WRITERS' NOTE:
~~~ Greetings, dearest friends and constant readers!
It's been such a long time since the last chapter came out, we know, and we're truly sorry it has come to such an unfortunately slow pace. But as you all know, the last two years have been very challenging for the whole world and we weren't an exception. Life happened and claimed our attention and dragged us every which way for long weeks and months that grew into years. It's amazing how time flies! And it's also been rather frustrating for all of us.
But now we actually feel more stable and have been trying our best to pick up where we left off to continue our Wild Hunt ride and follow the winds of our beloved story. We did miss it plenty, and if there are still any of you here who missed it as much as we did, we welcome you to join this ride again so we could finally follow through with it.
We wish you the Happiest New Year and Merriest of Christmases and wish you all to be happier, healthier, more determined with your goals, and to achieve all the great and wonderful things you wish to gain this year. We wish you all the best and everything you wish for yourselves! And most of all we wish to thank you from the depths of our hearts for sticking with us through all the turmoil and for still being here to enjoy the story with us.
We have also created a channel in Telegram to try out a new means of communication — the username is the same as here, ChestOfStories — and it's a channel to announce the chapters and just come together and chat about the fandom and lore and characters and everything you wish to discuss and share. We will be very happy and excited to hear from you, guys, in the comments there, if any of you wish to drop by.
Thank you so much for being there for us and reviewing our story and sharing your opinions and thoughts with us. It always means the world to us to hear from you. We love you all and we're happy to be back!
Without further ado, let us begin... ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
There was a yank making them grab at each other's hands firmer, and that grip was painful. It all lasted barely a second but somehow felt much longer. Something swirled and turned inside Kain's head, sloshing into the temples, and for a moment he thought he would be sick.
But then he found water licking the grey sand a few feet before him and fog slowly thickening as though the very air was becoming visible.
No one was holding his hands.
There was no one around, and the world stood still. No birds or insects broke the quiet whistle of the freezing wind and delicate sloshing of water.
Kain squelched the first urge to call out for the women and instead closed his eyes and waited for any feeling.
He heard it before his eyes snapped open and saw anything through the milky veil coiling in the wet air. He jogged along the lakeshore, accelerating his pace the clearer he heard the splashing and curses.
"YENNEFER! DAMMIT, WHERE ARE YOU?!"
Looking like a shaky mirage, Ciri kicked the knee-deep waters and cursed.
"She might be further from here," Kain called and waved a hand at her when she whirled around, splashing, and squinted through the mist as if doubting her sight. "The Tower's magic must've separated us."
Ciri glared in the direction of the tower ruins as if sending her anger its way would somehow make the ancient magic regret interfering with her powers. She'd never lost someone during teleportation before and for some reason her now less-than-perfect record annoyed her.
She stepped out of the water, onto the bank where Kain stood. "She better be. Otherwise, we now have two people missing and we have to waste precious time finding them."
Limping, Ciri led the way toward the ruins, keeping her eyes peeled for Yennefer at all times.
"Let me fix your leg," he reached out to stall her. "We need you at your full strength."
She paused, for the briefest of moments eyeing Kain with suspicion. But relented easily. The wound the sand monster had left behind was throbbing dully, pinching every time she moved.
She nodded. "Alright. But hurry. We have to find them."
He crouched before her, focusing on her wound. It looked a bit worse and leaked blood. He held his palm over it, but the process didn't start at once. He had to close his eyes and concentrate harder before he felt any progress.
When he took his hand away, her skin looked its normal pale, but Kain's head was swimming a little. He took a few deep breaths and got up.
The Tower was looming in the distance at one angle and dissolving in the fog at another.
Ciri had witnessed enough of Kain's healing abilities to know that this time he had struggled. Was it because of the tower? Was it interfering with his magic as well?
She couldn't see the tower in its full glory as she once had. Only the ruins were visible.
"Do you see it?" Ciri asked Kain as they continued to close in on their destination. "Last time I was here it did not show itself until the very last moment."
"It flickers in and out. Perhaps it's not as far or as close as it seems."
The terrain looked so different since the last time Ciri'd been there. The lake that had once been covered in ice and served as her arena of death, was not frozen now. The water was dark and she briefly wondered if the men she had killed all those years ago had been dragged home with their surviving comrades or if they had been left behind. Maybe they now lay on the bottom of the lake, their flesh devoured by fish, empty eye sockets staring up at the surface as if searching for salvation that would never come.
A reverie she didn't have long to explore. The tower claimed her focus, as it appeared and faded before their very eyes, and no matter how far they walked it continued to appear as though they were not moving closer.
"It's a test," Ciri said, her determined gaze fixed on the base of the ruins. "We have to persevere. It will reveal itself eventually."
Kain took his eyes off the tall foggy silhouette and looked at the girl, the line between her eyebrows deepened as she stared ahead with angry determination.
"How was it for you back then?" he asked.
"Different," she said without taking her eyes off her target. "I was distracted by a band of bounty hunters who pursued me over the ice. The tower didn't show itself at first. I thought I'd made the perilous trek all for nothing. But it appeared eventually, around the time Eredin and his riders burst forth to chase my pursuers away."
