Once the three sorceresses were alone, time stretched between them in silence, filled with indifference and the awkwardness that Yennefer soon buried.

"Are you up to strength?" Yennefer asked, aiming a look at Fringilla.

"Nothing another day won't fix," she replied honestly.

"We might not have even that," Yennefer commented, pushing away from the wall she'd been using as a prop, moving to stand before the two women still seated.

"I'll do my part," Fringilla assured, sticking her nose to the air as she looked up at the woman in black, moving to stand so that Yennefer wouldn't tower over her.

There had been a time they'd squared off before, and Yennefer had lost.

At least the use of her eyes – temporarily.

Yennefer didn't appear to be holding a grudge.

"If you could cast replications of Ciri throughout the town as needed once the battle starts, make Eredin and his mages think they see her in more than one place, all the better to keep him distracted and them from guessing where she is as she closes the portals."

"Wouldn't he be able to tell that her energy trail would be different?"

"Perhaps," Yennefer mused. "But it'll take effort and time, and provide us with enough of a distraction for someone—anyone – to get close."

Preferably Geralt or even Ciri herself. Yennefer wasn't insensible to think that she'd be any good up close or that any of her usual tricks would work. Eredin would be prepared for that, it's the numbers and the hits that were going to weaken him.

"We should scout Novigrad and make note of what roofs might support us best. We'd have to spread out evenly," Margarita chimed.

Yennefer nodded. "The tower might give you the best advantage," she mused

Fringilla nodded. They fell silent once more, not needing much room to discuss too much and then trailed Yennefer out of the room, grabbing their cloaks on the way.

"What if we focus all our energy in one place? Cut the city in half," Margarita provided as they walked.

"Would be ideal. There's no way to protect those stubborn enough to stay."

Fringilla snorted. "Then they should take up arms with us."

"They'd rather hogtie and hand us over to The Wild Hunt," Yennefer added.

"But it's for their survival," Fringilla added as though other sorceresses were looking to debate the issue.

"And since when do they care about that? It's easier to wave their white flag and hand us over for the slaughter to save on bloodshed. They're not wrong."

Margarita hemmed agreement and then stopped walking, spying of the fanatical priests on the other side of the small gap that separated the town. There were too many crowds for them to take notice or even care that people were watching.

There was nothing more they could do. They could see, though, could note the structures and where they could possibly stand for equal coverage.

"We should get back," Fringilla added after a short while.

Yennefer nodded, and the three started back toward the Inn.

"I told you, Geralt, I can't help you." Bedlam stared at the Witcher, his arms folding. "The Isle is closed off, the darn cultists don't allow anyone in. The Hierarch has the power over the city, and his guards and hunters are working overtime to provide his arse a cover. There's nothing even two witchers can do about that many guardians."

"Where would he be, exactly?" Kain asked. "Do you know?"

Francis thought about it a second. "The tower of the Temple comes to mind. He has his residence, of course, but he might consider the Temple safer. If he's scared of you pulling the Radovid crap on him, he'd try to scramble as high up as a rat on a sinking ship would."

"What are the odds of him being in his actual residence?" Geralt asked.

"Slimmer than the Temple, but worth checking out since there's two of you. What do you want to do?"

"Convince him to listen and mobilize people to leave safely," Geralt said. "He is the only power figure left in the city, and he can't hole himself up and do nothing."

"Well," Francis shrugged, smiling slightly, "what then?"

"We need both you and Sigi to cooperate with him and see who can fight and who has to leave."

Bedlam sighed, almost rolling his eyes. "Too little time left, Geralt.

"I know, but we have to do it."

"Fine. If you can make it within an hour. All I can promise. Nothing more."

There were significantly more guards than priests on the streets of the Temple Isle, as the Witchers found out when they got a peek in. They had circled the island beneath the fences, climbing the rocks to get over a low fence and get into one of the lower blocks two streets short of the Electors' Square.

They parted there, heading each to his destination.

