Castoff: Witching Hour (ch. 5) (Patreon)

People feared mercenaries for good reason, especially bands of them. Guts grew up in them. He knew exactly what mercenaries were when it came right down to it. Some managed to lie to themselves better than others, wrapping what they were under scarves of silks and pleasant lies, but the heart of the matter was that mercenaries were hired killers. They fought for coin, willing to kill whoever their employer payed them to. Even when he was most blinded by what Griffith was, Guts never forgot that fundamental truth.

For that reason, it was damn easy to discover where the bandits were. After all, the only difference between a bandit and a mercenary was a contract. With the sun having made its descent, their fire made their location obvious when you knew what to look for -- a good view of the road from an elevated position that was close enough to prepare a quick ambush. It was difficult to tell if the dirt road that ran by the village of Todor was a popular one, but at the very least, the bandits thought it was worth ambushing whatever trade caravans made their way down it.

When the skies darkened, Guts’ curse made itself known. The shadows twisted in the corners of his vision, becoming faces and bodies of spirits that clung to him in a desperate attempt to escape their own personal hells. They were pathetic. Desperately clinging to a hope, but completely unable to do anything more than cling to it. They waited until he was too weak to pounce. All the while, they whispered their hate and curses into his ears, forcing him to listen to their complaints.

His feet trudged up a dark twisting path, his gaze well adept at seeing in the dark after the past few years. Some days he saw better in the dark than he did during the day. Beyond the spirits, he heard the sounds of bandits laughing and cheering. Guts had stumbled across a handful of hamlets and homesteads on his way up -- most were burnt out and empty, either due to the war or the bandits. Because, more often than not, the only difference between soldiers and bandits was a nation.

These men used to be soldiers, Guts thought as he approached in the dead of night. Their position was fortified, with sentries posted, and from the sounds of it, the rest of the bandits were making fun of their sentries for getting scared. They didn’t believe them about what they were hearing. It started as a distant whisper in the wind, half-formed words, but as Guts neared, the sentries weren’t the only ones that heard the damned spirits that clung to him.

He came to a stop just outside of their camp, just before a wire trap tied to a ladle and a pan to alert them if someone tripped the wire. Guts’ brand started to weep blood, a single slow drop spilling from it, warning him that soon it would be more than just ghosts that were going to bother him. From his count, there were a good thirty bandits in the camp -- some around a bonfire, others were in tents, but more were sleeping on blankets on the ground. He listened carefully to the bandits that were becoming increasingly aware that something wasn’t right.

They began getting up, their hands going for their weapons, and forming up. Guts watched them in the darkness, a hand drifting up to Dragonslayer. There were no hints that there were captives in the camp that told him that one of three things were true.

First, that the bandits didn’t take anyone from the homesteads that they raided.

That was about as likely as the sun rising in the west and setting in the east.

The second possibility was that the bandits took captives, but they were no longer here --  due to the bandits either letting them go or giving them to a third party. Or they could be kept elsewhere. From the looks of it, given that there was no one but bandits in the camp, that one also struck Guts as unlikely.

The third possibility and the one that was true most of the time in Guts’ experience, was that the bandits did take people -- normally women -- from the farmsteads, raped them until they all had had their fill, then killed them when they were done. Rage burned in his chest, just as it did every night. His body ached, he was exhausted, but he was still far more than enough to deal with some bandits and whatever else this world had to throw at him.

He purposely tripped the wire, making the ladle bounce off the pan noisily, alerting the bandits to exactly where he was. They flinched to face him, but they were distracted by the spirits in the shadows cursing them, hating them. Wishing that they would die so that they could have their corpses. The bandits were pale in the flickering flames, the air growing colder with an unnatural chill.

Just as Guts stepped into the fringes of the light, the monsters began to make themselves known. He heard a flapping of wings from over head. He wasn’t the only one because a bandit looked up and shouted, “Harpies!” A split second later, his throat was torn out when one swooped down from the sky. The harpy was fairly small, between two and three feet, humanoid in body except for the talons for hands and feet along with a set of feathered wings protruding from its back.

The bandit's eyes turned to the skies above, and because of it, they nearly missed Gut as he strode towards them. Guts knew he needed to replace the string to his crossbow, because they would have been easy pickings with how they were grouped up, but it didn’t make much of a difference when he swung Dragonslayer, carving his way through six men in a single swing, sending their torsos up in a spray of blood and gore. Taking a step forward, he killed another three with the back swing.

