THE WITCHER'S CHOICE

Part 2: I DON'T RESPOND TO KINDNESS

PART 2

The table was set in one of the galleries, overlooking a water fountain surrounded with colourful flowers. There were several dishes of different nature containing red meat, chicken, fish, vegetables and even fruit. There were two chairs. The sorceress was sitting with her legs crossed on one of them. She had changed her dress into something more transparent and provocative.

Geralt emerged from one of the doors of the gallery, followed by Paul. He wore his new black clothes, which were a little tight for his taste. His demeanour was sour and proud, even when he was walking unsteadily with the help of a cane. She smiled with satisfaction at his approach and indicated the free chair with her hand. He sat down without a word.

"I didn't know what you would fancy, so I gathered a varied selection," she said, indicating the dishes on the table. "Also, I didn't know if you would prefer ale or wine, so I made them bring both."

Geralt glanced at the sealed bottle, which looked like an expensive vintage of Est Est from Toussaint, and then decided to pour himself some ale from the jug next to it instead. He gulped the beer thirstily, burped softly and fixed his eyes on her.

"Please, eat," she invited him.

His hand trembled a little when he grabbed a chicken leg. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a decent meal. He was starving, but tried not to show his desperation and forced himself to chew slowly.

"You don't say much, do you?" she sighed with resignation after a prolonged silence. "Not even a 'thank you'?"

"I'm a piece of scum that doesn't respond to kindness, remember?" he said with a sardonic smile. "Would you like to beat a 'thank you' out of me?"

"I think you have suffered enough pain and humiliation already. You don't need more," she said, "and despite the rumours that say that the ones of your kind don't feel emotions, I believe that you are perfectly capable of responding to kindness in the appropriate way."

"I am and I will," he answered, "just as soon as I learn the price of this kindness, for nothing is for free in this world."

"I'm pleased to see that your stay in prison has not dulled your wit," she crossed her arms, amused. "Rest assured that what I expect from you is not worse than rotting away in a dungeon."

"Let's hope so," he narrowed his eyes, "but my personal experience has taught me not to trust sorceresses."

She was not surprised at his correct guess that she was a sorceress.

"Allow me to change that, then. My name is Laurel," she introduced herself. "Let me be the first sorceress to show you that not all my kind is devious and corrupt."

"I doubt that," he answered. "Anyway," he added casually, "before you turn nasty towards me, I think I'll take advantage and drink your expensive wine," he reached for the bottle and opened it.

"You really are something special, Geralt of Rivia," she laughed.

"Just a witcher, nothing more," he shrugged.

"The Brotherhood thinks you are dead," she said, "probably because even your Yennefer is convinced of that."

At the mention of Yennefer, Geralt's expression changed. He tried to hide his longing for her, but the sorceress didn't fail to see clearly in his strange eyes what he felt for her. It appeared that witchers had feelings after all, and very strong ones at that. That could be used to her advantage, although she would have to tread very carefully in that field.

"They are no longer looking for you, you know? They've given up," she said while he drank the wine in silence.

"But not you," he said. "You didn't give up. Why?"

"I knew you were alive."

"How?"

She slid her hand between her breasts and took out a black velvet bag.

"What's that?" he asked, although he had guessed. He could feel his connection to it.

"A present for you," she smiled. "I wanted to give it to you later, but this moment seems appropriate," she handed the bag to him.

He opened it and took out a round object with a silver chain.

"My medallion," he gasped, fingering the image of the wolf with open fangs engraved in it. He had missed it for a long time.

"Its magic told me you were alive," she explained. "It didn't tell me your whereabouts, unfortunately. I had to visit innumerable unpleasant dungeons, before I found you."

"Why didn't you tell the Brotherhood? They would have helped you, unselfishly," he retorted sarcastically.

"The Brotherhood wants you dead and I need you alive," she answered.

"What for?" he narrowed his eyes.

"Eat, drink, rest, recover, Geralt," she said, standing up. "Enjoy yourself in my beautiful home. We will talk business when you are well."

"Have I moved from one prison to another?" asked the witcher.

"Not at all, Geralt. You are a guest here, an honoured guest," she assured him.

"I can leave whenever I want, then?"

"Of course," she smiled.

He knew she was lying through her teeth.