Chapter Twenty Nine
Bushwhacked

A raven at sunrise was a curious sight, yet it was still the one that greeted Leisl as she emerged from the tent to witness the dawn. It was perched atop a neighboring tree, tilting its head from side to side and occasionally deigning to glance in her direction. What had seemed so ominous in yesterday's moonlight was now strangely mundane.

The chill left over from the night before was slowly thawing with the rising sun, though her breath still formed clouds that dissipated in the morning air. The raven flapped its wings a bit and moved further down the branch, and she stared at it curiously.

The snow crunched behind her, and turned to see Rosalind shuffling over to the lake, where she slid open her trousers and began to piss directly onto the frozen surface.

"Really?"

Rosalind glanced over her shoulder, raising a curious eyebrow while the ground beneath her grew steadily more yellow. "What?"

"I might not be a proper lady, but couldn't you have gone behind a tree or something? You're sucking all the romance out of the moment."

A broad smile flashed across her face as she finished, then refastened her trousers and bowed with a grand flourish. "My apologies. I'm just so used to concealing myself around folk that I like to cut loose out in the wilderness. And now you're in on the secret, so…"

"I know, it's just… that was inside me last night."

She laughed, moving back towards her before clapping her on the shoulder. "It shan't happen again."

Leisl rolled her eyes, then leaned forward to kiss her. "Should we head back now?"

"In a bit. Thought I'd hunt us some breakfast first." She re-entered the tent, and emerged carrying her bow, a quiver of arrows slung across her back. In the morning sunlight, she looked positively majestic. Leisl bit her lip as a frisson of energy lanced down her spine.

"What?"

"Somehow you've managed to put the romance back in," she said, blushing. "But don't let me keep you. Last night rather famished me, so I could do with some fresh meat right about now."

She grinned crookedly. "Then I shall be back as soon as I can."

Leisl watched her until she vanished into the forest, then set about rekindling the fire. Within a minute or so she had it going.

"So this is my life now," she muttered, chuckling softly as she watched the raven, which kept silent vigil over her as well.

All things considered, she rather liked how things had turned out. It wasn't until she'd left the village that she realized how unhappy her life had been there. The sex was great, but she'd never had any real friends or long term relationships, only people who saw her as a means to an end. But this odd, blue-eyed marvel of a woman displayed a genuine interest in her that she'd never experienced from anybody.

If only she could divorce it from all the insanity that came with finding out her body contained a power she never even knew she had. She still wasn't completely sure that this wasn't all some strange dream. But if it was, she wasn't in as much of a hurry to wake up.

The raven cawed, and she jumped slightly, turning her head towards the sound. Standing beneath the tree, she saw an older man with gray hair, dressed simply in a frock with a bag slung over his shoulder, whose eyes contained a bit of red, but didn't look too threatening.

"Who are you?"

"My apologies," the stranger said. "I'm merely passing through. This forest doesn't get many visitors."

She relaxed somewhat, but kept her eyes trained on the man. "You haven't answered my question."

"Of course. You may call me Regis. Are you out here alone?"

"For the moment."

"Not something I'd recommend in a place like this. Many dangerous things enjoy hiding in woods like these."

She raised an eyebrow. "If this is your way of offering to keep me company…"

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. Though I have been tasked with keeping you safe."

Squinting, Leisl reared back. "Safe from what? And by whom?"

He broke his gaze with her and looked to the side, and her eyes followed. "For the moment? From them."

There were ten of them, all dressed in armor and dark furs, carrying swords and bows. The apparent leader of the group stepped forward, rubbing the snow out of his ridiculously large black moustache and leered at her.

"Well, well," he began. "Here we are hunting dear, and we come across beaver instead. It's our lucky day."

Leisl shrunk back, feeling rather like she'd attracted the attention of a pack of wolves who'd marked her as their next meal. The man calling himself Regis stepped forward, his hand clutching the strap of his bag, interposing himself between her and the gang.

"I would advise against this course of action, sir. There's plenty of game in the forest that you could set your sights on."

A sneer curled across the leader's face. "Don't mistake me for some boor. I know who this girl is. She caused quite a commotion back in Unicorn, and the Imperials are offering a substantial reward for any information regarding that incident. Though last I heard she was travelling with a larger group."

