Chapter Text
Geralt frowned as he approached the abandoned mage's tower. Or at least, he'd been told it was abandoned. He could hear someone poking around the entrance, and his medallion vibrated more and more as he got closer.
"Have a care; there's loose magic about," he called out as he stepped around the bend and into view of the tower door, startling a dark-haired young man who'd been crouched eye-level with the keyhole.
The man smiled broadly, as if Geralt had said something funny. He was wearing a very plain cassock, grey and faded blue, with laces down the front and threadbare piping. It fit poorly, seams straining at his broad shoulders as if it had been made for someone else. Perhaps he was a novice from a religious order? But Geralt didn't know of any temples in the area.
He drew closer, and watched the man's expression as he took in the mismatch between Geralt's white hair and unlined skin, the two swords strapped to his back, and the yellow glint of his slit-pupil eyes. The usual surprise gave way to pleased curiosity for once, instead of wariness.
"You're a witcher," the man remarked.
"Really? I had no idea," Geralt deadpanned, and the man burst out laughing. He had a great laugh, and his eyes were a very warm shade of brown, as if lit from within. Down, boy, Geralt told himself.
"I deserved that," said the man, and held out his hand. "Eskel."
"Geralt of Rivia, School of the Wolf." He clasped Eskel's hand, and his medallion vibrated so hard it buzzed against his armor. Not that he needed it; even through Geralt's gloves, Eskel's hands radiated with so much magic the small hairs on Geralt's arm stood up. "Ah. You're the loose magic that's about."
Eskel's teeth were very white. "I am."
"You don't look like a mage."
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm literally wearing the Ban Ard uniform."
So, an order novice after all, just not a religious one. "What brings you so far from the academy?"
Eskel sighed. "My graduate thesis. This tower belonged to Harwol the Mad."
"I'm aware. Were you aware the Hronfrale alderman has a contract to open the tower and clear it out?" It seemed an overzealous contract to him, considering the tower was a full day’s walk south of the hamlet, one of many along the Lutonski Road through the Kestrel Mountains. We don’t like knowing it’s there and not knowing what’s inside, the alderman had said, and we’re too few to deal with any surprises on our own. It was a good harvest last year, the coffers are full, so let’s get ahead of things for once in our lives.
"No, I portalled straight here, but I'm not surprised."
"What are we likely to find in there?"
"Who's we?"
Geralt crossed his arms. He suspected his body would keep adding muscle mass well into his twenties, but what he had now was plenty formidable as it was. "Job's a job." He meant to buy a horse this year; carrying all his gear on foot was bullshit. He would not be chased off a contract by some stripling mage, no matter what aura of banked power he gave off.
Eskel looked him up and down again, with more of an assessing air this time, but still totally without fear. He still seemed pleased that Geralt was here, even. The novelty of that was refreshing.
"Fair enough. I'd be a fool to turn down a witcher's help." With that, Eskel turned back to the door and knocked on it.
Geralt unslung his pack and set it down against the wall, casting a surreptitious Yrden on it. "Harwol died in Rinde. There's nobody home."
"He was obsessed with his secrets, but he also wanted to make a profit. If we act like honest customers, we should hit fewer booby traps." Geralt huffed a laugh when the very next thing Eskel did was produce a set of lockpicks from the large, shapeless purse slung round his chest.
"You don't think he would have charmed his key?"
Eskel grinned and took his hands off the picks; they remained in the keyhole, moving on their own. "I'm sure he did, and I'm sure I can copy it."
True to his boast, after a few minutes the lock clicked and the door swung open. Geralt stepped in front of Eskel and drew his sword, forming a Quen around them both with his free hand.
"Whoa," Eskel breathed, "that's some of your battle magic, yeah?"
"Signs, yes." Geralt peered through the doorway: dust, and a shocking number of cobwebs, but no new alerts from his medallion as he stepped slowly over the threshold.
"Ban Ard prioritizes courtly shit like fairy lights and flower-arranging over combat skills. I'd love to see more."
"Here's hoping you don't," Geralt muttered, his senses trained on his surroundings. The wooden floor creaked under their feet, and so did the inner construction of the tower as it dispersed the small vibrations of the stone walls catching the breeze - and other vibrations, above their heads somewhere. Tapping and scrabbling.
"Something's moving around upstairs," Geralt murmured, "maybe just a rat."
"You can hear that?"
"I can hear your heartbeat too. Now hush." He let the Quen expire without recasting it, and continued cataloguing what his senses brought him, methodically, as he'd been taught. The initial impression of a ridiculous number of cobwebs held true now that he was inside. The dust was thick on the counters and shelves, but disturbed on the floors and - on the walls? There was an odd tang in the air, something dank and vinegary, almost like the fermented smell of autumn leaves piled up; it itched at his memory, as if he'd smelled the same thing many times in the past but much fainter and never thinking it important. There was an animal smell too, heavy musk and a sweetness like crushed vegetation, very easy to identify as--
"Goat," he muttered, "why does a wizard's tower smell like goat?"
