Amfisbena: monster, in appearance similar to huge snake.

A. has two heads at either end of upper body.

Each head has four fangs.

A.’s venom is toxic, even following application of anti venom victim may experience complications (…).

A. is an endangered chaos relict (…), often hunted down by Witchers, due to A.’s incredible speed, which poses danger to unwary humans.

 

Maxima Mundi Encyclopedia

Tome VII

 

***

 

            “Gods be damned,” Geralt swore as he read the notice nailed to the pole, “Dandelion, change of plans.”

            “What the…? So we’re no longer heading south?”

            “No. We’re not. Only Kovir needs a Witcher.”

            “Kovir? Are you out of you mind? That’s over a week’s journey from here!”

            “Only Kovir needs my skills,” Geralt shrugged simply, “and I can’t afford a holiday.”

            “That I know. But I can’t accompany you to Kovir then. Too far for me.”

            “So what are you planning?”

            “I’ll ride to Vizima. Try my luck in earning a bit of money there.”

            “Looks like we’re headed in the same direction then. For now.”

 

***

 

After a long and gruesome week long journey, Geralt finally saw the walls of the city. He felt relieved, as his behind was pleading mercy. The north was cooler than the warm lands of Redania and Temeria. In contrast to those southern regions, the climate here was cold, with mountain air constantly blowing down from the Dragon Peaks. He shuddered scanning the horizon, wrapped up warmer in his cloak, and made for Pont Vanis.

 

***

 

            A rather sizable congregation of people had already assembled at the gates, waving their fists and cursing at something. A small, frail, handless cripple was behaving particularly loud.

            “What the fuck is this supposed to be!? I’m a goddamned war veteran and this is how you motherfuckers treat me?”

            “Shut yer trap or you’ll have nothing to left to swear with,” a guard shouted as he pointed showingly at the veteran’s face with a halberd.

            “You ungrateful fuck! You’re lucky that I’m not twenty myself or I’d beat the shit out of you!”

            “Greetings,” said the tall stranger, “what’s all the shouting about, soldier?”

            “Soldier… A soldier that I was, sir, but,” he raised his right hand for the stranger to see, “this is how the motherland shows me gratitude for my service.”

            “So what’s all the commotion about?”

            “Ah, well. That cart that you see there, yeah that’s the one, fell apart, worthless junk, and had all its coriander spill all over the place. Coriander in Kovir is banned, as mixing it with nightshade or dwale will give you a narcotic similar to fisstech, though you won’t even have to smear it on your gums to get high.”

            “I see. But why is the gate locked then?”

            “Well, because those dimwits with the halberds suddenly decided to thoroughly frisk everyone and look through every damn crate anybody wants to bring into the city. I’m Hooger, by the way, the local librarian.”

            “Geralt of Rivia. Witcher.”

            “Well I’ll be damned… The famous White Wolf. It’s adding up to quite a bit of famous personas in Pont Vanis.”

            “You’re exaggerating.”

            “Shhh, something’s going on. They probably got bored of touching all the women.”

            “Get a move on! Stop blocking the goddamned entrance,” hurried one of the guards.

            It took Geralt a while to enter the city, as the mob shouted and bustled, upsetting his mare, forcing him to calm her down a few times with an appropriate Sign. He made for the royal palace, which dominated the urban landscape.

            Leaving his weapons with the guards, Geralt entered the Side Chamber, where he was to meet with king Idi’s envoy, who was to brief him on the situation. A young, fair haired man of around twenty entered the room.

            “Welcome. I presume you’re the Witcher?”

            “He I am.”

            “I am count Steff de Vellex. Tell me, what brings you here?”

            “Outside of Maribor I came across this,” he said handing the count a small piece of paper before continuing, “something about a large snake of sorts.”

            “Thank the gods. You can’t even imagine how extremely pleased I am that someone has finally shown an interest in this. We’ve been having a lot of problems with this for a while. A lot of people have already lost their lives in that dreadful place. The king has offered a sizeable sum for slaying that beast, and you should know to trust the king’s word. Some terrible creature has turned our dwale fields into its nest. Here’s an account of a peasant who was able to see the monster and live:

 

The snake was long, had around ten feet. It was of red carnation with yellow spots. At either end of its body, it had a head…”

 

How in the world can you mistake an Amfisbena for a damn snake? Getting the name of a monster wrong is still understandable but this went beyond mere ignorance. It was just stupid.

