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Geralt paused beneath the shadows of a tree to listen for movement. He’d counted only two sentries so far, guarding the cave where the bandits had gone to ground, but he couldn’t afford to miss any, not if he wanted to get their captive out alive.
The local magistrate had only been able to tell Geralt that a mage had been summoned from the capital to deal with a magical artifact, and had never arrived. The remains of that unfortunate mage’s camp, only a day’s ride out of the town, held few clues. Most of the supplies and belongings had been plundered, but Geralt found a book abandoned under an out-of-the-way fern. It was sodden from the recent rains, but when he’d breathed it in, he’d caught the distinct scent of lilac and gooseberries.
Geralt had spent two days tracking this group of bandits and their captive through the rough terrain of the foothills. If they’d kept the mage prisoner for this long, they must have a purpose in mind, and perhaps even be working for someone else. And after putting in this much work to follow his quarry, Geralt wasn’t about to spoil everything by rushing in.
After a convenient cloud had covered up what little there was of the waning moon, Geralt crept over to where one of the sentries stood and ended the man’s life with a quick snap of his neck that gave him no time to cry out. Geralt had his knife balanced in his hand and threw it before the other man had even turned around. The bandit’s eyes widened as his hands grasped uselessly at the blade in his throat, and he sank slowly to his knees before keeling over.
Geralt retrieved his knife and cleaned it while listening for any disturbance inside the cave. The others seemed to all be asleep, for the fire near the entrance was burned down to ash, and there were no torches left lit. That suited Geralt just fine.
He drew a vial of Cat from his pouch and gulped it down. After that it was child’s play to slip past the sleeping bandits. The deeper darkness at the back of the cave suggested a second, smaller cavern. Surely their captive would be there. Over the smell of many unwashed bodies, Geralt caught the metallic tang of dimeritium, and knew he was near his goal.
Geralt hurried forward, ducking his head to enter the smaller cavern. In the pitch darkness, his potion-enhanced eyes caught the outline of a figure curled against the far wall.
“Yen,” he whispered. When nothing happened, he crept closer and lowered himself to one knee. “Yennefer?”
The figure jolted upright, shackles clanking. Geralt found himself looking into the pale blue eyes of a sorcerer who was decidedly not Yennefer.
“Istredd,” Geralt gritted out. “Quiet, or you’ll wake them.”
“Witcher?” Istredd blinked, then squinted into the dark. “What--”
“Contract to rescue you,” Geralt said gruffly. However much he might like to, he couldn’t actually leave Istredd to the mercy of these brigands. For one thing, Yen would never forgive him. And whatever reason the bandits had for abducting a sorcerer, it couldn’t be good.
“Can you get these off?” Istredd, having shaken off his initial confusion, held up his manacled wrists.
“Too loud,” Geralt said. “I’ll do it when we’ve snuck out. Come on.”
“No.” Istredd stayed right where he was. “I’m not counting on you to defend me while I’m helpless. Do it now.”
“Listen,” Geralt began. But he wouldn’t have trusted Istredd to watch his back if he were incapacitated. He couldn’t really blame the man for wanting to be able to fight. And he could hear some of the bandits beginning to stir in the other room. Time was of the essence. Geralt sighed. “There’ll be thirty or more to deal with as soon as I do this. Be ready.”
Istredd nodded grimly.
“Put them up against the wall, here.” Geralt pointed. “Turn your face away.”
Geralt swung his steel sword with his weight behind it, severing the pin on the clasp of the right-hand manacle. It dropped open and fell, swinging from the chain that linked to the fetter on Istredd’s other wrist. Geralt took a moment to feel smug about his excellent aim. Istredd wasted no time. He turned and thrust his free hand out towards the main cavern, where some of the bandits had stumbled to their feet and were gathering their weapons. He shouted a phrase in Elder, and a piercing light erupted, many times brighter than the sun at midday.
Geralt stumbled back with a shout, flinging an arm up to cover his eyes as pain flashed through his skull. Even when he lowered his arm, he could see nothing but dark shapes moving against a dark background.
