A/N: Hello good folks :) I've returned from my long hiatus, sorry it took 8 months for this chapter to come out, but life doesn't stand still. I moved and had a kid, hence why I had to take a break, but I plan to keep writing this story although the updates will not be as frequent as they used to be in the good ol' days.
After lurking for the past month, rewriting older chapters to get back into the groove, now I'm finally ready to post a new chapter. Hope you all enjoy it!Criss left Avallac'h's room a little lighter of heart despite the possibility of Yennefer and Geralt getting angry with her for involving Ciri in cleaning up her mess. Everyone was expecting so much from Ciri while also trying to shelter her. They couldn't have it both ways. She needed more space to make decisions and even mistakes. Besides, defending a hospital from human bandits shouldn't be too dangerous with an elven sage by her side.
Putting her worries aside, she went to tend to her new mare. The stable hand had cared for her beyond reproach, but she wanted to have a chance to bond with her. To that effect, she brought along some horse cookies and apples.
The stables were nearly empty. Aside from her mare, only Ciri's black stallion and another dun horse were inside the stalls. The other horses paid her no mind as she passed by, only her mare's ears flicked forward when she heard Criss approach. The mare reached her long neck over the stall and gave a soft snort before lowering her muzzle to her shoulder.
"Aren't you a friendly one?" Criss said amused while petting her neck. "And here I thought I needed to buy you off. Brought a bag full of treats just for you, but I see they weren't needed."
The mare snorted again and shook her head while Criss laughed.
"Don't worry, I'll still give you your cookies. Your days under awful masters are over. From now on you'll be getting enough treats and brushes to make Roach jealous."
She fed the horse a few cookies and an apple before taking the brush and moving into the stall. As she passed it over her coat, smoothing it out, she appraised the scars that marked her flanks. Her fingers traced them, letting her magic feel through the skin and muscle, down to the bone, trying to see if there was any lasting damage underneath. The magic travelled through the horse's body like a mellow wave that swept up anything that didn't belong and the mare handled it without getting spooked.
"Such a brave horse. I bet you'd do well in battle," she hummed and the horse snorted. "Oh, don't worry, love. There's little chance of us going to war." Her mare snuggled up to her, leaning into the brush. "Damn, you really are a cinnamon roll!" Criss laughed, petting her. "Oh! That's perfect!" she said with a sudden realization, cupping the horse's long face between her hands. "Cinnamon! That's what I'll call you! The name even suits your colour!"
She grinned looking into the mare's dark eyes as she continued to brush out her coat. In a few days, once this overthrowing the king business was done, she'll take Cinnamon out for a ride on the outskirts of the city. Maybe Geralt and Roach would accompany them, she mused. Until then she meant to keep close to the inn, in case she was needed.
An uneventful evening spent waiting was followed by another night of tormenting nightmares. She awoke in a cold sweat, still feeling the lingering phantom touch of a scalpel, icy cold against her skin just before it cut. Each night she returned to the laboratory to relieve it again with the same intensity, like an ever-present warning she wasn't allowed to forget. Even two decades later, always the same bad dreams haunted her and nothing she did stave them off for long. Until Geralt. She didn't know why or how, but it was fitting that a monster hunter would be the one who chased away her nightmares through his mere presence.
It was still dark outside, so she turned in bed and hugged the empty pillow that lay next to hers. His scent still lingered on it and even if it wasn't enough to give her a restful sleep, it was comforting. She laid there, with her nose buried in it, wondering what the witcher was doing and wishing she knew more about Philippa's plan for him. The blind sorceresses struck her as calculating, so she must've taken precautions to ensure the witcher's success. Or at least that's what Criss hoped. There was always the chance that something could go wrong. She shook her head and turned on her back. Worrying about things out of her control was pointless. Her time would be better spent on something more productive, so she got out of bed, lit a candle and took a seat at her desk.
Dawn found her fiddling with the dimeritium cuffs and scribbling down her conclusions. A knock on her door interrupted her last spell. It took her a moment to recognize the woman standing in her doorway as Yennefer. Dressed in rough fabric clothes, worn and a bit tattered, with no makeup and her hair pinned up and covered with a plain scarf, the sorceress had thoroughly disguised herself. Even her striking violet eyes had changed colour to a pale grey. At once she knew what the sorceress had come to tell her before she opened her mouth.
"Philippa just xenovoxed that Geralt is on his way to see the king. Roche and Dijkstra already have their men in place. It's time for us to set out. You'd better get ready," she said.
"I'll be down in a few moments."
Yennefer turned on her heels and headed for the stairs just as the door closed.
