Part 1 – The new world

Go then, there are other worlds than these.'

-Stephen King, The Gunslinger

Chapter 1

The world tipped on its axis. One minute she was stood in a typical back alley, like she so often found herself in, the sound of cars and the smell of fumes dominating her senses. The next she was falling backwards, the world disappearing around her as a familiar feeling of vertigo took hold of her. Her arms flailed around, attempting to find purchase on something to break her fall, but the graffiti strewn walls that had penned her in moments before were now gone and she found her fingers brushing against rough bark and snapping twigs.

She landed with a guttural huff and a loud thud as she connected with the damp, earthy smelling ground. The cars had been replaced by the haunting calls of night birds and the fumes were switched for bitingly cold air tinged with the recognisable smells of the forest. Rotting wood, animals and…what the hell was that?

Before she could focus on the unfamiliar scent the inevitable nausea that came from travelling through a gateway unexpectedly hit her like a sucker punch to the stomach. She just managed to twist her body in time before she retched, the viscous substance being ejected from her hitting the forest floor with a wet slapping sound. It looked like blood but it was a dark burgundy, too dark. Not the bright, vibrant crimson people usually associated with human blood. Spitting to get the foul taste out of her mouth, Ellie wiped the back of her hand across her face to clean it, then tried to get her bearings.

It was night. It was a forest. And for Purgatory's sake why couldn't she get that ringing out of her ears? It felt like a buzz saw going off inside her head. She shakily pushed herself to her feet and leant heavily on a nearby tree. So, what the fuck had happened? She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the gloom now that the aftershocks of her impromptu crossing had dimmed slightly. She hadn't summoned a door, or at least she didn't think she had, so why had she fallen through a sodding gateway? What was even worse was now that she was looking she couldn't see the damn thing anywhere. Had it vanished? She had only been on her arse for five minutes, they didn't usually disappear that quickly.

Ellie slapped a hand to her forehead as the ringing got worse. Scrunching up her eyes she tried to shut off her senses one by one in an attempt to dispelled the horrendous noise. It did nothing. If anything, the ringing was getting louder. Opening her eyes Ellie decided she needed to get her bearings. She had no idea where or when this surprise gateway had chucked her. In fact, although she was familiar with a lot of forests this one just felt…off. Like there was something not quite right about it.

Sniffing the air, she tried to get some more clues as to her whereabouts, and- there it was again. What was that weird smell? It was like sticking her face in an open grave. The stench of decay and blood was strong, but there was something else underneath. It kind of smelt like a Shedu; a mix of herd animal and an other-worldly force, but her hair wasn't standing on end to signal the presence of another demon nearby. On top of the foul smell filling her nose, the ringing in her ears was worsening with every second. The overload of her senses was getting too much, and in frustration, her lip pulled back over her teeth and she let out a feral snarl.

Something shifted in the darkness. Her eyes reflexively snapped to it, and her body tensed. The something moved again, detaching itself from the shadows. Something very tall and very thin. The ringing was now at head splitting levels and the stench of death and blood intensified. It was coming from whatever that thing was, but Ellie had never smelt of seen anything like it before. It took a slow step forward and she could finally make out some details.

It was at least seven feet tall and looked like a walking tree, except for the bone white deer skull which seemed to be acting as its head. A pair of impressive antlers sprang out of it and what looked like black smoke billowed around it. Darker, even, than the surrounding forest, if that was even possible. The creature let out a piercing howl as it took another step towards her.

Ellie was unsure how to proceed. Was it some freaky hybrid she'd not come across before? Whatever it was, it was making that godawful ringing worse and appeared to be advancing on her rapidly. Automatically she reached for her daggers, but her hand landed on an empty space at her back where they once were.

'Shit.'

She let out a low curse as the tree/deer hybrid lumbered towards her. Guess I'm going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. She thought, lowering into a crouch.

