Khemmerstock, a sizeable township located at the confluence of the Gwenllech and Coina rivers where they became the Buine, was merry with preparations for its harvest festival. Maids danced through the streets with acorns and golden leaves in their hair and swains chased them about, hoping for kisses and tumbles in the haystacks.
Bellview March glared out the window of the ealderman's manse. That good man was a staunch member of the Church of the Eternal Fire and had willingly given up his family's abode to the Witch Hunters when they rode in through the gates. March was not pleased, however. It was already the eighth of September and his personal schedule was lagging behind. He wanted to advance on Kaer Morhen in strength, with a company of at least a hundred, overpower his foe and set their heads on pikes before October first. Thirty-five seasoned Witch Hunters stood in the yard below him drilling another forty new recruits in swordsmanship and hand to hand fighting. Most of the new ones were painfully young. What they lacked in age and experience, they made up for with youthful zeal and exuberance. Still, he wanted another thirty or so experienced fighters to round out his force.
The Witch Hunter turned and ordered three runners be sent to him immediately as he bent to the desk and wrote out missives. One was to go to Aedd Gynvael, one to Ard Carraigh and the last Ghelibol. The contingents of Witch Hunters in those cities were to send their best and leave skeleton crews in their respective demesnes. Once Kaer Morhen had been satisfactorily dealt with, the troops could be released back to their customary precincts and duties. They were to make all haste to Khemmerstock and arrive within a week. The commandant of the Witch Hunters sanded the missives and rolled them, inserting them into watertight tubes.
When the runners had been sent on their way, March returned to the window. Now, all that remained to set his plans into full motion was the return of the scouts that now explored the upper reaches of the Gwenllech to find the best path to the Witcher's keep.
They all gathered around the funerary slab at sunset. Vesemir had insisted on being present, though Micah had objected heartily, worried about his wounds. Geralt and Eskel carried him down from the infirmary in a chair much to the chagrin of the old man, but his complaints fell on deaf ears and he was transported to the mountain ledge where witchers had been cremated for centuries.
Hjalmar and Folan brought Vigi's body out and laid him at state, dressed in his helm and armor with his great sword laid atop his body. Micah laid Betty next to him, the witchers having agreed she deserved the rite as much as any of them would have. Ermion officiated, intoning the powers of earth, sea, sky and land to accept the bodies and spirits of the slain.
Before the pyre was lit, Ciri and Geralt went forward, both laying a hand on the dead chimp. Neither had been able to shake the dreaded thought that it might have been Vesemir lying there instead of her. Vesemir cut a look at Micah, then stood up. She was just about to admonish him when Arek laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, indicating she should allow the old man his will this time.
"I owe my life to both of these brave souls." said the eldest Wolf. "Vigi fought bravely by our side, though the fight wasn't his, and Betty was a simple creature who couldn't have understood what was happening. As long as witchers remain in Kaer Morhen, their memories will be kept alive. As long as there are witchers on the continent, their stories will be retold." He nodded once, then lit the pyre with Igni, returning with dignity to his seat.
Geralt spoke with everyone present as they clustered in little groups about the blaze. He wasn't surprised to see Vernon Roche with his arm about Ves's shoulder, thinking they made a logical pair. He was, however, amazed that Lambert seemed intimate with Keira Metz. He knew the younger man's general opinion of sorceresses.
Geralt definitely didn't expect a silent Jad Karadin to attend tonight with his children, standing off from the group. When had they got here and why? The last thing he knew about them, they were in Novigrad, living the lives of wealthy merchants. He slid a look to Lambert. The man had a justifiable vendetta against the Cat school witcher but he seemed to accept Karadin's presence.
Arek and Micah were, of course, together. The White Wolf was still uncertain concerning the geneticist and didn't trust what she said about the trials, but he couldn't fault her for saving Vesemir's life. All the Wolves owed her for that. He looked at the gathering and tallied in his head how many of his cast were present. Eight witchers, and there weren't likely more than eight more in the entire world. How many of them would still be alive by this time next year? How long would it be before there were no witchers left at all?
Humanity seemed to need them less and less lately, but what if another conjunction happened and they were needed again? His order had been created to protect people from an overwhelming incursion of powerful and deadly creatures that had outnumbered them greatly. Perhaps he would speak with Micah tomorrow in her lab, get more information before he came to a final judgement. If she could do it without the murderous cost of the original Trials, it might be worth considering.
Back inside the hall, soup and fresh bread were passed to everyone. The night was cold, dipping down into freezing temperatures, and the hot food was welcomed. They had watched the pyre till the flames had mellowed from their initial roar, then retreated into the great room to talk quietly and make plans. Micah passed out more Swallow to all the witchers, letting Ciri coax Vesemir into drinking his "foul brew" and tempt him with a little mulled wine afterward.
