Chapter 14: So Close, Yet So Far
POV Angoulême, 1267 late December
Angoulême drank her glass to the bottom, and quickly realized she had drunk one cup too many. So, she gave the typical apologies one does in her situation and stumbled off the manor's well-manicured grounds, trying to get away from any feet she might get sick on. Her blurry vision not helping in the least.
She turned into the nearest alleyway and promptly spilled her guts, right onto a man's dark steel sabatons. Once the last of her dinner had been expelled, she grabbed one of the straps on the man's mailed gambeson to pull herself up. Her hands climbed the straps like a ladder and Angoulême eventually achieved an upright position.
"Shawry" she slurred at the man, having to crank her neck to look towards his face.
Her blurry vision slowly cleared and Angoulême got a good look at the man's features. His long face was handsome, almost pretty. The man's silver eyes looked at her with disinterest, and mild irritation.
She must have been ogling him too long, because the woman holding his arm made herself known. "Do you need something?" she asked, in a friendly yet somehow threatening tone.
Angoulême looked her up and down, the woman was taller than her by a few inches and she looked very familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. "Nope." she answered, popping the p.
She let go of the man's straps and spun around, nearly falling over, and left the alley. Her feet brought her back to the manor grounds and over to the drink table. Angoulême took a random mug and filled it to the brim with... something brown. Before downing it all at once and filling it again.
POV Avallac'h
"Eredin." Avallac'h called, quickly walking towards the hunt master. "Eredin." he called again, closing in on his fellow elf. "Eredin!" he almost yelled.
"Yes... Avallac'h?" the warrior finally said.
"Events aren't unfolding according to plan." the mage informed him.
"So?" the younger elf asked, his voice as full of false kindness as usual.
"So... we need to adopt a more 'hands on' approach. We-" Avallac'h started.
"Get to the point." Eredin interrupted.
"I suggest that you go snatch her from the continent." the sage said.
"But didn't you have a grand plan to lead her here with 'Destiny' and 'a little help'?" the hunter asked, full of false innocence.
"There's been an unknown variable." he admitted.
"Didn't you get rid of him." Eredin asked, with what seemed to be genuine puzzlement.
"Not him. That portal was random, it should have transported him as such, but something played with the odds." the elven sage said, "Some... being was been affecting chance itself, giving luck to some and taking it from others." he continued, not knowing how right he was.
"You have always been paranoid." the hunt master dismissed.
"It isn't that, I can feel it watching me, even now." Avallac'h said warily, his blue eyes shifting slowly. As though he might see it.
"So, now that your master plan has failed, you need me to fix your mistake." Eredin said, bringing the conversation back to the original subject. While letting his true feelings bleed into his speech.
The Knowing One said nothing.
"Say it, Avallac'h." the rider pushed.
"Yes." the sage said dismissively.
The rider gave a slow nod, mockingly encouraging the sorcerer.
"I need you to fix my mistake." he said, the words tasting like bile on his tongue.
"I knew you'd see it my way eventually." Eredin gloated, then asked the sorcerer, "Where is it?".
Avallac'h grudgingly informed the rider of the gene carrier's location and Eredin turned away, walking down one of the hall's many offshoots. Nothing is going according to plan. He clenched his hands in anger, how was he to know something had been pulling strings. A something that seemed to dislike him.
POV Karra
Karra had just finished her landscape when she heard her leader call out to her, "Navigator Karra." he said, his voice as pleasant as ever.
The elven mage put her brush in her murky cup of water and laid her pallet down on the railing. The King of the Wild Hunt came to stand beside her and looked at her brightly colored canvas. "Beautiful as always." he complimented.
"Yet always the same." she said dully.
Eredin placed a small vial next to her pallet, the artfully crafted glass was filled with blood. It had something about it that set it apart from the rest she had seen. It was the same color of that which would often paint her visor and seep from her wounds. She suspected that it would smell just the same as well. Should she spill it over her hands, it would most likely feel the same too.