"And who might you be?"

"I could ask the same of you. My name is Matthias. Me and the Silver Crows here answer to no one except ourselves."

"The Silver Crows?" Regis placed a hand to his chin. "Last I came across that name, it was on a wanted poster."

"We're not common brigands," said Matthias. "I have friends in high places, you see. Me and the boys here are going to have a good time with this lass, and then we'll trade her for our reward. You can either piss off or lose your head. Your choice."

Regis looked past him, to the treeline. "It's really your own head you should worry about. The girl didn't come here alone."

"What's that supposed to—"

One of the men behind him cried out and hit the ground, an arrow protruding from his skull. They stood there in shock for a moment before spreading out, taking positions around the camp. Regis moved swifter than Leisl thought possible, dashing towards her and pulling her to safety behind a tree, where the raven was still perched. He stood ready to intercept any who might come their way, but they had other problems at the moment.

Another man went down, an arrow striking him square in the chest. The snow kicked up as the next man fell, and only then did they manage to start firing back, aiming a volley in the vague direction of the treeline. As they readied their next arrows, a fourth man was shot right between the eyes and fell backwards onto the snow.

"Find them!" Matthias hollered, panic beginning to show on his face. The men fired another volley, taking cover behind various rocks and trees. For a minute or so, nobody fired in return, and they all relaxed somewhat. Leisl found herself imagining the worst.

"Don't worry," Regis whispered to her. "She's not done yet."

"SHOW YOURSELF!" the leader of the Silver Crows bellowed, drawing back an arrow and firing it wildly into the forest. "I know you're out there!"

Another of the men went down behind him, but this time it was from a dagger to the throat. They spun around and saw Rosalind already drawing her bow, using the body of her victim as a shield. Another man got hit in the chest, and she surged forward, dropping the body before rolling under the clumsily fired return volley. In less than two minutes, ten had become four, and Matthias' bravado had vanished entirely.

Leaping into the air, Rosalind kicked off of one man's back, spinning around in a half circle and shooting another square in the throat before her feet even touched the ground. She continued to spin as she landed, slashing out the other man's throat with her dagger. The final man other than Matthias drew his sword and rushed her, but the dagger hurtled forth from her hand and split his forehead before he even got close.

Alone, panicked, and out in the open, Matthias pointed an arrow in her direction, and she did the same. They circled each other for a few moments, sizing each other up.

"For a man who's wanted in three provinces, I honestly thought you'd put up a better fight," said Rosalind, smirking. "Who put you up to this?"

"I'm not telling you shit," he spat. "You and your whore can rot in hell for all I care."

He released the arrow, but she was faster, rolling to the side before burying one of her own deep in his sternum. He fell to his knees, but was still breathing, for the moment. "How about now?"

"Thu caen me a'baeth aep arse."

"Perhaps I can be of some assistance," said Regis, walking casually over to the defeated man. He knelt down, staring directly into his eyes. Matthias' features grew slack, and he stared blankly forward. "Now then. Who really sent you?"

"Houvenaghel," he answered. "Man in the tavern, Caelan, he worked for him, along with the blokes who tried to rescue him." He nodded towards Rosalind. "But this one put an arrow in his chest."

"And now I've done the same to you," she said. "As I will to anyone who comes after us."

"Isn't Houvenaghel the one we're on our way to meet?" asked Leisl. "If he's sending killers after us…"

Rosalind shrugged. "It complicates things, I'll give you that. But before we discuss this any further…" She nocked another arrow, then shot it through the man's head from point blank range. "There. Now then." She turned to Regis. "Who the hell are you?"

"Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy," he answered as he stood. "Regis for short. As I was explaining, I've been tasked with this young lady's protection. Though you seem to have that covered."

"Tasked by whom?"

"A mutual friend," he replied, turning to Leisl. "You remember the Storyteller, Scheherazade?"

Leisl nodded.

"Let's just say she's protecting her investment."

She wrapped a palm around her forehead and began to pace. "I'll be sure to send her my thanks. How long have you been watching us?"

