172 Toussaint (Part 11)

"Revenant. A cursed monster that is not a wraith or an undead, but something in the middle. It feeds on life and exists only to take revenge for unjust death."

"Revenant... I don't remember reading about it in the books of Kaer Morhen."

"Of course, you don't, there is only a brief paragraph about it. The one who left a note about this creature was Elgar."

"Elgar? You... you mean that Elgar, one of the first witchers?"

"Yes, him."

"If it's just a note he..."

"He never found Revenant. But he knew about its existence from another source. A person, that killed it. He never mentioned a name or a school of the second witcher, but wrote that any witcher should not hunt revenant. It is a target beyond their capabilities, like a high vampire. It doesn't even have a precise form and can be anyone."

"Like a doppler?"

"No, different. Dopplers change even their thoughts, revenant merely can transform into anything. This creature is very dangerous."

"Then... you can't. You absolutely can't. Don't hunt it."

"Ciri, I am a witcher. It is not merely a word or a title. Mainly, it is responsibility. Despite recommendations, have you ever heard about any witcher of wolf school running away from a monster? If it is a revenant, then a revenant is my target. However, something puzzles me in all this."

Ciri never stopped braiding his hair. People around saw them and some smiled, some ignored, others shook their heads, mumbling something about better old times and moral depravity of the younger generation.

"What is it?" - she asked, finishing her haircut modification session.

"The Morivaldi estate is a work of a revenant. That much should be true. But the dead newborns can't be its doing. Revenants don't act that way. So..."

"So... either you are wrong about revenant or we have two separate cases here."

"Yes. Both possibilities are a pain." - sighed Alan and relaxed on the bench.

Ciri leaned closer and hugged him while closing her eyes. It is hard to say when it began, but she felt very secure and relaxed near him. Like, all the bad things can never happen if she sticks close to Alan. Soon the girl, exhausted after an entire day of travels, drifted to sleep.

"This girl... really?" - he sighed and lifted her in his arms, smirking when she hugged him. They went back to the inn and entered the room.

Ciri was sleeping soundly by the time he placed her on the bed and removed the boots.

Night descended on the Beauclair.

Alan wasn't tired, and thoughts just kept rolling in his head. He went out and found a little stall with local food. Primary it was cheese snacks and wine. But his agenda in staying on the streets was different.

By now, if one rides on the horse non-stop, he or she should arrive at Beauclair. Alan wanted to check the stables and street stalls for someone not from here. He was waiting for a royal messenger and rats of the city told him that one such man just arrived and went for a certain place to have a night snack.

"Fried cheese. Tried no shit like that. Trust me." - said a man sitting near him.

"Not bad." - nodded Alan.

"Witcher in Beauclair. Damn. Have ya come to find someone or for the contract? I bet ya don't have much to do. Those fucking knights did a great job here, trust me."

"Perhaps." - answered Alan with mind drifting somewhere else, but staying alert never the less. That was because the man beside him was not the one he was looking for.

"Well, Imma just a messenger, trust me. Sending the news around, yeah. But this knight guild closed right in front of my nose. Fuck, can't even see the bounty list here, trust me." - complained a man. Alan looked at him for the first time.

Big in stature, black hair, brown eyes. Perhaps he was rather old, or maybe it is the beard that added to his age. He was just your average Nilfgaard citizen from a distant province with poor manners.

"I envy ya, trust me. Travelling around, killing monsters... and that superhuman shit ya can do. Why are ya looking at me that way? Ah! I know! Ya agree with me, right? If only I can do it, trust me. Hey, do ya know how many noble ladies would like to experience a good fuck with a witcher?"

"Zero."

"Man, ya wrong, trust me. I once bedded a countess. She was old and fat, not the best fuck out there, but paid with bags this huge, yeah. So, here I am fucking her, yeah? Well, ya know, for the pay ya need to work hard. And then she screams like a pig 'oh, my witcher, more more...'. Do you believe it? It really happened. Trust me, yeah! Or I'm not Vercta, yeah!"

Alan looked at the man closer. He didn't look like a messenger, but closer to a thug or a mercenary from the unlawful wildness. One thing was certain, he is not from Beauclair.

