Chapter Six
By the time Yen made it back downstairs, Zoltan and Dandelion had gathered there as well, looking just as distraught as Yen herself. Normally unshakeable, Yen found herself infinitely flustered by what had transpired. All she could manage to say was, "He's taken her! He's escaped and he's taken her!"
Zoltan held up the length of rope that had bound Geralt. "He didn't escape," he stated miserably, pointing out the neatly cut ends of the rope and the knife laying nearby.
Managing to pull herself together, Yen took the rope from Zoltan, musing, "Ciri, what have you done?" But now was not the time for accusations and chastisements. They had to act, and quickly.
"He's taken his armor and weapons," Zoltan observed as he roamed around the room.
"And Roach," Dandelion called, just having stepped in from the back door. For once showing some initiative, he must have gone out back to check the horses while they had searched inside.
Overcoming her momentary panic, Yen snapped back into her usual, calculated self. "Then he's got a lead on us. But there's one thing that's in our favor." Zoltan and Dandelion both looked at her, questioning. "He's going to lead us straight back to their camp, straight back to Endir. And we are going to wipe them out." She turned to Zoltan. "Gather the Guard, you need to leave within the hour, even if you can't gather their full forces. We can't afford to tarry."
"Where are you going?" Zoltan asked, already gathering supplies.
"I'm going to follow Geralt's tracks, make sure we don't lose him. When I find the camp, I'll teleport back to you and lead you in. Just keep heading east until I do. We know they have to be camped somewhere deep in the mountains. Here," she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small token. She whispered an enchantment over it and handed it to Zoltan. "Keep this with you. It'll allow me to locate you once I've found the camp."
Zoltan nodded and pocketed the token himself. He looked back up to Yen. "They have to be an hour ahead of us at least. What if the trail is already lost?"
Yen flashed him a sly smile. "I'm a sorceress, Zoltan. They won't lose me."
It was the incessant bouncing that woke Ciri. The world was blinding around her and she squinted her eyes against it. When her pupils finally adjusted, she realized that she was encompassed by snow and trees, seated astride Roach, directly in front of Geralt. His arms were wrapped around her so that he could hold onto the reins. She could feel his warm breath down her neck. Her hands were tied securely to the saddle horn, though her feet were dangling freely to either side of Roach. She thought briefly of attempting an escape, but even if she managed to unseat Geralt, she wouldn't be able to reach the reins to steer. She would just have to bide her time.
The wind bit uncomfortably at Ciri's face, but she was warm leaning up against Geralt and, she realized, she had her fur coat on. Geralt must have garbed her in it before they left. It was strange that he would do such a thing. Ciri wanted to believe it was because he held out some lingering regard for her wellbeing. More likely, though, it was because Endir wanted her alive and it wouldn't do if she froze to death on the way there.
Although, now that she thought about it, why had Geralt taken Roach if not for some residual familiarity? Roach was a fine steed, but Pegasus was more muscular and taller by a hand; he was much more suited for carrying two. Even one not well-versed in horses could have seen that. Ciri couldn't work out any reason why Geralt would have taken Roach other than the obvious—that deep down, Geralt knew Roach, and took him instinctually. Ciri's stomach fluttered at the implication.
There was still hope for Geralt. She had to keep fighting for him.
They rode ceaselessly, Geralt alternating between a ground-covering trot and a sedate walk when Roach would tire. They were heading somewhere high up into the mountains, presumably to Endir's camp. Geralt would deliver Ciri to Endir and Endir would sacrifice her because he believed her death would stop the White Frost. She should have been afraid at the prospect, but somehow she felt safe next to Geralt, even though he was the one spiriting her to her doom. She supposed she might have felt differently if she could have seen his face, his empty eyes.
If only somehow she could reach him.
She tried talking to him, pleading, threatening, enlightening, anything she could do to get his attention. But if he heard her, he showed no sign of it. And soon her parched throat prevented her from making any more entreaties. It had already been a little sore from Geralt's assault and the bitter air only made it worse.
Now in utter silence, they rode on through the night and late into the next day, Ciri dozing in the saddle. Ciri guessed it to be midafternoon when they finally trotted up to a large camp, the sounds and smells of it presaging their arrival.
