Maribor, Triss and Ruins (Part 5)

"I, Triss Merigold, the witness and your second, hereby announce rules of the duel. It will proceed to the death of one of the sides, unless mercy is shown by the victor. No magic, alchemy or hidden weapons allowed. Duel will be on foot and with one set of preferable weapon. Contestants, stand by the side of my arms." - she stood in the middle and ignored Lydvig completely, turning to Alan. The former thought she is shy and was high with happiness, the later saw her say inaudibly words of encouragement to him with a slight smile.

"Make your distance." - the three went ten steps away. Triss to the side of the designated field. - "You may start by the time the cloth reach the ground." - she threw it up. Both followed it with their eyes and rushed at each other with fastest speed.

"How is he so fast?" - exclaimed one of the knights and suddenly frowned.

Alan went for a simple frontal assault, but was blocked with a timely parry. Surprisingly, Lydvig was no amateur with swords. He switched his stance and made the edge trespass Alan in tricky angle, but was shocked when a hilt of a sword hit his elbow, displacing the strike sideways.

Alan chopped downwards, using momentum from previous exchange and the fact that Lydvig lost balance. He needed enough power to end the duel for good, but the motion itself was not that outstanding as it required too much time.

It was parried and sent aside, when the knight again tried to kill Alan with a fast slash. This time Alan shifted the sword behind his back, parrying the strike and was in the middle of a kick, which was far stronger than a youth of fourteen to fifteen can do.

His leg went for the chin, sending Lydvig tumbling on the ground. Alan didn't talk, neither he stopped. It was a deathmatch and even if he is willing to let it go, it is doubtful matter that this blockhead of a knight will do the same.

So he went for the lower witcher stance, that they use to kill small opponents like nekkers, and slashed at the knight who was frantically standing up. Sharpness of the steel sword, even if it was not one of the witcher series, was very good, as Coen was the one to gift it.

The hand that was about to wield weapon again was cut off by the armpit, flying away.

Lydvig screamed and Alan felt cold inside with only a fact of damage done registered in his mind. Still he pressed on his neck and looked into his eyes, where all, but the wish to live remained.

Knight honor? Noble pride? Order code?

All of that evaporated in thin air in front of the simple truth.

A hard cold steel pressing on his carotid artery.

"Surrender. There is no need to kill over some small misunderstanding. Don't you find such death meaningless?" - he said and sent a silent spell of Imperio to the mind of the guy. If he lets him stay alive, he will make sure no harm ever will come from his side.

"Ah... ah... I..." - he couldn't talk, but the thought that he won't die immediately made him calmer.

"You can die for many things in life. For your parents, are they still alive?" - he nods. - "See? They will be sad if you die. Do you have siblings? Yes? Don't you want to be with them? See, you have family. Maybe a girl? Oh, have one too? Poor her, but whatever. You have so much to cherish while alive, why are you so eager to die over meaningless things?"

"Honor of a knight is his life!" - screamed someone in the crowd, that cheered in agreement.

Alan just smiled mockingly at them and sheathed the sword.

"It is my right to spare or kill in the duel. He fought with honor but still lost. There is no shame in losing, so I let him live. No issue here, right?" - he overridden several intentions inside Lydvig's head and replaced them. From now on he will not do anything to inconvenience Alan even a little bit. On the contrary, he might help in the future.

"I, as a witness of the duel and it's judge, approve." - this time a smile on her face was a bit different and only now Alan realized that all before this was fake. What a scary woman. One need to really be on another corner of a street from any beautiful and free woman with loose hair here, in witcher world. Still it is very easy to discern a sorceress.

It is their hairstyle unexpectedly, as there is a certain custom to how a woman groom their hair in this world and only two types of women dare to have long hair go free – sorceresses and whores in the brothel.

Well, Alan thought it is equally easy to figure out between the two.

"What say you, sir Lydvig of Tridam?"

"I... I surrender." - he said with lowered head and crowd around turned silent.

Alan never was the one to talk much if not needed, so he went to their camp and sat beside the fireplace with a sigh. Actually, it is not like he never killed before, he too has his own share of dead people over his back, but to kill in battle is not murdering groveling weakling.

He didn't want to dirty his hands over this mess of tears and snot, so thats where the Isu-Imperio curse came in.

However, Alan still considered whether there will be retaliation, not from Lydvig himself but the contingent of the Order here, because clearly they tolerated witchers not out of their benevolent hearts, but a simple necessity. After they become useless, that's when a real test of tolerance will come in play.

A test they all will most likely fail with flying colors.

"Why are people so stupid?" - he asked no one in particular and all three around knew that, still Triss decided to speak up.

"It is not people, but their customs that are stupid. And they follow them because no one shown them a better way. We all have our childhood, upbringing, and mentors who made everything possible to hammer into our minds a mindset that is beneficial to the ones above us. Obedience of a commoner for a noble, fearlessness of a soldiers for a King. Emotionless of a witcher for their purpose. But aren't you the same?"

"Not the same." - Alan shook his head with determined answer and he suddenly knew why. - "Because they learned customs from others and were groomed through childhood by parents or teachers, while I created everything for myself from environment alone, judging every grain of information I intook."

"That some loud words." - said Lambert. - "And if you never had a choice? What if you were forced?"

"Lambert." - Alan looked at him with severe eyes. - "One can be deprived of a chance to do, but not of a will to be. No matter who you are, there is always further choices to make. And after all we have been through these several weeks, don't tell me you actually hate your power and abilities the witcher training gave you. In this world you have strength equal to the top of the food chain and you deserve it, so stop this shit and wield it with pride for who you want to be, not what you have to do."

Triss went silent for a while, taking a glance or two at Alan from time to time. She was deep in thought.

