In Dreams
By Pyreite
Chapter 9: To Find A Wolf
Geralt used to following the spoor of a person, beast or monster took the lead. He sniffed the air, detecting that scent of ice on the wind. There was an absence of that canine musk he'd usually associate with a wolf. This wraith was different to the lupine aids of a Leshen or a werewolf afflicted by a curse. Part-spirit and part-elf like Ellana, but with an unknown talent for magic and violence.
"So", he asked after they'd reached the meadow's edge. "Where are we?"
Avallac'h feeling somewhat left out, brought up the rear. "In a dream".
The witcher snorted, realising what'd happened to him. "Of course we are. I was asleep inside your laboratory, then found myself out here in the countryside. None of which I recognise, even the plants are different. Air doesn't smell right either".
"You're not surprised?"
"No", he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm a witcher. I break curses for fun, protect children of the Elder Blood for goodwill and date sorceresses 'cause I'm a gigolo. Of course I don't know shit about magic. Whatever made you think that I did?"
"There's no need to be defensive".
"There's no need to assume that I'm thick as a brick 'cause I'm not an elf".
They glared at each other, their mutual dislike palpable. Ellana glanced between them, amused when neither gave ground. It was a comical repeat of two friends she'd loved and lost. Dorian and the Iron Bull hadn't liked each other either. Their constant arguments making for a colourful trip on the road.
"Boys!"
Both lads twitched, then peered at her like two hounds called to heel.
"Yes?" they asked in unison, while giving each other dirty looks.
"You can measure who has the bigger prick later. We've got a job to do".
Avallac'h blanched, grimacing as if he found the idea abhorrent. He gave his paramour a disgruntled look, unhappy that she thought the witcher virile. He pursed his lips, intent on informing her about Geralt's infertility. He froze when she regarded him with displeasure, that silver brow arching again. She resembled Shiadhal in that moment, her eyes narrowing as if she thought him a fool.
He bowed his head, cheeks flushing. "Forgive me".
"Fenedhis", grumbled Ellana. "You're an absolute, twit. A moment, witcher", she told Geralt, who stood nearby – rolling his eyes. "My lover needs reassurance. Male elves tend to be delicate creatures emotionally".
Avallac'h shied when she approached, spying the clawed fingers of her left-hand.
He recoiled when she raised that hand to cup his cheek, seeing a monster and not the maiden he'd taken to bed. He didn't get far when she grabbed his shoulder, her grip firm if gentle. She held tight when he trembled, her nostrils flaring as she sniffed like a hound. She was agitated by the acrid stink saturating his scent, turning it sour like rancid milk.
"Why are you afraid of me?"
"I'm not".
"You're lying. I can smell your fear".
He stiffened, feeling uncomfortable. "En'ca minne".
Ellana shoved him away, scowling as if he'd caused offence. He almost fell, heels skidding in the dirt. He swayed instead, arms flying outward to keep his balance. He righted himself, gasping as he realised his mistake. He had crossed that unseen boundary between the truth and a lie.
"Nell'ea?"
Avallac'h tensed upon hearing that word. He remembered the choice she'd given him several nights ago. He would have lied again if not for the look she gave him. It was cold, distant and judgemental as if she were a cat deciding if she would claw him. He settled then for the truth, taking a gamble.
"Neén".
He waited, hoping that she'd appreciate his candour. His eyes closed in relief when her face softened. She was still suspicious, still unsure but something thawed in her gaze. She shook her head, swearing in the elvish tongue of her people. Avallac'h thought she might abandon him till she spoke aloud to someone they both knew.
"Keep him company. The witcher and I will handle our unwanted guest".
"Elaine?"
"Gird your loins, ma lath", she warned him. "This will not be easy on either of you".
"What're you talking about?"
"Not what", corrected Ellana. "Whom. I have never been alone with you, except out there in the waking world. But here within the boundaries of my dreams, she has ever been my guardian. She fears that you will use me as you used Zireael".
Avallac'h gaped at her in horror. "Lara Dorren".