'I don't want to fight you buddy. Can't we talk this out?' She croaked, hoping there was some kind of sentient brain in that weird deer skull of a head. The creature let out a roar, its long arms reaching out to reveal ugly looking claws. Her options exhausted, Ellie began to strip away the bindings inside her and felt the heady rush of adrenaline flow to her limbs. She didn't like fighting without weapons but needs must. Her lip pulled back from her teeth again, showing her now more pronounced canines as this time she let out a loud, warning growl. The creature stumbled to a halt. Its blank eye sockets staring at the thing coiled in front of it, humming with dark energy. It seemed to think better of engaging with her, and instead gave another bleak roar. Turning with surprising grace for a creature of its size, it dissolved into the shadows leaving her alone.

Ellie let out a shaky breath and slowly stood up. Grateful she hadn't had to try and attack that thing with her bare hands, she quickly got a handle on her emotions. Calming the storm she had summoned inside of her with deep, jagged breaths. Gradually she felt her control return and the adrenaline wear off. However, without the stimulation of an impending fight to the death, the nausea and weakness in her limbs returned with a vengeance. The ringing, mercifully, had lessened but was still there, buzzing in the back of her mind like an angry hornet trapped in a glass.

Without the rotting smell filling her nose she could now scent something resembling a fire. Maybe there was a camp site nearby with someone to give her a clue to where she was. She turned and used the trees to steady herself as she followed her nose. She wasn't sure if it was the after effects of the gateway, or the constant assault on her head that dulled her senses but rounding the next tree she came upon a large, dark mass of something blocking her way.

Shaken from the strange encounter before Ellie foolishly acted on instinct. Moving as fast as her weakened body would allow she leapt back in surprise letting another growl rip from between clenched teeth. The dark mass separated and became a group of ten men, their eyes wide with fear as they took in the snarling girl moving away from with inhuman speed, her pupils flat black.

'Oh.' Ellie said, registering her error. It was this hesitation and confusion which resulted in the nearest man, holding a pitchfork, to lunge towards her and stab her through the chest before she could dodge.

'Die witch.' He shouted, to the loud cheers of the others as her vision went dark, the cold iron of the farm tool still lodged where her heart was.


Lambert was certain this backwater settlement hadn't seen a witcher since the conjunction. As soon as he had ridden into the jumbled collection of straw roofed huts and foul-smelling animal pens every eye had been fixed on him. He was used to being leered at, by some of the braver louts usually, but everyone here was staring at him as though he were sprouting horns and riding a unicorn.

Fucking inbred cretins. He thought to himself as he manoeuvred his horse to the largest building in the place, the tavern. A creaking sign above the door proclaimed it to be 'The Twelve Maidens', but one glance around this dump told him his chance of finding any decent maidens here were slim to none.

The voice of his old teacher came unbidden to his mind. A witcher cares not for the pleasures of normal men, a witcher's only interest is his work. Trust that old bastard to still be lecturing him when he was hundreds of miles away. With a disgruntled sigh he dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching post. 'Be good.' He said to the beast as he straightened his leather armour and made his way to the entrance.

It had been a long time on the road, and the thought of a good meal, a tankard of ale and a warm bed made even stopping here an inviting prospect. Opening the creaking wooden door, he was immediately hit by the smell of the place. The witcher didn't like crowded spaces at the best of times, but when they smelt like this place it made a hundred times worse. It was obvious from the look of the place these people didn't have much, and that more often than not in his experience meant their personal hygiene was somewhat lacking. Not that he smelt of roses and meadow grass but it was a damn sight better than this place.

Apparently, his little welcoming committee of gawkers outside were just a hand full of the populace as the rest of the village appeared to crammed into the tavern. Despite the number of people, the room turned deathly quiet as Lambert entered. He took a moment to scan the crowd, his eyes narrowing as he was met with their suspicious stares. A few averted their gaze, turning back to mugs of ale they were nursing or the gwent game they were playing. Others kept staring, their expressions caught somewhere between disgust and fear. Good, let them look, he thought, shouldering his swords as he stomped into the room. This wasn't the first time he had felt unwelcome ,and it wouldn't be the last.

