Philippa's Grace (The Witcher)

The Baron led Geralt and Philippa through the fort, and into the castle. It was a modest castle by most standards, a large castle wouldn't do much good out in Velen; It would be too hard to stock, keep staffed and maintain. Still, neither Geralt or Philippa figured the Baron had any complaints.

They entered what they assumed to be the main work and comfort quarters of the lord of this castle. It was in a state of disarray, with many belongings haphazardly thrown around. Philippa doubted half the things in the room actually belonged to the Baron himself.

"Make yourselves at home." The Baron said with over exaggerated enthusiasm. "Now where'd I put the bloody vodka?"

The Baron looked around his mess for his alcohol, and Philippa and Geralt gave each other weary looks. THIS was the man who held information on Ciri? This was their step, and impediment to their goal.

"Ah, there it is! A snifter?" Asked the Baron, offering drinks to Geralt and Philippa as he took a seat at his table.

"No thanks." Geralt answered for both of them. "We didn't come here to drink."

"Hmph. As you will. But I'll not sit here adry, if you don't mind." The Baron proclaimed. He didn't bother to grab a cup, rather setting the whole bottle in front of himself. "Before the war, there was a distillery nearby, best in Velen. But the whoresons burnt it to the ground. But to the matter at hand -- I'm Phillip Strenger, though the blobtits 'round here call me the Bloody Baron!"

Philippa noted that he seemed rather proud of that title.

"Geralt of Rivia. Blobtits call me the Butcher of Blaviken." Geralt stated. "And this is Philys"

The Baron raised a scrutinizing eyebrow at the pair.

"Come now, no need to be coy. You think I don't recognize the infamous Philippa Eilhart when I see her." The Baron said, smirk gracing his rough, red face. Philippa stiffened and nearly gaped at the man. She hadn't expected someone like HIM to make her, and make her so quickly. Geralt tensed as well, not knowing what the Baron was thinking.

"Relax, the both of ya." The Baron said. "Doubt anyone else recognized ya. They ain't cultured like me. I been around, traveled a bit. Seen her in Tretogor decades ago. Feathers gave ya away."

Geralt looked at the side of Philippa's head, as the Sorceress did her best not to acknowledge the Witcher and give him the satisfaction.

"Plus the way I see it, with your face plastered on every wall and post in Redania, I'd say we're practically on the same side. Truth be told, the only reason we're talking is because I know of the both of ya, and what you can do. How do you like it here in Velen?"

"Since we're being so honset, I don't. Swamps, bogs, marshes everywhere…" Philippa said disdainfully

"Exactly!"

"Didn't come here to talk scenery." Geralt interjected, growing tired of the Baron's games.

"You're wrong to avoid the topic. You've just arrived, plain to see.And the local swamps and bogs -- they're interesting to say the least." The Baron chided cryptically. "Someone loses their way 'round here, he becomes damn hard to find."

"What are you getting at?"

"Many have lost loved ones here. Some their wives, others their daughters…"

"Spit out whatever it is you're trying to say." Philippa asserted. "We did not come here to hear you wax poetic,"

"Hm, not as clever as I thought you'd be. I'm being very literal." The Baron said, frowning at Philippa, who scowled back in return. The Baron turned his attention back to Geralt. "You want to hear about your girl, Ciri."

"Obviously." Geralt stated.

The Baron leaned back in his chair and looked up.

"She showed up some time ago -- exhausted, wounded, and stinkin' like a soaked hound after a hard hunt. Later I learned she'd come from the swamp... Said some beasts from the woods attacked her before she could reach the village…"

Geralt and Philippa stood there and listened. Listened as the Baron recounted his experience with Ciri. How she appeared in the swamp. How she saved a little girl. How she fought a werewolf. When the Baron first said Ciri's name, Geralt was honestly skeptical that he knew anything. Perhaps he heard the name in passing, perhaps he remembered Ciri's adventures all those years ago. But now, hearing him speak, there was no doubt in his mind. Everything he said was just so...her. She might've been older, but she was still the Ciri he picked up a decade and a half ago.

"That's my girl." He thought proudly.

"-So I ordered my men to watch her, and let her rest." The Baron finished. Geralt gave him a confused look. That wasn't all.

"And?" He asked.

"Ahhh, a topic for another time."

