched the sign erupt from her outstretched hand and consume the old drunk guard, watched his alcohol-stained jerkin erupt in gouts of flame.

    She watched as her Igni sign snapped the crossbow string, which clattered harmlessly to the ground by its former owner. The man was dead.

    She watched as the young guard with beautiful blue eyes was caught in the conflagration. He had tried to wrestle the crossbow away from Harry as she had thrown her sign. He had sought peace while her instinct tended to death. Now he writhed on the ground besides his dead companion, burning, burning.

    Chaos and Order, Good and Evil; witchers fancied themselves protectors of Order, the last bane of Chaos in a world by which it was overrun. Yet Alayna found herself in a situation which every witcher eventually found themselves in: though she might have spent seventeen years in service to Order, still her instinct tended to Chaos. For chaos is the unconscious action of mankind, a rule from which witchers are not exempt. Alayna stood over the corpse of one guard and the writhing form of another, and she could not tell if the dead man had been truly Evil. And as she stood over the corpse, Alayna was not free of dilemma.

    It was at that moment that Lady Raquel Hus-Roy emerged from the manor. She was greeted by the stench of burning flesh and the groans of the young guard. He burned and burned, and Alayna could only watch in horror as he rolled in the slop and the mud. All of this Lady Raquel Hus-Roy saw, and in her eyes, Alayna saw fear.

    The Lady stepped daintily down the front steps, fixing her eyes on Alayna so that she did not have to see and believe what had undoubtedly happened. Alayna met the fearful eyes, set in a pale white face with drawn lips, and stammered an explanation.

    ¡°The, he¡­ guard. Too much to drink. He shot, and I¡­¡± She stopped and looked down at the wreckage. The young handsome guard rolled onto his back and looked up at her with a cry of agony. The left side of his face was crossed with a network of red lines that would scar horribly. Alayna could not meet the eyes of the guard, but neither could she meet the eyes of the Lady. She turned away, knowing there was no explanation that would cover her shame.

    With all the graciousness of nobility, the Lady attempted where Alayna had forsaken herself. ¡°I am sure that this can be explained. You need not go, darl¡­ Alayna. We will fix this.¡±

    For a moment, Alayna believed her. She turned and met the eyes that had been so kind and gentle and accepting before. She met the eyes and saw something different. Pity. Horror. Fear. The fear of witchers ran deep in the heart of the Lady, who gripped a coinpurse with white knuckles.

    Alayna took the purse, set it gently on the chest of the young guard, who would bear the mark of her mistake for the rest of his life. And she turned and left Vengerberg, never to return.

    **********

    The Lady, the Guard; both their faces would be forever seared into the Witcher¡¯s memory, just as surely as the young man¡¯s face would be forever marred by her carelessness. The fear of witchers is not death, nor is it dilemma. The fear of witchers is that one day they will make a deadly mistake and become indistinguishable from Chaos itself. The fear of witchers is that they are no better than the monsters that they hunt.

 Gvalchrienn, Witcher of the Griffin

    Gvalch¡¯rienn, Witcher of the Griffin

    The pogroms spread like a forest fire.

    Alayna thought the metaphor was particularly poignant, since the brutalization of the elves killed the forests just as effectively as a wild fire. Yet fueled by cries of, ¡°the traitor Cregennan!¡± they continued murdering non-humans with rapacious bloodlust. Through their noble efforts, smoke rose from Ban Glean all the way south to the outskirts of Vengerberg.

    One such pogrom rode down the road now, towards Alayna. Despite that she was human, she drew her cloak above her head and hoped they would simply pass and leave her be. As they drew closer, her hope grew ever slimmer.

    Fourteen of them traveled on the old forest road which ran along the border of Dol Blathanna, the Valley of Flowers. They laughed raucously, and had she not known that the cause of their laughter was the systematic murder of elves and dwarves in Aedirn, she might have thought that they were coming from a feast or wedding. Most carried clubs and sickles, and one sported a pitchfork, but three had bows and a handful of arrows.

    ¡°Oi, horseman.¡± A man with a crooked nose was the speaker. When he spoke, his words were tainted with a nasally inflection. ¡°Show us some round-ears and you¡¯ll be on your merry way.¡±

    ¡°C¡¯mon, round-ears,¡± jeered a lackey, the one with the pitchfork. ¡°Drop the ¡®ood.¡± She dropped the hood in compliance. There was no point in inciting them.

    A low murmur grew among the men. ¡°A wench,¡± a large and surly man commented.

    ¡°A comely wench,¡± a beanpole of a man leered, hefting his club as if in compensating for something.

    ¡°With eyes like a cat,¡± the leader finished, nasally. ¡°A witcher, she must be. I heard they had two razors, but I didn¡¯t know they came with two tits.¡± The men roared, and were emboldened to try other, bawdier jests.

    Alayna said nothing, but shifted uncomfortably in her saddle as she felt the eyes of the men travel all over her person and saddlebags. Many of them had been brigands and rapists before they had joined up with these simple villagers. Perhaps some of them had even raided and raped in the villages of their companions; it hardly seemed to matter in the face of the pogrom. Humankind united on the lowest rung of the ladder: the rung that even the morally crippled could reach. That rung lay closest to corpses which littered the ground beneath it. The dregs of society elevated themselves by stabbing the less fortunate dregs in the back. Alayna swelled with pride to be a human every time she thought of such things.

    The leader¡¯s eye alone was not roving. He reached gently across the distance between their spurs as if to stroke her face. She blanched and tightened her grip on the handle of her sword, determined that he would lose his hand if he caressed her. But he only swept her windblown brown hair from her ears, checked that they were round, and lowered his hand again.

    He leaned very close to her. He had striking green eyes. They were stunning, guiltless eyes, such as she might have expected to find on an innocent fox or gentle bruin. She didn¡¯t feel his hand around her waist until he had firmly gripped her sword hand. Like lightning, she jolted in her saddle and tried to draw her blade, but his grip was like a vise.

    The bushes across the road rustled though there was no wind. Alayna saw two blue eyes and naught else. Probably an elf. Maybe even Scoia¡¯tael. The eyes were unnoticed by the riders.

    ¡°You know what we seek,¡± their leader whispered softly. She felt a cold pit growing in her stomach. ¡°Every Squirrel tail you bring in will be handsomely rewarded.¡± His grip loosed slightly, and his hand slid across her stomach as he pulled her closer, his intentions perfectly obvious. ¡°And perhaps there might be another reward for you, if¡­¡± But her free left hand worked swifter, twisting in the three curious symbols that formed the Axii sign.

    ¡°I thank you for your concern. I will let you know if I find what you seek. Be on your way.¡±

    He blinked once and leaned upright in his saddle. Shaking his head as if the air buzzed with flies and his ears were clogged with shit, he stirred in the saddle and led the pogrom down the road. When they were out of earshot, Alayna called quietly to the eyes.

    ¡°Ce¨¢dmil, friend. You can come out. I am friend of the Aen Seidhe.¡± The blue-eyed elf, for that is what she was, rose from the bushes and warily crossed the path.

    ¡°Ce¨¢dmil, gvalch¡¯rienn. Those humans murdered my people. I thank you for sparing me from the same fate.¡±

    ¡°Gvalch¡¯rienn? I have not heard that word in the Elder Speech. Yet I have heard that elves are haughty and cold, and you seem to be neither.¡± A look of pain flashed across the elf¡¯s face, so intense that she might have been nursing a wound.

    ¡°There is no room for vanity to coexist with extinction. How can we claim we are a superior race when we are forced from the land that we called home before you dh¡¯oine even had a word that meant the same? No, gvalch¡¯rienn ¨Cthat is griffin in your tongue ¨C though your race should wipe out the whole of my people I will not be haughty to one who has offered kindness to an Aen Seidhe.¡±

    Alayna nodded her head. ¡°I am grateful. I am called Alayna, and you have rightfully guessed that I am a witcher from the school of the griffin.¡±

    ¡°Vatt¡¯ghern, and yet also sor¡¯ca¡­ we have not met one such as you.¡±

    Alayna nodded again. So far as she knew, she was the only female witcher among any of the schools. ¡°What is your name, and what is your destination?¡±

    ¡°Bryanna.¡± She had blonde hair that fell in braids past her shoulders and cut a lithe figure that undoubtedly came from weeks on the run. ¡°I go nowhere, except where those men are not. Yet it seems you wish to avoid them as well. Might I ride with you for a time?¡±

    ¡°My horse will easily bear us both. I ride to Kaerhen du Loc, where I will spend the winter north of the valley. Alone, unless you wish to join me. It is too large a castle for just one girl.¡± Bryanna had already swung herself into the saddle behind Alayna.

    ¡°It will do. Ride on, she-griffin.¡±

    Alayna had heard that the elves rode light in the saddle, and it must have been true, for Calliope hardly seemed to notice the extra weight. She snuck a glance over her shoulder at the elven maid. With a poignant longing, Bryanna watched every tree and bird and stream as if it would be her last sight of them. Alayna turned back around.

