Chapter Text
He never wanted to take this route. Not that he has been here before, but he has heard rumours, and they do not bode well. Neither does the almost darkness between the tall trees, nor the stuffy air smelling of rot and decay, or the absolute silence. It is never a good sign when there are no birds or squirrels around, not even mice. Of course, it is already autumn and he would not expect the animals to be as active as in spring when they are busy mating and finding food for their young. Yet, in a normal forest with acorns and beechnuts and pinecones and all kinds of other seeds, they would surely hop and flit about to eat as much as possible before the winter. Damn the marching Nilfgaardian troops for making it impossible for him and his companions to stay on the main road and out of this darkest of forests.
Uneasily, Geralt gazes around. The only signs of life besides the ancient, gnarly trees, the thorny underbrush and the dead stalks of grass and withered summer flowers are spiders' webs, and lots of them. Their silvery threads seem to be spread across every bush, spun between every yellowed blade of grass and draped around every bare branch of the trees, some of the webs tiny, no bigger in diameter than a ducat, others almost as big as a wagon wheel.
"Yikes, that stuff is sticky!" Jaskier exclaims, staring with disgust at his fingers. They are covered in the adhesive silk of a spider's net that got caught in his hair.
"Watch your head then," Geralt mutters. "And be thankful the spider wasn't at home."
"Ugh, Geralt, do you have to say things like this? Always so sensitive! What if the spider was at home and has crawled into my shirt? Fuck, I think it's already creeping all over my skin with it's six hairy legs." Jaskier shudders and shakes his shoulders, suddenly itching all over.
"Spiders have eight legs, bard, ants have six," Geralt corrects. "And you're fine. I haven't seen a single spider in any of those nets. Which is quite strange."
"It is indeed," Regis confirms. "There is something unnatural about this forest, something wicked. But I don't have the slightest idea what."
"Better we stay closely together then and try to—"
"—get through it as fast as we can, I couldn't agree more, Geralt. Preferably before night falls," Regis finishes the Witcher's sentence, as so often. This idiosyncrasy of his vampiric comrade is a bit irritating at times, however, Geralt has become accustomed to it by now.
So they ride on through the eerie silence of the forest, Jaskier on Pegasus keeping as close to Geralt's Roach as possible, Regis, Milva and Cahir following directly behind them.
Unfortunately, as dusk is falling and day gives way to night, there is still no end of the black forest in sight. It soon becomes too dark and dangerous for the horses to ride on. They cannot risk one of them stumbling over a rock or root and breaking a leg. As much as they hate the thought, they have to make camp. The five companions find a patch of forest floor between the black tree trunks that is not covered in underbrush, dismount, hobble their horses and the mule Draakul and get their sheepskins and blankets and whatever else they need from their saddlebags. Luckily, there is enough dead and dry wood for a fire close by, otherwise they would have had to spend the night without one. For none of the company members is eager to stray deeper into the gloomy forest, not even Regis.
After a sparse dinner, the travellers sit around the campfire for a while, cleaning their swords and knives and talking quietly. But not for long. Weary from yet another day of riding, their mood subdued by the gloomy surroundings, the companions soon start to yawn - Regis more for the shared experience than from necessity. Milva and Cahir are the first to hit their bedrolls. For a while, Jaskier is humming to himself, clearly composing a new ballad in his head, while Geralt and Regis discuss their further journey to find the druids of Caed Dhu and Regis's friend, the flaminika. Yet, the atmosphere of the forest does not seem to be conducive to Jaskier's inspiration and creativity. He gives up with a sigh and joins his two human comrades, huddling close together under their blankets against the chill of the night and because the forest does not feel quite as scary when you have another person next to your back. Geralt and Regis keep watch. The forest is eerily silent.
Suddenly, Jaskier wakes up with a shriek and jumps to his feet, flailing about with his arms and shaking his legs like in a comical dance. Next to him, Milva and Cahir start up from their sleep and immediately begin to imitate the bard's jerky movements, both of them cursing under their breaths, one in Common Speech and one in Nilfgaardian.
"What?" Geralt asks and gets to his feet, staring at the strange scene.
"Don't you see?" Jaskier asks in a high pitched voice, hopping on one foot while frantically brushing something off his shirt front. "They're all over us! Do something, Witcher! Arghhh!"