The clothes and items Criss had chosen for her own disguise were already set aside in a neat pile. Not much different from what Yennefer was wearing, they were as plain as can be. The sorceresses had agreed to dress like common peasant women coming to bring tribute to the Eternal Flame altar and its priests. Elihal had been a great help in this regard, although the elf's disdain for such uninteresting clothing was evident. The only difference between a regular peasant's skirt and what she was wearing was the pockets she had asked Elihal to sew in. These were the perfect hiding place for the vials Yennefer had given her. She had dressed them in bits of leftover fabric, so when she shoved a handful into a pocket, they didn't as much as clink.
After grabbing a basket to complete her disguise, she took a quick trip upstairs to let Ciri know she and Avallac'h should keep an eye on the hospital that day. Next, she met Yennefer downstairs. Margarita was with her, dressed in the same type of garb, and her green eyes glittered with excitement.
"Ready?" Margarita asked as she filled Criss's basket with baked goods meant as an offering to the temple.
"As much as I can be," she replied, covering the basket with a clean white cloth. "You on the other hand look alight with glee."
"If you'd have such a perfect chance at revenge, you'd be giddy too," Margarita continued as they headed for the rear exit of the inn. "Old friends have died in the king's dungeons and on his pyres. Some had been involved in politics, but most were just living their lives, not bothering anyone. The king robbed all of them of a peaceful existence and impoverished their communities by depriving them of the magical aid they could provide. There has to be some justice served."
Criss bit back a comment about how revenge and justice weren't the same thing, instead she just nodded and turned to Yennefer.
"Where's Triss? Shouldn't we wait for her?"
"She's not coming to the temple. Her extreme allergy to potions makes her unsuitable for the first phase of this plan, so she'll be waiting outside the city walls until I give her the signal to join us."
The three of them crossed the city and, to any onlookers or guards, they appeared no different than any other group of peasant pilgrim women. Despite this, they were very alert and aware, their thoughts in sync, counting guards, making mental notes of how crowded St. Gregory's Bridge was.
Once they were over the bridge, they climbed the slope leading to Electors' Square and crossed it to reach one of the gates where pilgrims were queuing to enter the temple. The guards only gave the supplicants a cursory glance before letting them pass into the large courtyard contained within the walls.
This was the first time she had gone this deep into the city's religious centre, so she looked around with interest. After all, no one could blame a poor peasant woman for falling in awe at the sight of the Church of Eternal Fire. And by all intents and purposes, the whole ensemble was grandiose in the most serious sense of the word. The large square preceding the Church was overflowing with people, all of them focused on the priests conducting the worship ceremony in front of an enormous brazier dedicated to the Eternal Flame. On all sides, the square was flanked by multitier buildings with balconies overlooking it. These were bustling with people, just like below.
A small boy playing around, brushed past Yennefer, then ran off as fast as he had appeared. Criss caught a glimpse of a piece of parchment in Yennefer's hand. The sorceress ran her thumb along the paper and almost smiled. The message was etched into the paper in a tactile code.
"Geralt has gone inside to see the king. Ves is in place and waiting for a signal," Yennefer mentally communicated the contents of the message to the other two. She discreetly nodded towards a balcony facing the centre of the square. A cloaked figure, whom Criss had mistaken for a beggar, was the sole unmoving person on that walkway. "As soon as Geralt leaves the Church, we'll be free to rain holy hell on them. We should keep an eye out for him."
"That should be pretty easy. The witcher is an easy one to spot," Margarita replied to Yennefer's thoughts. "He sticks out like a sore thumb in any crowd."
Criss didn't bother with a reply, instead, she scouted the square once again, paying special attention to the flights of stairs descending from the upper platform that was linked to the Church building. There was no sign of Geralt or anyone else leaving the Church, so they remained in line alongside the rest of the pilgrims and waited.
The line advanced slowly and she looked over the rest of the crowd, wondering if the Temerian troops were concealed among the common folk. If they were, then they were doing a damn good job blending in.
Time ticked by at a snail's pace and an uneasy feeling grew in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't quite place the source of it. Slowly but surely they advanced and it wouldn't be long before they were at the base of the stairs leading up to the altar. If Geralt is still inside by then... She refused to let the thought go any further.
"Finally! There he is!" thought Margarita. "For a moment I thought we might actually have to go up and prostrate ourselves in front of these red-robed charlatans."
"He certainly took his time," Yennefer chimed in.
Criss glanced over the crowd towards the Church entrance and saw Geralt come out, surrounded by five dozen armed soldiers. Through the rows of soldiers, she caught glimpses of the witcher. She followed their course as they parted the crowds of onlookers and made their way across the courtyard. The witcher's demeanour seemed sullen, more so than usual. It was to be expected since there'd be no reason for joy on his part, and yet something felt off.
"There's something wrong with him," she warned the other two.
"He looks fine to me," Yennefer replied.