"You feel it, don't you?" he asked leadingly.
She nodded, still trying to figure out what the feeling was.
"This is blood from Lara Dorren, the very last sample we have. Your abilities as a Navigator resonate with the vestiges of her magic." he explained, Eredin's voice sounded as if he were talking about a rather fun game he played, instead of the blood of their people's greatest "tragedy". Not that it mattered.
Karra stared at the vial, simply wondering.
"Do whatever you must to familiarize yourself with the feel of it, enough that you can track it. By whatever means necessary." her leader ordered, his tone just as kind as usual, yet she knew he would accept nothing other than complete compliance and success. Lest she suffer the consequences. Again.
So, the Navigator reached out to the vial with a steady hand and grasped the small container. She gently pulled out the stopper and took a heavy sniff of the contents. She nearly let out a trembling sigh. Karra was so captivated by the smell that she almost missed Eredin's following instructions, "Once you've... finished, prepare your equipment and go to the transport road.". She nodded to his words absentmindedly, her attention still held by the Elder Blood.
Karra knew its remaining power was affecting her mind, but she didn't care, she hadn't felt anything this stimulating in decades. She... she wanted a taste. The Navigator lifted the vial's lip to her own, nigh unaware of Eredin's retreating footsteps, and let the smallest drop fall to her tongue. Then her knees went weak from the magic pulsing within her.
The blood's effects on Karra's body had worn off only an hour ago, but her mind still felt clouded. Her stallion huffed as it pawed the ground. Karra, as her role demanded, was placed at the rear of the hunting party. The group of nineteen, including the Navigator, were fully armed and armoured. Their black enameled plate covered them head to toe and their visors were forged to resemble skulls.
Karra stroked the length of her mace-headed quarterstaff as she waited for Eredin to arrive. Less than a moment later, he did. The King of the Wild Hunt rode in on his great black destrier, armoured in black plate that seemed to soak up the light around him. The spikes crowning his skull faced helm were like steel fingers grasping for... for something.
The hunt master took his place at the head of the group, "Navigator!" he called, his deep voice echoing in his helm and the enchantments taking away his usual charm.
Karra rolled her shoulders and brought up her gauntleted hands. She channeled the chaos around her, pulling it into herself, then sending to her hands. The power twisted and writhed as it went through her limbs. When it finally reached her palms, Karra pushed it out. The raw chaos had turned into the violent black orbs, tinged with frost blue, that would allow her to rip at the space between worlds.
The Navigator adjusted her fingers, the right hand to select the correct sphere and her left for the coordinates. Following the signal still deep in her mind, The Blood led her to the right world, then the place.
With a low growl, Karra sent the writhing orbs forward and a large swirling portal opened a few feet in front of Eredin. Her leader gave his stallion a swift kick and it rushed into the darkness of the portal, the rest quickly followed. Her own stallion following out of instinct.
The riders ahead of her entered the portal one by one, though sometimes by two, until her turn came. Karra's courser, like all steeds bred by her people, had no hesitation as it passed through the vortex. The cold air and darkness of the space between spaces surrounded them suddenly, yet the courser kept going, right behind her peers.
The space between was an eerie place, there was no sounds, no smells and even auras were heavily dampened. Karra did her best not to let her eyes stray from the riders in front of her. She didn't want to see the lost souls in this place. The first time was enough.
Then, just as suddenly as it came, the cold and darkness were gone. Replaced by bright sunlight and chirping birds. Karra couldn't hear the pounding of hoofs, only the birds, the burble of the brook to her right and the voice of a woman.
Karra's heart quickened and her eyes watered at the sight of the girl. Somethings not right. The Navigator hadn't even come close to tears since she was a little girl.
"Do you still smell it, Jon?" she asked the man next to her, as they both faced away from the Red Riders.
He nodded in response and the girl went to say more, but the portal dissipated, the space between's hold was cut and the riders were revealed.
The birds went silent, the brook's gentle noise drowned out by the pounding of hooves and the humans silenced themselves. Then unsheathed their swords.
