#swordfights

Part 1 of a 6-chapter series

Summary: He calls himself the White Wolf. Three deadly strangers, have taken over the inn at a small village, demanding to see their reclusive mage. Hellbent on revenge, they use the villagers to force the mage to come out, but will he? Or will he stay in his tower and leave the villagers to the strangers? Collette finds herself running from the blonde stranger, his howls following her through the woods until she stumbles into a small camp where a white-haired witcher and his loquacious and dramatic companion rest. Will he listen to her pleas to save her village from the silver-armed invader and his companions? Or will they perish at the cost of their revenge?

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Chapter 1:

The forest was silent save for the pounding of her feet on the hard earth, breaking the fallen twigs along the well-worn path. Would he follow it? Would she even be able to make her way silently through the forest if she abandoned the familiar way? Somewhere behind her, somewhere too close, a branch snapped. Could she hide? Collette veered off the path and into the trees, flinching as an errant branch caught her cheek, another her arm. She could hear the river now, and knew she was close. If she could get across the river, perhaps she could hide in the forest there; it was more rocky and filled with better hiding spots she knew from her childhood games.

The burning in her lungs forced her to stop, leaning against a large tree to catch her breath. Her heart beat in her ears and she doubled over gasping for breath. But her rest was short lived. “I know you’re here.” He called out, “I can smell your fear, little one.” A branch crunched to her left, so she turned to the right and ran straight into a solid mass. She couldn’t hold back the scream as Rogers grasped her arm, keeping her upright. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, little one.” He was all condescension and she took off in the opposite direction. Now, it didn’t matter where she ran as long as she could get away.

Behind her, a long howl echoed through the forest.

She took off again, staggering and tripping, running blindly toward what she hoped was safety. Between the trees, the flicker of a campfire caught her attention and she turned, lungs burning as she neared it. There was another howl, this one closer, and she emerged into a small clearing before staggering to a sudden stop. The two figures who sat around the fire stood, one moving to demand an explanation when another howl sounded. He drew a sword and stepped around the fire, turning his gaze to the dark forest. The second man followed and ushered the girl away from the tree line.

The swordsman turned silently, eyes scanning the forest for any movement when he paused, his gaze narrowing just over her shoulder. There was a flash of movement and the swordsman pushed past and swung, his blade connecting with a wolf as it dove out of the darkness. It rolled to its feet and shook off the strike, though in the low light, its blood left a dark stain on its fair fur. It couldn’t be a real wolf; it stood nearly as tall as the swordsman, bright, blue eyes reflecting in the moonlight. Its growl echoed through the clearing as it watched the swordsman, baring its teeth. The swordsman tensed his hands on the hilt, the movement barely noticeable, but the wolf saw it and charged, forcing the swordsman back, but not for long as he swung, knocking the creature away.

The other man pulled her back, his arms holding her close as the swordsman battled. The swordsman struck one, two, three blows and the wolf staggered back, but before he could attack, the swordsman thrust his blade through the wolf’s throat. With a grunt, he pulled the sword back and the wolf fell before shuddering for a moment only for its huge body to shrink. There, on the ground, lay a man, naked and bloody and lifeless. “Fucking lycanthrope.” The swordsman grunted, wiping his brow as he surveyed the tree line once more. Satisfied with the silence, he turned back to the fire and turned to the woman expectantly. “Well?”

But she was frozen, staring at the corpse only feet away. The young man slowly turned her to face the swordsman, encouraging her to sit and drink from a bottle he offered. She sat, though she kept glancing back at the corpse. “Don’t worry. He’s dead.”

“What was that thing? Or should I say who?” The young man turned toward the swordsman, taking the bottle back to drink deeply.

“Lycanthrope.” The swordsman replied with a sneer. “Why was it chasing you?”

She shivered as he fixed his gaze on her; his bright golden eyes glowed in the firelight, as if gazing into her very soul. “I don’t know. He was part of a group that came into my village. He followed me into the forest. I don’t know why.”

“Why were you in the forest so late?”

“I needed herbs. My brother has a fever that won’t break and it’s our last hope.”

The young man spoke up. “There’s more than one?” She nodded.