    ¡°How old are you, Bryanna?¡±

    ¡°I have ground the earth beneath my feet for twenty springs. That is young in the estimation of the elves, but I judge you to be younger still.¡±

    Alayna ground her teeth at that. ¡°Aye. It is as you say. But I see your wandering eyes ¨CBryanna, Kaerhen du Loc is not a barren place. There will be birds and streams and hills and woods vast enough and lively enough to capture your gaze, even during Yuletime.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°They will not be my birds, nor will they be my streams or hills or woods. Though I do not doubt that they are as fair as you say.¡±

    ¡°But,¡± Alayna was confused. ¡°Will it not be the same? Will it not be better? There is peace in treading the familiar paths of the woods, but there is adventure in the novelty of discovery.¡±

    ¡°Do you find novelty in the discovery of a new stepmother at home?¡± Bryanna nearly snapped at Alayna. ¡°This is our home, dh¡¯oine. These are our family. No novelty could replace such as that. No novelty of your woods could replace father, sister¡­ mother.¡± She fell silent for a time. Then, ¡°Do you have a family?¡±

    ¡°My father was a strong man. A farmer, I think. By him I learned of root and herb and the name of every green thing that grows.¡±

    ¡°And your mother?¡±

    ¡°I remember nothing of the woman.¡±

    She remembered the dour looking man who rode to the gates of their estate, and she remembered the woman he had carried on his saddle. She remembered the hilts of his swords obscuring her mama¡¯s face as she called out to her. The woman had begged the man for mercy, but he made the same reply every time. ¡®That which first greets you, that is what you promised me.¡¯ The woman¡¯s eyes had filled with tears. ¡®Bid your daughter farewell.¡¯ In desperation, the witcher had subjected a young Alayna to the Trial of the Grasses, mutating her body forever in a one-in-a-million success, before he died on the Path but a few years later. It all began with her mother.

    Alayna repeated herself. ¡°No. My mother is dead in my eyes.¡±

    Bryanna watched Alayna as she reminisced, and then spoke rapidly, with a startling conviction. ¡°My mother is dead, slain by your people for a senseless cause. I have as much reason for hatred as you. No, I have more. You humans have eyes, but you do not see. She is dead in your eyes? At least she is yet among the living. Gvalch¡¯rienn, you must loose whatever it is which binds you to the past.¡±

    Had it been a duel of blades, Alayna would have found a suitable riposte. Yet in matters of the tongue and heart, she was absent.

    It is said that witchers are emotionless, and that is what makes them so cold and mercenary. That is no truer than to say that a clerk is spineless because his vertebrae are warped from disuse and abuse, stooping for a lifetime over a desk. The witcher was an emotional creature once, but they are swept from their homes in the height of nurture and removed to a forlorn castle where mutations and trials strip away their young innocence. Reviled and scorned, the witcher travels alone and so does not learn to love, only to hate. That is what makes them such mercenary defenders of humanity; they have been denied a seat at the table that they guard. It is a difficult life that inevitably leads to death.

    After all, no witcher has ever died in their own bed.

    Whatever bound Alayna to the past was still in the process of binding her. Her mother¡¯s gift of her to the witcher who saved her life in the woods that day was the act by which Alayna became a witcher. And once a witcher, who could ever turn away? Fit a sword in the hand of a farmer and he will be a soldier until his dying day.

    These things Alayna thought until Bryanna interrupted her in a low, clear voice.

    ¡°It is a pity that you do not wish to remember your mother. I am sure she was as elaine as you are Alayna.¡±

    ¡°I do not know that word ¨C elaine.¡±

    ¡°Elaine: in the Elder Speech it means fair, beautiful. You see how it is the matron of your name? You do not carry the hardness of your father, but the elaine, the budding flower of your mother. I am sure she was lovely.¡±

    Alayna was almost ready with a blistering retort, but it was never given voice. They had passed around the last bend of the forest and were now visible to the open plains, upon which rode a familiar group of fourteen armed men. The man sporting a pitchfork still held it aloft, now adorned with fresh blood.

    ¡°Down, Bryanna,¡± hissed Alayna. ¡°Flee into the woods where they will not catch you.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense, elayna. They have seen me with you. I know something of fighting ¨C we will dance together, we and they.¡±

    Wordlessly, Alayna drew her steel sword and handed it to the elf. For herself, she drew her silver sword: steel for humans, and silver for monsters. She leaped from the saddle and landed on both feet. Bryanna and the enemy leader alone sat in the saddle with blades drawn. The battle began.

    Alayna rushed in with superhuman swiftness. Humans did not possess the same animal instinct as the monsters she hunted. With one blow she swept the legs off the first man, then hewed at the neck of the next. With a loose grip and a curious flick of her wrist, she opened the stomach of one man and the chest of two more at a single blow. Yet valiant though the charge was, nine men remained against two young and unarmored girls who were barely into womanhood.

    In the instant that she took to reorient her odds and plan of attack, Alayna found herself surrounded by the four men remaining with clubs in hand. She blocked two blows, felt the third bruise her shoulder and the fourth drive her to her knees. The men closed in, their gripping hands and hard feet kicking and hitting her as she fought for breath. Then a flurry of hoofbeats rushed by. ¡®Good,¡¯ Alayna thought. ¡®At least one of us will escape.¡¯ But instead, she heard the sound of rent flesh and felt warm blood pool on her leg. She opened her eyes and saw Bryanna¡¯s back, her borrowed witcher¡¯s blade dripping blood. With a quick thrust to the left and then a wide slash to her right, Alayna was surrounded by corpses.

    But eight yards away stood three archers with arrows fitted to string. Behind them, smiling, was the leader atop his prancing horse. With the same nasally inflection, he ordered the archers to fire in the condescension of victory. Yet arrows flew not from the pogrom, but from the forest; an arrow sprouted from the chest of the nearest archer, whose arrow flew wildly into the ground. The shaft was colored green in the custom of the elves. The pogrom leader spoke one final command.

    ¡°Fire!¡±

    The two archers loosed their arrows, and at twenty paces there was no doubt that both would find their marks. Yet never had they fought a witcher. With the supernatural grace afforded by mutations and years of training, Alayna was able to send the first shaft flying away in two pieces with her blade.

    But the second arrow embedded itself firmly in her gut.

    She ignored the pain and marched forward. The bloodlust was in her eyes and the remaining men were transfixed by the angel of death. From behind, Bryanna neatly lopped off the head of the man with a pitchfork, and the remaining two barely even noticed.

    Alayna marched forward. Blood dripped from her sword, from her forehead, and from her side. The leader turned his horse to flee, but she reached up and pulled him from the saddle. He landed face first in the thick viscous mud.

    ¡°Witchers,¡± she said, ¡°come with two swords. Steel for men, silver for monsters.¡± She raised her silver blade and let it fall through his heart. She thought of her mother as the bandit breathed his last, the beating of his heart shredding itself against the thick blade. She turned to the archer.

    ¡°Men like you sought to waylay a woman in the woods. Because of men like you, I was made to be a witcher. People like you ¨C monsters like you ¨C create monster hunters. Remember that.¡± She spoke the Igni sign and let her blade fall.

    This man would live. He would live without a left hand and with a horribly scarred face, but he would live. As monstrous as they were, people were not monsters. Monsters did not learn from their mistakes. Monsters did not reform themselves. As evil as the pogrom was, the men who made up the pogrom were not Evil. Perhaps the mercy of disfigurement would save this man¡¯s soul.

    As for the archers in the woods, Alayna turned but only saw leave rustling in the wind. But Bryanna, daughter of the Aen Seidhe, called out to those who she knew were in hiding.

    ¡°Va fail, Aen Seidhe aep Dol Blathanna! Squass¡¯me. Essea va¡¯en aec¨¢emm gvalch¡¯rienn.¡±

    ¡®Farewell, elves of Dol Blathanna. Forgive me. I am journeying to follow the griffin-sorceress.¡¯ They were brave words, for Alayna knew that at twenty springs Bryanna was considered young among her people. Leaving her people on the brink of death was a difficult choice, but Alayna was glad that it had been made. With Bryanna there was a sense of belonging, a sense of camaraderie that she had not had since childhood. She remembered what it was like to love and trust.

    Still, her misgivings betrayed her heart. ¡°Bryanna, your place is with your people. You should help them rebuild.¡±

    ¡°There are enough elves left in the Valley of Flowers to bring our race back into bloom. And they are not the only ones who need to rebuild. They flee for their lives and live in hiding; you are not so different, I think. You hide something from even yourself, and when you find it I will be with you. Perhaps you may have greater courage with a friend at your side.¡±

    There was a sudden sense of kinship between the two girls, as if they were sisters. ¡°We could have been sisters, Bryanna, had my mother been an elf and your father a human.¡±

    ¡°Aye, but mine is buried in the ground and yours is buried in the recesses of your memory.¡±

    ¡°Bryanna,¡± the beautiful elf turned and looked at her. ¡°My mother¡¯s name was Syrenna. And she was wonderful. Truly elaine. Yet¡­ I cannot remember her face.¡±

    ¡°That is because love keeps no record of wrongs, Alayna. Now show me your castle, your Kaerhen du Loc. I much desire to see its walls and explore its lands.¡±

    They rode into the mountains and soon came upon a part of the land that had been long forgotten by the forces of men, elves, and dwarves. The mountains sheltered them from the wind, and the grass grew long and thick. The animals that lived there had not learned to fear people and stalked the curious pair which rode on horseback. Fox and rabbit and sleepy bear, and above all the falcon. The castle almost blended in with the grey peaks that surrounded it. Three towers rose at varying heights, and the walls ran between them and against the mountain. It was the only home Alayna had known for twelve years.

    Bryanna spoke, breaking the silence between them. She had braided Alayna¡¯s tangled hair as they rode. ¡°This Yule I shall grow fat like the she-griffin in her nest of stone by the lake.¡± Alayna looked back, and Bryanna¡¯s eyes were twinkling. She hugged Alayna about her waist like an older sister would, and Alayna found herself smiling back.

    And the Witcher of the Griffin found herself laughing.

