Istredd marched ahead, leading the way to Yennefer's quarters, and Yennefer followed in dead silence. The servants and guards they met on their way bowed with reverence, but neither acknowledged any of them.
When they reached the needed door, the wizard opened it and held it for her to walk in first, nothing on his face betraying emotion. Only his grey eyes, usually so warm toward her, were like freshly sharpened daggers, ready to cut through bone.
"You knew Geralt was going to be returning," Yennefer stated as soon as they entered her room. The last few days it had been their room.
Istredd gestured for the two servant girls to get out; they had just finished stirring the bath upon adding the fragrant oils to it. They bowed and quickly escaped, closing the door behind them. He surveyed the served dinner for two — as the servant had known to arrange for these particular quarters lately — and checked the water in the bath.
"Perfect," he said. "Not too hot, nor about to get colder too soon." He cast a nonchalant glance her way, his hand gesturing invitingly. "Please, indulge. Want me to help you undress? I shall order your attire cleaned."
Yennefer walked over to Istredd, setting a hand upon his bicep. "Val," she implored, her voice soft and coaxing. "Forget the bathing. The clothes. We should talk—"
"We?" he raised an eyebrow. "Or it falls back to your decision as it's always been? It's always been about what you want more. Or for how long."
"I didn't ask you to come back. I didn't seek you out. You came to me," Yennefer reminded, sliding the hand higher up his arm. She wasn't saying that to be nasty, either. She was stating facts. "Don't misunderstand me. I'm grateful—you've been... amazing support, I couldn't imagine how I'd have survived these last days without you by my side. You've kept me together as you always have."
He was studying her, his face unreadable. "What do you really wish to say, Yenna? Say it."
"I don't know what you're expecting. You know I care about you... love you... but I am trying to figure things out with Geralt."
"Trying to figure things out?" he repeated, either baffled or ironic — it was hard to tell. "And what do you expect to figure out? I've always been telling you that a witcher is not going to make the partner you need. He will always be what he wants to be — not what you need him to be. I keep waiting for you to understand it, and, gods help me, this time I had this strong hope that you have. He didn't even look at you back in that room now. How certain are you of his feelings for you? Perhaps all he as a mutant can muster is a bond to his child-surprise."
"Certain," Yennefer retorted. The first time she'd found herself lying to Istredd. It had never been necessary before. But to tell the truth now would mean admitting that she was willing to throw away her relationship with Istredd on the pretext of a possibility with Geralt. Would he understand that? No.
She could see it in his eyes - that hope. She felt it, too.
"Geralt is more than the rumors of a witcher's coldness. He feels, you know that - you've seen it. I know Geralt isn't perfect, that a majority of the time we make each other crazy, but what we have... it... it's necessary. Needed."
Istredd heaved a sigh, spreading his arms in a brief helpless gesture. "You will be sorry, Yenna. That I fear for you — the utter devastation you will find when you see there is nothing to grow between you and him. There was a djinn spell, my love, and your illusion. The only illusion you have ever allowed yourself to have. You will be heartbroken, and I wish I could spare you that."
Yennefer swallowed, tears beginning to well in her eyes, an emotion that stemmed from knowing how much she'd actually hurt Istredd and how little she deserved his continued loyalty and support. How could Istredd continue to be there for her after everything she'd done?
"I wish I could spare you that, too. I wish there was a better way — a less painful way. Love has never been easy. Not for me, not for you." Without being able to control herself, Yennefer redirected her hand from his arm to his face, her thumb stroking his cheek. "I'm sorry that I've hurt you, Val, that has never been my intention. I've only ever wanted you to be happy."
"My happiness has always been in these palms," he took her hands in his and squeezed gently. "You know better than anyone how to make me happy. And I know how to make you happy. We are perfect for each other, Yenna. I'm the only one who can do it for you. We could find a cure for your problem - together. Your Witcher will never do it for you. Never. His child-surprise is still not what you could have had with me - of your own flesh and blood. Start your life over."
Tears stung the backs of Yennefer's eyes. He was right, oh, so right. The promise of what she could have with him had always been looming in the back of her heart, like a safe harbor she felt she could return to any time a deadly storm would hit her shaky boat of sporadic romances.
But if this was the moment to choose that harbor, would Geralt be in the forefront of her mind and the only person she craved to see again? To touch? She longed for him in a way she only now knew was beyond magic.
She continued to study Istredd's features, the sincerity there, willing herself to want to take him up on his offer. Yennefer knew that even a day ago she would have. But it was a little too late.
"I'm trying to start over," Yennefer said, squeezing his hands back gently. "I'm trying to explore how I look at my feelings, how I look at what I want for myself. I can't go back, Val. I don't want the same things anymore. It's changed. I like— no, I choose to believe that everything happened for a reason, that life presented me with these trials because having a family has never been easy for me. I know you wish it were different, but intended or not, a family is what Geralt has given me."
His eyes narrowed with hurt, his hands fell away from hers to his sides as though life had left them. His mouth creased and pinched while he battled the bitterness rising up within him to swallow him whole.
"If you truly believe he views it all the same way," he uttered, "he will break your heart, Yenna. He will never be what I can be for you. He will never be on the same level and of the same mind as you. If you haven't understood it yet, you shall, very soon. Alas, my love, but I cannot save you from your own choice."
He shook his head in lament and went out of the room, leaving her alone with her cooling bath and dinner.
A painful twinge in Ciri's shoulder yanked her from her slumber she started awake with a gasp.
She'd expected to see Geralt staring back at her but instead, it was Emhyr she found perched on the side of her bed.
Ciri blinked in brief confusion, attempting to sit. "What is happening?"
"Nothing," he said softly, and the subtlest of smiles touched his mouth. "You've been asleep — from a potion to help you heal as I've been told. I'm… I'm sorry I wasn't there when you came back, wounded. I was away on matters of state, and the General informed me of your ordeal. I thank the Great Sun you're alive. You shouldn't put yourself in such danger, Cirilla. I— We could've lost you today."
Ciri slumped back against the pillows, wincing slightly. "It's what I am meant to do – battle monsters and save people," she said, watching Emhyr through heavy eyelids. It was strange to see the Emperor of Nilfgaard sitting on her bed. "Where is Geralt? You didn't send him to the dungeons, did you?" A jest. Sort of.
His face clouded. "Why would I do that?"
"It was a joke," she drawled. "You will get used to it." Her throat felt dry and slightly sore. She looked around. "Is there water?"
"Of course." He got up to pour her half a glass from the pitcher that sat on her bedstand and gave it to her before reclaiming his seat. "How are you feeling? Is the pain too much? I shall call for a mage to aid you."
She shook her head, taking a careful sip of water. "I've had worse. I think they patched me up well. I am simply tired."
"I will have to depart from this castle again, and I had to speak to you beforehand," he confessed, eyeing her with candid worry. "I'm told you plan to use your power and flee away from this world again as the elven sage advised you. Please, Cirilla, allow me to help you. Come away with me to our palace in Nilfgaard. You can rest there hidden from the Hunt at least for a while. You are too weak to leap, and here you're in grave danger."
Ciri was silent for a while. Strangely, she found herself worried to hurt Emhyr's feelings. "I… When are you leaving?"
