They parted. The creature turned around nimbly, attacked at once, with an ethereal, dancing step, once again diagonally. Once again predictably. It was inhumanly energetic, incredibly agile, hellishly swift. But stupid.

It had no idea how fast a witcher could be after drinking his elixirs.

Geralt allowed it only one blow, which he outmanoeuvred. Then he attacked with a trained sequence of movements he had practised a hundred times. He encircled the grey creature with a fast half-turn, executed a deceptive feint and slashed it across the collarbone. The blood hadn’t even had time to spurt when he slashed it under the arm. And jumped aside, ready for more. But no more was needed.

It turned out that the creature did have a mouth. It opened in the grey face like a wound, splitting widely from ear to ear, although no more than half an inch. But the creature didn’t utter a word or a sound. It fell onto its knees and then its side. For a moment it twitched, moving its limbs like a dog dreaming. And died. In silence.

It was then that Degerlund committed an error. Rather than fleeing, he raised both hands and began to bark out a spell, in a furious voice full of rage and hatred. Flames whirled around his hands, forming a fiery globe. It looked a little like candyfloss being made. It even smelled similar.

Degerlund didn’t manage to create a complete globe. He had no idea how fast a witcher could be after drinking his elixirs.

Geralt was upon him and cut across the globe and the sorcerer’s hands. There was a roar like a furnace being ignited, and sparks flew. Degerlund yelled, releasing the flaming globe from his bloodied hands. The globe went out, filling the chamber with the smell of burning caramel.

Geralt dropped his sword. He slapped Degerlund hard in the face with his open palm. The sorcerer screamed, cowered and turned his back on him. The Witcher seized him, caught him by a buckle and clasped his neck in his forearm. Degerlund yelled and began to kick out.

“You cannot!” he wailed. “You cannot kill me! It is forbidden… I am… I am a human being!”

Geralt tightened his forearm around his neck. Not too tightly at first.

“It wasn’t me!” wailed the sorcerer. “It was Ortolan! Ortolan forced me! He forced me! And Biruta Icarti knew about everything! She did! Biruta! That medallion was her idea! She made me do it!”

The Witcher tightened his grip.

“Heeeeelp! Somebody heeelp meeee!”

Geralt tightened his grip.

“Somebody… Heeelp… Noooo…”

Degerlund wheezed, saliva dripping copiously from his mouth. Geralt turned his head away. And tightened his grip.

Degerlund lost consciousness and went limp. Tighter. The hyoid bone cracked. Tighter. His larynx gave way. Tighter. Even tighter.

The cervical vertebrae cracked and dislocated.