 The Long Defeat

    The Long Defeat

    There is one fear that is universal to all beings. Water hags flee before it, kikimoras burrow away from it, forktails build their nests high to escape it; vampires and men fear it too, and have given the fear a name. The long defeat. The long defeat is dying childless and alone, unable to contribute to the world after death. Monsters have no conception of genealogy, but they fear the long defeat all the same. A few drowners may not pose a threat to a witcher, but the last drowner in the land will fight like six of its brethren. Dying, alone, is when monsters are closest to men.

    The witcher and her companion leapt from their horses and landed firmly on the hardened mud. Alayna was reminded of the last two villages they had taken contracts in. The same overgrown ivy threatened the homes of villagers too busy to clear it away, and the same grime covered the faces of children and the boots of their parents. No Gadwall was not a pretty town, but the pretty towns did not often need a witcher. A solitary raven circled overhead, doubtless searching for some shiny new plaything to snatch from the smithy.

    ¡°I told you there would be work,¡± Alayna whispered to Bryanna, as the villagers reluctantly pointed them to the village matriarch. ¡°There¡¯s not a village north of the Yaruga that doesn¡¯t have monsters on its hearth.¡±

    Bryanna drew more glances than Alayna. Here on the borders of Mahakam and Lyria, racial prejudices were less strained than in Northern Aedirn. But an elf was still less welcome than a witcher. The villagers would have preferred neither, but both were here and neither looked ready to ride on.

    The elf pursed her lips. ¡°I never doubted that they would have work, only that they would offer it. Do you remember how fiercely that old witch haggled with you for the water hag? That haggler, now there¡¯s a pity you cannot dispatch that hag of a woman.¡±

    Alayna smiled thinly, but continued to walk briskly to the matriarch, who stood with crossed arms and a frown in front of the largest cottage in the village. The elf knew much of pogroms and hatred, but she knew little of witcher¡¯s work. As always, Alayna did the bargaining.

    ¡°Greetings, mother. I have heard that¨C¡±

    ¡°Aye, there was a battle,¡± the crone interrupted with a scowl. ¡°North. Follow the ravens. And ye will be paid for every corpse-eater. Go and perform your duty, so we may be rid of thee.¡±

    Bryanna almost threw a retort back at the woman, but Alayna stilled her mouth with a quick squeeze of her hand. ¡°Thank you, mother. Are they ghouls, rotfiends, or hags?¡±

    At the last, Bryanna almost giggled. Alayna had to squeeze her hand again to keep her silent. The old woman only shook her head, her matted gray locks flapping around her ears as she did so. ¡°Nay, lass. We do not understand your witching ways, nor wish we to. Ye are paid to let monsters feel the bitter tang of the long defeat, not compile encyclopedia.¡±

    Alayna sighed, and she hoped it was imperceptible. ¡°My rates are different for certain creatures. To travel to the battlefield, assess the danger, and return¡­ it would cost you extra orens. Are you certain that nobody knows of the creatures? And what of a place where we could board for the evening?¡±

    She frowned again. ¡°There be no room in the tavern. Master Yazimir may know of the monsters, ¡®twas he who the merchants were wont to meet.¡± The frown deepened. ¡°The outlander is in the tavern, yonder. Search for the camel-backed donkey.¡± She departed in a flurry of mud-drabbed skirts.

    Bryanna cast a curious look at the matriarch, and then raised her eyebrows at Alayna. The witcher shook her head in reply, her griffin medallion bouncing on her breast. She understood the woman no more than the elf did. They walked to the inn, where there was tethered the fattest bow-saddled donkey either had seen, munching happily on a bucket of oats.

    Bryanna started in, but Alayna looked back. The raven slowed its circling, then began to descend and landed confidently on the matriarch¡¯s outstretched hand. A pet? It almost seemed as though she were¡­ talking to it. It cawed, and jerked its head suddenly towards Alayna. The matriarch followed its gaze with her own, but Alayna had already turned away.

    The fat donkey¡¯s master, Alayna discovered as she entered the tavern, was an equally corpulent dwarf with a beard that hung braided to his knees and a set of rusty plate armor that he wore with pride. He was ensconced in a bucket of his own ¨C not oats, as his donkey gorged on, but a large Kaedweni stout. And not likely his first, from the way he swayed on his bench.

    Alayna grabbed the dwarf by the shoulder. ¡°What ho, master dwarf? I say, you must be Master Yazimir?¡±

    ¡°Aye, Yazimir is I, and I is Yazimir,¡± he replied in a brogue that was distinct through his slur.

    ¡°Master, we seek information of the battle by the Lyrian border, and were told that you might have some information for us.¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± he belched, ¡°But not without a drop o¡¯ spirit in me. I¡¯m mighty parched, lass.¡±

    ¡°Would that I could buy every goodly dwarf a round of spirit, but I have been cheated more than a cuckold in Vizima. But let us wager for the bill.¡± Grinning, Alayna handed her swords to Bryanna. ¡°We buy cheap. The one with the least glasses must pay the final bill, and fulfill one request from the other ¨C moreover, you will tell us what you know of the battle regardless of the victor.¡±

    His cloudy eyes twinkled for a brief moment in delight. ¡°You haggle as prettily as a Mahakam jeweler, lass. Innkeep!¡± The man bumbled to the counter, ¡°Get me two shots of Rivian kriek, and don¡¯t you stop pouring!¡±

    Shortly thereafter, Master Yazimir awoke in a pool of his own spittle and piss. The slim witcheress grinned unsteadily, then quickly closed her mouth as if unsure what might next emerge. The innkeep had cleaned six glasses, and eleven more remained. Alayna and Yazimir both looked sick, but the innkeep smiled: his orens would be stacked higher than the dirty dishes.

    ¡°You haggle like a Mahakam jeweler,¡± the dwarf moaned as he thought of the bill, and of his stomach, ¡°and drink like a Skellige jarl at feast. I must face my defeat with honor¡­ and one last stout.¡±

    She grabbed his hand as it reached for the mug of hardened clay. ¡°I trust that our agreement still stands, dwarf.¡±

    Yazimir eyed her cautiously, as if seeing her properly for the first time. ¡°Aye, so it does¡­ witcheress. It seems we have much to discuss. On the morrow. Once we have¡­ regained ourselves.¡±

    The matriarch met the two girls as they exited the tavern. ¡°I see ye have met Yazimir,¡± she sniffed with displeasure.

    ¡°Aye, though ye might have simply told us what we needed to know,¡± Bryanna sniffed back with equal contempt. Alayna would have argued, but she was not sure which image of Alayna she would have argued with. Or which matriarch to placate, though she did not remember there being twins, no, triplets¡­

    ¡°I, ah,¡± the wizened haggler stumbled over the words. ¡°I must apologize to ye. To ye both. There be room in the tavern a¡¯plenty, and if there be no then I will board ye in my own home. Nothing lesser is befitting a witcher,¡± she mumbled disconsolately.

    Bryanna¡¯s face did not lose its hardness, but her voice bit less when she finally replied. ¡°We would be grateful for it. We will dispatch the beasts on the morrow with the help of yon smashed dwarf.¡±

    Their room was on the ground floor of the tavern, and finer than any they could have afforded on their own. It smelled of holly and privet, which both grew extensively outside the open window. The tavern stood atop a hill, so that the girls could look out the window and see miles of uninterrupted farmland, except for a solitary oak tree which stood proudly adjoint to the building.

    A raven sat perched in the tree, and Alayna watched it with dull eyes. She absentmindedly thought of casting a sign at it, but when she blinked the bird was gone and the sun had dipped another few inches on the horizon. Was it the same raven? She blinked again, and there in its place was a bat, merrily fluttering after lightning bugs. She blinked again, and her head throbbed as she peered with squinted eyes into the blinding rays of dawn. Past dawn, at that.

    ¡°Rise, you slugabed, or yon matriarch will have fuel to add to her fires of prejudice against witcher and elves alike!¡±

    Alayna turned to find Bryanna, half dressed and with her hair undone, grinning sheepishly at her. Alayna lay her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes, only to be roused again by the elf. She opened her eyes and saw Bryanna kneeling over her, her face pantomiming a look of dead seriousness.

    ¡°You forget yourself, Alayna. You are no louse-infested, pox-ridden, hairy-chested mule of a man: you are a witcheress! Gvalch¡¯rienn of the Griffin!¡± Her eyes twinkled, and the corners of her mouth quivered from barely contained laughter, ¡°And, madam, you are late for a date with a certain fat dwarf.¡±

    Alayna groaned and rolled out of bed, barely able to hear her dear friend laughing at the splitting headache and dizziness that remained from the day prior. Never again would she drink with a dwarf, not for all the gold in Kovir!

    Yazimir grimaced when she opened the door, which squealed like a stuck pig. But he was true to his word, and sat astride his beleaguered donkey, resplendent ¨C as such ¨C in his rusty armor, with a battle-axe hanging on his back that had seen many years of use.

    ¡°Well, let us not waste away the day. Shall we be off?¡±

    Bryanna giggled. ¡°You already wasted today by drinking yesterday. Imbibe one drop more and you would have wasted tomorrow, too!¡±

    ¡°Enough of that,¡± Alayna commanded, ¡°or I¡¯ll strap you to Calliope and switch you from here to the battlefield.¡± Neither she nor the dwarf, who had paid for their alacrity, needed any more moralizing. She had certainly never drunk that much before, but nobody had ever taught her how much alcohol was proper. Nobody had ever taught her much of what she needed to know as a witcher, for that matter.

