Geralt's Arc

Chapter 13 of 17

Geralt took one step after the tracks and stopped. His right arm would not lift the steel. The claw wounds had reopened the shoulder Rain healed on the climb. Blood soaked his sleeve and ran down to his fingers. He tried again. The muscle locked, and the sword tilted in his grip. "Stop," Rain said. She caught his wrist before the blade fell. "You can't chase anyone like this." "He's getting away." Geralt watched the fresh prints fade into the pass below. Malachar had magic again. Every minute widened the gap. "And you have one arm." Rain pressed two fingers to his torn shoulder. He flinched. She did not pull back. "If this stiffens, you won't hold a sword at all. Then he's gone for good, and so are you." Geralt knew she was right. He hated that she was right. He sheathed the steel and sat on a cold slab of stone beside the dead beast. "Then be quick." Rain knelt in the snow in front of him. Her purple eyes fixed on the wound. This was the sorceress who had crossed a drowning marsh and silenced a mage's tower without flinching. But healing was not breaking. Her hands trembled once before they steadied. "This will hurt more than the first time," she said. "The claws tore what I already mended. I have to force the flesh back together." "I've had worse." "You always say that." A thin, cold smile crossed her face. "You're a poor liar for a man who lies so often." She laid both palms over the shoulder. White light gathered under her fingers. Heat sank into the wound. Geralt's jaw clenched. The torn muscle drew tight, then tighter, as if a fist closed inside his arm. He breathed through his teeth and did not move. The light flared. Rain gasped and swayed. She had spent power on the runes, on the storm nights, on him already. This drained the last of it. Her arms shook, but she held the spell until the bleeding stopped and the skin knit shut. Then she let go and sat back hard in the snow. Geralt rolled the shoulder. It ached, deep and raw, but it moved. He lifted his arm above his head and drew the steel clean this time. The muscle answered. "It'll hold?" he asked. "For a fight. Not forever." She pushed her wet hair from her face. "Don't make me do that a third time." Geralt stood and offered his hand. She looked at it a moment, then took it. He pulled her to her feet. "Malachar went down the pass," he said. "On foot, and afraid. We can still catch him before the tower." Rain steadied herself against his arm. "Then we move now, while I can still stand." Geralt looked once more at the dead beast, then down the white slope where the tracks led. His sword arm was whole. The hunt had a new quarry, and it was already running.