"Zireael. Zireael, wake up. Ciri…"
Avallac'h's soft, familiar voice pierced Ciri's stupor and slowly brought her back to the surface of consciousness. Her head was aching and her mouth felt uncomfortably dry. She was dehydrated. And exhausted.
"Avallac'h?" she murmured, eventually blinking her eyes open to see the elf's face peer down at her with concern.
"Slowly," he cautioned as he helped her sit up, letting her back rest against his propped-up leg. "What have you done? Were you trying to end yourself, luned?" He pushed her hair from her blood-streaked face, examining her.
Ciri couldn't help but smile. "I found the anchors. Destroyed them. Did it stop the portals?"
Avallac'h regarded her curiously. "They have stopped. Here."
It took Ciri a moment to catch on to what he said. "Here?"
"I believe what happened here was a mere distraction. The real attack is happening in Novigrad as we speak."
Ciri's eyes widened in surprise. Then fear.
Dandelion. Fealinn.
"We have to go help." She pushed herself up to stand and immediately toppled over, the only reason she didn't slam into the floor again was Avallac'h catching her at the speed of lightning.
"In this condition? What help will you be when you cannot even stand on your two feet, Zireael?"
"Fringilla gave me something. A potion. It gave me enough energy to fight." Ciri looked up into Avallac'h's eyes. "You can do the same, yes? There must be a potion you have or some concoction?"
Avallac'h appeared reluctant, taking in her weakened state, the cuts and scrapes, the blood that had dried beneath her eyes and nose. "It would be unwise to push yourself further tonight."
"Avallac'h, please… You know I can lead them away. We can do it together, just like old times. You and I."
Ciri wasn't sure what she saw on the elf's face just then. But it was something other than the disapproval he'd watched her with earlier.
He steered Ciri over to a large wooden crate, allowing her to sit before he himself stepped away, murmuring something she couldn't hear under his breath. There was a quick flash of light erupting between his clasped hands, and when he turned back to face her, she noticed the blue ampoule resting on his palm.
"What is it?"
He offered it to her. "Does it matter?"
It didn't. Ciri took it without hesitation, pulled out the cork, and brought the vial to her lips, drinking.
Ciri yelped with surprise as she lost her footing, Avallac'h's hand pulling her out of the way as part of the roof collapsed above them, raining down in bricks and dust on the street outside Rosemary and Thyme.
She had teleported them there moments earlier and had found the establishment to be on the brink of ruin. One of the walls was destroyed entirely, merging with a heap of rubble from what had used to be the neighboring building.
The sky over Novigrad was dark and stormy with clouds so thick, dark, and ominous it seemed a part of a hellish dimension was attempting to seep through the fabric of their world. There was the occasional sound of thunder that made the ground shake. Like some great weather god had decided it was time for the world to come to an end.
"What is this?" Ciri called to Avallac'h.
He didn't have time to answer before lightning struck from above and sealed the inn's fate. It all came down.
Ciri's stomach turned in fear, her thoughts on Dandelion and his whereabouts, his safety, as Avallac'h dragged her away to keep a safe distance from the fire that had begun.
"That was targeted!" Ciri accused, glaring up at the sky, incredulous.
"If you wish to be of use before my potion loses effect, we cannot linger to watch the destruction," Avallac'h said, his tone carrying a hint of urgency that was unlike him.
He held her hand tightly in his as they hurried down the street, trying not to crash into the panicking civilians that ran for their lives.
It wasn't long before Ciri spied Triss' notable reddish hair and dusty green attire among a group of women, and she led Avallac'h that way, glad to discover Yennefer was there as well as Fringilla and, surprisingly, Francesca.
"Yennefer!"
"Ciri!" Yennefer yelled to be heard above the noise from the storm, her heart starting anew as she charged toward Ciri. It wasn't long before her arms had secured themselves around Ciri, hugging her tightly. "We've been so worried!"
"Me too," Ciri breathed into the sorceress's hair, even though she hadn't truly had enough time to worry. "Are you alright? Where is Geralt?"
"Geralt and others are trying to get to Aen Elle," Francesca said, slapping dust from her gown's sleeve and casting a sardonic eye at the sage behind Ciri. "They're using Scoia'tael and their hounds as shields this time."
Fringilla stepped closer to Ciri, her eyes skimming along the girl's figure as if seeking out wounds. "Where have you been?! We looked all over."
Ciri frowned and pulled away from Yennefer. She was surprised Francesca had come, but her attention went to Vigo. "The palace cellar in Vizima," she said. "I found the anchors that allowed them to open all those portals with such ease, and destroyed them."
Yennefer kissed both Ciri's cheeks, a quick show of affection before forcing herself to let her go. "How are you feeling? Have the potions started to alleviate?"
"I'm fine," Ciri said with a small smile, very aware of Avallac'h so close behind her. Like a guardian angel watching her every move.
Yennefer smiled. "Good. Try and stay in one piece."
Ciri looked to the sky anew as another flash of lightning hit a new target somewhere out of view. "What on earth is that?" she called over the rumble and the wind that wreaked havoc. "What is causing it?"
A swirl of energy appeared next to where they kept under what remained of a store roof, right on the wall, and Triss all but fell out, her hair disheveled, her anxious eyes seizing Yennefer first.
"Nearly no Riders in the center," she reported. "They're using hounds and Scoia'tael with their bows and swords for slaying people that try to run— Oh, Ciri!" A grin bloomed on her face marred with smears of ashes and dust, she went for a quick hug. "So happy you're all right! Where have you— never mind. Right now it's ten times worse, if not more. Gods, I don't know how we get out of this one with so few mages we have here!"
"We have to portal soldiers here, and most of our mages are exhausted," Fringilla explained when Ciri darted a confused look her way. "To answer your question, Ciri, this," she pointed at the apocalyptic dark sky with lightning zigging through them and down at the city, "is a very angry djinn. The Hunt brought a djinn to fight their fight."
"That if we trust Yennefer on it," Francesca added. "Apparently, she's quite an expert." A brief smirk touched her lips.
"A djinn?" Ciri was incredulous once more. She glanced at Avallac'h to gauge his reaction but, as usual, his expression was unreadable. "Where did The Hunt get a djinn?"
"That is a great question," Triss said, "but knowing the answer would hardly help us win this. It's a massacre closer to the central square, Ciri. You can't see it from here, but so many houses lay in ruins… Those tornadoes and lighting are very deadly. So many people died—"
"Yes, yes, tragic," Francesca put in with a dismissive flap of her hand. "But instead of whining, we have to find a way to stop it. So," she looked to Yennefer with a demanding stare, "what do we do?"
"Triss, do you have any more dimeritium bombs left?" Yennefer asked.
"I'm not sure," Triss frowned. "Zoltan and Geralt took some with them, and the rest were with those two Nilfgaardian mages covering them… But there were just a few left, and with the size that djinn is now it's impossible to hit him with it — mostly we were closing portals that bring hounds."
Francesca laughed; there was no mirth in it. "You want to kill it with a bomb? Oh dear, it can only do something if you let it swallow you first."
Yennefer flashed a glower her way. "I don't want to kill it with bombs, I wanted to weaken it." But with no bombs, it was useless arguing the process. "We need to calm it down. Push enough magic into it to force it into submission. With how large it is, I doubt we'd be able to injure it on a physical level so holding it is our best hope. Without finding who controls it and breaking its seal we are doomed."