    They mounted to begin the ride west, against the sun, but Bryanna turned to the left and asked curiously, ¡°Was that there yesterday?¡±

    Alayna turned her head to see what she meant.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    It was a tower, cloaked in mist, whose pointed top rose not much higher than the jagged pine trees which enveloped it. It stood separate from the village, just like a king¡¯s palace would stand separate from his subjects, or like the rich would build their mansions separate from the poor. A conspiracy of ravens flew from the tower, cawing defiantly for their whole flight into the forest reaches. Their discarded feathers drifted down and were forgotten in the mist.

    It was as unknown as a knife in the back, and no less startling. It was said that ravens flew three paces behind death itself, and feasted on the rotting outcomes of the long defeat. Battlefields, rat traps, and pogroms; each could be found by searching for the ravens.

    ¡°Master Yazimir, did you see that tower yesterday?¡± Alayna was sure that it had not been there the day prior.

    Yazimir shrugged. ¡°Who can say? When I came here awaiting my comrades, I looked down into a bottle and didn¡¯t look up until you passed by.¡±

    The witcher of the griffin frowned, and they began the ride west. Alayna bent down into her saddlebags, and her medallion hung between her eyes and what she looked for. Grumbling, she swiped it away, and the sound of her gauntlet striking the metal chain pealed like a bell to her sensitive hearing.

    ¡°What are you looking for?¡± Bryanna asked.

    ¡°Potion,¡± she said. ¡°White Honey. It nullifies toxins from my other witcher potions. I think it might just do the trick for this headache.¡±

    The elf and the dwarf chuckled together, but soon her head was clear enough to appreciate the beautiful and multifaceted landscape around them. Farmland continued to the north, but the land south was thickly forested. Nobody wished to farm too near to the Lyrian border, not so close as they were to war. Ahead of them ¨C west ¨C the land rose in what would be the Mahakam mountains, just over the horizon now, and Mount Carbon chief of them all.

    ¡°Yazimir, what are you doing in this swill of a village when you are so close to your homeland?¡±

    He pondered Alayna¡¯s question thoughtfully, then answered, gesticulating with one mailed glove. ¡°Well lass, we dwarves have not faced so much enmity as yon elves. Meaning no offense,¡± he insisted to the frowning elf who rode beside him. ¡°We have not faced so much enmity because we have adapted to yer human customs. We are not ashamed to say that you outbreed us and claim land with more rapacious greed than even a dwarf faced with a dragon¡¯s hoard could muster. No, so long as we do not forget our ways, we are not ashamed of this. We will still trade in our caravans, and forge better goods in our smithies, and raise better fighters than all the rest of the land. Because of that, we and our cousins the halflings have not had to taste the bitter wine of the long defeat.¡±

    After a moment, he added, ¡°The battlefield is just up ahead.¡±

    She thought about his words as they drew closer. She had no ¡®ways¡¯ to keep to, not as a human nor as a witcher. All she had was guesswork from a forgotten childhood and the silver sword from a half-finished training. Was that the legacy of a witcher? She was startled from her reverie by Bryanna¡¯s quiet gasp.

    The field had surely been beautiful, once. Flowers still dotted the fringes of the clearing, and a stream bisected the hill which was a pleasant lump leading into the forest¡¯s edge. The severed arm of a man swayed in the banks of the stream, and blood was so thick in the grass that it might have been easily mistaken for poppies.

    ¡°Stay here, Bryanna, Yazimir; I¡¯m only searching for the monsters that did this. There will be no blood today.¡±

    They obeyed without arguing. Alayna left her horse with the pair and searched the field.

    She looked past the bodies. There were so many, and the necrophages had already passed through, leaving almost every corpse with chunks of flesh torn from the ribcage, gibbous and bleached white from the sun where they were not spattered red with blood. It was not difficult work for a witcher; it was difficult work for a girl of seventeen, who still could not look at a body charred by flame without remembering the sins of her past.

    Charred by flame?

    She looked again ¨C more carefully, more intentionally ¨C for signs that she had complacently passed over. Flesh was torn by necrophages (alghouls, from the footprints and the shapes of the jaw) but the bodies were also burnt by an intense flame. What caused a fire like that other than sorcery?

    ¡°Bryanna, Yazimir, come here. It¡¯s safe ¨C for now.¡±

    She blinked as she watched the pair come over to them. Ravens lined the trees, silent as the corpses they came to feed on. A battlefield, a rat trap, a pogrom: which of the three was this? Hundreds of the birds lined the trees, simply waiting for the next meal to be proffered by the long defeat. A raven had circled above the village, sat on the matriarch¡¯s hand, and watched Alayna through her window. Why ravens?

    ¡°Aye, lass, what have you found?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Alayna, for I do not wish to gab in this stench and squalor any longer than I must.¡±

    The witcheress pursed her lips, acutely aware of the birds lining the trees. Every eye was on her. ¡°Yazimir, look at these bodies. What would you say caused these burns?¡±

    ¡°Well lass, I¡¯ve only seen burns like this once. A terrible day, that. A house, all burnt down, and the clan pulled the corpses from the remnant timber and stonework. A terrible, terrible day.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Bryanna? What do you think.¡±

    The elf cleared her throat and knelt, wrinkling her nose. ¡°We elves are not overly fond of flame. I have never seen anything like this, except¡­¡±

    ¡°Except?¡± Alayna prodded.

    ¡°Except¡­ one day there was a woman who came to town. She threw fire from her hands, and danced with illusions for us children. An elven woman, who was¡­¡± she bit her lip as she realized what she was saying.

    ¡°A magician,¡± Alayna finished. At the word, every raven in the trees flew away. For a full minute, they could hear nothing but a thousand flapping wings and raucous cawing emerging from hundreds of sharp beaks. When every raven had flown west, Alayna fell to the ground. Her knees were weak and trembling from the realization of what she had uncovered.

    ¡°Alayna? Alayna!¡± Bryanna shook her shoulder, and her voice quavered. ¡°Alayna, talk to me: what do you know, and what were those birds?¡±

    ¡°Spies,¡± she murmured in reply. ¡°A magician¡¯s spies. They will return to the village and report what we know.¡±

    ¡°And what is that, lass?¡± The dwarf seemed unperturbed, but he was eager to hear from her as well. Perhaps he too was frightened.

    ¡°We know that ¡®twas magic that slaughtered these men.¡±

    ¡°Men and dwarves,¡± Yazimir corrected, spitting vengefully into the creek as he surveyed the corpses himself. ¡°My comrades. I¡¯d recognize Mahakam plate anywhere in the land.¡±

    She continued. ¡°Magic killed everybody here. Alghouls came after and destroyed much of the evidence. The villagers hired us to dispatch the necrophages, and when we return I imagine the wizard will have some manner of devilry lined up against us. If we return at all.¡±

    ¡°The man slaughtered my kin,¡± Yazimir said sadly. ¡°I do not care if ye join me or not, lassies, but I will exact vengeance for Mahakam¡¯s honor.¡±

    ¡°Even to look in the eyes of the long defeat?¡±

    ¡°Even then, lass. Even then.¡±

    ¡°Bryanna?¡± The girl shook her head.

    ¡°The wizard deserves a reckoning for this treachery. But¡­ we are but three outcasts pitted against a sorcerer and a village. What hope have we of enacting justice?¡±

    Alayna chose her words carefully. ¡°A witcher does not enact justice. A witcher fights Evil and Chaos, and defends Good and Order. A witcher does not need to prevail, only to fight. My training was not completed, but I was taught that much at least. I cannot stand by and let this dwarf do witchers work on his own.¡±

    Yazimir had raised an eyebrow at her speech, but was nodding by the end. ¡°Then let us return. It will be a brisk day in hell for somebody, this twilit evening.¡±

    So they rode back. It was a less happy return than the first journey had been.

    ¡°Yazimir, what was in the caravan from Mahakam?¡±

    He thought. ¡°Iron. Gems. Pottery and other crafted goods. Nothing unusual.¡±

    But Alayna knew that sorcerers needed gemstones as focuses for their spells. She knew that ¨C stuck in a village such as this ¨C a sorcerer would not be able to acquire as many gems for his craft as many of the famous sorceresses, who wandered more than the men.

    The village came in view sooner than any of the three would have liked. The sun, eastward when they began their journey, was now found in the west. Alayna and Bryanna rode side-by-side, just a little ways behind Master Yazimir. Alayna found Bryanna¡¯s hand, trembling as they rode. She squeezed it, then looked to her friend with a smile.

    Her smile faded when she saw their welcome.

    Ravens perched on every tree, cottage, and masonry in the village. The edges of roofs were black with feathers, and it seemed that they outnumbered the very leaves on the trees. There must have been hundreds of them. In addition, it seemed that every villager awaited their return. The tower ¨C no doubt the wizard¡¯s ¨C was visible just above the trees.

    ¡°Oh, that does not spell good,¡± muttered the dwarf.

    Alayna took the lead and addressed the villagers. ¡°We wish to speak to the matriarch. Where is she, that we might discuss our contract with her?¡±

    Silence was her response.

    ¡°I asked of you a question: where is the matriarch?¡±

    A single, gruff voice echoed in the silence. ¡°She don¡¯t want you here, witch cunt. Leave us be or there¡¯ll be trouble.¡±

    Yazimir erupted. ¡°I¡¯ll say as much to any man as stands against us, and more! There was trouble when yer wizard slaughtered freemen and Mahakam traders for the spoils of their carriage. What reckoning will there be for that?¡±

    A different voice, a woman¡¯s, rang dismally from the crowd. ¡°Master Perangomor warned us against ye. He said you would bring lies and trouble, and we ought to have nothing to do with ye.¡±

    ¡°But we have a contract,¡± insisted Alayna. ¡°Why would you invite us into your village only to drive us out? Why would you treat us as such if you only ever intended to renege?¡±

    ¡°Because I told them to,¡± a voice answered, resonating magnanimously throughout the main square. The bearer emerged. A man with a long beard was the speaker, elegantly dressed in flowing robes, with faint crows eyes that made him look both solemn and kindly.

