The last of the morning's light poured in through the tall south-facing windows, and a fire burning in the large stone hearth chased away its chill.
Yennefer tapped the rough-hewn table's surface idly. Both her and Skellige's current queen, Cerys an Craite, were waiting anxiously for Hjalmar's return, hopefully with that stubborn witcher in tow.
The discussion had already ground to a standstill mainly because of the distrust the Skelliger had towards the sorceress - not that Yennefer had put much effort into building that trust over recent years.
Once again, the sorceress' eyes strayed around the keep's main hall. Its practical furnishings emphasised Cerys' function-over-form aesthetic, which was evident even in her current attire. The queen's only embellishments were the ornamental stitching along the edges of her blue sleeves and a red-checkered scarf wrapped across the left side of her metal breastplate.
The sound of footsteps made both women perk up, but when the steps faded down the opposite hallway, they returned to their semi-bored state.
Yennefer laid her head in her hands. Her tolerance for boredom had exceeded its limits. A glance across the table at Cerys made it clear that the queen was losing her patience as well.
Cerys curled her tapping fingers into a fist and slammed them down on the table. "So help me, if someone doesn't come through that door soon, I'm goin' a head to those damn docks myself."
"Ah sister, is that anyway fer a queen t' be actin' now?" Came Hjalmar's stern, yet suspiciously playful tone.
"Hjalmar, yer lucky I don' tie yer arse astern of a schooner for a few gos 'round the isles fer how long it took ye."
The chestnut-haired giant seemed unconcerned by his younger sister's threat, even though she could make the threat very real if she were so inclined. "Aye, but if I drown, you'll be down a fighter, and a fairly good one if I do say so m'self."
"Yer so full of it..." Cerys countered, rolling her eyes slightly.
Yennefer stopped listening to the siblings' banter as soon as she caught sight of Geralt, his striking crimson hair still catching her off-guard. She rose, and slipped around the bench she had been sitting on.
"Geralt-" The raven-haired sorceress stopped herself, noting that the witcher was looking past her into the nearly empty hall.
"The others?" he asked, with no hint of annoyance in his voice. It was just regular Geralt, a man of few words. She tucked her hands into the crooks of her elbows.
While he said others, Geralt really only wanted to know where one person was. "Ciri's out by the blacksmith's. She said the sound of the hammer on anvil would help her calm down." As the witcher turned to leave, Yennefer caught his hand. "I've already scolded her - told her that she needed to mind her station and not go chasing after stubborn old witchers." Subconsciously, she gave his hand a small squeeze.
He turned back to face her, and rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand. His expression told her that he was trying to find the right words, but Geralt settled on silence, his eyes drifting to the ground. A stray cough, the clack of beer steins being set down, and the moment between them was over. Geralt pulled away, his hand returning to his side.
Something troubling pulled at the corner of his lip, his thoughts quickly moving elsewhere.
"What is it?" She asked, knowing that he wouldn't share unless she pushed.
Geralt sighed. "Cregennan finally decided to share, it's…" another sigh, "Not good."
"Is he…?"
"He's listening."
"Can I?"
"Go ahead."
Words spilled from his lips, and at a certain point Geralt was sure he was just acting as a go-between for Yennefer and Cregennan and, at some point, for those listening in from the table. At least Cregennan had an easier time explaining the whole conundrum to everyone. The witcher would have been at a loss on where to start.
When the story was finished and Cregennan seemingly settled back into the crevices of Geralt's mind, Yennefer was downright flabbergasted – perhaps even a bit distraught. At least Geralt thought she was. Hard to tell when a simple sigh settled her countenance back to a safe neutral. The rest of the party were at least little more obvious about showing their shock.
"Geralt," said Cerys as she stood slowly. "I wasn't able to help ye last time ye came calling, but I can make it up to ye this time. Consider the full Military might of the Isles with ye."
Hjalmar laughed as his mug slamming down beside Cerys' hand. "Aye, if this is anything like the last romp, we're in fer a mighty good fight. Ye can count on me!"
"Why the hell not, I've come this far haven't I?" pitched in Olgierd.
Regis nodded, the vampire not quite wanting to add his own sentiments out loud.
"End of the world?" Lambert sudden voice, surprised the group. He must have come in with Keira while everyone was distracted. "I'm in. Can't let you hog all the glory."
"Seems like it's settled then." Yennefer affirmed, appraising the individuals around her.