"Capture the girl!" Eredin yelled, as the human man used his claymore to deflect Eredin's strike.
The next rider leaned in his saddle and tried to grab the girl as he rode past, but the human escaped them and lashed out with her blade. Cutting deep into the pit of the rider's arm, the force pulling them to the ground. Where the girl stabbed the rider under their helm, swiftly killing them.
Atta girl. What? The Navigator's head ached.
Right of Karra, and slightly ahead, one of her fellows nocked an arrow, but before they could even pull it back... their whole body shuddered. Karra shot a look and saw what happened, an icicle had ripped into their armour and come out the other side. The ice was as clear as the purest spring, which meant that Karra had a good view of the other elf's insides.
She looked back to their target and saw the man next to the girl put down his hand, just as the corpse next to her fell over... and it clicked. Karra ignored the feeling in her chest and shouted, "The man's a sorcerer!". Three riders heeded her call.
The trio rode hard and reached him quickly, but the man had heard her cry and seen the riders coming. The first rider went to trample the man, but he spun of the way and severed the horse's foreleg. As the beast fell, the man held his momentum and decapitated the rider.
The second took advantage of the distraction the quick death provided and lashed out at the man's head with their longsword. The dark-haired man proved too fast however, quickly bringing his large blade to block the strike. Then, in one fluid motion, forced the longsword away and thrust a third of his blade into the pit of the rider's arm.
The last rider came down on him then. The man ripped his blade from the corpse, but the rider managed to hit him full in the side with their mace. The force of both the blow and the horse's momentum sending the sorcerer flying into the brush. The rider followed him in.
Karra looked away from the scene, confused on which she wanted dead, and refocused on the target.
The girl had killed another one of the riders and had evaded two others. Then Karra saw one of her fellows pull out a net and, while the girl was distracted, they threw it over her. She was quick to cut it down, but it had left her open.
Open enough for a rider to sling an arm under the girl's sword arm and knock her off her feet. She crashed onto the ground and her blade flew from her grip.
Now that she was unarmed, the girl was much easier to catch. She barely wobbled to her feet when a rider caught her by the waist and pulled her onto their horse. Then swiftly binding her.
Karra barely kept herself from gasping at the girl's now bloody hair.
The Navigator shook off all thoughts. The target was secure, so Karra pulled chaos into herself once again. Thought this time with more haste, and therefore more pain.
The orbs filled her hands once more, and the Navigator wasted no time in opening the portal. Eredin rode through first, then those the girl managed to avoid. Then the target was carried through, kicking her legs and writhing on the horse. The sight brought up a strange variety of emotions in Karra.
The rest rode in ahead of her, and her horse lagged behind. Her hands were steady, and her fingers locked. She was mere feet away from her portal when she felt a vicelike grip wrap around her upper arm. Then a heavy weight landed behind her.
"Keep riding." a deep voice growled in her ear, sending a shiver up her spine and heat to her face. The hell?!
Ignoring her traitorous body, Karra adjusted her littlest finger ever so slightly. And rode into the vortex, with arms wrapping around her throat and locking around her head.
POV Jon
He heard the portal dissipate behind him, as the horse's hooves hit dirt and the rider struggled for air.
Jon looked around for danger, his arms still tight and his voice ready to threaten killing his hostage, but he saw no one to do so to. Only an empty glade, surrounded by thick oaks. Illuminated by a full moon.
The weight the witcher held suddenly threw itself to the side and fell off the horse, bringing Jon with it. They crashed into the ground, hard, and the hunter's grip loosened enough that his interrogee to-be wiggled out. Losing their helm in the process.
As Jon stood, the rider rolled away to a safer distance and he got a good look at them. They were an elf, clearly female. Though it can sometimes get confusing with elves. She had short, pale blond hair, that fell in line with her jaw. Her sea green eyes were filled with fight and... glee?
The elf's beautiful features twisted into a snarl as she pulled a knife from one of her grieves and rushed Jon.