    ¡°You?¡± Bryanna asked. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s our wizard,¡± a townsman cried, ¡°and ye had be best talking to Master Perangomor with respect, ye had!¡± The mob echoed his response, some beginning to wave farming paraphernalia threateningly.

    ¡°Witchers,¡± Perangomor repeated in a low cadence until the mob had settled down. ¡°Killers, brigands, thugs: you come to our lands, bringing only trouble and the blade, and when you leave what have you fixed?¡± Some mutters buzzed through the assembled throng, but they had not caught his intentions yet. Bryanna had. She had seen it happen before.

    ¡°Witchers,¡± he continued, ¡°Come to kill monsters, do they not? Have we been troubled by monsters until this witcher showed up? No? Well I think that it is very clear what has happened.¡± He thrust an accusatory finger at Alayna. ¡°This swindler has killed our men ¨C those who went to greet the Mahakam delegation ¨C and stolen the gemstones for her sorceries. And then! Then she took a contract on the monsters that she knew would come after the bodies. Because monsters always come,¡± he said, locking eyes with Alayna, ¡°do they not?¡±

    ¡°Always,¡± she replied without hesitation. ¡°Monsters will always come where there are poor folk to be exploited and abused. A witcher uses silver for monsters.¡±

    Poor words to choose in front of the poor folk of Gadwall.

    ¡°Kill the witcher cunt! Kill the elf bitch! Kill the dwarf bastard!¡± The mob erupted instantly, misunderstanding what Alayna and Perangomor understood perfectly well. The wizard had won, and the villagers had lost, though they did not know it and perhaps never would. It was but one infought skirmish that led inevitably to the long defeat. Humans and no other were the bringers of the long defeat, which threatened elves, dwarves, and every monster across the land. It would not threaten mankind until there was naught else to threaten.

    But for now there was naught to do but run. Alayna had to tear Yazimir away from the village with blood staining his armor and his axe, some of it his own; he would have rather stayed and died for dwarven vengeance, and Alayna could not blame him after seeing the wicked glint in the wizard¡¯s eyes, which had at first seemed kindly and fair. Bryanna rode far ahead of the others. She had no wish to be caught in a pogrom, this one for witchers instead of elves. As they had exited the town, that was what the wizard Perangomor had called for: a witcher pogrom. And the villagers, simple folk, who relied on their wizard for basic necessities, had followed him unflinchingly.

    Gadwall was an ugly town. Prejudice splattered the villagers as readily as mud did their walls. But it was not a pretty town which needed a witcher. A witcher fights against Evil and Chaos, and those are not virtuous forces. But true Evil is not always the enemy. Sometimes a lesser evil, found in every man, woman, and child, is what the witcher finds. There is no blade to fight that evil. The witcher can only run, do the best that she can, and escape the long defeat.

    A female witcher, a fertile elf, and a dwarven ex-mercenary. If any of them screamed in this land, many would hear, and none would aid them. All three were rare commodities, and all were hunted by prejudice. Each left alone would fight more bitterly than a pack of wolves, but when grouped together they were complacent against that lesser evil. They were complacent against the long defeat so long as they had each other, united as outcasts.

    ¡°Alayna?¡± asked Bryanna. ¡°Where are we going?¡±

    She sighed. They rode northeast, for now. Lyria, perhaps? Dol Blathanna? Kaerhen du Loc?

    ¡°If, agh, if you¡¯ll have me for company¡­¡± the dwarf stammered.

    ¡°We¡¯d be delighted to have you,¡± Alayna interjected. ¡°On our ride home. Anywhere, really, so long as we avoid the long defeat of death. So long as we have each other, we will triumph over the long defeat of death.¡±

 Flight of the Griffin

    Flight of the Griffin

    Raindrops fell from the clouds, hanging for a moment in time and space as incandescent orbs, crystallized teardrops of water which splashed unceremoniously on the witcher and her companions. Millions of them fell, dousing the land in thousands of gallons of water. The crops drank of the downpour greedily; the traveler¡¯s sodden clothes seemed to drink just as much. They were thoroughly soaked, and none too pleased about it.

    Water dripped from the griffin-head medallion hanging on the Alayna¡¯s chest. It dripped from her hood, through her cloak, and into her boots. Bryanna shivered in the cold wind, and Yazimir punctuated the sound of her chattering teeth with an uproarious sneeze. It had been three days since the attempted pogrom at Gadwall, and word had been spreading to the surrounding villages. The few that did not chase them out with spears and torches would not offer them shelter, either. So they rode north, hoping to take shelter at Kaerhen du Loc, or perhaps to find a sympathetic village at last.

    ¡°Vengerberg, perhaps?¡± Yazimir suggested quietly to Bryanna, riding perhaps a dozen paces ahead of Alayna. ¡°They¡¯ve a witcher of their own. Friendly to non-humans, too. It¡¯s as fair a bet as any.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Bryanna said curtly. She knew of Alayna¡¯s misadventure in Vengerberg. What she had done, and the grave she had left behind. ¡°If the pogrom spreads there, we¡¯ll be done for. Alayna has to stick to the rural countryside. Perhaps you or I could make it in the city, surrounded with our brothers and sisters, but she would be nearly alone.¡±

    ¡°Nay, lass, I will not be leaving the griffin now. Not with clipped wings. We be companions until she can fly or until the long defeat takes us all, blast it.¡±

    She listened to them go on, bandying the same arguments back and forth for hours. The elf and the dwarf spoke quietly, but Alayna heard every word; few were quiet enough to escape the ears of a witcher. They would not leave Alayna to face a mob, but they could not continue as they were, hemmed away from civilization by lies which burned the tenuous threads holding humans and non-humans together in a functional civilization. What passed for civilization, anyways.

    Ideally, neighbors would not look over their shoulders at each other because of pointed ears or a plaited beard. Ideally, halflings and gnomes could build their farms nearer to the city walls, rather than be forced deep into the rural country. Ideally, one oren could buy a man enough beer to forget his life, and ten could buy a sword stout enough to end it. But there was no room for a witcher in an ideal world.

    Rain fell. The dwarf sneezed. Bryanna huddled deeper into her elven cloak. Thunder crackled across a velvet black sky, electrifying air thick enough to cut with a knife. A solitary figure behind them rode north on horseback, visible only when the lightning pierced the gloom.

    Alayna saw him and said nothing. He had begun following them yesterday, trailing Alayna after Bryanna and Yazimir had left her to ride through Aldersburg and replenish their supplies. An elven maid and an old dwarven mercenary would not put the same rumors in mouths that a witcher would. Rumors in mouths led to pitchforks in hand, or so the old maxim went (invented last supper by the venerable Yazimir), so they had separated, and Alayna had taken the longer route through the outskirts of the town. Children cried from empty stomachs and welted backs. She could not give them the justice of a witcher, nor would she if she were able.

    ¡°Bryanna, Yazimir,¡± Alayna called quietly as she rode forward to interrupt their looping argument. ¡°The man riding behind us has been following us since Aldersburg. Keep an eye on him.¡±

    The justice of a witcher was to execute the thief who stole to feed his family. It was to eradicate the last cockatrice sleeping peacefully in its nest so that civilization could overrun the pastoral land. Witcher¡¯s justice was a blind headsman, chopping without question and with total impunity. An eye for an eye, one death deserves another: this was easy justice; real Justice was difficult, drawn out, and often forfeited the right to easy justice.

    But Alayna could not serve even a witcher¡¯s justice with her griffin wings clipped. And she could never serve Justice as it ought to be, when she was hindered by justice as it was deserved.

    ¡°Is Justice beyond us?¡± she wondered aloud.

    ¡°We will find our way home,¡± Bryanna replied, misunderstanding the question. ¡°Or we will make a new home where we can. It¡¯s a big world we live in, Alayna.¡± She squeezed her hand before riding off to plot their next destination on her own.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, lass. We may have to search long and hard to find justice, but we¡¯ll find it. Don¡¯t you worry.¡± And Yazimir rode off to badger at Bryanna again, leaving Alayna again in the rear. He had been closer than Bryanna, but it was her words that Alayna thought more on.

    Brushing wet brown hair away from her eyes, she thought about how truly big the world was, and how little of it she had seen. Her entire life had been lived south of the Pontar, north of the Yaruga, and east of the Makaham Mountains. She could go to Cintra, Redania, Cidaris, the dire Nilfgaard, doughty Kaedwen, or even to the Skellige isles. There was no need for the services of a griffin with clipped wings, nor for the justice of a witcher. She could be a mercenary or soldier, a tracker or hunter. Holding her long brown hair at arm¡¯s length, she giggled, thinking that she might even marry some rich noble and never work again. Perhaps when her hair dried.

    Bryanna turned around, and the witcher¡¯s laugh died on her lips. ¡°Alayna,¡± she hissed, ¡°the rider is catching up.¡±

    She turned. Even with cat-eyes, she could not see in the veil of darkness. A flash of lightning cut through the air: there he was, a silhouette of man and horse. Another flash: a cloak billowed out over his shoulders, and he carried no weapon at his side. Then he was near enough for Alayna to see his face even unaided by the lightning. He seemed about Bryanna¡¯s age, and wore a look of youthful determination.