"Hey, kid, don't think that you know and understand what I've being through." - raged Lambert, that in itself was quite strange for a usually collected witchers.

'I don't understand? Someone put me inside a soul extinguisher formation for fucking long, very long time only to strengthen my soul. Did he ask me? Did I have a choice? How is it any different from your Trial of Grasses?'

"Lambert." - Alan said while lifting his eyes. - "Do you really need to feel it to finally get into your head, that I do understand you and every witcher with my skin and bones? I can give it to you, do you dare to accept?"

"Alan." - Coen suddenly grew a bit agitated, that surprised both Triss and unruly wolf witcher.

"No, Coen, I grew tired of his whining. He thinks he is all that unique and miserable, a fucking fragile soul full of delicate flowers that other brutes never will be able to comprehend. Well, surprise, Lambert, but some people long ago went ahead of you and stopped crying over spilled milk to make themselves better. If you stay like that you will never grow as a warrior and remain a useless piece of shit!" - he said with a severe tone right at his face. He didn't loose it in emotions, still talking evenly, but clearly was very angry. - "Now I will show you. I will force you to see and feel a little of what I've been through and if you dare to say something like this again, than we are done."

Alan grabbed his head and surprisingly Lambert didn't move. He seems to understand that his sentence really hurt the boy deeply. After several weeks together he grew somewhat attached to the kid and considered him one of their pack. He even called him a Wolfie sometimes when they were together training.

But it went both ways.

If earlier Alan was able to look at the problem from the side and just give advices, then now is different. He grew attached and with it came emotions and feelings that reeled him into what transpired now.

So he did him a shock therapy.

He showed him his dead parents, his cell and gave him a short feel of soul extinguisher, he showed him much more than he ever told anyone. A girl, Silver, some other very cruel memories and even where his form came from and what it intended to be used for in the first place.

It went in a second for Triss and Coen, but was as long as a year for Lambert and Alan.

Alan let go of his head and looked straight into witcher eyes, who was shivering slightly.

"Now do you dare to repeat what you said, Lambert?" - asked Alan and didn't receive the answer. Later only shifted his gaze sideways.

And got himself a blow at the chin with an armored fist.

"I. Want. Your. Answer!" - hissed Alan. - "Do you dare or not?"

"Sorry kid." - finally said Lambert with somewhat apologetic face. A witcher with remorse all over his expression? This made angry like hell Alan suddenly deflate to the state of not knowing what to do. He wasn't used to this at all. Anyway, if a witcher shows some feelings, that means emotional fist that hit was as hard as battering ram.

'I did it on impulse. Lost myself for a moment. But... I don't regret it.'

"Whatever." - he sat back down and took out some of the food from another world that was nearing the end. All that was left is tons of spices and recipe books he will eventually use. - "I'm tired and want some rest. See you by the nightfall."

When Alan was nowhere in sight Coen directed a severe look at Lambert.

"This time you really screwed up big time." - said the witcher.

"What do you know?" - retorted Lambert with irritation. - "But now I understand why I always felt... at arms reach." - he added after a brief pause and looked at the tent where Alan was supposedly sleeping. - "Boy's been through a lot. And I mean it. His childhood and life afterwards really make me think mine was not that bad."

"I guessed as much." - nodded Coen and took a sip from the wine flask. - "He seems warm and all, but really keeps everyone away. He was hurt many times and now no longer even want to have close relationship with people, trying to do everything on his own and not showing real feelings most of the time."

Triss looked at Coen with incredulity in her gaze.

"What is it milady Merigold?" - asked Coen.

"Just it is rather strange to see a witcher talking about feelings and emotions and not make it sound like a blabbering of a madmen." - she said directly. - "What you said, I think it is spot on."

"Am I dreaming? Milady Merigold praised a witcher?"

"And now my praise ruined with one look at you face, Lambert." - she said plainly in return.

"Triss. Will you report the boy?" - suddenly asked Coen and seeing how both witchers suddenly tensed up simultaneously, shifting albeit slightly to assume battle stances sent a clear silent warning to the sorceress. But she didn't mind. She was contemplating her answer. She knew they won't attack her, it was a warning, a show of strength she appreciated.

Straightforwardness was what she liked in witchers.

"It is a hard question Coen. You know the law. As a sorceress I'm obliged to notify the Chapter of Mages about a newfound talent. If you ask me to forgo this idea you, Coen, put me in very difficult position. Please don't force me to choose between loyalty to friends and where I belong."

"You want him to enter the world of your intrigues and vie for power? All that politics? Over my dead body, Merigold!" - frowned Lambert with rare seriousness in his voice.

"And you want him to live a life of a vagrant who can't even have proper home and doesn't know where and when he will be torn apart by some monster?" - retorted Triss with exasperated shout, but seeing pale faces of the duo calmed down. - "I won't ask for forgiveness here, as I know I'm right. But I won't tell anyone about him. You don't understand how high matters of magic works and what Chaos does. He is not usual magician and because of that there might be something more at play. By keeping him aside and letting him decide his own path I won't betray the Chapter. On the contrary, I will do so to it's benefit. Retaliation of Destiny is not something that anyone can withstand. He is to extraordinary to not have his own Path and meddling in it is very dangerous. If he is destined to be one of us, he will be eventually no matter what path will lead him to us. And to your knowledge, times when such rare talents were kidnapped and experimented on long gone. What age are you even living in? Current magical society is in no way so brutal."

"Hope you will uphold your promise no matter what he will choose in the future." - said Lambert.

"Otherwise what, Lambert? You will drown me in your own spiteful speech? You, on the contrary better think twice whether you want to create another unfortunate soul or not." - she said with a warm smile and retreated to her tent, leaving behind two contemplating witchers.