19. Enter the Dragon

Geralt rolled back to the edge of the obelisk, dropping his body over the side as fire bellowed from the dragon. His fingers screamed at him in pain, bearing the brunt of the flames, which quickly consumed his leather gauntlets and blackened his skin. As soon as the flames passed, he climbed up with quivering forearms and dashed toward the dragon, whose gargantuan body took up most of the space on the rooftop.

"Murderer!" The voice in his head shrieked, so powerful in its projection that it blurred his vision momentarily. "Murderer! Die a murderer's death!"

The dragon swiped with its front arm, its talons mere inches from Geralt's face, then stood on its hind legs to spew another belly full of fire. The witcher went on the offensive this time, sliding feet first to dodge another swipe, rolling out of it while drawing his sword, and striking at the dragon's scaly underbelly. The beast roared in surprise and took flight, chasing Geralt around the obelisk with a stream of flame as he dashed and whirled in a random evasive pattern. At the end of the fiery breath, he spun around and shouted at the dragon, which hovered awkwardly a dozen feet above the rooftop.

"Saskia, stop! It's me, Geralt!"

"Liar! Murderer!" The voice replied in his head, painfully intense. "You killed her!"

"I didn't-" Geralt began, before diving to the side. The dragon brought its full weight down on the surface of the obelisk, crushing the wooden supports under the stone-tiled floor. Wood, stone and a witcher went tumbling down the hollow interior of the square tower. Geralt cried out in pain as he landed first on his back, then his knee, then tumbling backward head over heels and sliding down half a flight of stairs, came to a stop with his shoulder breaking halfway through a wooden stair plank. He groaned, willing his aching body back into action. There was no time to recover. The dragon stuck its head down the open shaft, frantically scanning the rubble for signs of the witcher.

"Where are you, murderer? Witch killer?" The voice beckoned. "I'll kill you! I'll burn you!"

A ball of flame engulfed the space near the top of the tower, which Geralt had mercifully fallen below, and set the wooden stairs ablaze. For a moment, he considered escaping downward toward the ground, but he quickly abandoned the notion. Triss was likely still down there, along with other bystanders trapped by the stampeding crowd. He wouldn't bring the destruction to them. With sword drawn, he waited for the flames to clear, then sprinted up the stairs like a bolt from a crossbow, surprising the dragon as he leapt out of the dark and struck it across the side of its face. The beast shrieked in pain and retracted its head, as blood fell in huge droplets on the witcher below. He pursued the reeling dragon upward and struck it again, this time gouging a three-foot tear in its webbed, fleshy wing. The beast flapped its wings awkwardly, nearly knocking Geralt back down the staircase with the sudden gust of wind they produced, and roared even louder, clutching the top of the broken tower with its hind leg talons. The witcher saw his opportunity, and took it, unleashing a roar of his own as he jumped from the top of the crumbling stone wall and thrust the tip of his sword into the dragon's abdomen. The blade found an opening between bones, piercing through muscle and intestines all the way to the hilt. The force of the blow and the sudden shock of pain caused the beast to lose its balance, and both it and the witcher went somersaulting off the obelisk, speeding toward a fatal collision with the ground below. Just in time, the dragon regained its balance, lumbering upward with uneven strokes of its wings, and unwittingly took Geralt with it. He hung on tightly at it ascended toward the forested foothills to the north, searching in vain for a safe place to land. In no time, he was six stories high, watching in despair as the world whirred by below. The only way down was together.

The dragon soon realized that Geralt was attached to the sword in its gut, and tried swatting him off. When that didn't work, it attempted a barrel roll to loosen his grip. The maneuver actually produced the opposite result, providing Geralt the perfect opportunity to adjust his position. With perfect timing, he released the sword grip, drew his dagger, and plunged it to the side of the bony spine near the dragon's neck. The blow struck a nerve, causing the injured wing to lock up, and sending the pair of them into a curving downward dive. The beast roared, lurched and writhed, but couldn't recover from the loss of momentum, and fell with frightening speed toward the wooded slope below. Geralt waited until the last possible moment, leaping from the dragon before it struck the ground, and casting Quen to try and cushion his fall. Unfortunately, his calculations and timing were less accurate this time, and rather than landing with a roll on the grassy forest floor, he collided with a large sapling, snapping the four-inch trunk in half and blacking out before his limp body hit the ground.

—

The ashen-haired girl grits her teeth in determination, vaulting her bruised and scraped body back onto the balance beam with impressive agility. The witcher raises his eyebrows slightly. For a normal girl with minimal training, she is surprisingly athletic and sinewy. He doesn't allow himself time to marvel. He has a responsibility. "Again!" He hears his own gravelly voice command. The spinning log descends again. He watches her pupils dilate in anticipation.

"Roll, parry, sidestep, strike!" He yells for what feels like the hundredth time. She's a split-second late starting her roll, but rebounds well with her parry. Her sidestep is perfect, and, whirling around with her ponytail fluttering behind her, she strikes true, spilling the leather pouch of pebbles to the ground.

"Ha-Ha!" She shouts jubilantly, grinning ear to ear. Her green eyes search his face, desperate for approval. He knows he should remain stern and unemotional, as Vesimir did consistently for him, but a strange feeling disrupts his focus, so overwhelming and sudden that he has no mental countermeasure for it. Pride. A smile rises from deep within his gut, warming his insides all the way up to his face. Her eyes brighten, and he is filled with indescribable joy.

"That's my girl!" He says, arms still crossed. She hops down from the balance beam and throws her preteen arms around his waist. He's startled, not quite sure how to respond, but soon finds his arms wrapped around her in return. "Well done, Ciri," the gravelly voice says. "Now, do it again, only cleaner this time."