"I should be gone already, but I cannot depart without you. We have a much more significant army back in Nilfgaard, and in an improbable case of an attack, we can manage. I was made aware the Hunt cannot bring in too many of their own forces, and it suits us well enough. You will be safer there than anywhere else on the Continent. I do not intend to keep you under a lock, but while you recover, until you feel strong enough — please, consider. It's the sanest decision under the circumstances."
"I appreciate the offer. But I cannot just leave everyone behind." Especially when Kain was still missing. "I am needed here."
"You shall be back when you're healed," he said; there was a ghost of pleading in his eyes, restrained but there, nevertheless. "It's temporary. As I said I shall not keep you longer, but allow me to protect you while you're weakened."
"I am certain one of the mages can give me something to accelerate my healing. If not, this does provide an excellent opportunity for me to practice my own healing abilities." Ciri sat up finally, careful to maneuver the blankets to cover herself up. "You truly think I am in danger this very moment?"
"Each moment you remain here where we can expect the Hunt to follow you – yes. I cannot bear to leave you here. Geralt was of the same mind last I spoke to him, however briefly. He needed his rest, he looked rundown."
Ciri was still reluctant and it was showing on her face. "My… Kain has been taken. I will find no peace until I free him. Time is of the essence and I fear a stay in Nilfgaard will hinder our progress in finding him." She set her cup aside and picked nervously at her fingernails. There was still some of her dried blood beneath one. "I do not mean to be difficult. I know well the torment of worrying about someone you care for."
"Do you know where to look for him?" Emhyr asked.
"No," Ciri admitted. "But I do have scraps of information. I need to confer with Geralt and Yennefer."
"I have means to aid your search," he offered. "Same means Yennefer and I were using while searching for you. And while our spies are working, you don't have to be here. You have a bit of time to heal. Geralt and Yennefer shall join the search until you come back. Your presence here — especially while ill — does not decide the matter, my dear."
Emhyr was sounding very sensible and Ciri felt tired of fighting. She wanted to stay in Vizima and be useful but it seemed her usefulness was currently being doubted. Probably for good reason.
And yet...
"I don't want to leave," she confessed. "I'll feel safer staying." She sighed, casting a glance at the door. "I need clothes."
"I know you don't want to leave," he said, his tone entwined with tired patience. "But remaining here puts you and your friends in more danger. Do you not see it?"
"I am in danger no matter where I am," Ciri argued. "But at least Avallac'h knows where to find me here. He will come and he will know how to best proceed."
"Aen Elle shall always remain Aen Elle, Ciri," Emhyr said, stroking her cheek affectionately before lowering his hand. "Do not trust him blindly, do not mistake his selfish plan for minding your interests. I know of sages, they always pick the best route for their personal gain." A lament reflected in his gaze. "Do you not see how it is? The Hunt will keep coming back until we destroy enough of them to make it stop. If you plan to return to this world, it's where they will be waiting. While they know you have people who matter to you here, it's where they will always find you or bait you. They will not be fooled by your leap, my dearest. You don't have to do this. Please, think about it all more carefully. Think and you will see the truth."
"Then perhaps Avallac'h was right all along and I will have to leave this world behind for good," Ciri lamented, lost in her own thoughts before she managed to cut herself loose.
She met the Emperor's gaze. "I will consider your offer. I assume the offer still stands if I join you later?"
"Of course it does," he confirmed eagerly, taking her hand and squeezing it tenderly. "If you leave this world for good, the Hunt will still haunt those you leave behind. Think about it as well. Your departure shall not save anyone you love."
"It feels as though no matter my choices, I can't save anyone." At least not in ways that would leave her loved ones satisfied. "Do you sometimes wish–" Ciri cut herself off, shaking her head free of the thought that had just bloomed. "Never mind. Give me a few more hours to decide. I will let you know either way."
He nodded, but his eyes narrowed, latched onto hers. "What did you wish to ask? Go ahead."
Ciri inhaled shakily. "Do you sometimes wish I would have perished when Pavetta did? Do you think this world would have been a safer place without me?"
"Never for one moment I thought it would have been better with you gone," he responded frankly. "You came into this world as a special gift to us. Do not allow anyone, nor your own thoughts, to convince you otherwise."
She smiled, just a little, her own insecurities still raging within. But his answer helped.
"I hope I won't disappoint you all."
"It's impossible, my dear daughter," he said, stroking her hand. "There is nothing you can do to disappoint. You are our miracle. We are happy for as long as you are with us."
She squeezed his fingers in return. Had he been Geralt, Ciri would have leaned in for a hug. But she and Emhyr weren't there yet. As much as they seemed to have reached some common ground recently, there were still things that needed to be worked through.
"Thank you. I appreciate that."
"You are loved, Cirilla," he said in a soft tone and leaned in to kiss her forehead before he got up. "Do not forget it. And I shall wait if you decide to join me."
With a parting smile, he walked out.
Jagna came back in a moment after, bowed, and offered Ciri a tray with a goblet.
"Lady Vigo told me to give it to you when you wake, Your Highness. To make you feel better shortly."
That scent…
Geralt raised a hand to push the door open, but it stopped midway, suspended in the air, fingers moving subtly as if trying to reach on their own while the scent gently engages with his senses, luring and teasing at the same time, igniting something deep within he could not decipher. As if it had a voice of its own, like a Skellige siren calling for him to crush his boat against the cliffs…
He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head abruptly to focus, and touched his palm to the heavy door, nudging it open slowly not to make the springs squeal.
She was with her back to him in a tub — an actual tub made of wood with carved decorum befitting a royal bathtub, its inside lined with a white sheet. Her raven hair pulled up in a messy bun with a few curly strands escaping it to tickle the back of her slender neck and shoulders. The sight of them, that naked, wet skin with droplets of perfumed water rolling down to disappear between the tub and her shoulder blades, made him weak in the knees. His throat clicked as he swallowed.
He blinked and tried to collect himself.
"Ciri's asleep, her servant girl remains with her. She said you summoned me."
Yennefer's hand stilled beneath the water where deft fingers had been hard at work trying to rub away the evening stresses. After her talk with Istredd she'd needed to unwind. She hadn't managed to finish, however, hadn't meant to give in to the delicious hum that had slowly started to charge through her body - only to be snatched away.
Back to reality she went. "I thought it might be best for us to talk in private. Ciri needs rest. I worry that she is pushing herself too hard."
"She always does," he said. "But it's Ciri, she listens to no one. Or, well, perhaps, neither of us, rather. I believe Kain had better chances to have her ear." He remained where he stopped but tried to crane his neck a bit to see more of her legs peeking from the misted water.
"Kain gets through to her a lot more than you and I do. Perhaps because he doesn't lecture her." Yennefer wanted to sneak her hand back to that space between her thighs, to keep stroking, to steal a moment that they hadn't had in what felt like years. Every bit of time felt like that lately. "Care to join me?"
"I… no, ehm, I should pass. I had a bath earlier, I'm good."
"You sure? I could scrub your back," Yennefer offered him a look over her shoulder, a small smile touching her lips. He was shaved and put together.
