Chapter 526: Rience
[TL: Asuka]
[PR: Ash]
Back in Novigrad, Ciri had once again resumed her arduous life of magic education under Yennefer’s tutelage. The sorceress was strict and almost spartan-like in her teachings, never letting her take a nap. Whenever Ciri would lose focus, Yennefer would whip her into shape, speaking to her in an almost beguiling manner.
“Focus, you ugly duckling. Control your middle finger and pinky. Curl them up at the same time, but the ring finger stays up! Did you sleep badly last night?” Yennefer heaved a sigh of resignation and ruffled her hair. “You did well yesterday, but this is awful.”
“Sorry, Yennefer, but I have a question. Until I get my answer, I can’t concentrate. Why can’t anyone else learn how to draw the patterns you made me draw? And why can’t they make these gestures either?” Ciri was wide-eyed and curious. “I taught Vicki and Renee more times than I cared to count, but they just couldn’t seem to get the hang of it.”
“I told you that the gods themselves granted you a gift, and the other sniveling brats aren’t that lucky. You’re effectively trying to teach them how to pluck the stars out of the skies, which is impossible. Save your breath and spend more time improving yourself. Don’t fool around with the brats or try to train the dog to pee while standing on its hind legs. That’s not going to happen, and it’s animal abuse.”
“Oh, so you know? Then why does the magic I learn differ from the witchers’?” Ciri licked her lips. “Before they learn their spells, Carl, Monti, Acamuthorm, and everyone else first learn how to meditate, and they talk to colorful tadpoles while they do that. The tadpoles will nestle themselves in the boys’ bodies and come back out when they cast their spells.”
“That’s chaos energy, not tadpoles. Meditation’s only for those without much talent. It’s a shortcut for them to get to their goal. Fine, it also helps with calming the mind. For Sources, however, meditation’s not exactly needed. You don’t need meditation to replenish your mana. You can take it from the convergence points in the earth, the waters, the fires, and the air. And remember, the things witchers cast are not spells. They are Signs. Far easier to cast, but weaker as well.”
“So you’re saying I’m going to be stronger than them? Even with the fire?” Ciri’s eyes shone, a grin curling her lips.
“Do as I say, and you’ll be strong enough to shock them within a year.”
***
Driven by her urge to win, Ciri started putting in hard work in hopes of one day besting the witchers. The girl was smart enough to learn a dozen basic gestures, poses, and movements. As Yennefer instructed, Ciri would move to her luxurious room in Gildorf when night came. There, she lit up her magical lamp and started reading the basic tomes of magic Yennefer prepared for her. Dialogues on the Nature of Magic, Natural Magic, and Elemental Energy were some of the few references she must read.
Ciri started yawning after she was done with her reading. The sorceress would hold her in her arms as they slept, trying to prove that she had no unicorns lying around, and Geralt never had the chance to ride one, since it never existed.
Ciri wasn’t really curious about it. She would fall asleep right after she lay down on the bed. Her training was exhausting, and she fell into a deep slumber, oblivious to the fact that Yennefer would get up after she fell asleep and go around gallivanting.
***
The children noticed Ciri’s moving out, and it hadn’t been that long since the lively girl joined them. She was no longer there in the dorms, and things got a little lonely without her. However, their attention was quickly turned to Yoana, the newcomer in their class.
The girls would surround the young blacksmith, asking her a lot of questions. One was why she spent her days in the smithy toiling away, while another was why her chest, unlike most girls, looked like a pair of mountains.
Some of the more precocious boys would steal glances at the curvaceous Yoana, even those who used to steal glances at Ciri. Carl once got too distracted staring at Yoana, he ran straight into the stake and got a bump on his head that took three days to heal. He became the butt of everyone’s jokes for two weeks.
Ciri felt down about that for a long time. “They only care about the new girl now, hmph!” Just like that, the young girl decided to give all her time to magic, with Yennefer as her tutor.
***
“Keep on walking, you ugly duckling. Vort caelme. Hold your hands out in front of you. Relax. Keep walking ahead.”
Frustrated, the girl stomped her foot. “Where is the stream supposed to be?”
“The stream is everywhere, and keep your temper in check.”
Ciri awkwardly held her hand before her chest, stiffly going into the bushes. “There are four elements, aren’t there? Why can I only take mana from streams instead of the earth or fire or the air?”