"You think this has any physical level?" Francesca asked, her finger pointing to the raging sky.
As if in response, another strike blasted the roof of the building next to them. The women screamed, ducking with hands over their heads protectively; Avallac'h immediately jerked Ciri to him to cover her with a magical shield. The debris showered over them as they tried to take cover around the corner.
"Never mind that," Fringilla said, coughing as the dust cloud reached them. "There are six or seven mages here including us. You think we can manage a force that big, Yennefer? It seems swollen with magic already, as though the destruction feeds it."
"Perhaps it's how it is," Triss said. "Or whoever commands it is a very powerful mage — with Aen Elle, it's no wonder. Their magic is powerful enough without any djinns involved."
"The sorceress is right," Avallac'h put in. The witches had almost forgotten he was there, keeping quiet and behind, as though the chaos around could do nothing to him. "The one wielding this djinn has a significant might in magic. Without taking the seal from him you cannot stop this, nor make the djinn change masters. Your only hope is to destroy the djinn itself or get as close to it as possible for the seal to crack."
Yennefer studied Avallac'h, appreciative of his agreement. "Destruction does feed it," Yennefer stated. "This is why we have to avoid elemental magic or anything of that nature. Focus only on the defensive and try to find out which of their soldiers stands out amidst the chaos. He'll be one of the few least affected."
"I think I saw just a few Riders on the streets," Triss said. "They were led by the navigator mage. Their main one with a circle on his helmet and a staff. He might be the one."
"What?" Ciri's attention snapped to Triss. "Caranthir? No, you must be mistaken."
"I've seen him, too," Fringilla said. "I don't know the name, however - never stopped to ask."
"Why do you think it's a mistake?" Triss asked. "Because he's been at Vizima? But he's a navigator, he travels fast."
Ciri shook her head, confusion continuing to brew. "No, Caranthir is already dead. I killed him."
She glanced at Avallac'h who was watching her dubiously.
"I did! I swear! We fought, we talked! And I slit his throat. He bled out in my arms."
Nothing in the sage's face changed to indicate he was sad or disappointed. He eyeballed Ciri with calm incredulity. "You are a good warrior, Zireael, but killing Caranthir in the state you were in would have been a very unlikely result."
"Yes, it was!" Ciri exclaimed. "He nearly killed me several times. Do you think I am lying?"
"I think you are confused," Avallac'h said. "He was alive when I came for you."
"Maybe they wear the same helmet to confuse us," Triss suggested. "And the one you killed was an imposter?"
"He took his helmet off! I saw his face!" Ciri was growing angry, mostly because they all had so little faith in her words. "We talked! He teleported, Avallac'h! It was him!"
"If you believe so," he said, "then who is leading the attack? He is the general. Eredin would enable no one else."
Ciri momentarily wondered if she was losing her mind, beginning to question if what she had seen was true.
But when her eyes caught the dried blood on her hands and arms, all doubt vanished. His blood.
Her anger returned in full force. "Where did you see him? Point the way."
"Somewhere around the Hierarch Square on horseback, with a couple of lower soldiers in skull helms," Triss said. "But he could have left. Let me take you." She turned and opened a portal in the wall.
Ciri stepped in immediately, Avallac'h hot on her tail as if unwilling to let her out of his sight.
They stepped out on the corner of the square, close to Vivaldi's Bank, their surroundings suddenly plunged into darker chaos. There were screaming and crying civilians everywhere, some appearing to be carrying their most valuable belongings. Others had nothing at all. The square was covered with the corpses of both unfortunate civilians and guards. Some wore black Nilfgaardian armor. All bodies were grey with ashes peppering them from the angry skies. The few survivors were blocked in on all sides by vicious hounds and elves eager to release their arrows into dh'oine flesh.
Ciri drew her sword, visually scanning the crowd, seeking out anything resembling Caranthir's armor or blond hair.
There was a battle raging in one of the nearest streets, they heard.
"Geralt and Zoltan must be there," Triss whispered. "They needed to break the Scoia'tael blockade. Two Nilfgaardian mages are helping them."
"There," Avallac'h said, and they followed his gaze to a tall dark figure on an armored horse on the other side of the square. The circle on his helmet stood out among the other three Riders beside him. They were conversing with a group of Aen Seidhe who looked as if they were receiving commands.
Ciri scowled. "How do we know this one isn't the imposter?"
"I have no idea what he is supposed to look like without his helmet," Triss said.
Avallac'h kept silent, his face inscrutable in his nonchalant serenity.
Maybe this was just another navigator, Ciri mused silently. Caranthir could have been in charge of Vizima and this other one went for Novigrad.
Though wouldn't it have been the other way around? Surely, Caranthir would be in charge of the most important location?
"Is he able to make doppelgangers?" Ciri asked Avallac'h through gritted teeth.
Avallac'h shook his head. "Illusions are easy. But the way you described would have required a different kind of magic, more complicated and intricate."
Something thundered above, and they barely managed to dash and roll away before the place where they hid exploded with lightning hitting it. Vivaldi's Bank stood miraculously whole among the rubble, holding its ground within its own magical bubble of protection apparently not even an enraged djinn could break. Yet.
"Ciri!" Triss called above the sounds of stones falling down after the blast. "We need to go! Flee!"
"She's right," Avallac'h urged, grasping Ciri's arm to pull her to her feet in one tug. "You shouldn't have been here."
"They need to see me!" Ciri called back. "Otherwise they might not follow when I leap."
Avallac'h said nothing and merely used his superior strength to pull Ciri back into Triss's swirling portal.
Another lightning shot to where the portal was. Avallac'h chanted a curt spell, and they fell out of the swirl in one heap at Fringilla and Yennefer's feet.
"Oh, that was close," Triss said, rubbing the hip she had landed on. "We almost died."
"Now the djinn knows where to attack next," Avallac'h said, brushing the dirt from his robe. "We have to leave, Zireael. It's dangerous for you to remain here."
"Take her," Yennefer agreed, helping Ciri off the ground. She hated giving Sage consent in any way, but things had gotten far too dangerous for all of them. Ciri couldn't take any more hard hits and there would come a time when potions would become useless.
"It's dangerous for everyone!" Ciri pointed out, leaning on Yennefer before swiping hair away from her eyes, the wild wind making it hard. "Besides, someone has to have your back while you deal with the djinn."
Judging by what they said earlier, all the sorceresses would be too preoccupied with the djinn to actually protect themselves.
"We need to do something now. Or the city is lost."
Avallac'h took Ciri by the shoulders. "Let them handle it. They will perform better knowing you are–"
His words were cut short as a sudden influx of fleeing civilians rushed in, nearly knocking several of the sorceresses off their feet as they crashed into them in a panic.
A few of the people dropped, several lethal arrows from the bows of Scoia'tael warriors sticking from their backs.
A group of Redanian soldiers followed the elves into the street, smashing into them. Another lightning shot into a house next to where the sorceresses were, chipping another huge chunk of it and turning it into dust. They immediately opened portals to escape, tugging Ciri with them.
They landed on one of the narrow streets. A few bodies lay scattered, some with arrows, some charred.
"We have to gather all mages and restrain that djinn," Fringilla said. "We cannot wait any longer. Any moment we wait one of those lightnings can get Geralt or Morvran."
"I'll get the Nilfgaardian mages," Triss said. "Try not to draw attention and put up a shield. I'll try to be quick.
She disappeared into her portal.