"Haven't you wanted to speak to her for over a century?"
"You've trapped me here".
"That's a matter of perspective".
The medallion upon Geralt's neck twitched, revealing the presence of something magical. He was reaching over his right shoulder when Ellana raised her hand. He paused inches from grasping the hilt of a sword, gloved fingers hovering in the air. He was wary when she shook her head, mistrustful of the chill wind stirring the grass. Thin leaves and stems swayed in the breeze like stalks of wheat.
"What's happening?"
"You needn't worry", said Ellana with certainty. "She's not here for us. She has unfinished business with Avallac'h. Zireael's time in Tir ná Lia is something of a sore spot. She hasn't forgiven him for luring her there under the pretence of destiny".
Geralt lowered his hand, knowing whom she meant. "Neither have I".
He frowned when the butterfly upon Avallac'h's shoulder took flight. It caught the wind like a bird, wings fluttering till it seemed to float in the air. Then it disappeared in a flash of silver. Geralt's medallion skittered along its chain, warning of a magical disturbance. He inhaled a blast of hot dry ozone, that often preceded a lightning strike.
"Ciri".
"Close, witcher", corrected Ellana. "But not quite".
The butterfly reappeared in silver thread upon the collar of a gown. White and embroidered with long sleeves, tight skirts and a bodice with a modest décolletage. It was flattering upon the svelte figure of a tall and slender woman. She had that youthful elven beauty, though she was fair where Ellana was dark. Her eyes and ears far smaller, her face heart-shaped rather than angular.
They were like night and day, different yet the same.
Each crowned in silver, each with irises the green of cut and polished emeralds.
The newcomer resembled someone Geralt loved and respected. Yet she lacked the tell-tale scars upon her face, the shadow of kohl upon her eyelids. Her ears tapered to a sharp point, rather than ending in a blunt curve. She was pretty as a flower, her loveliness ephemeral like a rose's fragile silk-soft petals. Geralt recognised whom he saw, her gown dripping with pearls that rattled as she walked.
A gold diadem graced her temples, emeralds glittered in the lobes of her ears.
He spied the platinum band upon the index-finger of her left-hand. The opposite to how Ellana wore her own ring. It was thicker and heavier than the signet rings worn by noblewomen. The square bezel engraved and inset with pale silver-white diamonds. Six stones marked the six points of a star in the shape of a flower, the seventh and largest at its heart.
It was the ring of Auberon Muircetach, signifying his marriage to Shiadhal – Queen of the Aen Elle.
An heirloom given to his first-born and only daughter, his pride, joy and shame.
"Lara Dorren", declared Geralt, his breath hitching. "You look so much like Ciri".
He flinched when she regarded him, certain she'd be insulted. Most Aen Elle hated humans on principle. Why would their deceased princess be any different? Yet she neither sneered at him nor looked down her nose in disdain. She regarded Geralt with that gentle, sweet sort of concern that was so like Ciri.
"Gwynbleidd", she replied, smiling soft and sad. "Thank you for loving Zireael, for protecting her from those that would have made her their pawn. You have done us both a great service. One that I can never repay, though I will gladly try. Is there anything you would ask of me?"
"There is one thing I'm unsure about". The witcher pointed a gloved finger at his host. "Is that horned menace your sister?"
"Half-sister", corrected Ellana. "My father was a gentleman not a lecherous arse-biscuit".
Geralt grimaced as if he'd swallowed a lemon. He gritted his teeth, lips flattening into a thin grim line. It took all his strength not to snicker like a snot-nosed brat. Ellana he was learning, had a mouth like a sewer pipe. She didn't care who she offended, even if that person was her legendary elder sister.
"She is to my misfortune", lamented Lara Dorren. "Me sor'ca or not. She has no respect for authority, mine least of all".
"Younger siblings can be like that", he stated in understanding. "I was raised with two other boys in the witcher's fortress of Kaer Morhen. Eskel and I were the oldest and dear ol' Lambert was the baby. Eskel was quiet, but Lambert was an absolute brat. He'd whine about everything, then curse and pick fights when we ignored him".
