Chapter Fourteen: The Black Sun Also Sets
June 1st, 1275
Blaviken, Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard
Occupied by the Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss
1st Koviri Army Camp
With daybreak, the army broke camp and began to march east to face their ultimate match. Triss rode in the center, with two dozen other mages from the Corps, as they mentally readied themselves for the fight that could decide everything.
The Koviri armies had been like lightning in the last month. Their scouts knew the movements of every enemy force, their shock infantry so devastating that no battle had lasted more than a few short hours. After just a single month of hostilities, not a single Nilfgaardian banner flew north of the Buine or Nimnar River. Their newly designed siege engines, built off of Hattori's designs, had fell Blaviken in a single day.
The 1st Army was about eighty-five hundred strong; they had taken next to no casualties, but they had left numerous battalions behind to occupy the Arcsea in their stead, as they marched further south. So far, they had faced small groups, with little to no leadership. That was about to change.
Emperor Emhyr himself was leading the Nilfgaardian force on the other side of the river. The force he commanded was estimated to be around fourteen to fifteen thousand. Scouts also reported that about two thousand troops held Roggeveen, and another five thousand held Tretogor. There were supposed to be more, but they had been split off; the joint Koviri/Kaedwenian army group had seized most of Upper Aedirn, and taken all but one of the fortresses in the region. As a result, more than ten thousand Nilfgaardian troops under the command of Grand Duke var Attre of Temeria had been ordered to retake Aedirn.
If there was any opportunity to win the war, it was here. A decisive victory against Nilfgaard would allow them to postpone the offensive for a few months, allowing the trade embargo to truly set in. After that, it would only be a matter of time before Nilfgaard capitulated.
The army made camp on their side of the river, and could see signs of a Nilfgaardian camp a few leagues on the other side. Tomorrow would be the day of reckoning.
Nilfgaard won't know what's coming for them. Triss paced about her camp, going over plans with several of the other mages regarding defensive maneuvers and battle strategies.
Everyone except for Fendar had head off for bed. The two consulted further over how to use the river to their advantage when they were interrupted.
"Miss Merigold, Master Fendar, we need you. Now." Beata had come into the tent, the look on her face was urgent, and so the duo followed the girl to the medical tent, which was almost completely empty except for one person. His armor was damaged, and he was covered in injuries. He seemed to be struggling for consciousness.
And most importantly, for both Triss and Fendar, he had a silver griffin medallion around his neck.
Triss rushed to Damien's side, barely able to recognize him from all the blood on his face. Fendar quickly drew up a few potions and administered them to the witcher, who then fell unconscious.
Triss waited nervously, sitting by him, listening to his slow and ragged breath. The medic claimed his heartrate was recovering, and his wounds were healing, but he had yet to awaken.
He stayed in that state the whole night, and Triss stayed by his side through it all, holding his hand, waiting for him to wake. She fell asleep by his side, and was awoken by Fendar.
"Triss, lass, we need to go. We have a battle to fight. Don't worry, he'll still be here when we return."
She looked at Fendar, and then back to Damien, stroking his hair. "He better be." With that, she got up, ready to unleash her anger on the Nilfgaardians for hurting her…
What is he to me? Is he my lover? My friend? My companion?
She decided that was a question that would best answered after the battle.
The battle began with light skirmishing from either side as small parties crossed the safer sections of the river in an attempt to disrupt enemy formations. Arrows were loosed on both sides, but the Nilfgaardian archer units were unable to do much damage; the Corps had perfected a strategy that relied on quick pooling of magic to block bulk arrow fire as it came in. The hours went on, and neither side had attempted a charge across the river.
As it approached midday, however, the Nilfgaardians became more impatient, and began sending larger and larger groups across the river, only for them to driven back by quick arrow fire from the repeating crossbows Hattori had designed.
