The Witcher 2.5: Between the Storms

Chapter 4: Triss – 4

Desperate cries rent the air as the dragon, with a powerful thrust of its enormous wings, swooped down towards the amphitheater. Triss – lying prone on the scorched stones of Loc Muinne – lifted her face to see dozens of burning soldiers scattered about. She could hear their flesh sizzling within their armor, and the acrid odor burned her nostrils. She almost gagged on the stench.

'Get up!' she yelled to herself. 'Move!'

But she was frozen in terror as the giant beast came straight for her. At that point, time slowed down – as if the world was standing still – and the hideous screams around her fell silent. All she could hear was the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. She stared straight into the dragon's viper-like eyes and saw nothing but pure malevolence. The apex predator opened its massive maw, and Triss could see blood dripping from its teeth – each one larger than a man's leg. She noticed the dragon's chest expand, and an instant later, her world went red.

She shrieked as she was engulfed in liquid fire, torment searing every nerve ending in her body. It felt as if the flames were charring her down to the bones. Despite that, she was able to struggle to her knees, and when she opened her eyes, a new fear overwhelmed her. For she was suddenly atop Sodden Hill as a firestorm rained down around her. Through the flames, she recognized the burned corpses of those lying on the ground. Mages that she had lived and studied with at Aretuza. Wizards that she'd befriended over the years through council meetings with the Brotherhood of Sorcerers.

Triss crawled forward, and after coming to the top of the short ridge, she let her eyes drift downward toward the absolute carnage on the plain below. The land was dotted with thousands of soldiers, both dead and dying. From that distance – and with everyone covered in blood and mud – it was impossible to distinguish between the Nilfgaardians and the Northern troops. She looked up to see lightning bolts and streaks of flame flashing across the slate gray sky. It was as if the gods, themselves, were in a fierce battle for control of the heavens. She blinked her eyes to see a fiery ball coming straight at her, and she let out a final scream.

The sorceress awoke with a gasp, immediately sitting up straight on her cot and rubbing her hand, first, across her chest and then reaching up to her hair. She almost sobbed when her fingers grasped the long braid at the back of her neck. Her breaths were coming short and fast, and her skin was clammy with sweat.

"Wake up. Hey, wake up," came a soft, feminine voice.

It was only then that Triss realized that she wasn't alone. The small flames in the brazier on the other side of the large tent gave just enough illumination that she could recognize Shani kneeling next to her. The medic was gently shaking her shoulder.

"I didn't think you'd ever wake up," she whispered. "Sounded like a bad one."

Triss, too stunned to speak, simply nodded instead. She threw back the blanket and quickly got to her feet.

"I need some air," she whispered back, still trying to catch her breath. She exited the field hospital, and the night air immediately began to cool the sweat on her skin. She looked up into the sky and sighed in relief when she saw no devastating displays of magic. Only the crescent moon and some twinkling stars shone down.

'It was just a dream, Triss. So, calm down. It was just a dream.'

She continued to walk a short distance from the tent's entrance before finally stopping and hugging her arms tightly to her body. Fifty yards in front of her she could make out the dark shapes of the Temerian military scattered across a wide plateau. John Natalis had strategically organized his infantry, cavalry, and artillery along a ridge that looked down a gentle slope upon a vast valley below. From one end of the plateau to the other, a short but sturdy palisade had been constructed, the top of each wooden stake sharpened to a fine point. All along the fortification were countess ballistae and catapults with their accompanying stockpiles of bolts and stones. They were all waiting for the Black Ones to march their way up the valley towards Vizima.

A month past, Natalis and his men had returned to the capital from Loc Muinne. He'd immediately called all the banners in the kingdom and then travelled south to the Valley of Elah. Some had argued that he was a fool to leave the protected walls of Vizima, but Triss – though no expert in military strategy – could see the wisdom in his plan. First, there simply wasn't enough room or supplies in the already-packed city to accommodate the thousands of soldiers under Natalis' command. So, if he simply waited there for the Nilfgaardians to arrive, the Black Ones wouldn't even have to attack. They could just surround the city and wait for everyone inside to eventually starve to death. Additionally, reports were circulating that the Nilfgaardian troops outnumbered the Temerians at least three to one. Therefore, even behind the high, thick walls of Vizima, the Northerners stood no chance against those odds. It might take time, and the invaders might suffer serious casualties, but eventually, their superior numbers would prevail in a siege, which would also result in countless civilian deaths. The rumors were that Natalis believed, to have any chance at victory, he needed to be out in the open where he could use his cavalry, counter-attack, and implement flanking maneuvers - just as he'd done at the Battle of Brenna. Even if an outright defeat of the Black Ones in the field was next to impossible, he hoped to whittle down their overwhelming numbers before they arrived at the capital. Otherwise, Vizima would surely fall.

As Triss got her breathing under control, she continued to focus on the environment around her. She didn't see much movement, which made sense given that it was the middle of the night, but she could hear a few hushed voices carrying on the night's breeze. She couldn't discern the words, and she wondered if the conversation was about the impending battle or if the men were discussing more personal matters – perhaps, their loved ones back home. She hoped it was the latter.