The witcher was quick to react, slamming a palm into the back of her knife hand. Slightly denting the steel and sending the blade flying. She recovered quickly though, and retreated from his follow-up kick.
The elf ran to her horse and Jon made to follow her, but his broken ribs kept him from running anything near fast enough to catch her.
When she reached it, Jon thought the elf would mount up and ride away. Yet she didn't, the rider merely pulled a quarterstaff from the saddle. Seeing this, Jon remembered one of the lessons from Kaer Morhen. Most elves are arrogant in the extreme, poke at their pride and defeating them will be much easier.
So, Jon did just that. "Nice stick, what will you do? Poke me to death?" he said, immediately regretting his words. Jon knew he wasn't one for insults or speeches, Ciri usually took that role.
He thought it didn't work... until he heard a growl, then the elf turned to him and he saw that her face was twisted in anger. It worked? Though something felt off. Jon shook off the pain encroaching on his mind.
With a cry, the rider charged him and sent him a quick, controlled downward swing of her staff. He quickly dodged, and decided to keep pushing, "Close. Do you need me to slow down?" he asked, trying to sound as insultingly friendly as possible.
The elf growled and the witcher jumped back from her quick horizontal strike. She followed the strike with a thrust to his skull, but Jon used a palm to deflect it. As he did so, he remembered a small part of elven beliefs, "Whatever created you must have made a few mistakes." he said, making sure to make it sound like he was thinking aloud.
That seemed to work much better than his previous taunts. Even if it all felt odd.
The elf's face reddened and she brought back the staff. Jon readied himself for the wild blow, but it never came. Instead, the elf sent a quick thrust straight into his injured side. The blow had power behind it, enough for him to feel the broken ends of his bones stab into his lungs. Jon coughed up blood, and realised his mistake.
She had been playing him and he ignored his instincts.
Jon shook his head, kept his hands up and refocused on his foe. The elf's face had lost all trace of previous anger, leaving only a cold and calculating gaze. Yet that felt wrong too.
They started circling one another, watching each other carefully. Then he coughed. The force of it hunching Jon over. The she-elf attacked swiftly, sending a wining thrust to his injured side. Jon straightened suddenly and leaned away from the spiked head, grasping the shaft before the elf could pull back.
The witcher yanked on the staff, pulling the stubborn elf right into him. He sent his free fist smashing into her face with a crack. The force sent the elf to the grass.
Jon switched his grip on the staff, brought its head up and over his own. He swung the staff to cave in the elf's skull. Then pain erupted from his thigh. The knife!
The crushing strike went wild as Jon's knee buckled, the mace head slamming into the dirt. As he fell, he saw the elf start to crawl away. He couldn't have that.
Jon controlled his fall and crashed into the she-elf's prone form. The witcher, using his superior strength, pinned her to the ground. One hand on the side of her head, pushing it into the dirt as the other grabbed her wrist and locked her arm. He rose, his knees straddling her ribs.
Jon spat out a glob of bloody spittle, "Enough." he growled, unconsciously showing his fangs.
She squirmed and he pushed her head harder. He was about to ask his first question, when the knife in his leg twisted. The elf ripped out the short blade from his thigh and he had to release her skull to catch it on the return.
She struggled, bucking her hips and trying to get her knees under her. Jon growled again and squeezed, the pressure from his knees distorting the steel of the elf's cuirass. He kept warping the steel until he heard a strangled noise come from the elf's throat.
Jon stopped, and felt a presence against his mind "Are you both done?" he heard. The elf heard it too, if her rapidly paling face was any indication.
"Let me go! Please!" she begged, her eyes wide with fright. "We need to run, we have to-".
"Witcher." the rich, deep voice interrupted, "There is no need to fear." Jon's eyes scanned the tree line, few beings were capable of telepathy. None he knew of were so... gentle about it. Not to strangers.
Even as the first presence was joined by others, he kept looking. Then he saw it. He was taught that they were mere fantasy, yet there it was. A unicorn.