Geralt had to knock out a guard and borrow his armor to gain a free passage to the Hierarch's rich residence hiding behind a tall fence of thick stone lusciously carpeted with decorative ivy. When a guard noticed him, Geralt discovered that Axii was not very effective on people who used dimeritium trinkets as religiously as the Temple Guard.

After the Witcher had covered up a couple of his failed Axii actions that turned a bit more violently than he had wished, he found the residence of the Hierarch to be rather lively with servants, maids, priests and quite a few Witch Hunters. The residence was a rather large house, though quite short of a palace. Geralt suspected it was due to placating the people of Novigrad loyal to the cult with an illusion of a more humble lifestyle than it truly was.

The Witcher crept through the first floor and came across a snoring priest. The roulades the man's nose and throat were conjuring amazed Geralt who had always thought he'd heard worst. Donning a priest's cloak was the easiest path to stop creeping through the corridors and begin to stroll and actually take better purchase of what was going on inside the house.

It was obvious there was some kind of a feast going on; a party for those who were waiting for the doom's day to fall upon them any moment, and while waiting very carefully for that proverbial shoe to drop, the cultists were getting ridiculously drunk and thoroughly distracted by the best food and concubines their status allowed.

There were two significantly large and tall halls in the house, decorated with the most beautiful pieces of art and frescos and statues one could find in the whole North. The tables were long and cracking beneath the plates and bowls of the best pork, pheasants, grilled ribs, exotic fruits and vegetables and seafood any could find in the whole world. Same went for wines, liquors and desserts. As well as women and boys.

So much for banning magic, Geralt thought, making his slow way for the Hierarch's chambers. He imagined it must have took not more than five minutes to export all things (and beings) needed for that World's End's feast when it came to exception to the rule banning sorcery.

The Hierarch was indecent. Along with him, there were two indecent girls sprawled on the blood-red velvet covers among the puffy pillows on the widest bed Geralt had ever seen. The Hierarch was also dozing and snoring rather indecently. The air was stuffy and heavy with alcohol. A few carafes and three silver cups encrusted with gold and jewels lay on the carpets around the bed.

Geralt grunted with weary disgust and decided not to make it longer than it had to be.

Kain jogged up the stairs, one set, then another, went through the doors that led to more passages that led to other sets of stairs. The stonewall around the Temple was tall and thick, but at least there were very few guards that decided to spend their time watching the streets below from the narrow corridors covered by roofs from the rains and fenced with a railing to not have the brave soldiers topple out from their posts. The majority of the Temple Guard was on the streets, strolling, laughing, bickering, arguing, telling jokes and sleazy stories, and drinking, drinking, drinking. Unlike the very sober and angry and rather scared warriors (both guards and witch hunters) Kain had passed by on the St. Gregory's Bridge where they had been guarding the most obvious passage to the Temple Isle, all the guards located within the Isle limits had taken too many liberties with their service.

The final wooden door opened, letting him into yet another narrow passage with a railing running along it, but the view was the spectacular square in front of the majestic Great Temple of the Eternal Fire. It towered over the square like a giant mother watching over its children. In the middle of the square there was a huge burning shrine. Around it were priests, no less than a few dozens. All were praying on their knees, periodically bowing forward to touch the ground with their foreheads, then rising again to pray with their hands raised to the shrine with palms up. Their voices created a low murmur, like a buzzing of a hive, but it presented a better picture than what Kain had seen outside with the guards and hunters. He couldn't spot a single one of either among the praying priests.

"… Red Flame which Burneth Brightly, spare us from Suffering…"

"…O Fire Which Turneth All to ash, incinerate the hearts of our Foes…"

"… Fire Most Holy, drive all Monstrosities from us…"

"… Heating Fire, guide us while we yet Live…"

"… O Purest Fire, heal our Hearts…"

Like an evening breeze, Kain passed in his trance, taking a wide circle around the praying mass on his way to the side of the Temple. The sun was blazing in its zenith like the Fire they were all praying to.