Goosebumps suddenly popped up on her skin as she started to shiver in the cold air, but she had no desire to return to her cot. Sleep – and, more specifically, the nightmares that had been accompanying it – was the last thing she wanted. So, she just hugged her body tighter, vigorously rubbing her hands along her upper arms. She didn't cast a spell to ward off the chill for she was still concealing her true identity. Except for Shani, everyone believed her to be a gray-haired healer from Carreras named Mary.

A moment later, she heard footsteps approaching from behind. She turned to see Shani walking her way.

"Here you go," she whispered, holding out the sorceress' cloak and a steaming mug.

Triss gladly accepted both. After donning her cloak, she took a sip of the hot tea. She easily detected the flavor of celandine and ginatia petals. Both she and Shani had been brewing large vats of the elixir all day in preparation for what was to come. The celandine acted as a pain reliever and the crushed ginatia was a calming agent, which she greatly welcomed at the moment. She sighed as the brew warmed her insides.

"Thanks," said Triss.

"Glad to help."

The sorceress couldn't help but smile.

"You and I have come a long way, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"A month ago, you had me doing nothing but cleaning out bedpans, mopping up vomit, and washing pus-filled bandages. Now," said Triss, holding up the mug, "you're acting as my butler."

She saw Shani smile back in the moonlight.

"What do you expect? I'm a healer. Helping people is what I do," she said. "And don't hold it against me, but you weren't exactly my favorite person at that point. I wasn't even sure what your true intentions were. So, it was a bit of a test."

Triss nodded, for she had known at the time what it was. The two women had cleared the air with regards to their feelings about both Geralt and the young Source, Alvin. But, even after that, for the first two weeks at St. Lebioda's hospital, Shani had given Triss nothing but the lowliest of chores – chores way below the sorceress' level of knowledge and expertise. But Triss had not voiced one word of complaint, completing each task to the best of her ability and always with a smile. She was very aware that, in the past few years, her pride had led her down a path of shame and regret, so she was more than willing to swallow her ego in order to simply and selflessly serve. It's what her father had done to pay his dues with Master Botkin all those decades ago, and it's what she would do with Shani.

"I don't blame you," she said. "I wouldn't have trusted me either."

"Well, you've earned my trust, and I'm glad you have. What you can do with your magic is truly amazing. Far beyond normal, medical potions and treatments. You really have a wonderful gift."

After those first two weeks, Shani had given Triss her own private lab at the hospital and tasked her to produce magical potions and amulets for the patients' various ailments. And the sorceress had loved it, for it reminded her of being back in her father's laboratory as a child. It also brought back memories of her time at Aretuza – before the brainwashing had fully taken hold – when she'd woken up each morning energized simply by the thought of learning all that magic could offer. In those early years, she'd dreamed of returning to the palace at Maribor after graduating and working side-by-side with her father. She'd squandered that opportunity and had no one to blame but herself, so she viewed working with Shani as a sort of second chance. In fact, the two of them had discovered that they made a great team in the surgery suite, with Triss casting spells to stabilize the patient while Shani operated. Triss was surprised by just how quickly that they'd developed a strong professional relationship based upon mutual respect.

The two women eased back into silence for a while, both sipping on the hot elixir and staring out on the Valley of Elah. The Nilfgaardians hadn't yet arrived, but Triss knew that it was just a matter of time. Due to the topography of the terrain south of Vizima, the valley was really the only accessible route to the capital for an army the size of the Nilfgaardians. The only other options were to traverse through the Brokilon forest and then over the Owl Mountains to the west of the valley or to slog their way through the boggy marshes to the east. Neither of those choices were ideal.

Thinking of the Black Ones and what lay ahead once again brought Sodden Hill to the sorceress' mind, which made her recall the nightmare that had been plaguing her sleep for the past several nights.

"I'm sorry that I woke you," she said. "Again."

"It's no problem. Have you always suffered from nightmares?"

Triss didn't answer immediately, instead peering intently at the red head, for she was a little surprised by such a personal question. She still wasn't quite sure what to make of the young woman from Redania – mostly because, over the course of her life, she'd never had many great friendships with other females. She'd always gotten along better with men. She'd obviously had no relationship with her mother. Her older sisters had hated her. And other sorceresses? Well, while there were a few exceptions to be sure, most of them were petty, vain, jealous, and scheming. Not preferred qualities in a potential friend.

'Right – as if you're any better,' she thought, as she remembered her less-than-honorable actions toward Geralt and Yennefer.

But Shani was better. She genuinely seemed to care about other people. So, perhaps, the two of them could have more than just a professional relationship. Maybe they could build some type of actual friendship. Triss figured that it was at least worth a shot.

"Do…do you really what to know?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

Triss gave a small nod of her head, making up her mind.

"You were too young to be at Sodden Hill, right?"

"Yeah. I was barely into my teens then, still in pigtails. You were there, though, weren't you?"

Triss nodded.

"I know all kinds of songs and poems have been written about it…glorifying the Fourteen…extoling our bravery. I hear that someone even built a monument there a few years ago. Some kind of obelisk. But I wouldn't know because I've never been back."

Triss paused for a moment before sighing.

"I tell you – I didn't feel brave that day. In fact, I've never been so scared. And I've never seen such annihilation – not at the Isle of Thanedd, not during the pogrom in Rivia, not even last month at Loc Muinne, nowhere. Tens of thousands died, on both sides. While soldiers fought all around us, we mages were raining down terror on everyone. I can't even describe the scene. The destructive capability of the Power when it's fully unleashed…it's beyond words."