    Yazimir hefted his axe. Bryanna strung her bow, grimacing at the rain and clouds. Alayna alone kept her hands loose on her reins, keeping Calliope steady where the other horses were prancing in fear of the thunder. Human, elf, and dwarf; witcheress, refugee, and ex-mercenary awaited the lone rider in the pouring rain.

    He was young. A man. A human, Alayna noted carefully. Unarmed, but human. Prone to all the same goodness and depravity that her own self was victim to. She clucked her horse forward a few paces, determined to hear him out. He rode abreast with Alayna, so that she was forced to look into his eyes when addressing him. They had depth, those large brown eyes of his. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

    ¡°You make for a strange trio,¡± he began lightly. ¡°I can help you on your way, if you don¡¯t mind the company.¡±

    ¡°You followed us since Aldersburg,¡± Alayna asked. ¡°Why?¡±

    He cleared his throat again, squinting against the rain. ¡°There will be time for stories, and I promise mine in full. I may not be able to see the sun for all these clouds, but my stomach ensures I never miss suppertime. Shall we retire to the cover of those trees?¡±

    Yazimir sneezed in agreement.

    Bryanna, shivering still, nodded her assent.

    Alayna, grinding her teeth at the ease with which the stranger had assumed command of her little group, motioned further down the road.

    ¡°Further on there is a better copse. If the rain picks up any more, we¡¯ll be soaked in minutes under those trees.¡±

    He only smiled. ¡°I have a feeling that the rain will soon pass.¡±

    Glaring at the black sky, still scarred with the occasional lightning and pale backlit clouds from what would be the twilight sun, Alayna jerked her head in defiant agreement. If they were soaked in the middle of the night, let it be his fault, and not hers.

    **********

    Soon they were gathered round a blazing fire, roasting venison and herbs that the stranger had distributed generously from his bag. His beautiful dark eyes were set in an equally handsome face, though Alayna regarded this dispassionately. He did not look strong, but neither was he frail; they had kept a hard pace the last three days, and he had somehow gained on them. He carried himself with his shoulders thrown back, his chin held high, and a wry grin permanently fixed in the corner of his lips. But oddest of all were his clothes which, though sturdy and meant for travel, were well woven and of a very fine fabric.

    ¡°What are you then ¨C a noble fallen from favor? A student playing hooky from university? A merchant¡¯s son who loved the wrong woman?¡±

    ¡°I am a concerned citizen,¡± he replied, brushing away the goads as if they meant nothing. ¡°Word spread through the city that a witcheress, an elven maid, and a retired dwarf¡± ¨C Yazimir muttered bitterly at ¡®retired¡¯ ¨C ¡°were in the area, fleeing two steps ahead of death itself.¡±

    ¡°That be an awful concern for total strangers, lad,¡± Yazimir muttered. The stranger smiled thinly.

    ¡°Truth be told, I had already left my home after King Henselt¡¯s detestable attitude towards the pogroms within Kaedwen. Unfortunately it seems that folk further south are even less sensible about such things.¡±

    ¡°So, who are you then?¡± The question came from Bryanna, who was brushing her long, golden hair free of the damp. ¡°And where is home?¡±

    ¡°Manfhir of Ard Carraigh,¡± he said, standing and offering a courtly bow. ¡°In Kaedwen.¡±

    ¡°Well, Manfhir of Ard Carraigh,¡± Alayna began, standing up from the meal and stretching.

    ¡°In Kaedwen,¡± he added with his wry smile.

    ¡°In Kaedwen,¡± Alayna echoed reluctantly. What was the moon-addled loon up to? Was he trying to put her off her guard?

    ¡°In Kaedwen,¡± Bryanna murmured, matching Manfhir¡¯s wry grin. Yazimir nodded like a wise sage, repeating her words. The illusion was broken by a belch that smelled strongly of ham.

    Alayna tried desperately to regain control. ¡°Manfhir, we simply do not require any assistance. You have our thanks for the vittles, and for your story, but we must ride our own way. Alone. Go back to Aldersburg.¡±

    ¡°I would leave you if I could, witcheress. But a powerful enchantment has been laid upon me by the beauteous maiden of the griffin.¡± He waggled his eyebrows at the last, and it was all Alayna could do to resist slapping the smile from his face.

    Instead, she simply rolled her eyes and repeated herself serenely. ¡°Go back to Aldersburg.¡±

    ¡°If I must, then my mind, my heart, my very breath will remain with you.¡± Bryanna snickered quietly, and Yazimir chuckled knowingly. Alayna was aghast. He was trying to put her off her guard. ¡°My mind rested with you from the moment I saw you in the distance,¡± Manfhir continued, oblivious. ¡°My breath was taken when I saw the flash of your eyes cutting like lightning through the gloom, and when from your mouth came utterances that I thought came from the very angels in the heavens, indeed¨C¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s quite enough,¡± Alayna muttered, blushing furiously. She would not let him have the upper hand in this. ¡°Go back to Aldersburg.¡±

    ¡°But Alayna,¡± Bryanna teased, ¡°it¡¯s much too late for him to travel anywhere.¡±

    ¡°Aye lass, he must stay the night in our camp.¡± Yazimir, helpful as ever. But he was right.

    And so nightfall found four long shapes bundled up in blankets, instead of three, creating a small circle where soft snoring was the only sound other than the rain¡¯s steady dripping. Alayna stayed awake until long into the night. She told herself she was awake to keep watch over the camp, and not because the raindrops fell on her nose no matter which way she rolled over.

    But one of the blankets quietly unrolled, and a figure stood up from bed. Too tall to be Yazimir, too broad to be Bryanna: Manfhir, of course. From his saddlebags he took out his thick cloak, and stalked quietly to the southern edge of camp, where he was hidden by the trees.

    Alayna unrolled her own blanket and crept after him. It was not quite last evening and not yet the present morning, but in any case, the sun was not visible over the horizon; only a faint glow gave off any light at all. Manfhir was easy enough to follow: without her witcher¡¯s eyes, he tripped over brush that she stepped over easily, and with her enhanced hearing she could nearly have followed him with her eyes closed. But then he stopped and began muttering something that even Alayna had to strain to hear.

    ¡°Addan Power, Lara¡¯s rain; feainn come, elaine a¡¯taeghane.¡±

    Literally: Lara¡¯s rain, dancing Power; come sun, for lovely weather. A spell to end the rain. What was it he had said? ¡®I have a feeling that the rain will soon pass.¡¯ Sure enough, drop by drop, the rain lessened until it was hardly trickling anymore. Alayna hurried back to her blankets before Manfhir could catch her watching him.

    That morning, Manfhir awoke with three steel pointy ends aimed at his face.

    ¡°You are a sorcerer,¡± Bryanna stated with venom. It was, of course, no revelation to Manfhir.

    Yazimir said nothing, only spitting on the younger man. That elicited a slight grimace.

    Alayna went so far as to press the silver point of her blade against the bare skin of his neck. ¡°Give us one good reason not to hog tie you and send you back to the city in as pulp.¡±

    ¡°I, ah,¡± he stammered, his silver tongue for the first time at a loss. ¡°Would now be a good time to say it is because I am in love with you, Alayna?¡±

    She sighed. ¡°Bind him.¡±

    ¡°Here? In public? I¡¯m no prude, but¨C¡±

    ¡°Gag him too.¡±

    They trooped out of the copse in a line of four: Alayna leading them north, then Manfhir, his hands bound and with a delighted grin beneath the gag ¨C he was simply happy to be riding in the same direction as Alayna ¨C while Bryanna and Yazimir took turns prodding him with progressively pointier sticks which they sharpened as they rode.

    The justice of witchers is not true Justice, but it is immensely satisfying. An eye for an eye, one death for another: one sorcerer had made their lives hell, and another sorcerer was delivered into their hands. That was justice of a sort.

    ¡°There¡¯s Justice, and then there¡¯s justice,¡± Alayna murmured to herself.

    ¡°Eh? How¡¯s that, lass?¡± Yazimir called from the back of the line, where he had just fashioned a double prong out of his pointy stick. Bryanna was delighted at the innovation. Manfhir groaned.

    ¡°We¡¯ll ride north and make for Kaedwen. At the very least, we can follow the Pontar west of Makaham and see what those lands have to offer.¡±

    And so they did.

    That night at camp, a cursory search of Manfhir¡¯s saddlebags revealed that his bags magically held more than they seemed and were stocked with a nearly endless supply of gourmet items of food. They feasted that night as kings and queens on lamb, potatoes, celery and carrots. Manfhir, hands still bound, was fed by Alayna.

    ¡°You know, I¡¯m more than capable of¨C¡±

    A mouthful of potatoes cut off the rest.

    ¡°You really don¡¯t¨C¡±

    A chop of lamb, dripping grease.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°If you would just let me¨C¡±

    Another potato, speared with celery and carrots. ¡°Here comes the griffin,¡± Alayna idly murmured, shoving the food into his mouth. He smiled as he chewed, as if, after that joke there could be none funnier. She forcefully shoved the food into his mouth. Grease dripped down his chin where she had been somewhat less than careful. Even with bound hands and grease pooling onto his fine clothes, he still mooned after her at every opportunity. Alayna would have left the gag on and let him starve if Bryanna had not insisted they feed him.

    ¡°After all,¡± she had said, ¡°we¡¯re not highwaymen.¡±

    ¡°Not that there¡¯s anything wrong with highwaymen,¡± Yazimir countered hastily. Too hastily. They truly were an odd trio, as Manfhir had said from the start. But they felt like family, now.