The sheer size of the camp stole Ciri's breath away. It was beyond anything she would have imagined. And for the first time since she had awoken, fear settled into her stomach, as if only now that she was here was the threat to her life real.
Alert to all around her, Ciri took in everything she could, memorizing as much of the camp as possible in case she came across an opportunity to escape. All eyes turned toward them as they made their way up the slope toward the back of the camp. Ciri could hear whispers shadowing their passage, some excited, some disbelieving. It took everything she had to keep her nerve. She was deep in the heart of enemy territory now, even more so than when she had been captured the first time. And every step they took led her closer and closer to certain death.
By the time they reached the top of the rock outcropping, a sizeable crowd had gathered behind them, still murmuring amongst themselves. A group of men stood outside the largest tent before them, talking amiably between them. Upon further inspection, Ciri realized that she recognized the one with his back turned. It was the man with the mangled ears, the man that had captured her and started all of this. Fury erupted inside Ciri, her face burning with it. If she had had a sword, she would have run over and cut his head from his body, damn the consequences. As it was, all she could do was curl her lip in unbridled hatred, promising that she would see him pay for what he had done.
As they neared, one of the other men tapped the disfigured man on the shoulder, a look full of amazement staring back at them. "Lund," that man said, looking past the disfigured man demonstratively.
Lund turned mid-sentence, any cheer at his conversation paling from his face as he beheld Geralt and Ciri. As Geralt halted Roach before him, Lund simply stood there, seemingly at a loss for what to make of them. Then, just as Lund made to speak, another man stepped from the tent.
Ciri was aghast at his figure, he seemed to be death embodied. But when he spoke, there was such vigor and tenacity in his voice that it warred with his terrifying image. This had to be Endir. A bearing like that is either borne of power or commands it.
"Geralt?" he asked incredulously, striding up to them. Lund walked up and planted himself next to Endir, visibly less excited than Endir was. "I thought you would not return."
Was that concern in his voice? How could this be Endir? She had conjured up an image of such a powerful and evil mage that she couldn't reconcile her fantasy with the reality before her. Why would one of his position greet his thrall so warmly? Ciri didn't know what to make of it.
Geralt, of course, made no reply. He silently dismounted and turned back to untie Ciri from the saddle. Again she thought about making a move, but every eye in the camp was focused on her right now. There was no point in putting them on edge when she had little chance to escape. Patience was not a virtue she excelled at, but she kept herself in check for the time being.
Lund however, took a half step in front of Endir, grasping the hilt of the sword at his hip. "Be careful with her, Endir. She's trouble, this one."
Though she had no intention of doing anything, Ciri cast a cheeky smirk in Lund's direction, holding her head a bit higher as she slid from the saddle and was led toward Endir, Geralt's hand firmly on her shoulder.
Lund snarled at her insolence, but did not retaliate.
Endir, paying no attention to the exchange, looked at Ciri like she were a long lost treasure, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "You have done well," he directed at Geralt. "Thanks to you, the time of the White Frost is so nearly at an end." Then Endir's attention drifted upwards. He sniffed the air experimentally, like a dog catching a scent.
Ciri eyed him suspiciously, not really knowing what to make of his actions.
His eyes returned to the both of them. "A storm is coming." Endir's gaze wandered upward once more. "She's been holding her breath just as we have, waiting to see if our plan would hold true. And now that it has been set in motion, the White Frost seeks to put a stop to our undertaking. But we will throttle her at the height of her fury." A manic grin stretched across his face as his eyes bored directly into Ciri's. She found his gaze unsettling, but refused to look away. Eventually, he turned his gaze and cast it on the others nearby. "The beginning of the end is close at hand. In a few hours, we will perform the final sacrifice. In a few hours, we will finally be free of this curse."
After a moment of silence, Endir addressed Geralt once more, his voice on the edge of emotion. "Thank you again, my friend. You know not what a service you have done."
Then Endir dismissed them with a nod of his head and Ciri was being whisked away to one of the smaller tents adjoining the larger one, Lund leading the way and Geralt guiding her from behind.