The Guards standing straight as needles didn't notice his quiet step and stood, sweating and suffering in their armor sets like mini ovens contemplating the trials of their service and lives. Perhaps some of them wished for the cold to come with the mysterious Wild Hunt, though, Kain was certain, it wouldn't be a serious thought. Even the bravest were fearing the unknown. No people in the Temple Square were exception.

Someone new to the city of Novigrad and the Great Temple of the Eternal Fire would be surprised by the architectural quirks of the colossal tower. A wide beautiful passage was leading toward the Temple directly from the Shrine to another smaller one that was all but a huge brazier burning between the tall white columns. Behind it, however – right where everyone expects to see a tall arch of beautifully decorated gates leading into a temple of divine magnificence – there was nothing but a wall. As if the temple wasn't meant to be visited by mere mortals and was a secret in itself, a puzzle that would obey the most cunning of minds or most successful heroes. One would definitely think, staring up at that wall where the doors were supposed to be, that there had to be a catch, a trick, a magical illusion, or at the very least some kind of a mechanism to gain entrance into the House of Divine.

Kain went past the stupefying wall, past the sweating guards, around the corner, and descended the small set of stairs barely noticeable from the square, which led to a very timid, humble wooden door that was enforced with metal and locked.

Neither means of security stopped Kain from slipping in.

A small, narrow corridor with the ceiling so low it made you feel claustrophobic, was lit with small candelabras and turned around the corner, leading for a bit until another turn revealed a wider set of stairs covered with blood-red velvet carpet embroidered with gold and silver. Kain ascended with a bit of reverence in his cat-feet step.

The inside of the Great Temple was indeed of some divine magnificence a place of divine power deserved. The ceiling was so high it made you feel like the smallest of ants. The columns rose like trees in the gods' orchard, and the frescos around the ceilings, on the columns' shafts and the walls unmarred by windows were of unprecedented mastery. Kain grazed one with his fingers and images of people creating them over the years flashed in his inner eye; how they were led here blindfolded and under the highest secrecy and how some of them tried to peek their way and were discarded for it like they had never existed, and so their co-creators never tried. Curiosity did kill.

The braziers sat among the columns shining orange glow onto the passages creating an atmosphere of being submerged in the kingdom of fire. As if here was another plane of existence, like an underwater world, but water was fire, and it flickered and flashed and crackled and glowered all over the surfaces and curves and left almost naught to shadows of darkness.

At the farthest end from the stairs, and at what seemed to be the head of the divine hall, was a throne of gold and red velvet. Around it were smaller chairs of twelve, six on each side, forming a circle around a huge brazier filled with flames. Like knights of The Round Table from some distant legend, the higher priests sat there with a lively discussion of what they knew about the Hunt and what each believed had to be done. There was wine and there was food, and it seemed they had been at it for quite some time. The Throne was empty. The guards were scattered around in the close proximity but keeping their polite distance.

Kain slipped past the Council and toward a small doorway in the back. He believed it led to the tower and thus the Hierarch's working chambers. Judging by the doubled amount of guarding officers distributed on the stairs, the Hierarch was there.

"Are ye scared about The Hunt comin' here, lass?" Zoltan asked after they had worked in silence for a while.

Ciri didn't take her eyes off the grenade she was currently busy with, but nodded. "Yes. People are going to get hurt. That always scares me."

"Ye know we will do our best to keep them from hurtin' ye. I'd like to see the elf bastards try and get past Geralt and Kain!" He flashed her a wink, his beard twitching.

"It is not me I worry about. It is everyone else. The death of a loved one hurts more than any wound anyway. And that pain never ends."

Zoltan grunted in agreement. "It's a risk we have to take, lassie. There isn't another choice."

"I know. At least the fear is better than arrogance. It will not make me complacent. I will do my very best. I will not be selfish."

Zoltan paused what he was doing and peered up at her, eyes slightly narrowed in contemplation. "Ye think it was selfish of ye to leave the keep at Kaer Morhen when ye'd been told to stay inside? Is that what worries ye?"