"Caranthir won't remain in the city," Avallac'h said. "He would keep outside, closer to Eredin, coming here merely to allow Zireael to spot him. This is a trap — one we cannot fall into."
"But we have to be close to him to subdue the djinn?" Ciri asked Yennefer, her back against the brick wall as she peered out from the currently abandoned street they stood on. She suspected it wouldn't be long before the djinn sensed their new location.
"As soon as you attract his attention, it shall not matter where you stand," Avallac'h said.
Two portals opened next to them, letting Triss and two Nilfgaardian mages out. One of the women looked battered, scratches and dirt on her face and hands, her clothes dusty. She had been here from the start, one of the protective units Morvran had sent out upon striking the deal with The Hierarch.
"We have to hurry," she said. "General Voorhis and Count Dijkstra with their allies are unprotected while we're here."
"It's not going to be that easy," Francesca retorted. "We can all die here — it's a hell of a huge djinn up there. None of us have trained for this kind of nonsense."
"It's war," Yennefer stated, meeting Francesca's gaze before addressing the other mages. "As soon as we cast the first blow the Djinn is going to hit us with everything. Two of you will focus shields to keep us from being instantly struck down." Yennefer pointed out two mages and then moved on to the next stage. "The rest of us will attack the Djinn with every bit of defensive magic that we know. Any offensive magic can make it stronger so don't rely on your securities too much, try the draining spells rather than elemental blows."
Letting the mages absorb the information and take a few seconds to mentally prepare, Yennefer guided Ciri a couple of steps away for a private moment.
"Find Geralt and stick close to him."
"No," Avallac'h interjected, one hand on Ciri's shoulder. "You should not enter yet another battle with hounds and warriors. You must preserve your energy for later."
Ciri was torn between wanting to check on Geralt and minding Avallac'h's advice. But he was right. If Ciri were to stand a chance at eventually leading The Hunt out of the city, she couldn't waste all her strength on swordplay.
"I better stay here for a while," she told Yennefer. "I will watch your backs."
"Stay safe as much as possible," Yennefer said, rejoining the mages. "It will be very rough."
Within minutes and after one final run-through on what to do, the sky filled with an array of colors that began to combat the billow of black clouds and flashes of lethal light taking down structures or civilians.
As one they dueled with an enemy they couldn't see, every Mage pouring their life energy through their hands and spells. The Djinn descended on the mages like a ravenous predator with a whirlwind for a body, the wind howling and whistling in their ears as if it was shouting its fury, lightning raining down around them with a precision that matched the Scoia'tael warriors' former slew of arrows.
A handful of the mages cowered as the eye of the storm drew in tighter, thinning the air around them, the hairs on the backs of their necks standing on end, electricity teasing their clawing fingertips. Some shouted their spells, while others murmured.
"It isn't weakening!" Triss yelled at Yennefer in distress, a harsh whip of lightning making her jump as it struck one of the two Nilfgaardian mages supplying their shield. The mage collapsed, skin charred and blistered, instantly dead.
"KEEP FOCUS!" Yennefer shouted back without looking at Triss, gaze trained on the clouds that had now begun to swirl viciously, to close around them, swallowing the world outside of their sphere, snapping the bones of the mages unfortunate enough to be momentarily caught without the shield's protection. "KEEP PUSHING!"
Ciri watched in horror as several of the sorceresses fell, one charred beyond recognition, Triss and Francesca clutching broken limbs with howls of pain.
Even Yennefer and Fringilla still standing under the protection of the shield were not unharmed, blood streaking from their eyes and noses in proof of how much magic they were exerting.
For once, even Avallac'h looked concerned, his hand on Ciri's shoulder only tightening when she instinctively reached for one of the fallen sorceresses with the intention of pulling her back under the shield.
"We have to do something!" Ciri called to him.
"You have to leave," Avallac'h replied over the roar of the wind. "The djinn will not discriminate in who it harms. It does not care that Eredin wants you alive!"
"We can stop it!" Ciri argued. "We both have magic! We can help! Please, Avallac'h!"
Strands of the elf's blond hair rose from his head, charged by the electricity running rampant in the air. His lips were pursed in a thin line as he considered Ciri's pleading face.
In a rush of quick movement, he grabbed her and turned her back to his chest, his hands cradling the back of hers as he guided them.
"Close your eyes," he demanded, "and focus only on subduing the djinn. Pay no mind to anyone else, even if they should fall beside you. This is your one and only chance."
Ciri complied, as always feeling more confident in her magical abilities when her mentor was guiding her, telling her what to do, and how to think to conjure up her magnificent power.
Avallac'h spoke into her ear, his voice calm and commanding, invoking a state of meditation in Ciri's mind where she allowed the Elder Blood itself to take over.
When something finally happened and energy shot from her hands like powerful torchlight, Ciri's eyes opened, glowing.
They were entirely white.
"Somethin' is happenin," Zoltan said. The dwarf and the Witcher, leading a group of Temerian and Nilfgaardian soldiers, were taking cover in a narrow alley from the steady shower of lightning and arrows.
Geralt watched the dark skies flashing with blue, red, and violet lightning, thunder cracking like a cry of giants crumbling somewhere inside the thick purple clouds that looked like bruises over the battled city. Some houses were ruined to the ground and some were in flames after a strike or two.
"They're striking in the same spot," one of the soldiers behind Geralt muttered.
"The sorceresses are trying to hold it," Geralt said. A faint feeling of familiarity touched him like a ghostly hand, but there was no time to dwell. "We have to strike now, while the djinn is busy."
"Aye, the sodding elves are left without their air shield," Zoltan added, flexing his fingers on his axe handle, "and now we can crush them."
"Now or never," Geralt said. "Let's go."
They left the alley, tentative at first, as though testing whether the djinn was indeed too busy to notice them. And then their careful step turned into a trot, and they hurried towards the center, soon enough crashing into a Scoia'tael troop, leaving them no time to resort to arrows. Helplessness in the face of such power as the djinn had unleashed upon the city and rage for every fallen citizen and their fellow soldier fueled the strength of Temerians and Nilfgaardians alike, and they cut through the Scoia'tael ranks like a butcher knife through melted butter. The elves were losing their positions and some surviving Aen Seidhe decided to flee, leaving the city despite the possible anger of their allies from the Hunt.
Cutting through the last group that tried to hold the street leading to the Hierarch Square, Geralt saw the Hunt navigator, his horse adorned with horns dancing nervously under him, as he was yelling orders to the fleeing rebels. Two Riders were with him and five hounds rushed to the Witcher and his group, intending to rip them to pieces. The soldiers didn't let them use their frost powers, cutting and slashing through the beasts, eager to get to the Hunt Riders.
"Caranthir!" Geralt bellowed over the square and the deafening thunder. He pointed his sword at the elf in a mute challenge.
The navigator twirled his staff, his horse rearing up, his red cape flying, and pointed it at the Witcher. The crystal flared up with blue light.
Avallac'h released his hold on Ciri and took a step back once it became clear she was no longer able to receive or process his input. She was acting on instinct alone now, the power she had been gifted at birth currently the dominant part of her mind, directing her body to do what was needed.
The sky above was still a tumultuous chaos, but the strikes of lightning that had been hurled at the sorceresses with an almost desperate rage had all but subsided as if the djinn's energy was directed elsewhere.
Still, electricity crackled across the dark sky like spiderwebs, beautiful and lethal, the pressure in the air so heavy drawing breath became difficult.