He swore emphatically and charged into the fray after Istredd. Decades of practicing his swordwork blindfolded meant Geralt was able to parry every blow that came his way. However, he couldn’t tell where Istredd had gone, and could do nothing to defend him. Hopefully the sorcerer could take care of himself. Geralt swung and dodged his way out of the cave, leaving screams of pain and the smell of spilled blood behind him.
“What took you so long?” came Istredd’s voice, then a concerned noise. “Your eyes...”
“Never mind that now.” Geralt certainly didn’t intend to stop and assess the situation until there were fewer people intent on killing him. “This way.”
Geralt followed his own scent back through the woods, occasionally wincing as an unseen tree branch scraped at his skin or snagged on his armor. A few times he paused to fight off one of the surviving brigands who’d come in pursuit, when Istredd didn’t take care of it first with a shouted word and a crackle of magic.
It took entirely too long, by Geralt’s reckoning, for them to get back to Roach. “We need to keep moving,” Geralt said as he untied her. “Not sure how many are still alive back there, but we should put some distance between us. We’ll have to ride double for a while.”
“You can’t see,” Istredd said. There was something in his voice that Geralt couldn’t identify without a facial expression to accompany it.
“I’m aware,” Geralt growled.
“Then I’m riding in front.”
“Roach is my horse,” Geralt said, though he knew that was petty. He rather wished she’d punctuate the issue by biting Istredd, but she only stood watching them with interest, her breath puffing out in clouds of steam in the cold air.
“Roach? What kind-- Never mind.” Istredd let out a quick breath. “I can see, I should steer.”
Grudgingly, Geralt conceded his spot in the saddle, only because he didn’t want to accidentally bring any harm to Roach, and climbed up behind Istredd. They rode until the sounds of the bandits gave way to the noise of the night forest. After that, Geralt dismounted and walked, with a hand on Roach’s flank to keep him oriented.
Geralt hadn’t paid much attention to the state Istredd had been in when Geralt had found him. He’d been too surprised at not finding the mage he expected to observe much else. If Istredd was injured, he hadn’t said. But now that Geralt was paying attention, he could hear Istredd’s ragged breathing and the thudding of a heart working harder than it should, and smell old traces of blood and days of accumulated grime on his clothes. If it had been Yen held captive for more than a week, Geralt would have been pestering her for the details of her condition: how had she been treated, was she hurt, had she been properly fed, had the magic she’d expended in the escape exhausted her, did she need anything?
Geralt did not care for Istredd. But Yen did. If something happened to him, she’d be upset. And aside from loving Yennefer, for which Geralt could hardly fault the man, he’d done nothing to earn Geralt’s wrath. It wasn’t very professional to make the victim of a kidnapping suffer more than necessary out of jealousy.
“We should stop soon,” Geralt said. The birds who heralded the dawn had begun to sing, and Istredd would need to rest. Besides, Geralt imagined his injured eyes would not find daylight pleasant. “Be on the lookout for a cave or a hollow. Somewhere we can hide from pursuers.”
“I can make a shelter. I am a sorcerer, you know,” Istredd said dryly.
“Hm.” Geralt wouldn’t have minded a warm, luxurious tent like the one Yen took on the road, though he doubted that’s what Istredd meant. Besides, being in unfamiliar territory with enemies whose numbers and purpose were unknown seemed like an inopportune time to get too comfortable. “Are you certain our pursuers can’t detect magic?”
Istredd was silent a moment. “I won’t swear to it. I still don’t know how they caught me unawares before. It shouldn’t have been possible.” There was just the sound of Roach’s hooves on forest loam for a minute more. “I’ll look for a cave.”
--
In the end, the place they found was concealed enough that Geralt had to use axii to coax Roach through the entrance past several thick pine boughs. There was plenty of room for her to stand inside the cave, however, and for Geralt to strip her off tack and gear.
Istredd collapsed against the back wall of the cavern with a grunt of pain that he tried to hold back.