"I've had it scrubbed thoroughly enough," he smirked. "On that Chamberlain's orders, I imagine." His eyes traveled along the line of her neck and shoulders, her smooth, wet, fragrant skin with a curly strand clinging to it. "Was that the only reason you summoned me? I thought Istredd wouldn't leave your side like a guard dog."
"No, I summoned you so we could talk - catch up. That might have been a bonus," Yennefer retorted, sliding her hand over her bare arms as if she hadn't already washed herself. "If I didn't know any better, I'd assume that you feel jealous."
Geralt snorted. "I don't see how you'd assume such a thing. Whatever there is, it's between you and him. None of my business."
"It's not?" Yennefer asked as she turned to face him, her knees drawing up to her chest, water sloshing around her lightly.
Geralt shrugged, folding his arms, eyeing her with a nonchalant mien.
"Use your words, Geralt. I've missed them," Yennefer teased.
He barely refrained from rolling his eyes, but that would have spoiled his brilliant act of nonchalance. "What do you wish me to add?"
"I wish for you to do more than grunt," Yennefer stated. "I wish for you to tell me what's on your mind instead of making me read it. If you're unnerved by Istredd's presence, it's not that I wouldn't understand. I— I have my moments around Triss."
Geralt gave another snort before he could stop himself. "Nothing about Istredd's presence unnerves me," he recited. "Perhaps it's the other way around, but then I would never know, for I lack the skill of reading people's minds."
"Istredd has never liked our relationship and nor has he ever shied away from making that apparent," Yennefer stated. "He worries you'll hurt me."
Geralt raised his eyebrows, amused. "Unless you turn into a foglet, I don't see why I would. But then again, that man worries a lot. Mayhap you need to be talking to him now instead of me. Soothe his worries."
"Istredd's concerns are unnecessary. I am quite capable of taking care of myself and making my own choices. I know your heart, Geralt. Even if you're trying to pretend you're unfazed by his presence," Yennefer said, slowly rising out of the water. "Mind passing me my towel?"
Whatever he meant to respond with left his mind with the sound of a soft splash and water dripping from her skin as she stood before him in that tub, naked and perfect. He feasted his eyes on her, stunned for an instant or two longer than necessary while something went on in the back of his mind, like an echo of something important he tried to reach. Then he blinked and tore his eyes from her to glance around the room for the towel. It lay folded on the corner of her bed, and he went for it.
"I'm not pretending," he said, handing her the towel while trying to keep his eyes on hers. "He doesn't faze me. The amount of time you spend talking about him means he fazes you. So why discuss him with me? You clearly summoned the wrong man."
"You've never been the wrong man for me," Yennefer said confidently, ignoring the towel he offered her, instead wiggling her fingers for his hand so he could help her from the tub.
His brow furrowing with a ghost of suspicion, he obeyed and offered his hand. "What is this all about, Yen?"
Her hand closed around his as she navigated her way over the rim, blinking up at him, her other hand reaching for the towel once she was clear of the tub. "You've been lost, Geralt, and I wanted to see you. Needed to see you for a few minutes on my own. Since when has that been a crime?"
There were no arguments in his head, and he settled on a simple, "It's not."
"Did you not want to see me?" She released his hand, patting her body with the linen before wrapping it around herself.
"I…" Stupefied, he felt it was a trap, but didn't know how to climb out. "I've seen you not a full hour ago."
"Oh," Yennefer retorted, unable to mask the hurt that struck her. She probed his mind, seeking something else, anything to suggest that he had missed her. When she didn't find anything, she straightened her back, her features taking on a neutral expression. "In that case let me not waste your time any further." With that she eased past him, gliding over toward her vanity table so she could sit down.
He cursed under his breath and made a step towards her chair. "Don't do that now. You know it's not what I meant. It's been a while for you, but not for me — that day in Oxenfurt catacombs is still fresh in my mind."
"Do I? I hardly think even you know what you meant," Yennefer said, reaching up to loosen her hair from the bun, combing her fingers through the curls before reaching for her brush. "I'm not trying to put pressure on you, Geralt. I don't want a proposal or promise — I thought that maybe you'd missed me."
"What I meant was... it's like we haven't parted for all that time," he explained, feeling strange and helpless, like he was digging a deeper hole beneath his feet instead of climbing out. "Had I kept the memory of being away, I would have missed you all."
"I understand, believe me, but it hasn't kept me from yearning for you. Or Ciri," Yennefer stated. She finished with her curls, noting that they were perfect, before reaching for her creams. Everything always at the ready for when she needed to fix the cracks.
"I'm sorry. I guess I still feel a bit dazed." He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. "Kain's in a lot of trouble and it's eating me. Can't think of much else."
"Nothing to apologize for," Yennefer said, smoothing the cream over her hands, along her arms, and up her shoulders, gently pushing away the linen from her breasts to do her body. "It's as I said; I understand. I've been trying to work through my own obstacles. Hopefully, we'll find him soon. Unharmed."
"It feels like a lot of time's been lost already," Geralt lamented, glancing at his boots. "If she has the formulas, she could've started the process, and then he's a goner."
"That's how I felt about finding you, too. Perhaps we get fortunate again," Yennefer replied, trying to soothe his worries a little. Empty words, but words nonetheless meant to help. "Try not to give in to your negative inclinations too much."
"Not that easy when I feel I failed him, and our mother as well." He set his jaw, and added, "And Ciri. It was foolish to go to those catacombs to begin with. It could have waited."
"But you did and nothing short of time travel is going to change it," Yennefer stated, sweeping her hand against her body a final time, moving to wrap the linen around herself so she could turn to face him. "There's no point in trying to work through the what ifs and what could have been done differently. You are not responsible for what has happened to Kain. Nor are you a disappointment. Not to Ciri or your mother. Ciri loves you. She's been worried about you. So stop punishing yourself and do what you do best. Be the hero."
"Not much to do without any clue where Zar'kin might be keeping him. I'd have to check every keep there was and it would take me a year or more." He gave her a forlorn look. "I'm not a hero, Yen. I'm just a witcher who can't save his own brother from a horrible death. And Ciri... I don't even want to think about what it will be like for her when he's gone."
Yennefer pivoted to face him, looking up at him while silently admiring the strength he had. Geralt had endured so much in the last days and the biggest concern he had was his guilt. "You know as well as I do that what is happening to Kain would have occurred regardless of who had come into his life. Zar'kin must have been hunting him. Probably before you two even reunited," Yennefer said speculatively, pausing, her tone softening. "Stop reprimanding yourself for something beyond your control, self-pity has never been a good look on you."
"It's nothing to do with self-pity," he retorted. "I fear that loss, Yen. I've had a taste of it in Ellander after those Crones got him, and now it's even ten times worse. You have no idea what kind of torment it is, what kind of pain - that pain alone can drive you mad. And I'm here, unable to even find out where he is."
"You only not long ago found out he was missing," Yennefer said, unflinching in her position, reaching out to touch a finger to the hem of his shirt. "You can't do more than you can. I know you, Geralt, and if there is one thing I am certain of—and I am sure Kain is, too—you will find him."