Her heart was pounding. What was she going to do now? She had no idea. But at least she had a few hours to come up with some sort of plan. Though she couldn't think of any means of escape. Even if she broke Geralt free of his enslavement, then what? The two of them couldn't defeat Endir's full forces. It would take a small army.
She wished that she were alone with Geralt. He would know what to do. He somehow always did. Assuming she could spring him from his prison, that is.
Unfortunately, Lund had led them into the tent and immediately stationed himself at the entrance, eyes constantly roving from Geralt to Ciri. It seemed an odd behavior. Was he wary of Geralt? It was possible he knew that Geralt had snapped Endir's control once before. He might be worried that Ciri would manage to free Geralt again. Not that it mattered much now. With Lund's ever-present vigil, there was no chance of Ciri getting through to Geralt, not that there was much hope to begin with.
She sought again and again to surreptitiously catch Geralt's eye, to glean some bearing as to his state of mind, Lund's presence preventing her from making any more obvious of an approach. Despite Ciri's attempts, Geralt's eyes never moved. His demeanor never tempered. He sat indefatigably, stiff as a board, an empty hull, awaiting an order from his captors.
As the hours fell away and the storm blew ever closer, the gravity of the situation finally descended over Ciri, crushing her beneath its mammoth weight.
In a last-ditch effort, Ciri leaned forward toward Geralt, Lund's scrutiny warily tracking her. She paid no attention to Lund, instead focusing on the one she had always called father. "Geralt," she tested, her voice soft, forlorn.
"Quiet!" Lund snapped, hand shooting to his sword.
Geralt made no response, didn't even look at her, didn't even acknowledge her existence. His listless gaze kept itself rooted to the corner of the tent.
He was beyond her reach.
Ciri slunk back, crestfallen.
Doubt skulked into her mind, towing despair along behind it. She may have made a mistake in setting Geralt free. It was like every decision she made turned to ash before her very eyes. She didn't know what to do anymore. She couldn't escape. She couldn't save Geralt. She couldn't even kill Endir and at least put a stop to him. Hopelessness crept up on Ciri in that tiny, chilled tent. And, for once, she embraced it.
She deserved every bit of this.
At least once she was dead Endir would have no reason to hurt anyone else. It was little consolation, but it was all she had.
"This way, Zoltan, we must hurry," Yen bade as she stepped through a portal.
A battalion of Guardsmen greeted her deep in the forest, Zoltan and their Captain at the head of the company. By her cursory count, Yen thought there to be nearly a hundred men in total.
"Is this everyone?" she asked as she cast her gaze over the group.
Zoltan looked apologetic. "This was all we could muster in an hour. And half of them came from the towns we passed along the way. Most of the Guard had been posted to the surrounding villages, awaiting any attacks. There was no way to recall them in time."
"Well, it will have to do," Yen stated brusquely. They were going to have a hard fight ahead of them. She had hoped they would be able to summon more men. As it was, they would be outnumbered nearly three to one if her estimation of the number of cultists at the camp was correct. Either way, they couldn't have afforded to spend more time gathering men. "We don't have much time. Ciri is safe for now, but I can't say how long that will last. They seem to be waiting for something. What that is, I don't know, so it's anyone's guess when they will decide to act."
There was fire and steel in Zoltan's eyes. "Don't worry, Yen, we'll get there in time."
Yen nodded. "I'm going back to make sure they don't make a move on Ciri. I'll come back to you if I sense you heading in the wrong direction."
Yen was fidgety and on edge, feeling like every moment she spent with Ciri out of her sight was the moment they would choose to strike her down. She didn't even wait for Zoltan's answer, rather she turned on her heel and strode back through her portal.
Nearly four hours after they had arrived, the snows had begun to fall, cascading down around Ciri and Geralt as they emerged from the tent, Lund following closely behind. Endir met them at the edge of the outcropping, Geralt guiding Ciri toward the edge near the elm tree. Once there, they turned back to face Endir, Geralt with a hand clutched around Ciri's arm, holding her in place, Lund stopping to stand a pace behind Endir to his left, a handful of men scattered further beyond. From his position, Endir would have a full view of the camp and of his men gathered below. The energy emanating from him was eager and exultant, a conquering ruler lording over his prize.