“You injured?” Geralt asked.
“They weren’t very gracious hosts,” was all Istredd said. He didn’t complain further, nor did he demand anything from Geralt, the way sorcerers tended to do. Perhaps he’d gotten hit on the head during the fighting.
Geralt brought him water and dug some stale bread out of his pack that ought to be fine for a human to eat. While Istredd ate, Geralt used a very controlled Igni to melt the lock on the other dimeritium cuff. It came off cleanly, and Geralt dumped the dimeritium at the far end of the cave, where its deeply unpleasant aura would be less of a bother.
Now that Istredd was at last free of the manacles, Geralt could smell the fresh blood where the skin had been rubbed raw. He fetched some clean bandages and salve from his bag, part of a kit he’d assembled for when he traveled with Jaskier. Istredd took them wordlessly and tended to himself while Geralt organized the rest of his supplies and choked down a bit of food and water. He’d need to figure out what to do next, with his combat capabilities significantly diminished and a semi-hostile mage in tow.
“You still can’t see,” Istredd said from his spot by the wall. “You hide it well. Your other senses must be very sharp.”
“Thanks,” Geralt said icily.
“Was it just the exposure to light that did it?”
Geralt turned to glare at him, though he could only make out a vague outline of Istredd’s form. “I’d taken a potion to enhance my vision. Apparently it made me uniquely vulnerable to that little parlor trick of yours.”
“Mm.” Istredd fell silent, for which Geralt was thankful.
He found his own patch of ground next to Istredd, the only place left for him between the horse and his neatly arranged gear. His head still throbbed, but since there wasn’t any external injury to his eyes, there wasn’t anything he could treat. A dose of Swallow might have helped, but he’d rather wait to see if there was an urgent need for another potion soon.
“Will you be all right?” Istredd asked.
“Nice of you to be concerned,” Geralt snapped. When Istredd didn’t say anything else, Geralt went on, “They’ll heal.” Or, at least, Geralt thought they would.
“I understand from my studies that that’s part of witcher physiology,” Istredd said. “An advanced healing factor. One of the things the early witchers were quite interested in enhancing.”
“So they say,” Geralt muttered, but his skin prickled at the mention of early witchers. Geralt hadn’t thought records of them existed outside the strongholds of the witchers themselves, but of course the mages would have preserved whatever knowledge they could of that time.
“Your eyes are quite a marvel of engineering.” Istredd sounded closer, as if he was leaning in.
“Are they.” Geralt held himself tense, jaw clenched as he waited.
“I’ve never seen a witcher’s eyes up close. The pupils.” Istredd reached towards him. “Are they--”
“Don’t touch me!” Geralt slapped away the reaching hand.
Istredd scrambled back with a hiss of pain.
Geralt sat gritting his teeth, caught between wanting to nurse the anger he felt at this man’s audacity and wondering if he should apologize as the moments stretched without Istredd protesting Geralt’s rebuff.
Eventually Istredd said, “They do teach us healing magic at Ban Ard.”
“Even if we hadn’t established that using magic is an unnecessary risk, I won’t be letting you cast any spells on me, thanks very much,” Geralt said, grateful that he could settle on anger.
“As you wish,” Istredd said coldly.
Geralt growled, thinking that when Istredd told this story to Yen, he’d complain of what a hot-tempered beast the witcher was, irrationally touchy about the slightest thing, and incapable of recognizing a civilized overture. No, Geralt wouldn’t let that be the tale Istredd told.
“Did they change you?” Geralt asked.
“What?”
“At Ban Ard,” Geralt clarified. “Yen said at Aretuza they transform the trainees before they go out into the world.”
“I… It’s not required at Ban Ard,” Istredd said. “I suppose there’s more leeway given regarding how a sorcerer looks than for a sorceress.”
“Hm.” Geralt hadn’t expected that much insight from a man who’d never had to submit to the kind of compulsory transformation that Yennefer and Geralt had undergone. “The changes for witcher trainees were not merely cosmetic. They unmade us and then reshaped us from the inside with elixirs and magic.”