"It'll be too late," he said grimly. "He'd be better off if Aen Elle had him - at least those wouldn't kill him. If not for that Caranthir... And Avallac'h - that bloody bastard is directly responsible for what his elvish brat is doing to get back at him."
"Avallac'h has a lot to answer for. A lot to explain, but to blame him for Caranthir would be to blame you and I for Ciri's shortfalls. For any evil acts she has done. Unless they're working together — which could be a possibility — I can't bring myself to place everything on those shoulders. Not while he has our girl's ear," Yennefer stated, withdrawing her hand, letting it fall back into her lap. "What of Eskel and Lambert? We could send word to them, ask them to be on the lookout for information from their side on Zar'kin?"
Geralt shook his head. "Lambert had one friend among the Cats and he's dead because of his associates. Lambert avenged him, and I know of no other Cats he might know. He's the youngest among us, Zar'kin was before his time. And Eskel never mingled with Cats, either. My only hope is to search for her tracks in Brokilon, but I don't hold my breath for it."
"Then we should leave immediately. I can portal you there or at least as close to it as possible and back. The sooner you get answers, the more in control you'll feel."
He looked as if something pinched painfully in his chest. "We cannot leave anywhere while Ciri is here and in poor condition. At least one of us has to remain by her side. Otherwise, she will do rash things and hurt herself before she's well. Or the bloody sage will get to her and pour more poison in her mind."
"Then perhaps I should go. I can travel faster. There and back. You've been gone a long time, I am sure she'd want you to be with her."
"It's futile, Yen. They know and tolerate me in Brokilon, and if it's you, they might shoot you on sight. It has to be me or Ciri. I—"
His brow furrowed, his pupils dilated as though looking through her, his whole body went rigid like a cat preparing to leap.
"Something's wrong," he murmured, then his eyes sharpened, stabbing right through her, looking nearly black with thin golden rims. "Get dressed, quickly."
He dashed for the door and out before she could react with any questions.
Ciri was drifting in and out of light slumber — Fringilla's potions definitely aimed to keep her bedridden, she suspected in the back of her mind. When some faint sounds of screams and scuffles reached her ears, she didn't register them at first, groggily assuming it was something from a dream.
But then the doors burst open, nearly tearing off their hinges, and Jagna fell in, trying to scramble to safety on her hands and knees. Ciri's folded clothes she had been carrying went up and landed in a messy heap.
"Run, Your Highness!" the servant girl screamed. "Run, for the grace of the Great Sun, run!"
Two blurry forms appeared in the doorway behind the distressed servant; it took a few moments of blinking and rubbing her eyes for Ciri to realize what was moving closer and growling. The floor tiles beneath them frosted over.
Hounds.
The Hunt was here. They came for her.
Ciri stumbled out of bed in a hurry, moving faster than she thought was possible, faster than should have been possible. Unmindful of her nudity, she grabbed Jagna by the wrist and yanked the maid behind her. "Window! Hurry, Jagna! Aim for the tree."
Ciri posed herself between the maid and the hounds, gaze wildly searching for her sword. Where had it gone? She was going to be ripped to shreds.
"I can't..." Jagna trembled, even as she fumbled with the locks on the window.
"You have to!" Ciri told her, reaching for a standing candleholder, bracing it in front of her like a makeshift weapon. It didn't inspire much confidence, especially when the hounds crept inside and provided her with a visual reminder of how sharp their teeth were.
Two more wandered in, their scruffs bristling, their snarling muzzles drooling. The first two, inspired by reinforcement, got closer, all four surrounding Ciri like a pack of rabid wolves, trying to snap from different directions. Ciri whacked one with her candelabrum, but another managed to sink its teeth in her calf. A comber of icy lightning shot through Ciri's leg, making her groan.
Two other hounds clung to the floor, aiming, and leaped. Desperate, Ciri raised the candelabrum, knowing all too well how useless it would be. Jagna behind her screamed; Ciri's conscience wobbled like the floor beneath her. It was like standing on a ship caught in a violent storm.
The hounds yapped, hitting an invisible barrier an inch from Ciri's body, and rolled over the floor, jumping on their legs and shaking their heads in momentary confusion. There was someone else in the room, Ciri registered — a naked figure with a disarray of raven curls and shining violet eyes, with a towel pooling around her feet where it dropped as she raised her hands to create a shield. The hounds were furious, leaping and launching themselves at the shield, drool and foam flying, jaws snapping.
Through her foggy confusion, Ciri heard the clashing of swords outside her ruined doors. A few beats later, two people stumbled in, their swords slashing and hacking, making it seem like an aura of steely shine was dancing around them. One of them was wearing the dark, skeleton armor crowned with a helm topped with a navigator's circle on it. He moved with amazing grace and agility as though that armor was his own skin. Another one allowed him no rest, no free moment to catch a breath, relentlessly attacking and parrying, his white hair flying around his face strained in concentration.
Gnashing his teeth, Geralt jerked forward momentarily, delivering a false attack, making the elf twirl to deflect it, while the Witcher already shifted on his light feet and slammed his sword into the Rider's shoulder, making him stagger. Geralt used that moment to dexterously form the Igni sign, and the hounds howled in pain and fury, caught on fire. Yelping and snarling, they dashed around the room in panic and rage until Yennefer chanted a spell and a sudden swirl of violet light swallowed them like an ocean wave.
Geralt delivered another lucky blow, catching Caranthir in his hip so hard sparks showered from the impact of the blade. The elf growled, staggering back a step — and it was enough for Yennefer's new portal to devour him and snap closed. His heavy sword fell down on the floor with a loud clang.
Jagna and Yennefer rushed to Ciri as she wavered, holding her upright.
Geralt's eyes, widening, then narrowing, darted between Yennefer and Ciri's bleeding leg. He tightened his jaw and looked down under his feet where the clothes were scattered. He picked them up and looked to Yennefer, faltering for just an instant at the sight of her naked glory.
"Dress quickly. You have to get Ciri out of here. To Emhyr."
"What's happening?" Ciri murmured incoherently, straining to keep her full weight off her helpers.
"The Hunt is attacking the castle," Geralt said, passing Ciri's clothes to Jagna once she and Yennefer helped Ciri sit.
"Cirilla!"
Morvran came into view, eyes darting around the room and settling on women fussing over Ciri. Surprise at their state of undress reflected briefly on his face, then Fringilla appeared behind him and rushed to Ciri's side as well.
"Oh gods, Ciri, your leg! Yennefer, let me help her, you're tired. Get dressed. Here, Ciri, hold still a bit... yes... It's going to be better in a moment..."
Morvran and Geralt stepped away towards the door.
"The hounds invaded the castle," Morvran said. "The first portals opened in the cellar. They're opening all over the yard now."
"Yen sent their leader away somewhere," Geralt said. "It might hinder them."
"We can only hope," Morvran said. "We should send Cirilla to a safer place."
"As soon as she's ready." The Witcher peeked into the corridor, listening to the sounds of battle and screams. "They caught us by surprise."
"Not really," General retorted. "We were ready, however not for the inside portals."
"That means surprise," Geralt stated.
"We had a magical shield in place. It wasn't supposed to be breached. There has to be a reason."
"Have you searched the cellar?" Geralt asked.