"As if the tower sensed Eredin's arrival." Kain squinted wistfully. "Maybe it serves as their one big anchor."
"It's possible their portal connected to the tower's. It took me to their world, even if I had a different destination in mind."
The tower continued to tease them in the thickening fog, pretending to be closer and then further away and in a different direction. They turned to the side a bit once and nearly lost each other. Both recalled the Bog fight and held hands firmly throughout the long walk.
Eventually, the first weather-beaten bricks of the ruins floated out of the fog.
"We're close," Kain said, searching for the darker silhouette. The sky was beginning to lose its brightness.
"How can you tell?" Ciri squinted through the fog. The tower seemed as far away as it had when they begun.
He pulled her forward a couple of yards and pointed under her feet where a few cracked bricks lay in the sand a few shades darker. To the side from them a short piece of wall still stood with disheveled remains of a nest abandoned a year or two ago. Not much survived the weather and winds.
Ciri was astounded. How had she not noticed the rubble beneath her feet? How had she not felt the old bricks and stones? It was clear this place was saturated in magic. She could feel the hum and vibrations of all the conflicting energies thrum along her skin. And yet, she felt more disconnected from its power than ever before.
"Is it possible Yennefer made it inside?"
"Her elven blood gives her a chance," Kain said and regarded her closely. "Are you ready to step in?"
She nodded, squeezing his hand in confirmation. "Don't let go. It may try to separate us."
He made to move forward, then looked at her.
"Do you see the tower? Where do you see it?"
"In the distance," she said. "Where it was when we arrived."
He frowned, glancing from her to the shadow looming ahead behind a milky veil, and considered it a moment.
"Close your eyes," he said. "And don't let go."
She did as told, clutching Kain's hand in hers while the other subtly shifted to her sword. "Don't lose me," she warned.
It stabbed through his spine with cold.
Don't lose me.
Haven't I already, he thought, and felt a lump briefly form in the base of his throat. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and focused on their goal. And led the way.
There was no tower, no doorway or any gate to enter. Only the fog thickened into murky darkness, it got chillier and an icy breath of wind laced through their clothes and skin reaching their bones.
And then, there was a tall colonnade and the ceiling was lost in the dark above where the echo from their footfalls reverberated among the whispers and shuffles neither of them was responsible for. Beneath them was a black stone floor, so smooth it looked like a frozen mirror of a lake that could become liquid any moment and swallow them both. For whatever reason Kain thought its waters would be like molasses, thick and heavy. If you looked down there for long enough you could see the pale outlines of skulls, spines, ribs, and other bones resting in the depth beneath that dark glass-like surface.
"We're here," Kain whispered, squeezing her hand a little.
Ciri opened her eyes and stared straight into the depths of the floor, just as Kain had done moments before. Her lips curved in a slight smile as blurred faces peered up at her from the darkness. She couldn't remember their names, nor truly what the men had looked like. But she knew who they were. It was the lake's promise to her – it still kept her pursuers prisoners.
She tore her gaze off old memories and moved to take in the seemingly neverending hallway before them.
"Yennefer!" she called. "Geralt!" Her voice echoed and bounced between the stone walls, making it sound as though there were a dozen Ciris crying for her parents.
Her voice died down and no one responded. She frowned in mild annoyance and adjusted her hold on Kain. "Let us venture deeper."
Kain tore his gaze off the black floor and surveyed the colonnade and statues.
"You've been here before. You know where to go?"
Ciri remembered the sound of Kelpie's hooves crunching atop bones. Human skulls and rib cages littered beneath them like gravel.
She stared down the never-ending space before them.
"There were doors. Thousands of them. Each opening the further I walked. And inside them there were people. Memories. Not all mine." She frowned. "It was overwhelming. Made me dizzy and unwell. And then suddenly, I was in the land of Aen Elle. There was no visible portal."
They started to walk, slowly and cautiously, as if expecting the floor to crumble beneath them or the columns to begin to collapse.
Neither happened and for a while what did was nothing at all. Their footfalls shuffled softly, and shadows crawled around the statues like living creatures.
Eventually, they noticed a gleam of light ahead, and as they came closer, a door opened.
Beyond the open door lay a giant bedroom, illuminated solely by candlelight. The shadows dancing along the walls made it evident it was nighttime and the sound of hooting owls somewhere outside only confirmed it.
Atop a massive bed filled with velvet and satin, dozens of pillows, and a few stuffed toys, sat a little girl. A little girl, no more than four or five, with ashen hair and wide green eyes that were currently watching her governess imploringly.
"Please, tell me the story again! Oh, pretty please!"
The governess sighed as she took a seat on the edge of the mattress, throwing a look over her shoulder as if to make sure no one was listening at the door. Her gaze looked right through Kain and Ciri in the hallway outside.
"Very well," she conceded. "But remember the rule?"
"It's our secret!" the child intoned, clearly having spoken those very words several times before.
"Once upon a time a Witcher – do you remember what a Witcher is?"
The child nodded. "A monster hunter."