 

“… with four, ten inch fangs smeared in some green venom. The snake moved quickly, skilfully making its way through the undergrowth. The funny thing is that both of its heads were heading in the direction of its victim.

 

            “Thank you for the information. It was useful. How much does your king, who you say should be trusted, pay?”

            “Eighty-two copper coins.”

            “Too little. A hundred and twenty.”

            “What!? That’s almost my two month’s pay!”

            “Tell me, count, how many times have you risked your life over those past two months?”

            “Hmmm… You’re right, Witcher. When you’re ready, call on Dyvik, he will show you where to find the creature. For the time being, you can rest in the guest chambers in the castle.”

            “Thank you, count de Vellex.”

 

***

 

            On the third day, at sundown, in accordance with the count’s instructions, Geralt called for Dyvik.

            “Greetings, Witcher. I hear that you’re ready?”

            “Yes. Ready. Lead on.”

            It was pitch black when they left the walls of the city behind them. Within a quarter of an hour they stopped, as Dyvik said, “Sir, that’s the field. And over there, that’s the slough where you should find the fiziobena.”

            “Amfisbena,” corrected Geralt, “thank you, Dyvik. I can handle it from here.”

            “Good… Good luck then, Witcher.”

            When the guard left, Geralt unfastened a blue vial with the night vision potion, opened it, and took a quick sip. The adaptation phase took place without any complications. Geralt reached for a second, this time red, vial. The eagle. He drank it, whilst cross legged with his sword across his lap. He felt a sudden surge of euphoria, he heard every sound, everything become focused and clear. He reached for the sword and headed for the slough.

            When he approached the slough, he sunk part of the blade in the still water, moved it around a bit, disturbing the surface. He wanted to lure the Amfisbena out of the marsh. He knew well enough that even he had no chances of survival if to confront the creature in the water.

            He took a step or two back, away from the slough, and waited with his sword raised at his waist. Suddenly, he heard something brushing against the undergrowth. Behind him. The Amfisbena was coming. A quick side step and half pirouette. The monster hissed, raised one of its heads and shot venom from its fangs. To evade a projectile is kids play for any Witcher. He kneeled, rolled over his back, cutting the distance to the creature, performed another half pirouette to the left and cut from the elbow. But the snake wasn’t stupid. It ducked its head and Geralt had to stretch enormously so as to not get hit by the monster’s fangs. With a backwards somersault, he distanced himself from the Amfisbena, giving himself time to think over his next move.

            Ultimately, he decided on his favorite. He sprinted towards the monster. The trick depended on him vaulting over the very middle of the snake’s body, with the two heads disoriented at either of the far ends. The Witcher bounded over, turning in mid air, leant on his left hand, simultaneously slashing with his right.

            The heavy head fell audibly to the ground. Geralt quickly got up to his feet, ready to strike, watching the monster twist in pain. Despite it being beheaded, the Witcher was careful. Slowly, he came closer and with a quick slash cut off the remaining head. He waited a while before lugging the heavy heads into a sack, and made for the city.

 

                                                                       ***

 

By the time he reached the keep, it was already deep into the night. Not daring to risk waking the king, Geralt returned to his quarters, heaved the sack onto a table in a corner, and went to sleep.

            He woke around noon, judging by the position of the sun. With a light step in his stride, he made for the Main Hall, where he was to display proof of a job well done before receiving his payment.

            King Idi was seated between two other people: the mage Stregobor, who Geralt knew well as a mad and unpredictable individual, and the mage’s young assistant and student – Zavist.

            “Your highness,” Geralt said politely on one knee, “I came for my reward.”

            “His royal highness, please excuse me for the term, doesn’t give a rat’s ass about your reward” Zavist quickly blurted out, obviously not being able to wait any longer to boost his inflated ego even more.

            “I wasn’t talking to you, boy. King?”

            “In a sense, he’s not far off the mark. I won’t pay.”

            “Excuse me?” Geralt still asked kindly, yet visibly irritated.

            “Out of all people… wait, no… creatures, yes that’s the right word… can’t you hear properly?” Stregobor ridiculed, “Then hear me: get your good for nothing charlatan ass out of here!”