"That sounds familiar".
Ellana flashed her sister a rude gesture with two fingers of her left-hand. "A d'yaebl aép arse. Come along, witcher. You've commiserated long enough with my aggrieved half-sibling. We've got work to do".
"Right", he agreed, though he hesitated when she strode away. He was in the presence of elven royalty, though Ciri's ancestress was long deceased. He wasn't sure if the formal protocol of showing reverence still applied. "Um. Should I bow or something?"
Lara beamed at him with a flash of white teeth. "There's no need for formalities among friends. Go, Gwynbleidd. Tell Zireael that I am sorry if the dreams I gave her were upsetting. I had the best of intentions".
Geralt's brows arched in surprise. "You were responsible".
"Yes".
"Why?"
"My time upon this earth has come and gone. I cannot be there for her in all the ways that matter. If not for you and Yennefer of Vengerberg. She would be alone, lost and unloved. I had hoped that knowing her would anchor Ellana in this world".
Geralt frowned, unsure if Ciri's well-being was at the forefront of her mind. "What?"
"Remember Ithlinne's prophecy", warned Lara Dorren. "The White Frost will swallow this world in a maelstrom of ice and fire. If it is to be reborn under a new sun, the seed that was planted must burst into flame. If Zireael fails than every last living Aen Seidhe will die. The Aen Elle will follow soon after if the Wolf's Blizzard advances unchallenged".
A voice interrupted, repeating a phrase spoken by Eredin Bréacc Glas in a dream. "Va'esse deireádh aep eigean, va'esse eigh faidh'ar".
Two heads turned, two sets of eyes focused upon him.
Avallac'h shied when Lara Dorren lifted her chin. She regarded him with the haughtiness of an elven noble. Her resolve never softening, even after his awkward bow. She stepped forwards, pulling Geralt into her arms. She embraced him as if he were an old friend, kissing the bare cheek he kept shaved for Yennefer.
Startled for the first time in decades, he gaped at her goggle-eyed. "Um".
Her small soft hands gripped his gloved ones. She squeezed his fingers, smiling in that gentle kind way that Ciri did. "Va fáill, Gwynbleidd. We will not meet again. Thank you for everything that you have done, and have yet to do".
"What?"
She stepped back, releasing his hands for the last time. "Go".
"But".
"Me sor'ca awaits".
Lara glanced in the direction her half-sister had gone. The swards of grass swaying in the breeze about her steel-shod ankles. Ellana waited in the distance, under the boughs of an oak tree. Its canopy giving her shelter and shade from the sun. She was as fierce as she was proud, the dragon-horns upon her head like a crown.
"Va faill, luned aep Hen Ichaer".
Geralt gave Avallac'h a sympathetic look, head shaking as he turned away. He passed Lara Dorren, his skin prickling with unease. The expression upon her face changed from kind concern to fury in a heartbeat. She was every inch the outraged sorceress, her eyes near spitting sparks. Geralt pitied Avallac'h, certain he'd be flayed and neutered before the night ended.
He met Ellana beneath the boughs of her tree, wondering why she hadn't intervened.
"You're not going to save Avallac'h?"
"He must answer for what happened to Zireael. He trapped her in Tir ná Lia, leaving her at the mercy of Eredin and Auberon Muircetach. He didn't help her escape, nor did he bother convincing Auberon to let her go. If she hadn't used her wits to outsmart them, she'd still be there now fat and pregnant like a broodmare put to foal. By elven law she was far too young to wed at the tender age of sixteen".
"How do you know that?"
"I know many things".
"But why do you care?" asked Geralt, rephrasing his question. "You don't know Ciri".
Ellana paused, unsure of herself. She found the intensity of his gaze so upsetting that she looked away. The sting of the truth hurt more than it should have. The wellspring of her grief far deeper than he knew. Yet he was right, she didn't know Zireael any better than Lara did.
"No. I don't".