"That's right," the governess said. "Once upon a time, a Witcher came to Queen Calanthe's court. He was to take part in Princess Pavetta's birthday celebrations. But what was supposed to be a magnificent feast instead turned into chaos when Duny, a man cursed to take the form of a hedgehog, entered the party and demanded to marry the princess. Affronted, the Queen ordered her men to kill the intruder. But the noble Witcher protected the man until Her Majesty had to admit defeat. She agreed to let Duny marry Pavetta. And with that promise, Duny's curse was broken.
"Do you remember what happened next?"
The girl nodded anew, eyes gleaming with childlike excitement. "The Law of Surprise!"
The governess smiled. "Indeed. Duny wished to reward the Witcher for his services, for that was the custom no one dared to break, and asked him what he wanted. The Witcher invoked The Law of Surprise, meaning Duny and Pavetta would have to give him their unborn child."
The girl grinned and pointed to herself. "That's me!"
"That is you, Princess Cirilla."
Young Ciri's smile faded rapidly when silence settled in the room.
"He never came back. The Witcher."
The governess shook her head hesitantly. "Not yet. Perhaps he has been delayed. Witchers have much to do."
"Or perhaps he will not come. Because I am a girl. And girls are useless."
"Who told you such a thing?" the older woman frowned sternly.
Young Ciri shrugged. "The servants' boys. They won't let me play with them. Because I am a girl. And girls can't do what boys do."
"Nonsense! The Witcher will come when the time is right. Just you wait and see."
The governess urged little Cirilla under the covers and tucked her in, attempting to smooth the wrinkles from her brow with a gentle hand.
Ciri looked in on the memory with an acrid taste in her mouth. She didn't enjoy being reminded how hard she'd have to fight for Geralt to claim her. She'd been a burden.
Swallowing, she tugged on Kain's hand, refusing to witness the look on his face. "Let's go. They are not in this room."
They spoke no words on their way to the next door. Ciri refused to look at him, and Kain stole a glance that was enough to understand how her emotions were boiling in a no-good-comes-from-this kettle.
The next door revealed a narrow river running in a deep crevice it had probably eaten through in centuries. The rather steep banks were covered with shrubs and thick patches of moss, a large boulder sat half in water and half on a rushy shore; tall rush rustled worried by the occasional night breeze. The moon was waxing on the starry cloudless sky, and its light made the river seem like running quicksilver.
A young boy of no more than fifteen winters with shoulder-long white hair sat on the boulder with his legs crossed, watching the river. Despite the noise, his head jerked as if he heard Ciri and his older version, even though both froze in place as soon as they saw his silver-outlined silhouette.
"I knew you'd be here."
He didn't look back; he knew she was there the whole time lurking in the shrubs. Her feet were light as a cat's but he'd learned to sense her whenever she tried to stalk unnoticed around him.
"Your message wasn't the main reason I'm here," he said, his voice barely more discernable than another breath of wind that followed.
She smirked. "You can keep telling yourself that," her voice resembled a purr of a content cat. It used to be arousing; now it was a sip of poison. "Just as all those other things."
When he didn't respond, she approached closer, amused.
"You're deceiving yourself, Gwyncath. It's bound to stab you in the back rather sooner than later, why would you wish it upon yourself? It's not like our lives are about to be too easy without it, be it here or beyond the school."
"And you've suddenly discovered you care enough to aid a stupid kitten and set it on the right path?"
As quiet as it was said, she didn't fail to taste the bitterness and sarcasm, the final defense of those who's got nothing else left to shield themselves with.
She shrugged and made a couple more steps toward the boulder, rush quietly bending around her hips with barely a rustle. "If you prefer to believe I don't give a rat's tail about you, I shall not dismantle it. However, it puzzles me how you yearn to belong to someone - that path leads to misery even for normal humans. None of us will ever belong. Neither will you."
Gwyncath sighed and slipped off the boulder, turning to face her. The way her almond eyes glistened in the moonlight stung him a bit, but nothing in his face aside from a tiny squint betrayed it.
"You can save someone else if you're so inclined," he said. "I'm not a piece of clay you can mold into your own image. No one in their sane minds would want to be like you."
He made to walk past her, but she grasped his arm. Her lips were smiling, her eyes were like steel, as cold and unrelenting.
"Are you so certain you can stay sane for long with the way you view this world and your place in it, Cath? Better learn now than turn into a pathetic shadow of what you're supposed to be."
He tried to yank away, but her grip was firm, her eyes boring into his. Even though he was a head taller, she had a couple of years on him.
"What do you think your life will be like? You get out of here and find yourself a woman that's no less than a soulmate and you should stand together against the world? Start a real family with children while doing the contracts that barely feed your own belly? And how would you expect people to react when – or if – they learn about the first witcher in history having a family? If being human and happy is what you wanted, then you're in the wrong place."
He yanked his arm again. "You very well know it's not happening," he pushed through gritted teeth.
Her smile got a hint of bloodlust. "Of course not, because it's not how it all works. No matter how wonderful and magical you are, skilled and lethal without the mutations, you can't change the way this world will treat you. You can't change your place in this world, Cath, for you've chosen it and there's no way back. You may have no mutation in your blood, but the witcher curse is already inside you. You won't wash it out. None of us ever will.
