Chapter Two
"What do you think, Geralt?" Zoltan whispered. "She has to be in there somewhere."
"Yeah, but there are too many tents to check one by one. We wouldn't get a fraction of the way through them before we were discovered."
The fact that they had come so far only to find themselves no closer to saving Ciri really grated on Geralt. And it made him wish he had listened to his friends. Still, there was nothing else they could have done. They would have needed half the Guard to defeat this many men and Ciri didn't have that kind of time. Geralt's mind came up empty as he searched for a solution.
Next to him, Zoltan seemed to spot something to their left and pointed. "There!" he remarked in a hushed tone.
Geralt followed his gaze and saw a lone sentry on the northwestern edge of the camp, his back turned to Geralt and Zoltan.
Zoltan slung his axe from his back. "How about we go say hello?"
They did a quick check of their surroundings to make sure no other sentries were nearby and found none, so they wended their way over to the solitary man. There was really no way to make a silent approach over snow and even with the low murmuring of the camp behind them, their footsteps were clearly audible. Therefore, Geralt decided to opt for speed over stealth and nimbly snuck up behind the man. Just as the man realized there was someone there and turned, Geralt wrapped his arm around the man's mouth and twisted one of his arms behind his back to immobilize him. Then Zoltan came around front and jabbed him hard in the stomach with the top of his axe, doubling him over. Now that the man was unable to call out, Geralt let go of his mouth and cast Axii on him. A glassy-eyed trance came over the man, who immediately stopped struggling, though he was still bent over trying to catch his breath.
Geralt straightened him back up and calmly spoke into his ear from behind him. "Tell us where the girl is. The one who followed you into the forest."
The man answered in a monotone voice, eyes staring at nothing. "She's in the camp. In one of the tents."
"Which one? Show me." Still keeping a hold on the man in case he somehow broke free of the spell, Geralt steered him closer to the edge of the camp, but kept as far into the shadows as possible while still being able to see everything.
"There." The man languidly lifted a finger to indicate a tent directly in the middle of the camp.
Having received the information they needed, they knocked the man out and leaned him up against a tree to make it look like he had fallen asleep on the job.
They regrouped on the crest of the rise. Zoltan looked ready for a fight. "What's the plan?"
Studying the layout of the camp for a moment, Geralt didn't reply right away. "I'm going in alone."
"What?! No, I can't let you do that. It's suicide, Geralt."
"Look, no offense, Zoltan, but you'd be a little conspicuous down there. Our best bet is for me to go in there and walk straight to the tent without trying to hide. If I put my hood up, I'd be just another man bundled against the cold. But they would spot you immediately."
It wasn't ideal, but it was truly their best option. With that many men and the creaking snow betraying his location, Geralt would stand no chance at sneaking in there unnoticed. Not to the middle of the camp anyway. But with such a large force, it was unlikely that they would know all of the men by sight and their exact movements within the camp. He would pass a cursory glance. Especially when none of them were expecting anyone to find them here in the forest. They would see what they expected to see—just another man going out to take a piss or grab a drink. The way out would be slightly more problematic, but he was hoping the same principle would apply. If Ciri put her hood up, she might just pass for a smaller man.
Zoltan growled, clearly unhappy with the plan, but realizing that Geralt was right. "Fine. But if anything happens, I'm going in there to get you two out."
Geralt simply nodded. "Stay here and keep an eye on him," Geralt instructed, hooking a thumb toward the sentry. "If he wakes up, we can't have him raising the alarm."
Zoltan gave Geralt an encouraging clasp on the shoulder. "Don't worry about me. You just get yourself in and out of there safely. I can handle things up here."
With one last survey of the camp, Geralt shrugged the fur-lined hood of his cloak over his head and headed down the hill. He reached the edge of the camp without incident and continued forward toward the very heart of it at an ambling walk even though every muscle and instinct was screaming at him to make a run for it, to hide. Luckily, his path didn't take him directly by any campfires, where there were still huddled several men, most of which were silently staring into the flames. Step by agonizingly slow step, Geralt wound his way through the maze of tents toward Ciri's until he was at its entrance. Miraculously, no one had paid much attention to his passage. Only a few had even lifted their heads as he passed and those quickly dismissed him and went back to whatever they were doing.