"Soon as the flames die and all is ash on the slab oot there, we'll be takin' wha's left o' Vigi hoom with us." Declared Hjalmar. "Ermion'll see us to Ard Skellig in a portal. Been a reet pleasure to fight alongside ye, but it's time we were off." Folan nodded his still bandaged head and Ermion agreed.
"Geralt, let me know if you need any further help once you and Ciri are back in the Isles. You are always welcome in the Druid's grove." Added the old druid.
"Ves and I must be off, as well. There's still much to be done if we wish for a free North." Roche gave Geralt a speaking look as he raised his tankard, to which the White Wolf raised his own in salute.
Avallac'h spoke quietly to Ciri, whose face wore a mutinous expression.
"We will start with control drills in the morning, Zirael. You should get your rest tonight."
"I'll decide when I need to rest. I've really only just gotten here and want to catch up. I have hardly seen Geralt and Yennefer since Thanned Isle." Her chin was thrust out and her eyes sparkled.
Avallac'h was accustomed to her moods by now, knew when to push. It was still early in the evening yet and he didn't doubt he could coax her to her own bed once Vesemir was helped to his. He surveyed the company, deciding who to trust, how much information to dispense. But that would be for the morrow.
The crystals Micah and Arek had brought back from the Citadel of The Snow Hare had given him a great deal to think about. His was not the only world that would suffer from the white frost or from glaciation. Every world affected by the sundered fabric of the universe was in peril. The added complication of temporal/spatial distortions that rippled back and forth between the originating planet, Earth, and his own, destroyed homeworld would bring the ice to every one of them far sooner than it should have come. It would also ensure it never left. His fight was no longer about saving his home planet. No, in a very real way, it was an existential struggle for the universe itself.
He had a plan, but everything depended in the short term on Zirael and her ability to control her gift, the blood of Lara Doren. If she failed … well, there was the geneticist to consider and perhaps a quicker method to create the adepts needed than the laborious breeding program the Aen Saevherne had started fifteen hundred years ago. She would need samples from Zirael and from himself if she was to help him accomplish his goal.
Avallac'h would return here to pursue the expansion of the Lara Doren project after Eredin, Imlerith and Caranthir were dealt with. The current King of the Aen Elle and his advisors were fools who trawled through the worlds looking for slaves to serve their own comforts, thinking that eradicating humanity was all it would take to establish a new home for their people. They were drunk on their own power and short sighted as most despots were. He hoped his plan worked and the humans here would accept his leadership and advice.
One by one, two by two, the company stole away to their beds. Vesemir was carried to his own room, declaring that he couldn't rest in the infirmary. Eskel showed Jad and his children to a larger chamber where they could stay together.
The scarred Wolf returned to the great hall, knowing it would be deserted now that everyone had turned in. That suited him fine. There were too many people at Kaer Morhen for Eskel's liking right now, not enough quiet. He thought about the girl from Crippled Kates and found the pain and self recrimination had lessened since he had unburdened himself to Kozin. He also realized he hadn't dipped into his cherry vodka since before the fight with the Wild Hunt.
Eskel heard the grind of a foot on stone well before Tris turned the corner from the kitchen. The scarred witcher watched her a little warily, their last encounter still fresh in his mind.
"Hey." she said.
"Hey Tris." He nodded, not sure what to say.
"I'm sorry about last week. It was wrong of me to try to use you. You deserve better than that." She was watching the play of liquid heat along the remains of the logs on the hearth.
"And I was drunk. You didn't deserve that." He, also, watched the logs burn.
"I'll be returning to Novigrad tomorrow. We need to find Phillipa, Margarita and Fringilla to help end the threat of the Hunt for good."
"Is it wise to reconvene the lodge there, or at all really? Novigrad isn't safe, you know that." Eskel kept his voice level, but his right palm was itching for his sword when he thought about the Witch Hunters.
Tris sighed "Nothing is safe any more. But we have to take the risk. The alternatives don't bear thinking about."
The scarred witcher nodded and looked at her. "After all this is over, what will you do?"
"King Tancred Thyssen has offered me a position in his court as an advisor in Pont Vanis and Lan Exiter." She returned his gaze, "I can do a great deal of good there, helping the displaced wizards, sorceresses and alchemists settle in their new country. Kovir may be colder than I like, but it beats being warmed by the Church of the Eternal Fire. It's a chance to start over, rebuild my life from scratch."
Eskel turned to Tris, putting a hand to her shoulder and found himself drawn in by the play of the firelight on her lips. He bent his head and kissed her, gently, then raised his other hand to frame her face. Tris settled into the shelter of the Wolf's body, reveling in him.
"Be well, Tris. Be safe." His voice was a deep whisper at her lips, then he kissed her once more, exquisitely, and left her standing before the dying flames,