"You still feel responsible".
"I wasn't there, witcher. I couldn't stop Auberon. He was old enough to be her great-grandfather thirty times over. He shouldn't have touched her yet he did to beget a child he would've abhorred. It was wrong, but he didn't care at all".
Geralt considered her for a moment, wondering if she were being honest. "If you had been there?"
Ellana scowled, her lip curling with indignation. "I would've slain him. Got Zireael out. Returned to burn Tir ná Lia to the ground before Eredin could mount an offence. I'd not have left a single stone standing".
"All for a girl you don't know".
"That could change if Zireael wants it too".
He gave her a strange look, feeling the foreboding touch of destiny. It crawled down his spine like a spider, digging in its spiny legs. He felt the pinch, sensing the import of what Ellana had said. He remembered Lara's warning about the seed that must burst into flame. He glanced at the horns curling up and over the crown of her head, swallowing with sudden nervousness.
Dragon's blood.
"Damn it".
"What?" asked Ellana.
"It's nothing", he lied, hating how the fate of the Aen Seidhe hinged upon Ciri's choice. Sometimes destiny could be a complete and utter bitch. "Let's get going. We've got a wolf to find. I'll track him, while you bring up the rear".
Ellana shadowed Geralt's every step, following where he led. The air cooled the further they went, the clouds gathering as the wind picked up. Mist swirled amidst the bare trunks of the trees, obscuring the canopy above. They heard the leaves rustling, the wooden creak of boughs bending but couldn't see a thing overhead. The sky disappeared in a wash of milky-white, below the trees everything was visible.
Geralt picked his way through gnarled roots obscured by leaf-litter.
He paused at times, studying crushed leaves and broken twigs. The trail unusually clear for a wolf that'd disappeared into the forest. He sniffed catching the scent of wet fur and moist earth. He peered out into the woodland, the slitted pupils of his eyes expanding to catch the light. He spied something in the distance – a shadow moved under the trees.
"Your wraith isn't even trying to hide".
"He's far too arrogant to act the coward", said Ellana. "He's leading us to a place of his choosing. So lets even the odds. I'll not be led around by the nose inside my own dreams. He's trespassing where he doesn't belong".
The witcher tensed when the medallion around his neck rattled on its chain.
He was starting to get a feel for her brand of magic, though it still unnerved him. She didn't chant in the elder speech, but she did thrust out a clawed hand. The wind swirled around them in response, blowing away the milky fog. The canopy returned as did the sky in a rush of light, sound and birdsong. Geralt studied the landscape, unsurprised to find himself clear of the trees.
"Where are we?"
Ellana looked around, her silver brows furrowing. She glanced at the flagstones underfoot, broken and half-buried in the dirt. The remnants of an ancient elven road stretched forwards in a line that wound up and over a grassy hilltop. Trees grew along its edge, far back enough to allow the road to progress unhindered. Its stones sticking out amidst the green like pale white teeth.
"The Arbor Wilds, a forest thousands of years old. A place once inhabited by the elves of my world".
"And this road?"
"Leads to a temple complex in the west. If we take the road east, we'll end up at the Altar of Mythal. A place dedicated to the worship of my sorceress ancestor. Bastard. Does Fen'Harel think to humble me by bringing us here?"
Geralt disliked her explanation. "Worship?"
"The elves of my world thought my ancestress a deity. In their ignorance, they worshipped her as the All-Mother of the elven pantheon. But Mythal like the rest of her misbegotten ilk was a false god. Under her rule the gentry enslaved the common folk, branding them like cattle. They were property, bought, traded, sold and sacrificed on a whim".
"Damn. That's heavy".
"She was a ruthless self-centred bitch", declared Ellana without an ounce of humility. "Tied by blood to the dragons of my world, but undeserving of the connection. I don't blame them for her treachery, nor do I reject the gifts they gave me. I reject Mythal, her legacy and the arrogance of mages so convinced of their own immortality. That they made themselves into kings, queens and then gods to rule the masses".