“Mana comes in different ways. You do not have enough strength to take mana from the earth; you do not understand magic enough to glean mana from the air; you do not have enough control over your will or mana, so you won’t be playing with fire unless you want to get burned and turn yourself uglier.”
“Hey, I felt something over there! Right behind the flower!”
“Good. Now focus your mind and hold your excitement in. Slowly move toward the stream, find out its location, and point it out to me.”
“It’s right here!”
“Well done. You should feel your index finger twitching now. See how it’s bending downward? That’s a sign you found a convergence point. Yes, that’s a stream right there. Perfect for an aspirant. Now, take this slow and capture—”
“Can I absorb mana now?” The girl swiveled around, staring at her teacher with excitement in her eyes.
“Hold on. I need to check the mana leve— Dammit, stop!”
“Bear witness, Yennefer!” Ciri cupped a ball of blue water in her hands, ripples spreading across its surface, and the water reflected the golden sunlight. She turned around, cackling. “I, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, hereby announce that I have captured mana! I am now a proud sorceress! I am the queen of monster hunt—”
Yennefer quickly held the dizzy Ciri in her arms. Blood was spurting out of the girl’s nose.
“I’m seeing stars, Yennefer. And there’s blood everywhere? Am I going to die? Am I seeing Grandpa soon?” Ciri looked green, and she shivered in fear.
“Why the queen of monster hunters instead of the queen of magic? Here I spent so much time teaching you everything I know, but all I get in return is an insult?” Yennefer plugged Ciri’s nose with some cotton wool and checked if she was fine. She heaved a sigh of relief and rolled her eyes. “You ungrateful duckling. Now tell me your last words.”
“L-Last words? I-I saw something just now. It’s like a kind of vision.”
Yennefer arched her eyebrow, her face tense. What’s going on? Some divination from overstimulation?
“I see that scar-faced sorcerer. The same one who wants to catch me. He’s coming!” Ciri said, her voice quavering, and she held Yennefer’s hand tightly.
“What? Where is he?”
“He’s with Aiden, Lambert, and a man with a mustache and fancy clothes.”
***
The sun was setting into the horizon, burning the skies red. Dandelion was in a house in the slums of Novigrad. He stood up, pulled his belt tighter, changed into his gaudy jacket and purple hat, then he said goodbye to the lady in messy clothes, who was still swaying around.
The bard passed through the squalid and claustrophobic alleyways, swiftly making his way to the trade quarter in the north, where the ballroom stood. Memories of the time he shared with the woman earlier delighted him, and he hummed a tune. The bard spun around under the beautiful sky, bowing at the imaginary woman before him.
“Your beauty shines brighter than even the moon and the stars above, milady. Just like a perfect poem. I actually have a poem for you. Shall we take this to a quieter place so I can recite it to you?”
He laughed. Dandelion touched his face and tidily-kept mustache as he sauntered back to the ballroom, his heart full. Ever since the ballroom was opened, his life went into the fast lane. His business grew, and the number of customers who came to his establishment didn’t diminish in the slightest.
In just a single year, the ballroom managed to surpass Pike’s Grotto and became the city’s most well-received entertainment establishment. Not only did Dandelion make enough money to afford his luxurious hobbies, he also had a place where he could express all his frustrations and talents in their full glory.
Over the last year, Dandelion had created more than ten remarkable works of art, some of them poetry, and some of them theater shows. His fame had spread to all of Novigrad and everywhere the city had influence. People in the industry and the bards and actors working for him praised him to high heavens. Beautiful women took interest in him in droves. From the daughters of merchants to the aristocratic widows, all fell for him.
Priscilla might have kept a close eye on him, but Dandelion was a smart man, partly because he saw art and poetry as his ultimate goal in life. He had cleared Priscilla’s doubts more times than he could care to count.
Women were sources of his inspiration, especially women from different walks of life. He must’ve been under the spell of alcohol when he promised he would stay loyal to the female bard, but eventually, the spell was lifted, and Dandelion knew he would never settle for a single woman. The bard managed to enjoy the life of many men’s dreams, and the delight of his gallivanting was turned into his source of inspiration.
Now that’s what I call a positive feedback loop. The bard had a spring in his step, his smile growing bigger.