Wearing his most arrogant smile he approached the rudimentary bar that was located on the far side of the tavern. There was a wrinkled old crone cleaning a chipped pewter tankard with an equally old and dirty rag. Lambert wrinkled his nose in disdain at the sight and the intense smell that was still permeating his senses. What was that? It smelt like death and shit rolled into one.

The crone gave him a wary look as he rested his gloved hands on the bar. 'Can I 'elp ye?' She asked. Not unfriendly, although the half-turned stance she was adopting and her unsmiling expression wasn't exactly warming.

'This is a tavern isn't it?' He replied sardonically. His chin tilting up so he was looking down his nose at her. The crone frowned, her cleaning paused.

'Yeah, course it is.'

Her patronising tone and the fuck awful smell that was starting to make his head hurt grated on his already frayed nerves. Not that his nerves didn't ever seem to be frayed. Unlike his brothers from the school of the wolf, Lambert was not famous for his chivalry and manners. His quick temper and snarky comments however, well they were notorious to anyone who knew him. Although Dandelion, that simpering imbecile, had yet to right a ballad about how he had at least twenty different ways to call someone a shit brained idiot.

Now, he took a deep breath through his mouth, trying to avoid the stench, and leant on the bar. His sarcastic smile turning mean. 'Then if you'd be so kind as to get me an ale before I die of old age.'

The crone blinked at him a few times, her watery eyes flashing with shock, fear and disbelief, before Lambert really lost his patience and slammed a fist down on the bar making her jump a foot in the air.

'Right away Master witcher.' She stammered. Ah, so they did know what a witcher was. Good, made his job a lot easier in the long run. Having to explain that shit was not something he was up to doing today. Content that his long-awaited ale was incoming, as the old crone flustered around behind the bar, he turned and leant back against it. Crossing his arms, he surveyed the room again. Most of the peasants had gone back to their revelry, although one or two were still throwing him furtive glances. He had seen this scene play out time and time again. A new village, a new barrage of insults, demands and hostility thrown his way. Occasionally there was coin to make the whole ordeal more bearable, but never that much, and judging by this place none at all if there were any jobs going. He sighed, hearing the mug of ale the ancient bartender had brought him being placed next to his elbow. Without looking he grabbed it and brought it to his mouth, taking a reluctant gulp.

Not bad. Although a lot sourer than he was used to. At least the shit was drinkable. Sliding a coin towards the crone, he slowly drank his fill, figuring out his next move. He'd see if this place had any contracts and spend a night in a real bed. Any number of bed bugs and frosty looks was better than a hard patch of cold earth on the side of the road any day. Then he'd keep heading north, and reach Kaer Morhen before the snows came. He had at least a month by his reckoning before the pass started to closed. No need to rush.

Finishing his mug, he tossed it towards the still quivering bartender, signalling her for another. It was unusual no one had approached him to tell him to fuck off, or better yet go fuck himself. Where ever there were people, there was always someone who hated his kind. However, it seemed this place was proving a slight anomaly. True, there was still a particular leather faced, old gentleman in the corner that couldn't seem to stop looking at him but apart from that everyone else was ignoring him. Lambert snorted as his next mug of ale reached him, maybe this place wasn't as bad as it smelt.

It was as he was emptying his third that a loud conversation started up on the far side of the tavern. 'I'm telling you Rika, we can't fight the both of them. The forest is off limits until we can find some 'elp.'

'And what 'bout till then? We got 'ta eat somehow. If we can't 'unt then we'll all starve.'

The Witcher's attention was caught by the two men arguing. One of them stood up, his face red with anger. 'I know we're desperate, but forcing our 'unters into that Gods forsaken forest is the last thing we should do.'