"There's nothing but wine and supplies."
"They probably found a way to hide their anchor here somewhere."
"The one we had inside the castle disappeared," Morvran said. "It was on Lady Yennefer in the Tower and then someone stole it."
"I don't think it's that one. It has to be that you haven't found."
Ciri let the sorceresses fuss, somewhat unable to keep up with what was happening until they all stepped back enough to let her breathe.
Jagna and Yennefer had dressed her quickly and Fringilla tended to the wound in her leg, closing it up and staunching the bleeding.
"Is Avallac'h here yet?" Ciri asked.
Fringilla shook her head. "Haven't seen him."
What if the Hunt had caught him back at the lake? What if he was now their prisoner or worse?
Ciri stood once she was able, finally reuniting with her sword in its scabbard. It had been pushed under her bed somehow. It felt too heavy in her hands.
"How many are there?" she called out to Morvran and Geralt.
"Hard to count," Morvran said. "Your friends Zoltan and Lady Merigold brought dimeritium bombs to close the portals, but they grow faster than mushrooms in the forest after the rain."
"Like something is helping them here," Geralt said suggestively.
"What could that be?" Ciri frowned, strapping her sword to her back.
"Master Geralt thinks there is an anchor hidden somewhere in the castle," Morvran said.
"It's possible," Ciri conceded. "One of the servants could have been threatened. Or paid off. Even the people making deliveries."
"Then we should find it," Yennefer amended, brushing down her dress she had magically summoned as soon as she had a moment.
"No, you both have to go," Geralt argued, locking his eyes with Yennefer's. "You have to take Ciri to Nilfgaard now."
"Indeed," Morvran said. "You have to leave now."
Ciri shook her head and stepped away from them all as if worried they'd snatch her and send her away. "I need to stay and fight." She looked at Fringilla. "Give me something. Something that'll give me energy."
"You're in no condition to fight," Fringilla said. "Please, be reasonable, let us take you to safety. Don't throw your life away like this, it won't help anyone."
"You have to leave, Ciri," Geralt asked. "Please."
More explosions sounded from outside. Geralt and Morvran hurried away to help the soldiers.
"Get her out of here, Yen!" Geralt ordered before they tried their best to shut the broken doors and hurry toward the sounds of battle.
Yennefer moved her hands once more, summoning a portal that emerged against the wall like a golden cloud. "There is no time to debate this any further, Ciri, we have to leave!" With those words, Yennefer had moved to grasp Ciri's shoulders, guiding her toward the portal at a shove and pull as needed.
Ciri twisted out of her grasp. "I am not leaving them behind to fight this battle on their own!" She made for the door, stumbling and reaching for furniture to keep her balance.
"You're in no condition to even raise your sword," Fringilla reasoned, stalling her by the arm. "Listen to reason, Ciri, let us take you to safety. Your staying here is too much risk."
"You'll put those worrying about you in more danger," Yennefer agreed.
The doors burst open, and one of them flew from its hinges, revealing a Rider baring his sword, his dark skull helmet like a face of death.
Fringilla threw a hand forward, sending the Rider off his feet in a blast of air from her spell, then grabbed Ciri and yanked her into a portal, yelling for Yennefer to flee. The Rider was up again, swords swaying, and rushed for the raven-haired sorceress. Yennefer raised her hands, chanting while backing away to win time.
Ciri and Fringilla stumbled from the portal, clutching at each other not to tumble down. Ciri grabbed at the first piece of furnishing she saw closest, which was a chair, while Fringilla was catching her breath.
"Are you all right?" Vigo asked, gauging her. "There's no time to delay, we must get you out of here. They're searching for you, Ciri. Don't let them win."
"Then give me something!" Ciri demanded. "Come on, Fringilla, I know you can! I know you have the means!"
She met the sorceress' gaze. "Stop underestimating me. This is what I do."
Yennefer had followed their energy from the room, appearing in a flash of gold not too far off from the two, catching the tail end of Ciri's begging.
Fringilla darted a helpless look Yennefer's way, then back to Ciri. "No one in their sane mind underestimates you," she stated, close to pleading. "But, Ciri, if they get you, or worse..."
She stopped herself, her emerald eyes closing for a second. When she looked at Ciri again, her gaze was firm, stern, hard.
"I shall do as you ask. But if you overstrain yourself — remember the people you love you'll be putting in danger with that." She held an open palm toward the girl, a vial on it. "Be very careful how you spend that boost. It's temporal."
"Thank you," Ciri breathed, taking the glass vial from Fringilla's palm. She uncorked it immediately and downed the contents, wincing at the slight unpleasant sting of its aftertaste.
"I'll go take care of the stragglers inside," Ciri said, flexing her fingers and rolling her shoulders, her pulse climbing so quickly it almost made her dizzy. "Be careful, you two."
A quick look of affection thrown in Yennefer's direction, and then at Fringilla, was all Ciri could part with before her newfound energy had her on the move.
Yennefer had followed, providing Ciri any backup she could, manipulating a shield to protect her or provide her time to supply her next move. Yennefer couldn't bring herself to leave or lose sight of Ciri. She wanted to be close to make sure she could push her girl into a portal at the sign of any kind of trouble.
The hallways lay mostly empty as the two women navigated through the palace, though they occasionally stumbled upon wounded soldiers who had made their retreat.
Ciri tried her best not to look at the fallen servants and warriors they found on their way, unwilling to lose her current momentum which allowed her to move more easily than before.
Before long they reached the courtyard. Most of the battles appeared to have moved outside. The clash of metal on metal echoed between the walls, along with the cries of dying men and beasts.
The flowerbeds that had stood proudly a mere hour earlier, rich in color and variety of beautiful flowers, had been trampled by numerous boots and now we're frozen over.
The water flowing from the decorative fountain in the center of the courtyard had suffered a similar fate.
Ciri stepped over a wounded soldier and parried the oncoming attack of a rider with her sword, stopping him from finishing off the poor boy who lay cradling a significant gash in his thigh.
It took only this one maneuver for Ciri to realize her usual agility and grace had not returned with Fringilla's potion, and she was forced to make use of her powers to gain the advantage of her adversary.
She blinked in and out just enough to confuse the tall elf into misreading her intentions. Her sword eventually found its home through the back of his neck, blood gushing as she pulled back and allowed him to collapse to the floor.
Ciri swayed subtly on her feet, already out of breath.
The soldier she saved had passed out from blood loss, and a pack of three hounds was leaping towards Ciri from another side of the ruined garden.
Ciri adjusted her sword in her hand, glancing at Yennefer from the corner of her eye just to ensure the sorceress was not within touching distance before she swung for the first of the approaching beasts.
The blade slashed across its head, sending it careening to the side. But like some impossible and cruel twist, it wasn't enough to bring it down. It joined back in the pack, muzzle deformed, one eye sliced open and gushing blood.
Ciri blinked in and out, hacking and slashing at whatever she could reach.
The hounds snapped and leaped, jumped, and used their magic trying to impale Ciri on one of their ice spikes. The ground frosted over under them.
Yennefer kept aside, aiding Ciri with her magical blasts, keeping a sharp eye on the hounds to make sure none managed to deliver a bite.