"We never find love or devotion, we never get a family, we never settle down. All you can get are little moments of enjoyment you create for yourself with no strings attached. You take those and move on. That is a Witcher's lot. Learn it now and spare yourself some unnecessary grief later."
He stared at her, his eyes blazing with quiet fury. "Do you suddenly lack toys to humor your selfish desires? I don't want to be one of them anymore. That madness has passed."
She smirked, "Why does it have to pass? Look at us, Cath, we're young and strong, we're free and powerful. Nothing else will ever be there for us, so why refuse yourself a bit of sweet madness while you can enjoy it?"
Inching closer, she skimmed a finger from his jaw down the side of his neck. He felt that touch in his every agitated nerve, and she knew it. It spurred his anger, and it was what she was aiming for.
"Stop running from desires that you can satisfy," she whispered, smiling like a woman that knows she has won. "Forget the romantic nonsense they tell children tales about. This is here and now and this is what we can have - why not take it? No regrets, no promises, no broken hearts... just a flash of madness."
"I hate you."
"Good. It makes it so much better..."
Her lips were on his neck, breathing the last words against his feverish skin, and the boiling kettle of helpless rage exploded in him.
He grabbed her by the neck, and the next instant she was on the ground writhing out of her linen britches, grinning, as he ripped her shirt open and bit her shoulder tasting blood. She groaned and clawed at his side before feeling for his pants to push them down his hips.
Kain turned around and stormed out of the room past Ciri as if she wasn't there.
Ciri stared at the dissipating scene before her, her insides curdling with sickening jealousy and hurt. How she had managed to watch it all unfold without spewing the meager contents of her stomach all over the stone floor, she would never know.
Kain had hated that Feline. That much was obvious. Had possibly even been disgusted by her. And yet he'd given in to her advances so easily. Had let her come close. Touch him. Feel him. Devour him.
Simple things he'd never allowed Ciri.
So what did that say about how he felt about Ciri?
She growled beneath her breath, face set in hard lines and eyes practically gleaming with fury as she turned on her heels and followed Kain outside.
She caught up with him in the hallway but refused to even look at him. The sound of their joined footsteps echoed and bounced down the corridor. A sound so empty and eerie that when a door opened to their right and they were met with sudden bursts of fire and terrified screams, Ciri actually jumped in fright.
The sky above attempted to cloud everything in darkness but failed. Cintra was burning and the flames refused to die down. The cobblestones were slick with blood, a trickle of it running towards Ciri and Kain's feet where they stood.
Everything was chaos. Civilians and soldiers rushed between one another, shouting commands, screaming for mercy.
The Nilfgaardians rode through the streets like black specters, cutting down everything and everyone in their path, leaving a smattering of corpses in their wake.
A group of Cintran riders broke through the smoke, rushing for the city gates with black-clad pursuers on their heels. One soldier received an arrow to his chest and fell from his horse, dragging the little ashen-haired girl in his arms down with him. She fell hard onto the muddy ground, disorientated and frightened, shielding her head from the horses' hooves as they scurried beside and over her.
Another soldier reached down and plucked the girl back up into his saddle, urging his steed into a mad gallop with his chainmail arms tightly wrapped around her. It left her unable to move as this soldier also met his end, an axe from another rider slicing through his neck, dousing the girl in hot blood before they both fell to the ground anew.
The horse, wounded as well, screeched in pained panic as it tried to regain its footing, its cries mingling with the rest of the chaotic cacophony of the city.
Ciri inhaled sharply as the Black Knight came into view, impossibly large and imposing on his beautiful steed, his winged helmet gleaming in the light of the fires. She watched in dread as he recognized her younger self and rode to claim her, pulling her out from beneath the corpses that held her prisoner while the child screamed in utter terror and eventually, succumbing to her trauma, passed out.
Ciri's hand was on her sword hilt and she rushed into the room with the intention of slicing the Black Knight – Cahir – in two but was met only with yet another dissipating series of images that vanished like clouds.
"You can't slay a vision, Ciri," Kain said from behind her. "None of this is real." He felt her fury and some kind of animalistic fear that had swept through her at the sight of the Black Knight, obviously a Nilfgaardian and therefore sent by Ciri's father, and a part of Kain wished to know the story while another knew he wouldn't like it.
Ciri's grasp on her sword tightened momentarily before a wave of logic set in. She exhaled heavily.
"He's dead." She was speaking more to herself than Kain at this point, trying to reassure herself of the truth. "He's dead."
"And so he shall remain. Just a memory. Let's go find our friends."
He turned and strolled away looking for another door.
Ciri finally relaxed her knuckles and left the empty room behind, releasing another shaky exhale in the wake of her passing fear.
"This place is Hell," she whispered. "There is nothing good or clean to be found here." Only wounds of the past. "They might be trapped in a memory. Geralt and Yennefer." Neither had answered when Ciri called.
Kain looked at her with doubt. "I don't think there is any way we can find them without searching all rooms we come across. Calling their names is hardly effective."