Geralt saw how the clawed fingers of her hands curled into fists. "You hate her".
"I hate what she cost me!" spat Ellana, baring her fangs.
The witcher raised his gloved hands to pacify her anger. "Easy. I'm not your enemy. We're on the same side. I'm here to help – Remember?"
Bristling with fury, she snapped her fangs. "I'm sorry", she hissed, forked tongue darting out from behind her teeth to taste the air. A nervous habit when she was agitated. "Talking about Mythal always upsets me. I don't mean to take it out on you, Geralt".
"Ciri's like that too when she gets mad".
"That doesn't make it right. You're a friend, not my foe. I should know better, considering how damned old I am. Forgive me. It won't happen again".
Geralt frowned, feeling awkward. "Why do you make everything weird?"
She rolled her eyes, beckoning as she walked away. "Being concerned for you isn't weird. Neither is apologising for making a mistake. Maker's balls, witcher. You need to accept the fact that having pointed ears doesn't make me an arsehole".
"But most elves are arseholes", he claimed, following her along the road.
"Most Aen Seidhe and Aen Elle are arseholes. I'm not from this world, witcher".
"If Lara Dorren is your half-sister than you're half-Aen Elle".
"So I'm half an arsehole?" quipped Ellana. "Then I count myself fortunate that I wasn't born in Tir ná Lia. If Auberon Muircetach had raised me. I'd have wound up being an arrogant two-faced prig like my sister. I punched Lara the first time she dared order me about".
"Really?"
"Don't be fooled by her resemblance to Zireael. Lara was and will always be a princess of the Aen Elle. She's as haughty as her father was, even if she is prettier. We don't get along, even if tonight was one of the rare occasions when I didn't tell her to go plough herself. She didn't grow up a nomad, forced to wander the wilds – forever hated by humans".
"That's rough. Were your people like the Aen Seidhe?"
"More numerous. We weren't exterminated like rats in a grain-hold, even if the humans thought us vermin. We lived apart from them in their cities and in the wilds. My people were the Dalish, clans of wandering nomads. Elves that resided in human settlements, grew up in alienages. Often the poorest districts, they lived in squalor".
The witcher grimaced, reminded of human intolerance from his own world. "Were they persecuted too?"
"Worse than the Dalish. My people had more freedom, the elves in the alienages were like sheep in a pen. They couldn't escape the cruelty of their human neighbours. I heard stories when I was a child of elven alienages set alight. Of parents dragged from their beds in the dead of night, to be beaten and butchered in front of their children".
"Do you think you were luckier to be born a nomad?"
"The Dalish had their share of troubles with humans. If each of our tribes had to bury our dead. In what way was a Dalish elf different from an elf from an alienage? We all had the pointed ears of our race, a natural propensity for magic and that youthful elven beauty. Humans hated us for what we were, as much as they hated themselves for what they couldn't be".
Geralt said nothing for some time, mulling over the cruelty of the human race. He kicked stones, scowling as they climbed. The road wound around the hillside like a snake, wide enough to accommodate a wagon. It was better than the dirt roads made by humans, the flagstones even if cracked and crusted with lichen. The tree-line gave way on either side to stone archways, some whole and others crumbled.
He spied piles of ancient bricks, the remnants of ruined stone walls.
"Did your people build this road?"
"Not my people, witcher", replied Ellana. "The ancient elves. The Dalish and the city elves were descended from them, but neither tribe knew how to build. We were the scattered remnants of a once powerful elven empire not unlike the Aen Seidhe. Until Fen'Harel destroyed it all with an ill-fated decision that cost thousands of lives".
That got his attention. "What?"
"He raised the Veil, a magical barrier that split the world in two. It separated the realm of spirits from the waking world. Elves were stripped of their magic and longevity, becoming mortal like humans. We aged like they did – growing old, frail and sickly. We died as they did for thousands of years, until Fen'Harel returned to undo what he'd done".
"Shit".
