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Valdo paused as the city rose before him, crumbling towers and cracked roads the symbols of a civilisation abandoned long before.
Daevon.
It was abandoned when the beasts came. Now, people say it’s where the Witchers made their home, when they weren’t wandering the wastelands between the New Cities, keeping the roads clear for travel by humans.
When Valdo had gotten the message that Jaskier wanted to meet him in Daevon, he’d been sure it was a joke. He hadn’t heard from Jaskier in years, after all. Not since… Not since Valdo had signed his life away. And then Jaskier had run off and ended up in Posada, somehow, talking to a Witcher.
That was the last anyone had heard of Jaskier for sure, nearly four years ago. Priscilla and Essi had both gotten letters, telling them not to worry. They all did anyway, especially after they’d heard rumours of their friend trailing around after a Witcher.
Valdo didn’t know what might be waiting for him in Daevon. If Jaskier really was in the clutches of those strange creatures, then Valdo had little hope of saving him. Witchers had been intended as supersoldiers, to defend against the beasts that had spilled out over the landscape before Valdo was even born. Genetically altered, mutated, to make them more effective. The stories said that Witchers were mutated as children, and the changes stripped them of their souls. Or consciences, depending on who you asked. Either way, they were cold-blooded, mercenary creatures with little patience for humanity’s emotional quirks.
The thought of Jaskier stuck with one of those creatures made Valdo’s skin crawl. What would he be like after nearly four years with an emotionless hunter of the terrifying things that roamed the wastes?
Surely Jaskier would no longer be the starry-eyed, eager young man Valdo remembered, full of life and love and joy, in spite of everything that had driven them to Oxenfurt. But then, Jaskier had not been that young man when the two of them had parted. He’d been angry then, angry enough to run off to one of the few Old Cities still occupied by humans.
And now Valdo was here, just outside Daevon, wondering if he should have warned his producers that he might not be coming back. They’d been all too enthusiastic to let him disappear for a couple of weeks, given that Valdo was “overdue for a scandal”. They might have been a little more reluctant if he’d mentioned exactly what he was planning.
Valdo started his speeder back up rather than dwell on it. He had enough fuel to get him back to Ard Carraigh with a passenger. They could travel from there to Cidaris, where Valdo would be able to let himself worry about Jaskier again. For now, worry would be nothing but a hindrance.
The cracked roads made for a bumpy ride, even in a top of the line speeder. It helped to keep Valdo’s mind off whatever might be hiding in the crumbled buildings. He’d been lucky enough to avoid any monsters thus far, but this deep into the wastelands, so far from any of the New Cities, he was sure that something lurked just out of sight, behind every pile of rubble.
He rumbled past the broken bridge, turning East as the message had instructed. Jaskier had said they would meet him a mile East of the bridge, though he hadn’t specified who, exactly, “they” were. Valdo could only pray that the Witcher wasn’t going to be there.
A bright splash of colour cut through the dismal grey landscape. A flash of vibrant blue.
Jaskier.
He was standing outside a building, alone, wrapped in a bright blue jacket that stood out among the rubble.
Valdo pulled to a stop, barely able to contain the hope bubbling up in his heart. Hope and anxiety. Four years, and Jaskier looked as though he’d barely changed at all. Same hair. Same eyes. Same tension in his jaw as he watched Valdo dismount his speeder.
“You came,” Jaskier said, hands held by his sides. There was a small sidearm peeking out from under the hem of his jacket. He had a small, white scar on his chin that Valdo didn’t recognise.
“It’s really you,” Valdo breathed. “I didn’t believe it, at first, but it’s really you. You’re really here. When they said you’d run off with a Witcher… Jaskier, we thought you were dead.”
Jaskier gave him a nasty smile. “Were you worried about me, or worried you’d have to feel guilty for stealing songs from a dead man?”
The barb hit its mark, digging deep under Valdo’s skin as he remembered the betrayed look on Jaskier’s face when Valdo had explained what he’d done. He’d thought Jaskier would be happy. They finally had a chance to do what they’d always wanted. But the contract’s demands were more than what Jaskier had been willing to surrender.
“You didn’t bring me out here to argue,” Valdo said, shaking his head. “What’s going on, Jaskier? Does this have something to do with the Witcher? Is it here?”
“It,” Jaskier scoffed. “You sound like a shiny. I guess you are a shiny these days. How’s life on the top?” His lip curled in a familiar sneer. “Look at you, Val. We used to laugh at the shinies, dressed up in all the latest fashions, decked out with the best tech. Always talking down on everyone else. It.”
A crunch of gravel had Valdo turn his attention away from Jaskier. Out of the building emerged a terrifying sight. A white-haired beast in black leather and kevlar. Yellow eyes glinting in the light. A pair of blades strapped to its back. A silver wolf’s-head crest around its throat.
A Witcher.
The Butcher.
Valdo swallowed hard. The Witcher must have heard him. He’d be lucky to get out of this alive. Everyone knew that the Butcher had destroyed Blaviken. The whys were uncertain, but it was well known that the Witcher was bloodthirsty and cruel.
What Jaskier was doing with the Butcher, Valdo had no idea. How he’d survived so long with the Butcher, if the Butcher was indeed the Witcher Jaskier had been travelling with, was even more mystifying.
“You’re right, Valdo, I didn’t ask you out here to argue,” Jaskier said, his jaw tight. “We need your help.”
“We?” Valdo parroted. That didn’t sound an awful lot like Jaskier was planning on coming back to Cidaris with him.
The Witcher nodded.
“Inside,” it rumbled. “We’ll explain more.”
There was little Valdo could do but follow as Jaskier and the Butcher stepped back inside the building. He could try to run, but a Witcher would easily catch him before he could start his speeder again. And who could tell what it might do to Jaskier if Valdo fled?
