They set out at first light, well-rested and fed. They rode side by side, alternating between a canter and a slow trot to give the horses breaks while making good time on their journey. Lindenvale was their next stop, bringing them closer to their goal. If they found a boat there, they could reach Bald Mountain faster than they hoped, but he wasn't counting on it. If the army had passed through, then Nilfgaard probably requisitioned everything that could be of use to the war effort, boats included.

After she had spilt all her bottled feelings the previous evening, Ciri was now overcompensating by being unusually kind and chipper.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you got this from me," Geralt said after she made one too many comments about the lovely weather, followed by praise for helping the blacksmith escape from the bandits.

"Got what?"

"This method of continuously apologizing without saying the words."

She chuckled. "Am I that obvious?"

"Mhm. And it's unnecessary. I told you I'm not mad at you."

"But..."

"But nothing."

She gave him a side look, and he did his best to hide his worries. But his stone face rarely fooled the ones closest to him, especially when his mind was as anxious as it was then. In truth, he spiralled in thoughts of how he could make amends to Criss, of how he could reason with Ciri, of where Yen would stand in this whole situation. Would she help him and be understanding, or make it even more difficult? Uncertainty surrounded his personal life, and he tried not to dwell on things he could do nothing about. Not when another more pressing problem waited before them.

"Come on, Geralt! I know you better than that. You've got something to say."

"Nothing that needs to be said now. It'll be a conversation for another time and it can wait until after we get back."

"Don't tell me it's about her again," she said with a groan.

"It is. Of course, it is. But you'll get worked up again and end up giving me another piece of your mind. That's why I said it's for another time."

She sulked for a moment, but when she spoke again, her tone was softer and the anger wasn't there anymore, to Geralt's surprise.

"Has she told you how we met?" she asked.

"Of course. She's honest to a fault, that one. I know about Avallac'h's experiments on her. She told me as much as she could recall, but there were gaps in her memory and I thought it unnecessarily cruel to pry anything more out of her. No need for her to relive that again."

"Better. Who would want to remember their fingers getting cut off repeatedly?"

He winced and swallowed hard. No wonder Criss wasn't enthusiastic about seeing the Aen Elle again, especially Avallac'h. And after all his reassurance that he'd be there for her, he had now left her to deal with him on her own. He shook his head and sighed. If she ever forgave him for it, he'd swear he'll never leave her side.

"You never told me why you allied yourself with Avallac'h. Especially when you knew he was capable of doing something like that to a kid. What was the point of it, anyway?" he asked. "Sadistic fuck who likes to torture little girls..."

"It wasn't sadism. He was trying to restore the elves' reproductive ability using Criss's healing. She has an unusual ability to regenerate herself and he wanted to see how far it could go. He judged that her life and pain were less important than the salvation of his species."

"Excusing any means, however barbaric, with a noble goal is a dangerous edge to dance on. You should be careful around him. Such a man would hurt you without a second thought if it suited his purposes."

"He's not like that anymore. He's a fugitive, same as us. When Auberon died, Eredin pointed his finger at Avallac'h and told them it was his potion that killed the king. A blatant lie, but no one bothered to check twice, all too happy to deal punishment to the guilty."

"So killing Eredin would let him return home. That's his motive for helping you?"

"I doubt it. They'll never take him back without proof. And there's no way to prove that Eredin was the one to poison Auberon. Besides, I think he's starting to like humans."

"Is he now?" Geralt asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Alright, maybe like is an overstatement, but he's beginning to appreciate them."

"Just be careful around him, Ciri. People like him have their own agendas."

"I am. It's not like I'm not used to it. Everyone around me has an agenda and all want to use me for their purposes. It's been like that since the day I was born."

"I don't have an agenda. I just want to see you happy. Hope you know that."

She looked at him with a grateful smile.

"You might be the only one."