This was it. There was definitely no turning back now. Not that Ciri cared at this point. She had made her own decisions and they had only ever caused pain. She had doomed Geralt to a life of imprisonment. Why should she walk away unscathed? Her death was all that she deserved. And even that was a mercy compared to what she had brought upon Geralt.
Although maybe there was a way to save him.
Endir cut into her musings, joining Geralt and Ciri on the edge of the precipice and addressing the crowd below. He spoke intimately, his voice carrying on the wind toward them. "My brothers, we have done it at last. We have found the one who can end our sorrows and the sorrows of so many others. This girl," he announced, pointing a pale stump in her direction, "she is the one prophesied to put an end to the White Frost. I always had faith that I would see this prophecy come to fruition. But I could never have known we would see that day come so soon. The gods have blessed us and our cause." Endir paused a moment. In his hesitation, he studied Ciri and she withered under his gaze, resigned to her fate. Then the moment passed and he turned his attention back to the eagerly awaiting crowd, his intensity escalating. "Let us not waste their favor." His voice was building amidst the storm that seemed to answer back in kind, the snow beginning to eddy around them on the crescendoing breeze. "Let us give one, final sacrifice. Let us end this great evil once and for all!"
Great cheers erupted below and echoed in Endir's eyes. Even Lund, normally impassive, seemed sobered by the thought of their hard-won victory so close at hand. Geralt, as ever, showed no emotion and Ciri's heart couldn't help but leap out to him.
It was in that moment that Ciri realized something. She may not be able to make it out of this alive, but Geralt might yet. He, at least, didn't deserve to pay for her folly. She would ask Endir to set Geralt free, beg him if she had to. What did she have to lose? Maybe she would get lucky. Maybe Endir would grant her a final wish. Whatever happened, she had to try. For Geralt's sake.
After the tumult died down, Endir made his way back over to stand in front of Ciri. She didn't wait for him to speak, instead launching into her own appeal.
"Please, please let Geralt go. You have me. You have what you want. Free him," she begged, exigency steadying her.
Endir listened thoughtfully to her plea, then broke into a sad smile. "I'm sorry, dear girl. I can't do that."
She supposed she hadn't really expected him to comply, but his response still sparked a tinge of rage within her. "Why the hell not?!" she spat at him. Her fate was sealed, so there was no reason for her to hold back. "You claim to do this for the good of everyone. Well, look around you!" She gestured to all that had gathered around them, motioning as best she could with her hands bound together. "Who does this benefit? Who comes out ahead?" Her lip curled. "It seems to me, it's just you."
The modest chuckle that rose from Endir's throat doused the flame building inside Ciri. "You're right," he said. "I admit my part in this venture was brought on by selfish motivations. But I do not discredit the benefits of what I have achieved with it either. What we have done, dreadful though it may seem, has saved lives. And what we will do here today will save countless more."
"You still haven't answered my question," Ciri shot back a little more evenly this time. "Once you've done what you set out to do, once you've ended the White Frost, why can't Geralt go free? You have no need of him after today."
The corners of Endir's mouth tugged upwards, a sparkle twinkling in his eyes. "If you had said that to me yesterday, I would have agreed. But your arrival has changed much." He dropped his gaze, pulling in an elongated breath. "I've been thinking, these past few hours, about what I would do next. I've been so focused on this exact point in time that I could never see beyond it, never imagined what could follow. But then it hit me. Who am I to use my power and ability on my problems alone? I have cured one evil in this world, yes, but there are innumerable other injustices still plaguing this land. I can't stand by and watch while so many struggle." His eyes brightened as they returned to Ciri's. "I will work tirelessly to right these wrongs, to end them all. But I cannot do it alone. And so, when you say I will have no need of Geralt, you are mistaken. He will no doubt be instrumental to my plans going forward. He has already more than shown his worth." Endir's face softened a bit. "I truly am sorry. But his freedom is one wish I cannot grant."
There was rage and sadness and guilt welling up inside Ciri at Endir's words. But, mostly, she just felt defeated. Endir let her brood for a moment before speaking again.
"Don't worry," he went on with a sincere look on his face. "I'll make sure—"
"Endir!"