Behind him, Eskel caught his breath, and his pulse accelerated slightly. Sounded like he might know why.
"Well?"
"Oh, now you want me to talk." He smirked at Geralt's irritated squint. "I have a suspicion. Rumors, nothing concrete." He peeled away from Geralt's reach to start investigating the rooms on the ground floor. Geralt thought about protesting, but the truth was the mage was probably better prepared than him to react to any magical pitfalls. Didn't stop Geralt from checking out the other rooms.
Eskel caught up with him in a room full of alchemical odds and ends. Geralt had sheathed his sword and was helping himself to a few of the rarest potion ingredients, which got him a judgmental look from Eskel.
"What?" Geralt shoved a bundle of dried arenaria into his belt pouch. "It's not like he's using them anymore." He tried not to let himself sound defensive. Not having to buy or barter for some of these items would cut weeks off of saving up for a horse.
Eskel gave him a moment of weighted silence before nudging the broken jars on the floor with his boot. "Did you have to smash all the jars with herbs in them?"
"They were like that already. All the books and scrolls in here are tattered as hell, too, almost like something was eating them." With a wistful glance Geralt regarded the ingredients still on the shelves one last time, but his belt pouch was pretty full already. Best not to get greedy. He turned to go, and couldn't help but stare again at the towering contraption of pipes and pots in the centre of the room. "What the hell is that thing, anyway?"
Eskel shrugged. "Beats me. What does it smell like?"
"That's the strangest part. It smells like nothing."
"It's probably been sterilized, but why?" Eskel scratched his chin. "Maybe the next level will solve some of the mysteries on this one."
The smells, goat and unidentifiable (yet maddeningly familiar) alike, got stronger as they climbed the narrow, winding staircase. When Geralt reached the landing of the second floor, he froze so suddenly that Eskel bumped into his back, rattling his swords in their sheaths.
"What is it?" The mage, being unfairly tall - perhaps even slightly taller than Geralt - went on tiptoe and peered over Geralt's shoulder. "Oh, wow."
The dank, sour smell was even stronger up here, but even given the dramatically more profuse cobwebs, Geralt hadn't recognized it until he saw the mass in the middle of the floor. Now he stepped forward and prodded the pile of collapsed ovoids. "These look like spider egg sacs." He supposed he was grateful to learn to identify the scent of spiders this way instead of blundering straight into his first arachas or something.
"Yeah, I guess, aside from being the size of a man's head," Eskel commented. "Is it just me or does that one," he pointed, "look, uh, fresher than the others?"
"It does." It was less discolored and shrunken than the others in the - nest? Could he call that a nest? The spider-smell was stronger there too, as was the smell of -
"Meeeeeeh!" bleated a high-pitched, strident voice from the ceiling. They both looked up, and Eskel gasped.
"He did it," he breathed, "that crazy godsdamned bastard, he did it."
"Meeeeeeh!" the creature replied, scuttling down the wall. It had eight legs, but they were covered in fluffy white hair and ended in little black hooves. Geralt could not figure how it was adhering to the wall. Four compound eyes glittered at them from a rounded goat-kid face.
"What the fuck," Geralt grimaced.
"Harwol was obsessed with textiles, especially silk,” Eskel explained. “He discovered that silk is a protein, secreted as a liquid by spiders and certain insects. He thought other beasts could be made to secrete the protein in greater quantities, such as in milk." Eskel crouched to continue staring at the little goat… spider… thing as it reached the floor. "His colleagues knew he was trying to make it happen. Looks like he succeeded."
"Fucking mages," Geralt seethed. The unnatural beast skittered towards Eskel, and Geralt started to unsheathe his sword.
Eskel looked at him sharply. "Don't you dare!"
"It's a giant mutant spider."
"It's a goat the size of a rabbit."
It was about the size of a rabbit, mindbending legs and all. It made hopeful-sounding squeaky muttering noises as it approached Eskel's outstretched hand, "M. Meh. Mm."
"Spider venom liquefies living flesh."
"I'm aware," Eskel said, letting it sniff his hand.
"If it bites your finger off, I have no remedies that won't poison a human," Geralt warned, as Eskel let the beast start sucking his finger.
"It doesn't even have upper teeth," Eskel said. "You're a proper little goat, aren't you? Which means you must be hungry." He started rummaging in his purse, and pulled out a leather glove, a knife, and an empty glass bottle.
Geralt felt a soft impact to his ankle. The tiny goat had just headbutted him. "Meeeeeeh!" it bleated, displaying its admittedly normal goat mouth, with just a couple of milk teeth on the lower jaw and a pink dental pad up top. No fangs.
"You hatched from an egg," Geralt told it.
"That's not her fault." Eskel sliced a finger off the glove and jammed it over the neck of the bottle, then nicked the tip.
"It's a she now?"
