Chapter Seventeen: All Is Fair in Love and War

July 22nd, 1275

Koviri Army Camp, Northern Banks of the Rogge

Redania, occupied by Kovir, Empire of Nilfgaard

It rolls. In and out, swish, swish, slosh, slosh.

The water laps at the banks, a sparkling blue all the way across from one end to the other. Its movement is peaceful, relaxing, eternal and yet ever so temporary.

Triss' hair was tied back, her face looking out over the banks. Her face was emotionless. She wanted only to forget, to move on, to let pass the parts of her past that now plagued her.

For the first year she had been in Kovir, she had always had a small part of her, the smallest portion, which questioned her decision. Every time she made a mistake regarding Koviri customs, every name she forgot, it slipped through.

You could have stayed. You didn't need to come out here.

For a while she was convinced she could prove that part of herself wrong, and for a while she did. She came to grow used to Kovir and its strikingly different land and people. She even met someone who fit her personality, a man who could understand her, who wasn't already tied up with another woman.

And now he was gone. He had been gone for months, and she had no idea whether she would ever see him again. When she was certain she couldn't find him, he'd returned for a shortest moment, only to disappear and ruin any chance of them reuniting.

Unless…

Triss had an option. Tonight, the army group was moving south. The vanguards had already begun surrounding Tretogor, and when the whole host arrived, the siege would begin. Triss' orders were to support the assaulting forces in taking the city.

But she knew Damien was in the prison. That was the only place she could think of where Voorhis would have kept him, safe behind an army of soldiers. She had to get to him. This was her chance.

But was it worth it? Abandon her post, risk everything for a chance at saving him? For who, the man who had left Triss in the first place? The man whose idiocy landed him in the prison in the first place? Was he worth it?

Part of her yearned to throw him out, to forget him like an awful memory. But at the same time, part of her wanted to see him one last time, to hear his reasoning, to have him explain this insanity they had been through.

Somehow, through it all, she needed him. He still mattered to her, just as much if not more than her work did.

She got up, looking over the water. Remembering all the times he had been right, when he had done things she would have questioned into nonexistence, only for said actions to work out in the end.

It was difficult, but she knew she had to trust him. To believe in him, to support him.

She had to make sure he was safe.

Three days later…

July 25th, 1275

Outside the City of Tretogor

Tretogor, Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard

Triss prepared for the worst as her unit of mages moved through the smashed gates of the city, guarded by men of the 3rd Koviri Division. The gates of the city had been taken and the walls were falling to Koviri soldiers. Thousands of soldiers were rushing in to defeat the Nilfgaardian army and take the city.

They moved up the hill, fighting their way through broken divisions and attempting to avoid terrified civilians. The main Nilfgaardian forces had been defeated at the gates, leaving behind weaker regiments the broke quickly at the sight of the Koviri onslaught.

Triss and her men were making their way up to the palace to secure the city for Kovir, when she realized that the path to her left led to the prison beneath the palace. She knew that this would be her opportunity, to ensure that Damien was in fact okay and alive, but she also knew that her orders were to assist in taking the palace. Not to run off and abandon her unit in the middle of a fight.

She looked around, seeing the fighting was still going on, but it was clear the Koviri army was going to win. She called down a chain of lightning bolts, killing some of the enemy troops around them, and ran off under the cover of the aftershocks.

She made her way down the path, towards the prison entrance. While it was probably normally guarded quite heavily, there was almost no one standing in front of the gate. Triss blasted the two guards in front of the door with a fireball, and then forcefully held one of them in midair.

"Give me your key. Now." Her voice was steel, her expression death. The soldier immediately fumbled through his pockets, struggling thanks to the burns Triss had given him, and handed her the key. She snapped his neck and threw his body across the cobblestone street.

She entered the prison, making her way through as far as she could. She scanned every cell, but failed to find Damien. There were basically no guards left in the prison, and from her searching, it appeared as if Damien wasn't there.

She began hyperventilating. She needed to find him. If not for the fact that she needed to know he was okay, at least for the fact that she needed something to show she had not simply abandoned her post to die.

Maybe they moved him? She searched the warden's office, looking through his notes on prisoner arrivals and departures. There, she found what she needed. However, it was not the news she needed to see.

Damien had been removed from the prison three days earlier, on route to La Valette. Once he reached there, he would be moved to the location of the Nilfgaardian army under Voorhis.