    The next few days they were forced to skirt east of Vengerberg, and then east again from several small towns, and then even further east after a pogrom caught their trail. Every day the Blue Mountains grew larger in their eyes, and the campfires of their pursuers grew a bit larger, a bit nearer, and a bit more terrifying. The four runaways were running out of options. With Manfhir still bound, their pace was slower than it could have been. But Alayna insisted on it, and neither Bryanna nor Yazimir offered much resistance; their memories of Perangomor were still too fresh.

    They were only in the foothills of the Blue Mountains, but the signs of civilization were quickly left behind. Nobody lived this far east, unless you traveled far south to wild Zerrikania, or if you included the forest haunts of the elves in Dol Blathanna. Every day, they saw nekker nests in caves that they might otherwise have rested in had Alayna not seen the signs. But even the dwarf could see signs of arachas and trolls, and spectres lit up the night not far from their camps. Still they were pursued doggedly by the small volunteer band of soldiers and peasants who had taken up arms to bring about justice for the slaughter at Gadwall. Their justice would be no prettier than the justice a witcher might bring.

    The party of four was driven further east into the mountains, until something stalled their way. A pile of discarded feathers and scat too large for an owl and too small for a bear: a hybrid¡­ perhaps a draconid, griffin, or other hybrid.

    Then suddenly it was upon them.

    It was a griffin, a male, with the beak and wings of an eagle, and the legs and tail of a lion. It swooped down between the sparse trees and separated the group as each fled its claws and beak. It swept back into the sky to make another pass, and Alayna leaped from her horse, drawing her silver sword and shouting to Bryanna.

    ¡°Take cover under the trees and guard the horses! Have Yazimir watch behind us for the mob, and make sure Manfhir stays on his horse!¡±

    In truth, she was not sure that she could defeat a griffin without first preparing herself. Relicts, hybrids, and draconids were all defeated through careful study and preparation. Alayna did not have her oils, or her traps prepared. She had not taken her witcher potions for weeks, now, and her signs would be weak if she could cast them at all.

    The griffin shot like an arrow with its wings folded to its sides for another pass, its maw open in a bloody scream. She weakly cast a sign of Aard to break its trajectory, and rolled beneath it, jumping to her feet with an airborne chop.

    She missed.

    The griffin now streaked around the thin forest, maneuvering between trees with ease. As low to the ground as it was, all she could see was a massive blur of brown and grey before it swung around a young beech and hurtled for her. It was all she could manage to cast a weak sign of Heliotrop before it slammed into her, throwing her backwards into a tree. Despite the protection of the sign, some bone had cracked in her shoulder, and blood oozed from her arm where her own silver sword had cut through her leather armlet.

    Her vision went black. After a time, when vision returned, the world was rimmed in a red haze, and her eyes would not focus. To her left was the griffin, lying stunned on the ground. Alayna stood with some difficulty, grasped her sword with both hands, and stumbled towards the beast.

    She only stumbled twice on her way to the griffin.

    The beast heaved for breath and was struggling to take back to the air. It turned its beady black eye to Alayna just as she had raised her sword to break its wing; it spun and gouged its claws into her chest, leaving three shallow but bloody furrows in her chest. She staggered back, and the griffin took flight. When it arched its back and roared, Alayna saw three arrows stuck one-by-one into its back. Well shot by Bryanna, the elf maid.

    Strong hands lifted her back to her feet from where she had fallen and placed her sword back in her hand from where she had dropped it. ¡°We¡¯ll fight it together,¡± the voice whispered into her ear, before murmuring to itself in an unfamiliar tongue. Manfhir had come to her aid.

    Alayna glanced at the horses. To her confusion, the ropes that had bound the young man lay on the ground. She glanced again behind her, and Manfhir stood unbound, with a book of spells in his hand and wearing a look that could have split stone.

    As the griffin swooped in circles above their heads and descended for a third strike, he said, ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me; I¡¯ll protect you.¡±

    Ridiculous man.

    He stood in front of her ¨C really, a man with a book standing in front of a warrior with a silver blade; sorcerer or not, he was a fool to do so ¨C and prepared some incantation as the griffin dove, beak extended to snatch at the easy target. At the last minute, Alayna leaped from behind Manfhir and, with a double-handed vertical slice, cut open its stomach.

    The griffin bounced off the shield that Manfhir had erected about himself, and Alayna¡¯s swing went wild.

    ¡°I told you I would protect you,¡± he muttered, offended. ¡°I had it perfectly under control. But,¡± pausing one moment for a salacious grin, ¡°it¡¯s nice that you care.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± she muttered, but shifted her attention to spot the griffin.

    Growling, she stalked about the clearing. ¡°Together, then. Can you stun it with a spell when it comes for its next pass?¡± He nodded, excitement flashing in his dark eyes. ¡°Then we will finish this together.¡±

    ¡°Together,¡± he agreed.

    After three passes, the beast seemed to have grown wiser. It did not attack directly but made small feints with its claws and lunges that kept it just out of their reach. But when the griffin raised itself high into the air after two circles bookending a feint, Alayna knew the strike was coming.

    The griffin beat its brown-grey patterned wings, merely a dark silhouette in the blue noon sky as it seemed to fly into the sun itself.

    Manfhir stood tense, lips twitching in preparation for the incantation that would save their lives and end the griffin¡¯s.

    Alayna stood silent and still, her sword was just an extension of her arm, her arm just an extension of her witcher¡¯s code; to enact justice and defend the world from Chaos and Evil.

    The griffin dove, Manfhir shouted his spell, and Alayna struck true.

    It only took one second to end the flight of the griffin.

    Alayna was covered in blood, some of it hers, but not all. Bryanna and Yazimir rushed out of the trees, but the closer they ran the further they seemed; the ground seemed to rush closer instead, though she knew she was standing. She was standing, wasn¡¯t she?

    **********

    When she awoke, her vision was black. She had to blink to see the stars and moon and realize that it was evening. Bryanna wound bandages about her exposed chest while Yazimir and Manfhir looked chastely away.

    ¡°Where¡­?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry lass,¡± Yazimir called from over his shoulder, ¡°the pursuers didn¡¯t gain much ground from yer fight with the wee birdie. It seems they had delays of their own.¡±

    ¡°We had to flee further east into the mountains,¡± Bryanna explained.

    ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of these men all telling me not to worry,¡± Alayna muttered beneath her breath. Bryanna smiled sympathetically. Manfhir interrupted, as expected, where his opinion was not wanted.

    ¡°It is because we worry too much ourselves, dear lady.¡±

    ¡°I will worry when I please,¡± she snapped. ¡°And don¡¯t ¡®dear¡¯ me, especially when we still don¡¯t have a plan and our options are diminishing the closer we are to the mountains! Although right now I choose to worry about a tear in my last clean shirt¡­¡±

    Before Manfhir could gallantly remove his own shirt to offer it to her, Bryanna quickly reminded everyone that she had plenty to spare in her saddlebags. He seemed almost disappointed, and Alayna chuckled at the thought as they worked together to prepare supper.

    Manfhir was as free with his rations as he had been when tied up and gagged. In fact, he even found a bottle of 1072 Erveluce from the vineyards of Toussaint. When Yazimir and Bryanna inquired after the occasion, he simply shrugged.

    When Alayna asked him, however, ¡°I have a feeling we could use it,¡± was his reply.

    ¡°The last time you had a feeling, you wove a spell and made it so. What do you ¡®feel¡¯ will happen this time?¡±

    ¡°Another spell, perhaps. One cast by all beautiful women after a man may have had too much to drink.¡±

    In spite of herself, Alayna laughed at the innocent suggestion. He grinned cheekily back and popped the cork, which bounced somewhere behind Yazimir. When they searched for it later, it took them several tries to put it back in the lip of the bottle. The next morning, all four slept late into the morning.

    When they awoke, it was to the sound of tramping boots and bells on halters; Bryanna was the first to rise, but Alayna spotted them through the trees: a large convoy headed straight for their camp. Before they could so much as sniff, they were surrounded¡­ by dwarves and elves, many wearing tattered rags, all greeting Bryanna and Yazimir as long lost cousins. They were refugees, all, driven from their homes and herded east just as the witcher¡¯s party of four had been.

    Bryanna and Yazimir¡¯s newfound joy was stifled at the news the refugees brought with them. Their leader, a tall elf with black eyes, informed them that, ¡°A large band of armed men pursues us from the west. A dozen horse and twice that many pikes.¡±

    ¡°We are pursued from the south,¡± Bryanna informed him in return. ¡°Perhaps half that number, but all astride horses.¡±

    ¡°And the way east is impassable.¡± This came from Yazimir, helpful as ever. ¡°All mountains, that. Difficult enough on foot, but with your ponies and children¡­ no hope lies that way. I doubt even the dwarves could make it over the way, and what if they could? What would they find?¡±

    ¡°Then unless we can make our way north, we must face our deaths here with as much dignity as we can,¡± said the elf with all the coolness of autumn and the temerity of ousted nobility. Then, to Bryanna, ¡°If we delay the band to the south, can you lead them to safety?¡±

    She hesitated but nodded. Many of her kinsmen would die today to save a handful.

    ¡°Wait,¡± Manfhir sighed. ¡°I had hoped not to take this course of action, but it seems I have little choice in the matter. I can teleport you and your people to whatever destination you choose. Yet choose quickly and choose unanimously, for I can only make three portals at best. One for the elves,¡± he looked to Bryanna, ¡°one for the dwarves,¡± to Yazimir, ¡°and one for whatever remains,¡± he said quickly, pointedly avoiding Alayna¡¯s gaze.