It was like hacking through solid ice rather than flesh and once Ciri finally managed to finish off the hound she had already injured, Yennefer gave aid by way of fire and lightning, allowing Ciri's sword to sink into the beasts with a bit more ease.
With a sheen of sweat on her brow, Ciri panted softly as the last hound fell. "I don't remember them being this tough."
"Potions can only do so much. Your body is still trying to heal," Yennefer said from where she stood alert, preparing for any other attack that might come from out of nowhere. She'd managed to avoid physical injury, but even she was beginning to wear down.
"Come on," Ciri urged. "Before we get pinned down again."
The courtyard had cleared out, so they hurried through the rest of the palace and out front where numerous soldiers and mages were battling.
Portals kept appearing and opening at frequent intervals, bringing through several hounds and occasional riders every time. It already felt overwhelming and Ciri began to understand Morvran's earlier statement about how something must be aiding the Hunt in their assault.
Geralt and Zoltan were near the middle of the scuffle doing their best to thin out the number of assaulting beasts. Whereas the Witcher danced between the hounds with his professional agility, pirouetting and dodging the ice spikes attacks while delivering precise and deadly blows, Zoltan was hacking and smashing, swaying his axe in wide arcs, not letting the hounds a moment of focus to launch their trick attacks. Triss and Istredd along with other mages were delivering their magical blasts from the siege walls, showering the portals and invaders with fire, lightning, and dimeritium bombs. General Voorhis, sporting Nilfgaardian armor, fought alongside his and Temerian troops, side by side with Vernon Roche, both shouting commands to their people in short pauses between the steady flow of enemies to slay.
The whole castle yard was brimming in violent chaos; new portals grew as soon as the bombs dust settled to allow it. It pinched Ciri's chest with a strong feeling of helpless despair and weariness — it seemed never-ending.
She ducked, narrowly avoiding a rogue dagger as it soared past her head, its unfortunate owner having been taken down by a snarling hound.
A well-aimed fireball from Triss up above sent the beast howling and yapping back toward its masters, of which there were coming more and more.
There wasn't any time to consider or plot, Ciri dove into the fray with the rest of the warriors, careful not to nick any of her own people with her sword as she fought the oncoming group of two Riders.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed another flash of a new portal opening, and from the globe of light, after a pack of five hounds, walked out another Rider. She turned and saw a familiar helmet shape.
The Navigator. Caranthir.
The elf must have noticed her as well: he raised a hand to wave as if they were old pals meeting for a tea break. Somehow Ciri felt he was smiling under that black skull face. He was mocking her. Beckoning, baiting for a fight.
And he succeeded.
Ciri saw red, imagining Kain crumbling in pain back in the catacombs while the bastard mocked him, reveling in his agony.
She ran at Caranthir without hesitation, suddenly feeling more revived than ever. Caranthir readied his huge sword, expertly twirling it into position.
Ciri's form vanished just as she raised her own sword, reappearing behind Caranthir and delivering her blow.
His heavy armor should have prevented him from moving with ease, but he somehow managed, predicting her attack and turning to parry her weapon before it could hit him.
It only took one counter-move from Caranthir for Ciri to be reminded he outmatched her in strength, meaning she would have to be twice as agile and quick on her feet.
It could be the sounds of raging battle around her that tricked her ear, but she could swear she heard his laughter muffled under his helm. Fury gripped her as she launched herself onto him again, only to be met by three of his hounds that shifted between them, snarling. Another moment and they leaped at her, making her jump, roll, and dodge. Pain burst in her shoulder and legs anew, reminding her how fleeting the effects of potions were.
A lucky slash before she rolled away from another snap, and one hound whined, limping, and then fell on the ground.
Two to go, she thought, but her mind was buzzing with Caranthir's name. He slayed one of the Temerian soldiers and waved at her again, his gloved fingers wiggling. And then he disappeared from her sight.
She had to find him. She had to dispose of these mutts and find him.
And so she fought viciously, aided in part by the mages up on the balcony overlooking the yard, who continued to launch magic projectiles at the bloodthirsty hounds.
Once the beasts lay defeated on the cobblestones and Ciri was free to move again, she scanned her nearby surroundings for signs of Caranthir. When it was clear he was not there, she ran back to the entrance of the palace, hunting him down as though their roles had become reversed.
Ciri had no intention of taking prisoners, however. She wanted Caranthir's blood to stain her hands, to spatter across her face and lips. To bleed him dry and delight in the sight of his corpse.
She found him finally in the courtyard, his helmet removed, his back to her as if he hadn't a care in the world. And yet, he turned to block her attack once more as she advanced, catching Ciri in the jaw with his elbow as she made to dart past him.
Blood seeped between her lower teeth and filled her mouth with the taste of iron. She spat on the ground and attacked again, undeterred.
Their swords continued to clash. Neither drew blood again as their battle waged on.
Ciri managed to deliver a kick to the back of Caranthir's knee as she danced around him, forcing him into a one-legged kneeling position on the floor. Boldly, she took hold of his blonde locks, bringing his face down to meet her lifted knee. She hurried to twirl back out of his reach before he could pay her back with his hands or sword.
With a labored breath, Ciri turned back to him, wiping her bloodied mouth with the back of her hand. "Do you always make those mutts fight for you? Scared to get those bony hands dirty?"
Caranthir laughed, sweeping a hand over his bloodied nose, healing it instantly as though too vain to have it mar his beauty.
"It's exactly the fight the likes of you deserve — dogs fighting dogs." He gestured around, at all the dead lying on the ground of the ruined garden. "Even our mutts are too much for dh'oine."
"Says the one whose mortal enemies are unicorns," Ciri sneered, eyeing him up and down as if it was the first time she'd seen him, taking the opportunity to catch her breath. He hadn't changed a bit since her time in Tir ná Lia all those years ago. "Where's your master? Still recovering from last time?"
"He's quite well and very busy at the moment." He leered at her, twirling his sword as he paced slowly before her like a predatory cat. "Soon enough you shall see him. When he claims you as his rightful property."
Ciri barely managed to hold back a grimace. "Like he claimed you? When Avallac'h discarded you?"
"No one claimed me, nor I needed it," he wrinkled his nose. "Your Crevan is no more than an old fool. I never regretted choosing my alliances. I chose my people while the old Fox chose his own ambition, his own hurt pride that he turned into an obsession with her face. Your face." He cracked a wry smile. "It's all you are for him — a morbid reminder of what he lost. A precious mask on a worthless stick."
Ciri breathed a laugh. "Oh, we both know that is a lie. If not, you idiots have sacrificed an awful lot to claim something of no value."
She twirled her sword as well, light on her feet as they moved like polar opposites, a choreographed dance in a circle.
"Does it wound your pride to know you – The Golden Child – cannot be their savior?"
"Little do you know, dh'oine," he hissed, then offered another spiteful smirk. "There is no one you can save. Not your own family, nor any other realm. Not on your own, never on your own. You're a flawed creature, a wretched being whose sole purpose in life is to spread her legs for the right male."
He threw his free hand forth, and Ciri flew backwards, hit by a wave of icy air that bit her lungs and skin as though charged with shards of glass.