"I only arrived here this morning," he answered. "But the ravens have been keeping track of you for me. Useful little creatures."

They both looked at him strangely, but he only smirked in response.

"At any rate, I shall let you two return to your morning. But should you need me, I'll be standing by."

"Thanks," she said hesitantly as he walked away, disappearing into the trees. The raven took off and followed after him. As soon as he was gone, she surged forward and embraced Rosalind. "You were amazing! I've never seen anything like that!"

She smiled. "It was nothing. I wasn't about to let them harm you." She frowned. "Never did get around to killing us anything we can eat, though."

"Let's just head back," said Leisl. "I've had enough of the woods for one day."

"You'll get no argument from me."

"So this is where you trained, then?"

They had spent the night in the highest tower of Kaer Morhen, and Ciri had scavenged some of Geralt's old clothes from a few of the rooms. They hung off of her like loose skin, but Mistle fared slightly better, as her body was slightly larger than hers. They were currently walking through the courtyard, where the scars from the battle with the Wild Hunt had yet to heal.

"After I'd reunited with Geralt, yes. Eskel and Lambert helped train me too. There was another witcher, Coën, but… well, he died in one of the wars. Everything I learned here ended up saving my life years down the line." She gestured to the pendulum. "That, for example. It's designed to teach a young witcher that there are some things no one can block, like a griffin's talons or a fiend's claws. But you can use the force behind them to power your own strikes, and turn your enemy's strength against them."

She nodded. "That does sound helpful."

"It's how I defeated Bonhart. The whole idea behind the training here was to make my responses automatic enough that it almost felt like they were performing themselves. But all that really meant was that I wasn't actually in control. It's only recently that I've learned to move beyond that."

"What about your powers? How long did it take you to control those?"

"I still haven't mastered them. But they were only just starting to emerge when I was training here all those years ago. It's why the witchers invited Triss to stay here. She identified me as a Source, before any of us really knew what that meant. I'd been slipping into trances and making prophecies that ended up coming true years down the line."

"Like what happened in Geralt's wine cellar?"

Ciri nodded. "That time I did it on purpose, but Triss said she made contact with that same entity back when I was still training here. It's what gave me the idea."

"What do you suppose it really is?"

"I'm not sure, but I know it's related to Gaunter O'Dimm somehow. And I've started hearing it in my dreams. That's what my nightmare was about the other day."

As they continued moving further through the courtyard, through the gate leading to the stables, Mistle wrapped an arm around her and drew her close. "Well whoever it is, they're not going to take you away from me. You're stronger than anyone I've ever met. We'll get through this. Together."

"I hope so." They stopped by the stables, and Ciri took one last wistful look up at Kaer Morhen. "Shall we head back now?"

Mistle nodded. "I'm ready to go if you are."

Closing her eyes, she envisioned the campsite, and they disappeared in a flash of green light…

…then reappeared in the middle of a flaming brawl.

A whirlwind of chaos and movement surrounded them, the fires blanketing the area with a thick miasma of smoke that made it difficult to see much beyond the vague outlines of men with blades. An armored figure on a black horse rode towards them, surprised only briefly by their sudden appearance, leaning over and swinging a sword directly towards them.

An arrow knocked him off the saddle, and they turned to see Horace nocking another arrow before firing off into the smoke. At this distance, it was difficult to tell friend from foe. Ciri scooped the knight's sword off the ground, while Mistle scanned around, trying to get a sense of their situation.

Another marauder appeared, and from this distance Ciri could see that his armor looked Nilfgaardian, but scavenged and painted with streaks of bright red. He charged towards her with sword held high, and she parried his first swipe before running the sword through his gut. A gout of blood spewed from his mouth, and she pirouetted around him, withdrawing the blade and letting him collapse to the ground.

Three more came after her, and she focused for a moment, disappearing just as their swords passed through the space she'd occupied only moments before. She reappeared behind them, blinking in and out of existence just long enough to skewer each of them in increasingly painful ways. They fell, dead, and Mistle breathed in deeply, savoring the blood.

"Let's find the others," said Ciri. "Try not to get too carried away."

