Chapter 17: Travel and Rivia
POV Rhur
The gates of Stygga castle were wide open when the Imperial Brigade arrived. Rhur, as the captain of the vanguard, entered first.
The sight that greeted him in the courtyard was a slaughter, near a dozen men laid in dried pools of their own blood. His highly experienced eyes showed him that they were all killed by mounted swordsmen and that, by the lack of weapons by their hands, they were taken by surprise.
"Dyron! Take your section to secure and clear the courtyard!" he barked to one of his sergeants.
"Sir!" he replied, then promptly turned to bark at his section.
Rhur stood to the side of the gates and waited for the next sergeant to arrive. Once he did, the captain instructed him and his men to look around the main keep for entrances other than the one up the stairs in front of him.
The third and final sergeant was told to report to His Imperial Majesty, "No obstructions found outside the keep. Awaiting further orders." he told the man to relay.
Mere minutes later the yard was clear and the sweep was complete. Then, The White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of His Enemies, Emperor Emhy Var Emreis, marched into the courtyard with the rest of the men.
"Captain," the emperor said smoothly, "the situation."
"Your Majesty, there was an attack before we arrived, and judging from the scene it was some time ago." Rhur started, "We have cleared corpses from the yard and found that they were mercenaries. We have searched inside the wall and found no other buildings other than the keep." the captain gestured towards the stairs nearby, "This is the only entrance." he finished.
The emperor stared at him a moment, then "Very well, you have Our permission to investigate the keep." he ordered.
"Yes, your Majesty!" Rhur gave a perfect salute and quickly ordered Dyron to take his men up the stairs.
The captain followed close behind them. They ran up the stairs and smashed open the door with yells for surrender, but no one and nothing answered them. The men looking through the door stood immobile, even after a moment came and went.
Annoyed at their breach of protocol, Rhur pushed them into the room and out of his way. He was about to yell at the grunts, promising drill-based punishments, when he noticed the main hall.
The first thing that hit him was the stench of rot, smoke, and metal. Then it was the grand staircase that came down the side. The very top was clean, pristine even. Five steps down was the first corpse, a man wearing brigandine who had been split in two, shoulder to hip. On the sixth there was only a head and from then on there was at least a limp or corpse on every step. As his eyes followed the line of bodies, he saw that the white tiles that covered the steps were slowly painted red. Until, midway down, there was no more white to be seen. Three-quarters of the way down the blood still flowed freely.
If the stairs were a butcher's floor, then the rest of the hall was that of a slaughter house. There was not an inch of stone to be seen, while the blood pooled deeply around the fallen weapons and men. He walked among them, examining them in slight awe. The sheer variety of wounds astounded him.
Some were struck down by expert cuts to weaker points, such as an unarmoured neck or inner thigh. Others sported scorch marks from fire and lightning. Many men were missing limbs and some bisected. A dozen's heads were destroyed in one of three ways, pierced through by a small weapon, smashed into by what seemed to be a small flail, or simply rendered into pulp.
Rhur walked over to one of the walls to better admire one of the kills. A heavily armoured man, still on his feet, but smashed through the mosaic and into the stones, his plate crumpled and sprayed with his blood. Looking closer, the captain saw that parts of the steel had fused with the rock.
"What are you waiting for!" he shouted, as he turned to face the men near the door. "This isn't the first time you've seen blood!" he continued. Weaklings, they require far more disciplining than I thought.
At his yell, the soldiers jumped into action. The sergeants present quickly ordered their respective sections to scour certain parts of the keep, then relaying those orders to the sergeants that came after.
Eventually, His Imperial Majesty, along with the two other captains, joined Rhur in the hall. The emperor looked over the relatively silent room with a calm, cool expression.
Together, they waited in silence for the men to finish sweeping the bloodied fortress, and as time passed the emperor slowly developed a frown.
Then, the first sergeant returned with his report. "We have found the aftermath of another battle a few rooms ahead. There are signs of cryomancy throughout the space and in many of the corpses. More than half were killed by similar arrows, most likely made by the same individual." he said, calm and composed as a true Nilfgaard soldier must.
"And your section." the rear captain asked.
"Securing the area around the incident."
"Very well, return to them." The emperor ordered shortly.
The sergeant quickly complied.
Before long two sergeants came together to give their own reports. One, like the first, was calm and collected as he told them that they had searched the northern region and that they had found the sites of two skirmishes. One with nearly twenty corpses and another with six, five of them being more mercenaries and one that used to be the wizard Vilgefortz.
The news of the wizard's death brought an end to the emperor's developing frown and his order was given with a small smile. "Secure the wizard's corpse." he said, unsurprisingly given that the man was a traitor of the vilest sort.
The next report sadly brought the frown springing back.
"The basement section held the wizard's laboratories, holding cells and... where he disposed of failed experiments." the man started, pale faced. "We searched thoroughly, taking care not to further damage any of the instruments and samples. What we found was... disturbing, your Majesty." he finished, clearly looking for approval before elaborating.
The emperor gave the sergeant a nod, and he continued. "We found girls, younger than twenty yet older than fourteen. All were with child, all had them cut and ripped out of them. Those that hadn't died from the... procedure were tortured to death." as he said those words, the man's face went slightly green. Even Rhur could not deny the bile that rose at the images that came to mind. He needed more disciplining.
"In one of the rooms we found what seemed to be a monster attack, yet there was no corpse to verify what exactly it was. We have obtained a few surviving scientists, though they have been mostly unresponsive thus far." the sergeant finally said.
"Unresponsive how?" the captain of the center, Durnar, asked.
"They babble constantly about a shadow coming to kill them, captain. Whenever they are asked a question, or a stranger comes near, they scream uncontrollably until left alone." the sergeant answered.
No more questions were asked as Emperor Emyhr hummed in thought.
"Secure it all, the men, the samples and the tools." His Imperial Majesty ordered. The sergeant blinked, but swiftly saluted and rushed off.
Soon, the rest of the sergeants returned, each reporting their own findings. One had found where the few servants were still hiding, another had discovered the desecrated corpse of Count Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, the rest found little of note.
The emperor's orders were very cruel and equally predictable. "Kill the servants, dispose of the Count's body." he said softly, but with the firmness that the captain had come to expect from His Majesty.
When no other news came, Emperor Emyhr's frown deepened and his eyes darkened.
Seeing this change sent cold shivers down Rhur's spine.
POV Neutral
The party departed from Stygga castle in a hurry, sadly having to leave Cahir where he fell. Which brought great anger to Angoulême and sadness to the rest of the original hansa.
Eventually, when they were far enough from Stygga, and Angoulême had mostly simmered down, the girl asked the rather mysterious trio a series of question in quick order.
She, and the rest of those not in the know, received few answers and the ones they managed to eke out of Ciri, and only Ciri, were quite vague. Vague answers such as their general location, Toussaint and "some other places", but also what they did. That being "jobs" and "fighting".
The various members took the silence and small answers in many different ways. Geralt assumed that something unpleasant happened and, to not bring up bad memories, chose not to ask anything. Milva didn't quite care and would only ask if curious about one hunt or another. Regis was more interested in talking about art and elven medicine with Karra anyway, so it didn't really affect him. Angoulême simply grew annoyed enough to stop asking, for a time. Yennefer, behind her constant courtly mask, was worried for her girl and, mentally, decided to talk to her in private.
The group rode on shared horses, Geralt with Yennefer, Jon with Ciri, Milva with Angoulême, something which certainly caused no loud arguments. Regis though had ceded his mule, Drakul, to the blond elf and simply walked along beside the slow beast. Until, three days out of Ebbing and into Mettina, they stumbled rather conveniently into a dead man and surprisingly alive horse.
Karra quickly switched over the old stallion, the whole group ignoring the arrow riddled body of his previous rider, the lack of saddlebags and the arrows all around the horse's hooves. The only thing that they did take note of was a name etched into a tag tied to the saddle horn. A metal plate that read "Magoo", which they rightly assumed was the old horse's name.
