It is not a piece of cake, no, the contrary.
"Put him on the table, but be careful," Regis orders when they all are in the laboratory. "And try to stop the bleeding from his leg, please. You know how to apply a tourniquet?" Lambert and Coen nod. In their line of work, it is of the essence to know what to do if a werewolf digs its claws into your arm or a Striga rips your leg open. Tourniquets can be life-savers if used correctly.
"I need to test your blood, Jaskier," Regis then says, addressing the bard who has just put Ciri on one of the beds in the adjoining room. "You better sit down for it," he adds with a smile. It is not a secret that Jaskier, in spite of having travelled so many years with a Witcher and seen lots of it, is not especially good when it comes to looking at his own blood.
Jaskier goes pale in the face at Regis's words, but sits down on a large wooden chest in the laboratory without protest and puts out his hand for the higher vampire barber-surgeon.
"Human blood is less risky than Witcher blood," Regis explains while sticking a needle in Jaskier's finger, "if the blood types are compatible." On a glass slide, he quickly mixes a few drops of Jaskier's with some of Cahir's blood.
"Pity, see, it's clotting. You wouldn't want that to happen inside anybody's blood vessels. I fear, we have no choice, then. Geralt, would you—"
"Try mine," Ciri chimes in, still sniffing a little. And before anybody can say anything, she has already cut her finger with her knife. A big drop of blood appears on the tip of her middle finger. Regis hurries to her side and catches it on a fresh glass slide.
"No, Ciri, you're still in shock. And possibly hurt yourself!" Geralt objects. "You wait for Yen to look you over, and then—"
"I'm doing it, Geralt. Cahir's hurt because of me. I brought the tower down."
"How?" the white-haired Witcher asks, staring at his daughter, flabbergasted. However, he already knows the answer. She screamed. Yet, why would she?
"It's looking good, your blood matches perfectly," Regis interrupts, smiling at Ciri through pursed lips before she can reply to Geralt's question. "If you would lie down on the table over there, young lady, so I can connect you with the tube? It won't hurt much."
Still a little shaky, Ciri gets up and walks over to the table Regis has cleared from all the mishmash of equipment that usually lies on top of it. Wisely anticipating that it would be needed, he must have moved it closer to the larger table in the centre of the room while everybody else was busy digging Cahir and Ciri out from under the rubble of the collapsed tower. The only item Ciri can see on the tabletop is a long needle that is connected to a strange device standing on the floor. Another tube leads to a similar needle that Regis is just sticking into Cahir's arm. Cahir whimpers softly but does not flinch or give any other indication that he is alive. Then it is Ciri's turn to have the needle inserted in an artery in the crook of her arm. It stings, but she is a Witcher girl, not a wuss, so she holds still and does not make a sound.
"Think this is a good idea, brother? To let a higher vampire do a blood transfusion?" Coen asks softly while Regis is busy with the apparatus. "Are you sure he won't fall into a frenzy from bloodlust and kill us all?"
"He won't." Geralt say with conviction. He has seen Regis handle blood before without him showing any reaction to it at all. It has never been as large an amount as it is now, still, he trusts his friend with his life. And, surprisingly, with Ciri's, too.
Regis smiles at Geralt's words. However, there is no time for in depth explanations on why the common sentiment that vampires would not be able to control themselves as soon as they see - or smell - the tiniest droplet of blood is purely superstition. Lambert and Coen have done a good job placing a tourniquet on Cahir's thigh above the open and heavily bleeding fracture of the femur. It has effectively stopped the haemorrhage. Blood is still seeping from the laceration in the boy's scalp, though, and there must be considerable internal bleeding. Regis lets his hands hover first over the head injury, then over Cahir's chest and the rest of his body to assess the damage with the help of his bat senses.
"How bad is it?" Vesemir asks, his voice shaky with concern. It is eery how deadly pale Cahir is. His breathing is so shallow that his chest hardly moves, and the weak and far too fast and irregular heartbeat does not sound reassuring at all, the contrary. What makes things even worse for Vesemir, it is the exact same long, wooden table where they cut up Eskel after he had died ...
"Cahir's skull, it's broken, I fear," Regis says. "As are several ribs and his hip and thigh bone. One wing of the lung has been punctured and there must be a rupture in his spleen, I suspect. Thanks to Ciri's blood, he has a chance if he makes it until Yennefer arrives. She should be here any minute. If not, my friend, this is beyond my healing abilities, I'm afraid."