"I want-" Geralt started, feeling himself grow angry. He stopped himself, trying to gain a handle on the various emotions flowing through him. I NEED to find her, understand? I need every last bit of information available." Geralt tried to reason. The Baron looked at him, almost sympathetically, but Geralt could tell he was about to be denied.

"I understand. But you see, it so happens my wife and daughter are missing as well. I propose an exchange -- find my loved ones, and I shall tell you about the girl you seek. All I know."

"And if we refuse?" Philippa piped in. The Baron gave her a hard look, which Philippa simply lifted her chin to.

"Would you tell me to sod off? Go ahead." Dared the Baron, voice gruff. "But then I'll do the same. And what'll that make us? Three helpless, empty-handed sods.

"And what's to keep me from just ripping the information from your head?"

Geralt was a bit surprised by Philippa's threatening tone. For someone who dealt in diplomacy, she had a low threshold for people giving her the run-around. However, the Baron didn't look all too threatened by her words.

"I'll admit, I know little about magic, but I know a thing or two about bluffs." The Baron stated, unconcerned. "If you very well could do that, you wouldn't tell me. Hells, I doubt you would've even entertained me this far."

Philippa kept her face impassive, but internally she was seething. He called her bluff. The man was more perceptive than she gave him credit for. He was still a drunken mongrel, but he wasn't dumb.

Truthfully, telepathy and mind magic was a complex, and downright dangerous form of magic. If one's execution was not perfect, it could result in the caster permanently destroying the mind of it's catsee, or even themselves. The mind is complicated; pulling specific bits of information was like pulling a needle from a haystack, but the haystack was constantly influx, and full of termites. It was not something that she had become adept at, and as much as she loathed to admit it, one of the few remaining masters of telepathy was Yennefer. When Geralt sensed Philippa had nothing more to add, he continued.

"When'd you see them last?" He asked.

"They vanished after the new moon, as if whisked away by shadows." The Baron replied solemnly.

"What do you mean 'vanished'"?"

"Precisely that. I awoke one morn to find them gone."

"Geralt knew there was more to what he was saying, but he didn't have the time to question him. He needed this information, and sometimes the path of least resistance was the best way.

"I'll need to know a lot more than that. Can I see their rooms?"

The Baron tensed up at the request, which didn't go unseen by Geralt or Philippa.

"I need clues, anything to latch onto."

"I'll not let a stranger paw through their belongings." The Baron said with a frown. He was defensive, cagey.

"Want me to find them or not?" Philippa interjected. The Baron gave her a stern look.

"I do." He ground out.

"Then let us work."

"Huh, fine. But I shall go with you. The doors are locked."

The Baron stood from his seat, and led them out the chamber. They walked the halls and climbed a set of stairs.

"Got any enemies?" Geralt asked as they walked. "Maybe they were kidnapped."

"None worth mentioning. Worthless little pricks and angry peasants is all. None would dare raise a finger against my family. Any who might've, they've been eating dirt long since." The Baron said confidently.

"You'd be surprised how bold man can get when they think they have an advantage." Philippa said in a veiled insult of the Baron. He clearly didn't get it, because he just laughed in response.

"Bold, sure. But not suicidal. I'd pity any bastard who'd hurt my Tamara"

"What about your wife?"

"...Of course. Goes without saying."

They arrived at the room, and Baron tried for the door. It was stuck. The Baron kicked and banged on it with little grace.

"Bloody door. Always getting stuck when - ah, there it is!" The door swung open, and the Baron stepped to the side. "Our bedchamber. Tamara's room is there. Try not to make a mess. For their return, I want everything to be as they left it."

Geralt gave a slight nod, and entered the room, followed by Philippa. The Baron closed the door behind them, leaving them alone.

"He's hiding something." Philippa stated once she was sure the Baron's footsteps were far enough away.

"Of course." Geralt replied, more interested in seeing what he could discover in the room. "Someone is always hiding something."

"I'm becoming quite the Witcher myself it seems." Philippa said facetiously. "Fighting monsters. Get wrapped up in other people's affairs. You rub off on people in more ways than one."

"Philippa." Geralt said sternly. "Please, we don't have time for this. I need your help right now, and your glib comments aren't helping."

Philippa shot Geralt a petulant frown, before sighing. "Fine, fine. Let's get on with this then."

The chamber was big, spacious, More room than the Baron and his family, or anyone for that matter really needed. Geralt walked around the perimeter of the room, seeing what stood out. Philippa stood in the center and did the same. She of course didn't have the natural senses of a Witcher, but she was observant, even without her eyes.