And then it froze.
The dying light of the sunset shone upon the men in the alleyway’s entrance, lending a darker shade to their already dark looks.
The man in the lead, a mercenary in a gray leather jacket, loudly proclaimed, “I’m very sorry to stop you in your path, Dandelion, and in a place like this too.” Slowly, the man closed in on the bard.
Dandelion might not know an ounce of martial arts, but his adventures with Geralt had opened his eyes to the more violent side of the world. Thanks to that, he could see that this man before him knew how to fight, and he knew how to fight well. The air around him was tense, and he had an imposing presence. There was also a hint of mystery surrounding him too.
His lackeys were regular thugs, however.
“But I do admire your work. When I caught wind of your opening a ballroom in Novigrad, I came as fast as I could just to talk to you myself. Worry not. If everything goes well, we’ll all go home happy. I won’t waste much of your time, either.”
“It’s a delight to talk about poetry with a fellow enthusiast, but this is no place for that. Talking about art in the slums is going to hamper my inspiration.” Dandelion stomped his foot, flinging away the mud on his boots, and he slowly looked at the men.
The one in the lead had glistening black eyes, a sharp nose, thin lips, and a hideous scar across his face. “Let’s take this to the ballroom. It’s big, luxurious, and there are nice chairs we can sit in. And since I’m happy to receive new guests, drinks are on the house.”
“Oh, don’t be nervous, Dandelion.” Rience took one step closer. He could grab the bard by the neck if he just extended his hand. “Why don’t you listen to what I have to say first?” He gave his lackeys a look, and one of them went around Dandelion, cutting off his exit.
“Your work is unique, indeed. Came up with a fresh new genre, eh? An ode to the mutants. That’s sacrilege and a transgression, I reckon. Can’t believe no one cursed your guts for that. No, the Novigradians seem to enjoy it as well. Your talent’s remarkable. You managed to turn something reprehensible into something enjoyable,” he praised.
And then he started the actual conversation.
“To be honest, I’ve taken an interest in a particular character in The Unexpected Journey. An ode to a white-haired witcher, eh? That witcher’s the one I’m interested in. Poetry takes inspiration from real life. The fact that you know so much about how he fights with a sword, how he never really means his callous remarks, and his complex past tells me that you two are the best of friends.”
Rience stared into the bard’s eyes sharply, trying to see through him. “Do you know where that witcher is right now?”
He’s talking about Geralt? Dandelion mused over it for a moment and realized this man must be plotting against his friend. Geralt was an old friend, and it was also partly thanks to him that Dandelion could run this ballroom show. He must not betray Geralt. “What’s your name, good sir?”
“Rience. It’s expected that the famous bard does not know about me. You have a legion of admirers, and I am but one of them. Still, will you generously lend me your help?”
“Sorry, but I can’t.” Dandelion shrugged and shook his head. “This story came from another bard. It held my interest, so I committed it to memory and made some modifications of my own. To tell you the truth, I have no idea about who that white-haired bloke is.”
“Please, think harder, Dandelion.” Rience whipped out a bag of coins and shoved it into the bard’s hands.
Dandelion weighed the coins, and he scoffed silently. Not even a month of profit. You think this is enough to bribe me?
“You must know him. There’s no reason for you to sing an ode to a witcher otherwise.”
“Some other witcher saved my life from a band of elven bandits, and he almost died for that,” Dandelion said seriously, putting on an act of gratitude. He had perfected the art from acting all his life, and he could play any emotion as if it were real. “Since then, I vowed to change how people view witchers. I vowed to clear them of their infamy.”
“Nice story.” The look on Rience’s face turned icy cold, and he no longer showed the bard any respect. “Think long and hard, bard. This question is an important one, both for you and me. Where is the white-haired witcher? If you give me an honest answer, then I will not have to use any violence. Don’t want to hurt your precious little body.” He looked at the leering, freckled thug behind him, and the thug licked his lips. “Some people are very interested in you.”
Dandelion shivered and held his buttocks, putting on a look of dilemma. He hung his head low and stayed in silence. A long deliberation later, he heaved a long sigh, a look of dejection painting his face. As if he had given in, he said, “Fine, I remember that bard telling me that the white-haired witcher would make frequent appearances in northern Aedirn somewhere near Dol Blathanna.”