Jon coughed again, painting the elf's face the same colour as the unicorn's coat.
As his vision darkened, more of the fantastical beasts emerged from the trees. The red one approached him, Jon dropped the elf's hands, which fell down limply. The unicorn stopped close enough that it could run Jon through with a twitch of it muscled neck.
"Worry not, Blade-eye. We're only here to make a deal." The voice, which he supposed came from the horned horse before him, was... oddly reassuring. It only made him sleepier.
The unicorn made to say more, he could feel it, but the witcher's slipping hold on his consciousness failed. And he though no more.
POV Ciri
"I'll fucking kill you!" Ciri yelled, her eyes boring into the armored horseman who wounded Jon. Not killed, no, that's impossible.
"Will someone silence the ape." groused a rider. They were most likely weary after Ciri's half-hour of loud threats and promises.
Ciri began to descriptively inform the horseman about the various ways she was going to disembowel them with her bare hands, when a wad of cloth was thrust into her mouth. She almost managed to bite down on one of the rider's exposed fingers, but, sadly, she didn't get to sink her teeth in.
Once their fingers were out of Ciri's range, the rider clicked their tongue and snapped out a "Savage.".
The witcheress struggled as much as she could on the horse, but all it earned her was a swift elbow strike to the base of her bloodied skull.
Her vision blurred and she felt the hit all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. As her sight returned, she decided it best to stop moving, lest she suffer any more brain damage.
When her struggling ceased, the riders visibly relaxed. Snorting, Ciri looked at her surrounding and found them annoyingly gorgeous. Beautiful fluted pillars and columns of white marble, all lined with bright green malachite, supporting the roofs of open-air buildings. An incredible number of statues were spread around. Some standing with weapons, others were seated on benches of alabaster playing marble instruments.
It all seemed terrible for holding one against their will.
The horses eventually trotted to a large stable and the riders dismounted. The one holding her pulled her off the horse and onto their shoulder. "Bring Zireael to her chamber." one of the riders ordered.
With Ciri's view now being limited in a purely downwards direction, she couldn't see much of her current surroundings. She still took what she could though.
The witcheress kept careful count of her carrier's footsteps and watched for changes in the ground. At the 37 th step, the packed dirt changed to white cobblestones. Then, at the 58 th step, everything darkened slightly, the shadows lessened, and the cobbles were replaced with marble tiles. Ciri supposed they entered a building.
Ten steps later, her barer started climbing a staircase. Then stopped at the second landing, turned a perfect 90 ° left, and started walking again. Only two steps off the landing, a carpet appeared. A very fancy one.
It was a deep crimson with a gold accented, black floral pattern. It was a bit haughty for her taste, and the pattern too cramp- No! Focus!
Ciri had lost count, but the distance had felt like ten steps, give or take two. The rider carrying her only walked two more steps before stopping at a door.
They pushed it open with their shoulder, and carried her in. Only a few steps into the room, the rider tossed her to the floor. She would have yelped, or cursed, if her mouth wasn't stuffed with cloth.
The door slammed closed as Ciri got up to her knees, leaving her alone in the chamber.
A dozen minutes later, Ciri had finally managed to get out of her binds. She'd have to thank Jon for his limited imagination for gifts. He only ever gave Ciri blades. She had a small stiletto in each sleeve made to match witcher swords, her hunting knife and a dagger in her boot.
The witcheress had used her steel stiletto for the ropes on her wrists, then simply pulled the tight ball of cloth from her mouth.
Freshly freed, Ciri looked around the room. It was smaller than her chamber back in Kaer Morhen, but much richer. Most of the marble floor was covered by a rug, similar to the one in the hall. In one corner was a four-poster bed with a feathered mattress and pillows. In the opposite corner a wooden vanity. In another was a square table, along with two chairs.
Then Ciri saw a window, a big one at that. Large enough for a bear to walk through, so Ciri rushed over, only to see that it was far too high to jump. She huffed, then looked to the bed, then back out the window.