"Hmmm." Geralt grunted. He moved towards a table which had some plates and a candlestick on it. "This candlestick is missing a piece. Maybe it's around here somewhere. What do you think?"

Philippa was paying him no mind, instead looking at the wall at the far end of where she was standing.

"Geralt, does that wall look strange to you?" She pointed. Geralt looked to where she was pointing; the wall was two different colors. A perfectly rectangular section was lighter than the rest.

"Something was hanging here" Geralt commented, walking over to examine it closer

"A painting?"

"Bout the right size."

Geralt looked around for a painting of some kind. To his left was a portrait of The Baron and his wife Anna hanging on a small divider wall of an alcove. It looked to be the same dimensions as the discolored section of wall. Carefully, Geralt removed the painting, revealing a hole that went clear through the wall, and into the cabinet.

"Looks like a commotion of some sort happened." Geralt said.

"And then someone tried to make sure everything looked normal." Philippa added. "Except they didn't account for a Withcer poking around."

"No one ever does."

Geralt bent down, and reached into the hole. He fumbled his hand around, until he felt something. He grabbed whatever it was, and pulled it out.

"What is it?" Philippa inquired. Geralt turned, and revealed a small piece of broken wood.

"Looks like we found the rest of our candle stem." Geralt speculated. He walked back to the table and grabbed the candlestick, flipping it, and fitting the wood piece back into where it belonged. "And if I had to guess, someone used it as a makeshift club."

"So there was a fight?"

"Judging by the marks in that post there, and the scent of wine lingering on the floor, I'd say that seems to be the case. Question is who?"

"Wine?"

"Too faint for you anyone else to pick up. It's all over the floor. Someone likely smashed a bottle. Everluce, from Toussaint."

"Shame of a waste. Good wine." Philippa said sarcastically. She thought for a moment. "Can you smell where the wine leads?"

Geralt took a deep inhale, smelling the air. He looked at the ground, and slowly began to follow an invisible trail around the room. The trail stopped at the bed. Geralt looked around the bed, seeing if anything looked out of the ordinary. Nothing. Then, he went to a knee, and bent forward, so he could look under the bed.

"What do you see?" Philippa asked. Geralt didn't answer immediately, rather laying down flat on his stomach so he could reach under the bed. When he stood again, in his hand was a small amulet. It was made of dark wood, near black, with an inscription carved into it. It smelled of spices, ones that Geralt didn't readily know. . Philippa stepped forward to get a better look at it. "That's Zerrikanian"

"You know of it?" Geralt asked, a bit impressed.

"Oh don't sound so surprised. I visited the region once or twice in my younger years." Philippa said offhandedly. "My Zerrikanian is a bit rusty, but from what I can tell, It's a protective amulet of some sort."

"You sure you weren't a Witcher in your past life?" Geralt commented. Philippa wrinkled her nose at that, but gave a small smile. She did seem to have a knack for it.

"If I was, there wouldn't have been much competition." Philippa said with a smirk. Geralt just snorted

"Well, whatever this is obviously didn't work." Geralt commented dryly as he examined the Amulet further. "I don't think we're going to find anything else. Let's report to the Baron."

The pair left the chambers and went to the Baron, who was sitting on a nearby bench, smoking a pipe

"Done pokin' around?" He asked, blowing smoke in their direction.

"Recognize this amulet?" Geralt asked, holding it out for the Baron. The Baron inspected it for a moment,

"Hmm... Yes. Anna began wearing it a time ago."

"Any idea where she got it?"

"None."

"Philippa believes it to be Zerrikanian in origin. Might be a stretch, but know of any Zerrikanians that came through here?"

"Know that you mention it...there's word of a fellar, bronze skinned, who people have been talking about in an inn not a half hour away. I was going to send my boys to go check him out, but then all this happened."

A lead. Good.

"Also, found signs of a fight in the room. Know anything about that?"

" A fight?" The Baron said, sounding shocked. "What're you talkin' about?"

"Someone was attacked -- probably your wife or daughter" Geralt explained. "Whoever it was tried to defend themselves with a candlestick. Missed the attacker, punctured the wall, instead. They tussled, too."

"I...I don't know nothin' about this. That night...I was drunk, don't remember a thing. They were gone by the time I awoke."

"All these men, and no one heard anything?" Philippa questioned, not convinced. The Baron frowned deeply.