“There were two others in his group. I don’t know if they’re all… like him, but something is off with them. They’ve taken over the inn and – and one of them is making people do strange things!” The young man offered her the bottle again and she accepted, wiping at her eyes.

“Making people do things?” The swordsman asked and she nodded. “What do they want?”

“They demanded to see our mage. They stand outside the tower and shout for him to come down, but he never does.” The swordsman hummed, staring into the fire as one hand rubbed the stubble that began to grow across his cheek. “I need to get back! I need to get those herbs!”

“Just wait one moment,” the younger man said, resting his hand on her arm. “Geralt? What is it?”

Geralt, the swordsman, shut his eyes, a quiet fuck leaving his lips before standing. “Describe them.”

“What?”

“Describe them. What do they look like?” She almost protested, her brother was ill! But the intensity of his gaze made her stop.

“Two men, one woman, though I’ve heard there’s a third man who stays hidden.” She said. “The man in charge, he’s got dark hair. They say he calls himself the White Wolf.” Geralt cursed again. “Why? You know them?”

“I know of them.”

“Geralt?” The young man asked, watching his companion stand. “Geralt are we helping her?”

“I don’t have much coin,” Collette offered, “But I have food, and a place to stay for as long as you like. We can mend your armor, feed your horse, whatever it is you need! If you can help, please!”

The swordsman sighed, pushing the hair from his face, earning an eye-roll from the young man. “Of course we’ll help you.” The young man replied, ignoring the glare from the swordsman. “I’m Jaskier. This is Geralt of Rivia, the only White Wolf.”

“Collette,” She replied. “Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t found you.”

“We’re always glad to help a damsel in need.” Jaskier replied with a small, yet dramatic bow which Collette found foolish, though in a strangely charming way.

“These are Ly- what?” She asked and Geralt nodded.

“Lycanthropes.” He replied. “Humans who can turn into a wolf. You said they attacked the village?” Collette nodded. “Tell me what happened.”

“That man, the White Wolf, showed up with two others demanding to speak to our mage.” Collette began.

***

There was a chill in the air that morning and Collette pulled her wrap closer around her shoulders as she hurried through the village. She was late, but her brother had been sick for most of the night and she knew Mr. Rye would understand. But as she hurried into the bakery, a hush fell over the room. What normally was a bustling shop froze and Collette turned, watching as three figures appeared in the street, two men and one woman. The man in the middle seemed to be in charge, as he stood slightly ahead of the others. A sword hung at his side, the hilt peeking out from beneath a long, black cloak. Thick, leather armor covered his chest. His dark brown hair was half-tied back with a leather strap which only highlighted his high cheekbones and defined jaw. His gait alone demanded respect, if not submission. He was clearly a warrior, one men would fear to face on the battlefield.

To his right, a woman with bright, red hair braided down her back walked with her hand resting on her sword. She wore no cloak, but her thick, brown leather armor covered her torso and matching leather bracers surrounded her forearms. On her opposite hip, a smaller sheath was tucked into her belt holding a dagger. Danger seemed to emanate from every part of her; she was every bit the predator. The other man on his left also had a sword, but a shield rested on his back. With a neatly trimmed beard of dirty-blond hair, he appeared the rugged one of the trio. With sure steps, his broad shoulders showed his strength and confidence. Each observed their surroundings with frightening precision. Collette was frozen in the doorway as a pair of icy blue eyes met hers. Time seemed to pause for a moment as the leader turned, his plump lips curving into a sly grin. It was over within seconds, but the chill he’d given her lasted as she tucked into the bakery.

The other villagers who stopped by each had their own tale of the newcomers, some saying they’d been in the tavern, others that they’d been to the apothecary. But no matter who spoke, they all said the same thing: there was something about them, something just off enough to make their hair stand on end. By the time the sun was setting, Collette joined Mr. Rye as he closed for the evening and the two made their way down the main road. As always, they’d walk until the center of town and part ways, but as they approached, the sound of raised voices made them pause. Sharing a glance, they followed the noise until they reached the true center of town.