"He's not." She frowned while her gaze fixated on the witcher, trying to absorb every detail. "I'm not even sure that's Geralt."
"Not Geralt? Have you taken complete leave of your senses or have you gone blind while staring at the Eternal Flame?"
"Neither."
"Then have you any proof?"
"I just have a feeling..."
"A feeling? You want us to delay based on nothing more than a feeling?" Yennefer asked. When she was met with silence, she continued. "Unless you can tell me why you think that might not be Geralt, we'll proceed as agreed upon."
Criss couldn't find any reasonable argument to fight her. All she knew was that although Geralt's stride and mannerisms were the same as usual, her subconscious had caught on to something that wasn't right. She just needed to figure out what it was and put it into words.
The throng of soldiers and the witcher turned to leave through a side entrance in the courtyard. Soon they'd be out of sight and her last hope to figure out the reason for her unease would be gone. Her shoulders slumped as the gates opened and the group crossed to the other side. She caught one last glimpse of his armoured back through the gap between two soldiers and then she saw it – the detail that nagged her.
"The sword! It's the wrong sword! It's not Geralt's!" she scrambled to explain.
"He has a collection of swords stowed at Dandelion's inn. You can't possibly know all of them," Yennefer countered.
"I may not know all of them, but I know that scabbard belongs to another sword, he wouldn't keep the scabbard and replace the sword."
"Nonsense," Yennefer thought after a moment. "Sword or no sword, we'll proceed as planned. We're too far in to turn back now."
With that thought, Yennefer and Margarita stepped out of line, each headed to a side of the courtyard as if they had recognized someone they meant to greet. Criss stayed back and once the other two were in place, a triangle had formed between the three of them.
"Now!" Yennefer commanded.
Each of them stunned the guards nearest to them. Then, in unison, the three sorceresses executed the spell that was meant to break the ward that sheltered the city. No sooner had they gotten halfway through it, when new guards poured in through the gaps in the crowd, ready and armed. A whistle sounded through the square and the Temerians made themselves known through battle cries, drawing their weapons to intercept the king's guards.
Then all hell broke loose.
Small bombs landed close to Criss's feet, popping with a deafening bang and releasing a sickening smoke. Similar bombs were cast near Yennefer and Margarita and all three of them choked on the noxious vapours. The spell they were weaving unravelled as they coughed and struggled to draw air. Criss attempted to cast a spell, but no magic sparked in response. She fumbled through her pockets, trying to grasp one of the vials just as she was knocked to the ground. Instinctively, she rolled onto her back and, a second later, the sharp edge of a halberd landed where she had been. She pushed herself up only to be pinned down by the heavy boot of an armoured guard. He grunted as he yanked the halberd up, preparing to smash it down onto her face. Her only thought at that moment was that this was a stupid and unexpected way to meet her end, squashed like a bug on the pavement.
She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the blade to drop, thinking of her family, Geralt and everyone she loved, not wanting to leave this existence looking at her killer's face.
The clang of metal against the pavement rang in her ear and the sharp blade bit into her clavicle before a heavy weight dropped on top of her. She yelped from the pain and open her eyes as the air was pushed out of her lungs. The halberd had missed her head and the would-be killer laid dead with a bolt sticking out of the back of his head. On the balcony above, Ves stood with her crossbow cocked and pointed in her direction. Ves smiled crookedly and nodded before reloading and shooting another Redanian soldier. If she hadn't been squashed under a heavily armoured man, Criss might have found some way to signal her gratitude, but as things stood, she was too busy trying to wiggle herself from under the weight.
After a few moments of awkward and fruitless shoving of the dead man, she switched tactics. With an injured clavicle, she didn't have the strength needed to get herself out through brute force, but the vials in her pocket held a potion that conferred temporary immunity to the dimeritium in the bombs. She slid a hand under the dead man and felt for the pocket. Her fingers met a few bits of sharp glass and wet fabric. She muttered a curse. The vials hadn't survived the impact. She squished the wet fabric in her fist, ignoring the glass shards that pierced her skin, then withdrew her hand and licked the few drops of potion from her palm. It gave her a few seconds of access to magic, enough to cast a spell to get out from under the dead guard.
Free at last, she sought Yennefer and Margarita in the crowd. She needed one of their vials if she was to be of any help. The fight was raging in all directions, the Temerians barely keeping the king's men at bay. They needed to get their plan back on track or this square would be the last place they ever saw. Margarita was closest to her, so Criss headed in her direction. She didn't get very far before guards blocked her path. They made for her with raised swords and she looked from one side to the other for a means of escape, but she was locked in on all sides.
'Margarita!' she called, hoping the sorceress would aid her.
Bolts of lightning struck the guards standing between them and they fell to the ground with smoke simmering out of them. Margarita grinned satisfied on the other side and Criss wasted no time in getting to her.
