The drowners drew their final breaths. I watched on coldly. Moments ago they had been ready to rip my stomach open with their claws. Such a foe didn't deserve my sympathy.
After the last drowner ceased to twitch, Bevald began to speak, "Five. More than I expected. This lake is large, but it's nothing compared to the Pontar. Their nest here won't exceed a dozen."
I sighed. My services were required again. Water still ran in rivulets down my shoulders. Wool was excellent for keeping warm. Unfortunately it was decidely unwilling to let go of water once it got wet.
Bevald was a fair leader. He pointed to a log for me to rest on while he and the other two dragged the corpses from the spikes. The job was smelly and messy, they crawled out of the pit covered from head to toe in blueish-black blood. Vivald's disgusted expression suggested that he might've tasted it as well.
Acting as bait carried tremendous risk. Even with my healing factor guaranteeing my life, there were still countless ways which the ruse could go wrong. I didn't particularly fancy fighting bareknuckle fighting a nest of drowners underwater. I was happy to sit to the side and allow the other three to do their share of the work.
Soon the pit was covered up once more. The worst of the blood was washed from the soil. It was time to go for another paddle.
The icy water lapped at my ankles. The heady smell of rot followed drowners wherever they went. The entire lake reeked of it. Everything I was wearing would have to be burnt once the trials were over. Fortunately I had taken off my boots before submerging myself in the lake. Thorns and vines were everywhere in the forests, walking barefoot would be needlessly painful.
Ripples raced across the lake as I began to thrash about once more. With their limited intelligence it was unlikely that any remaining drowners would connect the dots between the struggling prey and the disappearance of their group members. Their hideous grins were horrible to look at. I hoped that no more would take the bait.
Hope crumbled into nothing just as often as it bore fruit. In the deeper waters of the lake I saw several fins flash beneath the surface. More drowners were approaching.
The tips of their fins broke the surface. The rotten and fishy scent was captured all to well by my keen sense of smell. How these hideous things managed to reproduce was a miracle.
The water was already murky from my feigned struggles. It grew even more turbid as I rushed to the shore. Unable to slither beneath the shallower waters, the drowners were forced to stand. Their speed slowed considerably. Savage and hungry they cried out to one another. Their language was bestial and crude, but I could make out their fury at being forced to leave the water.
Maybe if they'd remained in the water they might've stood a chance to survive. Unfortunately they chose to pursue me onto land. There were three of them this time, all of them shorter and thinner than the previous group. Most likely they were lower ranking members in the nest.
The previous battle had deepened my understanding of their strength. Their lethality lay in their speed in the water and sharp claws. On dry land a fisherman could escape without difficulty. If he was unlucky enough to meet one in water deeper than his waist he didn't stand a chance. Drowners rarely acted alone.
I deemed it unnecessary to pretend to stumble and injure myself this time. These drowners were fewer in number and weaker. I also didn't particularly want to squirm around on the shore again. Although the blood from the previous slaughter had been washed away, the stench remained.
The water no longer restricted my movements. The ground was solid and damp underfoot. The sound of the drowner's webbed feet slapping against the soil told me they were still chasing.
In my hand the weight of the stick inspired thoughts of violence. I could almost hear the satisfying crunches of their skulls. After a couple footsteps I had weighed up the decision. The lake could only sustain a dozen or so drowners. It was more sensible to dispatch these three with the sharpened sticks in the pit. I could indulge my bloodlust with any stragglers that remained.
The drowners pursued me as fast as their legs would allow. I observed a predatory intelligence in their approach, one in front and two lurking a few paces behind. It was smart. The vanguard engaged the enemy fiercely and captured their attention. Frightened the enemy would fight back with much more force than necessary. In this desperate struggle, the presence of the other two would be largely forgotten. Then the lurking two would jump out and deal severe wounds. The outcome of the battle would be sealed.
The ingenuity of this group was likely bred from weakness. The previous group had been well-fed and powerful. When one's strength was great enough, tactics were unnecessary.
Their strides were long and awkward. The chase was almost comical. I bent my knees and leapt over the pit without difficulty. The drowners didn't question this for a second. Part of me wanted to take them aside and educate them on proper battlefield technique.
Inertia carried the drowners forwards as the ground abruptly fell away from beneath the feet. They crashed headfirst into the side of the pit and ricocheted back. The long wooden spikes pierced into their flesh. The unluckiest among them died almost instantly as a spike burst through his chest. His body slowly slid down the branch. The fountain of blood from his wound soared over a dozen feet high.
The other adepts emerged from the forest. Bevald raised his hand to prevent the spurts of blood from getting into his eyes.
He peered into the pit. The two remaining drowners groaned weakly as their consciousnesses faded, "That makes eight. These ones are weaker. Musn't be enough food to go round. I say we go across."
Vivald and Linon nodded in agreement. Vivald spoke up, "Better to swim while the sun's still up. We only have a couple more hours of daylight."