Regis mounted Drakul and the group promptly left.
The next event of note happened not even two days later. When travelling on a, so far, well-maintained road by a large river Angoulême asked the group "Where the hell are we going! What'll we fuckin' do when we get there!".
This question raised no brows, as most of them had the very same question on their minds. The what to do differed from person to person. Geralt did not quite know what to do, but he know it wasn't the Path. Jon didn't care, so long as he stayed by Ciri and out of trouble. Yennefer wanted to finally pry what happened to her daughter after Thanedd out of her ashen-haired head. Karra wanted to see the sights and keep the two lovebirds relatively safe, Lara wanted her descendent and Jon wedded with children. Regis did not quite care what he did. Angoulême was too confused and angry at the world to think on that. Milva was simply tired. What Ciri wanted to do was rather simple, adventure and Jon.
What they all did agree on, however, was the where. Toussaint. It was simply the best place to be.
Only four days from the mountain pass that would lead them into Toussaint, Yennefer received a discrete message from the lodge of sorceresses during the night. One which almost everyone noticed, but refrained from mentioning.
The very next morning Yennefer told them that she had something she had to do. So, after whispered words to both Geralt and Ciri, she left. Travelling through an easily conjured portal.
No one said anything during that day's ride.
Then only little the next.
Weeks later, as they exited the Toussaint side of the mountain passes, they heard a great shriek from the skies. One that reminded a few of them of a griffin's call. Then, a giant blue eagle swooped down faster that most could react and slammed onto Jon's shoulders. One foot on each pauldron.
The frost blue beast let out an angry caw and started pecking the young witcher's helm furiously, the steel letting out dull clangs with every strike.
Jon's severe lack of any reaction, and Ciri's giggles, erased any worries the others had.
Eventually, the eagle stopped it's pecking and flapped over to Ciri. Its landing was awkward, and the witcheress had to brace her outstretched elbow with a first to her flank for the bird to sit comfortably.
The giant bird lowered its head down to Ciri's and caressed her cheek with his crown. She laughed again and ruffled the soft, fluffy white feathers on his chest.
It took Geralt a moment, but he soon recognised the bird. Gwyn had changed greatly from when the man had seen him last. He was much bigger, larger than any pure avian the experienced witcher had ever seen. The other was his feathers, no more brown ones to be seen, only shades of blue ranging from frosty to near white.
Needless to say, he had mutated away enough from white-tailed eagles to earn his own subspecies name and looked deadly enough to earn a place in Kaer Morhen's bestiary. If he had left decedents... Toussaint might have a serious bird problem in the future.
POV Ciri
Songbirds tweeted their tunes as their horses plodded along through the underbrush. The witcheress had been enjoying the rides, being pressed up against her Jon for hours without end. Even though she never got to do anything when the group stopped travelling so they could sleep for the night. Something that's been wearing down her already weak self-restraint.
She was nuzzling the space between his shoulder blades, as he'd finally agreed to strip his armour down to a thin undershirt for the morning, when she noticed something. A very familiar burble of water, the sounds of a familiar brook.
Ciri's face quickly lifted and looked around, then she recognised it. "Jon!" she said, rapidly tapping his shoulder. Which prompted the witcher to take a careful look at their surroundings.
He hummed and stooped their horse, which the huntress took as her cue to leap off the poor overburdened beast.
Her eyes looked over the small clearing, the grass near the brook showed few signs of the hooves that tore it and the brush had recovered from her Jon's flight into them. But one thing had not yet been hidden by nature, the gleam of metal making itself known near the bank.
She rushed over to it and saw that the shine was coming from a familiar pommel half buried in the small stones. Ciri knelt down and quickly dug it out, a smile growing on her face, and found the rest of the hilt. The leather was pristine, the steel without a spot of rust. The witcheress, in one smooth motion, ripped the blade from the ground and revealed her Zireal.
Only to discover that the once shining steel was now red and knobbly with rust. Only a cursory glance was needed for her to tell that it was too far gone for any hope of repair.
Her arm fell, the rusted stick that was her first real sword splashing in the water that ruined it.
She heard everyone else stop their mounts, two of them dismounting, then those same ones walking towards her.
Out of the corners of her vision, she saw Geralt appear on her left and Jon on her right.
"I'm sorry." she mumbled, as the white-haired witcher's hand fell onto her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.
The pale-haired girl let herself fall into the dark-haired boy, who caught her with practised ease. He pulled her closer and held her firmly, but as gentle as can be.
She went to ask after his Cerbin, but the moment the she took the breath he shook his head and she stopped short.
So, Ciri chose to stay there. Enjoying the comfort of the arms around her, and the reassuring presence behind. All while ignoring the stares.
POV Geralt
"No, no thank you goodman." Geralt told the bank teller, as he tied the coin pouch closed and slid the slip of credit into a chest pouch.
"Are you certain? Our chefs make incredible orderves." the dwarf tried again, his hands rubbing against each other.
"I am." the witcher said coolly, growing tired of the back and forth that had taken up the past five minutes. Ever since he had sent his letter.
Sensing this, the teller ceased his pushing and thanked Geralt for his patronage. The white-haired man said nothing, only turning his back on the non-human and walking away. His bootheels clacking along the rich marble floor as he made his way to the exit, evading the various others customers and well-disguised advertisers the whole way there.
He had just rebuffed a particularly attractive half-elf woman talking about the incredible interest rates in the bank's latest savings account deal, when he finally reached the handsome oak door that would get him out of the moneylender lair.
Geralt forcefully opened the double doors, just short of slamming, and swiftly walked to where he left the group with their horses, each person having their own since they bought the remainder at the last village.
"Took you long enough, Geralt." Angoulême said impatiently, her rapidly tapping foot probably having started mere seconds after he left them.
It was then, as he took the reins of his horse, that Geralt truly noticed the goings on. The street that was nigh deserted when he entered the bank was now teeming with people from all walks of life. Though most were of the lower class., small-time merchants and various workers.
The witcher mounted his mare and, having gained a higher position, managed to see what all the fuss was about.
It was the most common thing that passed for entertainment since the war started, an execution.
"What do you think it's for this time?" Ciri asked, the group had started their own morbid little game after the third one they witnessed. "So far we've seen desertion, cowardice in the face of the enemy, treason and some financial cases." the girl listed, putting up a finger with every cause of death.
The crown started moving along, and they rode along with them.
"I am going to guess treason." Milva said, a rare contemplative look on her face.
"Probably a merchant, for supplying the army with mouldy hardtack." the elder witcher said, nodding slowly.
"I agree with Geralt, though instead of food I think it may involve faulty weapons." Regis told the group, his right hand rubbing his jaw in thought. While the other arm's stump hid beneath his cloak, which also had the benefit of hiding his other, still healing wounds.
"They aren't going to kill a tradesman here. Look, the scaffolding is covered in cloth and the headsman's got a fresh hood and new leather doublet." Ciri countered, and she was right. The leather was pristine and well-tailored, the cloth was a clean white with various patterns embroidered on it. "They'll be executing someone important, at least a baron. So, it's probably cowardice in the face of the enemy." she finished with a triumphant smile.
"Toussaint didn't have an army in the face of any foe. No, I think it's economics again. Might be a high-level merchant" the witcher repeated, confident in his answer.
Then, for only the fifth time, Jon joined the game. The young witcher shook his helmless head and said "This is Toussaint, tradition is more important than economics to the nobles here. It's lèse-majesté or something similar." his voice was confident, without a shred of doubt to be found. The rest were inclined to agree, since that last five times the dark-haired witcher joined he was right on the money. Yet Geralt shook his head, the duchess was incredibly patient and no one could be foolish enough to sufficiently insult her.
The group, its members having all reached their respective conclusions, waited for the condemned with the rest of the crowd.
Soon enough, someone shouted. "They're coming!" then more of the crowd took up the cry, "They're coming!".
Buzzing with anticipation, the people drowned out any sound that would let the group know of how the execute-e would be arriving. So, they all had to look in different directions for at least one to see them first.