"…Ciri…"

The name swirls round and round in his mind, only this time, images become more defined with each oscillation.

A look of uncertainty in those trusting green eyes as he places his ward into the care of Mother Nenneke at Melitele's temple.

Battling his way across a bridge with a Nilfgaardian, a bard and a vampire.

Wandering like a fish out of water in the opulent ballroom on Thanedd island.

Making love to Yennefer on top of a stuffed unicorn which, though he loathed, he grew to tolerate, given its primary purpose.

Plucking roses from an ancient elven ruin with Ciri, teaching her about the elves' tragic fall from prominence.

Memories rushed back in a torrent - vibrant, visceral, nearly tangible. He remembered them all - Cahir and Regis, Fringilla and the Duchess of Toussaint, Yennefer, Calanthe… Ciri. A renewed sense of purpose seized him. He had to wake up. There was lost time to make up for.

—

Geralt stumbled across the hillside, forcing his aching body to keep moving. He had the good fortune to find one vile of healing concoction intact after the crash, and ingested the vile-tasting liquid as he trudged onward toward the dragon. It was an easy path to follow - vegetation was bent outward in either direction along its crash trajectory, and the labored, gurgling moans of the wounded beast carried easily through the mountain air. He found the landing site quickly, and inspected the scene. The dragon lay with its hind legs on the ground and its upper body suspended slightly, held aloft by the trunk of an oak tree that had impaled the creature. It breathed shallow, spaced out breaths, still clinging to life, but utterly incapacitated.

"Witcher? … … have you come to kill me?" The voice in his head asked, much more calmly than before. "It's just as well. I'm dying. You may strike me down, I won't resist. I… could not resist, even if I wanted."

He approached the scene, placing his hand gently on the dragon's neck. "I don't want to kill you Saskia," he said quietly. "I never did. I only wanted to stop you."

"I wish you had," she said remorsefully. "I cannot describe the shame I feel, Geralt… for what I've done. For what I tried to do."

"Don't blame yourself," he said. "Philippa cast a spell over you. You had no choice."

"Oh, but I did," she replied, sagging her head even lower. "I knew the type of woman Philippa was. I knew she was ruthless. I thought myself above her corrupting influence, that I could rise to victory on her coattails… I thought that Upper Aedirn was worth the sullying of my morals."

"Síle's dead, and Philippa will be soon. You're free to change, to make things right."

"It's too late for me, witcher. I am too far gone."

"Let me help you, Saskia."

"No. Please. Go and find your women. I know your heart yearns for them. As for me, I wish to die here in peace."

Geralt looked at the large puddles of crimson beneath Saskia's body. "You're not in peace."

"Please, Geralt. Things are as they must be. We cannot outrun fate. If I am to die here, I will die. You have more to accomplish today. Fate hasn't finished with you in Loc Muinne."

Geralt considered her words for a moment. He was quite sure he didn't want to face any more requirements of fate that day, but he knew she was right. He patted the scaly neck.

"In that case, farewell, Saskia. If this is your end, then die with honor. I release you from your offenses."

"Would that it were so simple to find absolution. Nevertheless, thank you, witcher. Truly. May you rise to the challenge set before you."

—

Loc Muinne was eerily silent when Geralt again made the arduous climb up the eastern wall in late afternoon. The smell of charred flesh and human blood was pungent, thickening the air like an oppressive haze over the ancient stones. As a result of the malodorous air, he didn't notice the person waiting for him until he heard the gasp and patter of rapid footsteps approaching. Slender arms wrapped around him with the force of a breaking wave, clinching him tightly as he stood in the open-air hallway. He reached down, lacing his fingers through chestnut curls and held Triss's head tightly against his chest. Neither spoke for a long time. There was no expression to capture the emotions of the moment. Instead, they held each other, grateful their fears hadn't been realized.

"When I saw the explosion…" she said at last, still tight against Geralt's chest.

"I know. Síle's dead."

"What happened?"

"Her portal collapsed, ripped her in two, right in front of me. And you wonder why I don't like teleporting."

"What about Saskia?"

"She's… dying. I tried to save her, but-"

"You had to defend yourself."

"She didn't want saving. She's overcome with remorse."

"… she trusted the wrong people. I, uh… know how that feels."

"Are you alright?" He asked, pulling her head away and inspecting her face. "Are you hurt?"

"Nothing that won't heal," she said, pulling his hands away.

"Gods, Geralt! Your fingers…"

"I'll be fine."

"Listen… it's really not safe to be here. After the dragon left, Radovid sent in his 'Knights of the Flaming Rose.' They started grabbing mages, sorceresses, anyone who looked like a threat. I wanted to fight, but there were too many. I hid. It was… terrible. They dragged women off by their hair, cut off their hands so they couldn't cast spells. The pretty ones were raped first, then they pulled them to the city square with ropes around their necks… and burned them alive."

"I knew he was upset about Philippa, but-"

"The men got carried away. It was a mob. It was a bloodbath. The only reason I got out alive was because Letho rescued me."

"He what?" Geralt asked sharply.

"He pulled me out of the crowd, Geralt. Took a knife in the back and just kept going. I told him I wouldn't leave the city without you, asked him to bring me here. He did, then left without a word. He, uh… he left this for you…" She reached in her belt pocket and pulled out a small, folded paper. "I'm not suggesting… well, just… read it."

Geralt unfolded the letter, and read it silently.

Geralt,

I think we're both tired of running around.

Come find me by the bonfire. I'll be waiting until dark.

-Letho