Prologue

No witcher ever dies in his own bed.

That was the thought running through the witcher's mind as he drew his last breath. The blonde witcher collapsed into the dirt, a sword protruding from his chest. His vertical pupils dilated as blood dribbled from his mouth.

Behind him, a man grasped the hilt of the sword. With a crunch, he yanked it free. Wiping the blade on the witcher's jerkin, the man looked down at his victim with disgust, hatred. He would find them all. And end them.

Chapter One

Geralt looked up to see Yennefer striding toward his table. He was sitting alone with a half-empty mug in front of him. Two days ago she had asked him to meet her here, in a small village in northern Velen. Since arriving yesterday, he had bided his time in the local tavern. Now, it seemed, he would finally get some answers.

"Geralt, I'm glad you came."

"Didn't really give me a choice, did you?" Geralt downed the last of his drink.

"All the same, I knew I had to warn you. Surely you've heard the rumors?"

"Hard not to. Especially here." He gestured around the room. "They've been talking about nothing else since I arrived."

"Yes, well. Your presence would set people on edge on a good day"- Yennefer dropped her voice—"but with someone out there murdering witchers..."

"Can I assume then, that you have seen the bodies?"

"Yes. All five were killed with a sword. The last of which was found not far from here, near the woods. Radovid has put a price on his head."

Geralt raised his eyebrows. "Strange, that a king would care so much about witchers."

"It's not about witchers. It's about a madman running around killing people in Velen. A little too close to Novigrad for Radovid's comfort, it would seem."

"Madman, huh? Guess it takes one to know one," Geralt remarked sarcastically.

"This is serious, Geralt," Yennefer chided, "And mad or not, Radovid is willing to pay a small fortune to put this man behind bars, or in the ground. Seeing as how this man also poses a threat to your life, it only makes sense that we go after him."

"What do you mean, we?"

The barmaid ambled over to their table, inquiring whether they wanted to order drinks, but Geralt dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

"If I simply wanted to give you information, I could have done so without trekking across the country to this flea-infested inn. This man is dangerous, Geralt, and I'm here to help you."

"Alright, fine. Can we still examine the bodies?"

Yennefer shook her head. "Burned."

"Well, how fortunate that the most recent crime scene is so close then. It's almost as if you planned this the whole time."

Yennefer gave Geralt a knowing grin. "Shall we go?" she asked, already rising.

"Lead the way."

They were several miles from town when they came upon the forest ahead of them. The path cut between the trees and disappeared into its depths. To the right, the trees wound through the countryside before vanishing over a small cliff. Further to the left was a large mound. The sun was nearing the horizon. It cast long shadows over the landscape, throwing everything into sharp relief.

"It's just over there, near that hillock." Yennefer pointed to the left.

They left the path and made their way over to the spot of the murder, a faint blood stain still evident on the ground.

Geralt walked over to the blood. He squatted down next to it, searching for clues. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, aside from the blood. No scraps of cloth. There were several types of hair present, but all from local animals—wolves, horses, dogs. He rose and scanned the surrounding area.

"You know, Geralt—" Yennefer started to say.

"Shh!" Geralt hissed. His inhuman hearing had picked up a small sound somewhere nearby- a rustling in the grass. He paused, listening intently for the source of the sound; meanwhile scanning his surroundings for signs of danger. It was coming from just behind the nearby hill, not twenty yards away. How could it have snuck up so close to us without me hearing it, he thought, his medallion humming. Something was wrong, but Geralt didn't need his medallion to tell him that. He hadn't survived this long without relying on instinct. Whatever was out there, it was dangerous; that was for sure. Anything that had the knowledge and skill to stalk a witcher was not to be trifled with. His hand lingered by the hilt of his sword.

"Yen-" Geralt warned as he drew his sword, a metallic hiss ringing through the air as it was unsheathed. He had sensed something in the air. But his warning fell flat. The air behind Geralt suddenly caved in, encompassing Yennefer in a magic sphere of energy. A slight crackling rolled off of the sphere and a faint purple glow emanated from its surface. Geralt went to move toward it, to break Yennefer free of her new prison.

"Wait, Geralt!" yelled Yennefer. He came to a halt, his hand inches from the barrier. "It's some form of Yrden. I've never seen anything like it. I think it would be unwise to try to break it by force."

Was it fear or awe that he glimpsed in her face? Either way, it wasn't good. He had to get her out of there and soon. But where had it even come from?

"Yen, can you break yourself out of there?"

"No. Geralt, I don't know what this is, but I can't use my magic at all."

"Indeed, she can't."