Suddenly, Milva gasped and the group quickly looked to the huntress. They followed her shocked and horrified eyes to a side street, where they saw a rack wagon, pulled by two horses, carry a certain troubadour into the square.
Geralt nearly gapped at the sight of him, the singer looked as though he was on his way to a ball instead of his own execution. Well, if you ignore the restraints on his arms and his poor balance on the wagon.
"Dandelion!" Angoulême exclaimed, before anyone else could, with a shout. "We have to do something!" she continued.
"Regis?" Milva asked, turning to the vampire.
He nodded and said that "I shall hide myself under the scaffolds and wait for the right moment." once he had finished talking, Regis simply crumpled into dark mist. Geralt only managed to spot him a few times as the vampire weaved through the crowd.
The potential fatality of the singer's circumstances removed, the group relaxed, sat back, and enjoyed the show.
Some soldiers moved away from the line holding back the crowd and awaited the wagon by the stars leading up to the wooden platform. Once the horse-pulled coffin reached them, the soldiers pulled him off. Although they did so with incredible gentleness, courtesy and near reverence. They put him down him at the foot of the stairs and untied him.
Dandelion nonchalantly scratched his behind, then climbed the steps without any prodding. As he ascended, one of the steps creaked and the rough railing cracked. The troubadour nearly falling over because of the sudden loss of support.
"That needs fixing, dammit! You'll see, one day someone will kill themselves on these steps. And it won't be funny!" Dandelion yelled, standing on one of the sturdier looking planks as he did so.
Finally, after painfully slow and careful steps, the troubadour reached the top of the stairs, where he was quickly intercepted by two leather wearing assistants. The boys swiftly brought him to the center of the scaffold where two men waited.
One was clearly the executioner, with shoulders as thick as a castle wall and the other a rather posh man as thin as a rake.
The thin man, who's opulent robes were dyed a funerary black, unrolled a surprisingly long scroll.
"Good gentlemen and burghers of Beauclair and its surroundings! It is known that Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove, alias Dandelion by sentence of the Ducal High Court has been found guilty of all the crimes, misdeeds and offences of which he is accused, namely: lèse-majesté -"
Jon smiled, and Geralt groaned.
"- treason, and furthermore sullying the dignity of the noble estate through perjury, lampooning, calumny and slander, also roistering and indecency as well as debauchery, in other words harlotry."
Milva whistled.
"This the tribunal has adjudged to punish Viscount Julian et cetera, primo: by defacing his coat of arms, by painting diagonal black lines on his escutcheon. Secundo: by confiscation of his property, lands estates, copses, forests, and castles."
"Castles?" both Angoulême and Ciri questioned.
"Tertio: the chief penalty. Anna Henrietta, reigning over us as Her Enlightenment the Duchess of Toussaint and Lady of Beauclair, has deigned to commute the punishment provided for the above-mentioned crimes of being dragged behind horses, broken upon the wheel and quartered, to beheading by axe. May justice be done!" the man finished, rolling up the scroll.
After a few seconds passed, the crowd raised incoherent shouts. The women standing in the front row stared to wail and lament rather unconvincingly. Children were lifted up or placed on shoulders for a better view.
Then, the assistants disappeared, only to return rolling a large stump. They stopped it right before Dandelion's feet and placed a large white cloth over it. There was a slight commotion, Geralt managed to hear something about a stolen basket. But soon, one was brought over and placed near the stump.
The witcher also spied a quartet of urchins go under the platform, only to stop, pale, and scramble away.
"I wish to address the townspeople." the singer proudly declared.
"Make it short, Viscount." the thin man allowed.
Dandelion walked over to the edge of the platform and raised his hands, to which the crowd quickly silenced. "People! How do you do?" he called.
There was a long moment of silence then...
"Eh, muddling along." one man, far into the back rows, muttered.
"That's good. I'm greatly content. Well, now we may begin." Dandelion said, nodding as he did so.
"Master executioner, do your duty." the thin man announced. Which, for some reason, caused Jon to sneer slightly.
The executioner, as custom dictates, approached the troubadour, got down on his knees, bowed his head, and begged forgiveness.
"Me? Forgive you?" Dandelion asked.
"Uh-Huh." the executioner replied.
"Not a chance." the singer stated, turning up his nose.
"Eh?" the burly man gasped, his hands spread wide.
"I'll never forgive you. Why should I? Have you heard him, the prankster! He's about to cut my head off, and I'm supposed to forgive him? Are you mocking me or what? At a time like this?" Dandelion ranted.
"How can you, sir? For there's a law... and a custom... the condemned man must forgive the executioner in advance. Good sir! Expunge my guilt, absolve my sin-" the executioner begged.
"No."
"No?"
"No!"
"I won't behead him. He must forgive me, otherwise there's nothing doing." the executioner somberly proclaimed, rising from his knees.
The thin man quickly snatched Dandelion's elbow, "Lord Viscount, don't make things difficult. People have gathered, they're waiting... Forgive him. He's asking politely, isn't he?" the posh man said, gesticulating with his free hands.
"I won't forgive him, and that's that!" Dandelion reaffirmed.
"Master executioner! Chop off his head without being forgiven, eh? I'll see you right..." the thin man offered, approaching the much larger one as he did so.
Without a word, the executioner stuck out one of his large hands palm up. Prompting the thin man to sigh, reach into a pouch and dump a handful of coinage into the awaiting hand.
The executioner looked at them a moment, rubbing the coins around with his thumb, and then clenched his fist.
His head snapped over to Dandelion, stuffing the coin into his leathers. "Very well, knell down then, mister stubborn. Put your head on that block, mister spiteful. I can also be spiteful, if I want to. I'll take two blows to behead you. Three if I'm lucky." he said, his voice dark and malevolent.
"I absolve you! I forgive you!" the singer shouted desperately.
"Thank you." the large man said, voice full of false gratitude.
"Since he's forgiven you, give me back my money." the posh man politely demanded.
"Step aside, noble sir." the executioner said, raising his great big axe menacingly. "Don't get in the way of the tool. For where heads are being chopped off, if you get too close and you might lose an ear." the statement ended with a chuckle.
The thin man scrambled back, nearly falling from the scaffolds in his haste.
"Like this? Master? Hey, Master?" Dandelion said, stretching his neck over the stump as far as it seemed it could go.
"What?" the executioner barked.
"You were joking weren't you" You'll behead me with one blow? With one swing? Well?" Dandelion babled.
The man's chest rumbled a moment. "Let it be a surprise." he finally said.
As the executioner took his place on Dandelion's right side, a commotion erupted from the back of the crowd behind them. Geralt twisted in his saddle, and managed to spot a rider racing his way through the crowd on a horse so tired that it foamed at the mouth.
"Stop!" the rider cried, waving about a thick scroll. "Stop the execution! By ducal order! Stop the execution! Out of my way! I bear a pardon for the condemned man." he shouted, nearing the scaffold.
"Not again? Another reprieve? It's starting to get boring." the executioner sneered, how the witcher knew that he couldn't tell you, and lowered his axe.
"Mercy! Mercy!" The men of the crowd roared, the women in the front wept and sobbed even louder. All while the youngsters moaned in disapproval.
"Quiet down, good gentlemen and burghers!" the thin man shouted as he unrolled the scroll. "This is the will of Her Grace Anna Henrietta! In her boundless goodness, in celebration of the peace treaty, which, as rumour has it, was signed in the city of Cintra-"
Ciri growled at that, Jon letting out a deeper one.
"-Her Grace pardons Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove, alias Dandelion, and his misdeeds, and waives his execution-" he continued.
"Darling little weasel." Dandelion grinned.
"-ordering at the same time that the above-mentioned Viscount Julian Pankratz et cetera without delay doth leave the capital and the borders of the Duchy of Toussaint and never return, since he offends Her Grace, and Her Grace can no longer countenance him! You are free to go, Viscount." the thin man finally finished.