Ciri's palms turned to face one another. She smacked them together in one forceful motion, the sound like a humongous canon being fired during a siege, shaking the ground and air themselves.
Most of the sorceresses jumped in surprise, several of them not even having noticed that Ciri had joined in on their fight.
They looked back towards the sky to see the storm above growing concentrated in one particular spot like a huge ball of electricity straining to push past the barriers of its own shape.
It exploded suddenly, wind rushing in from all directions and knocking several people off their feet, blowing through the burning houses and scattering the rubble, broken bricks, sorceresses, elves, and soldiers every which way.
Then everything stilled. Eerily so. The dark skies retreated, making way for the last rays of the evening sun that had been obscured by the djinn's attack.
"Zireael?" Avallac'h touched her shoulder tentatively and moved to face her.
Her arms had fallen to her sides but she was not moving. For several seconds she was as still as Lara's statue down in the Aen Elle mortuary. And her eyes were still clouded in that steep white, concealing that familiar emerald hue Avallac'h had come to know.
She did not speak, but eventually turned her head a fraction as if listening to something far, far away. Then she disappeared.
The trance that had engulfed Ciri broke the moment she appeared behind Geralt. Her legs suddenly grew weak and shaky and for a moment she feared they would no longer carry her.
Her head throbbed just as violently as it had back in the Vizima cellars, and she felt blood drip down over her lips from her nose. Her body's way of warning her she had exerted too much magic, too much energy. Once more she was running on empty.
But Ciri's job was not yet done. And she was reminded as soon as her gaze landed on Caranthir up ahead, his horned steed galloping towards where Geralt was standing as if he meant to run the Witcher down.
Ciri leaped, landing a few feet in front of Caranthir's horse, her sudden appearance startling the beast and making it rear up in fright, halting his master's progress towards Geralt.
Ciri ignored the pain that ravaged her body and the fact she felt as though a small child would be able to beat her in a fight at that present moment. She smiled, impishly, cruelly, bloodstained teeth bared in a snarl.
"I think I broke your toy."
"Ciri!" Geralt yelled in terror and began to run. Zoltan rushed after to the best of his ability.
Caranthir pulled at the reins, ruling the steed down, and pointed the staff at Ciri, sweeping her off her feet with a gust of icy wind. "And I'll break yours," he said, his voice ghostly and hollow under the helmet. His staff shifted to the Witcher running towards them.
Ciri clambered to her feet, fueled purely by the fear of seeing Geralt hurt by Caranthir's ruthless magic. She leaped and tackled the elf off his horse, landing painfully atop him and his steely armor, fearing her ribs had cracked from the impact. But as long as she could keep Caranthir's attention, it was worth it.
"Think you can catch me?" she breathed the challenge, rolling off of him and vanishing, reappearing further down the square where more of the Aen Elle were riding in on their horses.
Enraged, Caranthir jumped to his feet and gestured for the other two Riders to move. They spurred their horses and put themselves between Geralt and Caranthir while the elf mounted and galloped away down the ruined street.
Geralt crossed his sword with them and Zoltan with the soldiers close on his heel joined the fight. Gnashing his teeth, Geralt couldn't stop darting glances at where Ciri and Caranthir disappeared, feeling helpless once again. He tried to push the distracting thoughts of Ciri in danger away to focus on the fight, but the battle wasn't a long one. Two Riders against a witcher, an enraged dwarf, and eight trained soldiers couldn't hold their own for too long.
"I have to find Ciri," Geralt said.
"Go," Zoltan nodded, yanking the axe from the dead Rider's hip.
Geralt sheathed his sword, running to where he hoped he could catch up to Caranthir, or at the very least find Yennefer.
Ciri kept to the streets of Novigrad, purely because she had no energy to navigate the alleyways and shortcuts. Her leaps were short, just enough to make sure The Hunt didn't lose sight of her, though not allowing them to catch up with her either.
Soon, she would have to make the big one. A leap to another world. Hopefully, her pursuers would follow.
Running and leaping, she cried out in pain as her right hip accidentally collided with a merchant's booth, making her stumble and nearly fall flat on her face.
Her heart was pumping so hard and fast dark spots soon peppered her vision. Combined with her inability to draw enough air into her lungs, it quickly became significantly deteriorating.
She would have to leap. Now. Before it was too late.
She already had a world in mind; a world she had only visited briefly before. Lush forests and sunshine were what tempted her memory to choose that particular location.
Ciri drew on what little energy remained in her beaten and tired body and put it all in her final leap.
When she materialized once more, her feet did not catch her. She slammed on her front onto a muddied swamp floor, her head bouncing off the ground in a sickening crash.
Ciri had no idea where she had ended up, but she knew she had not made her intended location. She was stuck, unable to even move her arms or legs. Her body was too heavy and her consciousness was fading fast.
She barely felt the hands that eventually grabbed onto her wrists and began to pull before darkness took her.
When Geralt reached the sorceresses, he found them in a sorry state.
Two Nilfgaardian mages were dead, their bodies blackened by the lightning strikes, the Witcher surmised. Triss and Francesca had broken limbs and ribs and were currently being treated by Fringilla and Yennefer who both looked rundown themselves, with black smears of ashes and red ones of blood on their faces and clothes. A group of ten Nilfgaardian soldiers were guarding them.
At the sight of Yennefer alive and more or less well Geralt felt a surge of relief spoiled by the suffering of Triss who had a crushed knee and a few cracked ribs. She was very pale but tried not to cry out while Fringilla was carefully rubbing some poultice into her injured leg while murmuring a spell.
"Ciri's gone," Geralt said. "She led Caranthir away and hell knows where she is now. I need to find Avallac'h – he's the only hope we have of finding her."
"He was here while she was," Fringilla said. "He disappeared when she took off. I don't suppose we can find him until he wishes to be found. You know how it is with him."
Geralt ground his teeth, cursing the bloody elf.
"Ciri should be fine," Triss said, her voice cracked and very quiet. She looked on the verge of passing out. "He gave her some potion, she should be able to escape Caranthir. Only..."
"What?" Geralt asked, worried.
"It was a bit strange," Fringilla responded in her stead, "but Ciri stated she had killed Caranthir back at Vizima. Avallac'h didn't believe it, said she was confused, but she swore she saw his face and spoke to him before defeating him in battle."
Geralt scowled, pondering. "I just saw him. He didn't take off his helmet, but he was certainly in command here. All Scoia'tael obeyed him."
Francesca grimaced in frustration mixed with pain, drawing her gaze downwards.
"If he was the one commanding the djinn, I wouldn't be surprised with whatever tricks he had mustered with its help," Fringilla said. "Djinns are capable of too many a thing."
"Did you banish the djinn?" Geralt asked, looking to Yennefer.
"We tried to subdue it, to sever the connection to its seal." Yennefer thought back to what she'd seen from Ciri amidst their struggles, that bright light, concentrated and strong. She knew Ciri harnessed an affinity for actual magic, but it was the first time Yennefer had seen Ciri cast something so direct. "If it wasn't for Ciri, I doubt we would have succeeded."
Francesca scoffed disapprovingly. Yennefer regarded the woman again, making sure that she'd done enough and that she'd be mobile on her own before moving to look over Geralt. "Do you have any wounds that need immediate mending?"
Geralt ignored the question, chewing on what she said about Ciri. "What did you mean? What did Ciri do with that djinn, and how?"