"Three times I asked those bastards if they'd seen anythin', heard anythin'. Nothin', not a one of 'em." He said angrily.

Sensing they were at the end of any useful information from the Baron, Geralt pressed on. "Oughta have a chat with this bronze skinned fellow;" He said.

"The inn he's supposedly staying at is not a half hours ride North of here. And let me tell you something Witcher, if he had anything to do with my family gone missing, you'd better kill him yourself, because I'll make him suffer." The Baron finished gravely.

"Noted." Geralt replied simply. With a look to Philippa, the two descended the stairs to the Castle doors, in search of a Zerrikanian.

____________________________________________________________________________

Geralt was in a foul mood by the time he and Philippa located the tavern. Another bloody assignment, another bloody task. He might as well have had the word chump written on his forehead these days, because he always found himself the lackey in someone else's scheme and agenda.

"This the place?" Philippa asked

"Must be. Ain't nothing else for miles."

'The Two-Legged Mule.' A lovely place. From outside Geralt could hear a commotion going on. Seems they were walking into a lively place. The pair entered the tavern, and it was in stark contrast to the Inn at the Crossroads. It was crowded, loud and the patrons were animated. Geralt also noted they were meaner looking, and most of them were armed. Looks like they stumbled upon a Bandit Bar. Guess they had to spend their pillaged coin somewhere.

"You cheated! You fuckin' cheated!" A drunken man yelled from across the room.

Geralt and Philippa looked over, and a portly man was standing over a small round table, with cards scattered on it. Across from him, sitting with his feet propped up, was their Zerrikanian. He'd stand out like a sore thumb even if it weren't for his dark skin amongst the pale northerners. He wore a long purple tunic that went down to about his shins, baggy tan pants tucking into his boots, as well as a turban matching his tunic. He wore many wings on both his hands, and his right ear was pierced with small gold hoops along the helix. His face had patterned scarification; little crosses that went from below his eyes, to mid cheek. And unlike everyone there, he wore a big, white-toothed smile on his face.

"Cheat?" The Zerrikanian said. "No, never. I am a man of honor. Perhaps you are just bad at cards."

"No, ya cheated!" Pipped in the drunken man's even drunker friend."

"Friend, you are 6 ale deeps. You're not seeing much of anything right now."

The portly man drew his sword from his belt, pointing the blade at the Zerrikanian, inches away from his throat. The man did not move from his relaxed position. If anything, his smile grew wider.

"I don't take kindly to cheats!" The man threatened.

"Gentleman, gentleman." The Zerrikanian said, showing his palms in placation. "Sometimes we have bad nights. Happens to the best of us. But what I can tell you, is that your night will get considerably worse if you don't sheathe your blade right now."

"I don't think I will. In fact, I think I'll take back me gold, and yours too." The drunk man said. His friend smiled with crooked teeth, excited at the prospect of robbing someone. The Zerrikanian just pursed his lips, and shook his head.

"I see, well, I suppose this can't be helped." The Zerrikanian said as if he was disappointed in a child. Geralt thought he'd have to step in. Wouldn't do them very good if the man they were looking for went and got himself killed, but then suddenly almost so fast that Geralt missed it, The Zerrikanian brought his left hand up, and tapped the drunk man's blade. The blade glowed orange, and what was once hard steel, shattered like glass. Before the man could register what happened, The Zerrikanian stood, and drew his own weapon, a dagger with a curved handle and blade. With a quick slash across the man's face, The Zerrikanian cut off the tip of his nose. The drunkard fell back in pain, hands going to cover his bisected nose. The man's friend was shocked, and fumbled to unsheath his blade. Before he could get it halfway off his belt, The Zerrikanian already had his dagger pressed against the man's neck. The man halted his movements immediately.

"Oi!" Yelled the barkeep "You know the fucking rules! No fighting in here! This is neutral ground. You two, out!"

"Us? But this dirty dirty Sand rat is the one-"

"I saw the whole thing. You two knobs started it. Derrick has always been shit at games. Now get out, before I have your legs broken and you can crawl out." Two large men who had been standing close to the bar stepped forward, the barkeep's enforcers as it were. The man even in his drunken state seemed to understand that this wasn't a fight they were going to win, so he sheathed his sword, and helped his friend to his feet. He took the bottom of his shirt, and pressed it to his friend's maimed nose, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Come on Derrick, let's get out of here, get ya fixed up"

"My noooobe" The man whined deliriously. He probably was in a bit of shock. "We chanbt leabe my noooobe"

The two drunks walked out of the tavern, leaving the Zerrikanian to take his seat once more.