"And my property? Hey? You can keep my chattels, copses, forest and castles, but give me back, sod the lot of you, my lute, my horse Pegasus, a hundred and forty talars and eighty halers, my racoon lined cloak, my ring-" the singer demanded.
Enough of this!
"Shut up! Shut up, get down from and come here, you blockhead! All of you, clear the way! Dandelion! Do you hear me!" The witcher yelled, the others all making an effort to clear a path from the scaffold to an empty street.
"Geralt! Is that you?" Dandelion gasped comically, placing a hand to his heart as he stumbled away from the stump.
"Don't ask, just get down! Over here! Leap onto my horse!" Geralt ordered, maneuvering Roach so that the singer could do as he said. Which he did, earning a displeased huff from the mare.
The witcher drove his horse through the line in the crowd, the others peeling away from where they were to follow him as he passed. They escaped the masses, but still he galloped.
"Why the hurry? No one's following us." The singer complained.
"For now. Your duchess likes to change her mind and suddenly cancel what she's already decided." Geralt said, and before he could ask something that held his attention during the whole farce of an execution, Regis spoke up.
"I agree with Dandelion, Geralt. Her Grace in unlikely to quickly change her mind on this particular decision. We should rest at the signpost, the one on the city's border." The vampire said, in a tone that brooked to argument.
Intrigued, Geralt agreed and the group rode for the city limits.
Having reached the post, the very same one they met at when they first left Beauclair, the group halted their trot.
Geralt turned to Regis, making the question clear on his face.
"I am not the one you should be asking, Geralt." the vampire said, glancing towards Angoulême.
She huffed and crossed her arms, "I'm staying. We saved Ciri, as we set out. An' well..." she sniffed and forced a smile, "is' not like she's be makin' me a countess. What with her lack of crown an' all." Angoulême took a steadying breath and continued. "I'm going to open a bordello here in Beauclair, like I said last time!" she finished with a grin.
Beside her, Milva smiled at her. The turned to the witcher "I'll be staying as well. You know her Geralt, someone's always have to keep an eye on her." she said, smirking.
"I am planning on re-opening my apothecary next door, there's no telling what foul things the... staff will pick up." the vampire informed him, revealing his part in the business plan.
Geralt sighed with a smile, and untied his coin pouch from his belt. He transferred the note of credit into it, then tossed it to Angoulême. "My investment. Don't waste it, I'll be sure to visit and see if you spent it well, girl." the witcher said, letting them know this was no true goodbye.
As Geralt wheeled his horse around, the movement mimicked by Jon, Ciri and Karra, Dandelion decided to pipe up. "Then I shall stay as we-" he started whimsically.
"NO!" they all shouted in unison, crushing any hope of him disobeying the exile order.
The singer slumped his shoulders, and drove his white horse around.
The five slowly rode off, as the three stood watching.
On the twenty-sixth of May, just as they crossed the Jaruga, Ciri started getting fidgety.
The signs had started slow at first then as the day processed, so did her nervousness.
It had peaked when, after crossing the great river, they reached an ancient oak tree. The one known to the region as the Tree of Tidings of Good and Evil.
Geralt had instructed the group to search among the hanging wooden posts on the tree, but Geralt only did so half-heartedly, he noticed Jon and Karra doing the same as he, glancing at Ciri in suspicion more than checking the boards.
Dandelion, having been searching in earnest, quickly found a very lucrative witcher contract with incredible bonuses.
Normally it would have pained the witcher to deny such an offer, but the agonizing wait for what he knew was inevitable superseded the loss.
Only a moment after the singer slumped in defeat, Ciri announced what he had been waiting for.
"I've been summoned to Vengeberg by Madam Yennefer." the ashen-haired girl said, hesitating for a second before adding "You and Karra can't come, Jon. It's whole thing." Ciri looked down slightly as she seemed to force the words.
"You know what happens when we separate." the young witcher said.
"Third times the charm?" Ciri pleaded.
Jon only stared from inside his helm for a moment. Then sighed, giving Ciri a nod.
She smiled and tackled him with a hug, whispering things that the witcher couldn't hear, but he did notice Jon tensing slightly.
Eventually, the girl released her boy and told the group that she'd "Meet you all in Rivia, where Geralt's keeping his secret-"
"Surprise." he corrected, interrupting her.
"Whichever. Meanwhile I will deal with what or who I need to with Madam Yennefer in Vengeberg, then we'll both meet you in Rivia in six days!"
She reined her horse around and kicked it into a gallop, yelling "Six days!" as she left.
They all watched as the ashen-haired girl shrank into the distance. Dandelion tried to say something, but a glance from Karra halted him. The singer then mumbled, "I have a bad feeling about this." which Geralt couldn't help but agree with.
POV Jon, six days later
Rivia was smellier than he expected, the stench had grown slowly but surely, until it took great effort not to let his eyes water or his nose twitch.
The smell had reached its peak soon after they passed the fool knight looking for a fight, and thankfully it hadn't got any worse.
As the foursome neared their destination, a woman wearing a studded leather jacket spilled the contents of her stomach frightfully close to his feet. The two men beside her seemed close to doing the same, swaying on their feet and bumping into people and horses alike. So, Jon quickened his pace, joining Geralt and Dandelion at the entrance to the inn.
"Must we really go in there? There may be more 'nice' lads like that inside" Dandelion asked, glancing pointedly at the drunken trio.
"I'm meeting someone there. Have you forgotten? This is the Rooster and Mother Hen mentioned in the notice." Geralt remined him.
The same fair-haired woman doubled over and retched once again, then she was pushed over by a horse and dragged through her own puddle of vomit.
This series of events earned a look from most of the group. "What are you gawking at, you fools? Grey haired old bum." one of the youngsters mumbled, "Tin head." another loudly whispered, "Fag." the girl laughed out.
"Geralt. Don't do anything foolish, please." Dandelion muttered, dismounting.
The witcher glanced at the drunken trio with sharp eyes, "Fear not. I won't" he said.
The four of them tied their horses on the hitching post opposite the trio, who had swiftly forgotten about them and started insulting a passing townswoman and her young son. Jon glanced at the older witcher, and saw the anger brewing under the mostly stoic mask.
Geralt turned away from them and stalked into the inn, prompting the rest of the group to follow.
Jon entered the inn last, right behind Karra, and the very first thing to catch his eye was a sign. "WANTED: COOK" it read. Next to that was a poster of a short, bearded monster wielding a blood covered axe, "THE DWARF – A WRETCHED, TREACHEROUS RUNT" was written in red at the bottom of the paper.
Entering the inn proper, Jon saw that the singer was right in his worrying. For other than the few passed out drunkards and two dead tired, skinny whores, the inn was filled with more "nice lads" eerily similar to those that stood outside with the woman. All wore a sword on their back.
There were sixteen total, eight of each sex, but they made more commotion than their numbers would suggest. Though most of what they said was only curses. Jon saw Karra adjust her hood, making certain that most of her head was well hidden.
"I recognise you and know who you are, gentlemen, miss." the innkeeper said, somehow managing to surprise two witchers and a well-trained elf in the process. "And I have news for you. You're to go to a tavern called Wirsing's in Elm." he continued, his neutral expression cracking at the name.
Dandelion, on the other hand, had the opposite reaction. The singer cheered up rather quickly learning that they didn't have to stay in the loud establishment. "That's good-" he started.
"I don't know about that." the innkeeper interrupted, while drying a mug with his apron. "If you distain my establishment, that's your choice. But I'll tell you that Elm's a dwarven district, where non-humans reside." he informed them, face twisting into a weakly restrained sneer.
"And what of it?" Geralt asked, his gaze hardening.
"Aye, I'm sure it doesn't bother you. Why, the one who left the news was a dwarf. Since you associate with one such as he... that's your affair. It's your affair whose company you find more agreeable." the innkeeper said, the muscles in his shoulders visibly tightening.
"We aren't particularly fussy as regards to company, but I swear we aren't fond of that kind." the singer announced, nodding at a wrestling pair of "lads".