“And in return you became a fearsome monster hunter,” Istredd said, with a note of derision.
“Most of the boys died,” Geralt said curtly. “In my year, only me and two others lived, out of fourteen who underwent the Trials.”
“Oh.” Istredd’s voice sounded very small, or perhaps further away.
“That’s what happens when sorcerers get curious about what changes can be made with a witcher’s body.”
“I’m not…” Istredd said slowly. “That is, I’d never heard how witchers were made.”
“The method’s been lost,” Geralt snapped.
“Sounds as if that might be for the best,” Istredd said evenly.
Geralt looked at him sharply, but of course couldn’t see Istredd’s expression. He wasn’t sure he would have wanted to. “We should try to get some rest. Tonight, when it’s dark, we’ll keep moving.”
Geralt dragged his bedroll out of his supplies and handed it over to Istredd, who sniffed doubtfully, but wasn’t fool enough to turn it down with the chill in the air. Geralt settled onto his knees without moving away, knowing that his body heat would go some way towards making the temperature over here more comfortable for a human, then drifted into a shallow meditation.
--
“Geralt.”
Geralt’s eyes snapped open, and it took his several seconds to remember why all he could see were dark blurs.
Istredd crouched at Geralt’s side, not touching him. Geralt listened, and immediately heard the distant sound of human voices.
“Persistent,” Istredd said. “I thought we’d killed most of them.”
“Must be a high bounty on your head. Maybe I should find their employer, take you in myself.”
Istredd didn’t rise to the bait. “Will they find us?”
Geralt listened a moment longer. He didn’t hear the sound of any dogs who might have been tracking their scent. The searchers weren’t right on top of this hiding place, which might mean they were covering as much ground as possible rather than following a trail.
“Not yet,” Geralt said after a while. “But we should move on tonight. Make for a city. Is there somewhere you’ll be safe? Someone who might help protect you?”
“Yenna is usually in Tretogor this time of year.”
“Hm.” Geralt hadn’t known that. Though of course, Yen had no reason to keep Geralt apprised of her every move. She’d always valued her independence. “That’s a two day ride from here, presuming we traveled south last night.”
“Did we?” Istredd asked.
Geralt fixed Istredd, who was still only a blurry outline, with a look of derision. “You, with functioning eyes, didn’t notice which way we were riding?”
“How was I meant to know which direction we were riding?” He seemed genuinely baffled.
Geralt sighed. “We’ll deal with that later. If we’re going to travel all night, you should rest.”
“Shouldn’t you, too?”
“Witchers don’t need as much sleep as humans. That advanced physiology at work,” Geralt said dryly.
Istredd said nothing cutting in reply, in fact said nothing at all. He settled down in his borrowed bedroll, though it was quite a while before the rhythm of his breathing slowed to indicate he’d fallen asleep.
--
By the time the sun set, Geralt thought his vision might have gotten sharper, but certainly not sharp enough to determine their location or navigate to Tretogor, which should make the journey interesting.
Geralt saddled Roach and loaded up his gear, which he could do blind or drunk, then led her out into the quiet, crisp night. He could hear the creaking of the tall pines, which meant they couldn’t be too high in elevation. A chill breeze and no scent of water in the air likely meant the sky was clear. Tonight would be the new moon: an excellent night for stars.
“I don’t suppose you know anything about navigating by the stars?” Geralt asked when Istredd came out of the cave to stand beside him.
“I don’t make a practice of getting lost in the wilderness. If I made a portal…” Istredd made a frustrated noise.
“What?”
“I don’t have the supplies to prevent us being tracked. Yenna won’t thank me for bringing an unknown enemy to her doorstep.”
“Hm.” Geralt could certainly sympathize with wanting to avoid Yen’s wrath. “We need to head south from here. Any river we find should lead us out of the foothills, which is where we need to be. So, can you see the lesser hourglass?”
“The what?” Istredd asked incredulously.