As she spoke, she sounded calm – her voice monotone. But inside, her emotions were in complete turmoil as she remembered.

"My fight ended when I was hit in the chest by a fireball. I was magically exhausted and simply couldn't get a protective shield up in time. I lived, but just barely. All of my hair was burned off. My skin was scarred. I was actually quite lucky that that was the extent of my injuries. Afterwards, I used magic to regrow my hair more quickly and to conceal the scars. But no amount of magic could remove the scars on my soul. I woke up screaming every night as I relived the whole, bloody, awful mess in my nightmares. That went on for months, but in time, I somehow learned to deal with it. Or, at least, I thought I had. But maybe I just repressed it. I'm not so sure now."

"Because the nightmares have come back?"

Triss nodded.

"Since when exactly?"

"Three days ago. Ever since we arrived here."

Shani nodded in understanding.

"It sounds like it was terrible."

"Yeah. I don't want to ever go through it again." After a moment, Triss blinked, coming back to herself. She looked over at Shani. "But I don't have to tell you. You were at Brenna, right? So, you know what I'm talking about."

"Not really," she answered, shaking her head. "I mean, yes, I was at Brenna, but I was in a field hospital the entire time – which, make no mistake, was its own type of hell. But I wasn't right in the middle of the battle, and I certainly didn't experience what you've been describing."

"I hope you never do."

After that, neither spoke for a while. They simply looked down toward the valley, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Being in that location brought to Triss' mind a legend that she'd heard often as a child. A legend that all Temerians knew well. Eventually, she broke the silence.

"I know you're not from here, but are you familiar with King Dezmod?"

"He was Temeria's first king, right? That's all I know really. Why?"

"The folktales are muddied, some details contradicting others. So, there's some debate on whether or not he was actually our first king, but everyone agrees that he was our greatest."

"How so?"

"You've really never heard the legend of King Dezmod?"

"No."

Triss turned her gaze back to the valley below.

"Legend says that he first made his mark right here at the Valley of Elah. He wasn't yet the king then. Supposedly, he wasn't even in the military at the time. He was just a young shepherd boy. But a shepherd boy that everyone agrees was touched by the gods.

"We were a fledgling country then – some say ruled by numerous chieftains, others claim by a king named Saul. I don't suppose it matters. But where the legends agree is that a barbarian horde had invaded our land from the south. Filistia was a violent, tyrannical nation that raped and pillaged our people. Those they didn't kill, they enslaved. And our army – which consisted mostly of untrained farmers and peasants wielding primitive weapons - finally came out to meet them right here in the Valley of Elah. Our men were dug in on this side – just like now – and the enemy was on the other. But the battle didn't ensue right away. Instead, the Filistians would send down their greatest warrior – a giant of a man named Goliad – who taunted our soldiers, calling for a Temerian champion to come out to battle him one-on-one on the valley floor. 'If any of you cur can defeat me, then we will become your subjects,' the giant proclaimed. But none dared accept the challenge for their fear was too great. So, Goliad mocked them and heaped scorn upon their heads. This went on for many days.

"Meanwhile, Dezmod – who was the youngest of all his siblings - was back home, tending to the family's sheep in the hills. Until one day, he was sent to the encampment by his aged father, with the dual purpose of retrieving news of the battle and also delivering food supplies to his older brothers who had gone there to fight. That first morning, after his arrival, Dezmod heard Goliad bellowing out his ridicule and insults against the Temerian troops, and he was dismayed that no one had accepted the giant's challenge.

"Here's where the legends conflict again. Some say he went straight out to battle the giant, while others claim he first went to King Saul, who was incredulous that this ruddy-faced lad truly believed he could defeat Goliad. 'I have killed all manner of beasts while protecting my father's flock,' replied Dezmod, 'And if I have found favor with the gods, then they will deliver this giant into my hands, as well.' Since Dezmod wouldn't be dissuaded, the king equipped the teen with his own heavy armor and spear. But after donning the gear, Dezmod could barely move. It was much too big and bulky. 'I can't wear this,' he said. 'I will face this Filistian just as I have faced down the ghoul, the fiend, and every other monster - by trusting in the gracious aid of the gods.' So, he left the king's tent wearing his linen tunic and carrying his shepherd's crook. On the way, he stopped by a stream and grabbed five, smooth, shiny stones and put them in his satchel.

"When Dezmod finally made it down to the valley floor, Goliad's scornful laughter was so great that it echoed up to the Temerian encampment. 'I called for your champion, and you send down this pup with a stick? Come here, boy. I will take your head and feed your eyes to the ravens.'

"The legends again disagree on what happened next. One version is that Dezmod raced toward the giant - pulling a shimmering stone from his pouch, placing it in his sling, and whipping it towards Goliad's head, killing him instantly. Others, though, say that he used magic. That he cast forth lightning from his hand, delivering the fatal blow with a bolt to the giant's face. But either way, Goliad was dead. Dezmod ran to the corpse, took Goliad's own sword and cut off his enemy's head. He then held it up and let out a savage roar. When the Filistians saw that their champion was defeated, they turned and ran while the Temerians finally found courage and pursued. The invading army was routed, and their dead were strewn all the way back down to the Yaruga. And, afterwards, Dezmod became Temeria's greatest king, expanding the boundaries of our kingdom and defeating all who opposed him."

