The Wrong Last Wish

Chance Encounter

He saddled the horse and rode her the rest of the way to the nearest village. It was evening by then, so he stopped directly at the inn to find lodgings and information on the ealdorman. Perhaps he knew where they could find a witcher. And, even if he didn't, he wanted to make sure the man was aware of the contract so he could steer anyone interested in their direction.

He also got to hear the latest news in the kingdom. War was coming. Nilfgaard had attacked and conquered Cintra and was steadily moving north. Queen Calanthe was dead, along with her granddaughter, princess Cirilla. Temeria had struck a deal with them already and it looked like the elves were giving them aid. Dark times would be upon them if they let the black armies cross unimpeded through Temeria. It was times like these he was thankful he lived in an out of the way remote village forgotten by most.

The innkeeper served a decent stew and a not so decent ale, but it was more than enough for a weary traveller like him. He sat at the table eating in silence, appreciating the presence of humans around him after two days spent in the dark woods.

While he ate, he even got a spectacle. A garishly dressed bard with a large feather in his cap sang all the way through dinner. The man's pleasant tone accompanied by the skilful strumming of his lute drew Geralt in and made him listen until the end, even if most of the compositions were ballads.

The bard was nearing the end of his performance when a bald-headed man with dark eyes sat down at Geralt's table.

"Ah, Geralt! Enjoying your friend's performance, I see!"

"Do I know you?" Geralt asked, confused. The man was so self-assured in his movements and speech that Geralt assumed he must have met him and forgot. How else could he know his name?

"I doubt you do, but I know of you."

Why would a random stranger know of him? And what could he know? So he asked him just that.

"Oh, I know plenty. Even more than you know yourself."

"Like what?"

"Your mother was a sorceress, burned at the stake during a small town uprising. You watched it all, despite them telling you to look away. The shock of it turned your hair white, and it has been like that ever since. I also know a hunter took you in and raised you as his own and now you yourself are a hunter."

"You know a lot."

"I also know that is all a lie, and this is not your life."

"Is it now? Seems pretty real to me."

"As it should, it is what you wished for, after all. But you were destined for much greater things than culling the local predator population in the nearby forest."

"Am I?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. He measured the man from head to toe. Judging by the way he dressed, he was probably a merchant of sorts. This was probably some trick to get him to loosen his purse and part him from his coin. "How about you stop beating around the bush and just tell me what you are peddling and stop wasting my time."

The man had an eerie, crooked smile. "I can give you back your life. The real one. The one you wished away."

"Even if that were so, who says I want it back?"

The man laughed. "You'll say it yourself when you're ready to. When you're sick of playing house in the forest." His laughter stopped as abruptly as it started. "Come find me when you do. Or perhaps it will be I who finds you first."

"I don't even know your name."

"And you never will, but you can call me Gaunter O'Dimm."

And with that, the man got up and walked away, whistling a tune that made the hair on the back of Geralt's neck stand on end.