"Her hands. Magic," Yennefer said, having no other explanation for what she'd seen. "I think... she sent it away."
"She sent it away?" Geralt parroted, flabbergasted, and cast a glance at Fringilla as though expecting her to say something different.
Fringilla shook her head. "Can't say I know any more about what she did, Geralt. But the sage was helping her. He took her hands and... well, looked like he directed her magic. Because she begged him to help — to be honest, we'd all be dead without her interference."
Yennefer had started to scan the faces around her, hopeful that Ciri would appear from thin air again. How long before they found her this time? How badly had she been drained by her magic? Yennefer attempted to reach out to her energy, to catch her trail, but found that even the little extra exertion now overwhelmed her with a monstrous headache. The magic had taken a real toll on her body. On all their bodies. Triss was still whimpering from her position on the ground, nursing her injured arm as the pain began to slowly ease in it, along with the knee that was now shiny from the poultice that Fringilla had applied. Yennefer continued to study her for a few more seconds before Istredd sprang to mind. "Has anyone seen Istredd?"
"He remained at Vizima in case of another attack," Fringilla said. "It was your advice, remember?" She surveyed Yennefer with a bit of concern. "You need to rest. We have a lot of work with restoring Novigrad ahead of us."
Francesca groaned.
"Master Witcher?"
A young soldier with soot and blood on his face jogged up to them.
"Master Witcher, I am to bring you to Lord Dijkstra and General Voorhis, they wish to speak with you."
Geralt nodded wearily and gave the sorceresses a meek smile. "I'm sorry I couldn't help with that djinn," he said. "Not sure what I'd be able to do, but we had our hands full with Scoia'tael and hounds."
"Are they all dead?" Francesca asked, and even though her face remained coldly stoic, there was a ghost of worry in her voice.
Geralt nodded. "Some few survivors escaped in time when the djinn's support from the sky ended. The rest are dead all over the streets."
Francesca lowered her head and said nothing.
Geralt kissed Triss's forehead and stroked Yennefer's cheek. "We'll speak later. Get some rest."
Then he followed the soldier.
Yennefer moved to fall into step beside Geralt despite his sweet goodbye, taking hold of his hand. They'd had a hard fight and she wanted to be close to him for an instance, to rejoice — however briefly — in the fact that they'd survived such a deadly encounter.
A crooked sneer crossed Dijkstra's sweaty, soot-marred face when Geralt and Yennefer approached. "The resilience of your little family of freaks amazes me," he said. "Where's the culprit of all this shit, though? Fled to avoid the aftermath as her talent goes? No ploughing wonder."
"Cirilla was here?" Morvran asked, his eyes darting from Yennefer to the Witcher with concern. "Is she all right?"
Roche was frowning, watching the two in silence. He briefly nodded in greeting to Zoltan who caught up with another soldier accompanying him.
"She saw the Aen Elle navigator when we were about to fight," Geralt said, his arm wrapping around Yennefer's waist to support her. He felt her muscles shaking in exhaustion, and his heart went out to her. "She led him away from the city, ending their attack."
"It was Ciri who stopped the djinn," Yennefer said, her eyes shining bright violet from her very pale dusty face. Her hair hung in dump strands framing her cheeks, her dress torn and dirty. A sorry sight, but for the first time in a very long time she cared naught about her image. All her thoughts were with Ciri, and her head was splitting in pain. "We would all be dead without her."
"How did that little freak witch do that?" Dijkstra asked, folding his arms. "What kind of elvish sorcery she possesses?"
"The Aen Elle sage helped her," Yennefer said and shook her head. "I have no idea how, but most likely her input was the last straw to overpower it after our joined magic had weakened it enough to drop some defenses."
Geralt doubted it very much, but he caught Yennefer's intention to belittle Ciri's power and nodded for Dijkstra's benefit.
"Aye, how it was," Zoltan said from behind them. "Two Nilfgaardian mages are dead, two of ours badly hurt. There was a high price to that victory."
Morvran's face darkened in thought of his fallen subjects. "Thank you for your efforts," he said and looked from Yennefer and Geralt to Dijkstra and Roche. "This victory is grim with all the fallen, but it's due to all of your joined work."
Dijkstra chortled bitterly. "There's a hell of a work to rebuild the city they near leveled. We're in a big mess, and people will demand answers and reparations. We're about to have a riot if we can't swear an oath to them that this victory is the final one, and we all know it's a hell of a long way from that."
"People will take their time to grieve and come to terms with what happened," Morvran reasoned, nodding to Fringilla who had approached quietly to join. "They certainly will need answers and they shall get them to the best of our ability to provide, along with assurances to reinforce the city and make sure a devastation like this won't happen again."
"What kind of god do you think you are, boy, to promise anything like that?" Dijkstra said, setting his sharp little eyes on Morvran. "People are upset and grieving, but not all of them are stupid. Everyone knows or 's heard about the elves' attacks. No one will believe any bullshit until we bring the Aen Elle's leaders' heads and display it all on the marketplace."
"That day might yet come, Count," Morvran said, untouched by the playback. "But while they're grieving and processing their losses, it's our duty to provide aid and promises of protection we, Nilfgaard, intend to keep."
A nasty sneer began on Dijkstra's mouth. "Ah, now it does make sense. Of course, now Nilfgaard will roll in like saviors and teach all of us sorry rulers how the true leaders do it all. And then people will flock to the Great Sun for protection from all the big bad demons out there."
Morvran peered at him with a small, gentle smile. "The Free City shall remain free under any circumstances, Lord Dijkstra. All Nilfgaard aims to do is to add our forces to protect that freedom and safety of its people."
"Sure," Dijkstra said, sardonic, and settled on a chair one of the Redanian soldiers brought him.
"You have to go back to Vizima and rest," Morvran turned back to Geralt and Yennefer. "You too, Master Zoltan. All the wounded ones shall be taken care of, all dead collected and prepared for burial. I don't see any chance of another attack in the near future, but there is no way of telling how long a break we will be having."
"I wouldn't count on a long one," Dijkstra said, taking a gulp from his flask. "Unless the bastards caught the girl."
"I wouldn't count on them having caught her," Geralt said, shooting a deadly look at Dijkstra. The latter merely shrugged with a sneer and got another swallow.
"In any case, this is a brief time for rest," Morvran said. "We cannot afford to forgo it."
"I shall see to it," Fringilla said and stepped closer to Yennefer and Geralt. "I'll open a portal for you and then make sure Triss and Francesca are put to rest and healing."
Geralt and Yennefer nodded wearily and dutifully used the provided portal. Neither had any steam left to argue or refuse the offered moment of peace.
"I should've stayed with Zoltan," Geralt lamented, unclasping his sword belts while Yennefer added the oils and salts to their bath. The water was steaming invitingly, and her whole body ached to sit there in it and relax for at least one moment, to lay her thudding head on the brim and close her eyes. "I can't rest until we know what happened to Dandelion. I won't ever forgive myself for not coming to his rescue when he needed me most. Roche said the inn was a burning ruin when he saw it. If Dandelion was inside—" His jaw set, his hands stilled, tightening around the scabbard. The back of his eyes stung as he squeezed them shut.