"Wow. True or not, that's a great story," said Shani. "And I'm not going to lie - we could really use another Dezmod right about now. Because, as capable a commander as Natalis is, I doubt that he's been touched by the gods."

"I know. That's exactly what I've been thinking." After a pause, she added, "And that's why I don't know what to do."

"About what?"

"Earlier, you said that my magical abilities are a wonderful gift."

"And I meant it. They are."

"I told you what I did at Sodden. And I could do the same here. Battle magic isn't my specialty, but I do know a few offensive spells. Awful spells. So, I could stand out on that ridge and unleash total hell on the Black Ones. And if I killed a hundred enemies, how many Temerian lives would that end up saving in the long run? A few hundred? A thousand? And who knows if that might sway the battle – or even the entire war - into our favor. Just like Dezmod's actions did. Or…I could simply use my magic in our field hospital, trying to save the lives of our bloodied, dying men after the fact. How many would I save in that manner – a few dozen at most?"

Triss turned her face toward Shani. "What would you do?"

"I…I don't know. And, to be honest, I'm glad that I don't have to make that choice."

Triss sighed. "Right."

"This is why you haven't approached Commander Roche, isn't it? Even though you said he could clear your name regarding Foltest's death."

Triss nodded. In the past couple of days, she'd seen Roche several times, stomping around the camp and bellowing orders at his Blue Stripes commandos. But she'd purposefully kept her distance from him.

"If he knew I was here, he would definitely pressure me to use my magic in battle."

"Well, I don't know what the right answer is, but I do know this. At medical school, they preached an oath to us over and over, 'First, Do No Harm.' It's something I've carried with me ever since."

Triss let out a small, mirthless laugh.

"Yeah? Well, at Aretuza, the unspoken motto was 'Might Makes Right.'"

There was a pause where both of them seemed to be thinking before Shani eventually spoke.

"I guess you just have to ask yourself one question. Which would you rather be – a healer or a warrior?"

"Which one would bring about the greatest good?"

"I don't know."

"Me either," replied Triss. "All I know is that, in the past, every time I've ever taken a life…it feels like a piece of my soul has withered and died. And I never want to feel that again."

The two women stared into each other's eyes for a moment.

"Sounds like you've got your answer then."

Triss gave a slow nod.

"Yeah. I just hope Temeria doesn't end up paying too high a price for it."

oOo

After their late-night talk, Shani had gone back to bed, but sleep just wouldn't come for Triss. So, eventually, she rose from her cot and went to the corner of the tent that housed her alchemical table. She closed the curtain to her area and then, as quietly as possible, began brewing more potions.

For the past three days, both she and Shani had been working non-stop, getting ready for the battle the lay ahead. Upon arriving at the encampment, they'd first set up their field hospital, one of several aid stations located along the plateau. They'd spent the rest of that first day gathering wood to keep the necessary fires in the tent burning and then began brewing several types of elixirs, tonics, and balms. All of Triss' were of the magical variety. There were enhanced potions for pain, concoctions to neutralize infection, and tinctures to regenerate plasma for patients suffering from blood-loss. She'd created salves to be applied to burn victims in order to regrow tissue, and she'd crafted numerous magical amulets that, when pressed above a bleeding wound, would constrict the blood vessels, helping to staunch the blood flow at the injured site.

A few hours later, Triss – her satchel filled with potions - left the field hospital with a specific destination in mind. The day before she'd asked Klarn – one of the litter bearers assigned to her field hospital – if he'd happened to come across the House Merigold banner anywhere in the encampment. He said that he hadn't but that he'd go in search. He'd returned shortly, telling her of their location along the line.

The sun was just peaking over the hills to the east of the valley as she began her trek along the backside of the encampment. She saw hundreds of lean-tos arranged in neat rows, with the men underneath now stirring from their night's sleep. Because most of the trees on the plateau had been felled in order to construct the palisade, she had a clear view of the valley out beyond the ridge line. It looked ominous, with its floor covered in a shadowy mist. Only the tops of the tallest terebinth trees could be seen, and for a moment, Triss imagined that the Black Ones were already out there, quietly making their way forward in the fog. The thought caused a shiver to run up her spine so she dug her hands deeper into the pockets of her cloak and quickly kept moving.

After about a quarter-mile, she came upon Lord Selwyn's tent, above which flew the Merigold banner – a bouquet of three, golden marigold flowers on a field of dark green. She paused upon seeing it, and as she let her eyes drift slowly over the familiar details, she was filled with a wistful melancholy. For the sight brought her father to forefront of her mind. Not that, these days, he was ever very far away.

In the past month – ever since her epiphany at the foot of Davyn's grave – he'd been a nearly-constant companion in her thoughts. She found herself talking to him at all times – discussing with him her dreams and fears and heartaches, asking him for advice. She heard no audible voice in return, but she had no trouble imagining what kind of counsel he would have given to her if he'd still been alive. And, not for the first time, she wondered if there was some kind of after-life.