Suddenly, the innkeeper roughly put down the mug he'd overdried and glared at the singer, but not before giving each of them a taste of it. "You should be more understanding. There's a certain saying, youngsters have to let off steam. The war damaged them. Their fathers perished-".
"And their mothers screwed around. I understand, and I'm full of understanding. At least, I'm trying hard to be. Let's go." Geralt said icily, stopping the innkeeper mid-sentence.
"Be off with you... with respect." he said, without an ounce of it. "But, don't be a-complaining about what I warned you of. These days its easy to get a sore head in the dwarven district. If anything were to happen." the innkeeper told them pointedly.
"If what were to happen?" the older witcher asked.
"How would I know? Is it any business of mine?"
"Let's go, Geralt." Dandelion said, eyes looking around the room. Jon noticed him focus on one group in particular, one whose members' eyes were fisstech red.
"Goodbye, master innkeeper. Who knows, perhaps we'll visit your establishment one day, in a while. Once that sign's gone from the entrance." Geralt said, his tone perfectly polite.
"And which one don't you all like? The one about the dwarf perhaps?" the innkeeper asked, his stance growing more aggressive. Jon dropped a hand to his dirk.
"No. The one about the cook." the older witcher said, as three of the drugged youngsters stood from their table.
Geralt turned his back on the innkeeper and made his way to the exit. His face like stone and his gaze like ice he left the building, scaring the three drug-addled youths out of his way in the process.
Wirsing's interior was vastly superior to the Rooster and Mother Hen's. The mostly oak furniture was maintained at a far higher standard, there was a stone hearth blazing merrily in one of the walls with two soft armchairs facing it. The whole room smelled of roast meat, garlic, herbs and something pleasant Jon couldn't quite place. It was also empty. Safe for two dwarves sitting at one of the few tables.
"Geralt and Dandelion, along with two mysterious strangers I see." one of them said, belching and waggling his brows.
"Greetings, Yarpen Zigrin. Glad to see you, Zoltan Chivay." Geralt said, sitting down from across the dwarves, right next to the window. Which happened to have an excellent view of the lake.
Dandelion sat next to the witcher, as Jon fetched a bench for himself and Karra. He set it down opposite the remarkably clear window and sat on the side nearest the two dwarves. The younger witcher got comfortable, removing his helm and letting his hair fall. Karra did the same with her hood next to him.
"So, Geralt. Are you going to introduce your fair companions?" one of the dwarves asked, gesturing vaguely in his and Karra's direction.
"Yarpen, allow me to introduce Jon Arctic, one of my fellow witchers, and Karra, an elf." The white-haired man said, "Neither talk much." he added, while Karra pulled out her sketch book.
"Hmph, few rounds of mead 'ill fix that." the other dwarf, Zoltan Chivay he assumed, smiled.
"Where's Ciri? She can't be-" Yarpen started bluntly.
Before he was quickly interrupted by Geralt, "No. She's coming here. She'll be here any moment." then he smoothly changed the subject by asking "Well, beardies, tell us how things are going."
Yarpen sneered and turned to the other dwarf, "Didn't I say? Didn't I say, Zoltan? Comes back from the end of the world, where, if rumours can be believed, he waded in blood, killed dragons and overthrew empires. And he asks us how things are going. That's the witcher all over-".
"What smells so appetizing in here?" Dandelion interrupted rudely, though rightfully.
And with that, the foursome lost themselves in their tales, Jon only paid enough attention to retain little of what was said. Stories ranging from the drunken attempts at catching snails, to Geralt and Dandelions adventures after separating from the dwarven, plus a gnome, posse.
To sate their hunger, whitefish was delivered from the kitchen. The men spoken much, so to slake their thirst the innkeeper, who was pale as a ghost and thin as a rake, supplied the table with vodka so cold Jon's teeth went numb at its touch.
After Geralt finished telling the dwarves his side of the story, and they all toasted the fallen Nilfgaard knight, the long-awaited snails finally arrived.
They had to have been the second strangest meal he ever had, the topmost being the one time he ate a wyvern, how something could be so salty yet spicy at once still eluded him.
When the second batch of shelled meat was dropped to the table, the dwarves told them of what happened on their side after parting from the older witcher's hansa.
The bearded pair told them of how Yarpen had been elected vice-starosta, how Zoltan was starting a steam and water hammer works with ones Figgs and Bruys, that Yazon Varda died fighting at the Jaruga and that the gnome of the party, Percival was his name, had opened a jewellers in Novigrad with living advertising.
Just as their mugs slammed down after the toast, the third round of snails was plopped onto the table, and the four started speaking of the controlling women in their lives. Jon glared at Karra the whole time, daring her to add her two pennies. Thankfully, Geralt quickly changed the subject the moment it landed on Yennefer.
As the four got progressively drunk, the conversation moved to philosophy, the war, and progress. Then Geralt said something that truly drew Jon's attention and pulled his gaze from beyond the window, "The darkness you're talking about is a state of mind not matter. Quite different witchers will have to be trained to fight something like that. It's high time to start." the older witcher said, looking down, shadows over his slitted eyes.
"Start retraining? Is that what you had in mind?" Yarpen asked leadingly.
"Not entirely. Being a witcher doesn't interest me any longer. I'm retiring."
"Like hell!" the dwarf shouted, slamming a palm into the table.
"I'm totally serious. I'm done being a witcher." Geralt said somberly.
Jon couldn't believe a word of it, "And do what?" he asked, trying to get the white-haired man to look him in the eye. "Will you become a noble's guard? A highborn child's trainer? Or a vineyard owner?" Geralt finally looked him in the eye, and the younger witcher could see how resolute he was. Jon sighed, deflating in his seat as Geralt picked up his blade from his chair's backrest.
"This is your sihill, Zoltan Chivay. I return it to you with thanks and a low bow. It has served. It has helped. It has saved lives. It has taken lives." The ex-witcher said, placing the legendary steel on the inn's wooden table.
Zoltan put up his hands and said "Witcher... the sword is yours. I didn't lend it to you, I gave it. Gifts-".
Jon stopped paying attention as they argued over the longsword, going back to looking out to the lake. He watched from his peripherals as the innkeeper took the blade and placed it on the mantle. He ignored the foursome's further talk on progress and philosophy.
Then, the witcher started hearing something and as it grew louder, he recognised it. The sound of a distant fight.
His hand instinctually fell to the hilt of his dirk, loosening it in its sheath. He watched as a shadow flew past the window, he tensed as a second past by, and started standing at the third with a warning on his tongue.
The sounds of a singular fight faded only to explode into the roar of an angry mob. Karra snapped her sketchbook shut and put it back into her cloak.
Then a dwarf slammed into the inn, a split second after the roar broke out, panting and red in the face.
"What is it" Yarpen asked, his tilted head making it clear he hadn't noticed the signs.
The dwarf, clearly still unable to speak, frantically pointed towards the town's center and the bazaar they passed on the way to the inn.
"Take a deep breath, and tell us what's going on." Zoltan advised, and the dwarf did.
"T-the ba-bazaar. A fight. Mob's starting a ma-" a woman's scream cut through the air, halting the dwarf's panting words.
"In the cellar." Geralt instructed, rushing over to the window looking out to the street.
"Gera-" Zoltan started.
"Into the cellar! Dwarves and elf to the cellar! Without any heroics!" the white-haired man shouted, pointing to the back.
"Witcher. I can't... My brothers are dying out there..." the dwarf grunted out, teeth clenched.
"Into the cellar. Think of Eudora Brekekeks. Do you want her to be a widow before her wedding?" the ex-witcher quickly admonished.
The argument worked, seemingly breaking any fight left in the dwarves. The trio went down into the cellar, followed by Karra only after a moment's thought from her.
"I-I s-s-saw a p-pogrom in Maribor... " the innkeeper, white as fresh snow, stammered out quietly. "If they find them there" the man seemed on the verge of fearful tears. Jon suddenly remembered the glossed over mention of the man's wife's death. The witcher quickly connected the dots.
