The trial of the mountains was upon us. Vessemir stood at the helm of the group. His prescence commanded us to listen.
The edge of a blade glinted in the light. Vessemir's sword pointed to the mountains and forests beyond. They stretched on for thousands of miles, impassable by man. His blade didn't tremble. His masterful control over his nervous system and muscles would take us a century to achieve, "Adepts. In a hilltop to the north, your medallions await you. No witcher is whole without his. Where your senses may be decieved, your medallion will not. You will learn that it's value is no less precious than your sword."
No one else was present. It was only Vessemir and us adepts. Their was no further training to be given. The rest of our lives would be spent honing the skills we had been taught. Geralt and Eskel and the other witchers who lead our training had left weeks ago. Their purses were light. Every witcher shared the same thirst for coin.
In Kaer Morhen, a few miles east, four mentors waited for us to emerge. Radkin had wished me luck on the trial. He followed this with a boisterous laugh. He knew that I would succeed.
"Take your weapons. Go. Teamwork is allowed. There are foes that even a witcher cannot fell alone." Vessemir stated. The scabbard on his back recieved his sword once more.
Bevald was the first to speak. He was the tallest among us. His defined jawline and striking cheekbones would draw the attention of many sorceresses. His alluring viper eyes needed no mention. He was smart, handsome, talented and charismatic. I did not consider myself ugly, but my looks were trifling in comparison to his. In every subject other than combat he bested me with ease. Fate looked upon him with loving eyes. The role of protagonist seemed made for him.
Although unspoken we considered him our leader. I did not fight him for the position. I had little interest in leading. He was far more scholarly than I also. His knowledge of monsters and their habits and behaviours far exceeded mine. Witchers were not brainless. Meticulous planning and preperation were the secrets to killing monsters.
"The pond to the north. That kelp is as tall as a man and as thick as Geralt's arm. We lack swords to cut ourselves free, so I'm afraid we must rely on brute strength instead. Be mindful of your stamina, exhaustion is just as dangerous as any monster.
That pond is the perfect environment for drowners. I have little doubt that they will be there waiting for us. I have a plan to counter them, but first I want to hear your thoughts."
Comprehensive foresight and planning. Vessemir would be proud. He was an excellent leader as well. Allowing us the chance to speak and display our knowledge was an insightful move.
Vivald drummed his fingers on his chin. He was pale as a ghost. The skin around his eyes was almost translucent. Individual capillaries full of blood could be clearly seen. His mutations were imperfect. Unnatural paleness was a small price to pay for one's life.
His paleness didn't bother him. He liked to joke about it and call himself a specter. The trials of the grasses and dreams had brought him a hair's breadth away from death. Since death didn't have the balls to take him, he said that it turned him into a ghost instead. His personality was reflected in his fighting style. Steady and cautious.
"We can't race them. They're as fast as lightning in the water. They'll drag us down and drown us in seconds. We have to lure them onto land. This cheap armour will only stop their claws once or twice, it's better we engage them from a distance with projectiles. The soil around here is soft, with the four of us it'll only take an hour to dig a decent pit. Once they've fallen in we can drop rocks on their heads and kill em' without breaking a sweat. Hell we could leave them to starve and eat each other." Vivald laid out his plan. It was smart, maximising safety and minimising risk.
Linon thought for a moment. Then he started to smile, "So we need some bait?"
I knew immediately what was about to happen. Three heads swivelled towards me. Their smiles were sly and filled with fake encouragement. Nearly a decade of training had brought us as close as brothers. They weren't shy in making their request.
Blows that would leave them groaning in pain healed in seconds for me. The outcome of our spars was pre-determined. Thousands of times they'd tasted dirt while my sword rested on their neck. They didn't even try to hide their glee at the situation.
Their judgement wasn't wrong. It was faint praise, but I was by far the best suited for the role of bait. I sighed helplessly, "Yeah, yeah, gloat all you want. I'll do it."
Linon had a big grin on his face. He had a slender build and was the weakest among us. He suffered worst during our spars. His hand patted me heartily on the back, "It's not a party till Jack's getting his arse handed to him by a drowner! That's the saying right?"
The other two snickered at the joke. As leader Bevald felt responsible to be impartial. He coughed and suppressed his laughter, "Good. Now that's decided let's get started on digging. Jack you'll lead the drowners to the pit."
Linon doubled over. His shoulders shook from raucous laughter, "Try not to fall in with your new friends aye Jack?"
Bevald's snort forced the air from his nostrils. His face twitched as he fought to remain composed. Vivald and Linon leant against one another for support, cackling giddily. Usually the butt of a joke was the one who got angry. The only thing I felt seeing my closest friends roaring with laughter was happiness.
"Enough of that, behave you fools. Let's go." Bevald admonished.
The forests grew thicker around us. The branches above devoured nearly all of the sun's light. Only a trickle was left for us to see by. It didn't matter. Our amber eyes swallowed light greedily. Darkness could not impede our vision.