Once, when she'd been a young girl – before leaving for Aretuza – she'd asked her father if he believed in the gods and in heaven, and he'd said yes. When she'd asked why, he'd replied, 'Because of you and your sisters. After you were born, when I held you in my hands, I became convinced that God existed. That there had to be some kind of benevolent, divine being who had knit you together in your mother's womb. Because the tiny, beautiful, perfect life in my hands could have never just come about by random chance.' She remembered that she'd been confused by his answer, which had caused him to smile. 'When you finally have a child of your own, you'll understand.'

She, of course, had never had a child since, like almost all sorceresses, her affinity to magic had left her infertile. That was the cost one had to pay for tapping into the Power. And, despite her father's convictions, she, herself, had never believed in the gods or in heaven, but now, she desperately desired them to be real. She wanted, more than anything, to be in her father's presence again. To rest in the comfort of his embrace and to see the affection in his eyes. To feel fully and unconditionally loved. She thought that she'd found that with Geralt, but…

'No, Triss. Don't go there. Do not go there.'

She clenched her jaws and immediately strode toward her uncle's tent. When she walked around the corner toward the entrance, two sentries came to attention.

"Good morning," said one of them. "How can we help you?"

"I'm here to speak with Lord Selwyn. Is he available?"

"Aye. He just woke. He's there, inspecting the line."

"Thank you," she said and then turned to see her uncle maneuvering through the encampment. She noticed that he stopped and greeted many of his bannermen. She couldn't hear what was said, but it was obvious that the men were encouraged by his words. Eventually, he worked his way through the camp and moved towards the palisade.

As she followed after him, she glanced at all of the men around her. They were standing or sitting in small groups, talking and laughing in hushed tones. Most were also filling their stomach with hard-tack and drinking from their wine skins. It was clear from their attire that none of them were actual members of the Temerian army. None wore plate mail, and even chainmail was a rare sight. Only knights, nobles and high-ranking military officers could afford such expensive gear. Therefore, most were simply wearing padded gambesons. Unfortunately, their weapons, too, looked less than intimidating. She saw mostly wood-cutting axes and chipped, rusted swords. Triss shook her head as she realized that half of men around her looked like they weren't even old enough to shave. A heavy sense of dread gripped her stomach.

'We don't stand a chance,' she thought as sheremembered the heavily-armored, well-equipped, professional Nilfgaardian troops that she'd encountered at Loc Muinne.

But she quickly swallowed that thought and headed towards her uncle, who was standing alone with his back to her, looking down at the valley below.

"Lord Selwyn," she said softly as she approached.

"Yes?" he answered, turning to greet her. His face was neutral for a moment, before she saw recognition come to his eyes. He then scanned her up and down. She knew he was looking at her healer's uniform, visible under her open cloak. She wore a long, light blue, woolen dress with a white, smock apron, and her gray hair was partially covered by a matching blue kerchief. He looked over her head, verifying that no one was within ear-shot before speaking.

"I was wondering what exactly had happened to you. Since you're still in disguise, I'm guessing the royal council didn't welcome you back as you'd hoped."

"You guess correctly," Triss replied. "But that's not stopping me from aiding my country. Here, these are for you."

She pulled a small, cloth bag out of her healer's satchel and handed it to Selwyn.

"What is it?"

"Vials of magically-enhanced healing potions. If you're injured, drink one immediately. They're for you and Marwyn and whoever else you want to give them to."

He gave a short nod of his head.

"I appreciate it. Let's hope we don't need them."

A saying immediately popped into Triss' mind, 'Hope for the best, but expect the worst.' With the memories of Sodden Hill and Loc Muinne stoking her fears, she was definitely expecting a horrible outcome.

"Yes, let's hope," she said instead.

"I wasn't sure if you were going to show. But I'm glad you're here. Because I've been thinking about how exactly we can use your skills here on the front line. I think it'd be best if -" but he stopped mid-sentence when he saw the Triss had broken-eye contact. Instead, she was now looking down at his feet. "What? What is it?"

She could barely bring herself to look him in the face because she knew she was about to disappoint him.

"I'm…I'm not going to be on the front line, Uncle Selwyn. I'm going to be back in the field hospital."

He didn't immediately respond. He just stared at her with his cold, blue eyes and clenched his jaws.

"I know you don't agree with my choice, but…I've realized that I'm a healer at heart. I want to save lives. Not take them."

"And do you realize how many Temerian lives you can actually save by killing the Black Ones first?"

Triss' face became resolute.

"Yes, Uncle Selwyn. I am very aware. I probably killed more men at Sodden that you've killed in a lifetime. And those memories still haunt me."

If she thought that remark would cause him to back down, she was wrong.

"Well, I hate to hear that. But your decision is still bloody wrong. If it was in my power, I'd strike down every Nilfgaardian bastard that's ever stepped one-foot on our soil. In the past decade, those whoresons have killed three of my boys…my brother…nephews, nieces, cousins. Friends. I'm sorry that you're haunted by what you did, but they don't deserve your sympathy, Triss. Because killing them isn't murder. Defending our homes is righteous and justifiable. And if the gods want to condemn me for doing so, then to hell with them."

The two of them were staring directly into each other's eyes.

"I know. I know. I've had the same debate with myself for a while now. And I'll admit that you might even be right. But that doesn't change my decision. I'm a healer."