"Quite", agreed Ellana, shaking her horned head. "Imagine thousands of elves that were never mages, able to cast spells overnight. Then imagine them possessed by demons of rage, fear, despair, desire and envy. They became monsters we called maleficar, mages ruled by their worst emotions. Hundreds were slaughtered in a single night, sparking a war that would last two hundred years".
Geralt stopped walking, heels rooted on the spot. "What'd you say?"
She kept moving, beckoning with a wave of her hand. "It's in the past, witcher. Neither you nor I can change it. Come. I did warn you that I'd survived countless tragedies. The Veil war was the last, or so I'd thought until I'd learned that Fen'Harel was tied to the White Frost".
"Would you slow down for a moment?"
She paused when he lingered, turning back to regard him with a touch of impatience. "What is it now?"
"The Aen Seidhe and the Aen Elle were descended from the Aen Undod".
"So?"
He jabbed a gloved finger at her, frowning when she rolled her eyes. "Stop sighing like that and listen to me! The Aen Undod fled from their world after facing cataclysmic annihilation. Elven lore doesn't record what caused them to leave. It only states that afterwards, they searched for new worlds to inhabit".
Ellana stared at him, her jade-green eyes widening in horror. "The eluvians. Andraste's tits".
"What?"
"The ancient elves could travel between worlds by utilising an old magic. Like a portal but more stable". She pointed at the stone archways along the edge of the road. Each tall as an oak tree and thrice as wide. "An eluvian is like a mirror of black glass inside a stone arch. Once active it opens a portal to another eluvian located a significant distance away".
Geralt caught the gist of it. "People can travel through it, teleporting themselves from one place to another".
She nodded. "Precisely".
"The Aen Elle would've killed for magic like that".
"Than you're lucky they never had it", finished Ellana. "The art to making eluvians was lost with the destruction of Elvhenan. Not even Fen'Harel knew how to make them, even if he utilised the existing network to move about in secret. If any still exist the portals are either closed, destroyed, locked or corrupted. Only a fool would tread those paths now".
"It's that dangerous?"
"For the stupid, arrogant and unprepared. If you activate an eluvian without knowing where it goes. You could wind up underwater, in a dragon's lair or inside the bowl of an active volcano. They were sealed for a reason, witcher. Only an idiot places his feet upon a path without knowing where it leads".
Geralt glared at her, disliking the implication. "I'm following you".
"I know where I'm going. I'd like to resume our journey, unless your grand revelation has a point?"
His lip curled with indignation. "What if your people are the Aen Undod?"
"They're not".
"You're going to dismiss the possibility?"
"You misunderstand", corrected Ellana. "The elves of my world look nothing like the Aen Seidhe or the Aen Elle. They resemble humans. We don't. It's more likely that my people predate the Aen Undod by thousands of years".
Geralt couldn't believe her audacity. "You think that your people are their ancestors".
"How else could the Aen Seidhe and the Aen Elle look so different from us? If they are our descendants than they evolved along an alternate path. My people regained their magic thanks to Fen'Harel. The Aen Seidhe and the Aen Elle lost it when the Aen Undod departed from Thedas forever. They had to relearn how to spellcast, utilising the chaotic energy that exists in your world".
"So their magic stopped being innate?"
"It may have caused madness, even death during their first attempts. They gained some mastery over time, though there were consequences from channelling Chaos. The first elven sorcerers may have accidentally created Sources. Mages with incredible magical aptitude but an inability to control it. They're too powerful to cast ordinary spells, but their strength could be constrained".
"How?"
"Augmentation", suggested Ellana. "It's an old practice. Non-mages for example could use dwarven runestones in their weapons to simulate magic. Frost, fire, lightning and even cleansing and corruption spells. There was a rune usable only by mages, capable of amplifying their magical abilities".
Geralt gaped at her in astonishment. "Could that be used to contain magic?"
"My ancestors used such spells to create foci. That latent magical energy had to be stored safely, so foci were often sealed using special wards. Otherwise it would've been too dangerous to handle a foci, let alone to transport it through an eluvian. They took other precautions too, but that knowledge is long lost. There is a chance that Fen'Harel might know, but I doubt he'd be forthcoming".