'I need a vial. All of mine broke.'
Margarita held out a few of her own.
'Here. I have more than enough.' While Criss downed a potion, Margarita shot another bolt of lightning into a guard behind her. 'We need to finish the incantation or we'll be overrun.'
Criss nodded, feeling the return of magic into her body as she stunned a group of soldiers. She healed her injuries and cleared her way through the square until she was in position and signalled to the other two that she was ready to begin. Dimeritium bombs flew at them, but the potion's protective effect held strong. In a few minutes, their spell was cast and as soon as they were done, Yennefer sent what looked like fireworks into the air. A dozen shimmering portals appeared across the square and mages poured through them.
The balance of power shifted the second the mages came through. The Redanians were pushed back as the wizards threw spells left and right with various degrees of hate behind them, but the battle was far from being won.
While some stunned or incapacitated their targets, others killed theirs. Unlike them, Criss fought dispassionately, her only objective was to keep as many people alive as possible, regardless of which side they fought on. All she wanted was for this fight to be over so she could find Geralt. Whoever was impersonating him had taken the scabbard of the sword she gave him, but had replaced the weapon with a common item. She was sure the witcher wouldn't have given up the sword by choice so there was a fair chance he was a prisoner. There was a worse possibility but she refused to dwell on it because the thought of him dead was enough to make her want to level the city.
She shielded a group of humans who ran into the path of an incoming fireball, then switched her attention to a mage who was cornered by soldiers. An arrow whizzed by her head, followed by a sharp pain and something wet the collar of her shirt. She ducked and threw up another shield around herself before searching out the archer who had her in their sight. Some Temerian was already gutting him. She felt the side of her head and found her ear torn in half. With a wince, she put it back in place and healed it.
On the other side of the courtyard, more guards poured through a gate and their forces were almost overwhelmed. She protected as many as she could, but she was only one healer and there were hundreds of fighters. Soon she tired and her spells lost their intensity, so she focused on protecting the other mages. As adept as they were with magic, none of them had any sword skills and a loose arrow or a cut from a sword was enough to kill them if they weren't careful.
A stun spell here, a shield there, little by little they gained ground. By the end, she was lightheaded and barely on her feet, but the battle in the courtyard was won. All that remained was to take over the Church building where the king resided. What remained of the Temerian forces divided into two, one part securing the gates, while the other advanced on the Church alongside the mages.
Geralt walked through the gates of the Church a few hours after dawn. Chasing after Philippa and jumping through hoops in the process left him with a bitter aftertaste. He swore to himself this would be the last time he got caught in Philippa's schemes, but for now he had to see his part through. The sooner Radovid was dealt with, the sooner everyone could focus on the real threat - the Hunt. It was this thought that kept him moving forward when the guards at the gate disarmed him before leading him to see the King.
Radovid sat on his imposing throne, presiding over the great hall. It should have been a church sept, but the priests of the Eternal Flame had moved their service to the outside altar to accommodate the King. After all, Radovid and his hate for mages had bolstered and fed their flames literally and figuratively.
The King narrowed his eyes as Geralt stopped at the designated place for supplicants. The guard leading him gave him a shove.
"Kneel before your King!"
Geralt looked across his shoulder at the guard, then back to Radovid. Reluctantly he dropped to one knee and the king's gaze markedly softened.
"I see you've learnt some manners. That's very good, but it won't help you if you've come to tell me how you've failed in your task once again."
"Then it's fortunate for me that I haven't failed."
"Really?" Radovid asked with a sly smile and a raised eyebrow. "I don't see a certain blind sorceress accompanying you. Although I could settle for her head in a bag, but I don't see that either."
"We've had this conversation before. You contracted me to find her, I never agreed to bring her to you, let alone to kill her. I can however lead your men to her."
"Hmm, then by all means, tell my captain here where he can find her," Radovid said, gesturing to one of the guards.
Geralt cleared his throat and looked sheepishly at him. "Unfortunately, it isn't that simple."
"Oh? How so?" The sly smile was back on Radovid's face. "You've either found her or you haven't. Which is it?"
"I've found her, but the way to her hideout is a maze and the doorway is inaccessible to anyone who doesn't possess at least a modest amount of knowledge regarding magical portals."
"And what proof have you that you've actually found Philippa and not some other mage's hideout?"
"I have this." He pulled out the ring Philippa had given him. "I'm sure you recognize it."
The guard took the ring from Geralt and gave it to the king. He held it up and studied it for a moment.
"My father's ring. She proudly used it for years to sign decrees in my father's name. Didn't even bother to pretend the orders came from anyone other than herself." He hummed then pinned Geralt with a shrewd gaze. "No one else could have it and yet I mistrust how you've come to obtain it. It's not the sort of item Philippa would leave lying around."