Ciri was jolted out of her self-pity by Lund's sudden outcry. He stepped up next to Endir, pointing down the mountainside, his other hand straying automatically to his sword. Ciri turned to look where Lund was pointing while Endir took a few steps forward to peer over the edge.
"No," he breathed in disbelief.
A massive host was pouring from the tree line near the base of the camp. Ciri could just make them out through the bountiful snow. It was the Guard judging by their colors. And there, up front, was Yen and Zoltan next to the Captain.
Ciri couldn't believe it. She hadn't even considered the idea that her friends would show up with the Guard to oppose Endir. Though now that they were here, she wondered why she had had so little faith. Of course Yen and Zoltan would come after her and Geralt. They hadn't given up on her. They never would.
Now she couldn't give up on herself.
Endir was furious as the Guardsmen amassed outside the camp, the Captain's voice booming up to them from lungs well-practiced in giving orders over the din of a battlefield.
"Endir!" he called. "Lay down your weapons. Surrender, and you will live to face justice in Novigrad."
A growl escaped Endir's lips. "You don't know what you're doing!" he called back vehemently. "Stop me now and you doom the world to an endless frost. It will destroy everyone and everything it touches. Is that worth one girl's life?"
The Captain paid no heed to Endir's words. "This is your last chance."
"Enough!" Endir now addressed his men, who were waiting expectantly below. "Attack!" he bellowed. "We cannot let them stop us."
The cultists raised up their weapons and pivoted on the spot, charging back down the hill with ferocious cries. The Guardsmen sprung into action in response. They were lucky. Most of Endir's forces had gathered to see Ciri sacrificed, only a handful remaining at their posts near the entrance, so lost were they in their enthusiasm at the prospect of ending the White Frost. The few at the entrance to the camp were swiftly overcome and the Guardsmen streamed around the front barricade, flooding into the camp to meet the cultists head-on, the battle quickly devolving into a myriad of smaller skirmishes. Neither side could maintain a formation in the labyrinth of tents.
In a blink, Endir conjured up a shield around himself and Lund, Lund drawing his sword at the same time. Ciri and Geralt were left outside of the glowing orb since they were now several feet away from the pair. Geralt drew his sword just as Ciri heard the twang of bowstrings snapping below. Throwing herself to the ground, Ciri turned her head and watched in horror as Geralt placed himself in front of Endir despite the shield, a thrall unthinkingly protecting his master.
Ciri thought he would surely be skewered and it would all be for nothing. Endir's shield was protection enough. To her relief, only two arrows even came their way and Geralt deftly deflected them both, one rebounding dangerously close to Ciri. She waited for the next volley, but none came. Curious, she crawled to the edge of the rock and peered down at the battle raging below.
Many had fallen already, Guardsmen and cultists alike, the snow melting into a red slush as more and more warm blood splashed upon it. Some were felled by arrows and Ciri guessed that most of the archers had preferred to aim for closer targets than Endir, especially in the unpredictable winds that were blowing. After that, the archers had had to abandon their bows and pull out their secondary weapons as they closed quarters with the encroaching cultists.
Ciri searched, but couldn't find Zoltan amidst the fray, though she spotted Yen making her way up onto one of the scaffolded boulders that served as lookouts. Ciri also noticed that the ground directly beneath her was clear of combatants, the battle raging a little ways from the outcropping. She could clamber down there and be free of Endir, or at least have a fighting chance.
A stolen glance to the side informed Ciri that Endir, Lund, and Geralt were still distracted by the battle.
It was time to move. Before they could stop her.
Taking hold of one of the thicker tree roots sprouting from the outcropping, Ciri swung herself over the edge and rappelled down the sheer rock face. All was going well until the root thinned and ended abruptly. Ciri scrambled to grab onto another one, but her bindings severely limited the mobility she had with her arms and she fell the remaining seven or eight feet to the ground, landing with a thud and doing her best to tuck into a roll to spare her legs the full impact.