Rience’s frown deepened, and an eerie smile curled his lips. “Still lying? Guess it’s death for you.”
Dandelion whirled and tried to run, his hat falling to the ground, coins spilling all over.
Rience shot a bolt of blue light at the bard, then he opened up his left hand and clasped his index and middle fingers together.
Dandelion was lifted off the ground, an invisible power holding him up in the air by his shoulders. He kicked and shouted, but he was not let go.
Rience curled his pinky, and Dandelion’s scream was cut off, replaced by muffled cries. He couldn’t speak, and he started to hyperventilate. His face was turning red as the lack of air kicked in.
The sorcerer kept his left hand held up, slowly walking toward the bard. “Very well. If you choose the hard way, then the hard way it shall be.”
Five seconds later, the power that was grasping the bard’s neck let go of him, but he was still suspended in midair. The bard’s breathing was ragged, and he gasped in pain. His left wrist was bent backward at an unnatural angle, his bones almost breaking, and he tasted metal in his mouth.
“You useless, philandering fool. You just had to go the extra mile to lie to me, and what did it get you? Nothing but humiliation.” Rience looked at the bard, the gaze in his eyes as cold as the winds on the ice giant’s mountain.
There was a hint of lassitude in his voice. “Now you’re going to answer my questions honestly. Lie, and you can say goodbye to your hand. I can promise that you’ll never play the lute again, nor can you ever flirt with the foolish women who adore you. I can see through your lies easily. Any made-up stories, any hesitation, and I will read your mind and turn you into a moron. You won’t even be able to recognize a single word, let alone make poetry. You’ll spend the rest of your days mucking in the mud and playing with your excrements like a pig.”
Dandelion was held up in the air with his buttocks rearing up. It was humiliating. His face was red, then it paled, and then he nodded in fear.
“Good. Now tell me everything about the main characters of The Unexpected Journey. The white-haired witcher and the other girl, Ciri. Their whereabouts, where they might show up, what they might be doing, I want everything. No omission.”
“They’re in Kovir and Poviss. The Dragon Mountains near the bay, to be exact,” Dandelion muttered, almost having a breakdown. “In a witcher fortress called Kaer Seren.”
Rience listened closely, his face tense. A witcher fortress? That’s possible. “Continue.”
“They’re at…” Dandelion suddenly grinned as he looked up the walls of the alleyway. His eyes went wide, and tears welled within them.
“I said, continue.”
“Hey, Rience.” Dandelion sneered at the sorcerer, his eyes filled with mockery and pity. “You have no idea who you just messed up. I’m not the kind of man you can cross and then get away with.”
“You bastard!”
***
Someone tossed a glass container from behind the walls. It smashed right beside Rience’s foot, and dimeritium dust filled the air like glittering fog, covering the sorcerer. He gasped in surprise. Chaos energy flickered like bolts of electricity around him, and then they fizzled out.
The bard yelped as he fell to the ground head first. Noticing the sudden change, the lackeys closed in. Four silhouettes leapt down from the walls. Two had eyes of beasts. They were lean, well-built, and carried a pair of longswords on their backs. The other two were much shorter and younger. Obviously, they were still teenagers.
The moment the witchers leapt onto the battlefield, they knew what they had to do. The grown monster hunters surrounded Rience, their blades slashing through the air.
The apprentice witchers dealt with the lackeys. Carl stood before the stronger thug and slammed a left uppercut into his chin with all the might he could muster.
The thug flew through the air and crashed into the alleyway’s wall. His eyes rolled back, and he fainted.
Monti faced the remaining thug. He was charging at the apprentice, but the lad wasn’t afraid. He quickly held his hand out and chopped at the thug’s throat. While the thug was holding his throat and gasping for air, Monti swung his leg at the thug’s crotch.
The thug let out a shrill scream as he curled up and keeled ahead, convulsing as he fell to the ground.
***
The tables had turned.
Rience’s vast experience on the battlefield saved his life. The moment he was hit by the dimeritium powder, he swiftly retreated, clutching at the obsidian talisman under his shirt with one hand. At the same time, he brushed his right thumb at the ruby ring on his right index finger, then he raised his hand.
A pillar of blinding flames shot to the sky, illuminating the rundown alleyway. A fireball hurtled ahead, leaving a red trail behind.