Ciri dreaded going into yet another room to be confronted by a flash of the past she'd prefer to stay forgotten. Even more, she dreaded Kain witnessing her deep, dark secrets as well.
"You go first," she urged.
The Hierarch didn't raise his head from the scrolls and papers littering the dark-wood desk in front of him when the door to his Temple tower chambers opened letting a visitor in. The Hierarch's bald head was bent low enough to show the carved red rose engulfed in flames on the back of his luxurious chair behind his shoulders. The chair was made of the same expensive fragrant wood the desk was carved from. Only the fragrance of the wood was lost under a heavy cloud of other aromas barely associated with luxury and more with a stale tavern room.
"I beg Your Holiness excuses me this impudence," the visitor broke the silence, striding around the desk and past an unmade sofa with a crumpled blanket on it for the window, "but it's quite ripe in here." He yanked at the handle and let in a whiff of gloriously fresh sea-scented air.
"It's in your very nature to be insolent, there is no surprise," the Hierarch said, eyeballing his guest with a sour mien, finally sitting back, folding his hands over his belly.
"My nature?" the guest raised an eyebrow; his smile, however, showed the lack of offence.
The Hierarch's eyes disdainful squint narrowed, scanning the young man's features, his shoulder-long dark hair and attentive eyes of a saturated blue color. The truest Nilfgaardian if he ever saw one. "Your kin believes the world is yours for the taking," he elaborated in a tone that suggested a great (albeit reluctant) favor he was offering by speaking to the young man at all.
"Given your position as the head of the biggest cult on the Continent and the biggest Church of the free city, I would say the difference between our kinds is debatable," the young man said, finally forcing himself to step away from the window and back toward the desk.
"Matters of Church are never those of materialistic ambition," the Hierarch said with habitual self-importance he was brilliantly executing during his speeches. "Comparing earthly matters of thrones and crowns to Holy Fire mission and purity of faith is sacrilegious."
Seeing he was not going to be invited to sit anytime soon, the young man settled in the only extra chair (a much humbler one) there was and set his sharp gaze on the Hierarch, subtle enough to not betray much of his amusement. "I'm afraid I would have to disagree with Your Excellency on this vibrant matter, for it's a rather materialistic world we live in dressed in mortal flesh. And any kind of power, be it crown or church, is in its basic idea very much of the same density as the life it rules. Doesn't it set your concerns close enough to those of thrones and crowns, Your Holiness?"
The Hierarch's facial expression rippled as if he bit into a very unripe lemon. "I do not have time for this—"
"Very true, Your Excellency, you don't have much time left for debates," the young man nodded. "I came to discuss actions."
"What actions could I discuss with someone who – despite the obvious affliction of the youth's arrogance – understands little to nothing in what my work here is about?"
"You know who I am."
"Otherwise you wouldn't be here," scoffed the Hierarch. "We received your request for an audience."
"And you granted it despite living here like a hermit for weeks now. May I ask why?"
"Your rank permitted such favor on my part, but your words are beginning to make me regret it."
"That would be for you to reconsider when we're done. Without further ado, I am here because the state of affairs in your domain concerns me."
The Hierarch gave a snort of derisive laughter and reached for a carafe sitting on a tray with a golden goblet encrusted with a ruby rose in flames. "You neither rule nor inhabit Novigrad. So what do you actually hope to gain from the faith in this free city or as you have correctly put it, my domain, Lord Voorhis?" He took a hearty swallow of the wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staring the Nilfgaardian down.
"We live on the same continent, Your Holiness, therefore everything is connected like organs in the same body. If one organ is unwell, the whole body is ill. When a sword enters the body in any spot, the whole body is dying."
The Hierarch grimaced and refilled his goblet. "It's all grand and all that, but a mere pile of shit at the end of the day in Novigrad where we have to deal with an army of demons on our own."
"It's not shameful to accept aid, Your Holiness, if it means more people survive."
"What aid would that be, huh?" The Hierarch set his narrowed eyes on Voorhis. "Giving the city away to your black troops? That will never happen. This city has always been free, so it shall remain."
"Will it still be free if it's dead and frozen?"
"Nonsense. The people of Novigrad will sooner die on the Hunt's swords than become your vassals. If you have any wits about you, it should be clear."
"What you're describing, Your Holiness, was not my suggestion," Morvran said with a calm smile touching his mouth. "I do not propose the city becomes our vassal. But let us not underestimate how big the threat of the Hunt is. We have never faced anything like that since the Conjunction of Spheres, and these Riders are certainly capable of destroying our world. In the face of such danger, it's our duty to put our own little differences aside and unite to save the people of our realms. The Hunt threatens us all, not just Novigrad. They can come anywhere and strike any town, any castle, and meet close to no resistance. No kingdom, no city, no empire can survive it alone."
"You want me to sign a treaty to unite our forces against the Hunt? Despite my vast authority, Lord Voorhis, I don't rule this city. I rule its spirit, and no spirit signs any treaties."
