"Are you all right?" Old Graz ran out of hiding. The rapidly shifting situation had left the mage, who devoted himself solely to studying living creatures, no time to react.
The fast-paced combat of witchers hunting monsters and the rapport between the two amazed him even more. Once again, Old Graz felt fortunate that he had found the right people.
Geralt pulled Witt up from the ground. Neither had time for pleasantries; they both knew the possible consequences of letting a dying griffin escape.
Watching the griffin plunge into the woods, the two sheathed their swords and ran after it, following the trail of blood it had left.
"Wait, wait for me!"
Spellcasters' perfect bodies were almost entirely products of magic, but in terms of practical usefulness, they might not even measure up to a farmer who could lift a pitchfork.
Panting, Old Graz chanted a spell, gathering the surrounding elemental air energy around his feet to lift him. Only after lightening his body did he chase after the two witchers and enter the forest with them.
As soon as they entered the forest, Witt spotted fresh blood on the ground, along with some other noteworthy traces.
Witt drew his steel sword and cast a Quen Sign over himself.
"What are you doing?" Old Graz asked, bewildered.
"Shh. Elves." Though he knew the mage beside him had little need of his help, Geralt still activated his own Quen Sign, forming a protective shield around Old Graz.
Witt downed a Cat Potion. The dense forest blocked the moonlight, its high branches blotting out the sky and veiling the creatures beneath them, concealing them within.
"Rustle..." The sound of a breeze stirring leaves drew closer.
The two witchers tightened their grips on their swords, and Old Graz cast a protective spell on himself as well.
Thud.
An arrow struck the ground right against the tip of Witt's boot, halting his tentative advance.
Without needing a warning from Geralt, Witt raised his steel sword at an angle in a defensive stance and quickly moved behind a nearby tree.
Geralt pulled Old Graz behind a boulder as well.
"One more step, and the next arrow will be aimed at your little cat eyes, witcher." The words were spoken in halting Common.
Holding his sword, Witt peered toward the voice. At some point, several elven archers dressed in green linen had appeared on the branches of an enormous tree directly ahead, more than ten meters above the ground, their bowstrings drawn taut.
One of them, a female elf wearing close-fitting leather armor and a hood, was drawing an arrow from the quiver on her back and taking aim at Witt again.
It seemed the earlier arrow had come from this female elf, who looked like their leader. The shade made it difficult for Witt to make out her true features, but her graceful, delicate figure spoke of her beauty in another language.
Seeing that the witchers still gave little response, the female elf warned them again. "The forest is elven territory. Why have you witchers intruded here?"
As she called out, the other archers in the neighboring trees aimed their arrows at the three of them, poised to loose.
Witt also heard rustling nearby. He knew the three of them might already be surrounded.
Now they had no choice but to speak.
Witt stepped out from behind the tree before Geralt could, lowering the tip of his steel sword and dropping his combat stance to show he was willing to talk. He addressed the female elf leading them.
"Elven lady, we mean no harm. Unfortunately, our quarry, a gravely wounded griffin, fell into the forest. We only ventured inside to prevent trouble later."
The female elf tilted her head slightly to confer with a subordinate beside her. A lock of gray-green hair slipped from beneath her hood, framing a face as white as jade that seemed to glow faintly even in the darkness.
A short while later, she finished conferring with her subordinates and eased her taut bowstring. "A griffin did just fall into the forest, but it's already dead. You can leave."
Witt frowned and was about to speak.
Old Graz suddenly stepped out from behind the boulder a short distance behind him, bowed to the female elf, and asked, "Beautiful elven lady, might you have seen a human who strayed into the forest sometime this afternoon?"
"You're not a witcher. Who are you?" She had recognized that Old Graz was not a witcher.
"I'm Old Graz of Kovir, a mage."
At that, the female elf drew her bow again, but this time she aimed at Old Graz. The other elven archers aimed at him as well.
"Beautiful lady, that wasn't a threat or a warning. I only want an answer to my question." Old Graz raised his hands to show that he meant no harm.
Perhaps sensing the old mage's peaceful air, the female elf raised a hand to have the others stand down, but her voice remained cold. "Looking for someone? I suggest you look around the edges of the forest. Perhaps the person you're looking for is hanging from a tree somewhere."
"The person I'm looking for is Lowell. You should know him. I'm his teacher."
Disgust appeared on the female elf's face. "He intruded into the forest this afternoon. I killed him and burned his body."
"What? Wasn't he delivering supplies to you?" Old Graz asked in surprise.
"Hmph! That was merely a trade. If I'd known he belonged to the Cult of the Lionhead Spider, I would never have traded with him."
At the mention of the Cult of the Lionhead Spider, Old Graz fell silent.
A sect that worshipped death and darkness and frequently offered human sacrifices to its god was unquestionably an evil cult, a common enemy of all humans and nonhuman races on the continent.
The cult's emblem was a lion-headed spider clamoring to be fed at the center of an endless web-the same image Witt had seen on Lowell's back.
"Had he truly gone that far? In that case, let's go." Old Graz turned to leave, his heart full of disappointment. He began to doubt the decision he had once made.
Seeing that the matter had essentially come to an end, Witt and Geralt exchanged a glance, sheathed their swords, and prepared to follow Old Graz out of the forest.
"Wait, witchers." The female elf leading the others suddenly stopped them. She leaped lightly down from the tree, stood before Witt, and removed her hood.
Her long gray-green hair spilled down like a waterfall, a few strands of moonlight filtering through the leaves entwined within it as it swayed gently in the wind. She looked into Witt's eyes, her own shining with a deep green glow, clear and bright as dewdrops on swaying blades of grass in the wild.
"Witchers, I want to hire you."
Witt froze for a moment, and his hand left the sword hilt behind his back.
"What do you want to hire us for?" he asked curiously.
"My people just told me that the dead griffin was the male of the pair on White Mist Peak. There's still a female. I'm sure you witchers know that griffins avenge their mates, so I want to hire you to deal with the female for me."
The female elf beckoned, and the archers jumped down from the trees to guard her side. The elves who had been lurking nearby also revealed themselves one after another.
Only then did Witt notice that quite a few of them bore injuries of varying severity. They, too, had been victims of the griffins.
Witt looked at Geralt. Since they were working together, he had to ask his opinion.
Geralt nodded his agreement. In truth, they both knew how dangerous a griffin that had lost its mate could be. Their original plan had been to find an opportunity to sneak up White Mist Peak, locate the griffins' nest, and deal with the remaining female.
Neither was the sort to leave a mess behind and walk away with the payment. The elves' proposal suited them perfectly.
"We accept the commission, but might you tell us your name, my beautiful lady?"
Geralt's sweet talk often left his clients quite dazzled, but this time, unexpectedly, it fell flat.
The female elf paid no attention at all to the white-haired witcher. Instead, she addressed Witt before her. "My name is Miley. I lead the elven camp in this forest. There's a very familiar scent on you."
Witt sniffed. Apart from the smell of smoke left by the Dancing Star Bomb earlier, he noticed no particular scent on himself. The female elf before him, on the other hand, gave off...
"Ahem." Witt came back to his senses after a momentary daze and replied, "Hello. I'm Witt, a witcher. Witt of Lyria."