The witcher cursed, stamping a foot in frustration. "That'd be too damned easy". Then something occurred to him. He stared at Ellana, recalling a fact from his childhood lessons. "Dragons can absorb magic".
"Now, witcher", she cautioned. "I'll not become Zireael's crutch".
"But you're a Source too. Why isn't your magic unstable?"
"It's not based upon the channelling of Chaos, but innate so I can control it".
"I bet that being half-dragon gives you an advantage", guessed Geralt with a witcher's intuition. "If you can absorb magic like a foci than you can store it too. You can likely harness it better than a mage like Ciri could. Thereby making it easier to control".
"Astute of you".
"Did you receive training?"
"Some", admitted Ellana. "Though not enough to master my abilities. Control came through trial and error. Most of which I learned on my own, by adapting old combat techniques based on conjuration. Instead of using weapons, I can mould my magic into different shapes".
"Like what?"
"Swords, shields, axes, spears, daggers, a bow and a quiver full of arrows. I don't need to carry weapons, if I can make them with a thought. In this way I learned focus, control and how to spellcast with precision rather than force. It's a more pragmatic use of magic, less fancy but requires greater concentration. If I was to use a weapon I'd conjured, it had to fit my hand and be sharp enough to cut".
A wave of relief washed over Geralt for the first time in fifteen years. "I want you to train Ciri".
"I never agreed to that".
Her refusal infuriated him. "I taught her how to track, fight and hunt monsters! Yennefer taught her how to use her magic! Avallac'h did too! But neither of them have a Source's wellspring of power! You do!"
Ellana dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. "No, witcher".
"Why not?" he demanded.
"It's too risky".
"Do you know how to minimise the danger?"
She glowered at him. "Yes. Damn, you".
"Then you've got no excuse not to help my daughter".
"If I refuse?"
"I'll convince you!"
Ellana wobbled on her feet, groaning when a foreign influence penetrated her mind. It was like a raven pecking at her skull, the repetitive rapping of its beak a staccato of pain. She reacted on instinct, shapeshifting in a blur of black smoke. She was there then gone in an instant, till a beast the size of a mountain loomed over the witcher. A dragon silver-scaled and furious opened her fanged maw.
Geralt forced to break the sign of Axii, dived out of the way.
The dragoness far larger than any he'd fought before, snapped her jagged teeth on air. She whirled after him, nimble as a snake chasing a lizard. Silver wings tucked against her back, scaled belly close to the earth. The witcher forced to dart right, missed the supple length of her tail slamming into the hillside. Trees shuddered down to their roots, shedding leaves with a thunderous crack.
"Shit!" he cursed, avoiding the wild flailing of her claws. "That was a bad idea!"
He lost his footing when she rose on her haunches, fanning her wings like a falcon coming out of a dive. The air swirled around him in a whirlwind, sucking him back and upwards. He was dragged across the ground, legs kicking till he rolled onto his belly. Tearing a dagger from his vambrace, Geralt thrust it blade-first into the ground. He hung onto the hilt for dear life, gloved fingers grasping tight.
"Damn it!"
A clawed hand slammed him to the dirt, driving the air from his lungs. He thought himself dead, till gigantic silver fingers dug into the earth. Left arm pinned to his side, the dagger gripped in his right hand. Geralt stabbed it into the sheath of a gargantuan black claw. The dragoness roared, but didn't release him – grip tightening.
A flap of her wings, a flex of her powerful hindquarters.
They were airborne.
The ground fell away in a rush of sound, gravity jostling Geralt like a rag-doll. Buffeted by the wind, he near choked on his own ponytail. He spat out a mouthful of white hair, scowling when his jowls flapped like folds of loose skin. He got a fantastic view of the landscape, face down as he was though his stomach lurched. They were far higher than he'd ever been, coasting above the treetops on a pair of gigantic membranous wings.