They rode on towards Lindenvale and Ciri shared with him how they had travelled from Kaer Morhen to Novigrad. They have been avoiding portals since the battle to make themselves invisible to the Hunt. Even Yen restrained herself and made do with less to keep Ciri safe. The Hunt could do nothing to magically track them. If the elves planned to return to the old witchers' keep, they would find no one to point them in the right direction. Only a fresh grave. Vesemir's death was the last nail in the coffin for the old place. After all, he was the one who was keeping it all together, the only reason all of them kept returning to winter there. Eskel went back on the Path, while Lambert decided to keep Keira company on her quest for a cure to the Catriona plague. He wondered if and when he would cross paths with his brothers again, yet he hoped they could find a way to defeat the Hunt without involving them again.

Come the afternoon, as they made their way past a lake towards the small bridge leading up to Lindenvale, Geralt heard voices muffled in the distance. Nothing a normal man could hear, but clear as day for a witcher. He signalled Ciri to be careful and pull her hood up. As the bridge came into view, so did a couple of ragged-looking men crouching atop the mangled bodies of Temerians. They were blocking the passage over the bridge. Bandits or looters, he thought. Either way, there was a good chance he'd have to add them to the number of strewn corpses. He dismounted and walked up to them, leaving Ciri behind to care for the horses.

"Was this your doing?" he asked sternly.

"That's none of yer business... Piss off before we make you piss off, white hair!"

So looters. If they had been bandits, they would have attacked him already.

"How about you crawl under whatever rock you came out of and live to see another day? It's a one-time offer, so think on it carefully," Geralt said, giving them a last chance to make themselves scarce.

"How about..." one of them began saying when the other jabbed him hard in the ribs.

"He's a witcher," he whispered to the man when he made to complain about the elbow to the side.

Watching men's reaction as it dawned on them who they were dealing with had never ceased to be amusing, even after so many decades of walking the roads of various kingdoms. It was always the same: first, they were cocky, then they didn't know how to tuck tail and run as fast and far as possible without losing face. Of course, there was the occasional brave idiot who thought he could take on a witcher, but the men on the bridge were only the latter – simple idiots. This kind of men never found a graceful way to make their escape, although many tried shouting curses and insults when they thought they were far enough from his blade. These were no exceptions to the rule. Taking whatever loot they had already plundered, and muttering something about not letting anything go to waste, they ran off into the nearby woods. Geralt had no intention of following them and was sure that as soon as he'd pass over the bridge and out of sight, they'd be back to scavenging. He didn't care; he just wanted the road clear for him and Ciri. Besides, the dead had no use for their belongings anymore. When times had been hard, looting corpses hadn't been beneath him.

Ciri dismounted and led the two horses by the reins.

"Seems the village didn't really surrender without a fight as Angus believed," she said, looking at silver lilies sewn on the uniforms.

"They rarely do. Temerians especially. Roche and his guerrillas are proof of that."

She hummed and moved on after a thoughtful glance at the bodies. He saw both pity and sympathy in her eyes. Even with as much as she had witnessed in her young life, the death of a perfect stranger still affected her, even if there was nothing to be done. In a way, he felt relieved that she hadn't become hardened like him, but he didn't wish for her to grieve over every corpse they'd stumble upon. In a war-torn country, there were bound to be plenty.

When they reached the village of Lindenvale, there were no black cloaks in sight. A fortuitous sign. Perhaps there was a chance they could secure supplies and a boat in this small settlement. Their first stop in trying to acquire both was the tavern, which doubled as an inn.

Ciri led the horses to the paddock while he went inside to see if he could find lodgings and a meal for the evening. A poster announcing the new duties of the fresh Nilfgaardian subjects hung by the entrance door.

In the half-empty and dimly lit tavern, the innkeeper was busying himself behind the counter with some tankards until the door opened. After a quick exchange, Geralt learned that there were no boats to be purchased or rented, not without the written approval from the Nilfgaardian quartermaster. Punishment for disobeying the order – or any other order - was a swift hanging, so no one was willing to stick their neck out for a few crowns. It looked like they'd have to figure out a different route to Bald Mountain.

Despite his inability to help him with a means of transportation, the innkeeper was helpful in providing a warm meal and two cosy rooms for the night. As Geralt was paying the fee, a hand clasped his shoulder – too heavy to be Ciri's. He turned while his hand instinctively reached for his dagger.