Sighing in relief, Geralt cautiously ducked underneath the entrance flap. A muffled cry greeted him as he finally set eyes on Ciri. She was in a bad way. Angry bruises crawled up her neck and over her face with many deep slashes to match. Her hands and feet were tightly bound and she was tethered to the central pole, a thick gag between her teeth. Despite Ciri's condition, Geralt felt a surge of relief that he had found her alive. But he also knew they had a long way to go before they were free.
He padded over to her and untied the gag first, then set to cutting the ropes around her wrists and ankles free with his knife.
"Geralt! How are you here? How did you find me?" Ciri asked in barely more than a whisper.
"I'll tell you when we get out of here," Geralt said without looking up from his task.
Ciri opened her mouth like she wanted to voice a million more questions, but Geralt leveled a pointed look at her that suppressed any further inquiry.
Ciri's bindings dropped to the ground and she rubbed life back into her wrists. Geralt stood and proffered a hand to Ciri to help her up, but she just held up her hands to forestall him.
"No, wait! The guard's going to be back any minute now. He went to relieve himself, I think. We need to make sure he doesn't come back to find me missing."
Sure enough, just as Ciri finished talking, the sound of boots crunching over snow came from around the side of the tent, a low voice muttering to himself about having to be on "babysitting duty."
Motioning for Ciri to act as though she were still tied up, Geralt backed to stand just inside the entrance, his knife still clutched in his hand. The guard's arm pushed back the flap and he stepped inside, pausing a moment as he took in Ciri.
A moment was all Geralt needed.
He threw his left arm around the man's mouth from behind and with his right, plunged the knife straight into the man's heart, killing him instantly. Geralt gingerly lowered the body to the ground and beckoned silently to Ciri, sticking his head slightly out of the tent to check that the coast was clear. Content for the moment that it was, Geralt pulled back inside.
He looked to Ciri. "We need to go, now." He opened the flap to the tent and motioned for Ciri to pass.
She stepped up to the opening, but halted at the threshold, turning back to Geralt. "I can't leave yet. They've taken other prisoners. At least two that I know of. I can't leave them behind."
Geralt dropped the entrance flap. Ciri's desire to rescue the other prisoners caught him off guard and he was a bit taken aback at the determination in her voice. Granted, he already knew there were likely other prisoners in the camp, but he also knew there was no way they were going to be able to get them all out of there. He had come for Ciri and Ciri alone.
He shook his head. "Ciri, we don't have time." He tried to will Ciri to understand just how much danger they were in, but she seemed to take no notice. He held back the canvas opening once more and surreptitiously checked outside. "We have to—wait!"
Ciri darted past him and took off without looking back, heading further into the camp.
"Ciri!" Geralt hissed after her. She edged along the next row of tents, ignoring his remonstrations. She always had been stubborn. "Shit," he grumbled to himself and took off after her.
The only good thing about the situation was that the other prisoners were only a few rows over. He supposed Ciri had marked their position within the camp in relation to hers when they had been imprisoned because she took them directly to their tent. Geralt had followed Ciri there, but he motioned her aside once they had reached it. He would go in first in case there was another guard in there. It turned out he had made the right call because there was a guard inside, numbly attending to his detail. Geralt took care of him as he had the other one, though this man had managed a strangled cry before Geralt silenced him.
Then dread prickled up Geralt's spine when he heard a faint voice outside the tent.
"Did you hear that?"
"No, what?" a second voice replied vapidly.
Ciri had joined Geralt in the tent and he gave her the knife to start cutting the two prisoners free.
"I heard something over there. I'm going to check it out."
"Whatever. It's probably just Rusty snoring again."
Halting footsteps approached from the back of the tent, stopping every now and then. As silently as he could, Geralt moved back over to the entrance, sliding his sword from its sheath. As big as the tent was, it was still small enough to hinder Geralt's ability to wield his sword fully. He would only be able to manage short swings or thrusts in the confined space, but it would do. The steps pulled up alongside the tent and stopped again. Belatedly, Geralt realized Ciri was still cutting the rope bindings and he turned to bid her to stop, but it was too late. The man outside must have heard the rhythmic sawing because he called out, much louder this time.
"I think it's coming from in here!"