At midday, Emhyr launched a massive assault; close to six thousand men charged across the river; the entire Vicovaro Brigade, most of the Impera Brigade, and the Nazairi Brigade drove through the shortest section of the river, hitting the main line of Koviri Spear Infantry. The spearmen fought bravely, but were overrun by the sheer number of heavy cavalry that had rode through. The line broke, and the Nilfgaardian line crossed the river, establishing a beachhead that would enable more divisions to cross.
Triss and the Corps were assisting the 1st Poviss Division, the main heavy infantry regiment, in holding the center hill, but were being contested by the massive wave of Nilfgaardian cavalry. The losses both sides were taking were heavy, but the Black Ones had the numbers to keep going.
The heavy infantry fought to the last man, refusing to give any ground, but could not stop the endless charges of the dozens of Nilfgaardian regiments. Only around a hundred remained at the top of the hill, and Emperor's own force, the Impera Brigade, looked ten times that, as they reorganized for one last charge, rallying to the call and banner of the Emperor himself.
Triss was exhausted, drained from stopping lightning strikes and fireballs and returning her own storms of fire to the enemy, and she could not hold out much longer. She and some of the other mages prepared for the worst as they readied another chain lightning bolt, certain this was the last spell they could cast.
We won't fail. I won't fail. This won't be a Sodden. I won't be the Fourteenth on the Hill. I have someone to return to. With that, Triss channeled all the energy she had, and together with the other mages, hit the center line with a massive chain lightning bolt, taking close to a hundred down in the process. Hundreds more remained however, and the heavy infantry locked shields, preparing for the worst as the Impera Brigade began charging up the hill. But before they could get to the top, a horn trumpeted.
Over a thousand riders of the Koviri Chargers rode in from the left, smashing the Impera Brigade, decimating their line and driving them back. The Emperor himself, who was in the center of the line, was forcibly dismounted. The Chargers left no survivors, cutting down every man who retreated as the brigade retreated to the Buine.
The few who escaped began to sound the horn of retreat, as the emperor himself had been slain. They had underestimated the Chargers ability to make it to the center line, and as a result, had been obliterated. The few remaining Nilfgaardian units on the Koviri side of the river were cut down as they tried to retreat.
Triss breathed a sigh of relief, until she spotted something that troubled her. An enemy mage was fighting viciously by the riverside, and she wasn't sure why. She took out her spyglass to see who it was.
It was none other than Philippa Eilhart, who was blasting men down right and left. Only one man stood in her way. Damien. He charged the sorceress head on, getting her knee as she dodged his strike. She fell to the floor in a howl, and blasted the witcher against a tree. She looked around, realizing the Nilfgaardian army was retreating, and ran over to the dazed witcher, and teleported the two of them out of the way of more Koviri Chargers.
No…it can't be…she can't have taken him prisoner…NO! Triss had no energy left in her, and softly whispered his name before passing out on the bloodstained grass.
When Triss came to, she was being escorted to the medical ward. She stayed there to recover her energy before heading back to her tent. When she arrived to it, however, she found a page who was to escort her to the field marshal's tent. She followed dutifully, though a tad bit dazed.
"Ah, there you are Miss Merigold." Field Marshal Frederick was holding a meeting with all the commanders, and many people she knew, including Master Fendar, were in attendance. She ambled to an open spot by the war table as the man began.
"This victory will go down in history, right next to Sodden Hill and Brenna. Nilfgaard hasn't suffered a defeat this significant in nearly a decade. We count around three thousand dead in our own ranks, a significant sum, if we discount the close to seven to eight thousand estimated dead on the Nilfgaardian side." Even Triss, who was barely able to focus, knew how important that was. The commanders all clapped in response to this.
"And if that wasn't enough, we have proof that the Koviri Chargers were able to cut down the Emperor himself. The morale blow this will deal is unimaginable. It is likely that we can make it to the Pontar before the summer ends. Tell your men to celebrate. They've earned it." With that, the people in the tent started cheering. All, except for Triss, who had an empty stare. Everyone filed out of the Field Marshal's tent, except for Triss. Fendar noticed something was up, and hung back.