Ciri pulled out her hunting knife and approach the bed.
Then the door opened.
The witcheress quickly sheathed her knife and rushed to the table. Sitting on one of the chairs and grabbing the corner of the table.
"I would not do that, Zireael." a male voice, in the Elder Tongue, sounded from behind the half-open the door.
His words only caused her to tighten her grip and tense the muscles in her arm. "Why shouldn't I? Your men attacked Jon and I, hurt him and then you take me against my will. Why would I ever do as you wish?" she returned, her calm voice filled with venom.
"Because if you don't, then you won't learn the reason you are here. Or how you will be set free."
Ciri froze, she thought over what Jon would do here. "Why take me just to let me go?" she asked, knowing that he'd say to get all the information she could.
The door opened further and an elf stepped into the room. He was tall, as most male elves are, though shorter than her Jon. He had too sharp features and his blond hair was slicked back against his skull.
He strode over, and sat on the chair across from her. "For a transaction." he said, crossing his right leg over his right. Resting his interlaced fingers on his knee.
Ciri felt her anger spike, but forced herself to be outwardly calm. "A transaction. So, what will I get from it?" she asked, her nails digging into her skin.
"You will be free to return to your world. Or to sta-"
"My world is lying injured next to a brook." Ciri, very near snapping, interrupted. Then continued "He was smashed aside when your riders took me. He needs me, so I must ret-"
"You shouldn't interrupt, Zireael. When someone is telling you something." he said, interrupting her. "We have your human, he will be returned to you once we complete our deal." Horseshit, Jon wasn't in the group.
Ciri snorted and decided to play along, "Fine, but this..." she gestured between them, "... isn't a transaction, it's blackmail." she paused, then asked "What do you want?".
The elf waited a few seconds before responding, "For you to understand, context is necessary. Then I will tell you the way to your freedom"
The witcheress said nothing, only gesturing for the elf to continue. Which he did...
POV A young slave
The young slave stood ramrod straight beside the door to the Swallow's chamber. A master had entered only a few minutes ago to speak with her.
It stood there, ready for any order, when suddenly It heard a cry of pain. The noise sounded like the master's voice, but the slave didn't move. It was ordered to stay.
The master's shout was quickly followed by a short incantation, the slave had heard them often enough, and a female sound of rage. Which ended abruptly.
Then the door opened and the master walked out, cradling a bloody hand. The master mumbled something about "No matter how long" and "She has no choice", but the words weren't addressed to It. So, the slave actively forgot them.
It also forgot the sight of the Swallow, frozen in time mid attack. Her face filled with rage and a thin dagger in each hand.
"Dh'oine." the master called.
The slave snapped to attention, ready to receive Its orders.
"Run to a healer, have them go to my chambers." he ordered, none of his obvious pain reaching his voice.
The second the words ended, the slave turned and ran down the hall as fast as It could. The young slave closed the distance to the stairs in seconds, then raced to the top most level of the palace. It then ran to the end of the short hall and skidded to a stop before the door.
It knocked three times, each with the same amount of force and time in between, then waited a step from the door. Only a moment passed before it opened, revealing a female elf in sleeveless white robes.
The slave could see the question in the master's eyes, but he said nought. The healer stared at It for a few seconds, then spoke.
"Your purpose, Dh'oine?" she said, her melodious voice as condescending as any should be towards It.
"Master Avallac'h has called for Master's person to meet in his chambers, Master." the slave informed.
Pain flared in Its cheek from the master's slap, which snapped the slave's head to the side. "This low one apologises, Master. This low one thanks Master for chastisement." It said, without moving Its head.
The master ignored the slave and started walking down the hall, the slave quickly getting out of her way. It did not presume to look at the healer and remained still, until the slave could no longer hear the master's footsteps. Only then did It straighten Its neck.
The young slave waited a moment, then It turned around and started walking back to Its post outside of Zireael's chamber.
On the way there, the slave looked out of one the many windows. It was far, but It could have sworn It saw a flash of white.