"Whoa, no need for that!" the man said with a smile.

Black eyes that glinted in the light looked back at him. He recognized the man, but couldn't rightly remember his name. A merchant of some sort. Pointed him in Yennefer's direction a while back.

"Oh, it's you again. A bit far from White Orchard, aren't you?"

"What can I say? As long as there's a demand for what I sell, my trade takes me to all places under the sun."

"And what was it you sold again?" Geralt asked, trying to remember more about his last encounter with the merchant.

An eerie grin spread across the man's face.

"Mirrors. I help all alike see themselves for what they are. And none have better wares than I."

"Mhm," Geralt hummed and looked at the hand the man still held on his shoulder. "And what do you want with me? Hope to sell me something?"

"You?" he asked, laughing as if Geralt had uttered the best joke he'd heard in a long time. "I would if I could. Alas, I'm here simply to collect a debt from someone..."

"And you think a witcher can speed up the process?"

"No, no, no! I merely wanted to say hello to a familiar face. This debt needn't be sped along. The debtor still has a few days' time to enjoy his boon before forking up what we agreed upon."

"Fine, you've said hello. Now, if you don't mind…"

Hoping the merchant would catch the hint and make himself scarce, Geralt eyed an empty table in the farthest corner from the door and headed for it. It would make for a quiet, out of the way place to have supper without being bothered. He took a seat on the side facing the door and dropped his pack next to him, occupying the whole bench. The bald-headed merchant joined him at the table, sitting on the opposite side, his back to the tavern.

"Two schnappses," he said, turning to the innkeeper. "You took a rain check last time," he told Geralt.

Geralt nodded; tonight he planned on doing nothing more than eating and resting. A drink wouldn't hurt to ease him to sleep.

Ciri walked in the door just as the drinks were being poured. Her eyebrows quirked up as her eyes passed over the stranger at the table, but Geralt tilted his head to the side to signal that it was safe to approach. The man turned to see who was joining them, and the corner of his mouth curled up in a knowing smile.

"Who's your friend?" she asked, sitting down next to the stranger since there was no other place available.

"He's a merchant. Met him in White Orchard..." Geralt replied. He was still drawing a blank on the man's name.

"Gaunter O'Dimm, at your service." He bowed his head with a hand over his chest. "I must say, it seems I'm luckier than most to brush so often against greatness. Who would have thought I'd be sharing a table with the White Wolf and the Lion Cub? If, of course, you'll allow a humble merchant of mirrors to bask in such prestigious company."

His smile flashed wider, and both Geralt and Ciri stiffened. How could this travelling merchant be so quick to recognize the heir to the Cintran throne when none had seen her in years and all but a few thought her dead? Geralt's hand made for his dagger again, but Ciri was quicker and closer, her own blade in her hand already, the tip of it pressed into the side of the merchant's throat menacingly. Her eyes darted quickly behind her to see if anyone else had their eye on them, then moved back to the man's face. Oddly enough, his grin didn't falter for a second, not even with a sharp blade at his jugular.

"Once again you know too much and don't tell me it was Dandelion's ballads that tipped you off. I know his repertoire too well to believe you. Are you a spy for the emperor?" Geralt asked.

"Please, Geralt," Gaunter scoffed. "A good merchant always has his eyes and ears open. This is Nilfgaardian territory now and she... well, she is someone many are looking for, and wish to find, as we speak." The tip of Ciri's dagger pressed harder against his skin, yet he shot her an unconcerned look. "That's not to mean I aim to help them fulfil that wish."

"Then what do you want, merchant?" Geralt's voice was sharp.

"I wish for a great deal of many things, same as my clients. A look at the future, among others. And that wish seems to have been granted when I met you."

His eyes sparkled eerily as he looked at Ciri.

"After all, who wouldn't want to look into the eyes of destiny herself?"

"These will be the last eyes you look into if you have any thought of betraying our presence to the emperor," Ciri warned.

"Who said anything about betrayal? There is no need to hold that to my throat, dear girl. I have no ties to the Nilfgaardians. In fact, I'm only passing through, on my way to a guild's convention. And keep in mind I helped in reuniting you with Yennefer of Vengerberg, a fact that perhaps calls for a small debt of gratitude."