"Hell, what is taking her so long?" Vesemir knits his brows, instantly angry at the Witch. Last he checked, Yennefer and Cahir were in a relationship with each other, at least on occasion. Should she not immediately drop everything and come to his rescue?
"It appears, times have become dangerous in Redania, and especially so for Sorceresses," Regis explains while carefully washing away the blood and grime from the ugly wound in Cahir's skull. His young friend gives a low moan, but does not wake up. Will he do so ever again?
"Witch hunts," Regis continues with a sigh. "Philippa Eilhart has been accused of having had a hand in the death of King Vizimir. They have to be extra careful with portals and use several different ones so they cannot be tracked too easily by Redanian Intelligence. Furthermore, Redania don't seem to be the only party interested in finding the secret hiding place of the Lodge."
"Damn humans and their politics!" Vesemir huffs, feeling like punching somebody in the face, preferably King Radovid or whoever is behind those Witch hunts. "They're worse than monsters!"
"I won't disagree," Regis says with a melancholy smile. He has been around for more than 400 years and have humans ever been able to learn from history? No, they have not, not in his experience. They make the same mistakes over and over and over. Is it because they don't live that long and simply forget? But there are history books and oral renditions of important events. Why, if you only live for a few decades, make this brief existence miserable for everybody and shorten it even more by going to war against each other all the time? However long he has observed humans, this will forever remain a mystery to him, Regis suspects.
With another sigh, he gently wraps a bandage around Cahir's head, careful not to move him more than absolutely necessary. Then they hear hurried steps on the stone stairs leading down to the laboratory. Finally!
Geralt throws the door wide open. Yennefer is flushed, short of breath from running and slightly dizzy from the multiple portals she had to use.
"How's Ciri? And Cahir? Can one not leave you alone for more than a few hours without—" she chides as she barges into the room. She stops short when she sees Cahir's motionless form on the dissecting table.
"Fuck!" Tears well up in her eyes. However, she quickly gets a grip on herself again. Cahir cannot be dead, otherwise Regis would not dress his wounds. It will not help him at all if she bursts out crying. Ciri is also very pale and it looks like she has been weeping just recently, but to Yennefer's relief, her beloved daughter is fully conscious and there are no visible injuries, only this strange apparatus with the tubes.
"Ciri's alright. She just needs to rest a little. Regis has almost sucked her dry," Geralt says, having noticed Yennefer's worried gaze. Of course, he knows that the barber-surgeon would never do that and has taken only as much of her blood as he could without compromising her health, but it appeared to be an awful lot to Geralt anyway.
"Geralt, Jaskier, why don't you take the young Witcher lady up to her room, so that she can have a nap? More of her blood is neither needed now that Mistress Yennefer is here, nor advisable."
Nodding, Geralt scoops Ciri up into his arms. She cuddles up to him, thoroughly exhausted. Regis removes the needle and presses a clean piece of cloth onto the tiny puncture wound.
"Thank you, my girl, we all appreciate your help. Now, sleep well," he says while doing so. Then he turns to Lambert and Coen. "The other Witcher's could perhaps put themselves to use and secure the yard? Make sure no more stones will come raining down on us, yes?"
"Just tell us to get the fuck out of our lab and leave you and the Sorceress alone," Lambert snorts. "Come, Coen, we aren't wanted here any longer."
"Don't mind good old lambchops, you know how he is," Coen apologises to Regis on behalf of his none too polite mate before following the redhead who has already left for the courtyard. "And good luck!"
Geralt with the half-asleep Witcher girl and Jaskier also heed Regis's advice and head for Ciri's bedroom. Only Vesemir makes no move to exit the laboratory.
"I'm not going anywhere," he declares, taking Cahir's awfully cold, clammy hand in his. It is what Regis expected, so he does not object, and neither does Yennefer. The sorceress has already started to frantically mutter spells, both her hands resting on Cahir's chest. Mending bones and knitting blood vessels together is hard work. It needs a lot of concentration and focus. The less people are around, the better, even if they keep perfectly quiet. Their auras could easily distract her chaos. Having Vesemir around might be helpful, though, in case they need anything. Maybe his presence is good for Cahir, too. The old Witcher has become some kind of a father figure for the much younger man, and Yennefer knows that Vesemir would take it very badly if Cahir did not make it. As would she. Just thinking of the possibility makes her heart quiver. No, she simply cannot let it happen. She cannot let him go where she can't follow. She cannot lose him, not again.