He was right. We'd set out in the early morning and by now the warmth was fading from the air. The only drowners that might remain in the lake were the ones living in the deeper waters. If they hadn't been drawn out already there was little we could do. Diving into the deep water to search for them would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. Said needle was capable of things far more malicious than a prick of the finger. The promise of sufficient remuneration would make me more than willing to engage in such a wild goose chase. Unfortunately there was nothing to be gained from this one. The drowners seemed unlikely to offer me any orens.
"Jack's done his job well. Since we're in agreement let's keep moving." Bevald declared. He twisted his waist and stretched out his arms. Vivald and Linon did the same. There was no need for me to stretch, my healing factor kept me in peak physical condition at all times.
"One, two, three, push!" Bevald called out. The four of us dug our boots into the earth and pushed with all our strength. Earlier we had stripped the fallen oak of it's branches to use as spikes and weapons. Now it's broad trunk would serve as our ship.
It took dozens of repetitions of pushing to get the tree into the water. Despite their enduring constitutions the other three were all panting heavily. The water came up to their waists. Bevald leaned against the oak. It bobbed gently in the water. When his breathing had calmed he spoke, "Paddle on my call."
"One, two, three, pull! One, two, three, pull!" The timing of his calls was perfectly measured. The sticks in our hands acted as makeshift oars. While we were still in shallower water we used the lake's bottom as a base to push off of. Our speed slowed as we reached deeper water.
"Quiet. Watch my lips." Bevald spoke. His tone was restrained. There was a tension in his words.
The water rippled around our branches. The tree left a wake behind it that stretched for dozens of meters. Bevald's eyes were constantly scanning the water. The rest of us did the same. His lips formed the shapes of the familiar numbers without sound. The rythm of our stroke remained constant.
The water was murky. We had reached the middle of the lake. Anything lurking beneath would've no doubt noticed our prescence by now. Faint moonlight was enough for a witcher to see clearly by, but the murky water swallowed the light far too well. All I could make out beyond a few meters deep was the tangled tips of the kelp bed swaying with the current.
"Spear." Vivald's voice broke the tense silence. His eyes were trained on the water and his expression was fierce. The air whooshed as he hurled a sharpened stick at his target. Water splashed. Blood drifted upwards.
The drowner's hideous face glowered at us from the deep. The spear had struck it's shoulder. Blue blood oozed from the wound. The sharpened stick was crudely made, but it's lethality was not small. It was unfortunate that the deep water had absorbed most of the momentum from Vivald's throw. Otherwise it might've done more than just injure.
There was more movement. Another drowner's hideous face appeared beside it's kin. The second drowner grasped the spear's shaft and pulled hard. Strings of bubbles rose to the surface as the injured drowner cried out in pain. The spear had been removed. The second drowner didn't let it go. Its claws tightened around it. Thoughts of retalitation were brewing in its mind.
"Spear." Bevald said coldly. He drew back his arm. The spear rocketed forwards. Its speed was faster than Vivald's. The drowner watched the spear approach with wide bulbous eyes. I could faintly hear it's wrathful scream. Bevald's accuracy was definite. The creature was quick enough to shift its body and alter the spear's destination, but it could not avoid the blow completely. The spear pierced deep into it's thigh. The wound was serious. Though drowner's had considerably different anatomy to humans, there were still several major blood vessels that ran through it's thighs.
The mounting violence in the drowners hearts vanished. They had been injured twice. If the strange creatures on the surface had many more pointy branches they would surely suffer even more. With shrill cries they turned and fled back to the depths of the lake.
"Keep moving." Bevald's order was firm. Our makeshift oars began to strike the water once more. The speed we had lost in the battle soon recovered. Monsters were often far more cunning than they seemed. We had read of injured griffin's that would wait weeks or even months to swoop down on a witcher in the midsts of battle. None of us would present the drowners with an opportunity to take revenge, our alertness did not falter.
The tree bobbed violently up and down between our legs. The front had become beached in the shallow water. We had reached the other side of the shore. I got off first, hurling my boots across the water onto dry land to ensure they remained dry. We had discussed prior that I should go first when entering unknown territory. It would only take a couple hours for my legs to regrow even if they were torn clean off. I was the ideal explorer.
Solid ground beneath my feet once more was a delight. With my stick in one hand and a spear in the other I advanced. The forest stretched almost to the lake's shore. The sound of birdsong was all around. There were hundreds of different scents in the air. Pine, oak, fur, feathers. One by one I sifted through them looking for anything that might pose a threat to our group. Nothing. At least, nothing nearby.
"Nothing." I called out to the others. They were lined up waiting on the shore ready to retreat to the other side. It was good to be prepared, just in case I'd left the forest sprinting and screaming to run with thundering footsteps following me close behind.
We knew what we had to face next. It only had one eye but it's arms were as thick as tree trunks. The diaries we had read detailed the best approach to facing a cyclops. Strike once. Then run. Your chance of survival was much higher if you were on horseback. Unfortunately out of the four of us, no one had hooves.