Geralt's Arc

Chapter 12 of 17

The beast stood clear of the broken door. Its eyes locked on Geralt, and it came. He rolled aside as a clawed limb tore rock where he had stood. Silver flashed. His blade bit the creature's flank and skidded off, as if he had struck a wall. No blood. No wound. The runes had glowed red for years, and their strength still ran in the beast's hide. "Rain, the door!" Geralt shouted. He backed toward the cave mouth, dragging the fight after him. "The stone still feeds it. My steel does nothing." Rain crouched by the shattered frame. Carved fragments still glowed faint red among the rubble. She pressed both palms to the largest piece. Light burned white in her hands. "Then I break what's left," she said. Her cold face had gone hard with focus. This was the sorceress who had crossed a marsh and silenced a mage's tower, and she did not flinch now. The beast turned from Geralt toward her. It sensed the threat. Geralt saw its head swing and moved without thinking. He drove his silver sword between two ribs, hilt-deep, not to kill but to hold its attention. The blade still would not cut, but the pressure turned the creature back to him. It swiped. Claws raked his shoulder, the same shoulder Rain had healed on the climb. He gritted his teeth and held his ground. "Now, Rain!" She slammed her light down into the glowing stone. The rock split with a crack that echoed off the peaks. The red glow died. Every rune went dark and cold at once. The beast staggered. Its skin, once like armor, sagged loose over its bones. Geralt felt the change through his blade. He wrenched the sword free and struck again at the same seam between the ribs. This time the silver sank deep. Blood ran hot over his hand. The beast screamed and reared, wounded at last. Geralt did not stop. He ducked under its swing and cut across the throat. The creature dropped, shook the ground, and went still. Silence returned to the peak. Geralt stood over the body, breathing hard, his shoulder torn and bleeding. Rain rose from the dead runes and came to him. She looked at the beast, then at him. "It's not moving," she said quietly. There was no triumph in her voice, only weight. "No." Geralt wiped his blade. "It's done." Then he turned toward the boulder where he had left the mage. The strip of cloth lay in the snow, cut clean. The ropes lay coiled and empty. Malachar was gone. Geralt scanned the white slope and saw only fresh tracks leading down into the pass. Rain followed his gaze and went pale. "He freed himself while we fought," she said. "With no magic. That means he found some." Geralt sheathed the silver sword and drew his steel. The last true monster was dead. The man who woke it had just escaped down the mountain.