Laughter and conversation were left outside of the forest. We were constantly on high alert looking for threats. Disgrace would follow any witcher who was carelessness enough to be ambushed by a wild beast. The depths of the bonds between us were deep. None of us would hesitate to risk our lives to save another. Our bonds would not restrict us from gleefully spreading the tale if one of us was foolish enough bitten by a snake or insect.
The journey to the pond took several hours. Detours had to be made around impassable terrain. Wolf packs and bear dens also had to be given a wide berth. Without a weapon the claws of wild beasts posed significant danger. The trial of the mountains forced us to adapt.
Eventually we crested a hill and the pond came into sight. It was immediately apparent that pond was a poor description. It was a lake, easily a mile in diameter. Ocassionally the water would ripple and a fish's colourful scales broke the surface. Gusts of gentle breeze swept over the water and made the tall reeds dance. Bevald and I exchanged glances. The tranquility hid something sinister. The air reeked of decay.
Some time ago a storm had ravaged Kaer Morhen. Nature's majesty was revealed in all its glory. The fierce gales had uprooted several trees in the forest. An old oak on the shores of the lake had suffered the same fate. The adepts and I broke off branches. The greener wood still held its strength.
We worked swiftly. The soil by the lake was soft and damp. It dirtied our skin and clothes and scattered into our hair. Cleanliness was unimportant at the moment, none of us stopped to wash. The endurance and recovery of a witcher were inhuman. Though they lacked my healing factor the other adepts had no trouble digging a deep pit without breaks. There wasn't a drop of sweat on their brows. Branches and leaves were arranged over the pit. The gaping maw of the earth was hidden from sight, ready to recieve its prey.
"Jack." Bevald called out my name. The meaning was obvious.
I nodded. The three of them retreated into the forest. I was left standing alone on the shore. The water was ice cold on my ankles. The algae covered stones were smooth and slippery. I pressed on. The water rose steadily, soaking my clothes. Cold crept into my muscles. My healing factor percieved the harm and activated immediately.
I started to splash in the water. First gently then more forcefully until it became violent and desperate flailing. This was the same behaviour as drowning prey. Seconds passed. Then I felt the currents shift. Something was approaching, cutting through the water at speed. The prey had arrived. Hunger had ensnared a drowner and now it was coming to claim its meal. I turned heel and ran without hesitation. The water restricted my movements and the uneven floor of the lake provided pathetic purchase for me to push off. My retreat was slower than I hoped.
The water's surface broke. Crooked and ugly claws cut towards me. The drowner's hideous grin was reflected from underneath the water. I drew a long stick from my belt and hurriedly swung it at the claw. Bone and wood collided. The crunch was sickening. Three of the drowner's fingers snapped from the blow. The jagged edges of exposed bones shone in the light. Its muffled scream was shrill and piercing.
The water no longer came up to my waist. The ground became less silty. At last I could properly exert force. Behind me the drowner rose from the water, screaming in agony and chasing after me with bloodlust in its dead fish-like eyes.
Several hideous shapes appeared behind it. Muffled cries thrummed through the water. Four more drowners followed after their injured kin. Their claws dripped black sludge.
I scrambled onto land. My speed soared and I hastily sprinted away from the approaching drowners. To my delight all five of them leaped out of the lake and pursued me onto land. Out of water they provided far less of a threat. Even a farmer with a pitchfork could kill a drowner on dry land.
The distance between us was widening. The ruse had to be maintained. I pretended to stumble. The earth was damp and rotten on my lips. The drowner's screamed with glee. Their fins slapped against the earth as they hastened to spear the fallen prey. They drew closer. I cried out and clutched my leg, feigning injury.
Hideous grins stretched across their faces. Their blue lips parted to reveal sharp angular teeth. The injured drowner lead the group. His cries were louder and more frantic than the rest of the group. It was clear he wanted revenge for his wounded hand.
The timing had to be perfect. The drowner's footsteps were wet and heavy. I didn't look back at them, scrabbling forwards and dragging my wounded leg across the earth. My eyes were locked onto the forests. The drowners hastened again, fearing that their meal would escape between the trees. Their shrieks overlapped with my feigned cries of pain. The steep and impassable valleys on either side of the lake echoed with our voices.
I counted their foosteps. It was almost time. Almost. Then I moved. I threw myself to the right, rolling desperately. The injured drowner hissed with rage and turned to follow. His claws were just inches away from my flesh. The drowners behind him reacted dully. They crashed into the injured drowner and sent him tumbling forwards.
One moment the drowner was seconds away from devouring its meal. The next it was falling through the air. It cried out sadly. Perhaps it knew its fate. It was too late. The five drowners tumbled into the pit. The last one was almost quick enough to evade. My boot planted in its back ensured that it remained in the company of its own kind.
Blood splashed. I dusted myself off and walked to the edge of the pit. I couldn't help but smile at the reversal of roles. The drowners were speared like fish on long wooden sticks. Bevald had sharpened the points meticulously.
"You were born for the stage!" Linon emerged from the trees. His grin was wide. Vivald shared his delight. Bevald was more composed. He nodded at me with a smile. The ruse had worked.