Gods, how her head hurts. No, actually, her everything hurts. Yennefer heaves a loud groan. Then, very slowly, she blinks her eyes open. Only to stare into the eyes of a - seagull? Is there really a fucking seagull sitting on her breast? Or is she still dreaming? She stirs carefully. The seagull caws, annoyed by her - or his? - warm pillow suddenly coming alive, then flies off into the slightly clouded, blue and orange sky. Blue and orange? Shit, is the sun setting already? If she remembers correctly through the drum of the splitting headache, she was fighting Philippa in the morning, wasn't she? Yes, she is almost sure of it. She must have lost consciousness. For hours, fuck. And where the hell is she? On a beach, obviously, but which beach? And, most importantly, what has happened to her bard?
The thought of Jaskier makes her jolt upright. Ouch, not a particularly smart idea in her state. Yennefer sinks back onto the stony ground with a moan. Her state. Hell, what exactly is her state? She feels like not only her skull is broken, but also every bone in her body. It cannot be that bad, though, can it? She is able to think and breathe and move a little, even if it fucking hurts. Maybe just bruises? From the fall? Yennefer opens her eyes again. Right, the fall off the cliff. She can see it rise up from the beach and high into the sky. She was fighting Philippa up there, wasn't she? And then, suddenly, the rockslide that made her tumble down the precipice just when she thought she had won. She must have slowed down the fall somehow with her magic, otherwise she would not only hurt, but be dead as a doornail.
Looks like she was lucky after all. But what about Jaskier? Without her protecting him, the soldiers would have no problem at all to get hold of him, no matter how fast he runs. And then there is the possibility that Philippa has recovered sooner from the magical blast than Yennefer has from her tumble down the cliff. She might have portalled back to the island. There is no doubt that they have Jaskier in their ugly grip now. Have had so for more than half a day. Plenty of opportunity to hurt him. And kidnap him for real this time. He might be in a dungeon cell in Drakenborg already, or on the way there. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Suddenly, Yennefer remembers her tracking spell. How could she forget about it? Must be the headache. Although every minute could be crucial, she sits up a lot more slowly this time. If she blacks out from the pain again, this would only mean more time lost. No, she has to take it a little easy at first. Until she knows how bad the damage is. Alright, sitting works. Let's see if she can stand, too. Gingerly, Yennefer gets to her feet. She feels a little dizzy, but not like fainting again any time soon. Good. Her legs are a bit wobbly and every step hurts, but she can walk and move. Nothing broken, then, how very fortunate. There is a big bump on the back of her head and her hair is matted with dried blood, but the laceration in her scalp has stopped bleeding. Nothing to be worried about, no. She could be a lot worse off than just bruised and battered. She could be dead.
Yennefer gazes around. Is that the mermaid rock in the distance? It looks like it! Then the island next to it must be Jaskier's. This is good. She might, despite her sorry state, just be able to conjure up a portal for the short distance travel. If the bard is still on the island. Which, admittedly, is not very likely. Well, she will see in a minute. Yennefer closes her eyes and concentrates as hard as she can with the pulsing pain in her head while murmuring the tracking spell. An image forms in her mind's eye. A darkening forest. On the mainland, half a day's march from here. They are setting up camp for the night. Before Yennefer can make out any more details, the image becomes blurry. Darn, she would have liked to catch at least one glimpse of Jaskier, to ascertain that he is okay. The Redanians want him alive, there is that, so she does not need to fear for his life. However, his well-being and sanity are a different story. The fact that they are not that far away is encouraging, though. It means that Philippa cannot have joined up with her men. Otherwise, she would portal them straight away to Redania and Dijkstra, wouldn't she? So, chances are that the other sorceress is still out or too badly injured or too dead to reunite with the soldiers. And the soldiers alone, Yennefer is not afraid to take on. Right, maybe doing so today is not ideal, it would surely be preferable to postpone the rescue a day or two until she has recovered from all those bruises and her magical exhaustion. But first she has to find out how the Redanians are treating her bard. If it turns out that they are hurting him, there is no way she will wait. Then they will get to know what it means to incur the wrath of Yennefer of Vengerberg.
Inhaling deeply, she concentrates once more, the image of the forest on her mind. Then Yennefer conjures up a portal. It takes longer than usual and the flaming ring looks feeble and flickers a bit, which it should not do, but still, it has to be enough. She steps in.
Colours swirl around her in an incredibly fast, dizzying dance. Seconds later, Yennefer lands on soft soil on her hands and knees, gasping for air. Bile rises to her mouth. How pathetic. She swallows it down. No time to get sick. She never gets sick from portalling, she is an accomplished and very experienced sorceress! Fuck, she must have banged her head pretty bad, probably a concussion. Yennefer takes several steadying breaths. Slowly the ground under her hands stops rotating. Gingerly, Yennefer looks up. She is in a forest. Excellent. It is almost dark between the trees and dense underbrush of brambles. In the distance, she can see the flickering light of a campfire.
Then she hears something that makes her blood curdle. A scream. It tears through the silence of the forest like a sharp knife through butter, ear-splitting and full of intense pain. Jaskier, the bloody bastards are hurting him!