A harpy dove for him, and found itself bisected along with a man, another launching itself at him, but Guts blocked a swipe from the wicked talons with his armor. A backswing killed another bandit and they had no idea what they should be doing. One broke off to flee, only to be killed by a harpy, but before the monster could claim its prize, a ghoul leapt from the darkness to start feasting upon the corpse, even as it started to rise when a spirit possessed the body.

The camp became filled with the sounds of panicked screaming, then death. The bandits broke form, some standing to fight, others trying to flee, but it didn’t make much of a difference either way. Guts knew all too well how quickly discipline could break down and the disasters that came from it. In minutes, the only bandits that still stood were those that were possessed by spirits.

They lunged for Guts, drawn to him because of the brand on his neck, but the monsters attacked the undead just as much as they attacked him. A ghoul tore off the leg of a shambling corpse, feasting on it with the sound of bone snapping under powerful jaws and while it was distracted, Guts cleaved it in half. With the back swing, he killed a harpy before another slammed into his back, making him stumble forward. He used the momentum to stomp on the corpse that was crawling toward him, grabbing the head of the harpy and crushed it underneath his palm with a squeeze.

It wasn’t as bad as the swamp, which seemed to have a few monsters for every tree, so it was less than thirty minutes later that Guts found himself standing alone in the remains of the camp. He was surrounded by corpses, human and monster alike, breathing deeply to pace himself.

The undead were drawn to him like a moth to the flame. They couldn’t help themselves. Monsters of this world, however, were only attracted to him like he was bait. If there was an easier meal nearby, then they would go for it. At least, that’s how it seemed to Guts.

“Why,” Guts began, taking a knife out of his belt to start collecting proof of his kills, “do you react to the Brand?” He asked the monsters, uncertain of the answer and that made him uneasy. To him, the Brand had always been a tool to help him hunt Apostles. What it was didn’t matter to him in the slightest, only what it could do for him. Now, he was in a new world and the Brand attracted monsters and spirits alike.

Why? How? Those two things that never mattered before suddenly mattered a great deal. The Crones had recognized it. They called him Struggler, just as the Skull Knight did. As much as he was traveling with Ciri because of the promise that she could return him to his ‘sphere’, he needed answers about the Brand itself now. Her sorcerer friends may be able to give him those answers.

With well-practiced ease, Guts butchered the dead for trophies. It was a common practice on the battlefield. It motivated soldiers to kill the enemy for an extra coin or two instead of hiding on the fringes, trying to survive the battle rather than win it. He wasn’t certain what exactly the mayor would be looking for, but the easiest way to prove that he wasn’t trying to inflate his numbers was to take something that the bandits and monsters only had one of.

He took the right hands of the bandits, the right claws of the necrophages, and the wings of the harpies. Hooking them together, he slung the lot over his shoulder. Just as he was finishing up, Guts looked off in the distance, a source of light piercing the heavy dark veil that had fallen on the world with only a sliver of the moon visible. It was easy enough to make out the source.

A building was on fire.

He really couldn’t take his eyes off of Ciri, could he? Frowning deeply, Guts took off into the night, sprinting towards the village of Todor. He ran down the tall hill that gave him a view of the village, and he could distantly make out figures that were trying to put the fire out with water gathered from a communal well. Leaping down the path, loose gravel shifting under his feet when he landed, Guts made his way back to the village in a fraction of the time he had taken to get to the bandit hideout.

Reaching the outer edge minutes later, he leapt over a low fence, sprinted between two buildings, and emerged on the main road. The building that was on fire was the inn, he noticed. Ciri was in the road before it, the children nowhere to be seen, holding a bloodied blade while she was surrounded by men in black and white armor. One was carrying a net and trying to circle around.

From the look of things, Ciri had already dealt with most of them. Her blade was steady, undaunted by facing multiple opponents. He already knew she was a fighter by how she fought the monsters, but fighting men was different. Men thought. They flailed dangerously when they were about to die, willing to do whatever it took to survive a second longer.

“Just come with us, girl. If it ain’t you, then no harm done, yeah?” One of the men spoke. Nilfgaardians, if Guts had to guess. They were well armored and equipped, but it seems the net was improvised because it was a fishing net. Even as the man said the words, there was a snarl in his voice that told Guts that consequences were coming regardless.

These people weren’t the Wild Hunt, Guts deduced, striding forward. Vengeful spirits gathered around him, writhing in the shadows. They were drawn by the extreme emotions that were felt, echoes of those that died. Tonight was a light night, Guts decided, because the only corpses that seemed to be animated were the ones that were crawling out of the burning building. The Nilfguaardians heard the whispers in their ears, starting to twitch as they looked around for the source.