Ciri shrugged. "I think if I had not left, Eskel would not be alive. But Vesemir might be."

"It's impossible to know what might have happened, Ciri," he said, uncharacteristically soft. "Try not to think like that. There will always be losses on both sides in a battle. We can't prevent that. And in the end, ye saved us all."

"And almost killed you," she pointed out.

Zoltan grinned. "That too. But listen to me, lassie: everyone of us here are willin' to die for this cause. Just as ye are. Savin' the world isn't supposed to come easy." He handed her another empty grenade for her to fill. "But it helps knowin' we're on the side of good."

Ciri reached for the dimeritium and began her work again. They fell into silence.

Were they on the side of good, though, she wondered. That all depended on perspective. To the humans, certainly. But to the Aen Elle, those doomed to lose their world and lives… They were the bad guys.

Yennefer and the two other women entered the Inn again, ridding themselves of their cloaks at the door to make it easier to move around later. Fringilla excused herself, claiming she needed more rest, and headed upstairs, Margarita stayed with Yennefer.

"Some mead?" Yennefer asked, walking toward the counter that held the bottles.

Margarita nodded and took a seat at one of the open tables. The place wasn't busy. Dandelion must finally have decided to keep the doors closed while they worked.

Yennefer poured each of them some mead and moved to join her at the table.

"You ever been up against The Wild Hunt?"

Margarita shook her head. "I've heard all the rumors."

"They're all true," Yennefer added, sipping at her mug slowly.

"Worse than what I've endured with Radovid?"

Yennefer thought about her question and then lightly shook her head. Margarita had lost her students every day, each tortured and burned, while she'd had to listen to their screams from her prison. The Wild Hunt would hardly give them that chance. Margarita exhaled softly, a sound akin to relief, and took a sip of her own drink.

"Doesn't mean it's going to be any easier," Yennefer mused, setting her mug down in front of her, her hands cupped around it.

"I don't imagine anything in this life from this point on will be."

The two women smiled slightly at one another, never really having regarded each other as the enemy, and then fell into an almost comfortable silence.

Geralt dragged the drunk Hierarch off the bed, his limp body thumped against the floor making him moan and wake up – rather reluctantly. The two concubines barely stirred. It took some shaking and slapping the man's cheeks (promising to become two perfectly respectable jowls in the near future) before he pried his eyes open and they widened slowly in growing terror when locked with Geralt's. He tried to scream, but the Witcher's hand tightening on his throat prevented that. Geralt's face was very close, the Hierarch's back was pressed into the wall, and it was cold against his naked skin. His own hands grasped and clawed at Geralt's wrist but futilely. He stared and stared into the eyes of the Witcher and their subtle glow in the semi-dark of the room frightened him to the core. Took him back to scary stories his gran used to tell. She's been thirty years cold and dead, but the primordial fright her stories had instilled had lingered in his heart and waited for just this moment to jump out at him screeching, You knew They'd get you! You always knew They would!

"Now listen to me, you lazy whoreson," Geralt said in a quiet but threatening tone. "You'll get dressed, sober up, then go out to your people and tell them what is coming. You do know what is coming, don't you? A horde of the Wild Hunt, the knights in black armor with deadly frost following their mounts. They'll come and want to murder everyone who won't be ready. Do you follow this far?" He shook the priest a bit like a bloodhound a caught hare.

The priest gaped and gasped for air, his eyes wide and crazy, but he found it in himself to jerk his bald head in a nod and hit the back of it in frightened zeal.

"Good," Geralt displayed a scary smile. "You will come out to your people and speak to them, comfort them by saying that they should take their children and elders and leave the city until this battle is over and the Hunt is gone."

The priest was shaking like a leaf, his flaccid cock dancing between the jiggling thighs; a hot trickle ran down one of them; the man grunted, his face distorting to weep.

Geralt smelled urine and grimaced, stepping back from the man with his hand still wrapped around the priest's neck.