"He wasn't," Yennefer stated, equally as worried about Geralt's friend now that she'd been reminded of where Dandelion might be. Her mind had been preoccupied otherwise. It still was, being pulled in so many directions that it felt as if her brain was on the verge of snapping from her skull. "This isn't the first trouble your troubadour has been in, nor will it be his last. Let's not assume the worst just yet." Yennefer touched a hand to his, needing to be close to Geralt for a second, needing to be grounded from her own torrid emotions. "As soon as I have strength again, we'll make swift work of traveling and sift through the ashes of the inn with our bare hands."
"I'm not ready to bury him," Geralt murmured, looking down at the floor, unable to meet her eyes that held more hope than his heart could muster. He couldn't fathom life without the poet, but he didn't want to lie to himself and hope for the best against all odds only to relive the loss tenfold later. "I'm not ready but I had to be with Zoltan on it. I shouldn't have left him alone to search."
"You couldn't be in two places at once," Yennefer replied thoughtfully. She'd never been good with comfort and at times the concept was still foreign to her. "Dandelion knows that. Whatever the outcome, you know he'd forgive that."
"I'll never forgive," Geralt said quietly. He thought of Kain and Dandelion and couldn't imagine continuing to live without them. And Ciri... Where could she be now? "I failed them all."
Yennefer was concerned about Ciri, too. The last she'd seen of her daughter, the power she'd used — Yennefer wasn't sure anyone's body could take that much. But Ciri's had been through much worse, hadn't it? Yennefer had to believe that Ciri was in one piece for sanity's sake, that it would only be a matter of time before that familiar head of messy blonde hair appeared from thin air to put their concerns to rest. Yennefer withdrew for a moment, her hands balling into fists, wanting as well to keep going, to start searching, but the headache thrumming in her skull had become too much to bear. "Let's save the self-pity for the day it's needed, Geralt. For now, you need rest and to know that you've done all that you can do. That giving up on everyone before we have answers isn't going to be conducive to any success. We need to be strong. You need to keep fighting."
"Yes, Yennefer!" He turned to her, his golden eyes blazing. "Yes, I have to keep fighting and I've no time to waste because even if Dandelion—" He closed his eyes briefly, still unable to voice it. "Kain has little to no time, and I have to find him. There is no time for rest. Zar'kin won't wait for me."
He began to clasp the sword belt back on.
Yennefer didn't flinch from the intensity of his gaze. "Then let me take care of finding Dandelion." She'd moved to stand in front of him again, her gaze as penetrating as his own despite the swell of painful cloud that was gripping her head. "As soon as I have any sign of the troubadour, I'll send you a message." Considering his concerns, Yennefer already knew he wouldn't be sticking around and that he'd be on the first available Roach he could find. "Do you still have my gift on you?"
He frowned, straining to remember. "Not sure."
A frisson of hurt sliced through Yennefer. Did Geralt not remember the gift or was it not of importance anymore? It was hard to know anymore what the Djinn had stolen from his head after the wish had been broken and what the beast hadn't. "I assume there is nothing I can say to you right now to prevent you from running to your next mission. So, before you leave, I ask that you wait for me."
"I have to get back to Novigrad immediately," Geralt said, cupping some water from the bath to wash his face from soot. "Only there I can find out where to start searching for Kain and see if Zoltan found anything concerning Dandelion."
"You can wait five minutes, Geralt," Yennefer stated, going in search of her belongings. With tired movements Yennefer opened one of the chests that traveled with her at a constant, rifling through her treasures, trying to remember what she had that could work in place of her previous gift. When she returned to him, it was with a bracelet, a piece of jewelry that looked plain but was decorated with a single purple stone. She gestured for his arm. "Wear this always. When you need me — when you want to talk. Communicate with this."
He nodded, studying the stone for a moment as she put it on his wrist. "Get some rest and enjoy the bath," he said, lowering his arm. "You need all the strength you can restore."
He stroked her shoulder and left her quarters.
The sky cleared up over Novigrad, gaining a pink tinge before sunset and peppered with thin clouds like rose-colored gauze. But the mood of the city itself was far from the peaceful late-summer evening. Nearly half the central part and way over half of Dandelion's Inn's neighborhood lay in ruins. Some still had smoke coiling up from the charred remains, reminding of the fiery chaos that had broken out a couple of hours earlier. Whimpers, wailing, and cries sounded from different streets while people and the joint forces of city guards, Redanian, Temerian, and Nilfgaardian soldiers searched for bodies and perchance survivors. There was a small homeless boy found still breathing under one of the collapsed market tents, and aside from his badly injured leg he seemed to be able to pull through. It had been the only miracle since the dust settled and the recovering work began. Most of the citizens caught in the assault were dead or badly wounded, others were in shock or hysterical over the loss of loved ones and homes. A newly arrived group of Nilfgaardian mages and medics were helping the surviving healers of Novigrad take care of those in need of help.
There was nothing in the pile of rubble aside from its location to indicate what establishment it had been before. The half-charred name board lay covered in ashes next to the miraculously survived stables. A couple of horses were picking on hay from the feeder blasted by a bolt of lightning. Zoltan and a group of dwarves he used to gamble with and hire for renovation jobs were hard at work picking the rubble apart balk by charred balk, making a rather vigorous work of it.
With a pinched heart, Geralt picked up the dusty name board and swept the ashes aside, revealing the partial name of the inn and the drawing of rosemary and thyme branches crossing under it.
"Yer mare came back, that devil," Zoltan said, approaching the Witcher while his fellows kept working on clearing the rubble. His hands were covered in soot and ashes, patches of it all over his face and clothes; his hair appeared to have greyed with all the dust as well. The lines on the dwarf's face deepened either from dirt or grief. The latter gripped Geralt's chest with its cold claws once again, squeezing, piercing, as he realized they might have truly lost their dearest friend.
"Found anything?" the Witcher asked in a husky, quiet voice, dropping the board. The sound startled Roach momentarily, eliciting her neighing complaint as she threw her head.
"Some," Zoltan shook his head slowly, turning back to look at his friends pulling the rubble apart. "A few patrons were inside, it seems. Should have been more — it was supposed to be one of those poetry evenin's. Priscilla was to arrive; he was preparin' their joint event to cheer people up. Eh, Geralt." Zoltan sighed deeply, rubbing his neck as he hung his head. "My guess is many were able to escape before it all came down. One of the bodies was all black and charred. We don' know if… Well." He shrugged and waved a hand to the side. Geralt looked and saw something covered with a cloth they had probably taken from the stables. "Whoever it is was found outside – probably runnin' away when struck not a yard from the door. I don' think it's him. But the whole thing is bloody shite, if ye ask me. Aye…"
Slowly, Zoltan walked back to the rubble, while Geralt collected himself to take a look at the body. He felt it was the hardest thing he had to do after the Isle of Mists and Ciri. In retrospect knowing Ciri was all right, this had to be the worst yet. Vesemir crossed his mind, his twisted neck and lifeless eyes; Kain, pale and dying on the bed at the temple of Melitele…
Geralt shook his head as if to get rid of the invading visions and crouched next to the body, his hand stilling over the sheet for a few moments before he found it in himself to yank it off.
The body was charred beyond recognition, white teeth bright against the blackened mouth. Wincing, Geralt tore his eyes off the face he could not quite make out and took a cursory look, looking for rings or pieces of clothes he could recognize. There was nothing except a speck of gold from what Geralt thought used to be a thin gold band melted into the skin upon the lightning strike. With a sigh that barely held any relief, Geralt pulled the sheet over the body and stood, turning around to catch Fringilla approaching as the portal closed behind her. Her eyes flicked to the body behind the Witcher, then back to him with a mute question, and he shook his head.