"Let us not get stuck in the swamp of legislations — we got no time for this. What I offer is our assistance in making the city's defenses stronger. I offer our aid so we could stop the Hunt before they turn their power against the rest of the Continent. Right now your rose looks rather wilted, my Lord Hemmelfart. It's just you and me here, so let us drop all pretense and open our cards. Your Church is weak, your numbers are dwindling, and people turn against you because they see you can do nothing to save them from this new lot. And then they turn the other way and see the recent battle for Oxenfurt. And what do they find there? Witnesses' accounts and colorful stories about two witchers leading a handful of Redanian soldiers along with Dijkstra to fight and push the Hunt back through their portals. What does it make you look like in the eyes of your people, you think?"
The Hierarch grimaced. "It is not my concern what people think. My only concern is the power I serve. It's beyond judgement of men and even the likes of you."
Morvran smiled. "I can get up and leave you to it right away, Your Excellency. And then we shall see where it lands you in, say, a week. It's been a while since you saw the inside of your own mansion now. Your Tower here that you deemed impenetrable has been invaded by an uninvited guest. The power you serve did little to prevent it. I would never take it upon myself to judge the Eternal Fire or its lack of motivation to protect your fragile human life, but what I can do is offer you a firmer ground to stand on."
The Hierarch drank, pondering a moment, then regarded Voorhis grimly. "What's in it for you?"
"An alliance. You see, Lord Hemmelfart, despite my age I do consider myself a smart man – gods know I've been royally educated to fit in that category according to my status. And no smart man ever passes on a promising alliance."
"Promising," the Hierarch mused with a bitter smirk and refilled his goblet. "What's so promising in it? You hope to ride in like saviors and win the city without forcing it with your swords?"
"Promising can mean anything, even that version you just voiced. However, I have to admit I bear no plans of conquering this city. The political neutrality of Novigrad works just fine, so why break that balance before its time? What I wish is to merely protect what's already there – that's all. Being of Nilfgaard, I do require a mediator to be able to provide said help. You follow me?"
"Of course," Hemmelfart sneered. "What does it require from me, exactly? A speech about your good intentions? Praise to your noble cause, perhaps?"
"A speech is certainly what's needed in this dire time," Morvran agreed with a subtle smile. "People hunger for your wisdom and comfort no one else seems to provide. In times of trouble, people turn to faith before they turn to weapons. Faith is what provides the courage to face their fears. And you're the face of Faith here. Your words are needed, Your Holiness."
"My words," he emphasized, smacking his lips. "Not yours. For I sense you wish to put the words in my mouth, isn't it right?"
"I'd never dare to sully your power with my puny attempts at a speech on subjects like Faith. If only I may suggest a couple of details I'd like you to consider including…"
"You certainly may try."
"In that case, my meagre suggestions are all listed right here," Voorhis said, producing a little envelope from the inner pocket of his simple brown jacket, and putting it on the desk. "It's my highest hope that you give it some thought upon my leave."
The Hierarch unfolded the paper and skimmed the neat writing with his frowning gaze. The hint of a smirk that touched his mouth had an acrimonious taste. "You have it all thought out, I give you that."
"I shall take it as a compliment, which is a high praise coming from a man of your stature and experience in politics."
"Flattery won't get you anywhere with me, Lord Voorhis." Cyrus Hemmelfart folded the paper and put it aside, setting his eyes back on Morvran. "But if you truly want to help — why not start with catching the wench those frozen bastards demanded we hand over? With the intelligence you boast about, I'm sure you've heard of it."
"Indeed I have. Some ashen-haired girl with green eyes and a scar. What makes you think she even exists? What makes you think they told you the truth instead of tricking a bunch of scared people into a frenzy of hunting girls and women all over the country until the Hunt returns and murders them all regardless of how many of said girls with needed hair and scars those fanatics bring to them?"
The Hierarch made a face. It wasn't the best idea to consider, but the arrogant bastard could be right. Forces of darkness lied all the time to plant seeds of fear and despair in human hearts. Of course, they lied. They did attack Oxenfurt without warning, after all.
"Girls or no girls, even if we do as you suggest and unite our forces, it's hardly enough to really fight the damn demons," Hemmelfart said, reaching for his carafe to refill. "They say Oxenfurt suffered from a mere scouting unit. What happens if they bring in most of their army?"
"Destruction and death, of course," Morvran responded serenely, studying a speck of dust on the knee of his trousers. "How serious those get, however, depends on what power we're able to collect on our side." He raised his bright eyes to the Hierarch, peering into his intensely. "And it has to be a power much grander than mere humans can create. We cannot fight a horde of dark sorcerers with forks and torches, we cannot reflect their spells with our cussing. We have to match their might."
"When you glimpse into the darkness, it stares back into you, my young lord Prince," the Hierarch said, filling his goblet once more. "You become one and the same, and the light is lost. If you mean to fight the dark by embracing it, then there is no common ground you and the Church can stand upon."
"Is your crusade against every single sorcerer of this world? Are there truly no exceptions you're willing to allow even now?"