Mistle flashed a toothy grin before a sword ran through her from behind, which only deepened her bloodlust. Turning around slowly, she grabbed her assailant by the shoulders and brought him close, impaling him on the blade. She then sunk her fangs into his neck, draining the strength from his dying body before pushing him away. Ciri helpfully withdrew the sword from her back, then kissed her on the lips.

"For luck."

They set off in the direction of their tent, where Ciri's sword awaited them. Another gang of brutes stood in their way, but they made short work of them, carving through one after the other before they could even react. Mistle's fingers shifted into long claws that sliced through them like razors, spilling gore along the snow and painting the ground red. Ciri struck more precisely, sliding among them like quicksilver. The sword she held was adequate, but kept her from unleashing her true potential.

A wall of fire surged by them, and they saw Resilda and Keira engaged with another group of six. The flames began to shift, morphing into the shape of a dragon's head that consumed three men who stood in a line. Another was run through by a bolt of lightning summoned from Keira's hands. Electricity crackled around her form, and soon the attackers learned to give the mages a wide berth.

"What happened?" shouted Mistle. "Where did they all come from?"

"No idea!" Keira shouted. "But there's a lot of them!"

"The Red Razors are one of the largest hanses in the region," Mistle explained. "From what I hear they number over a hundred souls."

Ciri grinned. "Not after we're done with them."

They pressed on, trusting that their magic users could look after themselves. Another knight charged towards them on horseback, but was tackled by a large, dark shape covered in thick fur that slammed him into the ground and tore out his throat. More of the marauders surrounded Stephanos, but their blades hardly scratched him as he tore through them like they were made of paper. A tree finally succumbed to the flames and topped over, separating them from the fray. As if they had anything to worry about.

The deeper into the camp they got, the thicker the enemy grew, but they still carved a path through them with relative ease. Ciri had surrounded the sword with magic flames, and while it was a finely crafted blade, it wouldn't hold up to that kind of stress for much longer. Mistle had been driven into a frenzy, and was ripping the enemy apart limb from limb. Ciri wasn't sure how much longer it would be before she lacked the capacity to discern what constituted an enemy. For now, she seemed to be keeping a lid on it.

They found Lambert fending off seven men at once, cutting through them without the barest hint of mercy. His form was impeccable, without a single wasted movement. Forming the sign of Aard, he blasted four of them away, over to where Sheana and Faloanthír were busy dealing with more of them.

Ciri and Mistle dove into the fray, making short work of the ones on the ground before moving on to tougher prey. A particularly large man wielded a glaive, a long polearm with an axe head on the end. Sheana and Faloanthír were trying to get close, but couldn't make it through his guard. Ciri solved that problem by teleporting behind him and jamming the blade into his back just before the magic overload caused the metal to splinter and explode, filling his insides with shrapnel and bringing him to the ground.

Sheana was distracted by the sight long enough for a blade to slice across her midsection, deeper than a shallow graze but not enough to incapacitate her. A gauntleted fist backhanded her across the cheek, and a kick to the stomach caused her to lurch back, doubling over in pain. The man raised his sword for the killing blow, but Lambert got there first, separating the man's head from his shoulders.

The raider that he had been engaging tried to exploit the opening, but Lambert was much too fast, and blocked the strike without even breaking the natural flow that accompanied his style. Two more descended on him, and he parried their blows with practiced ease. Sheana used this opportunity to move around them and slide her sword in between one of the men's ribs, while Faloanthír stabbed another in the throat.

The final man charged forward, but Lambert slammed their blades together, bringing his opponent's sword down while he spun to the side, keeping the swords locked and carrying the momentum through until the other man's sword flew out of his grasp, and Lambert had his arm held behind his back. Tugging on the captive arm, he caused the man to flip and land hard on his back before bringing his sword down into his chest, where he breathed his last.

By this point Mistle's bloodlust had become nearly all-consuming, and she ran off in search of new targets to kill. Lambert looked after her, concerned.

"Some girlfriend you've got."

"Save it," said Ciri. "Have you seen my sword?"

"Still in your tent, I think. Where the hell have you been?" He squinted. "Is that one of Geralt's shirts?"

"Long story. Where are they all coming from?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Let's go."

