Bue, blinded, swung his scythe. And struck. But not the Witcher, who had spun away in a pirouette. He struck his comrade, who was still holding himself by the buttocks. And hacked his head from his shoulders. Air escaped from the severed windpipe with a loud hiss, blood burst from the artery like lava erupting from a volcano, high, right up to the ceiling.

Bang stood, gushing blood, like a headless statue in a fountain, held up by his huge, flat feet. But he finally tipped over and fell like a log.

Bue wiped the blood from his eyes. He roared like a buffalo when it finally dawned on him what had happened. He stamped his feet and swung his scythe. He whirled around on the spot, looking for the Witcher. He didn’t find him. Because the Witcher was behind him. On being cut in the armpit he dropped the scythe, attacking Geralt with his bare hands, but the blood had blinded him again and he careered into the wall. Geralt was upon him and slashed.

Bue obviously didn’t know an artery had been severed. And that he ought to have died long ago. He roared and spun around on the spot, waving his arms about. Until his knees crumpled beneath him and he dropped down in a pool of blood. Now kneeling, he roared and carried on swinging, but quieter and quieter and more drowsily. In order to end it, Geralt went in close and thrust his sword under Bue’s sternum. That was a mistake.

The ogrotroll groaned and grabbed the blade, cross guard and the Witcher’s hand. His eyes were already misting over, but he didn’t relax his grip. Geralt put a boot against his chest, braced himself and tugged. Bue didn’t let go even though blood was spurting from his hand.

“You stupid whoreson,” drawled Pastor, entering the cavern and aiming at the Witcher with his double-limbed lathe arbalest. “You’ve come here to die. You’re done for, devil’s spawn. Hold him, Bue!”

Geralt tugged. Bue groaned, but didn’t let go. The hunchback grinned and released the trigger. Geralt crouched to evade the heavy bolt and felt the fletching brush against his side before it slammed into the wall. Bue released the sword and—lying on his stomach—caught the Witcher by the legs and held him fast. Pastor croaked in triumph and raised the crossbow.

But didn’t manage to fire.

An enormous wolf hurtled into the cavern like a grey missile. It struck Pastor in the legs from behind in the wolfish style, tearing his cruciate ligaments and popliteal artery. The hunchback yelled and fell over. The bowstring of the released arbalest clanged and Bue rasped. The bolt had struck him right in the ear and entered up to the fletching. And the bolt protruded from his other ear.