Geralt sighed and waved a hand. He wasn't particularly convinced by the man's words, but he didn't wish to spill needless blood and draw attention to themselves when they could instead have a peaceful evening. The tip of Ciri's blade moved away, leaving a red mark where it pressed against the skin.

"Thank you," he said, flashing another smile before continuing. "After all, we're all fellow travellers, and perhaps we can find a way to help each other."

"You plan on offering insights into some other person's whereabouts?" Geralt asked, unamused.

"Not at all, but I heard you were looking for a boat. I happen to know where you can find one."

"You can save your breath. I don't wish to owe anyone a favour for telling me something everyone knows already," Geralt said. "It's no secret that there's a shipyard in Boatmaker's Hut. We were just hoping to come across a boat sooner."

"Then you must not have passed through here in a while. I happen to know that the Nilfgaardians burned down the shipyard after taking everything that was of use to them. The only one to escape was the foreman. Damn good shipbuilder, that one. And I just happen to know where he relocated."

"You happen to know a lot of things, it seems."

"I do, I really do. See, Geralt, I can't help it. I find people interesting and I listen to their stories and their woes on my travels. This particular foreman was bereft for having to forsake his work. Nearly drank himself blind. Lucky for him, I was willing to strike a deal with him and help him out of a pinch. He has a blooming business again, and I don't think he'd mind if I'd send him a few more customers."

"There's always Drudge. I never had a problem finding a boat there," Geralt countered. Something about taking the merchant's offer didn't feel right.

"You will now. It's been abandoned for over a month. Bandits in the area drove all the good folk away."

"And what makes you think we can't find the foreman on our own?"

"For one, the Nilfgaardians haven't found him with an entire army at their disposal. And, even if by some miracle you happen upon him by accident, can you really afford the delay? You seemed to be in a rush earlier."

Ciri caught his eye with a pleading look. If what the merchant was saying was true, they had little choice. Without the shipyard in Boatmaker's Hut, they had no discernable way of getting to the Sabbath on time. It was this or tuck tail and head back to Novigrad.

He sighed and conceded. "Fine. Where can we find the boatmaker's new shipyard?"

"Since you ask so nicely, I'll tell you." He downed the drink in front of him and hissed. "Nothing a little schnappsie can't fix."

Geralt laid back and spread his hands to the side; his patience was wearing thin. O'Dimm grinned at him with the look of a man who had all the time in the world.

"He's close to Oreton. Before you cross the bridge leading into the village, take the road that goes south and follow it down to the water. You'll find him. Tell him Gaunter O'Dimm sent you. He'll cut you a good deal.

"And now, as things stand, it's twice I've helped you. Hope you keep that in mind next time we meet. Perhaps then I'll be the one requiring your assistance with a task."

"What makes you so sure we'll meet again?"

"Oh, call it... a merchant's intuition." He got up and bowed his head again. "I'll leave you to sup on your own. I have other matters to attend to tonight."

Geralt nodded and Ciri squinted at the man; she looked as unsettled as Geralt felt when the man walked away whistling an eerie tune. The door closed behind him and the air felt lighter around them as if a shadow had passed.

"We seem to attract the oddest folk," she joked after a long moment of silence.

He shook his head and chased away his anxiety. There was no tangible evidence of any wrongdoing on the man's part, just his intuition telling him there was something off without being able to put a finger on it. Being on the run for so long had the tendency to make one see monsters hiding in every shadow.

"Let's see if we can attract some dinner instead," he replied, attempting to lighten the mood.

He waved over the barmaid and asked for drinks and food for both of them. Soon, a young woman with an apron around her neck brought them their dinner and what was passable as an ale. The food wasn't much, but it was warm, and after a day's ride it was as much comfort as he could get. Perhaps if the innkeeper was amenable enough, he could arrange for a hot bath as well. He smiled. His time with Criss had spoiled him, and he longed for that comfort again. Her big, soft bed, running hot water, and her always next to him, smiling and warm, cuddled into his side. Perhaps he'd have all that again.