They made it to the tent without further incident, and Ciri retrieved her witcher's blade. She drew it from the sheath, and a sound like thunder boomed around them as she surrounded herself with green flames. Then they set off in search of stragglers.

By this point a large portion of the attackers had started to run, stopped dead by a vampire that didn't let them get more than a few dozen yards. Collectively they started to realize that they had bitten off far more than they could chew.

"How'd all this start, anyway?" Ciri asked as they ran.

"They tried ambushing us in our sleep," he revealed, and she noticed that he didn't have all of his armor on. "Didn't have a damn clue what they were walking into."

"Where's Syanna? Has anyone seen her?"

They all shook their heads.

"Well that's fantastic."

Thirty or so of the attackers remained, scattered throughout different parts of the camp. They split up to engage them, and Ciri headed straight to where the fighting was thickest. The magic surrounding her blade made their armor about as useful as tissue paper, and she relished being able to unleash her full strength. Three of them were dead before they even realized what was upon them, and the rest of them scattered.

A lucky blow got through, and Ciri rolled along the ground while a heavily armored marauder raised a large mace over his head. Mistle whizzed by him, and he split into several smaller pieces that slawed off of him and fell onto the snow. Regaining her footing, she elbowed the man behind her in the face before spinning around and cutting off his legs at the knees. As he fell to the ground shrieking in agony, she buried her blade in his throat, silencing him for good.

Though clearly outclassed, the raiders did still outnumber them, and the Rats were pushed closer together, banding together in a circle and shredding anything that got too close.

To her right, Resilda summoned a torrent of flames, which Keira helped shape with an incantation, blasting through ten of their assailants and charring them to a crisp. Stephanos continued biting, clawing, and tearing his way through the enemy, while Mistle had succumbed to her basest instincts, cutting them apart three at a time. Ciri and Lambert carved through the rest, while Horace, Sheana, and Faloanthír picked up the stragglers.

The last of them went down as Mistle leaped onto him and drained the blood from his neck, while all the rest of them looked on with expressions ranging from horror to mild concern. She turned around to face them, and it was only then that Ciri noticed her features had transmuted into something bestial. Lambert's hand tightened on his sword, and a moment of silent tension passed between them as all of them waited for someone to make the first move.

It was then that Syanna appeared.

She was dragging someone by the collar, the man who had introduced himself as Tomen the night before. He was beaten and bloodied, though Syanna herself seemed strangely untouched. She dumped him at their feet.

"Caught him trying to run."

Mistle looked at him hungrily, but Syanna stepped in front of her, staring at her with absolute serenity.

"What the hell are you doing?" shouted Lambert. "Get out of there!"

She ignored him.

"You are not your instincts," she said, continuing to stare her down. "Let it fade. You're stronger than this."

A few moments later, Mistle began to breathe deeply, and her form shifted back into its usual shape. When she collapsed, Ciri was there to catch her.

"Now then," said Syanna, staring down at Tomen. "You have some explaining to do."

"I swear it wasn't me," he insisted, rising to his knees and holding up his hands.

"Then how did you get past them? Your hands were tied up and you were unarmed. It seems unlikely they'd just let you through, unless you were the one who told them where we were."

"I was just lucky! I'm telling you the truth!"

Syanna shrugged. "I'll leave that for them to decide."

"Tie him up again," said Ciri, breathless, supporting Mistle, whose arm was draped over her shoulder. "We'll decide what to do with him later."

They performed the task as ordered, and set about finding somewhere else to camp.

By the time Viola woke, the mysterious elven woman who'd paid her a ridiculous sum to spend the night was already up, still tending to the fire. She stared at her, face scrunched up in confusion.

"Did you even sleep?"

Ya'vanasha nodded. "I don't require much of it. It was really more about getting out of the cold. That and the information you gave me."

"If I might be so bold," she began, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe leading to her bedroom, her robe starting to slide off her shoulders, "why are you so interested in Leisl anyway? I mean I understand what you told me about her powers being dangerous, but I'd take that as a signal to stay far away from her."

"A pity. I was going to ask if you'd like to help me find her."

She reared her head back. "What?"