She mostly succeeded, though her unceremonious dismount had garnered the attention of a cultist nearby. He turned from the man he had just slain and rushed her, sword poised to cleave down on her. As Ciri rose from her roll, she grabbed a fist-sized rock in her bound hands. Nimbly sidestepping the cultist's overhead swing, Ciri slammed the rock down onto his hands, forcing the sword from his grasp. Using his downward momentum against him, Ciri then swung the rock from his hands back into his face, crunching through his nose and sending him staggering backward, clutching at his face. The man struggled to recover as tears unwittingly blinded him and blood gushed down his face. Ciri used that time to cut herself free, sawing through her bindings by holding the man's dropped sword upright along the ground with her feet. Before he could fully recover, Ciri scooped up the sword and sliced horizontally across his shoulders, severing both hands along with his head.
It was then that she heard the first indication that Endir had noticed her absence. An enraged bellow sounded from above and she glanced up to see Geralt staring down at her. His face was only there for a second before he pulled back from the edge.
Scanning her surroundings, wondering what she was going to do next, Ciri thought she glimpsed Zoltan down a few rows of tents to her left. If she could regroup with him, then she would stand a better shot at making it through this, they both would. So she made her way over, away from the outcropping, weaving her way through the tents until she came to where she had thought she saw Zoltan. But there was no one there, Zoltan was nowhere in sight. She swiveled on the spot, trying to find him again.
The only eyes she met were Endir's. She had moved far enough away from the outcropping now that she could see him atop it. As he spotted her, he looked briefly to his left then back at her, pointing. When she followed his gaze, her heart stopped. Coming down the slope, flanked by four of Endir's men, was Geralt.
Ciri swallowed as she stepped clear of the rows of tents.
The storm was swelling into a blizzard. From her position atop one of the boulders near the entrance, Yen could just barely make out the tree growing from the outcropping and visibility was only worsening. She certainly couldn't distinguish any individuals at that distance, though she always knew where Endir was thanks to the ethereal glow coming from his shield spell.
That's what she was focusing on for now—taking down Endir's shield so that they could finish him off. Yen, of course, would be the only one capable of doing it. It was strange though. No matter what she threw at it, nothing was able to grab hold, like her magic just passed right through it. It was like it wasn't even there, an incorporeal shield that repelled without substance. And she couldn't dispel what she couldn't sense.
The situation was immensely frustrating to Yen, especially since she had long since lost sight of Ciri. She considered moving to a closer location, but it was too late for that. Yen was too busy simultaneously maintaining her own shield, fending off any attackers making their way up the scaffolding toward her, and attempting to thwart Endir's shield.
She just had to trust that Zoltan was on his way to Ciri. They had agreed beforehand that Zoltan would do so while Yen took care of Endir. But there were so many men between Zoltan and Ciri, that Yen was unsure whether he could cut a path through them.
And then there was Geralt to worry about. Yen wanted him back just as much as Ciri did, but if it came down to it, Yen would have no choice but to protect Ciri over Geralt. Even he would want it that way.
They may have had the drop on Endir, but he had them backed into a corner. And the battle was not going well either. As Yen had predicted, their forces were hard-pressed to overcome the superior numbers that Endir employed. At best they were at a stalemate. Both sides would end up decimating each other by the end.
It felt like it all came down to her. If Yen could dissipate Endir's shield and silence him, then his forces may surrender.
It was their only hope at this point.
"Stop her!" Ciri heard Endir shout above the gale blowing in. "Do what you must, she cannot leave here alive."
Geralt, it seemed, needed no prodding. He was already intent on her, a wolf that had cornered its prey.
They were facing off at the bottom of the slope leading up around the outcropping, one of the few patches of ground clear of tents inside the compound. Since Ciri had gone to find Zoltan, the battle had thinly spread up around both sides of the outcropping, a few Guardsmen even making their way up to Endir's tent behind Geralt. Lund and some of his men were holding them off, preventing them from attacking Endir.