The man charged around the corner and as soon as he appeared through the entrance flap, Geralt struck out and ran him through. The man choked on the blood bubbling from his mouth, thankfully unable to yell to his friend. He gave a pitiful cough and slid lifeless from the end of Geralt's sword.
By this point, Ciri had freed the two prisoners and was helping them to their feet.
"Holt!"
All four compatriots jerked their heads around to the voice calling out.
"Holt, you there?"
The camp was beginning to stir around them at all the shouting. Geralt could hear men rousing from their sleep, angrily wondering what all the ruckus was about.
Turning to the others, Geralt spoke quickly and concisely. "Go. Don't run, but don't dawdle. And hoods up. They don't know what's happening yet. Act like you're meant to be here." They made their way to the opening, all throwing their hoods over their heads as they did so. Ciri made to return Geralt's knife, but he pushed it back in her hand. "Keep it. You lead the way. Head west, Zoltan is waiting just over the ridge." Ciri nodded and reversed her grip on the knife, stowing it within her sleeve. "Now, hurry."
Geralt sent them all out of the tent before him, staggering their departures so they weren't all grouped together, sheathing his blade before he followed at the end. As much as he wanted to keep it in his hand, it would be too conspicuous. In any case, he could certainly draw it fast enough if they ran into trouble. Geralt left the tent a good twenty paces behind the second prisoner, and ducked past the alley just as Holt's friend poked around the corner. It wouldn't be long now until the bodies were found. Even then, if the two prisoners could hold their nerve, they might just make it. The bandits still wouldn't know who they were looking for and they wouldn't be looking for people casually strolling along.
Eyes scanning every tent from beneath the hood, ears straining for any sign of trouble, Geralt kept up a brisk pace, heart pounding in his ears. He hadn't gone far when the first cry of alarm rang out.
"The prisoners are gone! The prisoners have escaped!"
It was as if someone had kicked a beehive, the camp now buzzing with anxious energy. The bandits who had been awake jumped up, some of them drawing swords and running toward the source of the alarm, others hunting for the escapees.
It took every ounce of willpower he had, but Geralt didn't run and, he was pleased to see, neither did any of the others. The four, led by Ciri, all held to their jagged line. Geralt could just make out the tops of their heads over the smaller tents that made up the majority of the camp.
Being the farthest back, Geralt was much closer to the bustling activity as it spread out from its epicenter. More and more bandits passed by in the aisles to either side of him. Disaster struck as a tent flap fluttered out right in front of him. His quick reflexes had him swiveling on the spot, heading back the way he had come. He even jogged a few steps to sell his guise as he heard several men emerge from the tent behind him. They pushed past him, thinking him one of them, just slower to react to the alarm. Once they had passed, Geralt turned back around and drove onward, wondering how he was ever going to make it.
Unfortunately, it seemed one of the prisoners they set free had the same concern. The one closest to Ciri broke into a run, arms churning as he dashed for freedom. Geralt watched on in horror as more and more bandits singled him out, pointing and shouting to their associates. He watched Ciri turn at the commotion. One of the bandits caught up with the prisoner and swung a sword at him, slashing him across the back. The prisoner stumbled forward and Geralt lost sight of him, though he saw the bandit close in and raise his sword, then drive it hard toward the ground. A pained shriek echoed through the clearing. Then Ciri charged in from the left, her hood flying back from her face as she did so. She ducked a blow from the bandit and buried her knife into his chest. She bent down for a moment, but neither bandit nor prisoner rose with her.
Geralt was running by now. The time for caution was over, the camp was pandemonium and the bandits knew their location. A few of them had even spotted Geralt and were giving chase. They were only a few yards behind him when he caught up to the prisoner that was closer to him. A brave soul if he ever saw one, the man was still holding to Geralt's command, still walking. But Geralt shoved him forward.
"Go! Run!"
Immediately, the man obeyed, sprinting for his life. The time it took to get the man going was enough pause for the bandits to catch up to Geralt. It was too late to outpace them. He would have to fight his way out now.