In the blink of an eye, Yennefer is on her feet. She fights down another dizzy spell, then pushes through the underbrush as fast as she can in the direction of the light. And the scream. It has stopped by now. Which could mean three very different things. They might give Jaskier a break to continue whatever they have been doing later on. He might have blacked out from the pain. Or he might be telling them what they want to know. Whatever that is. She could not even blame her friend if he did. It will not make a difference anyway, as none of the bastards will live to tell the tale, neither to Dijkstra, nor to Philippa - if she is alive and not dead rotting on that cliff - nor to anybody else on this fucked up continent.
Fucking brambles, Yennefer swears under her breath while she is fighting her way through the thicket. They seem to be everywhere, their thorny tendrils clutching at her ankles and ripping into the fabric of her culottes, not to speak of the skin of her poor hands. She should have thought of bringing her leather gloves. And a machete. Too late. It would be easiest to incinerate the bunch. But then the Redanians would know that something is up and coming their way. Well, the whole forest might go up in flames, not very practical when you are still inside of it. And not only you, but also the friend you are here to rescue. Perhaps she could do the incinerating just before she and Jaskier leave through her portal? First, she needs to get to the bard, though. And to do that, she has to get through ever more brambles. How can plants be so obnoxious that she feels like wringing their necks for obstructing her progress? If they had necks ... On the plus side, the brambles are keeping her from just barging in on the soldiers in her fury, and worry. If she was in good health and well rested it would probably be an excellent and promising approach, too. However, as it is, she has to do it more slowly and with caution. Thanks to this fucking tangle of thorn bushes, the slowly part is not a problem.
Pitch black night has fallen by the time Yennefer has finally made it to the vicinity of the camp. The sky is heavily clouded now and it looks like rain, and lots of it. The air feels loaded like before a thunderstorm and the full moon and stars are nowhere to be seen. The Redanians, on the other hand, are easy to spot. All six of them are sitting around a good-sized campfire, eating what looks like roasted shoat. Their very last meal, Yennefer thinks grimly. Only, where is her bard?
Yennefer strains her eyes to catch a glimpse of her friend in the darkness. There, a patch of colour against the black of a tree trunk on the other side of the fire, a few metres back. Jaskier's leather coat? A faint groan from the direction confirms her assumption. They must have tied him to a tree. After having tortured him. The fucking bastards. They will pay for it. But first she has to get Jaskier to safety. How about sneaking around the camp, free Jaskier, portal him to safety and then come back to exert her revenge on them? Sounds like a plan, a fucking good one, too.
Slowly and careful not to make a sound, Yennefer creeps around the camp in a semicircle. Again, it takes a lot longer than hoped for courtesy of the brambles, but eventually she finds herself right behind the thick tree trunk with the fettered bard. He does not seem to have noticed her yet. Is he sleeping? She better alert him to her presence somehow so he won't cry out in surprise and give her away.
"Jaskier?" she whispers as softly as she can. Too softly, as there is no reaction. She tries again, a tad louder. Still nothing. Is he even conscious? Suddenly, he stirs.
"Yen? That you?" His voice sounds hoarse from screaming, the words a little blurred, but he is lucid. Yennefer sighs with relief.
"Yes, it's me. I'm getting you out, just don't move. And don't make a sound. I'll cut the ropes now." From one of her pockets, she produces a small knife. She should have brought a big dagger instead, but Yennefer never imagined that the rescue would turn out as difficult as this. The knife is sharp, still, the ropes are thick and the soldiers have done a thorough job. It will take a while to sever them all. When she hears Jaskier moan in pain once again Yennefer briefly considers cutting the ropes with magic, but decides against it. She still feels all but well. Better to save her chaos for the portal.
Long minutes later, she is almost done. Just two more cuts. Suddenly Yennefer can hear footsteps approaching. Fuck. One of the soldiers is coming over to the tree.
"Want something to drink, bard? I've heard that people can sing better if they lubricate their voice. And sing for us you will. We have plenty of time before we'll reach Drakenborg. What do you say? Dijkstra will be pleased to hear that we not only have you, but also the information he wants. We're sure to be promoted."
"I told you I'd happily sing for you. Just name the song or ballad. Even you baboons must know a few of my famous works of art. It would be nicer with my lute, of course, but you philistines left it on the island."
"Don't play the fool, bard! You know damn well what kind of song I've been talking about. The Lion Cub of Cintra one! We know that you know. Tell us where Princess Cirilla is! Or should we continue with the manicure?"
"Shove your water right up your monkey's butt, you pervert, together with your promotion and your manicure!" Jaskier hisses defiantly, close to spitting the Redanian in the face.
"It's pervert now, not brute?" he scoffs. Then the soldier grabs Jaskier by the shoulders and slams his head against the tree trunk, making the bard cry out in pain. "What's that?" he then shouts in surprise, finally noticing that most of the ropes around Jaskier's torso have been cut. "Alarm! Get over here, the bard is—"
He stops in mid sentence, blood spurting from the hole in his throat. Perhaps the little knife is not exactly well-suited to cut thick rope, but it works alright, no, even deadly, on human flesh - if you know where to strike and are swift enough. And if you have the element of surprise on your side. An advantage Yennefer does not have anymore with the other five Redanian soldiers. Fuck, why does nothing ever go according to plan?