Geralt rubbed the back of his neck, another headache already looming. Each pair of eyes was on him. Each face radiated warmth and support. He glanced over his shoulder past the hall's pillars to catch Ciri peering in, a tiny smile playing on her lips.
XxxxX
This could work... at least in theory it could work.
Cerys is downfield, where they decided to set up, giving her warriors a good pep-talk. From the hearty shouts, clanging of swords against shields, and thumping of axe butts against the ground it seemed to be going well.
To Geralt's left, Olgierd had been busy making fast friends with Hjalmar, which was not surprising considering their similar personalities. A few feet from the loud pair stood Regis, simply content to watch.
A select few already know what he is - at Regis' own insistence for when the fighting starts. However, that did not stop the natural apprehension people have with his presence, so the vampire kept his distance.
Geralt looked to where Yennefer stood with Lambert, Keira, and Ciri. The raven-haired sorceress beckoned him over. He jogged slightly to quickly close the distance.
"Everything should be ready." Yennefer said as the witcher slowed his approach.
"Should?"
"No one knows for certain how quickly Skj'aera will detect Cregennan," confessed Keira.
"Then all this preparation isn't required?" asked Lambert, earning a quirked eyebrow from Yennefer.
"Not necessarily." The raven-haired sorceress said slowly, daring the other witcher to continue about unneeded preparations – fortunately, Lambert wasn't that stupid. She continued. "The enemy has teleportation capabilities, that much was clear from Geralt's recollection. Getting here for them would be a matter of seconds."
"I thought portals with unknown destinations were difficult to set up." Geralt interjected.
"They won't have an unknown destination."
"Oh?"
"We're going to amplify Cregennan's magical signature, making it much easier for any tracer to be able to exact a location."
At this point, Ciri decided to pipe up. "Wouldn't that put Geralt right in the middle of everything?"
"Don't worry, we've addressed that." Yennefer assured the young empress. "With some minor cooperation from the rest of the lodge, we've managed to adjust the Xenovox's purpose. Instead of just broadcasting voice we can channel magic, creating a decoy."
"You think they'd fall for it?" Geralt still wasn't convinced.
"No idea. We just have to hope that Skj'aera will take the bait."
Those words weren't the most encouraging to hear, and from the disillusioned looks of the others, it was clear that his sentiments were echoed.
All, save for Cregennan.
"Skj'aera will act. He'll be afraid of us going into hiding again."
Wouldn't there be other opportunities?
"He won't risk us trying to separate. With the Saov Llestr broken he has no means to keep me contained. I no longer have a body to be called back to."
Then why didn't you suggest that? We could still avoid confrontation.
"He wouldn't give us the time. Besides he already knows we're in Skellige."
How?
"You think sailors can't be bribed or coerced? Your friends could only buy us so much time."
"Geralt?" Yennefer brushed his arm, drawing his eyes away from a distant snow-capped mountain. "Its partner is already in place..." It was now that the witcher noticed the familiar box in her hands. She held out the Xenovox, waiting for him to take it. "If you are ready, we can start."
He took the metal box. "Alright, I'm ready."
XxxxX
A horn blew across the field, signaling the start of the upcoming battle. A quiet chill, not due to the cool Skellige air, settled upon everyone.
"Lambert," called Geralt.
"What?"
"Here."
The other witcher caught the three vials tossed his way. A quick glance showed what their contents where: the witcher potions Geralt concocted so long ago.
Considering Geralt's current situation, the potions could prove fatal. "They're more useful to you," he admitted.
Lambert nodded, then turned forward again, noting the darkening sky. "Looks like its starting."
It started as a ripple, a shimmer in the air, quickly expanding to a gaping wound. The change was met with shifting stances, and creaking leather.
Geralt drew his own steel out of habit, despite the concerned looks the enchanted sabre drew from his peers.
A torrent of arrows felled the closest few – mainly those who chose to not use a shield. The second volley was met with better resistance. There wasn't a third.
As bloodlust filled the air, a growl rose to a roar, shaking the Skellige hillside. The Skelligers were riled, their warrior blood burning. The berserkers strung along the frontlines had shed their human skins, transforming into massive bears that charged the portal. There was no hope of stopping the coming bloodshed.
In a deafening thunderclap, the first waves passed through the portal. Human steel clashed against elven. With the next waves, the enemy had pushed past the frontline.