            “I see. So I won’t receive my due payment for slaying the monster?” asked Geralt in a voice as cold as ice from Lan Exter, “and I’m to leave?”

            “Precisely. Maybe you’re not as mindless a killing machine as I thought,” quipped Zavist.

            “I said, shut up, boy.”

            “And I said get your mangy self out of here!” shouted Stregobor, whilst rising from his seat. “You have twelve hours to leave this city,” he said, upturning an hour glass, in which the grains of sand were pouring from top to bottom unnaturally fast.

            “Fine,” Geralt finished the discussion, throwing the sack to the king’s feet.

            Two heavy heads rolled out of the plain, grey bag, to contrast to the king Idi’s golden moccasins.

           

***

 

            Once outside the castle walls, Geralt began to run. He was thankful for having taken all his Witcher belongings beforehand, as he saw that three guards were already heading after him, leaving him no time to return to his quarters. More sentries joined the chase. Geralt was literally sprinting, trying to escape, but new city guards were appearing everywhere.

            “Over here! Geralt!” someone shouted from a side street.

            With little options left, Geralt dashed in the direction of the voice. His newly acquired city guide turned out to be rather small. And fast. Geralt could barely keep up in the narrow and windy streets of Pont Vanis.

            Eventually, the little man stopped, and Geralt was able to take a closer look. He recognised Hooger, the cripple he spoke to four days ago.

            Without much conversation, Hooger prodded the Witcher into a dubious looking entrance into the sewers. Geralt had been in worse. He squeezed through the small fissure. The cripple followed.

            “Now… Let’s take it easy. They won’t find us here. Please follow me.”

            They meandered the canals for a while, before coming upon a set of large wooden doors.

            “Welcome to my home,” said the cripple with a smile.

            “Thanks, Hooger. The sentries would have had me in those crowded streets. Why are you helping me?”

            “It’s simple, really. Because you helped me.”

            “Did I?”

            “Sure! You slew the Amfisbena, didn’t you?”

            “Well, yes.”

            “Precisely, my friend. You’re probably curious what I have to do with that two headed monster. Well, those dwale fields the monster occupied are my property. The creature kept scaring my workers away, halting my stream of revenue to a dry halt,” he said, smiling mysteriously. “Take this,” he said, as he put a small leather purse with some kind of clinking contents in the Witcher’s hand, “I’m guessing the king didn’t bother paying you.”

            “How do you know that?”

            “I know things, Witcher. Lots of things…”

            “I can’t accept this, Hooger.”

            The tradesman-economist laughed.

            “Why can’t you? Because I’m a short, poor cripple?” Hooger wiped the tears of laughter from his face.

            “Well… Yes. Precisely.”

            “Oh, Witcher, Witcher… When it comes to money, I can’t exactly be equated with the poorer elements of this city.”

            “Forgive me, I find that hard to believe.”

            “So believe it. I’m making a huge turnover on vessdae.”

            “Vesdae?”

            “That’s what you get when you mix dwale with coriander,” the cripple smirked unsettlingly. “You remember that cart that broke down at the gate? I had it come here all the way from Oxenfurt. That’s why I was all pissing mad when one of its wheels rolled off right before reaching it destination. Aha, and I was afraid that they’d do me in. Thank the gods that they hanged the carter on the spot.”

            “Cunning, Hooger. Very cunning.” Only now did the Witcher accept the purse from the drug dealer.

            “A hundred and twenty copper coins. Your payment.”

            “To the penny. You’re not such a bad ass after all.”

            “Ha! You better know it! Come with me, I’ll lead you out of town through the sewers. Not that I’m on the stingy side when it comes to having guests over, but I can’t exactly bribe all of the city guards and if one of them finds you here, I’ll be in a hell of a lot of trouble.”

            “True enough. Lead on.”

            They wandered the underground canals in the dark. When they finally saw the light of day in one of the tunnels, Geralt was extremely glad.

            “Thanks, Hooger. I owe you.”

            “Don’t mention it. Besides, we’re even now. Oh, and I almost forgot. About three furlongs southwards you’ll come across a place where you can get a good horse for about twenty five pennies.”

            “Take care, our paths may yet cross.” He shook the man’s stump.

            “Perhaps. Who knows, Wolf?”

            The sun shone in his face. He headed south.