He continued peering at her for a moment before eventually letting out a long sigh. He then looked off into the distance, slowly shaking head. Triss was surprised when the tiniest of smiles came to his face.

"You are definitely your father's daughter," he said after bringing his gaze back to her. "Both of you – stubborn as a mule. He and I had this exact same argument many years ago."

"You did?"

He nodded.

"Your father was one of the best swordsmen I've even seen. Twice the talent and reflexes that I ever had. But he was in one, little battle as a teen and then…all of his training, all his skill…he just chucked it all. I'm not sure he ever picked up a sword again."

"Did you ever finally accept his position?"

Selwyn smiled again. This one a bit wider.

"Truthfully, no. I've been known to be stubborn, myself. But I eventually did stop fighting him on it. I can still remember his words, 'Selwyn, we both have been called to play certain roles in life. Roles that are both needed and equally important. And I can't walk your path, and you can't walk mine.'" His smile faded, and his face turned earnest. "He was a good man. I miss him."

"Me, too."

Her uncle's normally cold eyes softened as he looked at her.

"If anyone could've ever understood your decision, it'd be him. And he'd be proud of you, Triss. I have no doubt about that. He'd be very proud."

His words hit her right in the heart, and tears immediately came to her eyes. She wanted to speak, but her breath was caught in her throat. And, then, she did something she'd never done before. She was so overcome with emotion that she reached out and grasped her uncle's hand.

"Thank you, Uncle Selwyn," she said with a quiver in her voice.

The lord of House Merigold slowly looked down at her slender hand clasping his. Triss didn't know how he would react. He'd never had any daughters of his own, and he wasn't known as a particularly affectionate man. She was quite positive that the two of them had never once hugged in all the years that they'd known each other. Eventually, he looked back up into her face and gave her a small, warm smile.

"You're welcome," he said, as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Promise me that you'll look after yourself, okay? That way, after this is all over, we can sit on my porch back home and share stories about your father. Deal?"

"I'd love that."

oOo

Despite the frigid temperatures, beads of sweat dripped from Triss' nose. But she didn't wipe her face for she didn't dare move her hands. She was standing at the head of the surgical table with both palms hovering over the patient's torso, power pulsating from her fingertips. She'd been casting a stabilizing spell for close to half an hour, and she was nearing the point of magical exhaustion.

"Hold on, Triss," encouraged Shani. "I'm almost done."

The sorceress blinked her eyes and shook her head slightly, coming back to the present. She'd fallen into an almost trance-like state even though she was standing. That's how utterly depleted she was. Her vision began to re-focus, and she saw Shani with blood up to her elbows, leaning over a young Temerian's exposed abdomen. The red-headed surgeon was expertly stitching up what had once-been a gaping wound to the stomach area.

"There," she said, tying off the last stitch. "You can rest now, Triss."

She immediately cancelled the spell and grasped the surgeon's table with both hands to keep from falling to the ground. After a few moments, she raised her arm, intending to wipe the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her dress. But she stopped short when she noticed that it – like Shani's shirt - was spotted with blood. Which wasn't particularly surprising given that the entire front of her apron smock was stained red.

"I'll be in my lab," she said between heavy breaths. "Making more potions."

"That'd be great," said Shani. "I'll triage the incoming."

Triss pulled back the sheet that closed off the surgery suite from the rest of the field hospital. The light from the various oil lamps and burning braziers placed around the tent allowed her to see the devastation. The Nilfgaardians had finally arrived in the Valley of Elah three days ago, and she'd been in awe of their numbers. It had looked like a giant wave of black death heading in their direction. The entire valley floor – at least a mile long - was eventually covered with enemy forces, and their assault up the ridge had been brutal. Somehow the Temerians were still holding the line but not without incredible cost. Consequently, there was barely enough room in the aid tent to walk to her alchemy table. All the cots had been filled with wounded troops by the end of the first day. By the end of day two, all the pallets on the floor were also occupied so that, now, there were several rows of dead and dying lying outside the front entrance of the hospital. If that weren't enough, their stockpile of potions and balms had completely run out the day before. So, for the past twenty-four hours, if she wasn't helping Shani in surgery, Triss had been doing nothing but brewing.

As she weaved her way through the moaning casualties around her, she reached into the front pocket of her dress, pulling out a vial of a special elixir. One that she'd brewed specifically for herself. Through her past discussions with Geralt, she knew that it was similar to the witcher's Tawny Owl potion, in that it revitalized her, restoring her stamina and allowing her to tap into the Power again. It was her last vial so she'd been saving it for as long as she could, hoping that she could find the time to concoct another batch before she finally ran dry. But she realized that she needed to take the last of it now before she passed out. So, she gulped down the potion - immediately feeling a surge of energy pass through her – and then headed to her private lab.

She stepped through the curtains and cursed quietly. It looked like a cyclone had hit the area. Beakers, pewter bowls, and alchemical ingredients were strewn all over the table and the floor. There'd simply been no time for any type of clean-up in the past three days. The truth was that she hadn't even slept for more than an hour total since the battle had begun. She was so damn tired, and she couldn't remember the last time that she'd eaten.

'Stop feeling sorry for yourself. The soldiers out there have it worse than you. So, get to work.'

Without another pause, she began organizing the mess on her alchemical table. She'd only been at it for a couple of minutes when, suddenly, she heard a shout coming from the front of the tent.