"General Voorhis sent a group of mages to aid with the search for survivors," she said. "I wished to help look for Dandelion."
"Thank you," he gave a meek smile. "I appreciate it."
She nodded and glanced at the dwarves working restlessly with Zoltan directing. "Have you seen Ciri?"
He shook his head, his face darkening. "The only trail I found was the one she left before disappearing. Followed by Caranthir's."
Fringilla met his eyes with her emerald gaze that reflected both sympathy and warmth. "If she found a safe place, it's wise for her to remain there until she recovers. She was rather exhausted by the end. Give her time."
"She knows what she's doing," Geralt agreed. "She grew into a seasoned warrior. I trust her skills and judgement. She'll be all right. She has to be."
"Of course," she nodded. "What about their leader? Have you seen him during the attack?"
"Seems like Caranthir was in charge. Eredin was either absent or watching from the sidelines to avoid Ciri and the possible repetition of her Oxenfurt trick." His mouth twitched with bitter irony, then he reached for his belt purse, "Found this on the ground. Either lost or thrown away."
Fringilla took the seal shard from his open palm and studied it. "I haven't studied djinns as extensively as Yennefer, but this symbol is familiar to nearly every mage worth of their art. It's Geoffrey Monck's seal. Monck's bottles are extremely rare, any experienced wizard would kill for possessing one of these. There's never a way to tell whether it's the last one in existence."
"And it miraculously ends up in Caranthir's hands," Geralt said.
"He's a navigator mage," she reasoned, handing the shard back. "He probably can sense magic items like this. Even the seal alone emanates enough power to serve as a beacon for those who know how to look for it."
"We might need to know where he found it exactly."
"Tracking it down will be complicated." She gave a subtle shrug. "But Yennefer and I could try a few things… Let us revisit this a bit later. I need to aid your friends here," she waved a hand towards Zoltan and his boys, "and you need some rest. You seem to be barely standing upright."
"I'm fine," he winced dismissively. "I still have a few things to do. Thank you for your help here."
"It's the least I can do at the moment," she smiled. "Try not to get in Dijkstra's way – he might latch onto you with requests and whatnot. He's been quite busy and rather frustrated."
"I can imagine," Geralt scoffed. "Novigrad is everybody's headache now."
"It will recover," she said, and put her hand on his shoulder for a gentle supportive squeeze. "But it always takes time. I have a good feeling about our Julian — he must've escaped when the attack began. It's really close to the gate."
If it were so, he'd have come back by now to check on his inn, Geralt thought but didn't want to voice it. "I truly hope he didn't linger," he said instead, holding nearly none of such hope. Dandelion could get stupidly and unpredictably brave if it was about the inn he'd poured so many hopes and efforts into.
She squeezed his shoulder again, and went toward the demolished inn, warning the dwarves to stand aside while she worked on the heaviest pieces of the roof and walls.
Geralt didn't stay to watch. He had a pressing matter to attend to before he knew his next step.
Fealinn was at her hut despite Geralt's worst expectations that she could have fled before or during the attack and remained in her safe place. Even though many villagers and citizens chose to put as much distance between themselves and Novigrad as soon as the assault had begun, some picked the questionable safety of their cellars over trying their luck on the road with a monstrous djinn and its storm spreading over the sky like a dark blanket. Fealinn was one of those sitting it out in the basement. "The Riders' focus was the city itself," she explained, "and our village sustained no damage or casualties aside from a few who fled in terror and were hit with lightning or Scoia'tael arrows. They did not bother checking the cellars, however — great luck for the people. I believe their main objective lay within the city walls. The losses there are devastating."
She sat the Witcher at the table and served him chicken pie with cider, and while he dug in eagerly — the exhausting marathon was taking its toll — she couldn't take her wide, amazed eyes off him as he told her the little he remembered of his disappearance.
"It's amazing to me how Avallac'h managed to intercept you like he did at Brokilon," she commented eventually, refilling his cider mug. "And no Riders or Scoia'tael noticed."
"Perhaps they did," he said, nodding thanks to her and taking a hearty swallow to wash down the pie. "Or were close enough to it. Which made him leave me under the same sleeping spell Ciri had when I found her instead of bringing me to her. This time she had to find me with his help, as if we came full circle."
"I'm certain it was the way he had it planned all along. Maybe it was beneficial to him to keep you hidden for a while, as well as Yennefer. He had a hand in her temporal disappearance as well, as Kain told me."
Geralt nodded, scowling. "I wish I had an hour with him to make him answer for every damn choice he robbed us of."
"Cath wished the same," she said with a lamenting sigh, lowering her eyes to her hands folded in her lap. "I believe Sage's ways have lots to do with his falling into Caranthir's trap. Since the Tower."
As the Witcher wolfed down another slice of pie, she told him about Ciri and Kain's adventures in the Tower, followed by Kain's brief visit to Tir ná Lia and Avallac'h's offer. Just as she thought, it made Geralt furious.
"I'll beat that bloody whoreson to a pulp when I see him next!" he swore and threw back his cider.
"It might be for the best to let Ciri deal with him and demand explanations," Fealinn reasoned, pouring him some more. "After all, no one but her holds enough power over him to at least make him listen and respond. Judging by what I learned, he considers the rest of you below his level to provide any explanations."
"That is true, but it won't make it any easier for me to hold back a good punch and a few knocked-out teeth I owe that fellow, especially for raising that vengeful elvish brat that trapped my brother."
"Think Avallac'h knows where Cath is now?"
"I wish I could question him about it because I want to think he does know — knowing is his strongest power, after all. However, given what Zar'kin wants to do, I'd think Avallac'h would want to prevent it. Kain was a prize as good as Ciri in his eyes. Mutation would kill both that plan and Kain himself." He took another sip and eyeballed Fealinn inquisitively. "You ever heard of her? She must've been in cahoots with Scoia'tael, same as you and Kain used to be."
Fealinn shook her head, "I don't believe I ever heard that name or met someone matching your description, but then again, she must have stayed on her own for a long time. If she is so set on bringing Kain back to true witcher ways, she must be as true to them as she believes herself to be, and witchers are supposed to be neutral. If she believes herself to be on that path, I would surmise that little plan they hatched with Caranthir was the only sidestep she made solely to get Cath back."
"If she followed his life from the shadows all those decades, she must have been waiting for the best opportune moment to make her fatal move," Geralt said, looking somber. "Just as we have all been taught as young witchers. Always wait for the opportune moment and then go for your best strike."
Fealinn mustered a meek smile, reaching out to give his bicep a subtle squeeze of reassurance. "We'll find him. I'll do my utmost to contact every single ally in Brokilon and whatnot that I can think of and get any information they can provide. We'll get him back. You said she might still not have the whole formula."
"If Cats have been keeping the pieces hidden away in different locations — yes, it's possible she still has to get the missing parts. However, she might forgo that and go for a partial mutagen, and then it's a guaranteed death."
"I don't believe she waited so long to simply murder him," Fealinn said. "That long a preparation means she is extremely patient and set on following through the whole plan, collecting the full formula. If only she doesn't have it already."
"That is also a possibility," Geralt nodded grimly. "She might have collected it long before trapping him. I wish I knew where she's hiding."
"Do you have any ideas of where to look?"