Geralt and his pack loomed forth from the blinding snow, his yellow eyes almost aglow in the diffuse light. As they made their way toward Ciri, a Guardsman happened to finish off one of the cultists on the slope around the outcropping. Seeing a new set of adversaries, he turned and attacked the outer man flanking Geralt. The Guardsman felled the first cultist, then took out the second one nearer to Geralt. Ciri tried to yell to him, to warn him not to attack Geralt, but she couldn't do so in time. As the Guardsman swung at Geralt, Geralt caught the man's sword on the crossguard of his own. The attacking sword was momentarily trapped and Geralt twisted his sword, wrenching the sword out of the Guardsman's hands. Then Geralt shoved the pommel of his sword into the man's abdomen. When the man doubled over, Geralt sliced through him from one shoulder to the opposite hip, neatly cutting the man in half diagonally. Geralt had already moved on by the time both halves fell, steaming, to the snow.
There were two men remaining on Geralt's right and they both charged down the hill toward Ciri ahead of Geralt. With little difficulty, Ciri dispatched them. She had fought plenty of Endir's men before and very few of them were expert fighters. They overwhelmed by numbers and surprise, not by skill. None of them, except perhaps Lund, were any match against Ciri, trained as she was by Geralt himself.
Though one thing that worried Ciri was her borrowed sword. In her few brief stints of combat, she had noticed it was a bit forward heavy, not nearly the finely balanced weapon she was used to wielding. After every swing, she had to overcompensate on the recovery and that would both tire her more quickly and potentially upset her balance. And Ciri needed every advantage she could get in a fight against Geralt. Any setback at all was less than ideal.
But any sword was better than none and Ciri clung to it as Geralt closed in.
His onrush was vicious. He swung at her again and again with the full force of his might, his two-handed sword easily outreaching Ciri's smaller hand and a half. Each blow reverberated along Ciri's sword and up her arms, the sheer force of them driving Ciri back. Ciri parried or dodged as the occasion called for, throwing up her own attacks when she was able.
Savage as his attacks were, it soon became clear that Geralt was not fighting to his fullest ability. When Ciri had faced Geralt in that village weeks ago, he had fought like she remembered he could fight, balanced, poised, and calm. Now he was leaning his full strength into every swing of his sword, every thrust and counter and block. It was simultaneously both Geralt and not him. It was more like someone trying to imitate Geralt, like they knew every move he had, but didn't have the experience or knowledge to apply them proficiently. Whatever Endir had done to Geralt before he came to Novigrad, it had stripped him of much of his skill.
Be that as it may, Geralt still had the strength, stamina, and reflexes of a witcher. Plus, he was fighting all out, without any worry about himself or Ciri. Ciri, on the other hand, was both defending herself and, to some extent, Geralt. She still didn't want to hurt him. Many times he left himself vulnerable to attack, but Ciri wouldn't press forward, or would mount a stifled attack, unwilling to strike too hard of a blow against him. That left Geralt with the slight advantage, even diminished as he was.
The one option left to Ciri was to get through to him.
"Geralt, if you can hear me, you have to fight. I know you can defeat him, you've done it before," Ciri bade him as they stood face to face, their swords locked together. He shoved her back and stalked toward her, presenting no indication that he had heard her. "Geralt, listen to me!" He closed in. "Follow my voice, I know you're in there. Don't do this! I need you to fight!"
He slashed diagonally across her, forcing Ciri to deflect his sword to the ground or be cut in half like that Guardsman. His right hand fell away, still holding the sword, but his left hand followed through with a brutal left hook. Admittedly, Ciri didn't see it coming. His knuckles connected with the side of her face, splitting her cheek open on the bone and flinging her to the ground with a clipped shriek. Scrambling to her knees, Ciri was just able to raise her sword over her head to halt Geralt's incoming overhead swing. Their swords connected. With both hands, Ciri held up her sword, her left hand on the blade itself. It cut into her as Geralt bore his weight down upon her. Just as it seemed he would succeed, Ciri tilted her sword to the side and let Geralt's blade skate down past her head. Unfortunately, Ciri couldn't move her hand out of the way fast enough, Geralt's sword shearing off down and to the side in less than a second.
Taking two of Ciri's fingers with it.
The last two fingers on her left hand were sliced off above the knuckle and Ciri howled even as she withdrew. She curled her hand into a fist at the pain, reflexively clutching her hand to her chest, blood pouring from her shortened digits. But Ciri didn't have much time to dwell on the stabbing pain or the blood staining her hand.