The mage’s tower was the center point for all business in the village; the stone tower rose a story above all other buildings though no door could be seen. The few windows were near the top of the tower and always shrouded in darkness. The newcomers stood before the tower, the leader glaring up at the highest window as if he was watching the mage, but the single window remained dark. The blond man argued with one of the shopkeepers, roughly shoving him back apparently unhappy with what he’d said. The dark-haired man grinned, then turned back to his companions and with a nod, they left. The villagers fell silent, watching in shock as they disappeared down the main road.

Collette hurried home.

The following day, the trio returned. They took their vigil outside of the mage’s tower once more and Collette paused as she passed. The red haired woman met her gaze, eyes analyzing her every move before turning away, finding her unimportant. But the brown-haired man remained staring up at the tower ignoring the goings on around him. The mage rarely came down from his tower, and on the rare occasion, only for emergencies. His groceries were paid for, the coins left on the small, wooden table beside the tower’s base. The grocer would leave the food in the evening, and it would be gone in the morning. The village didn’t know him too well, but when crops had failed from a strange frost he became a shadow in the night, disappearing into the fields. Although some crops had been lost, enough was salvageable to feed everyone and trade with the other villages. When an illness spread through the village one winter, he silently made his way from house to house, healing the incapacitated without a word. So they accepted his tower, and they lived in peace.

The trio returned for nearly two days after that.

There was a shout and Collette froze, watching as the blond struck the grocer, sending him to the ground. The brunet called out: “Mage! I know you’re there! I can smell you, you bastard!” But there was no response.

The red haired woman turned to the brunet. “Coward won’t even come down from his tower.” The brunet scoffed and nodded. After sharing a quiet word, they turned and disappeared down the street. The bakery was busy once more, though the gossip was more frightening than the previous days. Apparently, the trio had taken rooms at the inn. It seemed that they’d taken over entirely, the brunet making a throne of sorts in the tavern below. The innkeeper accepted their coin, but sent the female staff home as the group’s leering became worse. By the week’s end, only the innkeeper remained at his establishment.

“He calls himself The White Wolf,” the innkeeper said, stepping into the bakery one morning. “Bastard sits on his throne playing with a knife and drinking my damn ale as his cronies scare away my customers.”

The innkeeper reluctantly departed and returned to his business, fresh bread in hand. He grimaced as he entered, quickly making his way into the back with the fresh bread. The White Wolf, as he declared himself, sat in the largest chair, set back against the wall so he could watch the comings and goings. His group had changed the whole room; the tables and chairs were all rearranged as if they were holding their own court. The leader reclined on his chair while to right was the blonde, eyes surveying constantly. To his left, the woman lounged in a slightly smaller chair, her boots kicked up on the table as she cleaned her nails with a dagger. Movement on the stairs caught her attention and she shifted her bright, green gaze to the figure descending. “Hawk?”

“He’s there.” The new man said, swiping back an errant strand of sandy hair. “I saw his shadow no more than an hour ago.” The White Wolf hummed, scratching his beard.

“And he hasn’t come out?” Hawk shook his head. “The villagers left him groceries last night.”

“They disappeared shortly after they were dropped off.” The sandy-haired man crossed his arms, glancing back at the innkeeper as he returned to work behind the counter.

“He’s a damn coward.” The Wolf spat. “Talia?” The red-head twirled her dagger before sliding it back into the sheath in her boot. “Why don’t you work your… magic?” Talia grinned, her lips turning into a sharp point, and stalked out of the tavern.

She strolled down the street, her hips swaying as she took her time glancing at the villagers as they passed. They gave her a wide berth; even two men on horses moved out of the way, the animals had quickened their pace as she passed by. She was a predator, pure power. The village was small, but she walked the streets until she came across the perfect target. Leaning against the wall of the butcher’s shop, a young man dropped his head back, his eyes falling shut for a moment as he rested. Talia paused, assessing him, finding every weakness until she was satisfied. The man fell still, the prey inside of him recognizing the familiar sense of danger, and opened his eyes. It was as if she appeared before him, mirroring his posture: arms folded, hip jutting out to the side, hungry eyes sliding across every inch of him.

He followed her easily enough; she barely needed a glance to compel him much to the chagrin of the butcher. The Wolf looked pleased as she led him up into her room, shooting him a grin before disappearing, the man following dutifully behind her.

~~

Thank you so much for reading!!