Three days ago…Shit. Shit. Fuck. Oh fucking shit. He's probably across the Pontar by now if they left three days ago. Goddamnit.

She blasted the bookcase next to her down in a fit of rage, storming out of the prison in anger and disappointment. It had all been for naught.

Several hours later…

Triss was waiting with the other mages in their temporary new quarters in the occupied city, helping to nurse the wounded and look over what had been retrieved, when a page summoned her to the Field Marshal's office in the royal palace.

Time for me to get my due. She swallowed her spit, clearly nervous as she followed the page up the hill to the palace.

The royal palace itself was in ruins. Large portions of it were charred or damaged from bombardment from Koviri siege engines. The entrance was manned by a large number of Koviri Chargers, still fresh and excited from the fight. Many of them were still caked in blood from the assault.

She entered the palace, following the page into one of the larger offices that the Field Marshal had temporarily taken as his own. She entered the room, and the page shut the door as she took a seat.

Field Marshal Frederick was noticeably annoyed at Triss' sight as she came in. He was seated behind his desk, clearly busy drafting a letter, with a local map of Southern Redania and Northern Velen in front of him. He put his feather down when Triss entered and moved the letter aside. He motioned her to sit, and she did.

He got up, his hands clutching the table as he stared into Triss' tired and stressed green eyes.

"Miss Merigold, I was under the impression that your orders, along with the orders for all of the Corps of Mages, were to assist in the assault of this city, correct?"

"Correct, and-"

"You may speak after I am done asking questions. What unit were you assigned to assist, Miss Merigold?"

Triss paused, breathing slowly as she responded. "The 3rd Koviri Division."

"And where were you supposed to lead them?"

She paused again. "To the palace." Her voice had gotten very quiet.

"And did you complete your order?" The Field Marshal's voice grew rougher and angrier with each question.

Triss wasn't sure how to answer the question. I could be a smartass about it… "To my knowledge, the Division was able to reach the palace."

Frederick was fuming. "Don't play games with me Merigold. I am not someone you want to cross. Did you assist the division the entire time they were moving on the palace?"

Triss could see the rage in his eyes, and decided to just be frank. "No, Field Marshal, I did not."

"What were you doing instead?"

"Searching the prison."

"Was any part of your orders to search the prison?"

"No."

"Triss Merigold, you do realize you have just admitted to disobeying a direct order from your commanding officer and abandoning your post in the middle of combat. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" The Field Marshal turned around, looking out the window at the setting sun.

She looked away, unable to look at Frederick. "I did it for Damien." The Field Marshal turned around, surprised.

"What?"

Triss cleared her throat. "For Damien. He was being held in the Tretogor prison, so I had to search for him, make sure he was alive."

Frederick crossed his arms. "And I'm guessing you couldn't find him?"

Triss shook her head no in silence. "But I did find out what happened to him. They moved him-" but before Triss could finish his sentence, a page came into the office.

"Field Marshal, terribly sorry to interrupt, but there's someone out here who demands to meet you. Claims you two have a history together?" With that, Triss and Frederick got up, to see who it was. They exited the office and made their way to the entrance, which was manned by dozens of soldiers. A Koviri officer was standing by the entrance, arguing with the man who was trying to enter the castle.

Although Triss couldn't make out his face from the distance, there was much she could tell. She could tell he was wearing a sword on his back rather then at his hip. She could tell that he was of average height and average build, and she could make out his hair, disheveled in black.

Her pace quickened as she got closer to him.

And she could not control herself from sprinting right into him as she saw his griffin medallion around his neck.

The day before…

July 23rd, 1275

North of Oxenfurt

Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard

Dawn had broken only minutes earlier over the fields. The caravan moved along, two sets of riders in front, two sets of riders behind, and half a dozen men around the cell carriage. The escort had just past Burlwich earlier and was on track to cross the Pontar well before midday. However, the sound of the carriage wheels turning against the dirt path were suddenly eclipsed by the sound of knocking from inside the cell.

The escort stopped, and the commander opened the hatch to view inside. He peered inside to see the prisoner, who had just drew their attention.

"Da fuck you on about?" The commander was very noticeably annoyed.

"I need to take a shit."

"Fuck off. You can wait till Oxenfurt." With that, he went to shut the hatch, when the prisoner interjected.

"If you want this cell to smell like shit, that's your decision. The smell is going to get out. This isn't completely sealed." The commander huffed, realizing the prisoner was right.

