Extraction In The Witcher

"Map!" The leader of the dwarven convoy, Kilard, yelled at the top of his lungs. 

The convoy immediately halted. Kilard commanded immense respect within the convoy, no one would challenge his decision even if he told them to walk through fire and broken glass. The old dwarf stood at the front of the convoy, stroking his chin and looking at the forked road ahead with a solemn expression. In the past the convoy had always gone left, the path required them to traverse through several narrow valleys and cross a fast-moving river, but it was tried and tested. 

However, Kilard had heard rumors from passing merchants that a horrifying monster with 12 arms and 4 heads had taken residence in the narrow valleys. The monster preyed on anything that walked through the valleys, be it man or beast. Dwarves were most definitely included on the menu. 

A young dwarf hurried out from one of the caravans and presented a gilded scroll to Kilard. Kilard nodded in thanks and unfurled the scroll, his eyes scrutinizing the terrain shown on the dwarven map. He quickly located his position, next to an icon of a forked mountain road. The mountain road wound through the landscape, one path going left and the other going right.

The right path snaked messily through the mountains like tangled thread, it would force the convoy to follow the river downstream until they came to a suitably shallow crossing point and would add at least a week to the journey. Kilard looked from the long and twisted right path to the much shorter and straighter path on the left. His facial expression never fluctuated, but his eyes showed a conflicted struggle.

He stared at the blood-red claw mark above the right path. Nearly a decade ago a great battle had taken place along the right path. Dozens of men died without funeral rites. The decaying bodies should've gradually sunk into the earth and became nutrients. But instead the alluring scent of flesh attracted monsters. Ghouls. Foul creatures that ate only rotting flesh. Their claws dripped with virulent poison and their blood was like acid, scorching the ground where it spilled.

King Foltest was informed of the wicked creatures that had taken root in the land, but he had no interest in sending his soldiers to fight. There were no spoils to gain from a ghoul's corpse nor glory to be found in killing them. If it had been a dragon instead, Foltest himself might've raced over with his sword to slaughter it. Hiring a witcher was costly and since the left path was still useable, Foltest decreed that the right path was to be abandoned. 

On one side lurked an unknown and terrible monster and on the other a group of poisonous corpse-eaters. Not to mention that no one had travelled on the right path for years. By now nature had likely reclaimed the path and barricaded it with thorns. 

Kilard made up his mind. The risks of the right path were known. Protective measures could be taken, additional layers of armor could be distributed to the convoy and antidotes could be taken in advance. It was better to face a known threat then venture blindly into the unknown. He would endure the criticisms from the human merchants for his late arrival and claim full responsibility for the decision if the elders summoned him to council. 

Kilard closed the map. He turned round to face the convoy and raised his fist. Lives might be lost because of his decision, but as long as he could ensure the fewest casualties possible, he would still have the courage to tell the families who had lost husband and fathers. 

Kilard opened his lips, his chest swelled and his beard was tilted skywards, displaying it in all its glory. Then-

"Excuse me." 

Kilard's voice stopped abruptly, becoming a sharp exhale that rustled the leaves on the ground. Then in an instant silver flashed and his sword was unsheathed. Kilard's hands gripped his blade tightly and a willingness to die alongside the enemy shone fearlessly in his eyes. 

Without thinking the convoy of dwarves drew their weapons also, readying themselves for combat and turning to face the enemy behind them.

"I mean you no harm!" Abel said in a steady tone, raising his hands in a gesture of goodwill.

Although outwardly he appeared composed and confident, on the inside he was utterly horrified. More than a hundred weapons of all shapes and sizes were pointing in his direction, dwarven warriors with fierce expressions scowled at him as if he'd just punched their mother in the throat. 

'Not safe! Not safe at all!' 

"Speak stranger! Why do you approach the convoy of Kilard The Iron-Skulled, son of Idgard The Iron-Fisted?" Kilard said slowly. His free hand crept towards the green pendant nestled on his chest. 

Abel knew that the meeting was off to a rocky start, but he wasn't willing to give up so easily, "Kilard The Iron-skulled, I apologize for appearing before you so suddenly. I promise that I mean you no harm." 

The weapons of the dwarves remained raised, but Abel saw the ferocity in their eyes recede slightly. Kilard's expression also changed from icy animosity to a stern but curious look. 

Sensing an opportunity to repair the tense situation, Abel continued on, "These mountains are my home, I spotted your convoy journeying through the mountains some nights ago.

I was flying above and I saw your people come to a halt. I do not wish to see harm befall you respected son of Idgard, I urge you not to continue right." 