And now, Geralt sees it. Thousands of spiders are crawling about their camp on the opposite side of the fire where his companions are sleeping, spiders of all sizes, shapes and colours, most of them tiny, thin-legged and barely visible, but others are fat, big as a baby's head and hairy, with red stripes or white, skull-like patterns on their bloated, black abdomens. Fuck! They have reached his side of the campfire, too, and several are about to climb up his trouser leg. Geralt quickly shakes them off and steps on the biggest ones, squashing them under his boots. But what else can he do?
"Regis?" he asks, hoping the higher vampire has an idea how to get rid of this invasion of creepy crawlies. However, Regis shakes his grizzled head apologetically. For unknown reasons, none of the eight-legged creatures has yet undertaken to bother the barber-surgeon, though. Perhaps they do not care much for his herbaceous smell? Or is it his vampire aura? Whatever it is, it does not really help his comrades in their struggle to keep the arachnids out of their clothes, hair and faces.
"Look, Witcher," Regis suddenly says, after having taken in the complete situation with his highly enhanced vampire senses. "The spiders are all headed in this direction. They do not mean any harm. We are simply in the way of their trek."
Geralt gazes into the dark at where Regis is pointing. The higher vampire is right. Like ants on their trail, the thousands of spiders all seem to migrate toward a rock outcrop not far from them. Strange. In his many years as a Witcher, he has never come upon a phenomenon such as this. After a few more minutes the last spiders cross their camp, ending the creepy visitation.
"I'll go after them, check out what's going on," Geralt says. "You stay here. I'll be back in a minute."
"Fuck, Geralt, what the hell? Why would anybody in their right mind want to know what these creepy crawlies are up to?" Jaskier shouts after the Witcher. "Be glad they're gone, and good riddance, right?" Geralt does not respond but keeps on walking toward the rock outcrop. Jaskier looks at Regis questioningly. "Am I not right?"
"Dear bard, I suppose you know your Witcher friend, yes? So I won't have to explain to you his urgent need to stay active and to explore any occurrence that might smack of monsters or the supernatural until the riddle is thoroughly solved. For, whatever is behind this spider mystery, it might come back and bite us in the butt."
"You think?" Jaskier shudders, his eyes wide with fear and disgust. "How am I ever going to sleep in a forest again after this? This is so not fun!"
"Ah, my dear friend, you'll compose a most beautiful ballad about it and then forget the incident, I'm certain of it," Regis smiles through pursed lips and claps the bard on the shoulder.
"No way! How would I ever forget about a million spiders attacking me in my very sleep?" Jaskier protests while following Milva's and Cahir's example and shaking out his blanket to make sure there are no spiders still hidden in or under it, dead or alive.
"Regis is right, as always," Milva decides. "And now lie down and shut up, bard. I think I hear Geralt coming back."
The Witcher is indeed coming back. However, his footfalls on the needle-covered forest soil do not sound like he is walking. He is running. Fuck!
"Get to the horses! Hurry!" he shouts. Then they hear a dull thud not far from the camp as if something heavy had hit the forest floor, and a loud cavalcade of curses.
Within a fraction of a second, the comrades are on their feet, Milva grabbing her bow and arrows, Cahir drawing his sword and Jaskier, hiding behind the other two, unsheathing his dagger. Regis has vanished into thin air.
When the vampire materialises, he finds Geralt entangled in the sticky net of a gigantic, black spider with long, hairy legs that stares at the two non-humans from glowing red eyes, two big and four smaller ones. Geralt is already cutting himself out of the silken web whose finger-thick threads are as tough as old boots. Still, they are no match for his keen Witcher blade.
"It has brought friends," Regis says, pointing at more glowing eyes coming at them from between the trees. "But so have you," he adds, flashing his vampire teeth and turning into a giant bat. The bat takes off and flies at the spider's companions. At the same moment, a swift arrow swishes through the air and embeds itself in one of the arachnid's two big eyes. The monster rears up, waving its front legs through the air. Then, swift as lightning, it dodges another arrow and attacks.