The other man, Rika he presumed, rose to his feet, his face equally red. 'We can't just let these monsters drive us out of our own forest. We've been 'ere far longer than 'em. I say we take every able-bodied man and attack 'em tonight.' There were a few half-hearted cheers of agreement from some of the younger patrons, but largely Rika's call to arms went ignored. What had got all these peasants so scared? Lambert wondered, but the argument was unlikely to yield much more in the way of information as it had descended into an all-out brawl between the two men.

He probably should have broken it up and asked them all outright what was plaguing this forest of theirs. It was his job after all. But in truth, the tooth and nail fight, which was now spreading to the men seated nearby, was far more entertaining. The witcher smirked as Rika punched the man he had been arguing with full in the mouth, a few of his remaining teeth flying all over the place. What a bunch of goat fucking idiots.

Just as the tavern fight was getting interesting the old man that had been staring at Lambert rose to his feet and let out a surprisingly formidable bellow for his appearance. 'That's enough! All of you!' The old timer must have been a leader of sorts because the whole tavern went as silent as when he had first entered. The brawlers were frozen in a humorous tableau. Rika holding another man by the front of his shirt, his fist raised. All eyes were now fixed on the old man.

'If you've all had quite enough violence for one evening, I believe the answer to our problems is already here.' His dialect was a lot more refined than Lambert had been expecting, he narrowed his eyes at the man wondering who he was exactly. A few of the peasants looked around dumbly, not aware of where their leader was going with this. Some of the other brighter tacks had already swivelled their heads to look at the witcher, still leant casually against the bar, his arms crossed.

The old man turned his own attention back to Lambert, a grim smile on his weathered face. 'Master witcher, what would be your opinion on our little plight?'

He pushed off from the bar and gave the assembled crowd an appraising look. A few hushed murmurs flew around the room.

'A witcher?'

'Never seen one before.'

'Look at those eyes. What a freak.'

He resolutely ignored them, he had got a lot of practice doing that over the years. 'Hard to say until I hear all the facts.' He said in a haughty voice. 'The real question I have for you all is can you afford me?'

The old man's eyes narrowed slightly. Obviously, his answer hadn't been to his liking. Well, fuck him, Lambert thought, it wasn't like I was going to do this for free.

'Have no fear, we will have coin enough for the task. As long as you deliver that is.'

The witcher snorted, 'Course I will. Just need to know what I'm up against first.' He nodded towards Rika. 'You. Have you seen these monsters at all? In the flesh I mean.'

Rika gave him a long look, then slowly put down the man he was holding and folded his arms. 'Aye, I saw them. One of them real good like. You see we killed the witch. Frenrick got her with his pitchfork, but the other is a slippery woodland spirit. Only get glimpses of that one.'

Lambert raised an eyebrow at the peasant's boastful display. 'You killed one? Well, what's the problem here? You seem more than able to handle yourselves.' Rika clenched his jaw, rankled by his tone.

'We killed the bitch, aye. But here's the fucking rub mutant. She got back up. One minute she was dead as a stone, the next she was coughing and pulling out Frenrick's fork as if it were a wood splinter.' There were a few mumbles of ascent at Rika's account, and Lambert noted a number of the men's faces turning white at the memory. 'Never seen nothing like it before. Before we could 'ave another go at the witch that other fucking monstrosity appeared and took out 'alf our men.' His face clouded over with a grief and rage that the witcher was more than used to seeing. 'We buried them today, that's what we were drinking to.'

Lambert eyed the filthy peasants again; covered in dirt, grave dirt. So that would explain the stench. He looked back at Rika, his expression serious.

'So, the other monster, you think it's working with the witch?'

'Aye, sure seemed to rush to her rescue when we were going to stick her again.'

Lambert scratched at his beard in thought. 'And when the other monster, wha'dya call it? A woodland spirit? When it attacked, did you get a better look at it?' Normally he had no time for the detective work that came with witchering. Find out where it was hiding, bomb the shit out of it, that was his go to strategy. But this job sounded kind of…interesting. Not his bog standard drowner and nekker culling at any rate.