“Ciri,” Guts uttered, bringing all attention to him. One of the men dropped his sword at the spirits that clung to him, clawing at him, whispering their hatred in his ears.The Nilfguaardians paled, their expressions shifting to one of pure terror while some stumbled back. A mistake when one of their undead comrades managed to escape the fire, crawling on the ground, and stabbed him in the back of the leg with a dirk.

“Guts!” Ciri called out, “We need to leave!” She decided, as if that wasn’t evident enough. Her eyes were wide, gazing into the shadows around him. She was holding it together better than the Nilfgaardians. That wasn’t saying much, given how poorly they were reacting. Guts could smell their fear, and the spirits gathered around them just as much as they did him.

Three of them took off running, fleeing the village. The others were taking desperate swings at the spirits, their despair only growing when their swords passed through them harmlessly. Just as his had before Skull Knight had gifted him a sword on that first night that was capable of dealing with the spirits. They still swung on anyway.

“He’s the source!” One shouted in blind panic, sprinting towards Guts. His sword was clutched in trembling hands, making a running thrust directly at Guts. There was not a thought in his head beyond pure fear, instinct that was trying to make this stop, and as far as the soldier could tell, he was the source of it. He wasn’t wrong. He and that band of fanatics back in his own ‘Sphere’ made the same mistake because it was easy to make. His existence eroded the line between the undead and the living.

He couldn’t kill them. It would just mean more possessed corpses in the middle of a village. Drawing Dragonslayer, he batted the springing man away, knocking him to the side and into the dirt. In a low growl, Guts looked to the remaining soldiers, “Run.” He snarled, and that was all the convincing they all needed to flee.

“How was your night?” Ciri asked, decapitating the crawling corpse. He voice was tight and controlled, swallowing her fear and uncertainty. Casca really would have liked her. Whoever trained her did a good job of it.

“The kids okay?” Guts questioned, looking at the burning inn, feeling… exasperated for lack of a better word. So much for making coin here.

Ciri nodded, “They've already gone ahead with Puck and Anna.”

"Good-" Guts started before a boot hit him in the back of the head. It clattered to the ground and he turned around to see a teenager behind him, another boot held up in a threatening manner. His face was covered in pimples and pox scars, blue eyes wide with terror and his greasy skin was stark white in terror.

"G-go away! G-get! I'm not afraid of you," the teenager boldly lied, getting ready to throw his other boot. "You aren't welcomed here, you demons! You have to leave!" Seemed like it was some peasant tale on how to deal with spirits -- throw down some salt, mutter a set of prayers in order, or, in this case, tell the spirits to get lost. In any case, the boy was brave. Stupid, but brave.

Guts grunted, looking to Ciri for a moment, before he did as bade. He picked a direction to leave from and headed out of the village, Ciri in tow. As he started to leave, emboldened by the one teenager, every villager started to scream and shout for them to leave from the safety of their homes. One even went as far as to throw a bag of salt at them that thunked off of his armor, accomplishing nothing but wasting perfectly good salt. Ciri traveled with him in absolute silence, the spirits more than filling the silence with their venomous words.

"Would a city pay for monster trophies?" Guts questioned after a long walk. Long enough that the village should be free of the undead spirits that plagued him. If there were any lingering, then that was for the village to deal with.

Ciri took a long minute to find her voice, offering a small nod. "They should, but they'll likely rip you off. Villagers are… more honest since a monster attack could spell the end of the village." She voiced after a while, her gaze going to him and she looked in the space around him. "It wasn't like this yesterday."

"Because there were monsters and undead. When they don't have a medium to possess, then this is all they can do," Guts grunted. He shifted his trophies to see that a hand was groping at him, as if it were trying to strangle him through his bicep. Seeing no point any longer, he dumped the human hands. Wasn't like a city was going to believe him that they came from bandits plaguing a village. "Do you want to explain why the inn was on fire?"

Ciri but her lip as they made their way down a well-walked path, hopefully to find the children. Idly sometime after morning. "Well, in for an ounce, in for a pound -- I'm a princess. Was a princess. Sort of. Originally, I was a princess of Cintra, a kingdom that fell when I was a child. Now I'm princess of Nilfgaard because my father became emperor after being lost at sea and being pronounced dead for the better part of a decade. He's hunting me down. As if invading the northern kingdoms wasn't enough, he also has them looking for an ashen-haired woman with a scar on her face."