Still on the ground stuck in the cobwebs with his legs, Geralt cannot evade the creature, but his sword arm is free and ready. He brandishes it at the beast, hacking off one of its hairy pedipalps. A hissing sound escapes from the creature's mouth as it rears up in the air again. Milva fires another set of arrows that hit the monstrous spider in the exposed belly. Instead of red blood, a yellowish goo drops down from the injuries and onto the forest floor. Momentarily irritated, the creature moves backward, leaving just enough time for Cahir to help Geralt free himself from the remains of the cobwebs and get to his feet. And none too soon. The spider springs at the two, grinding the pointed fangs of its chelicerae in anticipation of fresh food. Together, the two companions slash at the monster with vicious force, yet, it hardly seems to notice that it is soon missing the second pedipalp, a front leg and three of its smaller eyes.
"Shit!" Cahir suddenly curses, when he sees something silvery fly at him from the side. He tries to dodge it, but it is too late. He stumbles and falls as the spider net wraps itself around his legs. Geralt turns around briefly, but he is immediately attacked again by the first spider that tries to rip his head off with its chitinous fangs.
The second spider leaps at Cahir from the trees. He hacks at it with his sword, but the gigantic eight-legged beast darts in and out so fast it is barely possible to see where it is, let alone hit it. Then there is a sudden searing pain in his upper arm. Fuck! Cahir hisses through clenched teeth and lets go of his weapon. Blood gushes down his sword arm. However, the arm stops hurting almost immediately after the initial pain. It feels strangely numb and cold. His vision blurs and Cahir suddenly feels dizzy, his eyelids heavy, as the rest of his body. If he had not already been on the ground, he would certainly have collapsed now, all of a sudden too weak to as much as lift a finger. Even breathing becomes increasingly hard. Too hard. The last thing he sees before he faints is the blurred image of the hairy monster with its pointed fangs directly above him.
"No," Milva shouts, loosing several arrows at the beast, but it does not seem to even notice. Instead it brings its abdomen in position to release more of its sticky silk and wrap it around its paralysed prey. Yet, before it can do so, Regis is there like a bat out of hell. He throws himself at the spider full force. The hairy, eight-legged monster and the monstrous bat tumble over and roll around on the forest floor while Milva and Jaskier rush to Cahir's side. With Milva's help, Jaskier heaves his unresponsive comrade onto his shoulders and carries him out of the danger zone of the wild, crazy giant-spider versus vampire-bat fight that is unfolding just a few metres away from them.
Geralt, in the meantime, has severed two more of his spider's far too many limbs. The beast backs away a little and Geralt knows why. To weave another web and ensnare him. But this leaves it vulnerable for a brief moment. A moment just long enough for the Witcher to take advantage of. With a loud cry, he darts at the preoccupied animal and thrusts his sword into the creature's remaining big eye as deep as he can. The monster screeches, its legs flailing about uncoordinatedly. Then it sinks to the ground, legs twitching. Finally it lies still. With a loud grunt, Geralt pulls his blade out of the dead arachnid's brains. It is dripping with yellow goo and a whitish-grey matter. Yikes. It will need thorough cleaning, but this is probably the least of their problems. He looks around. Just in time to see the huge bat sink its teeth into the second giant spider's belly and rip it apart. How lucky, that Regis is their friend. Under no circumstances would he want to fight such a formidable monster as this higher vampire barber-surgeon. Despite all his Witcher training and special abilities, Geralt knows he would not stand a snowball's chance in hell to defeat Regis if the vampire chose to fight back.
"I believe that was the last of them," Regis says cheerfully, having transformed back into his human form before Geralt can bat an eye. Unlike the Witcher, who is huffing and puffing and sweating heavily, holding his aching knee, Regis seems totally unaffected by his deadly monster fight. There is not the slightest hint of perspiration on the higher vampire's brow. The only proof of the fight are a few brown spruce needles and fragments of twigs that are sticking out of his grizzled and slightly dishevelled hair.
"Melitele's tits, as Jaskier would say," Geralt pants. "I'm fucking glad you didn't listen to me back when I wanted to chase you away."
"And I am glad I could be of service." Regis smiles at his very unlikely friend. "Being devoured by a couple of gigantic spiders would have been too incongruous an end for your heroic company. But," he adds, his face turning grave, "I fear Cahir was bitten by one of them."
"Damn!" Geralt says. Although he is still somewhat mistrustful of the Nilfgaardian, he does not exactly want the young, allegedly non-Nilfgaardian knight to die anymore after what he did for them during the Battle on the Bridge. And a bite from one of those eight-legged beasts could very well be fatal.
Together the Witcher and the vampire hasten toward their nearby camp.