"You are overly friendly with a witcher." - said Alan, his eyes flashed with light and mood worsened.

"The fuck? Whats wrong with that? Look at my smile." - it was black, lacked several teeth and reeked like a sewer. - "I'm just an overly friendly guy, trust me! My boyas willa tell ya the same. Vercta is a friendly fuck, they will say, trust me."

Perhaps he didn't understand himself what he was talking about.

'Friendly fuck... damn... okay, rope on his belt. It still has a rotten smell of old blood. Human blood. He tied someone with it regularly. Hands are the ones of a swordsman, but not professionally trained. Clothes, he tried to dress properly, but they smell like blood too. Perhaps robbed and killed real messenger. Stupid. They always send half of the message verbally with code words inside to know the authenticity. The moment he says something is the moment he will be beheaded before even crying out loud 'oh, fuck!'. He is a slaves trader or a bounty hunter.'

"Whatever." - Alan frowned again, seeing his thoughts.

'He killed the messenger who was carrying a bounty list from the capital. And he is not alone. An entire gang arrived. Not only that, his gang is under the knight regiment from Nilfgaard. And a knight with a winged helmet was leading them. Not Cahir, but still from Nilfgaard. Funny, the gang did many things behind the backs of the knights. They raped a girl in the village, killed the messenger under the pretense of a check.'

"So, you are a messenger. What's happening around?"

"What's with that around shit? War is still there, killing, burning... so no around out there, trust me, only death on the north. Better stay here and jerk off on the local noble ladies. Nilfgaard will win, yeah!"

"What a highly educated creature. A drowner can speak better than you." - mumbled Alan in deep thoughts.

"Whacha say? I can't hear ya!"

"Nothing." - Alan stood up and walked away from the stall.

The man wanted to follow, but failed to find him after a brief moment. Almost like the witcher just evaporated in thin air.

"Fuck... hm... a young witcher. I smell money and a lead to the girly, heh. Stupid idiot. He thought, I'm a messenger." - he smirked at his own thoughts and went down the street too.

"Hey, you shit! Where is my money for the food?"

But the bounty hunter was already nowhere to be found. He maneuvered through the night crowd and finally found his way to the big house, knocking on the door. It was opened, and a bolt faced the man.

"Hey, little shit, are ya an idiot, put away ya fucking crossbow and don't point it at me, ya fuckface!"

"Sorry boss. Come in."

"Ya give permission, heh." - Vercta pushed the man away and walked in. - "Shit, they didn't even give us good sleeping place. Fuck." - he complained while walking to the stables. - "But you just wait. Boyas, come to me, need to have a talk, yeah."

"Boss." - they stood near him.

"Listen, I found a lead here, trust me. The girly from the poster. The one with a thousand florens on her head. The girly is here, trust me. I smell it, yeah. We helped the knights, yeah? Now we go fro our own stuff. Find her, take her and sell to local shitty guild. Trust me. We will be rich."

"What about witcher?" - squeaked a fat guy of low height with shifty eyes.

"Wha? Shitted ya pants, ye?" - croaked another with mustache and black hair.

"The fuck! Me? My pants are always clean, yeah!" - pointed a wooden spoon at the fat man threateningly.

"Shut up, yeah! I met the boya. He is just a fucking greenhorn, I tell ya. He is not even a proper witcher, trust me. We just cut his gut open, and that's it. I can kill him myself, trust me."

"Why kill, he is pricey, no?"

"Heh, ya know the drill. Right, we catch him and sell. Damn, it's a sure-fire plan, trust me. Sleep here for now. Tomorrow we go, yeah. Tch, fucking knights, now we gonna get the girly and the boya and earn a ton, yeah! No more ordering us around."

"Hey, boss, how about we..." - he crossed his throat with a palm and nodded at the direction of the house.

"Shut it! Are ya an idiot? We are in Beauclair! Here ya don't want to kill on the streets, trust me."

"Fuck, I just hate how that fuckface took that girly from the village for himself. He had fun and didn't let us have a go. That's not how we do it."

"They are knights. Not we. We will have a good harvest, trust me. Now sleep and tomorrow we go to find the girly."

"Yeah, boss."