“The constellation,” Geralt said, trying to channel the patient tone he’d used when tutoring witcher trainees long ago. “It’s two triangles of brighter stars with their points towards each other, and a cluster at the center.”
“Witcher, there are thousands of stars,” Istredd said. “How am I meant to know which ones you’re talking about?”
“They don’t teach you about constellations at Ban Ard?”
“We study the movements of celestial bodies for purposes of harnessing the forces they influence,” Istredd said loftily. “We don’t memorize the configurations about which peasants make up quaint stories.”
“Of course.” Geralt gritted his teeth and released a long breath. Of course, it was the sorcerer’s own fault that Geralt was currently blind and unable to navigate by the constellations used by normal mortals. Punching Istredd might make Geralt feel better, but it wouldn’t solve their immediate problem.
“Oh, you taught Yenna,” Istredd said slowly.
“Hm?”
“Years ago we were at a gathering. One of the hosts had enchanted the ceiling to look like the night sky. Yenna quite cuttingly pointed out that the constellations were all wrong for the place and the time of year, and went on about what a careless bit of magic it was. Oh, Sabrina was furious. She…” Istredd cleared his throat. “Never mind. Yenna knew all their names. When I asked where she’d learned, she said Kaer Morhen. I understand she’d taken to spending quite a bit of time there, at that point.”
“Yes, she did.” Geralt could remember standing on the battlements with Yen, holding her inside his fur-lined cloak to keep her warm, and pointing to the sky to draw out the shape of each constellation as she asked about it. He hadn’t realized she’d remembered them. Not only that, but she’d talked of them to Istredd, to her other sorcerer friends. Geralt felt a wistful smile bloom on his face. He’d forgotten that night.
“If I could read them like you, we’d know which way to go?” Istredd asked.
“Yes,” Geralt said warily.
“Then show me. Picture what I’m looking for in your mind, and I’ll read it.”
“No,” Geralt said immediately. “I don’t want you reading my mind.”
“There’s nothing you could do to prevent me if I wanted to, you know,” Istredd sighed. “I could have been reading you all along--”
“Istredd-”
“But I haven’t,” Istredd pointed out. You have some information that it will benefit both of us to know. That’s all I want to see.”
Geralt weighed his options. They could wait until the morning to travel, and dawn would show them the way. Or Geralt could attempt to divine their direction via other signs, though identifying moss and lichens would be challenging with his sight as it was. But finding their way by the stars would certainly be the fastest method. It seemed silly to delay their escape out of fear of a little mind-reading. Geralt had endured plenty of that in his time. “Once you see what you need, you’ll stop?”
“I’ll stop. You simply need to concentrate fully on the image so nothing else bleeds through.”
“Oh, is that all?” Geralt grumbled.
“Yes. Let me know when you’re ready.”
Geralt closed his eyes and pictured the chart of the stars he remembered from Kaer Morhen’s library as a boy. He could remember the smell of the old books, the quality of light from the flickering oil lamps, the feel of the polished table beneath his fingers, the ache in his muscles after a long day of training. He could see the chart clearly, and he focused on the lesser hourglass, its position in the spring sky.
“Go ahead,” he said softly, with a quick glance towards Istredd.
Geralt didn’t even feel a whisper of the sorcerer’s presence, but when he closed his eyes again he was back again on the battlement, at Kaer Morhen smelling lilac and gooseberries in Yen’s hair, holding her close as she laughed into the cold wind and asked about another constellation.
Istredd took in a sharp breath and stepped backwards. Geralt opened his eyes. He shook his head, banishing the images, the feelings those memories conjured.
“I’m…” Istredd sounded breathless. “I didn’t—"
“Did you see what you needed?” Geralt asked quickly. “The map?”
“I… Yes.” Istredd cleared his throat. “Yes, I did.”
“Good.” Geralt hadn’t meant to think of Yen, had only meant to show Istredd what he needed to see. That memory of Yen was only a small thing--a simple moment of pleasure, and certainly no grand ball full of royalty or spectacular display of power or whatever else Istredd and Yen got up to together. Istredd already thought Geralt unworthy of Yennefer, and a memory like that would only confirm it in his mind.
