The Fire of Malice || The Witcher

Chapter Five

Triss knew she couldn't win this fight, but she was too enraged to care. "Why don't you come over here and see just how powerless I am."

Roth smirked. "I think not." He motioned to the men that had surrounded her. "Boys."

They obediently closed in on her, but Triss wasn't going to go willingly. As they made to grab her, she ducked down and aimed a punch straight at one of their groins, leaving the man doubled over and gasping. Unfortunately, by that time, the other man had seized her by the arms and already had one side of the shackles around her wrist. Triss struggled wildly against him, but was no match for his strength. He succeeded in tightening the other shackle and shoved her toward the door, a guiding hand lingering on her shoulder.

"Now, now. Be a good girl and behave. Then maybe I'll make sure they douse you in oil too when you burn at the stake. It'll make for a quick death." Ross smiled at Triss and received only a loathing glare in return. "Well, relatively."

Roth and the man Triss had incapacitated stayed behind as Triss was led from the house. Strings of curses flew from her lips, but were soon drowned out by the pounding rain. Just before she rounded the corner, there was a small thump from the back room. Everyone stopped.

Turning to the other man, Roth asked, "What was that?" The man gave the slightest shake of his head. "Well go check it out." A small light burst into existence behind Roth's eyes. "I think we just found our old friend, the witcher."

No.

Triss' heart beat through her chest as she sought a way to fight, to do something. Anything. She doubled her efforts against her captor, but to no avail. Without her magic, there was nothing she could do. Geralt was on his own.

~~~

The sounds of a raging battle plucked Geralt from his slumber. Instinct had him leaping to his feet, ready to fight. But his body wouldn't obey. Paralyzing pain racked his nerves with barely a movement. His groan was lost amongst the clamor. Despite his desire to fight, it took a minute for Geralt to compose himself enough to attempt moving again. The next thing he knew, all had gone silent.

Had he blacked out? He honestly didn't know.

The clashing had ended. There was talking now, muffled by the wall between them. Only Geralt's sensitive hearing made it clear. Clear enough to know that Triss was in trouble. He gingerly slid from the bed, almost falling to the floor. Using the bed as a rail, Geralt pulled himself to the foot of the bed and unsheathed his sword. The extra weight threw him off balance and he stumbled backwards, crashing against the wall. He landed right next to the closed door. The hit pained him, but he clamped his teeth shut.

Again, that instinct shouted at him, ordering him to be quiet. If there was a battle just outside the room and they hadn't come for him already, then they probably didn't know he was there. He had surprise on his side.

He waited, poised to strike.

A witch hunter came crashing through the door, barreling forward, clearly expecting a fight. But in his haste, he had blown right past Geralt who took the opportunity to thrust forward into the man's back. It was a straight shot to his heart. The man instantly dropped to the ground, dead. Geralt had won the bout, but he had underestimated how much energy it would drain from his already depleted stores. His spirit was willing, but his body was done. He wouldn't even have been awake were it not for some innate sense of danger that had ripped him from unconsciousness. It took all he had just to pull the sword from the cooling corpse, an action that sent him sprawling through the door into the front room. He landed on his back and barely had enough strength to hold his sword over him as protection.

Triss was by the door, shackled but seemingly unharmed, closely flanked by one of Roth's men. Her eyes grew wide with dismay at the sight of Geralt.

Stealing Geralt's attention back, Roth approached, amused. "Well, well, well. Geralt of Rivia. You don't look so good." Geralt retreated, dragging himself along the floor until he was propped up against the armchair, breaths coming in rasping wheezes. Roth followed and lazily kicked the sword from Geralt's hand. A contemptuous smile flashed yellowing teeth.

Geralt wasn't in the mood to play his games. With all of the authority he could muster, he commanded, "Let her go."

Amusement shifted to annoyance. Roth glanced quickly over his shoulder. "You're in no position to be giving me orders."

Geralt's tone grew steelier. "Let her go, or I will kill you."

Roth must have sensed that Geralt truly meant it because the slightest flicker of fear danced in his eyes. Then rage washed it away. "No one threatens me, witcher. I already have my prize. You are nothing now but an inconvenience. One that I am going to eliminate, here and now." He stormed forward, sword raised.

Triss cried out from behind Roth, flailing wildly. "Nooooooo!"

Facing death was routine for a witcher. It brought with it a certain clarity. Something that Geralt had made use of many times in the past. He knew he would not escape this encounter unscathed. The best he could hope for was to escape with his life.

There was only one thing he could do.

With the last of his energy, he threw out a sign of Quen. The barrier was weak and miniscule, barely enough to cover his vital organs. But it was also discreet. Roth was aiming for Geralt's lower torso. The sadistic bastard wasn't even going for an instant kill. He wanted Geralt to bleed out slowly, intestines strewn across the floor.

The blow glanced to the side. Just enough that Geralt knew it wasn't lethal. Just enough that Roth didn't.

And Geralt wasn't going to let him in on the secret. Though he didn't have to fake the pain. The blade ripped through his old wounds and lodged into the floorboards beneath Geralt. A torrent of blood quickly stained his white bandages. Geralt's hands flew to the blade reflexively, seeking to eke out any measure of control they could.

Geralt panted and gasped, trying not to move, to keep his breathing shallow. Each breath only served to slice himself further across the razor-edge.

Triss was screaming, cursing at Roth. The man with darkness in his eyes wholly ignored her.

Leaning low over Geralt, Roth sneered. "I was going to let you see her again, you know. You were going to watch while I burned her alive. Then you would have joined her." He twisted the blade sharply and Geralt cried out, unable to control himself. "I guess this will just have to do."

"You bastard! You already have me, just let him go!" Triss choked out, voice awash with desperation.

But Roth had closed in on his prey and bloodlust made him deaf to her pleas. For a moment, Roth studied Geralt for any sign of resistance. Finding none, he wrenched the sword from Geralt's gut and backed away. "Don't worry though, you'll see your precious Triss again very soon." He motioned toward the door. "Take her away."

Looking from Geralt to Roth, and before the man could lead her from the house, Triss said, "I have friends out there who will come to save me. All I have to do is wait." She glanced back to Geralt who caught her eye.

"Shut up and walk, witch. No one is going to save you now," Roth shot back.

Triss' escort gave her a rough shove out into the storm. Then they were gone.

Geralt didn't have any time to waste. He had avoided a killing blow, but he could still very well bleed out and he didn't have the wherewithal to stitch himself up. That left one alternative. One that Triss had cleverly provided him. Disguised as a threat, her words had actually been a message. A message for him.

Shani was still out there. And she would be back soon.

His only hope was to last long enough for her to return. Luckily, his witcher training was useful not only for taking life, but for saving it. He willed his racing heart to stop betraying him. With every pump, it was propelling crimson life to gush from his veins. His breathing became barely perceptible, heartbeat no more than a murmur. The gathering pool of blood eased its advance. He was dangling on the very edge of consciousness, knowing that if he slipped under, he would lose control, would lose his life.

In that state of suspended life he waited. And could only hope that Shani would return soon.