"Fetch a mat, or a rug, and throw it over the cellar door. Along with others randomly around the room." Jon instructed firmly, but not unkindly. Speaking the man as one would a child in their first thunderstorm, Jon told the man to "Quickly, then go to the kitchen and cook something for the three of us." his instructions were swiftly followed, the innkeeper's skin taking on a little more life as he scurried off.
The roar grew closer, the looser panes in the window shaking slightly.
"Geralt. I'm somewhat similar to an elf..." the singer feebly moaned, nearly as pale as the innkeeper was.
The white-haired man proved Dandelion's friend with kind words, "Don't be stupid. Jon looks much more elfin." What?
Suddenly, Geralt's attention seemed drawn to something outside. Only a moment later, the yells and shouts of the mob reach the closest they have yet, seemingly just outside the door. Then there were screams, so loud the shaking glass jiggled. A rather merry sound that was out of place here.
Jon only realised his fists had clenched when the leather of his gauntlets squeaked their displeasure.
Geralt took a deep breath, stood, and walked over to the mantle. He took down the blade he had just relinquished.
While he stared at the sword, the singer groaned out a " Geralt..." and holded his face in his hands.
"Very well, but his is the last time! Dammit, it really is the last time!" the ex-… the witcher said firmly, bearing the naked blade as he made for the exit.
Jon pulled his axe from his back and made to follow. "No, Jon. Stay here and defend the others." Geralt said, standing just before the door.
The young witcher wanted to object, but the older had already smashed past the wooden door.
Soon the sounds of slaughter sounded out from beyond the door, beckoning him to join in.
Jon sighed, Surrounded by bossy white-manes.
He readied his axe, but stood his ground.
Hoping he made the right decision.
POV Ciri
Ciri furiously rushed through her looking glass, Triss and Madam Yennefer close behind. Slower though, their elegant dresses slightly restricting their movement. Her Mama had tried to convince her to put one on, but as if she'd wear anything but her armour to a potentially violent meeting. No matter what those nosey witches said.
"I'll convince her!" the ginger shouted through the glass, her cheeky response to the witcheress' glare letting her in on the lie.
"Dammit girl!" was the last curse they heard as Ciri healed the fracture, the glass smoothing back into nothingness.
The witcheress snorted in contempt, They dared even suggest...
"So we're in Rivia! How strange the twists of fate." her mama stated pointedly.
Ciri sensed an argument, a womanly one at that, and quickly speed up to escape from being pulled in. Sadly, she still heard some.
It started with a sigh, a deceptively small one, but with it her mama threw herself into it. "Well, well." She could hear the glare Yennefer directed at Triss, "What strange sounds are lifting from your virgin breast, Triss. Ciri, run ahead and-" she didn't have to be told twice, Ciri broke into a quick jog to get away from what was coming.
"You, Triss. Don't blush, don't sigh, don't slaver..." the scathing demands faded with the distance she put in between herself and the two sorceresses. Gods, why don't they just spar for him and be done with it. Like I did that whore Yoella. Jon wasn't even interested, bitch.
Immersing herself in the violent memory, and the sultry one that came right after, Ciri didn't notice the sounds, smells or sights. Until a pillar a flame erupted from the thatch roof of a small hovel.
The orange glow filled her vision for a brief moment, before fading down to burn hungrily at the buildings all around it. Once she recovered from her shock, Ciri spun around and raced back to Yennefer and Triss.
"Not the mention what you told them! That what you learned in confidence! Oh, I feel like grabbing you by that ginger mop of hair-" Madam Yennefer yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Triss.
"Just you try!" the red head shouted, shoulder tense and stance wide. "Just try, you bitch, and I'll scratch your eyes out! I-" it was then that the pair noticed her, both falling silent and growing visibly worried.
Then the screams reached her ears, and theirs' too it seemed from their shocked eyes looking past her.
"What the bloody hell is going on there! A raid? A fire?" her mama asked, brows furrowing.
Ciri was about to say something, when she felt a sharp prick on her palm. Right where the thorn drew blood back in Shearawedd when she was first going to learn with madam Yennefer. She didn't know why, but the blood staining the inside of her gauntlet filled her with dread and made her think of a name.
"Geralt..." she groaned painfully, feeling cold all over. Then she realised what the signs meant, danger. "Jon! Geralt! Karra! Dandelion! They're all in danger!" with that she turned back around and sprinted towards Rivia, ignoring Yennefer's shouts.
She quickly reached the city, the dirt road suddenly changing to stone bricks under her boots. Only a few seconds in, Ciri ran into her first rioter. A dirty man, dressed in little more than rags, grappling with a short woman with obvious intent.
As she rushed by, the witcheress drew her sword and cut him down in one smooth motion, the long silver blade nearly bisecting the man. She didn't even look, not as she killed and not as she ran past. Ciri barely even noted the pitter-patter of bare feet running from the city.
Turning around the third street corner, Ciri was suddenly thrust in front of a crowd. Though none were looking at her, all far too focused on the people cowering under them, all too happy beating on them with sticks and metal bars. She started towards them, but the pain in her hand intensified and the chill grew colder. So, instead the witcheress followed were the pull led her. Right into a group of confused halberdiers.
Ciri almost growled to herself, there was no way around them. Deciding to force her way through, she kept running. Then something strange happened, the world around her compressed and she felt a shift from within. The rioters and houses becoming thin and tall, while every step became ten and what she saw of her body glowed a ghostly turquoise.
Then she found herself much farther down the street, a few yards away from the halberdiers. She took this new development in stride and kept rushing onward to the heart of the pogrom. Where the pain led her.
Her heartbeat was so loud that it felt like the muscle was in her head, her palms were clammy with sweat, her stomach churned and her bones felt like ice as she kept running.
Coming upon a makeshift double barricade, Ciri forcefully brought back the feeling from before and just as it had then, the world compressed. Her shifted form passed straight through both the barricade and the people in and around it.
She rushed through what clear ground she could, until there wasn't any left. Those crowd nearly pressed against each other, a churning mass of frenzied townsfolk with the occasional victim brutalised and trampled under dozens of boots.
"Kill the demon!" a man, hidden from her sight, roared above the crowd.
The very same one soon screamed his death throes, accentuated by an arm flying through the air.
"Death to the non-humans!" an unseen woman shouted.
"Kill the elf!" now this man she could see.
He rushed her, his blue eyes bloodshot and clouded, and wildly swung his hoe like one would an axe. The sharpened point arced for her flank, but an off-handed strike from the witcheress cleaved the tool's head off.
Completing the rotation, she then swung for her attacker's neck, the two-handed blow proving much too quick for him for him to dodge. The shocked look frozen on his face as her blade carve through the man's shoulder and into his lower chest, the blood spray gushing from the wound going everywhere. Including other rioters, which had the unfortunate effect of catching their attention.
Three of said rioters were the ones to face her. Two men and one burly woman, carrying table legs and a cleaver respectively.
Reacting quickly, Ciri kicked her sword free of the corpse and drew herself into a defensive guard. Her silver blade held vertically near her chest.
One of the men shoved the other towards her barking out a "What are ye wantin' for! Kill the half-breed cunt!". The shoved man threw a glare at the shouter, but grinned right after and dropped the table leg.
He drew a pair of long daggers from his boots, a cruel smirk dominating his face. "Imma enjoy killing you, bitch." he said lowly, preparing for a pounce. "That pretty sword 'ill sell well!" he shouted, lunging at her.
The very second he was close enough, Ciri struck. Her spell crafted sword coming down onto the man in a flash, rending the cocky man shoulder to hip with little resistance.
Sadly, she couldn't savour the fine kill. Since the surviving man and the cleaver-wielding woman soon rushed her.
The first to reach the witcheress was the man, who like his fellow had ditched his stick in favour of a better weapon, his being a short mace.
Using his free hand, the rioter swung the blunt instrument in a barbaric arc intent to cave her head in. Knowing the attack was too heavy to parry and too risky to block, Ciri pirouetted under the man's mace arm and shoved him into the woman sneaking up on her.