"We've got a level one!"

The voice sounded like Nelson's, one of the litter bearers.

"Dammit," she said to herself.

Level one meant that the patient needed urgent care. No simple bandage and potion – not that they even had any at the moment – would suffice. She hurried to the front of the tent but immediately stopped short when she saw the casualty.

"Uncle Selwyn!"

Nelson and Klarn were moving quickly through the tent and within a few seconds had the lord of House Merigold in the surgery suite. Shani was already there, as well. Triss came up next to him and gasped upon seeing the damage. The lower part of his left leg looked as if it was only attached by a piece of skin. Someone had placed a tourniquet above the knee, but the wound was still bleeding profusely. In addition, he must have received some kind of injury to his chest because he was coughing up a tremendous amount of blood. His grey beard was soaked red.

"Hold on, Uncle Selwyn!" she said, grasping his hand. "Just hold on! We're going to help you!"

His ice-blue eyes locked onto hers, and he immediately shook his head. He tried to speak, but the result was him coughing up all over his face. He grimaced, revealing teeth covered in blood.

"Marwyn," he finally gasped out. He was squeezing her hand tightly. "Save my son. They've broken the line. Save my son."

She jerked her hand from his, and simultaneously began moving her arms in a figure-eight pattern in front of her while chanting in the Elder Speech. As the seconds passed, she could feel the chaotic energy that was all around her start to concentrate in her hands.

"Triss!" She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. "Triss!"

She looked over to see Shani at her side. She was slowly shaking her head.

"He's gone," she said softly.

The sorceress ended the incantation and looked down at her uncle. His chest was still, and his eyes were open but lifeless, simply staring upward. She glanced down at his scarred and weathered hand that lay limp at his side. The same hand that had tenderly squeezed hers just three days before. He had encouraged her and told her of how proud her father would have been of her decision. Proud that she wanted to use her magic to save. But she hadn't saved. Not him, at least. She hadn't saved either of them –neither her father during the Second Northern War nor, now, her uncle. The tears began to sting her eyes, but she quickly shook her head and gritted her teeth. The anger and frustration and pain began to burn inside of her, and she immediately cast another spell. Three seconds later, a clap of thunder sounded, and a fiery portal opened right inside of the surgery suite.

"Where are you going?" yelled Shani.

"To save Lord Merigold," she answered before turning and stepping into the portal.

When she came out the other side, she was behind the ridge line near the House Merigold tent and was immediately assaulted by the noise. The night air was filled with warrior's cries and the clang of metal on metal, as swords clashed with other blades. Her uncle had spoken the truth – the defensive palisade was destroyed. The Black Ones had finally broken through and, with their superior numbers, were now swarming the Northern troops. There was no way that she would be able to find Marwyn in that chaos, especially with more invaders flooding the plateau with every passing second.

Images of Sodden Hill suddenly flashed through her mind, and she knew instantly what she had to do. She began chanting over and over.

"Tan o'r uchod…tan o'r uchod…tan o'r uchod!"

Triss felt the pressure building up inside of her, and right when she didn't think she could take it any longer, power suddenly blasted forth from her hands upward into the starry sky. The shimmering energy swirled in circles around and around like some kind of fireworks display until, a moment later, flaming meteors began raining down on the ridge line. For fifty yards in either direction, a wall of fire pulverized and incinerated everything and everyone in its path. She heard Nilfgaardian soldiers screaming in agony as they burned, but she paid them no mind, for she was already on the move.

The devastating magical display had distracted most of the troops atop the plateau, and that brief moment of respite allowed Triss to finally find her target. Marwyn was half-way between the tent and the ridge line, and he looked like some kind of beast from the bowels of hell. His hair and face were smeared with dirt and blood. A broken arrow protruded from his upper chest, and he was bellowing out a savage yell as he fought three Nilfgaardian swordsmen. She immediately began running in his direction, evading all the mini-battles going on around her. When she was halfway to him, she saw him slay two of his enemies, but he was too late to parry the thrust of the attacker behind him.

"Marwyn!" she screamed as the Black One's blade burst out of her cousin's chest.

He dropped his sword and glanced down at the protruding steel, a look of shock on his face. He feebly reached up with both hands to grab the blade, but a moment later, the Nilfgaardian withdrew the sword, and Marwyn fell face-first to the ground. A single thought flashed through her mind.

'Another Merigold dead.'

"Damn you," she hissed. "Damn you all to hell."

She began an incantation, letting both the Chaos and fury build inside of her until, finally, streams of Power shot forth from her palms heading straight for the Black One who had just killed her cousin. As soon as the spell hit him, he was vaporized - exploding into a thousand pieces.

"Witch! Toverkol!" she heard the Nilfgaardians yell around her. "Dood haar! Kill her!"

She glanced to her right to see four of them running right at her with their weapons drawn. She knew she didn't have time to cast a full spell.

"Gyrwynt!" she shouted and thrust both hands forward. A telekinetic force blasted them backwards into the still burning wall of fire near the ridge line. She saw two of them impaled on the sharp stakes of the broken palisade.