Yennefer steps away from the tree to face her enemies. Perhaps they are too scared to even try to attack her? They know that she is a witch and that it would be for their own good to leave her and Jaskier alone and run. But no such luck. Smart thinking is obviously not a trait encouraged in soldiers. They are coming at her, swords raised, their keen blades and armour gleaming in the light of the campfire.
"Yen, you can do this, I know you can," Jaskier whispers from behind. The trust in the bard's voice. She cannot let him down, no. She aims her magic at the approaching enemies. However, the expected blast is barely a shadow of her usual power. It stays the soldiers for a few seconds, but nothing more. Fuck. Yennefer tries again, with little more success. The soldiers start to laugh.
"Where's your magic gone, witch? Down the drain with your beauty?" one of them jeers. Then he charges at her. Fuck! Suddenly, someone presses something cold into her hand. The hilt of a sword. She grabs it tightly. Jaskier is standing next to her, holding a long-bladed Redanian dagger. He must have acquired it from the dead soldier at his feet and cut the last ropes with its help. Perhaps, together, fighting side by side, they might stand a chance after all?
The Redanians make the very same stupid mistake that has cost so many men their lives before in the history of humankind. The fatal mistake of underestimating a woman with a sword. Men remain simple, indeed, Yennefer notes with satisfaction. Well, she does not complain, no. Not when the second Redanian soldier crumbles to the ground in front of her, this one without his head attached to his shoulders. A fountain of sticky, warm blood shoots from his severed neck, splattering both Yennefer and Jaskier in the face while the head drops to the forest floor a few meters to the left with an ominous thud. Neither does she complain when the third soldier's sword drops from his hand, his mouth agape with disbelief at the fact that not only is there a long dagger embedded in his thigh, but also, just a split second later, his life's blood is gushing from a vicious stab through his heart.
Unfortunately, the remaining three soldiers seem to cling harder to life and have learned from what they just witnessed. They attack together, one from the front, the other two from the sides. Jaskier has a sword in hand now, and Yennefer wonders briefly if the bard even knows how to wield one. Perhaps he has picked up the one or other trick on his travels with Geralt? Jaskier has never hit her as someone who has the slightest idea of how to fight, he even seems to find delight in actively holding up the image of the damsel in distress, but is he really as harmless as that? What if Philippa was right and there is much more to the bard than meets the eye? That stab with the dagger that gave her the opening to inflict the deadly wound could have been a chance hit. Well, let's hope it was not.
Fighting the three simultaneously attacking Redanians in the dim, flickering shine from the campfire is hard. Jaskier is doing his best and is not half-bad at it, but it is obvious that he is not an experienced sword fighter. Yennefer is pretty sure he has never killed a man in his life, probably not even an animal for all she knows, except for the occasional annoying fly for disturbing his creative flow, or beauty sleep. And Yennefer's arm begins to feel heavier and heavier by the minute. At first the adrenaline, the anger at the Redanians' mocking laughter and her fury about what they had done to her bard fuelled her energy, activating her last reserves and making her forget about the pain in her head, torso and limbs. However, as the fight draws on, exhaustion is kicking in. The soldiers appear to have sensed it, too. With the first clap of thunder, they launch into another fierce attack.
Bluish flashes of lightning crisscross the night sky. The roll of thunder drowns out the clanging of sword against sword. No rain yet, but it is bound to fall soon. Almost at the end of her rope, Yennefer is fending off two of their assailants at once while Jaskier valiantly counters the charge of the third Redanian still standing. Suddenly, she can feel a sharp pain in her side. Fuck, one of the bastards got her. He is laughing at her as she clutches the fingers of her left hand tightly over the spot to stem the flow of blood. Damn the whoreson! She brings down her sword with might, hacking off the man's ear. He howls with agony. That's what you get when you laugh at Yennefer of Vengerberg! Then a disturbing sound from next to her. A grunt of pain loud enough to be heard above the din of the fight and the thunderstorm. A quick glimpse to the side confirms her fear. Fighting with the sword in his right, Jaskier is holding his thigh with his left hand. Fuck, he is injured, too. Yennefer has no idea how badly, but this fight cannot go on. She has to do something. Something insanely reckless. There is no alternative if she wants to save Jaskier. Maybe herself, too, but most of all her bard. He has still so much to give to the world.
With a sudden movement, Yennefer thrusts both her arms high into the air with an earsplitting shriek. Their attackers stop in mid-motion, mystified. It gives her just enough time to whisper the spell. Drawing chaos from a bolt of lightning, she flings one hand at the soldiers with another scream. A tremendous shockwave of magic hits the Redanians. They are blasted backward and, with a sickening sound, their heads and bodies, even their armour explode in a spray of blood and gore and molten metal. With her other hand, Yennefer opens a portal.
"Go," she shouts. Then she blacks out.