"I can see under her tail now that she's facing you." Eskel passed his hand over the bottle and murmured something under his breath. Geralt's medallion vibrated and all at once the bottle filled with frothy white milk. Eskel then turned the bottle upside-down and flicked a few drops of milk at the goat, who trotted over to investigate. "C'mere, Lil' Bleater, I got what you need."
The drops smelled like fresh goat's milk. Geralt was forcibly reminded of spring mornings at Kaer Morhen, and more distantly of someone else conjuring food, a thorny memory that Geralt dodged with the grace of long practice.
Eskel moved like he knew what he was doing as he cradled the goat’s little head in one broad hand and popped the glove finger into her mouth with the other.
"That's it, good girl!" Eskel said as the goat figured out what to do and started tugging on the makeshift teat with a vengeance. She made tiny grunts in between slurps and wagged her tiny tuft of a tail, then dropped her withers like she was trying to pull the milk down faster with her whole tiny body.
"Ugh, fine. So it's a goat," Geralt conceded in disgust. "This tower still isn't cleared out until you remove it. Her." Under Eskel's baleful eye he corrected himself with ill grace.
"I will. Don't worry about your fee."
Geralt nodded, then asked, "What will you do after that?"
"I think Lil' Bleater and I will go looking for the others."
"Others." Right. Lil' Bleater's egg sac was not the only one here, just the freshest. "Shit, I'd better check the other floors."
He found no more spidergoats anywhere in the building, only more cobwebs and more tracks in the dust. In one of the top rooms, the tracks came together and disappeared out an open window.
Eskel, bringing up the rear with Lil' Bleater now nestled in the crook of one arm, poked his head out the window. "Completely ordinary goats could climb that," he commented.
Geralt grunted. He had to agree. However many of the creatures had hatched here, it seemed too much to hope for that they hadn’t made it out of the tower alive.
"Think they headed into the mountains?" Eskel asked.
"Yeah. I should be able to track them by smell if it hasn't been too long."
"Impressive," Eskel said, in what sounded like honest wonder.
"And if it has been too long, perhaps the kid will be drawn to follow them." Said kid gazed at him from her comfortable perch, legs folded neatly under her belly, now swollen with milk. Had she had eyelids, Geralt was sure she would be blinking at him, sleepy and smug. "But I doubt it, now that you're feeding the little monster."
"Don't listen to him, Bleater," Eskel cooed, scratching her ears. He looked at Geralt. "I can track them, too. The amount of magic used to make them will leave a trail for a while."
"And when you find them, the ones that are more spider than goat will eat you alive."
Eskel's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I can handle myself," he said mildly.
With a soft spot for the beasts wider than the Yaruga? No you can’t, Geralt thought. It might be a bit much to say it to the mage's face, though, so Geralt kept it to himself.
"Go to the alderman, Wolf, and collect your coin."
The thought of doing just that had crossed his mind, but getting bossed around evaporated the temptation. "It's Geralt. And I took a contract to neutralize any threats from this tower."
Eskel raised an eyebrow again. "A minute ago it was any threats in this tower. Bargaining yourself down? That's not like any witcher I ever heard tell of."
"There's a lot of crap about what witchers are like," Geralt spat before he could stop himself. He took a deep breath. "Can't work here again for years if I leave a job half-done this time."
"Ah." Eskel nodded sagely. "So it's not altruism, it's enlightened self-interest." And then he winked. Why would he do that? "Well, the trail's not getting any warmer."
They worked their way back down the spiralling stairs. Crossing the ground floor, Geralt remembered to ask, "So, what is that contraption? The sterilized one."
"I think it might be a kind of separator. Dairies use them to skim off as much cream as they can, for butter and precision cheese-making. I think that one does a lot more, maybe even spins the silk protein into filaments. If I can find an adult spidergoat I might give the device a shot of magic and see what it can do."
When they reached the entrance Geralt crouched before his pack, pleased to see the Yrden undisturbed until he broke it. He stowed his looted alchemical ingredients in his pack before shouldering it, careful to arrange it so that it wouldn’t tangle with his swords. "Going to become a silk trader and goatherd? Seems a prosaic fate for an illustrious Ban Ard mage."
Eskel chuckled as they set off into the woods. "Funny you should say that. I was going to be a goatherd before I got dropped off at the academy."
Deep in the recesses of Geralt's mind, squarely in the part that veered away from memory, he flinched at the phrasing: dropped off. "Sounds like you didn't choose to go."
"I didn't." For the first time Eskel's tone was flat, and brooked no further discussion. "So, will you tell me about witcher Signs, or are they a trade secret?"
"They're not a secret, but there's also not much to them."
"We could be hiking for a while. How about I try to guess, and you tell me every time I'm right. Are there… ten of them?"
"No."
"Less than ten?"
"...Yes." Geralt knew that he probably shouldn't encourage the game, but, well. There was no getting rid of the mage, it seemed, so there was probably no shame in enjoying his company a little.