"What is a sorcerer but an abomination, just like every monster that crawled into our world from the cracks of hellish dimensions? What is sorcery if not the very filth tearing our world apart? The very darkness the Holy Flame was left here by the Divine to banish? We are the servants of that flame and we do its bidding. We shine the light upon the abominations of darkness and banish them back to their hells."
"It sounds perfect for an emotional sermon that moves the minds of men, Your Holiness. You're very good at that, indeed. But if you look back at the Conjunction that opened the doors to all kinds of monsters and creatures we do not understand, it wasn't Eternal Fire shooting from the heavens that started to take them out to save people. It was the order of witchers that humans had to create to put that force between us and the demons. Now is the time just like that — we have to fight magic with magic. The alternative is death for all humanity."
"Sodden witchers!" barked the Hierarch, spit and wine flying from his lips. "That's what I was talking about! Meddling with the dark births monsters. What is a witcher if not the very abomination of sorcery that cursed us all until they all die out and this land is finally cleansed?"
"I'm sure the curse of witchers is not the reason the Hunt found their way into our world, Lord Hierarch. But given what their purpose is, they can become the heroes of this war, and then your Church shall lose its place to, say, a new witcher school that grateful people shall erect on your Temple's grounds."
"Blasphemy!"
"And yet a very probable scenario."
"I shall not allow it for as long as I draw breath."
"Which brings us back to the alliance I offered."
The Hierarch finished his wine and emitted a scoff, wiping his mouth. "You're asking me to embrace witchers after two of them attacked me and invaded my property. One of them threatened my life right here in this room, choking me with his sodden magic and flashing the Cat School regalia. You know what they are — even among witchers they're considered scum. And you want a school of those filthy creatures erected here to insult this holy ground the city was built around."
"It's hardly my personal intention but rather an attempt to analyze the possibility of how grateful people can be. But the future is not set, Your Excellency, and it's in our hands to mold it if we wish so. Do we have an understanding?"
"What of those witchers? You want me to swallow that offence — especially after Radovid's assassination — so every filth can do as they please harassing people?"
"What do you propose I do about them? They fought for Oxenfurt. Seizing them for a crime no one knows about would look very poorly on your part. Let's just say, there has been an unpleasant misunderstanding caused by the turmoil in the city and desperate decisions of wartime. If you'd be so graceful as to dismiss their offence, I on my part give you my word that I shall use all resources available to me to prevent it from happening again and offer this as a humble compensation for the inconvenience you had to put up with." Morvran unclipped a tight purse from his belt and dropped it on the desk, coins jingling faintly upon impact.
The Hierarch grimaced as if offered to sniff horseshit but picked up the purse, weighing it in his palm. "A humble one, indeed." He gave Voorhis a scornful look. "What of that filthy sorceress that killed Radovid? Her enjoying Dijkstra's company and her freedom so openly testifes in favor of the regicide being your orders."
"The matter of Philippa Eilhart and the self-proclaimed Chancellor or Redania is yet to be resolved on the highest level," Morvran said. "Every action has its repercussion, however belated it seems. Now if you excuse me, I shall disturb you no longer. We will be in touch."
"Recruits and dimeritium," the Hierarch called to his turned back. "When do I expect those?"
"As soon as I walk out that door, I shall begin working on it," Morvran promised over his shoulder. He offered a small polite smile with a nod and removed himself from the stale Tower chambers.
"Damn those Nilfgaardian pricks," Cyrus Engelkind Hemmelfart muttered, shoving the purse in his pocket, and ringing a golden bell. "Bring me a sodden drink!" he barked at a timid guard who peeked in. "Can't work with a sore gullet, you dumb pigs!"
It was the expression Triss was wearing as she ran downstairs that made Zoltan freeze over the box of the finest wine he was unloading to the cupboard under the bar counter.
"Somethin the matter?" he asked. "Ye look like ghosts are chasin ya."
"Is Geralt around?" she asked as she reached the counter and stopped in front of it.
"Not that I know of," the dwarf said, straightening, and rubbing his back, wincing. "Haven't seen any of em as of yet. Why, somethin happened? Ye look plenty worried, lass."
His response clearly disappointed the sorceress, her heart fell and she could barely wipe the emotion off her face. "Oh, I… I just really wanted to see him… And Yennefer? Ciri? Kain?"
"No, none of em. What's the matter? Ye can tell me. If anythin happened—"
"No, no," she made herself smile and sat on the bar stool. "Nothing that I know of. It's the Sunstone matter — see, we're all looking for any information in our libraries, and Yennefer sent me a message… I thought she found something…"
Zoltan shrugged, a bit relieved. "Nah, she's not around. Dandelion came back alone, said the gals went to Oxenfurt to them witchers. Must be still there in that library of theirs. They wanted to check the maps or somethin. We're busy as a bustin hell here – got the performance night, ye know. Yer welcome to stay."
"Oh, I'm sure the night shall be splendid, but I think I have to go see Yen first," Triss smiled apologetically. "Maybe there's something they found." She winced and sneezed into her hand.
"Ye all right?" Zoltan frowned, assessing her.
"Skellige," she said. "It's too cold for my liking, I'm afraid."
