A heartbeat. Then a breath. The gradual return of sensation to my mind. Slow at first, then quickening rapidly. My eyes opened to a dark world. The air smelled of blood and fire. I turned my head slowly to the left, the muscles were weak and languid but they obeyed nonetheless. A pair of amber eyes shone in the darkness.
"Is this death?" I asked, my voice more closely resembling a frog's croak than anything produced by human vocal chords.
The amber eyes tilted slightly to one side, "Sure as hell ought to be."
The tone was amused and slightly disbelieving. It was Radkin. He squatted low on the earth beside me. There was dried blood all across his face. The rest of him faired similarly. He showed no sign of caring about his unkemptness.
I turned my head to rest more comfortably, looking up at the tunnel's ceiling. I noted that our location had changed. The wooden beams that reinforced the tunnels no longer bore the marks left behind by the myriapod's rampage.
The air was cool against my head. The bones of my skull had cracked and splintered, it was an extremely odd sensation as they knitted back together. I wondered whether my exposed brain was allowing Radkin to peer into my thoughts, for his next sentence seemed to imply as such.
"I dragged you out of there. Not a half hour later the walls crumbled in on themselves. Thought the noise might've woken you, but you didn't stir."
He stared at me intently, "You didn't have a heartbeat you know. Couldn't be heard, couldn't be felt, but your flesh didn't seem to care. I watched it wriggle about as if it possessed life, patching your wounds. That beast's legs pierced clean through your eye sockets, bits of your brain oozed out, I saw it with my own eyes."
The implication behind his words was clear. The full extent of my regeneration was unknown to me, all I had to guide me was intuition. I'd always felt fairly certain that I could heal damage, or even the complete destruction, of my brain. The battle against the myriapod had proven my thinking correct. Radkin had watched as my corpse dragged itself free from the shackles of death. Now I was back in the realm of the living.
Death, or at least the state that followed the destruction of my brain, was not bound by the passage of time. My eyes had closed, darkness came after. Then I blinked and I was aware of my existence once more. Centuries could've passed and I would not know. The congealed texture of the dried blood on Radkin's face suggested it had only been an hour or two.
"So, are you scared of me? You could scorch me to ashes right now, I wouldn't resist, I'm too weak to stop you." The sound of my voice was more familiar. It was hoarse, but distinctly human. The strength was gradually returning to my limbs. Perhaps a quarter of an hour more and I would regain the strength to hold my blade. It would be far from enough to repel Radkin's attacks, but at least I might be able to leave him a scratch before I was cast back to a deathless state.
He looked at me silently for a moment. Then a smile broke across his face, "Little bird, you know as well as I do that souls like us dance on a knife's edge. I live for it, the thrill, the danger, it is my reason to be. We are ships charting a course through the swells and crashes of the storm, it is all too easy to capsize. Many do. But-"
He paused. His smile widened. He rested a hand on my shoulder. The tears and rips in the skin had healed just enough for his action not to cause immense pain.
"-you, you're different. Vessemir calls you the deathless one, only now do I understand how far-sighted that old codger is.
A friend for whom I don't have to worry that every winter might be his last. How thrilling little bird, what a treat!"
There was a warmth behind his words that made my heart feel as if had been plunged into warm water. Kinship. A connection beyond words. He did not reject me, nor call me hellspawn and immerse me in fire as I had feared. There was only a brotherly love and unyielding acceptance.
"Compassion suits you. You might have more luck finding a companion for the night if you used your words instead of your muscles." I replied.
Radkin scoffed and threw his hands into the air, "He cheats death, but still can't escape boyish ignorance! Don't you see, the chase is where all the fun lies?"
I didn't bother to voice my disagreement. The persona of a roguish vagabond allowed Radkin to endure the disdain and contempt that hounded his footsteps across the continent. Even in the intimacy of hushed breathing and desperate movements he maintained the act. There was no doubt that one as old as Radkin knew the deception he played to his own mind. I was not arrogant enough in my youthfullness to give help where it was not needed.
Time passed slowly by. Neither of us spoke, the silence was more comforting than words could ever be. My recovery was swifter than I had expected. Within a half hour my limbs were filled with strength. The arcs and slashes of my swings were just as deft as when the fight began.
Upon seeing the swift dance of my sword, Radkin pushed himself up from the ground where he had been resting. With a grin he firmly grasped an edge of the myriapod's skull, "Grab a' hold!"
The myriapod's body was immensely heavy. Radkin had likely grunted and cursed as he dragged it out from the collapsed chamber of the mine. It was a pity that I had not been awake, or perhaps alive was a more apt term, to witness the scene.
"Witcher!" A guard exclaimed loudly. His face flushed red as he realised the unconcealed shock with which he had spoken.
Before he could gather himself to apologise, the guard screamed and reeled backwards. He jabbed out a trembling finger, "Monster!"
"Calm your panties, can't you see it's dead! Ain't many beasts that can survive a sword to the bleedin' skull!" Radkin reproached.
The guard's tumbling footsteps halted. He forced himself to look more closely at the beast. A gaping wound in the myriapod's skull exposed its thoroughly gooey brains to the light. Nearly a third of its legs were missing or crushed and its antennae had been chopped clean off. It was undoubtedly and decidedly dead.