"They were nomads, never had an actual keep and kept traveling from one to another. For all I know, each keep might have held onto some pieces of formula or weapon and armor's schematics for them as allies, though Cats never trusted their allies enough. Mayhap they'd hidden their treasures away in those keeps or around them and never revealed it to the Masters of those Schools. We all had the pleasure of hosting them for training sprees and tournaments."
"It makes it complicated," Fealinn conceded, then glanced at him with a ghost of hope. "Have you thought of asking an oneiromancer for help? That mage Kain saved could be willing to return the favor. He told me she was a skilled one."
"Yennefer and Ciri have already asked her, and they had some jumbled visions neither understood."
"Maybe they have to try again? Those visions can get tricky and vague, but I can't think of any better way to find his trail."
"You're probably right," he said, and finished his cider, shook his head a no when she offered a refill. "We need to try again. By the way, from what Yennefer told me about their visions… Do you know of any elven city of the past that is in ruins underground?"
She thought about it, sipping her drink. "Most of the elven cities are underground — partially beneath the cities like Novigrad, Cintra, and Gors Velen."
"No, not like that. Yen said this one still had statues and some remains of a hall on the surface, all grown with ivy and moss. And the main part of it is underground."
Fealinn narrowed her eyes as though it sounded familiar, reflecting for a few more moments. "There was this legend about the elven King Maeglor who put a spell on his dying kingdom for the earth to swallow it whole so no outside power like humans could ever desecrate it."
"That sounds like something worth following."
"His palace was believed to be the highest, towering over the kingdom, so its top layer is still on the surface. There were some excavations done by some Oxenfurt scholars, but I believe I've heard it ended badly and the project was finished. That place is known as Est Tayiar. I can tell you how to find it."
"Sounds familiar," Geralt mused. "I must've heard that name before. Think it's possible Zar'kin could have found a way in?"
"Compared to human scholars, she had better chances of getting past the elven traps and hidden portals," Fealinn said. "Even with witcher mutations, she's still Aen Seidhe. If Yennefer and Ciri saw something like those ruins in their vision, it needs to be checked out."
"Good point."
"And if you need my help, I'll gladly go with you."
He smiled, grateful. "Thank you, it might save us some time if there are any special elven secrets and doorways. My history with portals is not the best."
After Fealinn explained how to find the ruins, she asked a careful question about Novigrad. Geralt's face darkened.
"The attack was brutal, so much worse than what we had in Oxenfurt," he said. "Many civilians died under the ruins of their own homes or struck by arrows and lightning."
"It's awful," she murmured, deeply sad. "After Kain's visit to Brokilon, I had a bad feeling something grim would happen soon. I paid a visit to some of the good people I knew in the city to persuade them to leave for a safer place. I came to Dandelion, tried to convince him to depart for Oxenfurt at least to wait it out, but he was so adamant on remaining here." She shook her head in lament. "His romantic friend, the bard girl Priscilla was about to arrive, and he assured me they had friends among the city performers who worked for the King of Beggars. They knew where to hide if any attack happened."
Geralt watched her, frowning, and there was the faintest spark of hope in his viper eyes. "His inn is destroyed, and Zoltan is still working on the rubble. But if he truly went to Bedlam for help when it all began, we have a chance…"
"I don't believe Dandelion would have remained inside his inn when the storm started," Fealinn said. "He would have done everything in his power to get away. The extended sewer system beneath the city is where you might want to search — one knowing his way around the sewers would escape the city without getting seen or hide there until the storm blew over."
"I think you're right," Geralt said, beginning to smile a little. He could no longer tell whether it sounded clever enough or he merely attempted to grasp at any straw for keeping the hope alive. After losing it earlier that day, he needed it. To the depths of his soul, he needed to hope Dandelion was alive.
Before he left, he stroke his fingers against Kain's bow standing at the wall. "He'll be glad to have it back when we find him."
"Of course," Fealinn smiled. "And he wanted you to have this as well." She was holding a lockbox made of some metal covered with flowery patterns akin to old elven décor. It looked like a box to keep some bracelets and rings. When Geralt took it in his hands and gave it a closer gander, he clucked his tongue.
"Dimeritium," he concluded.
"Yes. I have an associate in Tretogor — he made it and had it delivered to me when Kain wasn't able to pick it up himself as he was going to before he disappeared." She took Geralt's hand and directed his finger to one of the flowers on the box's side. Geralt pressed onto its center and something clicked subtly inside the box. He opened the lid and saw a white stone medallion inside.
"I see," Geralt said, and took it in his palm. "Keeping them here is a good idea."
"Indeed. I didn't tell Ciri about it, however, when she was here. Even though Kain said she seemed to be back to her usual self, I thought it was safer to give it to you."
"Thank you. I believe it's for the best. Even at her best Ciri's reaction to these things can get a bit too emotional." He frowned, fiddling with the medallion. "What is this? Blood?"
Fealinn leaned in. "Oh… It's… Yes, I believe it is. Cath said he stole it from Yennefer's magician associate who kept it under a spell after they found her. Cath had his hand damaged, and this must be his blood."
"That must be of help for locating him through magic."
"It could work," she agreed. "If that thing's own magic would allow it."
"If there is a way, Yen will find it," Geralt stated, locking the anchor back in the box, feeling a tiny bit better.
"Be careful taking it out," Fealinn warned. "The Red Riders and Caranthir must be waiting for any signal to attack again. If they sense this anchor—"
"I know. We'll have to be careful about it."
"Aye, I've heard of those secret getaways beneath the city Bedlam and his crowd use whenever some shite breaks out," Zoltan said, wiping his forehead with a dusty arm. "I was goin' to search their ratholes, but in this chaos it's hard to get to em. No live beggars on the streets either, ye see. Now that I think about it, they must've really fled like rats through their sewage tunnels, away from the mayhem and keep there till the dust settles. Perhaps, our Dandy's with em. We have to hope, for he ain't in 'ere. My poor Frenny though… eh, she had such a big laugh, ye know…"
When Witcher came back, Zoltan and his gang had finished taking apart the inn's ruins with Fringilla's aid and had found a few more bodies, one of the kitchen maids among them. Zoltan heaved a sigh, casting a sad gander where they lay her body.
"I shall try to find his trace," Fringilla promised, approaching. She was slapping at her sleeves and cloak, beating the dust and ashes out. Her beautiful, aristocratic face was marred with them and pallid beneath. She had spent a lot of power and looked exhausted.
"Thank you, you've already done so much," Geralt said. "You need to rest."
"I am all right," she smiled. "Do not worry about me. Dandelion was my friend, as well as my cousin. I wish to find him alive."
Geralt thanked her again before she departed, taking a slow walk away from them rather than opening a portal.
"She's better now," Zoltan commented. "Near lost her senses before the end, so pale and shakin'. Refused to rest and drank somethin' from a small bottle. Them witches always bounce right back, eh? Got some breath back right after."
Geralt turned to him. "Not much we can do for Dandelion short of digging through every fallen building in the city," he said. "She's our best hope for picking up his trail."
"Same as we thought when you went missin'," Zoltan scoffed, folding his arms. "Nothin' she or Merigold could do."
"That was different."
"Aye, sure. It's always different with em wizards. Good excuse for failing at their darn work."
"It's a bit unfair, Zoltan. Fringilla and Triss are doing their best."
"Aye, aye." He sighed. "I'm jus' tired and plenty worried about our poet and his lass."
Geralt nodded, eyeing the beginning of crimson dusk in the sky. The city was still weeping, recovering its dead.