Geralt threw his hood back and drew his sword, swinging it backhanded as he turned to strike down one of his pursuers. The remaining two attacked simultaneously, one with a short sword, the other with an axe. A last second shield of Quen blocked both of their blows, but sent them all staggering backward as the energy dispersed. In the momentary lull, Geralt moved into a narrow alley between two tents next to him. That way, only one of them could attack at a time. The man with the axe advanced and slung a powerful overhead blow toward Geralt. Geralt hopped back to avoid it and used the longer reach of his two-handed sword to stab the man in the shoulder. The man recoiled and dropped his weapon, and Geralt finished him off. The second man was more cautious in his approach, but he had neither the strength nor the ability of the first man and he was easily defeated.
Once he stepped back out into the larger thoroughfare, Geralt could see that Ciri and the last prisoner were nearly to the edge of the camp. Past them was Zoltan, who had made his way down the hill and was clearing a path toward them. But there were still so many bandits heading their way.
After the first prisoner had broken formation and run, Ciri and, by extension, the remaining prisoner, had become their main focus. It made sense that they were more focused on Ciri. They must have simply thought that she had escaped and freed the others. They couldn't have realized that Geralt had set them free. Only a few bandits had seen him, and most of those Geralt had already dispatched.
Currently, he was alone and anonymous, watching the scene progress. Over the tops of the tents, Geralt could see the bandits flooding toward Ciri and the others. They would soon be overwhelmed.
He had to buy them more time.
If Geralt could draw the bandits' attention somehow, draw off some of their forces, then Ciri and the others might stand a chance. To that end, Geralt set the tents around him ablaze with a spark of Igni. He kept up the stream of fire as he sidled forward until a proper inferno was running rampant, leaping from tent to tent.
Geralt had accomplished his goal and, as he emerged from the fire and smoke, he saw a horde of men returning from the fringes of the camp. He contemplated briefly trying to skirt them and make his way out of the camp unnoticed while they dealt with the fire, but it was too late for that. He was clearly visible, silhouetted as he was against the backdrop of the flames. They knew he was there now, and they swarmed him within a minute.
Dozens of men enclosed Geralt within their ranks, swords and maces and fists bared. He was vastly outnumbered, but he wasn't yet ready to give up. If he could just break through them, then he might be able to make a run for it. Not waiting for them to close formation, Geralt sent out a wave of Aard. Eight men were knocked to the ground by its potent blast, clearing a path forward. Geralt picked his way through the heap of writhing men before those around them could fill in the gap, and cut through two men that had kept their feet, merely having been shoved back by Geralt's magic. The wriggling mass of bodies would slow down any pursuers.
It was a good sprint before he met a straggler that was just now returning to combat the fire, presumably having given up on recapturing Ciri and the others, or discerning that there was a larger threat at hand. The man ran straight up to Geralt, blocking his way, pressing Geralt to defend himself. Their blades met between them with a spark and Geralt swung his in a circle to the side to dislodge it. He didn't even care about killing this man, he just wanted to get by him and break free. But the man recovered and sidestepped to keep himself in Geralt's path, sweeping his sword at Geralt's feet to force him to retreat. It was just Geralt's luck that the only man with any skill at swordplay was now the last thing between him and freedom.
Geralt drove forward to attack the man, the throng, having finally disentangled themselves, swiftly approaching him from behind. The man held Geralt off, stalling until reinforcements could arrive. Geralt was engaged in battle with the swordsman when he heard men nearing. He compelled the swordsman back with a quick slash, then turned to convey another shot of Aard toward the charging men behind him.
That bought him a few seconds.
He barely returned in time to block a blow from the swordsman, made to catch it full on rather than parrying or deflecting it. Geralt was bent backward with the force of it. Exercising his considerable might, Geralt pitched himself forward and shoved the man back. The encroaching reinforcements, who had only been yards away when Geralt had hit them with Aard, were now right behind Geralt. He dodged a swing from the swordsman and initiated contact with the leading row of men behind him, deflecting one's sword into parrying another, then stabbing a third in the confusion. The dying man fell, clutching at his chest, and Geralt seized the sword from his hand. Geralt flung the short sword into another two men who were threading single-file through an alley around a tent, trying to flank Geralt. The sword speared through the man in front and, when the first's momentum halted abruptly, the second man ran himself onto the point of the blade. Tied together by the bloodied steel, they crumpled in between the tents, obstructing that avenue of approach.