In contrast to Vesemir, Regis, funnily, has no aura at all, like he does not cast a mirror image.
After a few minutes, fine droplets of perspiration begin to appear on Yennefer's brow. The bleeding into the lung tissue caused by the fractured ribs has almost ceased. The ribs are not fully healed, but restored sufficiently so that they are no threat to Cahir's life. This is what is most important at the moment.
"What else?" Yennefer asks, wiping her forehead with the sleeve of her elegant black lace dress with the purple patterns that look like dancing flames when she moves, one of her favourites. Perfect for a Lodge meeting. Perhaps less so for the tasks at hand, however, her dress is the least of her worries at the moment.
"So much," Regis answers with a heavy sigh. He has been busy cleansing the injury in Cahir's thigh while Yennefer took care of his ribcage and lung. The broken thighbone might not be the most pressing issue, however, it is the only one he can do something about at the moment. "The most urgent are the fractured skull and his spleen, I'd say," he adds. "Your magic is his only chance as I would not want to perform traditional surgery on Cahir right now. The boy would not survive it."
No, he would not. Yennefer is not an experienced healer like Triss Merigold, but it is obvious that Regis is right with his assessment. And, of course, he does not need to tell Yennefer twice. She is already on it, murmuring another string of powerful healing spells. It does not take long for the first drops of blood to drip from her nose and into Cahir's hair. Well, it is soaked with blood anyway. His blood. Fresh tears spring to Yennefer's eyes. She wipes them away angrily together with the nosebleed. She needs to go on but she can already feel magical exhaustion setting in, her chaos all but drained. Still, it is far from enough yet.
"Here, lady Yennefer, why don't you have a little something to drink?" Regis asks, holding a flask made of bluish cut glass out to her with an encouraging smile. It is filled with a translucent liquid. "A sip of my very special moonshine. It has reviving qualities and the mandrake enhances magic, or so it is said."
Regis's legendary mandrake moonshine. Yennefer's eyes grow wide. She has heard tall tales about it. Even if it is only half as good as Jaskier always describes it, it must be mind-blowing. Only one way to find out. She takes a hearty swig from the flask.
"Gosh, that stuff is strong!" Yennefer gasps when she feels she can speak again without breathing fire. The effect is jaw-dropping though. She instantaneously feels much revived, her chaos flowing freely, the tips of her fingers prickling with new energy. She lays her hands on the back of Cahir's head and continues to whisper healing spell after healing spell. When she is mostly satisfied with the progress, she moves her hands down to his belly. There are bruises everywhere when she lifts his shirt, but that was to be expected and is of no concern at the moment. Regis said something about a ruptured spleen. Yennefer places both her hands on the upper left side of Cahir's abdomen and concentrates, trying to picture the injured organ in her mind. Then she speaks the incantation and repeats it like a mantra. With the help of two more swallows from Regis's moonshine, Yennefer is finally certain that the bleeding from the life-threatening rupture has stopped. It is high time, too. She feels dizzy from exertion, and slightly tipsy from the very potent alcohol. However, there are a few more broken bones that need at least some healing.
Cahir's thigh is a horrible mess, the bone fractured and splintered in several places, the muscle and skin torn. Yennefer feels sick to her stomach just looking at the ghastly wound. Still, she has to in order to heal it. She takes a deep breath, then lets her hands hover above the injury, imagining how the broken bone slides back into place and the severed blood vessels grow back together. Soon, dark spots start dancing in the periphery of her vision. Not only is her nose bleeding now, but her eyes, too.
"It is enough, you've done enough, Yennefer, dear. You need to lie down before you collapse," Regis says, handing the bleeding sorceress his handkerchief. "I'll do the rest. He'll live, thanks to you. Don't worry. Even if it might take a while until he wakes up, and even longer until he will be able to walk again."
Yennefer nods weakly. The barber-surgeon helps her up and supports her when she walks the short distance to the adjacent room to sink onto one of the beds there. Too tired to undress, she closes her eyes.
"Thank you, you're a true friend. The best," she murmurs when Regis pulls off her shoes, covers her with a warm woollen blanket and tucks her in.
"Sleep well, lady Yennefer," Regis says with a fond smile. However, Yennefer cannot see it. She is already fast asleep.