He trailed after them, the hair on his arms standing on end, and sweat beading on the back of his neck as he willingly stepped into the beast’s lair.
Waiting inside was the strangest collection of people Valdo had ever seen. Two of the most unnaturally beautiful women, even in comparison to the shinies Valdo had been living among for the past four years. Three more Witchers, each with the same wolf’s head medallions. Valdo had no hope of escaping with Jaskier.
Most oddly, the group was rounded out by a child. A little girl with ash-blonde hair and a suspicious scowl. Her piercing green eyes pinned Valdo in place.
The women both eyed him critically.
“You’re sure he can do it?” the purple-eyed one asked, turning to Jaskier. “He doesn’t look like much. And I can feel his panic from here.”
Valdo realised with a start that she was a Sorceress. Spies and assassins with the ability to read minds and create portals. Half the population didn’t even believe in them. Valdo hadn’t really believed in them. At least not until he’d gone to Cidaris.
“He’s all we’ve got,” the Butcher grunted. “Unless you trust your old classmates?”
The purple-eyes Sorceress’ lips pressed into a tight line, but she said nothing. Clearly, she did not trust her “classmates” with whatever this was. Why they trusted Valdo was still unclear.
“Jaskier, what the fuck is happening?” Valdo asked, unable to keep the question from bursting out of him. “What’s going on? Why did you bring me here?”
Jaskier shot a look at the Butcher. The Butcher shrugged. Valdo’s eye twitched a little.
“We need you to get us into Vizima,” Jaskier said, eyes fixed just over Valdo’s shoulder.
“No.”
Valdo barely recognised his own voice. He felt detached from his body, as though he was watching the scene from over his own shoulder. Nothing made sense, and Jaskier’s request was one step too far. They couldn’t possibly actually believe that Valdo could get them into Vizima.
“Val, please,” Jaskier said. “It would only be me and Yennefer. We need to get into Vizima. You have no idea how important this is.”
Valdo shook his head. “Explain it, then,” he demanded. “If you want my help, I need to know why I’m sneaking you into one of the most secure cities on the Continent. I don’t even know how to get you in.”
The Butcher shifted, and Valdo flinched. One of the other Witchers scoffed.
Valso watched as some silent conversation took place, everyone giving each other significant looks and pulling faces. Mostly frowns, if he was being honest. Even the little girl was in on it, scowling at the Butcher as though it were a mere inconvenience.
“What do you know of the fall of Cintra?” the old Witcher finally asked. Its voice reminded Valdo of the strict tutor he and Jaskier had shared back in Oxenfurt.
Valdo shrugged. “A group of Scoia’tael led an influx of monsters that started destroying the city. Things got out of hand, and Calanthe blew the city rather than let them all die to monsters.”
The little girl hissed, fists clenching. Her eyes flashed, and Valdo took an instinctive step back. She radiated power, despite her slight frame. A young Sorceress.
“Not a very accurate summary of events, but yes, that is the story people know,” the curly-haired Sorceress said.
The big Witcher stepped forward, the light catching on the ugly scarring that gnarled its face.
“There were no Scoia’tael, or monsters, in Cintra when it blew,” it said, its deep voice rumbling through the room like thunder. “Wouldn’t surprise me much if Calanthe really did blow the city though. She’d rather destroy it herself than lose it to Nilfgaard.”
“Nilfgaard?” Valdo gasped.
Calanthe’s daughter had been married to the CEO of Nilfgaard Enterprises, which made it all the more baffling that anyone might think Nilfgaard Enterprises would be involved in the destruction of Cintra.
“Emhyr var Emreis was dabbling in genetic experimentation,” the Butcher said. “We think he did something to Pavetta during her pregnancy.” It glanced at the little girl, yellow eyes going soft, and Valdo’s stomach twisted.
“My name is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon,” the girl said. “Calanthe was my grandmother. It was Nilfgaard that attacked Cintra, not the Scoia’tael. They were looking for me.”
“She shares attributes with both Sorceresses, and Witchers,” the purple-eyed Sorceress said. “We think that Emhyr found out about the Elder blood in Calanthe’s family tree, and decided that it was the perfect opportunity to escalate his experiments.”
Jaskier turned to Valdo with a pleading look. “That’s why we need to get into Vizima,” he said. “We need to get at Nilfgaard’s records to see what Emreis did. If we have proof, then we can prepare for whatever else might manifest in her. And we’d have the chance to take him down, if we can get anyone to take him on.”
Valdo took in a deep, steadying breath, his mind racing as he struggled to make sense of everything they were saying.
If he did this, and things went wrong, he would be as much an outcast as any Witcher. If he lived, that is. He looked to the Butcher, wondering if the Witcher had the capacity to care about the potential consequences. It - he - was clearly able to care about the girl. Jaskier had been with him this whole time, and he wasn’t the type to stick around if he thought someone didn’t care.
Valdo looked to the Sorceresses. Unnaturally beautiful. Statuesque and cold. But hiding in the scattered remains of an Old City, huddled around a lost child, lending their strength to a cause they had no reason to be involved in.
The other Witchers stood as protectors, Valdo realised. They’d been made as humanity’s last defence against creatures more powerful than anyone could imagine, and now they used the inhuman abilities they’d been cursed with in order to protect a single child from a monster with power beyond any man.
He didn’t know what had caused Jaskier to follow the Butcher out of Posada. He didn’t know why the Butcher had lost control in Blaviken. What he did know was that there was a child hunted by a monster that hid behind the bright shine of the New Cities. A child as lost as he and Jaskier had once been.
“Do you have a plan for actually getting into Vizima?” Valdo asked.
Jaskier’s lips split into a wide, mean grin. Valdo had missed that smile. It was time to trick some shinies.