"And you-" The barkeep said sternly pointing at him. "Don't do any more of that freaky magic in here, or you'll be out right with them."

The Zerrikanian held his hand up in mock salute. The barkeep grumbled something, and went back to work behind the bar.

Geralt and Philippa saw that this was as good a time as any to move forward, so they did, crossing the room. The Zerrikanian saw them, and his large smile returned to his face.

"These seats not taken anymore I'm guessing." Geralt said.

"Be my guest. You two seem to be better company than those two other fellows. Name's Ameer." He said, with a slight bow of his head. "Do mind the blood."

"Ameer huh? Got a last name."

Do you? Or does 'of Rivia' suffice?" Ameer asked with a smirk.

"You know who I am?" Geralt asked, slightly surprised.

"Why of course! Geralt of Rivia - monster hunter, hero, ladies man. I've heard stories of your deeds and conquests of the superior sex. Me and you are very alike my friend. Travelling the world, bedding women. We've both fucked many women my friend. I've fucked Nilfgaardians, Northerners, the beautiful women back home of course, elves, dwarves - tell me friend, have you ever fucked a dragon?" Ameer rambled.

Philippa and Geralt looked at the man in open confusion. He wasn't like any Zerrikanian either of them have ever met. By history and society, Zerrikanians were serious, hard people, mysterious, wary, and downright hostile to outsiders and other cultures. Though the same could be said about the Northern Kingdoms. But Ameer spoke a mile a minute in his thick accent. He seemed to enjoy talking. He reminded Geralt of Dandelion honestly.

Typically the only Zerrikanians to venture across the great desert and mountains separating Zerkannia from the rest The North and Nilfgaard were traders, and Ameer certainly didn't seem like a trader of any kind. The last Zerrikanian Geralt met tried to kill him, but Ameer didn't seem to have interest in doing so, at least yet.

"Uhm No." Geralt answered. "Can't say that I have."

"It is truly a magnificent experience! One I wish for every man. But I digress. Tell me, would you like a game of Gwent? I learned it when I arrived, and can't stop playing! Greatest thing to ever come out of your realm, besides the women of course."

'Gwent. A man after my own heart.' Geralt thought, a bit amused.

"Mr. Ameer" Philippa interjected. "With all due respect, we did not come here to play silly dwarven games. We sought you out for a reason."

"Silly game?" Ameer asked in faux offense. "Gwent is a work of art. A game of true intellectuals. But fine, it seems the pretty lady has no interest in such things. Shame. So why have you sought out Ameer?"

Geralt fished out the charm, and placed it on the table. "Recognize this?" He asked. Ameer took a glance at it and nodded.

"Yes. An old protective charm from home. Priestesses would bestow them to people going through great struggle and turmoil." Ameer explained, leaning forward in his chair and placing his elbows on the table. "Lady came to see me, thought I could help her. She was very troubled - looked older than she was."

"Anna." Philippa said. Ameer just shrugged.

"Never got her name. Didn't need it. She was desperate for help, coming to see a foreigner. You Northerners were always wary of our magic."

"That lady is the wife of the Baron of this area. She's gone missing. Daughter too." Geralt explained.

"I know nothing about that. Ameer is not surprised though."

"And why is that?"

For the first time since laying eyes on him, Ameer looked concerned. He leaned forward more, speaking in a hushed voice.

"This woman Anna, she came to me seeking protection from a darkness."

"A darkness?" Philppa repeated. "You're going to need to be more specific than that. Many dark things in the world."

"An old darkness. The kind that doesn't have a name, that the tongue can't decipher. When Anna came to me, I could feel it radiating off of her. This whole area is steeped in it. All I could do was offer her my charm. Nothing else. You're connected to magic. I know you feel it too." Ameer said, looking intently at Philippa.

She didn't respond. She didn't know what she felt. She knew something was off when they had first arrived and that horrid vision hit her. SOMETHING reached out to her. She didn't know what it was, and Phillippa did not like not knowing. Perhaps Ameer was right. Perhaps some old, horrible magic was infecting the area.

Geralt took note of her silence. He frowned a bit. She was keeping things from him again. He'd have to talk to her about it later.

"If this darkness is so great, why are you here?" Geralt questioned.

