Seb met the first wave of frost hounds head-on, sword blazing in his grip, cutting down the leading beast before it had even finished its leap, he spun with the momentum, flame trailing off the blade in a wide arc that caught two Red Riders at once, their frost-wrought armor hissing and buckling under the heat.
"Cead a'me, vatt'ghern!" one of the riders snarled, circling wide, blade low. "You cannot hold this ground alone!"
"Watch me," Seb said, and didn't wait for the elf to finish the thought he closed the gap in a single burning stride and ended the exchange before it had properly begun.
More poured from the trees, and Seb fought like something unleashed rather than merely angry, sword and fire woven together into a single relentless storm. A hound lunged for his throat; he caught it by the jaw mid-air, fire erupting from his palm to consume it before it ever landed. A rider's blade found what should have been a killing gap in his guard, and simply passed through him fire where flesh should have been before his own sword answered, driving up through the rider's chest.
"He does not bleed!" another voice cried out, "How does a mortal not bleed!"
"Fall back, regroup at the ring!" a third started, but there was no ring left to fall back to. The clearing behind Seb had already become a wasteland of smoking ruin, and within moments there was no one left standing to give further orders at all.
The air itself split open around him a moment later.
Portals bloomed in a wide, and from each one frost came pouring in thick, creeping waves, it was not ordinary winter cold, the White Frost itself given a taste of the world it meant to devour whole. More hounds surged through the openings, dozens now, and behind them, stepping unhurried through the largest of the portals, came Caranthir, staff raised, frost gathering pale along its length, and beside him, sword already drawn, Eredin himself.
"How long do you intend to keep this up, Witcher?" Eredin said, surveying the carnage Seb had left scattered across the clearing. "Until your strength finally gives out? How pitiful a strategy that is. My navigator here can hold these gates open as long as it pleases him.. for hours, if need be. Your little Witcher signs, I'm told, can do precious little against true cold."
"The White Frost doesn't harm me," Seb said, flexing his grip on his burning blade, chest heaving but his stance unshaken. "Never has. Never will." His eyes narrowed. "And yeah..I'll keep fighting until I'm out of strength. Simple as that. Feel free to test how long that actually takes."
"Confidence," Eredin mused, rolling his shoulders, "or exhaustion talking. We shall see which."
Seb didn't wait for the rest of the pleasantries. He closed the distance in a single burning stride, and Eredin met him blade for blade, steel ringing bright and sharp in the firelit dark, the general's swordsmanship every bit as precise and merciless as his reputation had promised. Caranthir moved to join a moment later, staff rising, frost already crackling along its length but Eredin's voice cut across the clearing. "Leave him to me. Find the girl. That is the only prize that matters tonight."
"Like hell I'll allow that!" Seb broke off from Eredin's guard mid-exchange and drove a flaming fist straight toward Caranthir before the elf could so much as turn. Caranthir spun, throwing up a shield of solid frost that met the blow head-on and the ice melted instantly, hissing into steam, the fist punching clean through the failing barrier and missing Caranthir's skull by the barest hair as he vanished in a swirl of cold light.
"Bastard!" Seb snarled at the empty air where the elf had stood. "He never even meant to fight me!"
"Our purpose was always the girl," Eredin said, pressing back in without missing a beat, blade flashing silver in the dark. "Not you. You were merely an inconvenience we hadn't accounted for."
"Charming," Seb muttered, parrying, twisting inside the general's guard in one sharp move, and unleashed his flame directly into Eredin's exposed face.
Eredin screamed, staggering back, tearing his helm as fire consumed everything beneath it. When the helmet finally came free and clattered to the scorched earth, his features were left blackened and raw beneath, one eye swollen shut, the proud line of his jaw seared. He retreated two staggering steps, breath ragged, one gauntleted hand pressed hard to the burns.
"You'll die for that!" Eredin rasped, voice stripped of all its earlier ease.
"Get in line," Seb said, already lunging.
Eredin vanished in the same cold shimmer that had swallowed Caranthir, Seb's blade cutting through nothing but empty, frost-tinged air a second too late. He stood there a moment, breathing hard, fury and urgency warring plainly across his face.