Geralt had just enough time to cast Yrden on the men stepping over their disarmed fallen comrade behind him, slowing them to give himself more time, when the swordsman was back, swinging at Geralt, much more intent on defeating Geralt now that Geralt was actively thwarting his plan.
The swordsman's swollen intensity was evident to Geralt, who was finally seeing the man's full potential. He was good with a blade. Maybe not as good as Geralt, but Geralt was having to steer clear of the stabbing blades behind him. And more and more were coming in from other alleyways as well. Amidst the duel he was having with the swordsman, Geralt was glancing all around him, watching as the mob closed in. Nonetheless, Geralt managed to fend off the swordsman and kill two more of the men mired by the glowing trap.
It was a small victory. Geralt was barely managing, the numbers around him swiftly becoming overwhelming. Stalled as they were, the men stuck in Geralt's trap were inching ever closer, their outstretching arms and blades just shy of Geralt's back.
Then his spell of Yrden broke and all hell was unleashed.
Geralt couldn't turn to defend himself, so thoroughly was he engaged with the swordsman. A kick to the back of his knee sent Geralt collapsing to the ground. He attempted to rise, but the masses swarmed over him. A few of them stomped onto his calves, keeping him down, while at least five seized his arms. He wrestled with them, heaving himself from side to side with a feral snarl, desperately trying to dislodge them. But they were too much for him and he was forced to concede, lungs burning from the effort. A moment later, his sword was wrenched from his hand and someone behind him ripped his head back by his hair.
His eyes met with the swordsman's and for the first time, Geralt noticed the mangled ears flanking the sides of the man's face. Geralt was expecting to find anger in the man's eyes, but he seemed rather to be intrigued, calculating. Then, out of his peripheral vision, Geralt could just see three figures at the top of the ridge behind the swordsman and he willed them to stay away, to leave and save themselves. They would only get themselves captured or killed if they tried to come back for him.
Then the swordsman finished his appraisal of Geralt. The mob waited impatiently for him to speak, looking as though they desired nothing more than to tear Geralt to shreds. In return, Geralt was gauging just how many he figured he could take with him when they did.
But the swordsman allayed Geralt's fears, speaking in a tone that brooked no argument. "Bring him. I want him intact when we get there. Salvage what you can. We leave at dawn." The man met the eyes of those around him before striding past Geralt and cutting through the crowd.
The hand holding Geralt by the hair released and Geralt threw himself against his captors once more. But his struggles came to naught when something hard clubbed his head from behind, flinging him into the snow, those holding him letting go as his momentum dragged him from their grip. He tried to gather himself, but his body failed him and everything faded to blackness.
Ciri had walked through that camp, holding her breath half of the time as she had tried to steady her nerves. She had been halfway out when the alarm had been raised, when chaos had broken loose. One of the villagers had panicked, had run nearly past her when he was caught and killed. Ciri had tried to save him, but wasn't able to reach him in time. Then the other villager had caught up with Ciri and she had fought to get them both out. Zoltan had, by that time, come stampeding down the hill and was ploughing through the bandits toward them.
She had been so absorbed in simply staying alive that she hadn't ever looked back, hadn't thought she needed to. By the time they were up the hill, on their way toward freedom, Ciri realized Geralt wasn't right behind them as she had thought. And when she finally looked back, it was too late.
Geralt was completely besieged, a haze of heat distorting his image down below. Ciri had to go back. She didn't know where he had come from, but Geralt was only there because of her and she couldn't let him take her place. She stabbed one of the few bandits left chasing them through the neck and kicked his dying body back down the hill, ready to follow it. It was Zoltan who stopped her, seizing her by the arm and holding onto her in spite of her struggles.
"Ciri, no!"
"I can't leave him! He needs our help!"
"There's nothing we can do for him now. We go down there and we will all be taken. Or worse."
The surviving villager stood by nervously, clearly wanting to leave, but also afraid to leave his saviors' sides.
Several more bandits started clambering up the hill and more were turning from the host amassed around Geralt.
"Ciri, we have to leave. Now!"
Ciri knew deep down that Zoltan was right, that there was nothing they could do. And she owed it to the villager to give him a fighting chance as well. And so, hating herself for every step she took, silently promising that she would come back and free Geralt, Ciri turned and fled into the night.