"I'm a stranger in this land. I'm in need of a guide, someone who knows the area and its people. There would of course be more coin in it for you, along with the promise of adventure."

She considered it for a moment before shaking her head. "The coin you gave me is plenty. And I'm not really the adventuring type."

"Suit yourself. I should be on my way."

"I'll see you out."

As they walked to the door, the sound of screaming and general commotion reached their ears, and Viola groaned. "Oh, not again."

The door opened, and her worst fears were realized. A group of men, a dozen or so, were congregated in the main street, brandishing weapons and looking threatening. Prentiss and Yohann, two old builders who had taken in Maura after the events of the other night, lay bloody on the ground, still breathing for the moment. Maura herself was being gripped roughly by the hair, her face swollen and bruised.

Viola withdrew back into her house, but Ya'vanasha walked forward, untrammeled by the fear that seemed to grip the rest of the village.

"My name," began the leader of the gang, the one currently holding Maura like a limp doll, "is Mikhail Kravenoff. You will all pay for the fate that befell my brother!" Maura cried out in pain as, still clutching her hair, he dragged her into a standing position. "Starting with this bitch here!"

The elf continued walking, ignoring the heavily armed men. His face whipped towards her, taking her indifference as an affront. "You there! Who said you could leave?"

She stared at him, and the expressionless mask communicated her apathy very clearly. "This is none of my concern," she told him. "I'm only passing through."

"Hey, she's an elf!" said one of the men, pointing at her accusingly. Viola rolled her eyes.

Dropping Maura, the leader marched over to her. He was a head taller and much thicker, with a bushy brown beard broken by a streak of white hair down the middle, his head shaved completely bald. He carried a greataxe on his back, and was dressed in thick leather armor with pauldrons coated in fur. He leaned over the elf, but she stood there, staff resting against the ground, completely unconcerned.

"The fuck is an elf doing in this village?"

"What are you doing in this village?" Viola shouted with a confidence she didn't know she had. "There's nothing left for you to take. All of it's burned now."

"Not all of it!" He threw his arms out to the side, pacing around in a circle, looking at the terrified crowd. "All of you will answer for my brother's death! You worthless bunch of peasants, who aren't worth the cow shit I scraped off my boots this morning! Men! Kill them all! But bring me that whore first, so I can experience some of this village's famed hospitality."

"And what about me?" asked Ya'vanasha. "Like I said, this has nothing to do with me."

He scowled. "I don't trust you. You'll burn with the rest of them."

The elf sighed and rolled her eyes. "As I thought. Very well then."

Viola couldn't hear the words she muttered, but the runes on the staff began to glow, and the temperature dropped even further. The brigands looked around as the snow began to creep up from the ground, hardening into ice that slowly engulfed them. Mikhail was the only one untouched.

"What is this?" he shouted, looking nervously around him. "What's happening?"

"You should have let me walk away," the elf said before, with a brief glow, a blade of pure ice formed in her hand, transmuting into metal as she finished summoning it. Before he could react, he plunged it straight into his belly, and the creeping ice that had consumed the rest of his men began to slowly encase him as well. When he was frozen completely, she swung the staff twice above her head before smashing him to pieces.

"Well that was anticlimactic. I expected more of a fight."

On the ground, Maura gazed up at her with a mixture of shock and gratitude, before running to check on the two old men who had also taken a beating, presumably from defending her.

The rest of the villagers now looked at her in terror, retreating back into their homes. Ya'vanasha shrugged and continued walking down the road. Leaping from her house, Viola caught up to her. "How the hell did you do that?"

She could hear the smirk in her voice. "Just a little magic trick. Honestly I didn't even break a sweat."

"I've changed my mind," she declared. "I can't stay in this bloede village one more fucking hour. I think at this point It's just cursed."

"Very well then," said the elf. "Gather you things and let's be on our way. We've got a lot of ground to cover."

Beyond the veil, in a world unreachable by man or elves, a presence watched a small orb, which shifted and swirled, occasionally revealing events long past or yet to come. Three in particular coalesced one after the other, none of which went exactly as planned. Still the figure never lost her smirk. She could still work with this.

"Ah well," she said, extinguishing the orb. "I suppose I'll just have to do better next time."