The witcher moved, catching his nearest opponents off guard. Iris cut them down, not caring for the chainmail rings that shattered and sprinkled the trampled grass with silver rounds. For now, Regis restrained his inhuman side, relying instead on the shortsword he had procured earlier. The others seemed to be faring as well, if not better. The fighters matched blow for blow, while the sorceresses managed to keep enough distance from the fray to cast counter-spells to those that threatened to turn the tide.
Everything seemed to be going well for once, that is, until a red mist dashed through the lines felling those unfortunate enough to be in its path, both friend and foe alike.
"Witcher…" A voice hissed, surprisingly loud despite the sounds of battle. The witcher whirled cleaving an arm. The unsuspecting elf writhed with pain, dropping his sword to clutch at the missing limb. "Witcher." It whispered again, this time much closer and much more sinisterly. A brief stab through the neck finished ended the elf's cries.
"Geralt!" The witcher's head whipped up just in time to catch pale skin and dark hair materializing above him.
Dettlaff ? How- ? Was all his brain could supply before elongated fangs and dagger-length claws fell upon him. He felt a shove, and half-stumbled out of the way of the enraged vampire.
Instead of Geralt's throat, Olgierd's had sacrificed his. The once immortal instinctively clamped a hand to his neck, the bright red slipping through his fingers. Each breath became a wheeze, then a steady gurgle as blood trickled from the corner of his lips. His bright hazel eyes grew dim and Geralt could only watch helplessly as Olgierd collapsed to the ground before Dettlaff attacked again.
The witcher raised his sword, but it was easily knocked away. A strong hand wrapped around Geralt's neck, lifting him to his toes as his hands clawed at the vampire's tightening grip.
Dettlaff leaned in close, jagged teeth dragging roughly across his skin. "They wanted me to bring you back alive, but I think we both know that's not going to happen…"
There was a blur of claws and fangs and Geralt was released, its suddenness making him stagger.
Regis had saved him… again.
The witcher coughed as he rubbed at his raw neck. His fingers came away damp, but the wound was nothing serious.
A quick glance to his surroundings told him where his fallen sword was, and the witcher retrieved it just in time to block an incoming blow. The elf's sword shattered on Geralt's counter strike, leaving the elf with nothing to stop Iris' enchanted blade from splitting his skull.
"Regis," howled Dettlaff, as he lunged for the barber surgeon. "After all I've done for you!"
One look at Regis' face, and it was clear the words stung. Regis said nothing, instead turning his focus to avoiding Dettlaff's claws and trying to get in his own hits. Dettlaff lunged at the barber surgeon, his claws grazing Regis' cheek as he caught a similar injury to his shoulder.
The longer the vampires fought, the more inhuman their appearances became. Large leathery wings ripped from their backs, shredding pale skin and dark clothes alike. Their human features melted into grotesque mimicries – elongated mouths, shriveled bat-like noses, and smooth translucent skin where eyes had been.
Geralt could only catch glimpses of the fight, his eyes unable to keep up with the lightning speed of the two vampires. From the quick flashes he could catch, both vampires seemed to be on even footing. Each managed to keep their breathing steady, despite the constant flow of blood spilling from their bodies; despite the ground growing slick with the nearly black liquid.
All it took was a simple oversight on Regis' part. One of Dettlaff's extra appendages nicked Regis across a morphed eye-socket, momentarily blinding him and causing the barber surgeon to slow down. With a backhanded swing, Dettlaff slammed Regis into a nearby pine tree, hard enough to temporarily stun him.
Geralt braced himself as Dettlaff turned his attention towards the witcher. Claws shrieked against steel, as the witcher diverted the other vampire's swipe. He just barely managed to fend off the second, his bones shuddering under the strain. Fortunately, Regis had recovered enough to take over.
"You are becoming a nuisance." Dettlaff ground out between razor-fangs, his voice sounding closer to guttural growls. "Back down traitor. I'll deal with you later."
"I'm afraid I cannot do that."
"You would betray me once more, Regis? For this... human?"
"He is my friend."
"As was I." Dettlaff descended upon the pair, his rage only worsened by the exchanged dialogue.
The witcher tried to cast Yrden in attempt to slow Dettlaff, but the spell lasted no more than a second, leaving him drained from the attempt.
Regis pushed himself harder to compensate for Geralt's weakness and there was only so long the barber surgeon could keep up the new pace.
It pained the witcher to be such a burden.
There was a reason witchers were created and Geralt's currently human body was not designed for fighting monsters. Despite Regis' best efforts to protect the witcher, Dettlaff scored the occasional hit. A cut on his cheek, a gash running near his belly, and a particularly bad wound across his forearm. Neither enough to be fatal, but the impact of each added up.
