Chapter 246: The Prisoner of the Roots

“Get out. Lapdogs, enemies of nature.” A furious roar boomed from the depths of the cave, the voice of an old woman magnified a hundredfold, shrill and crazed.

A violent gust surged out with the words, making the stalactites overhead sway wildly and sending rings skittering across the water below.

But none of it drove the Witchers back. They waded through the central watercourse and entered the deepest part of the cavern.

The light grew dimmer there, and in the faint gloom they saw an enormous bloated thing. It had forced itself out from the gray rock wall and the cave ceiling, and at first glance it looked like a mountain of flesh, all tumors and hanging growths, revolting to behold.

The most striking mass in that hill of flesh lay at the center, shaped like a heart, and it was still beating, thud, thud.

Its pulse seemed to carry some invisible magic with it. The entire cavern answered to it, pebbles and dust falling steadily from above.

At this moment, it was covered in a crust of rough, hard bark, and from the bark sprouted pale yellow wood fibers, as though it had clothed itself in a suit of thorny armor.

The medallions at the Witchers’ throats were vibrating violently. Magic was thick in the air. Perhaps this misshapen thing before them was itself a thing of magic.

“A tree tumor...” Letho said.

“A Heart of the Tree,” Roy corrected him. “And it’s connected directly to the roots of that giant banyan above the hill.” Thick roots also coiled around the Heart of the Tree, writhing slowly like living things.

“Get out.” The old woman’s voice rang again, echoing through the cave, and only then did the men realize that the thing speaking was the bark-covered heart before them. “Leave my domain at once, or I’ll make you beg for pain.” With that howl, the roots tore free of the rock wall and coiled into the air like pythons, their tips baring fangs at the Witchers.

“Lady Heart of the Tree ... you misunderstand something.” In Roy’s vision, under Scry, the Heart of the Tree was covered in a layer of pale green energy, a natural disguise. He could see only the same description as the wild old banyan aboveground, not the Heart of the Tree’s true identity. “We are Witchers, not anyone’s lapdogs.”

“Lies. Ever since you entered Ard Cerbin, I’ve smelled that stink on you, the same stink as those three hideous, wicked whores. Even if I turned to ash, I would never forget it. And you killed my guardian.” The Heart of the Tree screeched. “If you value your lives, get out of my cave while you still can.”