"Perhaps it's not as important to her as you think. Especially now that it has no use. I doubt she's signing any decrees nowadays."
The king measured him with calculating eyes and Geralt couldn't help curse. Out of all the items she could have given him, she had to choose the one that would stir the Radovid's suspicions. Despite his misgivings about overplaying his hand, he continued to push.
"I did my part in finding her, but if you don't send your men, you might miss your only chance to capture her. The hearth in her laboratory had recently been used, and there was recent news of magical trouble in the area, but who knows how long it'll be before she moves to another hideout."
"Oh, I'll send my men. Worry not, witcher," Radovid said with a confident smile.
"Good, then if you could return my sword, I'll saddle my horse and meet them at the..."
The king's laugh interrupted him.
"I didn't say anything about you joining my men."
"Then how do you expect to find her?" Geralt frowned, confused. "I'm the only one who knows..."
"Yes, you are. But not for long." Radovid signed to one of the guards and he came forward. "Bring forth the imp."
After a momentary wait, the guard returned with a bald, long-nosed and yellow-eyed little creature with elongated limbs shackled in silver cuffs. Geralt recognized it as the natural form of a doppler and when the guard removed the shackles, the witcher understood what the king meant to do, so he did the only thing he could think of – shield his mind.
The creature squirmed and grunted, trying to gain Geralt's shape, but the result was less than perfect.
"What sorcery is this?" the king demanded, grasping the arms of his seat and leaning forward. "I thought you dopplers can mimic anyone."
"I can't see. His mind is empty!" the creature agonized, clutching his misshaped head.
Radovid turned to Geralt with a murderous look.
"If you value the skin on your back, let him see into your mind."
"And what guarantee do I have that you'll let me walk out of here alive once he learns what I know?" Geralt said, in an effort to bide for more time while he parsed out information in his head, working out a way to hide only what pertained to the conspiracy.
"I can guarantee that you'll die a slow painful death if you don't do as I say."
"Very appealing, but that's not nearly enough."
"Guards, restrain him!"
Geralt took a step back as a dozen soldiers surrounded him. Unarmed, he fought them off as well as he could, but the odds were stacked against him. They overpowered and brought him to his knees through sheer brute force. If they knocked him out, he doubted the spell would hold.
"Enough! I yield!" he said and the doppler was finally able to take his shape, from head to toe identical, complete with armour. Guards shackled his hands.
The king looked at the copy. "Was he telling the truth? Has he found the sorceress?"
The doppler turned from the king to Geralt, then back to Radovid and Geralt couldn't help but wonder if he did a good job hiding what needed to be kept secret. The way dopplers copied their targets was mostly a mystery and using that spell had been a desperate act, uncertain to do anything.
"He did," the doppler answered in Geralt's gravelly voice, but with uncharacteristic meekness. "She's close to Novigrad, underground. The way is guarded." The likeness to Geralt's own way of speaking was uncanny.
"Take my soldiers there and I'll set you free as a reward."
The mimic nodded, stoic-faced.
"Give him the witcher's sword, gather five dozen soldiers and set them on their way. I want to see Philippa's head on a pike by evening!"
A soldier brought the sword and handed it to the doppler, but as soon as he touched the hilt, he howled and lost his newly acquired shape.
"You should know better than to touch a witcher's sword," Geralt taunted. "Silver is bad for your complexion."
"You!" the captain shouted to a soldier. "Give me your sword!"
The soldier obeyed without question and soon the special sword in the scabbard was replaced with a regular steel one that the doppler could touch. The soldiers surrounded the copy of the witcher and marched him out the gates, no doubt headed for Philippa's hideout. How well they would fair against her gargoyles, not even Geralt knew and at that particular moment, it was the least of his concerns. The king's gaze was once again on him and it didn't bode well.
"The lashing my guards gave you last time taught you nothing." The king motioned to his captain. "Bring the witch hunters here."
A shiver ran down Geralt's back. This wasn't going to end well for him.
"So you're going to kill me? Is that it? Burn me at the stake to make an example?"
"No, such a simple fate would be too easy. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be wishing that's what I did."
"So torture then," Geralt stated dispassionately.
"You always like to be so clever with your snide remarks and witty sarcasm, your tongue should be the first thing they cut out. Unfortunately, I might need to question you some more so you'll get to keep it a while longer." He waved a hand dismissively. "But they have many ways of making witches talk and I've always been curious if witchers are as resilient as they say."
A group of witch hunters entered the great hall.
"What are the king's orders?" they asked.
"You've developed a very successful technique for questioning suspects. I'd like to see how well it works on witchers."