Geralt could feel himself slowing and he couldn't afford the loss, not when he already wasn't fast enough.
One slight misstep cost everything. In an attempt to stop an incoming blow that Geralt had no way to avoid, Regis overextended himself, leaving him vulnerable.
Dettlaff took his opportunity, piercing his claws through the barber surgeon's exposed chest, the white nails spraying black-crimson as they emerged from Regis' back. The other vampire clenched and with an animalistic glee ripped his hand back, leaving a gaping hole where Regis' heart had been.
Regis wasn't about to let it end there. He hurled himself at Dettlaff and in a tangle of snarls had the vampire pinned beneath him.
"Again?" Dettlaff questioned, somehow content with his fate.
"I am sorry."
A cruel smile arose on Dettlaff's monstrous visage as Regis' fangs sunk into his neck and began drinking. Within minutes the deed was done. The fiendish shape quickly shrunk in on itself, until nothing remained but bones.
Regis rose - his form more or less resembling something human, despite the prevalent hole in his chest. "Something's wrong," he muttered, wiping the blood from his mouth with the edge of a sleeve. "His body should still-"
Pain suddenly teased the edges of Regis' face before the vampire toppled over. Geralt rushed to help his friend, but Regis held up a hand to warn him back.
Black veins protruded from his skin, and the blood leaking from his wound bubbled and hissed against the grass. Black ichor dripped from Regis' mouth, and his stomach heaved to expel more of the foul substance. Convulsions shook the vampire's body as his claws raked the ground in an attempt to escape the anguish.
Black blood. The witcher recognized the potion's symptoms. Very effective against Necrophages and... vampires. In small doses it deterred such beasts from trying to drink a witcher's blood again, but for a whole body's worth? There was no antidote. There had been no need.
Geralt grimaced. They had known. Somehow they had known about Regis, and what he was. Dettlaff had been their trap, and it had succeeded.
There was a drawn-out whistle followed by the sound of jeers and ridicule. For now, it seemed that they had driven back the enemy. The elves were retreating. The witcher looked to where his friend lay possibly breathing his last. He couldn't feel the same exuberance. His arm throbbed, reminding him of his own injuries. He chose to ignore it.
Instead, Geralt searched the battlefield for the others.
XxxxX
Lambert was the first one he found. He was limping and an arrow was protruding from his shoulder. Otherwise the other witcher looked fine.
"Where's Olgierd?"
Geralt looked away.
"Regis?"
Reluctantly, the witcher shook his head. "He's poisoned. Someone got their hands on black blood."
Lambert harshly sucked in air through his teeth. "He's a higher vampire… he might be able to pull through. Do you know who the poor bastard he drank dry was at least?"
"Another high vampire."
Lambert wiped a hand down his face, clearly at a loss of what to say. "Wait... how could a high vampire survive having black blood in its veins?" The confusion was evident on Lambert's face.
"Necromancy." It wasn't impossible and with the unusual corpse left and Dettlaff's lack of symptoms, it was highly likely.
"Damn." The other witcher tsked. "Let's check on the women. Hopefully, they fared better."
XxxxX
Things could have been better. Keira's hair was matted with blood from an injury along her temple that had just clotted. Yennefer stood over her nursing the wound, disregarding the cuts on her own porcelain skin.
Geralt didn't see Ciri. "Yen."
The raven-haired sorceress looked up, her violet eyes tired.
"Where is Ciri?"
"I lost sight of her. We were overrun. I'm sorry Geralt."
I'm sorry... He turned away, a panic suddenly gripping him.
His feet stumbled over bodies as he started yelling Ciri's name. There was no sign of her. His wounds started hurting again, but it was nothing compared to the vice squeezing his heart.
Lambert hobbled up to him. "Geralt. She could have teleported away. She might be alright."
Geralt shrugged Lambert's reassuring hand away. No. No. No. No. His mind raced. He couldn't lose her. Where is she? Where-
The harsh chatter of a magpie caught his attention. The black and white bird circled overhead once, before heading south and circling again. It seemed to be waiting for him.
His eyes narrowed. A sharp whistle brought Roach out from behind some close trees, and he swung into her saddle refusing to acknowledge Lambert's words, refusing to heed Cregennan's whispered warnings. Geralt kicked his heels into Roach's sides and galloped after the bird.