She landed harshly on the stone floor, barely avoiding the back of her head taking part of the impact. It was hard to breathe, and she had to fight her natural instinct to stay down and allow her lungs to adjust, pushing herself back up only to roll out of the way as Caranthir sent another icy projectile her way.
At this rate, the elves would kill her before actually managing to put a child in her. In truth, part of her preferred that.
Ciri felt as though the effect of Fringilla's potion was coming to its last. Now she was no longer the one attacking, instead evading and dodging Caranthir's masterful maneuvers as he seemingly did his best to remove one of her limbs. There were moments where Ciri truly believed he would succeed, his sword coming so close she thought she had felt the cold steel graze her skin.
But like a child who had mastered the game of tag, she was unpredictable, feinting one way only to choose another at the last second, staying close enough for Caranthir to continue using his sword rather than magic. It took him longer to tire but she knew with every swing of that heavy weapon, his next attempt would be just a little bit slower.
Still, whether by skill or luck, his sword caught hers, knocking it out of her hand and making it skitter across the floor. The hilt of his weapon slammed into her chest seconds later, forcing Ciri back. Once more it hurt to breathe and she worried he had actually managed to break her sternum.
But she didn't have long to contemplate or examine; he was grinning down at her with that gleeful expression she'd come to loathe and he was readying himself for another blow. The last. Ciri wouldn't be able to take another.
Her hand fell to the dagger in her belt, so short and slender compared to her lost sword. But it would have to do. It would have to be enough.
With her last burst of energy, she teleported, landing atop Caranthir's back. Her legs wrapped around him from behind. She was like a monkey clinging onto a tree that was trying to dislodge her.
Her free hand palmed the elf's handsome face, purposely blocking his sight and drawing his head back to expose the top of his throat beneath his armor. Her dagger dragged across that sensitive skin – once, twice – deeper than what was necessary. She was worried he would manage to heal before collapsing.
Ciri squeezed him between her thighs, clambering onto his tall frame as he swayed, his sword eventually dropping to free up his hands. They clutched the gaping gash in his throat, but it was too late. Too much blood escaped and spilled down his front.
Strange, muffled gurgling noises erupted from Caranthir's mouth and his legs gave out, sending him to his knees, toppling both him and Ciri to the floor.
Ciri didn't release him, feeling a perverse sense of pleasure as his body went limp beneath hers.
She had done it.
She had won.
Once a few more moments passed and the initial high of the kill receded, she released her hold on Caranthir and pushed herself to her knees. She wanted a good look at him. To assure herself he was really dead.
She found a part of his neck that was uninjured and put her fingers to it, feeling for a pulse. There was none. No heartbeat. And his face was a sickly pale. Almost in a shade of blue.
What will Avallac'h say, she wondered, once he found out what she had done? Would he forgive her? And where was he? She had expected him to return to her when she lay in bed, injured.
Instead, Caranthir had been there, Ciri realized. With Geralt. The two had fought and one of the sorceresses had sent the elf away in a portal.
Where had she sent him? How had he managed to return so quickly? She knew Caranthir was a skilled navigator but he still had to sometimes rely on locating portals that were already in existence, taking into consideration when they would appear — especially when navigating around unfamiliar places. Just as Avallac'h did.
Of course, the Caranthir in her room had never removed his helmet. She hadn't seen his face. Could it be that one had been an imposter?
She strained to roll him over onto his back, examining his armor which should have been dented and scratched from Geralt's earlier strikes. But there were none that matched.
A thought that was forced from her mind as an ice-blue portal came to life further down the courtyard, humming with energy.
Right. They need to be stopped.
There had to be an anchor somewhere in the palace. And if she was to find it and dispose of it, The Hunt would immediately lose their current advantage.
Ciri vanished on the spot, appearing back inside the palace and down in the cellars. It was the most logical location for someone to have hidden away any magical artifact and have it not be noticed. Though the servants would visit frequently enough, they would not pay the same attention as they did upstairs, far more relaxed with the cleaning of the dark underground cavern than they were with the bed chambers, studies, and throne room.
She walked the space as briskly as she was able while still paying attention to her surroundings but quickly realized searching for the anchor in the old-fashioned way would take far too long. The room seemed to go on forever and was stocked from floor to ceiling with caskets of wine and mead, along with shelves harboring an impressive collection of cured meats and pickled vegetables.
Down here she could hardly even hear any of the commotion going on outside and it made it easier to concentrate once Avallac'h's astute gaze popped into her mind, reminding her of the methods he would have her use instead of acting like the dh'oine she was raised.
Just like she had done in the catacombs below Oxenfurt, Ciri closed her eyes and focused her senses, sending her energy out into the room like invisible tentacles searching for anything that did not belong in a palace cellar.
A few minutes passed and she was near giving up due to the urgency of the situation when her heart skipped a beat, a thrill of excitement shooting up her spine and signaling that she had found what she was looking for.
Ciri opened her eyes and peered down at the stone floor beneath her boots, slowly lowering into a crouch to touch it with a hand. The energy that pulsed below was faint, like a dying heartbeat. But it was definitely there.
The first thought that sprung to the forefront of her mind was that, somehow, someone had managed to bury an anchor beneath the floor itself. But that was foolish. The stone was whole and undisturbed, no different than the rest of the cellar floor.
So her thoughts backtracked to Avallac'h and the Oxenfurt catacombs.
Vizima had once belonged to the elves. In fact, this whole world had. It was entirely possible they could have built a similar network of caves and tunnels beneath this city as well. Undiscovered and hidden from its current occupants.
It seemed that once more, she would have to leap.
This time was far more nerve-racking than any other. To teleport to a place she had never seen nor visited before always came with great risks. Avallac'h had always discouraged it, with the exception of discovering new worlds where they could hide.
But it had to be done.
Ciri breathed deeply, allowing herself the time to refocus properly.
The buzzing in her ears was intense when she next opened her eyes, and a dull ache throbbed behind her brow. The air around her had shifted, turned stale and dank. She was blinded by the darkness.
Drawing a shaky breath, Ciri rose to her feet. She stepped back in fright when two glowing orbs lit up ahead, illuminating a circular chamber of crumbling marble and broken elven statues. Droplets of water fell from the ceiling every now and then, evidently the only life source of the thick green vines that climbed every wall. How they managed without any natural light, Ciri did not know.
Her hand had reached for her sword once the lights turned on but it was quickly made clear Ciri was the only living creature down there. She could see where an archway had once led back out to what she assumed were tunnels, but it was now covered in a pile of rock, as though the walls and ceiling had crumbled around it and blocked every entrance. And exit.
Coincidence? No, she thought not.
Because a few feet from where she had appeared lay the decaying carcasses of three ice hounds. Their death had to be recent because the smell was enough to make Ciri want to double over and purge everything she had managed to ingest that day. That, and the beasts still had yet to be fully consumed by maggots and beetles, creatures who always managed to spawn where death occurred. No matter how improbable the location.
Each hound had a leather collar around their thick necks, and each collar was embedded with medallions of Ciri's face.
Lara. The anchors.
Ciri held her breath as she inched close and began to undo the collars, keeping her eyes trained on their muzzles in fear they would suddenly wake and tear her hands from her wrists.