Guts glanced at Ciri, who narrowed her eyes at the glance, clearly expecting a very specific reaction. Instead, what she got was a disinterested grunt. "You don't act much like a princess," Guts decided. He only met one, but the girl had been completely useless. Nobles generally were, but Princess Charlotte was the kind of useless that she'd end up raped and dead within the hour if left unattended on a random street in the city. It made her easy to manipulate. Which was likely why Griffith had presented himself as the ideal knight to her.

"Thank you," Ciri stated, taking it as a compliment. Guts supposed it was, though he hadn’t meant it as one.

“Will this be a problem?” Guts questioned, his eyes scanning the writhing shadows in search of the children. There was a war going on. If there were deserters this nearby, that usually meant that there had been a battle somewhere nearby. Everyone was happy about a war until they saw the aftermath of the killing field. That’s when most would break off and run, turning into bandits to survive. If the children came across a battlefield… and if Guts came across them…

Should he even look for them? Would it be safer to send Ciri ahead and wait until morning to find them both?

This was why he never traveled with anyone. Too much of a risk for them and himself. It was a lesson well learned at this point because people couldn’t endure the dangers around him when the sun fell. The only companion he could tolerate was Puck, and that was mostly because of his healing powder. And even then, Guts barely tolerated him.

“Shouldn’t be,” Ciri answered after a moment of thought. “We’ll be heading into Redanian territory at Oxenfurt, and while I’m sure my father has spies in there, they shouldn’t be anything we can’t handle. I can outrun them pretty easily with my abilities. The only issue is that using them attracts the Wild Hunt. We just need to get ahead of whatever message the village will have sent to whoever -- the Northern Kingdoms or Nilfgaard.”

Guts grunted in acknowledgment and they lapsed into silence.

However, it was anything but silent between them. As they walk, the damned made their hate known. And it was when Guts heard the screams of frightened children, he knew that they had found the brats and so he did the best thing he could for them.

He stayed away.

…

The city of Oxenfurt looked much like any city that Guts had seen before, and it was a well-defended one. Bridges were great chokepoints and whoever designed Oxenfurt was keenly aware of it. The walls that surrounded the city were almost to the shoreline on the islands that Oxenfurt was located on. Leaving enough of a beach to be worth spreading out, but not enough to amass a significant force. A trap, in essence, to tempt attacking forces to thin themselves out in search of a weak point on the walls.

It was situated on two large islands in the middle of a very large river -- slow moving one, but fast enough. In front of the bridge was a refugee camp that had once been a normal village. It was filled with people that were fleeing the battles. They all gave Guts and their wagon a wide berth, mostly because of the smell that was coming off of it.

“I’m almost home, baby,” Anna muttered, her hands clutched together. Puck was eagerly peaking out of his spot at Guts’ belt, knowing better than to fly around. So far, everyone had managed to see Puck. Possibly as a result of monsters being a common occurrence. The children were eagerly glancing around them to find something of interest.

“Halt there,” a Redanian soldier spoke up as they approached the bridge to Oxenfurt. He took notice of Guts’ blade, then Guts himself. There wasn’t any hint of recognition on his greasy and red face, telling Guts that not only had they arrived ahead of the message from Todor, but the guardsman was used to being in the shade. That could be anything -- perhaps he changed shifts as a favor. Perhaps he pissed someone off. Or, perhaps, someone had paid him to stand at the gate to keep an eye on who comes and goes.

It could be nothing. But, it could be something.

“We’re here to collect some bounties -- monsters,” Ciri spoke up, a confident swagger in her voice. Guts had no right to throw stones, but she couldn’t blend in even if she tried. She just didn’t have it in her to keep her head low. To prove her point, Ciri picked up a hook that was hanging off the side of the wagon. One of many. Primarily ghouls, alghouls, and nekkers -- the latter were particularly annoying. Mostly because they were knee height for Guts. “We thought the Academy might be interested.”

The guard narrowed his eyes at the wagon -- hanging from the sides were ten hooks on each side, with roughly fifteen heads per hook. “Wouldn’t count on that, love. The Academy has been shut down by order of the Sacred Flame. At least until they get rid of all the heresy they teach. But, you’d have better luck with the Witch Hunters. They’d give you a decent price for slaying monsters.”

Witch Hunters. Sacred Orders. If he wound up in another pillory getting whipped by some crazy girl, he was going to burn this entire city to the ground.

“We’ll take you up on that. Thanks,” Ciri said, flashing a smile that looked practiced.

