PART 4
"Why don't we go down?" suggested Paul. "I can get you some breakfast."
"I don't want breakfast," said Geralt without taking his eyes from the inhospitable mountains.
"Ok. I understand you are miserable, but I'm here to ease your discomfort. Just tell me what you need," offered Paul.
"I need a sword," answered Geralt.
"A sword? Whatever for?"
"I'm a witcher. Witchers need swords," was Geralt's scant explanation.
"I don't think it's wise to..." tried Paul.
"You say I'm not a prisoner," Geralt cut him short. "You say you are my personal assistant. You say you can provide me with what I need. I need a sword."
"Follow me," sighed Paul with resignation.
"Where are we going?"
"Well, the armory, obviously."
"Good," approved the witcher.
"Tell me, is it true what they say about witchers?" asked Paul while negotiating the stairs.
"What's that?"
"That they go through terrible trials which cause them a lot of suffering during childhood, that very few survive the mutations... I suppose that if you lived through it, that makes you one of the lucky ones."
"Yes, I was a very lucky child," answered Geralt with acid sarcasm.
"People don't like witchers, they are afraid of them. They think they are worse than the monsters they hunt," continued Paul.
"Is that supposed to be news to me?"
"What I mean is... you must have a hard time... sometimes..." tried Paul.
"The one that will have a hard time soon is you if you don't shut up," answered the witcher menacingly.
Geralt slipped on one of the steps and almost fell. Paul caught him by the waist.
"Do not touch me. Do not ever touch me," snarled the witcher.
"I was only trying to help," Paul let go immediately.
"I don't need your help," muttered Geralt through his teeth, trying not to show how much pain he was in.
They reached the gallery and Paul guided him into a dark stone corridor, illuminated by torches. Geralt was starting to regret not having brought his cane.
"How much further?" asked the witcher.
"Just through here," indicated Paul.
Geralt grimaced and silently cursed when he saw another flight of stairs, going down this time.
"Why is nothing at ground level in this fucking place?" grumbled Geralt to himself.
"Sorry?"
"Nothing. Lead on," invited the witcher with his hand.
Paul started the descent, followed slowly by the miserable witcher. The corridor that led to the armory was darker and more humid, which did nothing to improve the witcher's mood. They arrived to a thick wooden door flanked by two guards in armour with long spears.
"What are you doing down here, Paul?" asked one of them.
"Lady Laurel's guest needs a sword," declared Paul with an air of importance.
The guard looked at Geralt up and down.
"I think that what he needs is a cane. He can barely stand," retorted the guard.
Geralt spat on the floor and pulled his most scary face.
"Would you like to see what a witcher that can barely stand can do with his bare hands when he is denied?" he threatened the guard.
"If you are that good," retorted the guard insolently, "I don't see why you need a sword."
Geralt growled dangerously and Paul hastened to put his body between the witcher and the guard.
"Give me a minute in private with this knave," he tried to appease Geralt. "I promise that if I can't convince him of your urgent need, you can try it your way."
Geralt grunted, unconvinced, but walked away a dozen feet and let Paul talk to the guard. The conversation was short and mostly carried out by Paul, but at the end of it, Geralt saw the guard nodding reluctantly. With a triumphant smile, Paul signalled Geralt to approach. The guard opened the door of the armory without looking at the witcher in the eye and let them pass without a word.
"How did you persuade him?" asked the witcher.
"I have my ways," smiled Paul mysteriously.
Geralt was gladly impressed by the collection of weapons of the armory. There were halberds, lances, long bows, shields, and swords, tons of swords in a variety that pleased Geralt's heart so much that he couldn't suppress a delighted smile. He tried the weight and balance of several steel swords until he found one that suited him. He examined the blade and found that it had the quality only present in swords forged by the dwarves in Mahakam. He sheathed the chosen sword in its leather scabbard and strapped it to his back.
"Are you pleased?" asked Paul.
"Very much," answered the witcher, "and that's saying something, because I'm not easily satisfied."
"I'm glad," smiled Paul.
When they left the armory, the guards didn't say a word about the witcher taking such a precious sword. They just looked grim but resigned. Geralt walked brightly after Paul, his pain almost forgotten as his mood had definitely improved.
"What do you want to do now?" asked Paul.
"Why don't you go and get that breakfast you talked about earlier?" answered the witcher with an almost pleasant tone. "I'll pay a visit to my hostess in the meantime. It's high time I thanked her for her hospitality."
"Good. She will appreciate that," said Paul, glad that he had finally made some sort of friendly connection with the difficult witcher.
YOU ARE READING
THE WITCHER'S CHOICE
FanfictionThe Brotherhood thought he was dead, but she found him. However, getting him to agree to the mission she had for him was another matter entirely... This story portrays Sapkowski's Witcher, Geralt of Rivia. The events occur after he met Yennefer but...