The mace, its owner unable to stop its path, smashed into the woman's arm. Before she could even scream or shout, Ciri lunged forward and thrusted her longsword into the man's back and out the woman's. Right where their lugs should be.
A shout forced her to act event faster than earlier. Bracing a steel-clad hand on the man's shoulder, she ripped her sword from the pair and let them fall over to drown in their own blood.
Spinning, Ciri evaded an ancient looking pike and rammed her fist into the young owner's throat with a few snaps and a crunch.
She noticed the sky darken as the man, no, boy dropped the pike and fell to the ground, hands frantically going for his neck. The witcheress swiftly ended his suffering, the tip of the sword plowing into the base of his skull.
The sound of a footstep made her turn back to the crowd, but she froze as a shout reached her.
"Geralt!" Jon yelled, as a cold wind blew in from the lake.
Then everyone else froze too, it took her only a moment to see why. A glacier quickly forming on the lake and springing from its waters.
Dozens screamed as the jagged, shack sized, ice spear ripped through the mob carving a bloody path that flew right next to where she heard her Jon's shout.
As the ice neared, she noticed that it had a small liquid interior. One that held the inexplicably living head of an unkempt young man.
It passed her by, giving her a full view of Jon, Karra, Dandelion, a thin man, three dwarves and Geralt.
She barely heard the ice shatter against a house.
As hail started to fall, Ciri ran.
POV Triss
Geralt was dead, Triss knew this the moment she laid her eyes on him. That there was no hope for him, though Jon had tried by plugging the holes with ice. But there's nothing he can do for the internal damage without making it worse. The poor boy was too late, and too weak from his enraged spell that turned a bakery into rubble. All he could really do was keep the pugs from turning back into water, shivering on his knees next to Ciri.
The older witcher was pale as a sheet when Yennefer fell to her knees next to him. Geralt was unconscious, lying in a small pool of blood with Ciri holding his arm. Yennefer put her hands to his chest and chanted a spell, causing the witcher to start to cough, wheeze, and spit blood. Then he started seizing, shaking so hard Ciri could barely keep him in place.
Looking down, Triss could see that her hands were shaking. Her knees suddenly going weak she fell, only to be caught. By Dandelion, she soon noticed.
"It's not working... Your magic isn't healing him Yennefer." the girl said, her voice thick with despair.
"We arrived... We arrived too late." the sorceress mumbled, the blue sparks of her spell arcing around her hands and into the witcher.
"Your magic's not working. What's it worth then, your confounded magic?" she moaned.
It was then that Jon's ice finally melted and the boy fell further, supporting himself only with his hands. She couldn't quite hear what his blue tinged lips whispered, but it made Ciri freeze and shake her head.
"We called for a physician, but he's taking his time..." a dwarf next to Dandelion croaked.
"It's too late for a physician. He's dying." she said, shocking herself with how calm she sounded. It's only due to the mutagens he's still clinging on.
Geralt seized again, even harder this time, Yennefer grabbing his head to keep it from cracking against the cobblestones. He coughed again, blood landing on his chest, tensed, and then went still.
Dandelion sighed his sadness, while the dwarf cursed and Yennefer groaned, her face twisting in despair.
No one said anything, there wasn't a sound except Yennefer's chanting and the crackle of her useless spells. Nothing short of a cosmic being could save the witcher now. Triss was amazed she was still conscious after using so much magic.
The amazement ended with Yennefer's chanting. What was left turned to sadness when the sorceress slumped over and fell next to Geralt.
The second dwarf swore, the first lowering his head. Dandelion sniffed and seemed to be holding back tears.
Suddenly the temperature dropped, Jon's released ice freezing once more, but she could tell it wasn't him. The cold felt too... unnatural, for it to be his cryomancy. Then fog rose from the lake like the heavy smoke that spilled from her experiments. It rolled out quickly, swiftly covering the land until all she could see was those grouped around the fallen pair.
"I renounced this sphere's power, seemed right then. But had I not I could have helped. Saved him. But it's too late now, it's gone and I can't do anything. It's like I killed him." Ciri said, chocking on her tears as she spoke. Triss noticed Jon's fists clench as he fought to rise, and failed.
There was nothing but the sound of Ciri's weeping and dandelion muffled sobs.
Then something shifted in the fog. It was only a lighter shade moving about at first, but then it grew clearer and more defined. Then all of a sudden it breached the fog. Revealing itself to be... a bright white unicorn.
The legendary beast trotted lightly over the lake, its head held high and hooves not even causing the water beneath it to ripple. Dandelion gasped, and Triss found herself seized by euphoria.
It trotted onto the cobblestones, hooves clattering against the stones. An errant thought wondered at the reason. It came up to Ciri and neighed. The sound long and melodic.
"Ihuarraquax, you're here." the girl said, wiping her tears away.
The unicorn tapped a hoof against the stones, then struck them with enough force to send a small chip flying. After a moment of staring at Ciri, the unicorn lowered its head and the long pearly horn that adorned it glowed.
What followed was both long and short, dreamlike yet so very real. It all ended, and Triss immediately forgot what happened, left with only the results. Jon, still on his knees, but his back straight and his head held high. Geralt, the holes and ice gone, breathing easy. Yennefer, thankfully breathing, with a small smile on her sleeping face.
The unicorn turned away and faced the lake, shook its head, and stamped the cobblestones. It seemed to be pointing to something. Triss followed the line of the horn, and saw it. A simple rowboat, Gwyn perched on the prow.
The sorceress looked back and saw the unicorn was gone, only pale mist floating where it once stood.
Wordlessly, Jon grabbed the older witcher, who just seemed so skinny in the boy's arms, and walked to the boat. He froze occasionally, Triss thought she even heard a sniff.
An elf with pale blond hair did the same with Yennefer, though she never even slowed on her way there.
"This is goodbye, send my apologises to the ladies at Montecalvo, Triss." Ciri said, her hands clasped firmly in front of her.
"Ciri," Triss whispered, approaching her as one would a skittish animal. "Let me sail with you..." she asked, even though she knew the answer.
She shook her head saying that "You're needed here, Triss. You don't know what you're asking for." her tone so very sad.
The sorceress pulled her into a tight hug, "Be safe at least." she asked.
"I'll try." Ciri said, she could see the smile without even looking.
With a huff Triss let her go, and backed off to join the others.
"Farewell, all of you. Do mention me in that story of yours, Dandelion." the witcheress said, full of false levity, as she turned away and got in the boat.
It pushed off the bank all on its own, and sailed into the lake without the slightest ripple, without even the quietest splash.
"Something ends." Dandelion said, his voice too deep to be fully his own.
"Something begins." one of the dwarves finished, his previous accent gone.
A rooster crowed, Triss blinked, and the fog was gone.
All that was left, was an empty lake.
POV Karra
Karra stood to the side as Ciri said her farewells to her sorceress mother, Jon silent beside her with his helm tied to one of his straps. Just as Ciri's was at the moment
The island was gorgeous, the elf truly wished she could take a day to properly sketch it out, but even she couldn't talk time into slowing down. So, she waited. Watching, until the dark-haired sorceress, Yennefer she thought her name was, awoke. Ciri was quiet the whole wait, once she thought the silence would be a blessing, but in truth it seemed that it unnerved her. Such a loud and brazen woman so demure, she didn't like it one bit. Karra could tell Jon didn't either.
"I'm going, just tell him that mama, please." Ciri said quietly, nearly whispering.
The sorceress sighed, and finally nodded. "Just be safe you silly girl." she said haughtily, the previously shattered mask back in full.
"Yes, Madam Yennefer." The girl said ruefully, but with that special verbal twist of hers. Good, on the way to going back to normal
"Good, now begone with you. Off to your silly adventures." Yennefer said quickly, flapping her hands at her surrogate daughter.
Ciri nodded, hands up in mock surrender. She turned back towards them and approached with a small smile.
The witcheress took a deep breath, and nodded her readiness. Karra and Jon nodded in return, then parted to leave her some space. Which Ciri quickly took.