He had an excellent view of Ellana's underbelly, of the sinuous length of her silver tail.
Held aloft it acted like the rudder of a ship, steering and keeping her balanced in flight. He was awestruck by the powerful muscles coiling under her scaled hide. Beneath bands of black, brown and white, her taut belly rippled as she turned in the sky. Clouds whipped by in streaks of white, bobbing like corks on a sea of endless blue. It was so clear up there, the air cold yet Ellana hadn't risen more than a hundred miles above the forest.
Geralt shivered, condensation catching upon the collar of his jacket.
Cool droplets trickled down his throat to pool in the well of his clavicle. He was shivering by the time Ellana dropped lower, the trees rolling by in verdant waves. She startled birds from the bough, their raucous calls echoing through the forest. Geralt saw a clearing in the distance, the wind whistling in his ears. High walls surrounded a meadow not unlike the one he'd found himself in near the sea.
But here the air smelt of woodland, earth and the muskiness of dragon.
The witcher glanced at the beast that'd hauled him skyward. A long neck stretched forwards, reminding him of a goose. Although this bird was covered in scales rather than feathers. Scales that gleamed like polished silver in the sunlight, brighter than any suit of mail. Likely able to absorb spells and deflect bolts launched from a crossbow.
Geralt wondered upon their hardness till he noticed something odd.
Light reflected off the surface of Ellana's scales. The myriad scalloped edges seeming to catch a rainbow. He thought it a trick until he spied the sheen of iridescence. Shades of yellow, green, blue, pink, red and orange glowed like mother of pearl. It was beautiful when she banked, the rudder of her tail allowing her to turn in a spiral.
Down she went, tucking her wings.
Those high stone walls came into view, coiled with vines. Trees grew in thickets beyond, boughs festooned with quivering silver-white blossoms. Geralt smelt the sweetness of honeysuckle, the cleanliness of nature undisturbed by civilisation. There were no farms here, no cities or villages for miles around.
It was strange not to see smoke on the horizon.
Geralt had little time to contemplate his existence. Ellana swooped low like a falcon, opening her claws at the last moment. He fell with a startled yelp, tearing out the dagger he'd stabbed into the sheath of her claw. She snarled like a lioness pricked by a needle, fanning her wings as she landed. Geralt dumped on the ground, groaned in discomfort as he was engulfed in shadow.
He tensed like a frightened mouse, feeling hot draconid breath on the back of his neck.
He glanced left and right, cat-eyes widening when he spied two draconid hands. Each as wide as he was tall. The four scaled fingers and a thumb as thick as his torso. Ten black claws as large, long and curved as a six-foot scythe. Bracing himself he rolled over, counting his blessings when he saw a huge draconid nose.
Scaled nostrils flared, sucking in an outraged breath.
Geralt flattened himself against the earth, expecting to be torn in two. A fanged maw opened, revealing two rows of jagged teeth the length of an arm. A forked tongue rolled in the bed of a mouth that led to a cavernous throat. Like the top of a well it grew darker the further down it went, till it disappeared beyond a red uvula. He smelt the stink of brimstone upon her breath, yet as she inhaled there wasn't the slightest wash of heat.
The dragoness more agitated than angry, let loose a sonorous bellow.
The witcher fell back with a grimace, dropping the dagger he'd stabbed her with. It tumbled into the grass as he slammed his gloved hands over his ears. The dragon's roar of displeasure, reverberated like lighting in a maelstrom. He squirmed in pain, sensitive eardrums near bursting. The discomfort seemed to last an eternity, till it ended with a leonine growl like rattling bones.
Geralt slumped, his ears ringing – shocked to be alive.
He didn't hear the clap of calloused palms. The dragoness did as she curled around him like an eel. Distracted she snarled at a man sitting upon a series of stone steps. He was tall, slender as a reed and garbed in a heavy grey cloak. He smiled with a flash of white fangs, his fair elven face softening in recognition. Eyes red as blood glinted like rubies beneath thick black brows.
"Vhenan", he called. "Have you changed your mind?"