"Get him out, take him up by those rocks, and keep two crossbows on him at all times." The commander's orders were followed, and two soldiers went in and removed the prisoner's chains and escorted him up the hill next to the path.

The prisoner took a squat behind the rocks, his back facing the soldiers, who kept their crossbows pointed towards him the whole time. After he finished, he got back up, walking towards the soldiers, who turned slightly at an angle. They weren't really sure what to do as he came towards them, so they lower their crossbows slightly to move out of his way. The prisoners stride indicated to them he wasn't about to try anything.

Which proved to be a critical mistake.

As he came up to them, his hands moved like lightning, grabbing a knife from each of their belts and in a blur slashing both of their necks. Before any of the other guards could react, he rolled forwards, moving out of their crosshairs, and threw one of the knives. It landed directly in one of the soldier's eyes, throwing him off balance.

The prisoner moved up to a guard as the man tried to draw his blade. His throat gushed blood as the prisoner pivoted around him, slicing his neck open, and pushing the man into another soldier as he removed the man's blade from its hilt.

"Kill the witcher!" The call rallied from the commander, and two of the horsemen charged towards the previously imprisoned witcher. The man dodged out of the way of the first rider, and then slashed the foot off of the second rider, throwing him off his balance and causing him to careen off into the woods. The other two riders held back, riding in circles around the stationary wagons, as a standoff began between the witcher and the soldiers.

The witcher rolled forwards, striking quickly at the knees of the guard he had hit with the knife, knocking him to the floor, before dodging a slash from the commander himself. The witcher kicked the commander in the chest, slamming him into the wagon, and sidestepped a bolt from the last guard.

He ran forwards to the man who had just fired at him. The guard stumbled back, drawing his blade as he dropped his crossbow, but was far too late. The witcher charged forward, hooking the guard's blade in an arch above them, before coming down to slash him on the back of his neck, severing his spine and almost detaching his head from the rest of his body. The guard's sword went flying into a tree, and his body fell to the dirt lifeless. Blood squirted everywhere, spraying over the witcher's white prisoner linen.

The witcher backed up from the cart, assessing the situation. Three riders, the commander, and one guard. I can do this. He twirled his blade, curling a smile, and quickly cast Quen.

The three riders charged at him one after another. The witcher dodged the first swing, deflected the second, and caught the third, drawing it in and forcibly dismounting the rider in the process. The rider was ripped off his horse and fell with a great deal of force; his collision into a nearby rock made a loud crunching sound. The witcher flinched slightly, before looking back to see the commander charging at him. He met the man's swing, locking his arm with the guard, and flipped him over, knocking the wind out of him as he slashed his throat.

The witcher spit out the blood that entered his mouth unexpectedly, and turned around to be hit in the chest with a crossbow bolt from the last standing guard. While his Quen sign absorbed the entire blow, the explosion of his shield threw him back on the ground, and he scrambled to pick up his shield and cast Quen again.

The riders came back for a second pass. The witcher deflected the first rider and with a quick flash of Igni, dismounted the second rider. By the time the rider could realize what happened, the witcher cut his head off.

The first rider dismounted, and the two remaining guards circled the witcher, waiting for him to make a mistake. The dismounted rider went for what he thought was an opportunity, which was actually a feint from the witcher, drawing him in, which led to the other guard to swing, slashing his fellow man in the face.

In the midst of the confusion, the witcher blasted them to the floor with Aard, and they were dead before they could get up.

The witcher looked around at his surroundings, realizing that his shirt was covered in blood, and that he hadn't had a real meal in weeks. From his estimate, he couldn't be more than day's ride from Tretogor, but he had no horse.

Getting back to Tretogor is the main goal. The Koviri army must be sieging the city tomorrow. If I can just get back…

He noticed that the place his skirmish with the guards had occurred was fairly close to a large manor. He figured it would be worthwhile to try to his luck in getting help, and if he couldn't…Axii had a habit of making people useful.

He set off, but stopped after taking a few steps, and headed back towards the commander of the guards. He searched the man's pockets, and got what he was looking for.

He took a sword sheath and draped it over his shoulders, placing the blade on his back, and put his griffin medallion back on.

Damn, it feel's good to be back.

End of Chapter Seventeen

Author's Note: Sorry about the insane break. College happened.

But hey, I said I would finish it.

Thank you for bearing with me.