Once she held all three collars, she finally felt a sense of victory. An excited glee to dispose of the anchors and know she had done her part in sabotaging The Hunt's plan.
But how to get rid of them?
Again, her first thought was the most obvious: to leap away with the anchors and leave them in some godforsaken place no one would ever find.
But that would mean a long leap. A lot of energy spent. What if she was unable to make her way back and she was stuck out there in a wasteland without anyone knowing what had happened to her?
No. She would have to take a different approach.
Considering the anchors in her hands, she rubbed one thumb over Lara's familiar face. The smooth stone carving.
Stone.
Avallac'h and his lessons in using her gift to crush stones revisited her memory. It was almost as if the sage had known she would need to know how for this very purpose.
Because she was a source of destruction, was she not? It is what the prophecies foretold. Daughter of Chaos. Destroyer of worlds.
Her scream alone could tear the flesh from bone given it went on for long enough.
She had the power.
Ciri could do this. No matter how much her head ached and her limbs shook.
She dropped the anchors to the floor. From within, she summoned all the energy she could muster, making her intentions clear, enveloping the anchors in her essence. Before her mind's eye, she envisioned every molecule of the beautiful medallions separating, being forced apart until they crumbled like wet sand.
As her palms smacked together in a forceful clap, her inner scenario played out at a rapid pace, the sound of her magic ravaging the anchors echoing around the chamber so loudly the foundations shook.
Ciri smiled at her success, breathing heavily, feeling high on the euphoria and adrenaline that courses through her veins.
So much so, she didn't notice that her face had become wet and streaked with blood seeping from both eyes and nostrils.
She didn't realize how tired she was or how much pain assaulted her body before she collapsed in an unconscious heap on the floor.
Another hound dropped, its legs jerking a few times before it stilled. Panting, Geralt leaned onto his sword, surveying the yard. A few more beasts were still yapping and jumping around, one of them caught fire from one of Triss's projectiles, but a group of warriors led by Zoltan surrounded them to finish the job.
"You all right?" Roche stood by him, also trying to get his breath in order. "You look like a dead man walking."
"My concoction," the Witcher explained and jerked his chin indicating the battlefield. "Many dead?"
Roche shrugged. "Would be much more had there been more of those skeleton wraiths. The bloody beasts were bad, but not what I've heard of Oxenfurt. Ice magic... Did they really freeze people solid?"
"What you heard must be a bit exaggerated, but all in all their ice magic is deadly, indeed. Many died because their frozen legs snapped and broke."
Roche winced, wiping his sword.
"Have you seen Yennefer?" Geralt asked.
"Not certain I have. She must be among the mages. On the wall, mayhap."
"She was supposed to be with Ciri," Geralt murmured.
Yennefer materialized as if she'd been summoned from the mist. Only she was limping, bloodied, having been caught in her own fight. "Has anyone seen Ciri?!"
Icy dread rushed through Geralt's spine like a mountain river. "You were supposed to watch her! Never leave her side!"
Roche put a hand on Geralt's shoulder and looked at Yennefer, "What happened?"
Yennefer decided not to supply Geralt with a response to his outburst. She understood it. Like him, she was beyond worried about her. "Ciri insisted on fighting. Refused to leave. I stuck with her through the palace and once we moved outside lost her among the Riders. The last time I saw her she was fighting one of their navigators. I couldn't get to her, too many hounds between us. I couldn't help—"
"You're a mage, can't you cast some spell and find her?" Geralt demanded. The hollow fear for Ciri was gnawing through his chest and gut, and the pain was nearly physical. His eyes darted around the yard wishing to seize her silhouette among the survivors.
"I'll gather some friends, we'll look," Roche said and went to do that.
"It's the first thing I did!" Yennefer insisted. "Her energy is erratic!" But also the sorceress had worn herself down quite a bit. As if to sate Geralt, despite what Roche had said, Yennefer began to focus again, raising her hands to set about finding Ciri again.
"Thank gods you're all right," Triss said, approaching. Fringilla and Istredd were close on her heel.
"Yenna!" Istredd dashed to her. "Are you hurt? Oh dear, let me help. Shh, hold still just a moment."
"Ciri is gone somewhere," Geralt told Triss and Fringilla, watching Istredd fuss over Yennefer from the corner of his eye. The sight somehow made him want to whack the wizard with his sword. "Yennefer lost sight of her, she was fighting some elf."
"Oh, it's not good," Triss looked frightened. "We'll try to find her as quickly as we can."
"Are you certain her sage didn't sweep her away?" Fringilla asked.
Geralt shook his head, frustrated. "I'm not sure of anything. I can't lose her now."
"You won't," Fringilla said, squeezing his arm in support. "We'll do our best."
Yennefer relaxed into Istredd's care, letting him tend to her wounds and increasing concerns, knowing that whatever he did would only serve to help find Ciri sooner. When she was certain she could exert more energy, she broke away from his grip, preparing to search through the remnants of their war for Ciri's energy. "I'm going to find her," she promised, imploring Istredd to do the same with her gaze.
Geralt, joined with Zoltan and Roche, informed Morvran who also gathered all available soldiers and mages to search for the ashen-haired princess. Soon enough they all had to admit she was nowhere to be found.
"It must be the sage," Morvran said. "If she insisted on fighting even in her state, she'd never have left on her own will. He must've found her and convinced her to flee."
"Perhaps it's why their attack waned," Roche suggested.
"Then maybe she will return when she can," Morvran said and glanced at Geralt seeking confirmation.
Geralt was grim as a wounded bear. "If that's true, we can only hope."
"General! General!"
A young soldier with a scratch on his face from the battle was running towards them, looking scared.
"General!" he gasped, paying no mind to Geralt and Roche, his eyes bulging and locked on Morvran. He was panting. "One of our mages... Novigrad... The city is under attack! Like here, but worse! Much worse!"
Morvran's face darkened with recognition. "They were distracting us here. To take Novigrad. But how would they have enough troops..."
"There's some monstrous magic, m'lord!" the soldier said. "They're using magic!"
"Dandelion's there," Zoltan muttered. He had approached earlier and listened in.
"We have to go there now," Geralt urged. Before it's too late."
"We have to use all available mages to send us there," Morvran said. "It's going to take time, but there is no other way."
"Let's go," Roche said. "We can't lose Novigrad."
"Geralt!" Yennefer's hand hooked onto his belt, stalling him and drawing his attention. Anxiety was splashing in her widened eyes. "I can't go until we find Ciri. We need to find her!"
"What if she's gone to another world?" he played back. "What can we do then? Run around this castle while the bloody elves kill our friends and destroy Novigrad?"
Her eyes narrowed with pain, but she couldn't find any arguments to contradict him. He was right - Ciri might be too far to reach and Dandelion...
"All right," she nodded, her hand slipped off his belt, her shoulders slumped in resignation. "I will take you."
"Go, I'll find a mage to take me," Zoltan said.
"It's all right," Yennefer said. "I will try to take you both. Give me a moment. I'll do it."
She closed her eyes, collected her remaining strength, and raised her hands.
A golden swirl began in front of her.