The ball of flames charged toward Aiden. The witcher stopped mid-charge and leapt away. The fireball whizzed past him, and his Heliotrop disappeared. In the end, the ball of flames hit the wall, leaving a charred mark on the bricks.
Lambert leapt ahead, thrusting his blade forward with both hands, but he hit a wall of air. A loud thud resounded throughout the alleyway, and he was pushed back by the rebound. While he was in the air, Lambert quickly made a bizarre Sign. A wave of mana charged out of the blue triangle, and a blast of Aard hit the sorcerer.
Rience grunted and staggered backward, bumping into the advancing Aiden. The point of the witcher’s sword was aimed at his waist, ready to carve a hole in the sorcerer.
The sorcerer’s shield broke, and a patch of crimson bloomed on Rience’s armor. He quickly rolled across the ground, looking messy, but he managed to dodge Aiden’s attack.
And then Lambert’s attack came.
A blinding golden light flashed across the alleyway, and an elliptical object appeared before Rience. He held his left side and jumped into the air like a fish struggling for water, then he jumped into the elliptical object and disappeared.
The golden light dimmed, and the sounds of battle quieted. It had been but ten seconds, the battle was done.
“Dammit. He escaped? Now how am I supposed to explain myself to Geralt?” Lambert muttered as he tucked his sword away in frustration.
“It’s not our fault. He was already affected by the dimeritium. I have a feeling that portal wasn’t his doing.” Aiden rubbed the scar on his chin. “Maybe some other powerful sorcerer, his accomplice, or even his employer did it. Opened up a portal somewhere far away and took him away. At least we got a couple of lackeys, though.”
“Yeah, and that’s real nice.” Lambert said, “Wanna bet that they don’t know anything about that bastard?”
“Yeah, sure. Challenge accepted. Loser pays for the next Pike’s Grotto visit.”
“Help me!” the bard howled, interrupting the witchers. “Lambert, Aiden, you have to help me, or I’m done for!” He held up his swollen, misshapen, and contorted wrist, almost tearing up, and his lips were trembling. “I can’t let anything happen to my hand. How am I supposed to work if it’s broken?”
Carl came over, yanked the bard’s dislocated wrist, and snapped it back in place. The bard let out a yelp of surprise.
“Stop yelling, sir. Can’t believe you’re so scared of a little dislocation, and you’re so much older than us. Our training’s a lot more painful than this.” Carl and Monti shook their heads in disdain.
Lambert, however, had a little change of opinion about Dandelion. “Didn’t think a bard would be that brave, Dandelion. You wouldn’t tell them anything even when you were tortured. Thought bards only flirted around with women and did nothing else.”
“Of course I wouldn’t.” Dandelion rubbed his wrist and stood up. He patted the dust off his clothes and righteously declared, “I’d rather die in agony and humiliation than betray my friends.”
That was a little lie. Had Rience kept on with his interrogation, Dandelion would’ve spilled everything.
“Ah, shut it. You did this yourself this time.” Aiden smirked. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you in secret. Can’t believe you’d sneak out of the ballroom and come all the way to the slums just to sleep with a widow. You duped Priscilla and us, and you see what that cost you? For the love of all things good, use your head a little. The head up there. Your gallivanting ways aren’t more important than your safety, get it?”
“You insult me. My love for Priscilla is true, and that will never change.” The bard swung his fists as he explained himself indignantly. “I was just trying to find some inspiration for better works. All for the business and your reputation.”
“You were finding inspiration while sleeping around with women? Yeah, whatever you say,” Lambert retorted and held one unconscious thug on his shoulder. Aiden took the other one, and they went to the Collector’s villa. The lads followed them, focusing on their every movement to sharpen their stealth tactics.
“Oh, right. What did the guy say his name was again, Dandelion?”
“Rience.” Dandelion shivered. With fear and hatred in his voice, he said, “He was looking for Geralt and the Unexpected Child. Wonder why he was doing that. Could he be a Nilfgaardian spy?” As if nonchalant, he asked, “So you know where the Unexpected Child is?”
The witchers exchanged a look and shook their heads. “We’re searching for the princess too, and this is none of your business, Dandelion. For your sake, the less you know, the better. Now go back to the ballroom and don’t run around again.”
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