“Eh, think nothing of it. You did the public a service killin’ them,” the guard shrugged before he gestured for them to go across the bridge. “You'll find 'em up near where the university is. May the Eternal Flame guide you." The guard said, allowing them in. Guts nodded at him, thinking that he was overly helpful. With the number of refugees, Guts expected to have to bribe his way in. Could be the monster parts hanging off of the wagon.

Or it could be his expression. He hadn't slept in the past five days. The nights were plagued by spirits and monsters while the days were filled with traveling and he could afford to let his guard drop.

"Tamara should be here," Anna whispered to herself, looking at everyone in the city as they entered. "This was where we were supposed to meet. It feels like a lifetime ago. You don't think anything happened to her?" Anna asked, looking for reassurance but Guts had none to give as they made their way into the city. The roads were good -- made of cobblestone -- and the buildings were made of wood and stone.

There was a war going on and Anna's daughter, who she had tried to escape with, had traveled here alone. It was entirely possible, even likely, that some terrible fate had befallen her on her journey here.

"I'm sure she's fine," Puck offered, giving Anna a thumbs up.

Guts looked at the people that gave his wagon a wide berth. Most of them were human and peasants. Standing at a corner in front of a back alley was a group of women -- prostitutes, by the look of them, all beautiful… and all with pointed ears. Elves, according to Ciri. One of them caught him looking and fluttered her eyelashes and blew him a kiss. Seeing was believing, Guts supposed as he looked away to follow the main road. He took note of a blacksmith on the way -- while repairing Dragonslayer was likely beyond them, he could have a replacement string for his crossbow. His armor and knives could do with some touches as well.

"Where should we start looking?" Ciri asked while the children hummed and hawed over seeing a real city for the first time.

"The Academy. It's terrible what these heretics are doing to it, but it's still the best landmark in the city. It's where we were going. If… if she made it here, then that's where she would go," Anna voiced, giving them a direction.

Guts shifted the wagon towards the university, thinking that it was a waste. A real one. He didn't know the terrain for the surrounding area particularly well, but turning this island into a university of all things was an absolute waste. It should be a fortress. It likely had been one before until some fool king decided otherwise. Fortifications were quickly forgotten about when a war ended, and if there wasn't one for long enough, the kings and queens would forget why they needed them and repurpose them for something useless.

"We need to break into the Academy," Ciri remarked as they made their way up.

He sent her a glance before she nodded at his Brand, "It was the center of learning before the Cult of the Eternal Fire got their hands on the place. It's the best bet we have to learn about it, so when we get you to Triss and Yennefer, they know what they're dealing with."

Guts offered a small nod. Ciri was determined to follow through on her promise. And after five very long days, Guts desperately missed sleep.

It was as they arrived at the outer wall of the Academy that seemed to take up about half of the island itself that Guts caught the first glimpse of the Witch Hunters. They stood out. Even if it wasn’t for the badges of office -- they walked on the streets like they owned them, and there was tension between them and the citizens around them that filled the air. The elves and dwarves made themselves scarce, outright avoiding them.

Guts had wondered if things would be different in another Sphere, but it was a very familiar sight to him. There would always be those on the fringes of society that suffered. Guts imagined having pointed ears or being half the size of a man made it pretty easy to decide who was on the fringes of society.

He noticed their approach, but he intended to leave them be -- he’d had his fill of religious lunatics. However, that plan died a dogs death when Anna all but leapt out of the wagon. The Witch Hunters were just as shocked as they were, right up until Guts saw who Anna was running to.

“Mother?!” One of the Witch Hunters blurted right before she was all but tackled by Anna, who swept her up in her arms, a sob escaping her. The other Witch Hunters lowered the hands that had gone for their weapons. Guts got a good look at the girl -- pretty with short brown hair. She also had a sword at her belt and on her vest was the same badge that marked the other Witch Hunters. “Yo- how- I saw that monster take you!” The girl blurted, hugging her mother back when it clicked in place that her mother was here.

The other children took that as a cue to hop out of the wagon to join the hug to start pestering the girl with questions and based on her expression, she was quickly getting overwhelmed.

Anna pulled back, wiping tears out of her eyes before she looked to Guts and Ciri, “These blessed people saved me. It was awful, Tamara. These old Crones took me -- me and these children -- and they saved us. They brought us here, to you,” Anna declared, her eyes shining.

It was hardly the truth, Guts thought. He put her and the kids in as much danger as he rescued them from.

Still, for the moment, deep down… it was nice to be looked upon with eyes of admiration rather than the hate and fear he was used to.