"Triss, are you okay?" His question drew the attention of the field marshal, who hadn't even noticed that Triss was still there. He turned, getting worried.
Her voice was barely audible, and she shook ever so slightly. "Damien…"
Frederick lit up. "The witcher? Oh he's a right godsend that one. Saved some of my scouts last night from Nilfgaardian raiders. I figured he would be in bed for weeks, but I saw him on the field. Did something happen to him?"
"They…they took him." She said, her eyes flaring with anger.
"The Black Ones? How?" Fendar asked, surprised.
"He was fighting Philippa…she knocked him out and teleported him somewhere else."
The field marshal looked sullen. "That's a shame Miss Merigold, but don't worry. The Nilfgaardian army will be dust by the end of the month. We'll recover the witcher." The field marshal, not normally one to be so cheery, wasn't going to let anything ruin his crowning accomplishment.
When I find that bitch…
The next day…
June 3rd, 1275
Montecalvo Castle, Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard
Philippa had recovered from most of her injuries, but was still in a bad state. Damn witcher's blade, must have been coated with some poison. Her leg was not healing as quickly as she was hoping.
Granted, borderline nothing was going as she was hoping. The assault over the Buine had been a terrible mistake. The report she had just read from General Mellis-Stroke had confirmed her worst fears; the loss of the Emperor had crippled morale, and thousands had deserted in the aftermath.
She walked over to her megascope, hoping to hear good news from her fellow associate. She activated it and contacted Fringilla.
"Phil! It's good to see you-, are you okay?" She asked, clearly surprised to see Philippa struggling to stand.
"Battle injuries. They happen. But that's not important. How is the eastern front?" Fringilla looked down at the question.
"I'm not going to sugarcoat it, Phil. Bad. We got news of the defeat last night. The soldiers are angry and upset. We've been dealt numerous losses of our own and are struggling to hold on to Aedirn. Gulet is being sieged out by Kaedwen as we speak, and there's talk the Koviri army will march on Vengerberg."
"How many men do you have in Vengerberg?"
"About three thousand. The Grand Duke is in command of three thousand men in the Flotsam Forests, but he's stuck in a cat and mouse game with the mercenary companies. Around seven hundred are protecting Gulet, and the rest are in Aldersberg. How bad was Buine?"
"How bad? 'Gilla we lost-"
"I know we lost the Emperor, but how many others? Can you hold Redania?" Philippa looked away. She wasn't sure, and her apprehension was worrying Fringilla.
"Mellis-Stroke estimates we lost eight thousand on the field, and around two thousand more have deserted since. Half of the remaining men are still injured, and morale is at the bottom of the barrel. We still have two thousand in Roggeveen, and another five thousand in Tretogor with Voorhis. Voorhis hasn't budged though, and I doubt he will now. He's got a throne to claim."
"So does var Attre." That caused Philippa to turn her head. "var Attre?"
Fringilla nodded. "He mentioned that his claim to the throne is stronger, as he's been running Temeria for the last few years. He's even willing to withdraw his army from Aedirn in order to fight for it."
"That bastard! He'd have us lose the war just-"
"Phil, I don't know what war you're fighting, but the one I'm fighting seems lost to me. We don't have the soldiers, the coin, or the resources to keep fighting for more than a few months, and that was with the Emperor alive. Right now, we are looking at civil war within the Empire. The Koviri embargo has emptied warehouses across the Empire and Emhyr knew that. He wanted a quick end to the war. We need negotiations soon or the soldiers we have left will munity."
"So what? We just let Kovir swallow up Redania and let Kaedwen take Aedirn?"
"Do you have a better proposal? Or are you hiding an extra army group and a million florens in your bosom and you just didn't have the decency to tell me?"
Philippa glared daggers at Fringilla. "We'll speak about this later." With that, she ended the channel. She had a prisoner to torture.