"What the devil is wrong with you?" the Witcher demanded, disgusted, and loosened his grip.

The man gasped and grunted and whimpered, shaking. "I… I'm… not… I… no… please… please, I—"

Geralt yanked him again like a dog its prey; the priest blinked, eyes widening. "You what?" Geralt asked.

"I'm… ah… eh… not… what you… I'm not. I can't… Please… Please…" His face scrunched up, he shook with weeping.

Geralt analyzed it, staring at the man with narrowed eyes. "What's your name?"

"Kat— Katrell," the man whimpered.

"You're not the Hierarch?"

The man shook his head a no, and a tiny spark of hope dawned in his eye.

"Where's the real one?"

"I don— dunno… I… I had to stay 'ere… I… dunno… please…"

Geralt growled in frustration, withdrawing his hand. The man slipped onto the floor and wept. The women woke up and were sitting quietly as mice drawing covers to their chins in stupid hope of staying unnoticed. Geralt cared none for them. He was done with this palace.

No one kept the original in the same place with a decoy.

"Any of you utter a sound, I'll come back and kill you all, you understand?"

Everybody did.

The Witcher pulled on his robe's hood and went out of the stinky bedroom.

No one uttered a sound while he hurried away.

It took about an hour until the two guards finished their silly argument over whose wife was smarter and decided to take a stroll away from the door. Not too far, of course, but far enough for Kain to slip past them to it like a shadow and quietly open the lock. It clicked softly, and Kain snuck inside in one fluid motion of a cat. He closed the door and flicked his wrist to lock it behind him, then threw his hand forth, fingers twitching as if tightening around something invisible.

Something invisible was the Hierarch's neck. It was a big neck, but not as thick as it promised to become in the future by the looks of it. Kain caught the man in his power's grip when the latter opened his mouth to shout. Not a sound but faint wheezing escaped the Hierarch. He felt as if his body was shifting back by some force he didn't see. He felt the wall behind him, felt the cold of the fresco against the back of his bald head. He was clawing at his throat frantically, but there was nothing to pry from it, and yet the air was in a very shy supply.

Kain glanced around briefly, his eyes skimming over the tall bookshelves, the luxurious chairs, the dark-wood desk decorated with carved tongues of fire and impassive faces peeking from them. There was a carved-wood rose in the back of the chair the Hierarch had jumped from when he entered: it was engulfed in flames and painted red.

Approaching slowly, Kain loosened the man's throat the tiniest bit to let more air in.

"I'm not here to kill you," he said, stopping at the desk. He didn't need to step around it and smell the man from closer up to know the latter had been drinking and indulging in meaty meals with garlic and cream sauce.

"B… but… you can't…" the man struggled, the fright didn't evaporate from his eyes, but there was also anger. Rage, even, at the sight of something that couldn't possibly be. And yet it was. Kain saw the man's hand tap and claw around his tunic in search of something.

"Dimeritium can't help you," he said. "I'm not a wizard."

"Wha— what—"

"A witcher." Kain pondered, and released the Hierarch. The man coughed, gulping the air, rubbing his throat as he glared at his opponent.

"How the hell is this possible?" he wheezed.

"An unpredictable side-effect of mutation. You are Cyrus?"

The man tried to straighten up, angry and defiant. "Yes, I am Cyrus Engelkind Hemmelfart, the Hierarch of this city, and I shall have you burnt at the stake for this."

"Don't be so certain it will work like you plan. We witchers like fire, it helps in our work. I didn't come to harm you. Unless you make me."

"Why did you come?" Cyrus spat, rubbing his throat furiously as if to rid himself of the sensation.

"The Wild Hunt is coming. There is something you have to do."

The Hierarch chortled and spat on the floor. "What makes you think I will?"

"It benefits your image more than cowering in a tower like a princess in distress. What you're doing now, aren't you?"

"It's a matter of security. What a tramp like you could underst—" His eyes widened once again with a ghost of fear as his windpipe shrank to a size of a needle once again. His fingers scratched at his neck once more.