"I hate to admit it, but I also have a missing wife. We had a disagreement and she stormed off. Been looking for her since." Ameer explained sheepishly. "Perhaps you can assist me in finding her as well."

"Sorry. We have our hands full enough with one missing wife." Geralt stands from the table. "Come on Philippa. Don't think we'll get much more here. Appreciate you telling us what you could Ameer."

Geralt and Philippa exited the tavern, and Geralt was visibly frustrated. Philippa walked behind him, placing a gentle hand on his back.

"What are you thinking?" Philippa asked carefully. Geralt snorted derisively.

"I'm thinking we don't have time to be playing the games of a drunkard who thinks himself a lord. CIRI doesn't have time." He said, running his hand through his white hair. Another unneeded hurdle. So close to Ciri, yet so far.

"Friends!"

Philippa and Geralt turned to see Ameer exiting the tavern, jogging over to them.

"You left so quickly before I could offer to help further." Ameer said.

"I thought you didn't know anything." Philippa pointed out.

"True. I don't, but perhaps the spirits do."

"Meaning?" Geralt asked impatiently

"The amulet, it has a memory. The moments when it is worn are imprinted into it. They can be accessed with the help of the spirits of the land."

"What do we need to do?"

"We need the blood of the living. Does not matter what. Can be something small, like a Hare. I'll need a bit of time to prepare the incantation."

A break. Finally.

"Philippa, help Ameer with preparation. I'll go find some poor animal to help us." Geralt said. Philippa gave a nod, and she and Ameer moved to a small clearing several yards away, just past the treeline and out of sight of the tavern.

"Here." Ameer said, handing Philippa four candles he fished out of his pouch. "Light these while I draw an incantation circle."

Using a stick, Ameer made a circle in the grass and dirt, with 2 parallel lines crossing it. Philippa wasn't particularly familiar with Zerrikanian magic, but her guess was that he was making a possession circle. Geralt walked into the clearing, with a struggling rat in his hand.

"Would have preferred something less disease ridden, but it will do. The candles if you would."

Philippa handed Ameer the candles, and he placed them where the lines met the circle. Geralt handed him the rat, and Ameer pulled out his dagger. Ameer cut the poor rat down the middle and spoke.

"Arlhma igto ma. Alrmha igto gom" Ameer chanted as the blood spilled to the center of the circle. In an instant, Ameer's head was clouded in grey smoke, and his eyes turned orange. He grabbed his head as if in pain, and fell to his knees. Philippa stepped forward to check on him, but Geralt held out his arm in front of her, stopping her. Suddenly Ameer's head snapped up, looking to the sky.

"They are not here. They have gone. Blood! I see blood!" The spirit spoke through Ameer.

"Who? Whose blood?" Geralt asked. Ameer's head snapped to look at him.

"No Anna...no Tamara...just a child...sent between here and oblivion...by family"

As quickly as he was possessed, the spirit left Ameer's body, letting him fall forward to his hands.

"...I always hated doing that." He said between gasps. Philippa went to him and helped him to his feet. Sweat covered his face and he seemed to somehow lose a bit of color. He stood on his shaky legs, trying to collect himself. "Spirits are often bad guests."

"What did all that mean?" Geralt asked.

"A child...A child that lives not, yet did not die."

"Whose child?"

"Why Anna's of course."

"She was pregnant?"

"Was. She miscarried. A shame."

Philippa covered her stomach protectively at the word.

"Why wouldn't the Baron mention something like that." Geralt questioned.

"...sent between here and oblivion...by family" Said Philippa, repeating the Spirit's words. Her face knitted in anger as the realization of the meaning came to her. "It was the Baron."

"What?" Geralt asked.

"The fight. Someone trying to cover it up. The wine everywhere. By FAMILY. It was the fucking Baron Geralt. He beat the baby out of her."

Philippa's voice was raw, angry, as if she was trying to keep herself from crying, not that she still could. She hadn't noticed her hands were tightly clenched into fists and shaking. Geralt's eyes widened in shock, and he looked to Ameer.

"Ameer saw a grave. No rite or ceremony. The child is awake now. And it is angry. Full of venom." Ameer said solemnly. Geralt let out a humorless bark of laughter.

"The bastard created a botchling." He said angrily. Ameer nodded. "He has us run around this this fucking countryside, trying to fix a problem he created."

"I think we need to go and see the Baron again." Philippa said, voice low and dangerous.

"Yes." Geralt agreed, voice just as sinister. "I think you're right."