"That's an odd sight," Ciri remarked with raised eyebrows.

"What?"

"You... smiling."

"I know it's probably unheard of, but you should know... witchers smile. Me included."

"Ha! Barely and almost never! And certainly not over nothing!" she scoffed, amused. "What were you thinking of?"

"Her."


She woke up in her bed, covers on the floor, along with one of the pillows. It looked like her restless nights and bad dreams were back now that Geralt was away. It was something she should have expected, like a return to her natural state. Drinking so much hadn't helped either. What a stupid thing to do, she thought. If not for her unusual physiology, she would have a massive hangover now. Even without it, she didn't plan on repeating the experience; no more alcohol for her from now on.

All the thoughts she had battled with over the night came back in a flash and she groaned in shame. It must have been a pathetic sight for anyone who witnessed it. She rubbed a hand over her face, remembering how she doubted Geralt and herself. Definitely no more alcohol for her.

After gathering the items off the floor, she brushed out her hair and straightened her clothes, then made her way downstairs.

Zoltan was counting the night's profits behind the counter, while a few of the inn's guests were having a quiet breakfast at one of the tables.

She found the barkeep and asked for a plate of food, then sat down at a smaller table to the side. A few moments later, Selise brought her the food and a mug of ale. Her stomach lurched at the sight of the drink, and she pushed it aside.

"Do you want me to bring you something else instead?"

She eagerly nodded. "Tea, water, juice, anything that doesn't have alcohol in it."

"We have this new tea, the local herbalist brought the herbs from Ofier. Supposed to be the best out there. I'll make you a cup."

"Thank you."

Just as Selise turned to leave, Criss realized she had mentioned a herbalist. It was the perfect opportunity to ask where he could find him. Lucky for her, the man's - or better said - the halfling's shop was close to the inn, just along Glory Lane. Fate was smiling down upon her, and after she devoured her breakfast, she made her way to the address the barmaid had given her.

The herbalist demanded an arm and a leg for his services, arguing that in the current climate, even minor potion-making could be construed as witchcraft, and he had no intention of ending up roasted on a pyre in the main square. She fought back, saying that if he wasn't willing to make any potions, then he might as well take down the sign off the door and replace it with something more Church friendly, like a tea shop. He scowled at her and told her to take her business elsewhere if she didn't like his prices. As she was preparing to give him another piece of her mind about fleecing people in need, the shop door swung open and a group of witch hunters entered. The herbalist shrunk into a corner, terrified.

"Good day, sirs. M-may I help y-you?" he asked in a meek voice.

One of the hunters approached the counter, stopping right next to Criss. He gave her a mean look, measuring her from head to toe. She lowered her eyes, hoping that was enough of a show of modesty, but the hunter grunted and shoved her aside, then grabbed the halfling by the collar and whispered something right in his face. The herbalist stammered something barely intelligible, and the man let go of his shirt, letting him scurry into the back room to search for something. When the man looked at her again, with that same mean look in his eyes, she took a few steps back, but this time, he left her alone.

Moments later, the herbalist came back with a small dark-coloured glass jar and handed it to the hunter, who pocketed it without giving any thanks or payment. Instead, he turned on his heels and walked out of the shop, followed by the other hunters.

The herbalist exhaled hard and slumped in a chair, clutching his chest. As she approached the counter once again, the halfling looked at her, straightened his shirt and stood.

"I wasn't trying to fleece you when I said taking your order is dangerous. This," he gestured towards the door, "is what I have to deal with every so often. I'm lucky I can provide them with minor remedies for their more embarrassing problems and they let me be. Gods help me when I'll be of no more use to them."

She glanced down at her feet, then fished his fee out of her coin purse and set it on the counter.

"As agreed, your fee."

"Aye." He took the coins and swiftly counted them. "Come back in a day and I'll have what you asked for."

She nodded and left the shop, lighter of purse and heavier of heart. The way things worked in this world tugged at her sense of justice. It was easy to hear about the unfairness non-humans faced and shrug it off until one saw it with one's eyes. The witch hunters were nothing but brutes and thugs dressed in livery.