Chapter Text
A slip in the mud is all it took to throw the scales out of Lambert's favor. The wyvern slammed into him twisting his knee. It throbbed painfully as he shifted his weight to take another swipe at the lunging creature. A miss. The sign for Quen was half formed before sharp teeth dug deep into his arm. The wyvern twisted its head and nearly pulled his arm out of socket. A few strong blows with the pommel of his sword on the wyvern’s snout set him free. He stumbled backwards quickly signing Aard. A blast of energy propelled the wyvern backward.
Lambert adjusted the grip on his sword and prepared for another assault. Knowing wyverns it would probably be a large gust from its powerful wings. But this cunning wyvern had other plans. It let out a deafening roar then spit deadly venom at him. Lambert covered his face in reflex. Then the beast slammed into him once more. Powerful muscle and scaly bone force him to the ground. The wyvern whirled on him - sharp teeth racing to find another target. But he squirmed out of its reach wincing as a sharp pain down his side alluding to a broken rib or two.
Then out of the corner of his eye something flashed. The tail. He cursed at his stupidity. Fallen for a common feint. He tried to roll away but too slowly. The stinger grazed his side just above the hip. The prickling pain of a fresh wound was quickly replaced by the raging fire of venom coursing through his veins. He cried out again, breath coming slowly as the pain encapsulated his chest like a vice.
The wyvern swung it’s head around for another bite. Lambert barely parried the blow with his sword. Then he kicked out at its underbelly as a last-ditch effort to throw it off. Remaining unfazed, it reared its head for another attack just as a sizable rock bounced of its bony temple. Turning to investigate, another rock struck it perfectly in the eye. With one eye closed, it roared in frustration then beat it's massive wings flying off toward the unseen assailant.
Lambert collapsed into the mud and took a moment to catch his breath. The continuing battle of wyvern and some other person could be heard off to his right. He rolled over just in time to see a tall lanky man drive a sword through the creature’s gullet. A short screech of pain and final thrash against the blade then the wyvern slumped falling to the ground. As the stranger pulled his sword free with his boot firmly on the wyvern’s head, Lambert noticed a second sword on the man’s back. Witcher.
He let out a growl of frustration. He would not have his quarry stolen. Jobs were sparse, and he had done the brunt of the work. Tracking the beast down. Trapping it. Although the trap had failed. He had some choice words saved for the merchant that sold him those ropes. Still he had worn the beast down before this interloper showed up.
Lambert tried to push himself upright, but the force was the last bit of strain his arm needed to fully dislocate. He groaned biting back the pain to keep from crying out. He crumpled into the ground as white-hot pain blurred his vision. “Son of a bitch.” Rolling back onto his back, he considered how best to next attempt to stand.
He could hear footsteps approach on the wet grass. Come to gloat no doubt. Lambert would have none of it. He tried once more to push himself up with his good arm but that had been the side where the stringer had struck and as he strained he felt the poison burn through his veins. He fell back to the ground just as a long square-jawed face and sympathetic yellow cat-like eyes entered his vision. Definitely a witcher.
“You alright?” the witcher asked. His voice was unnervingly chipper.
Lambert scowled up at him, “I had him.”
“Not from there.” He extended a hand out toward Lambert. “Need a hand?”
He swatted it away as he rolled over. “Not from you.” And through pure spite push up through the pain of his dislocated limb, the venom coursing through him, the deep gash on his side, even his twisted knee. He stood unsteadily as the blood rushed out of his head. He swayed then stumbled his bad knee catching his full weight bone grinding on bone.
Before he could fall back to the ground a pair of arms steadied him. “Watch your step.”
Lambert pushed off of him briskly and hobbled onto his good leg. “Don’t-” he caught himself. He didn’t need to start a fight with this man. Just get far away from him. With his wyvern head. “-touch me,” he continued in a low growl as he painstakingly bent and grabbed up his sword. “No matter how nice you are, I’m not telling you who gave me the contract and we’re not splitting the payment.” Then he started off toward the wyvern corpse at a slow limping pace. “Just because you showed up and stuck your nose where it don’t belong doesn’t mean you get any claim to my coin. I won’t-”
“Save your breath!" The stranger let out an exasperated sigh. "I didn’t do it for your coin! You’d be dead if I hadn’t distracted it.”
Lambert scoffed as he lent down to cut at the wyvern’s neck. But even just trying to lift the head with his dislocated arm sent radiating pain through his body. He straightened up and with a firm grip around his elbow and a swift tug he pulled the bone back in the socket grunting as the pain eased across his shoulder.
“I don’t need your thanks either.”
“Then why are you hanging around!” Lambert shouted back at him.
Lambert tried once more to claim his prize. The bite on his arm must have been deeper than he thought since he couldn’t hold his grip tight. It was made more difficult still with blood trickling down his hand. But he made quick work of it anyway slicing deep into the wyvern’s neck.
“You’re in a bad way, and we’re two day’s ride from any village.” This stranger was persistent and annoying.“Think of me as your guardian angel. I’m here to make sure you get back to civilization in one piece.”
“I’m fine,” he grunted as he cut through the cartilage and tore the wyvern head free. He winced as he lifted it, the weight straining against his bruised and torn ligaments.“Don’t need your help,” Lambert grumbled. Then he gasped unable to keep his hold as his back spasmed around his cracked ribs. The severed head dropped from his grasp into the mud.
“You won’t be riding anywhere with those broken ribs,” the stranger pointed out with an irritatingly soft demeanor.
Lambert spun on him - or at least turned as fast as one could in his state. “Would you just scram!” Lambert roared undermined by a crack in his voice as his ribs protested.
“There are enough dead witchers,” he sighed. “You don’t need to be the next one. I won’t allow it on my watch.”
“You won’t allow it?" A blood vessel throbbed in his neck, or maybe it was just the venom finally reaching his heart. "Who elected you the savior of witchers, huh?”
“Me.” Another shrug.
“Well you saved me, alright. Thanks. You’ve done your deed. I can make it back on my own. This witcher is not planning on getting dead any time soon. So you can go.” Lambert could feel the irritation prickling along his spine. He wanted to be done with this saint who was wholly unlike any witcher he had ever met
“Fine.” The stranger turned and walked off.
Finally. Lambert took a moment to catch his breath then tried to lift the wyvern head again. A cry in pain and the head dropped back in the mud. As he stood caked in blood and mud and wyvern spit he had an idea. He let out a quick five note whistle similar to a golden oriole, a bird by the same name as a potion he should have crafted before taking on the venomous beast. He'd be kicking himself for that for a few weeks at least.
A few moments later and his dependable steed, Ricochet, came cantering out of the wood. First, he shot back a vial of Swallow immediately feeling the healing powers ease his wounds. Then he took some rope, tied up the wyvern head tightly in a sack, and used Ricochet’s saddle as a pulley. It was hell pulling then tying it up. But worse yet was attempting to pull himself up into the saddle. After a few agonizing attempts, he took the reins in hand and headed south limping on foot while leading Ricochet behind him.