"It matters not what I understand or not. It matters solely what you understand. You hear me?"

Cyrus glared, but nodded.

"Will you do what I ask, or should we start this city's story anew with another one to take your throne? No one will hear you in time. No one will save you. Do you understand that?"

Glaring, he nodded.

"Shall we have a lasting understanding, then?"

Glared and nodded.

"Good." He released the hold, and when the Hierarch stopped gasping, Kain propped his hands on the desk, leaning over it, and told him what he had to do.

The Hierarch of Novigrad rubbed his red, scratched throat, glowered, and listened.

Ciri emerged from the cellar a few hours later, covered in dust and grime from her activities. She found Yennefer and Margarita upstairs in the bar, sipping from tankards of mead.

"Hey," she said, pushing some loose strands of hair from her face. "Have you plotted?"

"We have established a certain plan of action, yes," Margarita smiled. "You look like a miner."

She wiped a hand across her brow. "Yes. I foresee another bath in my near future."

"You've finished the bombs, then?" Yennefer asked. "Do you estimate we have enough?"

"That all depends on The Hunt's numbers. If it is the group that usually chases me, we have more than enough. If it is an entire army like at Kaer Morhen..." Ciri's voice drifted off.

The sorceresses pondered, sipping their drinks.

"Do you believe it could it be the latter?" Yennefer asked her. "That they are ready to send their whole army once again?"

"Ready, certainly. But I don't know if they think it necessary," Ciri said, moving to find herself something to drink. "They might be expecting us to fight back. Or they might be expecting us to run and hide. It's impossible to know which."

"They're expecting you exactly where you are."

The door slowly swung closed as Avallac'h strolled toward the bar counter.

"Therefore this city shall not be the only place they might attack. They're doing exactly what we tried to prevent when we set the battle at the keep. This time it's their choice of grounds and they will try to make the best of it."

"Avallac'h!" Ciri exclaimed in surprise. She felt a warm rush of relief wash over her at his presence. If things got out of hand this time, he would stop her. She moved towards him, brow slightly furrowed. "What do you mean? Other cities?"

Avallac'h nodded curtly. "Other cities might get attacked. Even if your friends managed to convince people of Novigrad to fight the Hunt rather than give them what they want, other victims might not be so lenient."

"How do you know this?" she asked, though held up a hand a moment later. He always knew. Knew things others did not. Sage. "What can we do?"

"Hard to predict where they could land, however, they navigate best to places of our people's ancestry. Places spelled in a certain way that makes it easier to navigate to them."

"The Towers?"

Avallac'h shook his head in thought. "Too far from here. It should be something closer. Like Oxenfurt that is built on elven ruins."

"Then we need to warn them. Get the word out, so people will know to prepare themselves."

"There's barely any time for that," Zoltan said from behind Ciri, wiping his hands on a dirty rug. "And I bet my life they won't be happy to fight for some lass no one ever saw."

"It's not about them fighting, it's about them not being slaughtered in the streets," Ciri said, turning to look at the dwarf over her shoulder. "They deserve to be warned."

"The majority of people there are students, lectors and scholars," Margarita said. "I don't believe they can put up any fight without the Redanian army."

"Then it's Dijkstra who should lead the soldiers there," Yennefer said. "He won't be happy about it."

"Is he ever happy about anything?" Ciri muttered under her breath before looking to Yennefer. "Have you heard anything from Geralt and Kain?"

"Not yet, but there is still time," Yennefer said. "I'm sure they will be back soon enough."

"Let me know?" she requested, heading for the stairs. "I will go wash up in the meantime."

The witchers returned when the sun began to decline and more people added to the line of those leaving.

Dandelion wasn't up yet, but there was Avallac'h sitting at a window. He turned and nodded in greeting. So did Margarita and Fringilla at the bar.

"Well, the more the merrier," Geralt commented, picking a bottle with cups, and joined the elf at the table. "Where is Ciri?"

