Geralt's Arc

Chapter 16 of 17

The marsh had turned to black water and mist by the time they reached the tower. Its stone walls ran with old dark stains, and a single high window burned with sick orange light. Geralt crouched behind a mound of dead reeds. Rain knelt beside him, her breath fast, her hands already trembling. Above them, the runes carved into the tower hummed. Malachar's ward was almost whole. "He's in the window room," Rain whispered. "The runes feed his power from there. Silence them and he's just a man again." Geralt studied the door. Thirty paces of open ground. No cover. "When I move, he'll strike." "Then I raise the shield when he does. One breath." She looked at him, purple eyes steady though her body shook. "Not before. Not after. Wait for my hand." He ran. His boots tore through the mud. Halfway across, the window flared white. A bolt of raw magic screamed toward him. Rain's hand shot up. A wall of light snapped into place, and the bolt broke against it in a burst of sparks. The shield held for one breath, exactly one, then shattered like ice. Geralt hit the door with his shoulder. It gave. He climbed the stairs three at a time, drawing his steel sword. In the high room, Malachar stood over a table of carved stones, his white hair loose, purple eyes blazing. He raised his hand for a second strike. "Too slow," the mage said, flat and cold. Geralt did not go for the mage. He swung at the runes. His blade smashed the nearest carved stone, then the next. The humming choked. Malachar's spell died in his open palm. "You destroy what you cannot understand," Malachar said. His voice held contempt, but his hand was empty now. "Surface work. Both of you." Geralt drove him against the wall and pressed the steel to his throat. Below, Rain climbed the last stairs, one hand on the wall. She reached the room and spoke three words. The last runes went dark. The orange light in the window died. "It's done," she said. Her legs folded. Geralt caught her with his free arm. Malachar looked between them, stripped and silent. "You've silenced the tower. You have not silenced me." "We only need one," Geralt said. But as he bound the mage's wrists, a shadow crossed the dead window. Wings beat the mist. The dragon they had freed dropped from the sky and landed on the tower roof, claws scraping stone. It fixed one golden eye on Malachar, the man who had chained it, and let out a low growl that shook the walls. Rain gripped Geralt's arm. "It came on its own. It wants him." Geralt looked at the bound mage, then at the beast that remembered its cage. The ward was broken. Now he had to decide what to do with the man the dragon had come to collect.