With another deep, shoulder lifting, breath, the lady of time and space shattered the veil. The glasslike shards flipping to reveal a snowy forest full of truly gargantuan pines. The very second it was open, the strange blue eagle swooped through, seeming to ignore the sentiment of the moment.
As Ciri walked into her looking glass a raised voice reached them, "Be sure to stay cleanly, and mind your manners!" Yennefer instructed.
"Yes mama." the girl whispered, and walked through. She and Jon quickly followed, the spatial shards billowing around them.
Once they were through, Ciri healed the rift slowly and with great hesitation. Yet still, she did.
They wandered through the forest aimlessly, the thick layer of snow crunching underfoot, without a word shared. Until Jon had them stop, which they did, trusting in his senses.
The witcher knelt down, and pointed at something in the snow. Following his finger, Karra saw what it was. The hoof print of a colossal deer. He truly knew how to cheer the girl up. Though it was odd for such an animal to be alone.
Ciri sprang into life, a smile on her face at the promise of a hunt and the death to be had at the end. Truly a vicious child, I couldn't be prouder. Larra said. Forcing Karra to struggle to hide her smile, the ghost so rarely spoke recently.
The witchers took to the trail like a king's prized bloodhounds, while the elf followed in silence.
For an hour they followed the cold clues, nothing but half-filled tracks and long dead smells to lead the pair onward. Then they found a clue, scratchings. The entire base of the tree used was stripped bare of its bark, ripped up shreds of felt sunken into bloody snow. The deer was a young stag.
She watched Jon kneel down and inspect it, first with his eyes, then his nose and finally, after pulling off a gauntlet, his fingers. He let the scrap drop back down, pulled and buckled his armour on, then stood. "Not much more than half an hour." he said, she didn't know how he did it. A mixture of expertise and mutagens she always assumed.
"Then we've no time to waste, something or someone might steal this." Ciri said, her smile growing into her signature grin. "And no using Gwyn! More fun without using that grumpy bird." she excitedly instructed, nearly bouncing in place.
Jon hummed his agreement and set off, occasionally sniffing at the stag's scent and slowly starting to move faster as they gained on the beast.
Then suddenly he had them stop and quickly crouch down. They slowly crept forward until they reached a fallen tree that would have measured up to her chest had she been standing. Putting his hands against it, Jon slowly rose. Stopping only when his eyes peaked over the nearly black trunk, then he smiled that small smile of his. The one that made her just a little jealous of the girl. He gestured for them to join in on the view, and they accepted quickly, yet quietly.
The stag was more glorious than she expected. Its thick golden coat shined in the early morning sun, its deep black antlers, with blood drying on their boney surface, had eight tines each. It stood there regally, like nothing in the world could even make it pause.
Right up to when a thin icicle flew into its eye and tore up its brain.
After seizing for a moment, the beautiful stag fell over, looking less regal and more pitiful than anything else. If you ignored the gaping red whole that used to be its eye, you'd think it was sleeping. This garnered no sympathy from the huntress, however.
"Time for a new rug!" Ciri exclaimed, her shout punctuated by a loud kiss to Jon's stubbled cheek. Giving the big, stoic witcher a bit of rouge dusted on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
Without another word, the witcheress vaulted over the large trunk and rushed over to the downed stag, pulling out her worn but well cared for hunting knife along the way. Without hesitation, Ciri took one of the forelegs in hand and snapped it at the knee. Then, she took up her knife in reverse grip and cleanly cut through the skin and tendons of the joint. As she did the same to the other leg, Ciri started humming a jaunty tune.
No matter how many times she's watched her work, Karra would never get over how disturbing it was to look at.
Finished with the front legs, the witcheress carefully cut from each blood gushing stub to the center of the clavicle. Then she cut down from there, over the sternum and stopped mid-gut. Turning around and putting a leg over the deer, Ciri trapped one of the stag's legs betwixt her own and slid her knife around the knee joints of both limbs. Then, she quickly cut off the stag's member and sliced up to the joint from the hole in the hide, then down to the other.
"There." she said, straightening herself out and putting away her knife. "Now to pull the rug off while it's still warm." she continued with a pretty smile, marred only by the steaming blood covering half her face.
Jon, taking that as his cue, stopped admiring and joined his Ciri in their gruesome work. Together, they pulled, tugged, and worked the hide from the poor creature. Finishing by slicing the hide around the base of the stag's skull with a flourish.
The bigger witcher then started cleaning the hide then and there. He gently sliced and rubbed away all the clinging flesh and wiped away the blood with a rag pulled from one of his pouches. Only five minutes later it was clean and ready to cure. Jon rolled it up and threw it onto his shoulder. Then, with yet another cloth, he carefully cleaned the blood off of a grumbling Ciri's face.
As the witcheress moved to take hold of the deer, Jon dropped the pelt, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her behind him. All before putting a hand to the shaft of his axe.
Following his eyes, the elf saw the reason for his caution. A great big wolf, easily larger than a pony, seemed to appear from between the trees to her right. Its fur was a dark, ashy grey and the beast's belly was swelled to bursting.
Slowly, her entirety facing the great wolf, Karra quietly made her way to the witchers. As Jon and Ciri, having snatched up the pelt, backed away from the carcase.
Once all three of them were a dozen feet away, the she-wolf padded to the stag's corpse and stared at them with calculating, eerily human, red eyes. She saw that Jon stared back, seemingly transfixed. The wolf blinked, and the moment ended.
It viciously dug into the stag, tearing open its stomach and feasting first on the guts. As it did, Karra looked over to see Ciri pout at the sight of her stolen kill, hugging the rolled-up hide. Jon still stared at the beast, with a look she didn't recognise.
The she-wolf was voracious and quick with its meal. Taking very little time to eat it down to the bones, leaving only the head and tendons untouched.
It looked back up at them with those eyes, those wrong red eyes, and whined. It threw it head over its shoulder, locked its jaw around the skeleton's hind leg, and started dragging it away.
Before she could suggest leaving, Jon followed the wolf. Walking after it with slow, but large steps. Ciri was right behind him, Karra knew that she would be simply content to see where this went. The elf, however, hesitated, the wolf's eyes, how it moved, what it was doing. It all felt so very wrong. Larra couldn't help but agree. She followed anyway, she couldn't let those two out of sight for too long. No telling what trouble they could get into.
They all followed from a safe distance. Walking for about ten minutes before reaching a small clearing in the woods, right next to a large snow drift. Once they were all there, the she-wolf whined again and padded at the snow. Then dragged the carcase away and out of sight, coming back before she could advise leaving.
The elf glared at the wolf, feeling as though the she-wolf was purposely vexing her. The great beast padded over to them, stopping right at the witcher's feet. It then laid down on its side and whined, Jon quickly rushed down.
At first, she was confused, then the smell hit her like a carriage.
Shit. Even with her present they were taking on responsibilities.
Karra could do nought but watch, as pup after pup was pushed out of its belly and into Jon's bare and eager hands.
The first three were of similar colouring to their mother, the fourth a touch darker, the fifth black as night and the last white as fresh fallen snow. She noticed Jon's eye go wide and misty at that one, thought she could not tell why. Despite the whelping, the she-wolf remained silent and staring at her with those wrong red eyes the whole time.
The moment the white one was out, and others whimpering in the snow, the she-wolf stood as though nothing had happened and left.
Only to return a moment later, swaying on its legs and blood gushing from its neck. Ciri gasped at the sight, Karra was silent for she was fully expecting something of the sort, Jon didn't even look up from the wriggling pup in his arms. Its eyes were already open, she noticed, and they were the same red as the mother. Though where its were wrong, the pup's were warm.
The she-wolf laid back down where it did before, and closed its eyes. After a moment of stillness, its eyelids snapped open, it started growling and whimpering in turns while its legs struggled.
Karra looked down without any shock, to see it's eyes were now amber.
Shit.
Then the beast stilled... and the sound of hoofbeats grew in the distance
Fuck.