Even shackled as he was, he fought back when the hunters made to rip off his armour. He managed an elbow to one's nose and a kick to another's stomach before they subdued him. They had him pinned to the floor in only his trousers. The sharp hiss of a blade leaving its sheath was the only preamble before they cut into him.
"I warned you that you're risking the skin off your back," Radovid laughed as the hunters flayed his back bit by bit.
The first cuts he endured, gritting his teeth, but when they poured salt and vinegar over the open wounds he screamed. It was the first of many screams they would pull from him that morning.
The remaining Redanian guards barricaded themselves inside the Church, so mages and soldiers alike assaulted the gates in hopes of bringing them down, but they were solid iron enforced with veins of dimeritium. Spells bounced off them harmless and Criss growled in exhausted anger.
"If the doors won't budge, let's bring down the walls," she suggested to Yennefer.
They picked a point and focused all their energy on it. Criss put more and more power into her spells, draining herself further. Soon, the wall cracked and crumbled and the Temerian forces pushed through. Swords clashed as the Redanian soldiers fought for their lives. Her healing spells and protection barriers flared again in an effort to give the Temerians an advantage. Just as Roche's Blue Stripes were beginning to make some headway, a few dozen Redanian soldiers climbed the stairs leading to the dungeons below, Dijkstra among them along with a fierce-looking redhead. Criss groaned in despair. It was too much for her to keep up.
"For the Queen!" Dijkstra shouted and joined the Temerian side to Criss's dismay.
"Queen Adda", murmurs swept through the crowd.
Part of the Redanian troops dropped their swords at his call and the remaining ones were quickly disarmed and bound. A collective sigh of relief came from the Temerians and mages.
The respite was short-lived. "To the main sept!" Queen Adda ordered and they all followed, Criss almost stumbling over her own feet. The other mages weren't fairing much better, only the Temerian soldiers were pushed on by the taste of victory and the prospect of installing their queen in the Redanian seat.
The two forces advanced as one and broke through to the main hall where they were met by Redanian soldiers and witch hunters. The fight began anew, but it was short-lived as the Temerians greatly outnumbered them. Radovid shouted orders from behind them until he was pinned behind Adda's blade. Criss was deaf to all of it. Geralt was sprawled on the marble floor, his whole back a bleeding wound. All she heard was the faint breath coming from him.
She saw black.
Tethers spawned from her and coiled around the throats of the hunters whose blades dripped with Geralt's blood. She could taste their souls and life energy through them and the darkness within hungered vengeful. One little pull from her and she could take their souls, imprison them in the depths of her being to never see the light. The temptation was almost too great. She gritted her teeth and lessened her hold without letting go. They wouldn't die. No, but they would pay. Their hair grew white and their skin sagged as they each aged a few decades while that life poured into Geralt. She didn't let them go until Geralt groaned and lifted himself onto his elbows. The tethers vanished and the men collapsed unconscious while she crouched next to the witcher.
Through the red haze of pain erupting from his back, a vision swam through his mind. A young girl perched on a stone with two piles of apples – one perfectly ripe and one withered. Bands of energy flew from the perfect apples and sunk into her skin. She turned to him and gave a small smile. He drew in a lungful of air and woke to those same warm dark eyes, but her face was pale and she looked exhausted.
She cupped his face, searching for his eyes and found the weariness of a man who had been to hell and back. Her healing might have removed the physical effects, but the experience would be forever etched in his mind. A choked sob came from her.
"Next time you hear me agree to meddle in political plans, remind me how this turned out," he said trying to smile.
"Remind you? Hah! I'll hogtie you before you do any more politicking," she said with wet eyes.
He chuckled and got off the floor.
"That's preferable to getting flayed."
He stretched and rubbed a shoulder, feeling the smooth skin that had grown in the span of minutes. The witch hunters who tortured him laid unconscious around him, drained and withered. The king was disarmed and surrounded by soldiers. For a moment he was surprised to see Redanian uniforms among them, then he saw the unmistakable profile of Foltest's daughter. Through a sham marriage that gave the king legitimacy over Temeria, she had become Radovid's wife and now his men hailed her as Queen.
Yennefer's cough drew his attention.
"I knew Radovid to be ruthless, but I thought he'd hold off on harming you until you lead his men to Philippa."
Triss and Margarita joined her side.
"Geralt, I believe we owe you our thanks and an apology. We thought you had left with his soldiers."
"Can't blame you. Who knew Radovid squirrelled away a doppler in his dungeon? Seems he's not opposed to using monsters and freaks when it suits him," he said the last part looking the former king square in his eyes. "Guess it's his turn to wear a pair of shackles while Dijkstra, Roche and Queen Adda decide his fate."