Kilard stared silently at the stranger. He was obviously male, with a thick and handsome beard that would've drawn the eye of a dwarven woman. He spoke eloquently and his tone was filled with respect. Kilard had lived for over a century, he knew sincerity and the stranger's did not seem fake. 

From Abel's words Kilard quickly gathered numerous pieces of information. Firstly, the stranger called the mountains home. Judging by his bronze complexion and fierce temperament his words seemed true. Since he was able to survive in the wild, the stranger obviously possessed the ability to hunt and protect himself. Secondly, the stranger had been aware of their presence for multiple days now. The paths ahead wound through mountains and valleys, leaving behind the open plains they had traversed up until this point, they were the perfect place to stage an ambush. The stranger had chosen to reveal himself before the convoy entered either of the paths, foregoing the best opportunity to strike. Thirdly and most importantly, the stranger held information about the dangers that lay ahead on the forked road. 

Kilard glanced at the stranger's huge white wings. They extended on either side of him for more than two meters. Not even mages could easily leave behind the constraints of the ground, their portals could carry them wherever they pleased, but sustained flight was utterly unheard of. Only flying monsters or the legendary wild hunt could soar through the skies as they pleased. 

Kilard did not think that the stranger's wings were just for show. A distance of roughly a hundred meters separated the stranger from the convoy. The stranger had clearly chosen to appear at a distance deliberately, allowing him to easily flee if the dwarves attempted to attack with bows or projectiles. 

"Forgive the blades of myself and my companions. We must protect ourselves so that we can return to our wives and kin. Kilard, son of Idgard, thanks you for your warning. Have you seen the monster that lurks on the left path?" Kilard said. His tone was friendly and his expression gradually returned to the amicable cheeriness typical of the dwarven people. 

The other dwarves swiftly picked up on their leader's change of tone. Their faces no longer looked like they were defending the honor of their wounded mother and they looked curiously at the lone stranger. Abel noticed several dwarves casting glances between one another with raised eyebrows. 

Encouraged by the developing signs of cooperation, Abel freely gave away the information he knew. Shaking his head he replied, "There is no monster." 

Kilard's brows furrowed. He thought for a moment and composed his words carefully, "A dwarf does not greet kindness with malice, but I have heard from many a man that a monster with twelve legs and 4 heads dwells in the valleys ahead. A merchant convoy has been reported missing, their disappearance cannot be faked. " 

Abel smiled knowingly, "A monster appears and a merchant convoy vanishes, but man is often far more cunning than any monster." 

The dwarves looked at each other with puzzled faces. Murmurs filled the air as they discussed the stranger's bizarre speech. Kilard repeated the stranger's words in his mind, thinking about what they could mean. His decades of experience soon deciphered the meaning hidden in the stranger's words. 

A vein in Kilard's temple pulsed fiercely and he spoke with gritted teeth, "The only monster ahead is one that counts coin and drinks ale." 

Abel nodded, confirming the dwarf's theory. 

Kilard's words alerted the other dwarves to the truth of the matter. Their expressions swiftly morphed into ones of outrage and disgust. Cursing fiercely they spat on the ground and rubbed it into the dirt with the heel of their boots. 

"If you take the path on the left you'll soon enter the narrow valleys. Then a monstrous roar will shake the earth and you'll flee as fast as you can. 

Since a monster truly dwells on the left you have no choice but to go right. You'll see that the brambles and thornbushes have been chopped down. Naturally you'll assume that others have passed safely through before you. 

Once you enter a narrow enough path, dozens of ghouls will claw their way out of the earth and charge towards you. You'll most likely fight them off, but the struggle will leave you exhausted. 

Then a group of men will arrive, their smiles cruel and their blades dipped with poison. There is one amongst them who holds a flaming torch and his clothes are muddy. Ghouls despise fire and during the day they nest underground, although they might be woken by your footsteps, they would wait until night to ambush you. 

Another man holds a strange twisted horn. His eyes are cunning and he laughs madly like a witch. He blows into it and a familiar monstrous roar thrums through the air."

Abel laid out the fate that could've befallen the dwarven convoy. He saw their red-cheeks turn ashen and their throats swallow as they imagined facing off against the murderous robbers having already spent their energy clashing with the furious ghouls. 

Kilard's chest rose and fell like dwarven bellows stoking a fire until it poured out from the edges of the furnace. His tone was white-hot with rage, "Thank you kind stranger. Kilard The Iron-Skulled, son of Idgard The Iron-Fisted, owes you a great debt."