"Needed a bath," Fringilla said.

Kain settled next to Geralt with a weary sigh. The day felt long and exhausting.

"It surprises me you haven't notified me of the upcoming battle," Avallac'h remarked.

Geralt shrugged. "We had a lot to do on short notice. We had no time to fetch you."

"That is not true," the elf said. "But it's not what I came to say."

He propped his elbows on the table and told them about the possible plans of the Hunt.

Yennefer had made use of the chamber pot in the inn, returning to find that Geralt and Kain had arrived back. Neither looked hurt. A good sign.

She joined them at the table.

"How did it go with Dijkstra? Was he more amenable after Kain's puppeteering?"

"I thought Philippa told you all about it," Geralt cast an amused gander at her. "She visited and provided her valuable arguments to aid our cause."

"No, she also hasn't been back." As far as Yennefer was aware. Unless Philippa was upstairs sleeping or plotting her next reprisal. Yennefer glanced at the other sorceresses and saw at least one shrug. "You're in one piece. I assume she was of some help then?"

"We would probably be in one piece either way, but she did well." Geralt refilled his cup and sipped. "Avallac'h says the Hunt could attack Oxenfurt. We need to send someone they will believe. Dandelion studied at their Academy. They know him."

"Someone will have to go with him," Kain added. "With at least one crate of bombs."

"Triss," Yennefer offered in suggestion. "She's decent with delegation, and I assume you trust her enough to get him there."

"It's not just about getting him there. The city has to be protected, as well."

"What are you thinking?" Yennefer had figured that he must have had some kind of idea in his head. He wouldn't have brought it up otherwise or shot down Triss as standby.

The Witcher looked at her wearily. "I just learned about it. I wasn't ready for these complications, Yennefer. I'm not thinking anything besides the need to send a half of our forces there."

"We have to go back to Dijkstra," Kain added. "He's the head of Redanian forces now, and Oxenfurt is their city."

Geralt heaved a sigh and downed his drink.

"Want me to come?" Ciri asked Kain as she returned downstairs, hair loose and still damp from her bath. Geralt looked too tired to even entertain the idea of returning to Dijkstra.

"We should probably convince the Hierarch and Dijkstra to divide their forces," Kain said.

Geralt nodded, "Yes, sounds reasonable. We should go back to them."

"Zireael has to remain hidden from the Riders," Avallac'h piped in. "What they're doing is a provocation. They want her to view everything they do as her fault. They want her to blame herself and give herself over to them in return for people's safety."

"That's not happening," Geralt said getting up.

"No, that is not happening," Ciri repeated. "Neither the staying hidden for this battle or giving myself over."

"You cannot afford to take part in battle, Zireael," Avallac'h insisted. "Did the incident at the keep teach you nothing?"

"It might not happen again," Kain said.

Avallac'h shot him an impassive look. "This is not a secluded keep. If she loses her control again, more people will die."

"And if I don't, the results will still be the same," she argued. "I am going to close those portals. As many as I can. And no one gets to tell me otherwise."

"Don't let Eredin see you," Avallac'h said. "Make sure he can't touch you. If he gets you, we have lost everything. Do you understand what you are risking? It is not just your life alone - it is your world and your family."

"She understands," Yennefer added, rising to her feet as well, fixing a glare on the elf who'd made it his mission to try and warp guilt around Ciri. "Ciri knows what she is risking, and what is at risk if we do anything senseless – we all do. Unfortunately, she's powerful, we need her help as much as we need yours."

"If she does not heed to my words, I cannot promise that my aid shall be effective," the elf said.

"That's something none of us can promise presently. Which is why we're trying to come up with a strategy and method that works for all of us."

"I'll stay out of his sight if I am able," Ciri promised. "I have no intention of taunting him if that is why you are worried."

While the discussion went on, the witchers left the inn and took their horses to make their way faster

The streets were free of civilians, only the soldiers, guards and witch hunters patrolled to make sure everything was as planned.

