The Battle of Wills || The Witcher

Chapter Three

They pulled into Svorlag harbor on the island of Spikeroog late the next evening, the sun skimming the horizon. Golden light poured across the townspeople as they were finishing up their business for the day. Fishermen were stowing their nets and carting in their hauls, shopkeepers were shouting at last minute passersby, and craftsmen were packing away their tools for the night. Strangers as they were, Geralt and Gudrik garnered a fair amount of interest when they moored their boat, but Geralt got the impression that travelers were not too uncommon here and most people went back to their business quickly enough.

Geralt leaned over his shoulder to Gudrik. "Where did you say she was?"

"Up at the jarl's house. Jarl Udalryk hasn't been in his right mind lately. Most people blame old age. Cerys thinks differently. She thinks some kind of curse plagues him and set out to rid him of it."

"And has she made any progress?"

"Well, she hasn't been back in weeks so I don't think so. Though she hasn't actually sent any word."

"I guess it doesn't matter much now," Geralt muttered grimly.

They continued up the wooden planking of the dock until it gave way to sandy ground and they were in the market proper. The top of the modest longhouse could be seen a ways up the hill to their left past dozens of thatched roofs. The moment before they turned to make their way up the path, a woman's voice pricked Geralt's ear.

"More guards?"

Tracing the sound, Geralt swiveled to find a woman staring at them, not impolitely, but curiously. In one tanned and weathered hand she clutched a bouquet of dried ribleaf. The other was frozen in midair as it reached for a hanging bundle of lavender. An herbalist then.

Tapping Gudrik on the arm to follow, Geralt strode over. "I'm sorry, did you say 'more guards?'"

The woman's face flushed a bit at having been caught staring so brazenly. "Well, yes. A whole squad of them passed by just yesterday. Odd for Crach to send any guards this way. And now he's sent more."

So word hadn't made it yet of Crach's death. At least they wouldn't be contending with that.

Gudrik stepped forward. "They were An Craite guards? You're sure?"

The woman smiled. "Of course! I know all the clan emblems. It was the An Craite sigil on their armor." She pointed at Gudrik. "Same as the one on your tunic."

At this information, Geralt and Gudrik shared a significant and worried glance.

Stepping even closer, Geralt questioned, "Where did they go?"

Seemingly confused by the sudden change in demeanor, the herbalist shifted back in response. She lifted a finger toward the hill. "Up to see the jarl. They were asking after Cerys."

Eyes wide with panic, Geralt did nothing more than meet Gudrik's own gaze, and they took off running toward the longhouse, leaving a bewildered herbalist in their wake.

Arms and legs pumping, they needed no words shared between them to know what was going on. Ralen had sent them to kill Cerys. And they had a day's head start.

They made good time up to the longhouse, though they startled many a Skelliger along the way. A few angry shouts were hurled in their direction, but they didn't slow down until they came up the stoned pathway leading to the jarl's home and that was simply to keep from frightening the guards who could potentially block their way. It wouldn't do to be denied access because they were too brash in their approach.

A bit breathless, they stated their desire to speak to the jarl. On official business from Crach, they added. The guards on either side of the door shared a confused glance, but let them inside.