Criss followed his gaze and finally laid eyes on the man who was responsible for all that had occurred that day, starting from the needless deaths of Temerians and Redanians alike and ending with Geralt's wounds. Caught in between three individuals, each with their own reason for wanting revenge, the deposed king was looking at a very short lifespan and even Criss had murder in her eyes. Dijkstra was the only one of them who was willing to let him live the remainder of his days in a dungeon.
"We've done our part, now let's get the hell out of here," Geralt said, pulling Criss aside.
"You don't want to see this through? To know what his fate will be?"
"What I know is that if I stay here a moment longer, my sword will find itself a new sheath and the king's not going to like what that will be."
She snorted and gave him a sideways glance.
"Besides, Yen will give us the short version later," he continued, picking up what remained of his shirt after the guards tore it. "This is going to need some mending. As will my armour, if anything is left of it. At least my sword is still in one piece, although I'll have to find it a new scabbard. I doubt I'll ever see mine again."
He sifted through some of the witch hunter's scabbards before choosing one that would fit his sword while she turned to look for the rest of his kit and found his armour trampled on and ruined under soldiers' feet.
"I'll have a go at fixing it," she said as they made their way out of the mass of soldiers and headed for the Church gate.
"Maybe tomorrow. You look like you need some rest."
"Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to rest, but I have to make one more stop before we go back to the inn."
"What stop?" he asked, frowning.
"You're not going to like it," she said with a sigh. "I was expecting Bedlam's men to attack the hospital, so Ciri and Avallac'h went to guard it while I was here."
"Then we'd better get a move on," he replied in the span of a breath.
She raised her eyes to meet Geralt's and found his frown had deepened as he worked himself into the damaged armour. Without asking, she touched the breastplate and let her magic seep into it to mend the cracks and tears. She was about to do the same to the rest of his gear when he stopped her.
"Leave it. You're getting paler by the second. Besides, you might need your strength for more important things."
She nodded and hurried down the steps to the main courtyard, trying to get her bearings. His gaze swept over the courtyard. Bodies of soldiers and citizens alike laid strewn over the stone pavement. Military physicians moved through, checking for those who were still drawing breath and doing triage on them.
"This looks like a massacre."
"It was worse than I ever imagined it could be," she said. "There were too many for me..."
He squeezed her shoulder. "Let's get Roach. Riding will get us there faster," Geralt said as he pointed towards a stable at the other end of the square.
By the time they reached the mare, her pallor deepened and each step was a strain. He helped her into the saddle and got behind her, wrapping an arm around her to keep her in place and taking the reins in the other.
"You look like you'll slump off the saddle at any moment. Maybe I should take you back to the inn and check on Ciri myself."
"No, if you make sure I don't fall off, I'll rest on the way there and I should be fine." She relaxed against his chest and closed her eyes.
He guided Roach to the gate, going a little easier than the mare could handle. From his own experience with healing meditation, a few extra minutes of rest could make a world of difference. He waited as long as he could before waking her and only when they were close to Vilmerius he squeezed her waist and whispered in her ear.
"We're almost at the hospital."
She straightened and drew a large breath before opening her eyes.
"Feeling any better?"
"Better, but a long way off from well," she answered.
They rounded the last corner and reached the hospital. The building looked as if someone had tried to set fire to it, part of a wall was scorched and blackened. Traces of an earlier fight remained – blood sprayed over the stones and scruff marks in the dirt. A couple of discarded weapons laid strewn and the door to the building was barely hanging on its hinges. Cries and screams came from inside.
Both of them dismounted and Geralt drew his weapon. He pushed in the door with Criss behind him. To his relief, the cries were not ones of battle but belonged to the patients. There were wounded among them, but most were bedridden with regular illness.
"How fortuitous that you've come!" Von Gratz greeted them. "Some thugs had the gall to attack the hospital, but fortunately two of my patients helped me fend them off."
"Fortunate indeed," Geralt said, giving Criss a side glance.
"These two patients, are they still here?" she asked. "I'd like to properly thank them for their good deed."
"They're on the first floor, my nurses are tending to their wounds."
"Wounds?" they asked in unison.
"The thugs had some sort of smoke bombs. Apparently one of them had a very bad reaction to them."
Both rushed to the staircase, Geralt taking the steps two at a time.
"If they hurt one hair on Ciri's head..." Geralt growled.
"They must have had the same bombs the soldiers used in Elector's Square. The king had a hand in this."
They reached the upper floor and Geralt's ears already caught Ciri's voice coming from a room further back.
"Would you just stand still for a moment?"
"This is ridiculous," Avallac'h complained.
"Sir, I can't help you if you keep moving. I need to bandage your arm and apply a poultice over that burn."
"Get those away from me. No useless herb paste is going to help this cut. I shall not be subjected to dh'oine and their backwards ways."
"It helped my scrapes, so maybe it's not so useless. Look."