She heard a noise behind her and turned just in time to see another Black One approaching with his great sword poised to strike. He was a giant of a man, his blade almost as long as Triss was tall. She immediately took an evasive step backward and proceeded to trip over a corpse behind her, falling to her backside. When she looked up, she saw the giant with his blade overhead, a moment away from the kill. Again, she had no time to cast a proper spell.

She simply threw one hand out, yelling, "Lluched!"

A bolt of lightning pulsated from her fingertips, striking the giant in the face. The weak spell didn't kill him, but it stunned him just enough to give Triss another moment to act. She saw Marwyn ten feet away, his sword on the ground next to him. With a wave of her hands, the blade levitated upward six or seven feet, and then she brought both arms forward – as if she was pulling someone towards her – and the blade flashed through the air, impaling the giant through the neck. But she didn't wait to see if the blow had killed him. She scrambled to her feet and began running back towards the field hospital as fast as she could. Despite the energizing potion she'd taken earlier, she could tell that she was nearing magical exhaustion again. She'd simply used too much Power in the past three days. She was totally worn out.

As she rushed back towards the aid tent, she saw that the Black Ones had completely broken through the palisade, not just near where her cousin had fallen but all along the line. Some Temerians were now fleeing the battle, but most were standing their ground before being struck down by the overwhelming number of enemies. She shook her head at the sickening display but continued running. She had to get back to Shani.

A moment later, she halted her steps and swallowed hard at what she saw. A battle was occurring near the entrance of the field hospital with a handful of Temerian soldiers trying to hold back a mob of Nilfgaardians. Some of the Black Ones had broken away from the main group and were simply killing all of the defenseless casualties that had been laying on the ground. What's more - a brazier near the entrance had been knocked over in the fighting, and now almost half the tent was on fire.

Triss pulled the kerchief from her head and quickly secured it tightly around the lower part of her face, covering her nose and mouth. She spoke an incantation, and a couple of seconds later, a portal opened in front of her. Without hesitation, she leapt into it.

When she stepped through to the other side, she was inside the tent, and she instantly knelt down, trying to stay under the level of smoke. She saw Shani on the backside of the hospital, where someone had taken a knife and cut open an emergency exit. Shani, Nelson, and Klarn were doing their best to evacuate as many patients as possible before the tent turned into an inferno.

Triss saw a couple of soldiers limping towards safety so she ran between them and put an arm around each of their bodies for support. When they got to the exit, the two men jumped through while Triss turned to Klarn and Nelson.

"Where's Shani?" she yelled.

"There!" shouted Klarn, pointing deeper into the tent.

"The damn fool woman went back in!" yelled Nelson.

The sorceress turned but could just barely see the red head through the smoke. She was helping a final patient rise from his cot when one of the main beams of the tent snapped. Somehow, by a miracle, the tent didn't completely collapse, but Shani was now surrounded by flames and totally cut off from escape.

"Go!" Triss shouted at the two litter bearers. "I'll get her!"

She instantly began casting a portal spell, and as soon as it was open, she jumped through. She came out next to Shani, who was now lying on the floor, hacking and coughing.

"Come on!" yelled Triss, grabbing Shani by the arm.

"Not without him!" she said, reaching back for the patient.

Triss glanced at the man next to them.

"He's dead! Come on!"

Expending the last of her magical energy, the sorceress cast another opening and dragged Shani into it just as the burning tent collapsed.

A hundred yards away, on a small, grassy knoll overlooking the ridge line, a shimmering portal opened, and the two healers stumbled out before falling to the ground. For the next minute, they did their best to wipe the tears from their irritated eyes and to cough the smoke out of their lungs. Eventually, they caught their breath, and Triss stood, looking back down towards the battle. Thousands of men were silhouetted against the backdrop of the fires, and from that distance, she couldn't distinguish the Nilfgaardians from the Northern troops. Even so, she knew the situation. She'd seen it with her own eyes. Her uncle and cousin were dead. The defensive line was shattered. And the Temerians were routed. The Black Ones had won.

Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Shani stand next to her.

"What now?" the surgeon asked.

Triss didn't immediately answer. She reached up and wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks, not caring that she had smeared ash across her face in the process. Through clenched jaws, she finally spoke.

"I'm going back to Vizima. The lilies still fly above the royal palace. And as long as they do, I'm not leaving my home."

oOo

Author's Note:

I know that, in TW3, Roche told Geralt that he had fought with Natalis against the Nilfgaardians along the Dol Blathanna – Mount Carbon Line, but that never made much sense to me. I could be wrong, but I'm assuming that this 'line' is located in Aedirn since Dol Blathanna is on the eastern side of the Mahakam Mountain range, and it just doesn't make sense that Natalis – the commander of the Temerian army – would fight against the Black Ones in Aedirn when his own country was being invaded. So, I decided to change that for this story.

Secondly, I won't speak for anyone else, but it's always been a little unclear to me how exactly magic works in the Witcher universe. In both the books and the games, it seems that it works simply however the plot needs it to. Sometimes, magic users are incredibly powerful – for example, taking on an entire horde of enemies. And, at other times, they can't even defeat a single opponent. My aim was to make Triss' magic in this chapter both logical and believable. She was a member of the Lodge of Sorceresses so, obviously, she is one of the most powerful magic-users on the Continent. That said, I didn't want to make her so over-powered that she could defeat the entire Nilfgaardian army by herself. My hope is that I was able to find the right balance.