    The elf bowed deeply. ¡°We will not tarry. Is an hour time enough for your preparations?¡±

    ¡°More than enough. But keep watch for our hunters!¡±

    ¡°Va fail, dh¡¯oine. C¨¢emm velo?.¡± Before Manfhir could request an explanation, the elf had melted into the woods; now the sorcerer faced Alayna, Bryanna, and Yazimir, who with frowns and folded arms requested an explanation of their own.

    ¡°Teleportation? Why did you not use this power before now? We could have been a hundred leagues away from here by now!¡±

    ¡°Selfishness,¡± he whispered. ¡°Selfishness and greed on my part, I¡¯m afraid to say. The rapacity to spend one extra day in your company, Alayna, and to ride alongside you as your companion and friend; that is what withheld my actions. Judge me as you will, but I make it known now, and hope that my ¡®rapacity¡¯ can save many lives!¡±

    ¡°That does not excuse you,¡± she whispered, holding her hand to her chest where there was an ache deeper than the wounds of the griffin. ¡°You will be held to account for this.¡±

    Yazimir scratched his chin. ¡°I¡¯ll finish up with our packs. And, eh, I¡¯ll see if the dwarves will have me. I¡¯d follow you to the ends of the earth, lass,¡± he quickly insisted, his brow furrowed in genuine concern, ¡°but I have a feeling too. Some things ought not be dragged on, and I think that this is where we must say goodbye for now.¡±

    ¡°And ¡®see you later¡¯ in that same breath, I expect,¡± snapped Bryanna. Then, melting about the corners of her eyes, she looked apologetic as she continued. ¡°But I must confess I was thinking the same as our dwarf. You have grown, and found room in your heart where you did not expect it. I will inquire after the destination of the elves, and if they will have me, I¡­ I may accompany them.¡±

    Alayna frowned, but the elf continued on hurriedly, much the same as Yazimir had. ¡°But I will stay with you, if you ask me to! Only ask, dearest Alayna, and I will be your sister forever.¡±

    ¡°You are my sister forever,¡± Alayna said, kissing her tenderly. ¡°Whether you go with me or go with the elves or remain here as a plaything for the pikemen. But choose not the last, dearest Bryanna. Nor you, Yazimir, dearest uncle.¡± He bowed, smiling, and left the two girls alone.

    ¡°I do not know why I should not go with the elves myself, or with the dwarves,¡± Alayna added, watching Yazimir stumping off through the glade to sort their bags. ¡°It is all the same to me where I end up. I have no people to take me, and I have known no home save the Path and an empty fortress.¡±

    ¡°Only follow your heart, sor¡¯ca. Little sister of the griffin, only ever follow your lion¡¯s heart.¡±

    And Bryanna left her, and she was alone again.

    Order and Chaos, Justice and Defeat; no matter what side the witcher fought for, it would snap at her heels the next moment. She fought for love, and now her love was leaving her. The only family she had ever known was scattering to unknown ends of the earth.

    ¡°Name the destination,¡± Manfhir said, forgotten by Alayna in her sadness. ¡°I will take you there. Name your hurt, and I will do what I can to heal it. Name your enemy and I will dispatch him, or if your wish is for me to depart you then I will do so. Only grant me this: you have heard their hearts, now allow me to hear yours. What is it that you fear? I am utterly enchanted with you, Alayna, and I have laid myself as bare as I know how; what holds you back from me?¡±

    ¡°You wish to hear my heart? Listen well, Manfhir. We all inherit what we sow, and the seed of witchers is the long defeat. We bring death to other species, so why should we deserve any better? We bare our blades three paces before death itself; if we stop to hang our breastplate upon the wall and see our own reflection, death creeps behind us and delivers its due. The inheritance of a witcher is a knife in the back; do you see the knife, protruding from my shoulder? We cannot look in a mirror but see death grinning back at us. We do not deserve better, we witchers, and we will never get it. What you love is a dead woman.¡±

    And with that, she stalked away like a mountain cat. Dwarves and elves alike cleared the way before her. A griffin on the prowl, clipped wings or no, was not to be trifled with. Less than an hour later, the company approached the glade in two groups.

    ¡°We¡¯ll make for Mahakam, if it pleases you,¡± spoke Yazimir for the dwarves. ¡°And a hearty welcome for all who visit our hearths!¡±

    ¡°As for the elves,¡± spoke their leader softly, ¡°we will try our lots in Cidaris. We will see what elves can make of the sea.¡± Bryanna nodded her head sadly; she stood with the elves.

    ¡°And you, Alayna?¡±

    It was Manfhir¡¯s question, and it hung sadly over her neck like a knotted rope.

    ¡°I will wait and see what my lot is. Perhaps I will yet have some revenge on our assailants. Or perhaps I will escape north, alone to Kaerhen du Loc where a group would be caught.¡±

    The wizard hesitated, but nodded. Then he opened the first portal, through which they all heard the clatter of the forge and felt its heat. It was an oval hung in midair, opalescent with fire leaping like griffin¡¯s wings at its bounds. Through the center the destination was barely visible to any but the portal¡¯s creator.

    ¡°Stay well, lass. If you don¡¯t visit yer cousins in Mahakam, I¡¯ll follow you to hell and learn why. You¡¯re dwarf-kin now, as dwarven a dwarf as any dwarf yet sired.¡± With a cheeky grin, he led his countrymen through the portal and was not seen of Alayna for many years.

    The elven leader did not waste words on Alayna but bowed low to the ground, thanking Manfhir before leading his folk through to Cidaris. Bryanna lingered for a moment, holding Alayna in her arms. ¡°Stay safe, little sister. For me, and for Yazimir, and for Manfhir, too¡­ but most of all stay safe for your own sake. There are many more stories for you to tell.¡±

    Then with a final squeeze and a, ¡°visit me in Cidaris,¡± she, too, departed through the portal. And Alayna was left alone with Manfhir, who was utterly unknowable and unshakeable.

    He approached her softly, slowly, then kneeled down before her when he saw she was not going to speak. ¡°You say the inheritance of a witcher is a knife in the back. Do you desire a better inheritance, Alayna? I desire better for you, but it is not mine to give, only mine to beg.¡±

    Tears began to stream down her face; she had long since forgotten how to cry, but she was learning many new things from this¡­ this man. ¡°What other inheritance do I have?¡± she asked. ¡°If I am not a witcher, what am I?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps my wife?¡± he asked softly. And then she truly began to sob, stammering out a reply between heaves of her chest.

    ¡°The world¡­ it has made a¡­ a promise to us witchers. Ever will we need you, and ever will we despise the necessity. It is a promise that¡­ that¡­ that as long as there is pain, we will never¡­ ever¡­ find happiness. It will never be well¡­ with us.¡±

    He rose, drying her tears with his sleeves. ¡°I cannot promise that all will be well. But I can promise my love; to love you as you cannot love yourself, without any promise from you in return. For this I ask nothing but patience and a risk; take the risk that I may one day fail you, and have patience for the day when I certainly will. You say humanity has made a promise to witchers? That may be so, but I make to you one better. Be my wife, and be no longer a witcher. What need have I for spells when the strongest enchantment of all is here in my arms?¡±

    ¡°Once made, that promise cannot be easily given up,¡± she said, sniffing back tears. ¡°We will be in danger. We will be on the run. Even as your wife, I cannot hide my eyes, my scars, my strength.¡±

    ¡°It is of little consequence.¡±

    ¡°I disagree,¡± she said sharply. ¡°It is of great consequence.¡±

    ¡°Not considering the way I left Aldersburg,¡± he laughed. ¡°I never told you, not wishing to seem full of myself, but the reason I left at first was because I was kicked out after I spoke against the pogrom. I barely had time to enchant my bag and grab my book of spells before I was rushed out of town, pitchforks and torches at my rear. Mine!¡±

    ¡°You consider that not being full of yourself?¡± she asked, nose scrunched in mockery.

    He playfully tweaked her nose, and she laughed. Suddenly, the sounds of hoofbeats were all around them; from the west, from the south, and echoing somewhere even from the north. Their pursuers had finally caught up with them.

    ¡°So what is your choice, dearest Alayna?¡± he asked, smiling, knowing the answer already.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, kissing him for the first as his lover. ¡°I will be your wife and be no longer a witcher. I will go where you lead and hold you to your promise. When I am one day able, I will make you a promise of my own. But for now, let us fly!¡±

    ¡°Let us fly indeed!¡± And opening a portal, they stepped through together, hand in hand, from danger into danger; for the rest of their lives they lacked neither adventure nor love.

    But when the three dozen armed men all came to the campsite moments later, all they found was the smoldering remnant of an abandoned campfire, and several score footprints that all halted at the same spot in the loamy dirt. And as they turned to abandon their long search, they heard the screech of a griffin high in the air¡­

    **********

    The flight of the griffin is a beauty to behold. It twists and writes in its aerial acrobatics, knowing full well that as eagle and lion it is the king of both wind and earth. Gvalch¡¯rienn abandoned her nest for a time to learn such tricks and master her domains, but quickly discovered that she was eager to return to the nest that she had abandoned.

    But not before she saw how high she could soar. And she soared high, indeed.

    The Tales of the Griffin end here, though the stories of Alayna and Manfhir and Bryanna and Yazimir, witcher and sorcerer and elf and dwarf, endure long past the end of this tale. Wherever Good is assailed, wherever Order is threatened, wherever Justice is due, there will you find the Witcher of the Griffin, the wife of Manfhir, elf-friend, and dwarf-kin: Alayna, a humble witcher.

    -FIN

    If you enjoyed Tales of the Griffin, stay tuned for Tales of the Cat and Tales of the Bear!

    Coming soon.