Rika shook his head, 'Nah, I was too distracted by my friends getting sliced up. Didn't stop to do a sketch of the fucker.'

Lambert's irritation rose. No respect these peasants. He was about to move on to the location of this ambush when another man stood up, his gaunt face waxy with fear. 'M-master witcher, sir?' He stammered. Lambert acknowledged him with a tilt of his head. 'I saw the beast Rika's talking about.'

'Go on then.' He said tersely. This man looked like he was about to turn to swamp sludge he was so scared.

'It was tall, and thin. Thin as a rake. Looked like it had been made from the trees themselves.' Very poetic, Lambert thought, not massively helpful though.

'Tall and thin, like a tree. Got it, anything else?'

'A-aye, it was surrounded by this kind of smoke. Black it was, as pitch. Made it 'ard to see it clearly, but its eyes. I saw them. They were black two, empty holes, like I were looking at a skull.'

Lambert straightened, his attention fully grabbed. Unless he was really rusty on his bestiary, that sounded awfully like a leshen. Not taken down one of those in a while. Might be a big reward for a nasty relict like that.

'Thank you. That was most helpful.' He said in the closest approximation of a friendly voice he could manage. The nervous wreck gave him an awkward smile, more like a grimace and sat down again. Turning his attention back to the old man he gave him a smug grin.

'Think I know what your problem is.' The leader gave him a questioning look and he could feel all eyes now back on him. 'The big fella, that's a leshen. Nasty piece of work. That alone is going to be a dangerous job for me, but with this witch you've mentioned.' He sucked in between his teeth. 'Well, that's an unknown to me. Not heard of leshens helping others, usually it gets them to do its bidding.'

'What are you saying Master witcher?' The leader gave him a distrustful stare.

Lambert took a few steps towards him, the people nearest him drew back in fear as he approached them. Good, fear led to better pay.

'What I'm saying, is that you'd better have a decent reward for this contract. A leshen is one thing, but a leshen and a witch. Well, this will be a challenge.' He flashed them a nasty grin. His amber eyes glinting in the torch light. He was making out like this was a chore, but deep-down Lambert was actually a little excited by all this.

The village leader gave him one last disdainful look before nodding. 'Fine. We will make a collection. However…' He held up one finger, his tone hard as iron. 'We want both monster's heads. If you don't deliver on that you shan't get a coin.'

Lambert cocked his head to one side, sizing up the leader. The leshen was doable of course, but this witch. What had they said? She had risen from the dead. Well, he was low on coin and had wanted to earn some while here. This contract had practically fallen into his lap, he wasn't about to turn it down. 'Fine. You've got a deal old man.'

The leader smiled. A rueful smile that didn't reach his eyes. 'You have our thanks witcher. Good luck in your hunt.'

With that the old man sat back down and resumed his drinking. One by one, the other peasants did the same until the tavern had returned to normal. Lambert scratched his beard thoughtfully again. He would need to prepare some dimeritium bombs and relict oil for the leshen, and as for the witch. Well, he wasn't entirely sure he knew how to handle her, but he'd wing it. He had dealt with his fair share of sorceresses after all. He turned back to face the crone of a bartender. She jumped a little as he fixed his cat like eyes on her.

'Another ale then darling, and a room if you have one. Need my beauty sleep if I'm going to be killing monsters tomorrow.'


A/N: Hello there, this is my first witcher fanfic so as much as I am doing research to make sure I get things right, please let me know if there are any discrepancies. If you're following my other fanfic, Inherited Business, at the moment have no fear I still intend to keep writing it, but the fickle muses of my brain have flown temporarily to this fandom so please bare with me.

I do hope you all enjoy this story, there really isn't enough Lambert love out there and I felt like doing my part. I am also going to cross publish this on AO3 just for reference sake. Thanks so much for reading and please leave a review if you enjoyed. :)