“Do you want to tell me what really happened?”
“I don’t suppose ‘no’ is the answer you’re looking for?” she questioned lightly, the cringe that followed audible in her voice. The answer to her question, of course, was no, and she knew it before even asking. With a sigh, the Witcheress flopped back onto the bed, stifling the cry of pain that the motion caused. She’d momentarily forgotten about her broken ribs.It took several moments for her to steady her breathing and clear her mind, but once she had… she exhaled a groan before speaking. “The contract, as it turned out, was a trap. Radovid’s Witch Hunters,” she paused, inhaling a breath against the pain of speaking. “They’ve started hunting Witchers. It seems they can collect a considerable bounty for each medallion they hand over…” In other words, for each Witcher they kill, as a Witcher would not part willingly with their medallion.