Adrenaline coursing through her, Ciri focused beyond the anguish. What were two fingers compared to her life? That was too close, she thought. She was lucky to still be breathing. Loath as she was to do it, Ciri would have to start pressing on Geralt if she was going to make it through this alive. Just as Geralt had done himself to save Ciri, Ciri might have to injure Geralt to stop him. In fact, it might be the only way to save him.
Geralt was thrown to the side by Ciri's move and was still recovering. As she rose away from him, she brought her blade up, slicing through his thigh. His armor stopped most of it, but there was blood dripping down his leg as she twirled and came around to face him again.
She didn't let him recover fully this time, instead pressing forward and driving him back, all the while beseeching Geralt to fend off Endir, to come back to her. During their battle, they had made their way nearly to the edge of the camp, Ciri had been struck to the ground just behind the ring of wooden pikes encircling it. Now they worked their way back toward the outcropping, the tree emerging from the tempest of snow and wind and ice that buffeted them with every step.
Now that Ciri was on the offensive, she could choose her own method of attack. At first, she considered using her full arsenal of complicated strokes and maneuvers. However, she ended up deciding on a much more minimalistic approach; there was nothing she could throw at Geralt that he couldn't handle anyway, he had taught her everything she knew. Her moves were simple—only basic forms and rhythms. She used speed rather than fancy flourishes to keep Geralt on the defensive, their swords flashing in a blinding display. He matched her stroke for stroke. Each time Ciri completed a round of moves, she repeated them, only faster and more aggressively.
They were the beginner moves Geralt had taught her when he first put a sword in her hand. They had to have gone over them a thousand times before they moved on to more intricate swordwork and patterns. She thought maybe she could trick his body into remembering their countless hours spent sparring in the practice ring. At the very least, her method seemed to be keeping him so occupied with defending himself that he couldn't mount a counterattack.
But nothing seemed to be stirring within Geralt, there was no change in his bearing, no recognition of their shared past. Ciri wouldn't be able to keep up her onslaught, particularly as her unbalanced sword grew heavier with every stroke. It was also getting harder for Ciri to maintain a hold on her sword with her left hand, the blood slicking the pommel and her throbbing fingers distracting her more and more.
They had moved halfway back to the outcropping, Geralt having even turned somewhat to back a little way up the slope when Ciri missed her own beat, her arms uncooperatively clumsy. In an instant, Geralt turned the tide and, like a flash flood, he washed over Ciri, unafraid to use his own deadly arsenal of moves against her.
At this point, she could do nothing against him. Her arms were lead, her hand was fire, her mind so overrun by conflicted emotions that she couldn't react properly. His every swing battered her, jarring her teeth with their intensity. She was too slow to fully block one of his attacks and took a nasty cut to her arm when she had to deflect it instead. Following his own momentum, Geralt spun and swung low. Ciri staked her sword into the ground just outside of her leg, bringing Geralt's sword to a ringing halt a hair's breadth from her shin. If she hadn't stopped him, he would have amputated both of her legs. But he still turned the setback to his advantage, angling around her sword and drawing back, carving a deep gash into her calf.
Ciri screeched in pain, blood drenching her leg. She hobbled a step backward and hissed as her foot made contact with the ground. "Geralt, please!" Ciri wailed, terror infecting her heart.
Clearly showing no concern for her anguish, Geralt twirled again, slinging a horizontal arc across Ciri's throat. She couldn't stop it and she wasn't agile enough anymore to avoid it. Ciri threw herself backward underneath Geralt's sword, the blade just a flash of steel inches from her face. With her injured leg, Ciri lost her balance and fell onto her back. Before she could recover, Geralt stamped onto her right wrist, preventing her from using her sword.
In the next moment, he had reversed his grip on his sword and was driving it downward, a consummate killer wasting no time on gloating or reveling in his success. There was nothing left for Ciri to do.
This was it. This was the moment she was going to die. And though she couldn't see him, Ciri could feel Endir's eyes searing into her and Geralt, knowing that his victory was at hand.
Ciri didn't have any time to react, any time to feel anything as Geralt's sword dove toward her seemingly in slow motion. She looked for any sign that she would be saved, any budding light behind Geralt's eyes. But it was too late.
His sword was plunging straight for her heart.
