Heart of Ice • The Witcher

Chapter 13 • The Most Beautiful Ones

   They dragged him through mud, but it was okay because they also dragged him through puddles. Sometimes he'd get dragged over horse dung, but a puddle would always come and wash him clean. The main roads were fairly empty, save for the traveling merchants who gave them odd looks as they rode by. 

   Anaya didn't blame them for staring. She was sure they didn't get to witness a woman and a dwarf dragging the body of a Witcher wrapped in a tent and chained to a horse through the main roads. She gave them a quick smile and continued riding. It was good they were beginning to see merchants. It meant there was a town nearby. 

   "Careful!" Garrison said as they passed over a few rocks, Geralt's head slamming into each one.  

   "I'm just trying to find the town as fast as possible," Anaya said.

   "It won't matter if he dies from brain damage!"

   Anaya rolled her eyes. He would be fine.  

   Soon, they found the nearby village. It was much larger and much more populated than the previous one they'd visited, which was bad. It meant there was a greater chance of someone knowing Anaya's true identity, and a greater chance of running into a hunter. Still, they rode in, earning strange looks from almost everyone who looked at them. It was a good thing Anaya had kept her cloak, because it was the only thing protecting her from being seen. 

   "We're getting a lot of unwanted attention," Garrison whispered. 

   Anaya looked around the street they were riding on until she finally found what they'd been looking for. Past the whispering villagers, on a wooden sign, written in faded yellow letters was the word Apothecary. She rode past the villagers and straight inside the wooden building where the apothecary was in the middle of restocking his shelves. Luckily, the door had swung open when they'd entered, but since Geralt's body was still half sticking out of the shop, the door swung back and slammed into his head. 

   "You're going to kill him," said Garrison. 

   "What the hell!" the apothecary shouted, staring at the horse in his shop with wide eyes. He was an old man, his face aged and unafraid to hide his years. "You can't bring a horse in here!" 

   "We apologize for barging in like this," Anaya said, hopping off the horse. Garrison did the same, but instead of hopping onto the ground, he hopped onto Geralt to break his fall. "But it's an emergency and we need your help. Our friend, he's dying."

   The apothecary looked at them, still surprised. "Where exactly is your friend?"

   Anaya and Garrison moved to the side to allow the man to see Geralt, still bound tightly in his burrito harness. 

   "A Witcher?" the man said. 

   "Yes and we're willing to pay you anything," Anaya said. "Just please help him."

   "Anything?"

   "Just no fucking."

   "That includes me, too," Garrison said.

   "In all my years..." the apothecary sighed. "Fine, I will help you."

   "Thank you so much," Anaya smiled in relief. 

   "It's my job. The name's Atticus, help me get him onto the bed."

   It took the combined strength of all three of them and a wheelbarrow to get Geralt onto the bed the man used to inspect his patients. Soon, Geralt was free from the ropes and the tent. Luckily, he was still breathing, but his breaths had become much more shallow and the darkness around his eyes was beginning to fade.