“It’s quite simple when you know what you’re looking for, really.” Istredd moved around the forest clearing, then stopped and pointed up. “And there’s the hourglass. This way.”
They set out on foot this time, with Istredd in front and Geralt leading Roach. This time Geralt could at least see the outlines of tree branches, and Istredd seemed to be doing well enough finding a way forward in approximately the right direction.
But they hadn’t gone far at all when Istredd stopped and turned around. “You care for her,” he said.
“For Yen?” Geralt stopped, and behind him Roach snorted as she ran into him before stopping herself. Geralt stared at Istredd, wishing fervently for his sight so that he could have a hope of interpreting what Istredd meant by that. “Yes.”
“That memory. I had thought that was impossible.” Istredd took a step closer. “You told me yourself that witchers don’t have feelings.”
“Well, what do I know? I’m but a humble monster hun—"
“Geralt,” Istredd said sharply. “I care for her, too.”
“If you say so,” Geralt grumbled, but he knew he was being ungracious. He’d seen the two of them together, heard the speeding of Istredd’s heart when Yennefer was near, and seen how Istredd looked at her.
“I do,” Istredd said. “I care for her just as you do, equally.”
“Is that so.” Geralt genuinely didn’t know if the way he felt about Yen was any different, more, or lesser, than the love a human could feel. He couldn’t read minds, or pluck memories out of people’s heads. He only knew he loved her as fiercely and as deeply as he was capable of. He didn’t find it hard to believe that another man felt the same way. After all, she was magnificent. “I don’t have a basis for comparison.”
“But I do, now,” Istredd said, sounding almost smug. He made a considering noise. “Well. Two days to Tretogor, you said?”
“If we ever start walking again,” Geralt grumbled.
“Good. That’ll give me some time to think.” Istredd turned and began picking his way through the trees again.
After a moment, Geralt followed, tugging at Roach’s lead. “About what?”
“How I can tell Yenna that I’ve been a fool so that she’s pleased with me for noticing rather than angry with me for having been a fool for longer than necessary.”
“Hm.” How well Geralt knew that conundrum. “It’s a tricky needle to thread.”
“Believe me, I understand that,” Istredd said. “I’m hoping that your presence will help my cause.”
“Are you.” Geralt didn’t feel particularly disposed to help any cause of Istredd. He had no idea what Istredd meant by this conversation, except perhaps to unsettle Geralt. If that was his goal, he was succeeding admirably.
“You, witcher. I’ve been an idiot about you.” Istredd glanced back over his shoulder, then kept walking. “If there’s someone out there who loves her as much as I do--which I now know there is--she deserves to have him, too, if she wants him. Which I plan to tell her.”
Geralt stumbled over a tree root in his path, and Roach snorted reproachfully. Geralt righted himself and hurried after Istredd. “Is this because I saved your life?”
“No,” Istredd said. “Or at least, not in any large part.”
Geralt searched for something to say to that other than “what exactly is happening here,” because he now felt as if he’d entirely lost his grip on what Istredd intended. For decades they’d assiduously avoided any interaction at all, and now he seemed to be saying… something quite the opposite of his previous sentiment. Geralt rubbed his forehead. “Sorcerers are incomprehensible.”
“That’s the wisest thing I’ve heard you say,” Istredd said cheerfully.
“Then you must not listen very well.”
“Touché. Well, I’m finding listening to have unexpected benefits. So thank you, for the rescue.”
“I’m doing it for money,” Geralt snapped. “The contract, remember?”
“Ah, yes.” Istredd, damn him, sounded amused. “Of course. I’ll be sure to tell Yenna that. I’m certain she’ll see the truth of it.”
“You’re an ass, wizard.”
“Sometimes,” Istredd said agreeably. “We’ve a long walk ahead of us. I trust you’ll get us there safely.”
“Hm.” Geralt followed Istredd’s lead, and found that he was not at all concerned about losing the trail.