When she entered the chamber where the witcher was kept, she was surprised to see the guards had done a good job preparing him. He was wearing nothing but his underwear, and was bound to the wall by each limb, unable to move in the slightest. He stirred when he heard Philippa enter the room, awakening him from his attempt at sleep. He stared at her, the anger clear in his breath as he seethed.
"You fucking bitch." He spit at Philippa, and she barely dodged it.
"The irony is delicious isn't it? I am the one who should be afraid, who should be chained. Yet here I am, walking free, imprisoning someone who should be celebrating. Though, who do you have to celebrate with, witcher?" With that Philippa came up close to Damien, drawing a whip from the table behind her as she moved forward. She watched Damien's fidgeting closely, smirking as he refused to make eye contact with her.
"They'll find you here Eilhart. Your days are numbered."
"As are yours, witcher." With that, he raised an eyebrow.
"You think you will intimidate me? Make me give up sensitive information? I won't even try stopping you from reading my mind, you bitch. I have nothing to hide."
Philippa turned away from Damien and took several steps away. She could tell the witcher wasn't even remotely worried for his own safety.
"Interesting that a prisoner would be so forward," she stated, sitting down on the table, once again facing him. "You think that will make me release you?"
"I know why you will release me."
Philippa raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? And why is that?"
Damien looked up from the ground, staring directly at sorceress as a massive grin emerged on his face. As he said his next words, he watched, and grinned even more, as he saw the blood leave Philippa's face.
Two days later…
June 5th, 1275
Tretogor, Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard
Former Palace of the King
Royal Bedchambers
Voorhis laid against the balcony, overlooking the massive city as the moon rose. He tried to relax by watching the stars, but found it to be completely worthless. It failed in every way to keep him from his primary worries.
That good for nothing piece of shit. Voorhis remembered that letter. Secret correspondence from a noble ally of Nilfgaard. Information on some of the movements and actions of Redanian nationalists. He knew not to be too trusting, but he had felt safe assuming Tancred was not a fool.
Now he knew for certain the man wasn't.
The information Tancred had supplied had allowed Nilfgaard to keep Blaviken safe through the last year. Supposedly. After all, why would Tancred lie? Kovir and Kaedwen had historically had conflict; even if his accusations of Kaedweni support were inaccurate, it wouldn't necessarily mean he was trying to deceive Voorhis. The man simply did not trust Kaedwen and would take the opportunity to help his largest trading partner in keeping the peace.
But that was before the report from the Guild of Merchants in Novigrad on the state of trade in the Northern Kingdoms. The report that was whispered in every hall of every king, duke, and lord north of the Yaruga.
Kovir didn't need Nilfgaard. But Nilfgaard needed Kovir.
Relations quickly soured, and distrust sowed. First there was the Council meeting, which went excellently. For Kovir.
Then there was the royal celebration of the reestablishment of the Thyseen line. Which went excellently. For Kovir.
And then there was Belleteyn. Which went excellently. For. Kovir.
He had expected mobilization. But not on a thousand crowns would he have bet that Kovir would dare cross the Braa. At least not on the Nilfgaardian side.
Everything had come to together. All the spy reports, all the strange trade ledgers, the odd visit, the secret letters. It all made sense. But by the time it had, it was too late. Blood had been shed.
But the Emperor would solve it, surely. He had survived dozens of campaigns, his legions hundreds of battles. He had been the White Flame Dancing on the Graves of His Foes.
He had been.
And now, in Nilfgaard's time of need, in its time of greatest urgency, Duke var Attre had the gall to start a succession crisis? Civil war when they were already fighting, and losing, a war on two fronts? Without trade, the guilds and companies back home would revolt. Further losses, from infighting no less, could risk everything Emhyr had fought so hard to claim. Twenty years and over a hundred thousand Nilfgaardian lives had gained them this land. They couldn't lose it now. Not like this.
Not. Like. This. With that, Voorhis headed back into his bedchamber, and out into the hallway. He has somewhere to be.
And someone to question. Very, very carefully.
End of Chapter Fourteen