"Damn it!" He spun on his heel. "These teleportation... I need Caranthir dead. Without him, they can't track us half as easily." He didn't waste another second on the thought. He broke into another flight back toward where he'd left Ciri and Geralt, fire trailing behind him.
Geralt stood close beside Ciri, sword ready, eyes sweeping the tree line in a constant, restless circuit while she knelt with her eyes shut.
"Anything?" Geralt asked quietly, not daring to break her focus too sharply.
"Working on it," Ciri said, jaw tight, brow furrowed in concentration.
The air in front of them shimmered a moment later, and Caranthir stepped through it, whole and composed once more, expression unreadable behind his helmet, a pack of frost hounds fanning out silently at his back, breath steaming in the sudden cold that followed him through.
Geralt's grip tightened on his blade, recognition settling across his face despite the elf's hidden face. "How's the eye?"
"You'll pay for that, Witcher," Caranthir said. "With your life, before this night is through."
"Get in line." Geralt said, echoing Seb without knowing it, already shifting his weight into a ready stance.
A moment later, Eredin appeared beside his navigator in a swirl of frost, his ruined, burned face twisted with pain and barely restrained fury. "Take her. Now, Caranthir, before that fire-touched human catches up with us again."
"Damn it, Seb," Geralt said under his breath, stepping fully in front of Ciri, blade raised, bracing for what was plainly a losing fight.
Ciri heard none of it. Somewhere deep inside the stillness she'd built around herself, a voice rose to meet her, it was old and unlike anything she'd ever felt pressing against her thoughts before. 'Listen carefully, child of the Elder Blood. My name is Ihuarraquax, and I shall help you leave Tir na Lia. Your power must never fall into Aen Elle hands.. not now, not ever.'
'Ihuarraquax?' Her mind reached back toward it, startled, wary. 'Who... what are you? Why would you help me?'
'I am an enemy of the Aen Elle. That is all you need to know of me tonight.'
'Can you take us home? All three of us?'
'I can.'
'Then please,' Ciri thought, fierce and certain, every ounce of exhaustion and fear folding into that single demand. 'Do it. Now.'
Seb tore back into the clearing at that exact moment, flame igniting anew as he crashed bodily into Caranthir and the ring of hounds, driving them back with a fresh, furious wave of fire. "Miss me?" he snarled at Caranthir, blade already swinging.
Geralt broke off to meet Eredin's charge, silver steel clashing against the general's in a shower of sparks, both men fighting now on pure, ragged exhaustion, every movement costing visibly more than the last, breath tearing raw from both their throats.
"You've lost, Witcher," Eredin ground out between strikes, sweat and blood mixing on his ruined face. "Even now, even like this!"
"Funny," Geralt shot back, driving him back a step with a hard, grinding parry, "you don't sound half as sure of that as you're trying to."
Then the air around Ciri began to shimmer, silver-white and impossibly bright, and a unicorn stepped into being beside her, mane flowing like drifting mist, hooves never quite touching the scorched ground.
Eredin's eyes went wide behind his ruined face, all pretense of composure finally shattering. "What... No!"
Seb saw it and understood instantly what it meant, something fierce and hopeful cutting through the exhaustion on his face. Geralt's breath caught too, awe plain despite everything, despite the blade still locked against Eredin's own.
Seb knocked the staff clean out of Caranthir's grip with a burning backhand and drove his blade deep into the elf's stomach, twisting free in the same move before spinning hard toward Geralt. "Now! Grab onto Ciri, hurry!"
Geralt didn't waste breath on questions. He slammed Aard into Eredin hard enough to send the general sprawling backward across the scorched earth, then turned and sprinted for Ciri, Seb reaching her at the same instant from the opposite side both of them closing their hands around her just as the light around her and the unicorn surged into a blinding column.
"Caranthir, stop them! STOP THEM NOW!" Eredin's scream tore raw across the clearing, fury and desperation entwined, reaching out as though sheer will alone might drag them back through the light.
It was already too late.
The column of light swallowed all three of them whole, and in a single, silent heartbeat, they were gone, leaving behind only smoking ruin, scattered ash, and a king's general standing alone amid the wreckage, screaming curses at the empty air and at unicorns, and all their ancient, meddling kind.
/-\
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