In the gloom, five pairs of faintly glowing cat eyes exchanged glances.
The rock face ahead was as smooth as if it had been carved by hand, without a single indentation. A layer of blood-red moss covered its surface, leaving nowhere to gain purchase.
Without a word, the tall, burly Paul stepped forward first.
He pressed his side against the rock face, spread his legs, and cupped his hands together in front of his chest.
Winston stood opposite him and dropped to one knee, providing a second foothold.
Arwen strode forward. Using their bodies as footholds, he sprang up with the nimble grace of a leopard cat and successfully climbed onto the ledge above the rock face.
He immediately crouched down and surveyed their surroundings. Only after confirming that nothing was amiss did he signal for Aiken and Horton to come up.
Then the three of them worked together to pull Paul and Winston up onto the ledge.
The cave was utterly silent. They could hear dripping water, as well as one another's faint panting.
Their gazes converged on the deep, dark passage ahead. A damp, foul stench kept wafting out of it.
Arwen recalled his conversation with Geralt.
There were two routes through Old Spearhead's cave.
One followed the base of the rock face and led straight through Old Spearhead's "bedroom," exponentially increasing the chance of waking him.
The other was the passage on the ledge before them. It circled above Old Spearhead's "bedroom," greatly reducing the risk.
Arwen exchanged a look with the others and entered the passage at the head of the group.
They moved without a sound, not even disturbing the bats hanging from the ceiling.
The passage began to narrow.
The stench of decay in the air grew stronger as well.
Suddenly, Arwen stopped in his tracks at the front.
Aiken and the others behind him looked puzzled. They all peered ahead, then jolted.
According to the plan, the way ahead should have been clear, but a wall of stone now blocked it.
There was no way through!
A trace of panic spread through their hearts.
Arwen pressed his palm against the stone wall. It was uneven and riddled with gaps. His gaze shifted to the walls on either side of the passage, their surfaces covered in countless cracks.
He kept his voice extremely low.
"It's rubble from a collapse."
"Then what do we do now?" Paul asked.
Aiken picked up a stone beside his foot and crushed it in his hand.
"This rubble probably fell recently. We can push it aside with the Aard Sign."
Horton immediately objected. "No. That much noise will wake Old Spearhead."
"Then do we go back and take the lower passage?"
Aiken and the others pressed their lips together. The cyclops Old Spearhead's fearsome reputation had long since been etched into the bones of Kaer Morhen's apprentices.
Over so many Trials of the Mountains, countless apprentices had died at his hands.
"Something's wrong."
Arwen spoke abruptly, drawing everyone's attention.
Horton's words had reminded him of something.
Especially the word "wake."
"Something's wrong. Hasn't it been too quiet all the way here...?"
Quiet?
Before Horton and the others could react, Paul sang an unpleasant melody in his hoarse voice.
"Old Spearhead's snores shake the heavens..."
At those words, realization dawned on the others, chilling them to the bone.
They had walked at least four or five hundred paces by now. They were already close to Old Spearhead's "bedroom."
"Damn it, Old Spearhead isn't asleep."
"We should pull back."
Arwen roared in a low voice.
"Quiet. Listen to me."
Their panic was suppressed.
"We go back the way we came. We'll decide what to do once we've confirmed Old Spearhead's movements."
"B-but the trial ends at midnight tomorrow..." Winston said.
Arwen did not care about that. If he died here, all his efforts would have been for nothing.
"Retreat."
Seeing how firm Arwen was, Aiken and the others agreed with his decision.
They had only taken one step.
Heavy footsteps came from behind them.
Clang!
It was the sound of a huge rock striking the ground. Accompanied by harsh, hoarse growls, it echoed through the passage, making the loose stones at their feet tremble.
Startled, the bats flew out of the cave in a swarm.
"It's Old Spearhead. Old Spearhead's back."
Paul spoke urgently.
Arwen held his shoulder, concentrating intensely as he listened carefully to the sound.
Then, to his horror, he realized the footsteps were drawing closer.
He pressed against the wall. The powerful vision granted by the Cat potion let him vaguely make out a dark shape in the distance, growing larger.
There was no retreat.
He turned toward the wall of rubble, his face twisting fiercely.
Raising both hands, he unleashed a thunderous blast of the Aard Sign.
Bang!
The rubble shook. Dust billowed as a gap was blasted open.
Aiken immediately followed up, unleashing his own Aard Sign.
Then came Paul, Horton, and Winston.
Fan-shaped shock waves battered it like waves of the sea.
The heavy footsteps behind the five of them suddenly quickened.
Old Spearhead had spotted them.
Alarm bells rang in Arwen's mind.
Faster, faster!
Dual Souls erupted, increasing the output of the Aard Sign in his hands.
Boom!
At last, they blasted a narrow passage through the rubble blocking their way.
Joy appeared on their faces.
Clang, clang, clang!
The noise behind them grew rapid and relentless, like death knocking at the door.
"Run."
Paul was the first to squeeze into the passage.
"Hurry!"
"Horton, keep up!"
"Winston, kick him in the fucking ass!"
Aiken bellowed. Panic overwhelmed them almost instantly.
Abruptly, the sound of the massive object striking the ground stopped.
Arwen's pupils contracted. "Get out of the way!"
Before he had finished speaking, a piercing whistle erupted through the passage.
Whoosh!
A streak of dark-red lightning shot over Arwen's head and slammed into the rock above the gap.
Crash!
Rubble rained down.
Seeing Winston still stuck halfway through, Aiken forgot everything else, cast the Quen Sign, and shoved Winston hard with his right hand.
Dust rose, filling their entire field of vision.
"Urgh..."
Aiken let out a low groan. His lips were tightly shut, his face waxen. To keep from crying out, he nearly shattered his back teeth from clenching them.
Arwen hurried over to check on him. Aiken was covered in dust, his arm pinned beneath the rubble, blood staining his leather jacket red.
Arwen raised his hand and softly recited an incantation. Green motes of light from the Healing Spell flew from his fingers and settled on Aiken's arm.
A flash of astonishment crossed Aiken's face, pale with pain.
A Sign!?
No, it wasn't!
It was... it was magic!
How could a witcher use magic?
After that instant of shock, Aiken's mind cleared.
This Healing Spell was far from enough. His entire right arm was pinned beneath the rubble, unable to move, unless a sword was used to cut it off at the shoulder.
And how was a witcher without his right arm any different from a dead man?
Old Spearhead was almost upon them.
"Go. Leave me..."
Aiken gave a smile uglier than tears, though his usual smile was not particularly pleasant either.
Arwen ignored him, took a vial of Swallow potion from his belt pouch, and pressed it into his left hand.
His mind raced.
Fighting a cyclops in such cramped terrain means certain death.
To survive, I have to get out. I have to lure Old Spearhead out of the cave.
With that thought, Arwen whispered to Aiken, "Stay quiet."
Aiken trembled, his expression moved. Through his green cat eyes, he saw the black-haired boy rise and turn his back to him.
Arwen reached over his shoulder and drew his silver sword. A pale-blue Quen Sign quietly took shape.