"Hmm, it does look better, but we would be better served returning to the inn and getting... someone who knows what they're doing. She might rid me of the effects of that blast. I still can't focus any magic."
"We can't leave yet. They might come back and then this will be for nought."
"Ah, speak of the devil," Avallac'h said as they entered the room. "You can remove this nonsense now," he told the nurse who was struggling to hold his arm still.
In one glance, Geralt measured the damage done to his daughter and the elf. Thankfully, they seemed to have no more than minor scrapes and bruises.
"Now, before you get all in a huff about me being here and start blaming anyone, you should know that I wanted to be involved. If we wouldn't have been here, the hospital would surely have been destroyed. They came prepared for magic. Even Avallac'h couldn't do anything to counter their weapons."
"They must have thought I'd be here," Criss thought out loud.
Ciri nodded. "It was fortunate that my sword isn't affected by such things. Good old fashion weapons are what saved our backsides."
Geralt hummed in response.
"Criss, do you mind having a look at Avallac'h's wounds? He's distrustful of human medicine."
"He shouldn't be, at least not of those particular poultices since I'm the one supplying them," she replied, coming to Avallac'h's side. She inspected his wounds quickly and he winced when she healed them. "These weren't so bad. Barely scrapes."
"I am not accustomed to being injured."
"And yet this is the second time in the span of a few days," Geralt commented.
"True. Unfortunately, no magic is foolproof. Come to speak of it, do you have some method of dispelling this inconvenient effect? It is most disconcerting to be disconnected from all magic sources."
"There's no cure for dimeritium. You just have to wait for it to flush out of your system. I've found in the past that drinking water helps," Geralt replied in her stead.
"Actually..." Criss said, rummaging through her pockets. "I think I have one or two vials left." She pulled out a small flask and handed it to the elf. As soon as he downed it, he flexed his fingers and conjured a small ball of light.
"Wonderful," he said with a smile. "I'd say I am in your debt, but I wouldn't be here in the first place if I hadn't tried to help you."
Geralt raised an eyebrow and focused on the vial.
"Where did you get that?"
"Yennefer... Actually, Margarita gave me these particular vials, and as far as I've been told, the recipe is something Philippa retrieved from the ruins of some castle where some mage had been experimenting with a counteragent to dimeritium. Sty something, I forgot the name."
"Stygga?"
"Yes, that's it. You know it?"
Both he and Ciri grimaced. "It was Vilgefortz's last hideout." The image of Regis being melted into a lump came to mind. Geralt shook his head. "There are a lot of bad memories tied to that place, friends I lost there."
"Either way, at least they found some good use for it. Without that concoction, we'd all be dead. Even with it, it was a tough battle," she said, moving on to healing Ciri who had a nasty burn on her forearm. "That does it." She looked to Ciri. "The men who attacked the hospital, what happened to them?"
"A few fought and died. Most of them ran off once they saw we weren't defenceless."
"Any idea if Bedlam was among them?" Criss asked.
"I doubt it," both Ciri and Geralt said in unison. "He wouldn't have come himself," Geralt continued. "If you want the hospital to be safe, we need to do something about him."
"Agreed," Criss replied. "It's about time this ended."
Just as she finished her sentence, the door swung open and nurses brought in more patients and this time their wounds were not inflicted by illness.
"Please make room," one nurse asked. "Wounded are coming in and we need all the beds we can spare. If you're able to walk, then kindly go downstairs and see the doctor for a final check-up before being discharged."
"What happened?" Criss asked.
"Overflow from the Church and military hospital."
They gathered their things and went downstairs to find that the situation was much worse than they imagined. Redanian and Temerian soldiers were coming in. All the patients who weren't emergencies were sent home as the military took over the whole building, commandeering supplies and personnel as needed.
A father carrying his wounded daughter was stopped at the entrance.
"Soldiers are the highest priority, civilians wait their turn."
"But she's bleeding!"
"Fine, but just her. There aren't enough doctors to take care of everyone and there isn't enough space either."
More civilians crowded behind him, all trying to get in as Geralt and company were pushed outside. Criss looked around and counted a few dozen.
"These are all worshipers of the Eternal Fire," she said after recognizing a few faces from Elector's Square in the crowd. She pulled Geralt aside. "Bedlam will have to wait, I need to help these people. It's our fault they were hurt. Mages were throwing spells left and right, hitting whoever happened to be in the wrong place."
He skimmed over the crowd. She wasn't wrong. Some of the people clamouring outside the hospital were burned by magical lightning.
"You need to find a proper place to help them."
"How about the inn?"Ciri suggested.
"Dandelion isn't going to be happy about it." Geralt rubbed his chin. "No, I have a better idea. We'll kill two birds with one stone."