"He won't forget how we stole the North from him," Kain said.

"I don't doubt that for a second. He won't be willing to lose Oxenfurt, however."

"We can't guarantee he won't."

"We can't guarantee anything. I wish I knew how to finish it once and for all. How and where to end it."

"If they will win this," Kain looked at him grimly, "it will become their favorite strategy - attacking where and when they want until the whole continent hunts Ciri for them."

"We'll stop them before it happens," Geralt said, his jaw set, the muscles in his cheeks bulging. "Once and for all."

"It will be harder than you think. We need more than what we have now. More allies and a better place to do it."

Yennefer realized that Geralt and Kain had slipped out when they were talking and furrowed her eyebrows with annoyance.

"I need some fresh air." She cast a glance at Ciri. "Coming?"

Ciri nodded, sensing this was a demand for privacy rather than Yennefer actually needing some air.

She stopped at Avallac'h's table on her way to the door, one hand touching his. "It was good of you to come. Thank you."

The elf gave an almost imperceptible twitch of his lips and slowly inclined his head.

Ciri followed Yennefer outside.

As soon as the door closed behind them, she smiled softly, averting her gaze to the sky. "Are you feeling better about things?"

Ciri blinked, uncertain. "Things?"

"The battle." Yennefer knew Ciri had to be scared or at least worried. "Feeling better now that our plans are getting more assembly?"

"I feel better knowing the majority of you don't want to lock me up," she offered.

"You were worried that we would?"

"Of course. You demanded I stay inside last time."

"That's because we thought it was the best move. That we had to listen to Avallac'h since he'd been with you all that time, and because we didn't quite understand. He isn't entirely wrong, either. Did you summon him?"

"No," Ciri laughed softly. "I would not know how. He came because he knew what was going on. He simply... knows."

"No one simply knows," Yennefer stated. "Least of all someone like that. Has he gifted you anything over the years you were together?"

"Other than protection and company?" She shrugged. "No."

Didn't seem possible to Yen. Avallac'h had to have spelled something on Ciri, something he knew she'd wear regularly and he'd be able to use to find her. Unless he used the same kind of power Eredin did and followed her distinct magical energy. When all of this was over, Yennefer would make a point of asking.

"You two seemed to have been arguing a lot before he disappeared for a bit. You feel better for having him around again?"

"I think we need all the help we can get. And Avallac'h can be a strong ally." Ciri had seen him fight before – mostly with magic – and he was quite adept. There was a reason Caranthir had become so powerful: Avallac'h had raised him. "But he is quite firm in his expectations of me. Some I no longer agree with. It is natural we will argue."

"Did you two argue as much when you were alone?"

"No. It was different then, of course. We knew we couldn't stay and fight, just the two of us. It was always a run and flee scenario. We were both in agreement about that. That's not to say he hadn't noticed I was stubborn. He knew that from the first day we met. It did not bother him as much back then. I think because he truly believed he would get what he wanted in the end. But now that I am back with you and Geralt, he worries. No matter how much he wants it, I think he is starting to realize I don't belong to the Aen Elle. Not in the way he wants. I have too many ties elsewhere."

"And that's what he wants? For you to remain with the Aen Elle? With him?" Yennefer hadn't even bothered to try to read the elf's mind and nor would she. She knew he'd probably be prepared, and probably had power with which to block it without even trying. "I thought you two didn't have any romantic likings."

"There's no romance!" Ciri thought it important to make this very clear. "But I don't think he would simply give up on me after The Hunt is defeated. Every elf I meet make their mantra very clear. You belong to the Aen Elle." She shrugged. "These are only speculations, of course. I cannot be certain."

"Sometimes it's best to trust your instincts."

The same way Yennefer knew that if distance remained between her and Geralt, that she'd lose him for good. Geralt wasn't without women willing to keep him company – or he them. Yennefer linked arms with Ciri, and they strolled together around the inn to vent their heavy heads and gloomy thoughts.