"Aye, those winds are treacherous," he nodded, resuming his work. "I can give ye some mulled wine, works like a charm — better than yer spells and such."
"Thank you, it'd be great, but I'll drop by Oxenfurt first."
"As ye wish." He picked up the empty box and with a parting wink carried it back to the cellar.
Triss slipped off the stool with a tired sigh, sneezed again, and headed back upstairs. Opening portals in the main hall still felt like a bad idea even when the cabaret was closed for strangers.
"Any news about Geralt?" Shani dashed for the chestnut-haired sorceress when she walked into the clinic.
Triss stared at her wide-eyed. "He's not here?"
"Of course not! That was the problem! So you still don't know where he is?" She clucked her tongue, looking preoccupied. "That's really, really bad…"
"What happened?" Triss asked, her worst fears beginning to swell.
Now it was Shani's turn to stare. "What, you don't know? Geralt— well, I mean, we all… sort of… well, we used that portal, and then Geralt wasn't there… and we were in Gors Velen, and Kain said—"
"Wait! Wait, what?!" Shocked and deadly worried, Triss dragged the medic toward the door. "Let's go to the Academy. You have to tell me everything."
Shani didn't waste any time as they walked the streets hastily, and by the time they entered the library, Triss's heart was thrashing in her throat, her head was throbbing and busting with terrible ominous thoughts. She swayed on her feet and Shani helped her to a chair, worried that the woman would collapse.
"Are you feeling well?" she asked, examining Triss's pallid face. "You look so white just now… like you can faint. Let me bring you some water."
Triss nodded, rubbing her temples. She needed a few moments of silence to collect her scattered wits. When Shani returned, her thoughts were more or less straight. She gulped the offered water with some honey mixed in it and gave the medic a sharp glance.
"Margarita knows," she specified.
"Yes. I told you—"
"All right, all right," Triss waved a hand to shush her. "So no one's here?"
"They have been here, though," Shani said, bewildered. "I told you, Yennefer, Ciri, and Kain were here at the library for about an hour or so, and then they left somewhere… I thought they returned to Novigrad. Didn't they?"
"No, they haven't been back…" Triss murmured, sipping more water while she pondered. Margarita didn't tell her, didn't send any messages. No one did. But deep down Triss was certain Philippa had been informed. It stung and stirred some embers of anger and betrayal in Triss's gut. She wondered if she was the only one kept in the dark.
"You think something happened to them, too?" Shani asked, wringing her hands in worry. "What can we do? Is there anything you can do to find out? There's enough of you with magic to do something, surely… right?"
"Um… Well… Yes, we shall certainly find them and see what we can do." Triss squeezed out a meek smile meant to reassure. She put a lot of effort into it, and then Shani gave a quick one back, slightly more relaxed.
"It would be great. And I beg you to tell me when you know more! Please, Triss, I feel so bad, like it's a bit of my fault! I was so excited, and those portals… Geralt was right, he's always been right about them – it's such a bad idea to use them like that, but I was so thrilled and forgot all caution, and Kain was so calm… I'm so sorry I never said anything to stop them, to maybe wait for Yennefer… I feel awful, Triss. Please, do let me know when you find them. Please?"
"Oh, certainly, darling!" Triss smiled and gave the girl a half-embrace. "Don't worry so much. It's not the first or last portal for any of them, it'll be just fine. I'm sure it's some fluke, like some slight twist in the direction. Portals are not an exact science, things happen, and sometimes they lead away from the intended course, but they're mostly safe."
"Mostly," muttered Shani, accepting the empty water glass from her.
"They're fine, there's no doubt in my mind," Triss said, surprised herself at how firm her voice sounded. "I'll tell you as soon as I hear— ah—" She squeezed her eyes shut, frozen mid-inhale, then quickly covered her face with a hand and sneezed. "Oh gods, how I hate this," she muttered into her palm.
"Is it a cold?" Shani asked, surprised. "You're unwell? Explains that pale complexion. Do you have a fever? Nausea? Weakness in your limbs?" She reached to touch Triss's forehead, but Triss stepped back.
"No, no, it's just a bit of allergy to cold. I've been to Skellige today, and those winds are… treacherous. I'm totally fine. Really. Thank you."
Shani wasn't convinced but shrugged. "If you say so. But if you feel worse or sneeze more, please, come to me, I'll get you well in no time. I remember you can't use potions…"
"Yes, it's my biggest misfortune," Triss snickered. "Such a shameful allergy. But thank you, I'll certainly come if it gets more annoying. Just not now when I have to find Yen."
"Of course, of course. I shall wait for news in my Clinic. We still have quite a few wounded there."
"Sure, then you must go."
When Shani left, Triss's smile slipped right off and she grabbed the edge of the desk with maps and scrolls peppering its whole wide surface. She did feel faint and for a moment doubted she would open a portal. Perhaps it's not the best idea right now. The portals under the Academy… Should she check them? If so, then certainly not alone. That would be folly.
Triss heaved a long sigh, lowering herself back on the chair; she rubbed her face that did feel a bit flushed, then focused and murmured a spell to send a message. Hoping to gods and heavens it was the right thing to do.