The guard cleared his throat and relaxed his clenched fists. A few others dressed in the same armour cast amused glances at him, but hastily diverted their attention when he turned to glare at them with a fierce expression.
"Yes, of course. An excellent kill sir witcher! I will send for a carriage at once to carry the wretched thing to the keep! The lady will erect statues in your name!" The guard declared, concealing his embarrassment beneath the grandeur of his tone. He then sharply addressed one of his men, who immediately hurried off to the crest of a nearby hill. The man unsheathed a weapon from his waist, but it was not the cold gleam of steel that was revealed to the light but a brilliant red instead. He waved the flag fiercely through the air.
Soon a carriage emerged in the distance, kicking up a cloud of dust as its wheels span rapidly. The driver held the rein's tightly. At the slightest indication of a decrease in pace he would spur the horses on. His features were tense and contorted with anticipation.
The carriage drew nearer. With their keen vision the horse's spotted the myriapod's huge corpse ahead of their driver. They immediately whinnied and dug their hooves into the earth, refusing to take a step further no matter how loudly the driver shouted or tugged at the reins. The driver was forced to climb down from his seat and gently coax the horses forward with carrots and apples from his pockets.
Looking slightly sheepish, the carriage driver came within a few meters distance. As he spoke his eyes constantly darted to the myriapod's lengthy form, "Noble witchers, congratulations on your hunt! What a horrid and ugly creature, truly you are most skilled in your craft!"
Several tan and strong-looking men stepped forwards from behind the carriage driver. When the horses had refused to go any further they had hopped out of the carriage and assisted the driver's effort to coax them further. In the face of a beast as horrifying as the myriapod, their brawny figures and bulging muscles could not ease their nervousness.
They approached slowly and tentatively. It was clear from their demeanours that they were farmers not soldiers. Witnessing the sedatedness with which they were moving, Radkin smiled and shook his head. Ever a believer in the simplest and most direct approach, he delivered a savage punch to the myriapod's skull. The beast didn't move.
"It won't bite! It did not too long ago, but we took care of that." He called out.
The farmers' stiff shoulders visibly dropped upon seeing the myriapod remain still after recieving such a blow. They grasped hold of its legs and exoskeleton and heaved it into the carriage. The wheels of which sank more than an inch deeper into the earth under the astonishing weight.
The carriage-driver climbed into his seat. He gulped and cast a glance at the myriapod's hideous face peeking out from the panels of wood. His knuckles were white around the reins. Nonetheless, he was courageous enough to overcome his fear. There was likely a tidy sum of money awaiting him at the castle as a reward for the frightfullness of his task. The allure of coin gave his arms strength. He drew up the reins and flicked them forwards with a cry. Under the circumstances, no one sniggered at the quavering in his voice.
The heavy load placed immense strain on the axels. They creaked precariously as the wheels turned. The carriage-driver frequently looked back with a concerned look, biting his lip nervously. There was neither room nor capacity for passengers, thus Radkin and I followed behind on foot. The group of farmers maintained a meter's distance behind us, though I pleasantly noted that they did so out of respect not fear. It was an unfamiliar pleasure to be treated so kindly by the common folk. Radkin and I exchanged several knowing looks on the matter.
As we walked in step we discussed the condition of the myriapod's corpse. Though its brain had unfortunately been turned to mush, there were still numerous parts of its body that would fetch a pretty sum of coin. A significant portion of our came from selling valuable parts of monsters' bodies to interested parties. Often apothecaries or those who held links to mages. It was rare for a mage to purchase them directly, only an exceedingly desperate sorcerer would lower himself to haggle for such things.
Myriapods were rare. One of such enormous size was even rarer. There were men and women who would offer a hefty price to obtain it. Though I was no less lethal in battle than Radkin, my network of connections was pathetically barren compared to the century old witcher. With a smirk he hinted at some mysterious individual who had both the coin and knowledge to take the myriapod off our hands. Upon any attempt I made to acquire further details, he merely looked aside and began to whistle a popular tune.
After repeating this dance several times, I gave up. Radkin could be as excitable and willfull as a child. If I sought to force him to reveal the information he would only grow more determined to withhold.
We arrived at the city gates. Long lines of people snaked along the road, waiting to be permitted entry into Begar. Without slowing the carriage driver cried out loudly to make room. The guards at the gate knew his face. They stepped forwards hurriedly and began yelling and urging people to move.
The process was completed so proficiently that the carriage's wheels never needed to stop turning. Countless curious looks fell upon Radkin and me. Our bloodstained black clothes and twin swords commanded the crowd's attention. The whispers were too many to count, but I could hear the word witcher repeated over and over.
"A beast! Look! A beast!" Someone cried out in horror, their finger pointed accusatorily at the carriage.
The expressions of the guards shifted immediately. A faint murderous aura pervaded the scene. Discipline bound them tightly, their voices boomed in unison, "Remain where you stand! Do not move! Peace will be ensured at all costs!"
The crowd that had been growing louder and more lively immediately quietened. The guards marched forwards, ordering icily for individuals to step back in line. Tension was thick in the air. Though the people no longer shouted, they began to whisper ceaselessly. More than one person had caught a glimpse of the myriapod's enormous body. The exposure was regretful but unsurprising.
The carriage driver's expression was solemn. With haste he steered the horses to the trail leading up to Lady Farington's castle. We began to climb.