The Divine Hunter

Chapter 629: Sudden Change

Philippa was hiding behind the crimson curtains in the corner, looking through the crack. She was observing the shadows of the witcher and the elven queen talking in the corridor. "Perhaps the witcher has banded with that Scoia'tael harlot. We should attack now."

"You're too sensitive. Witchers are neutral people. They never interfere with politics." Sigismund, the spy of Vizimir II, rubbed his head. He was over two hundred pounds large and had skin fair as a pig that just got washed. "Don't forget, they massacred Scoia'tael in Novigrad. The grudge between them runs deep. It's very unlikely they would strike a partnership."

"But it's been a while since they talked, and they opened up a protective barrier. Don't tell me the witcher is apologizing?"

"Not courteous to talk about someone behind their back." Yennefer appeared quietly from behind the saffron curtains, staring quietly at Vizimir's trusted ministers.

Sigismund took a deep breath, his chest almost bursting his shirt's buttons. He slid his left hand to his lower back, but then he saw the white-haired man coming in with Yennefer. His face scrunched up, and he let his hand go. Trying to fight a weapons master was akin to suicide.

"Calm down, you two. I might be part-elf, but I have no intention of helping the Scoia'tael attack my colleagues." Yennefer's eyes shone with disdain. "Philippa, relax your pinky and dispel the mana. Don't spoil this friendly event with your spell that's perfectly uncalled for."

Philippa heaved a sigh and exchanged a look with Sigismund. "Who leaked the secret? That loudmouth Keira, or was it Triss?"

"Not important. The important thing is Thanedd is a sacrosanct place for magic. It should not witness any bloodshed because of mere political differences." Yennefer swung her hair back and solemnly said, "And yet you're trying to create a battle just to suck up to the Northern kings and their impulsive plan. So many of your colleagues will be hurt. Even Aretuza, the pride of magical academia that has stood for a thousand years, will be turned into ruins."

Philippa shot Yennefer a glare. "Are you telling me what to do, Yen? You're a smart woman. Why can't you see what's going on?" Philippa looked through the curtains' cracks at the crowd in the hall. "More than half of the people here are my loyal allies and defenders of the North, even your old flame, Dethmold. Once we launch into the offensive, we'll capture the traitors right away. And you guys only have three witchers and three sorceresses on your side. The difference in power is obvious. What makes you think you can talk to me like that?"

She chuckled and dusted Yennefer's chest like a queen who was concerned about her minister. "You have two choices. Join us, or be apprehended. Once the dust has settled, I'll give you a chance to prove your innocence before our colleagues."

Yennefer raised her head, giving her answer silently. As if having his order, Geralt took a step back and turned a little, clenching his fists.

"I know you can fight, but you're not faster than magic." Sigismund put on a warning smile, his eyes turning into slits. "Make a move, and your pretty face will be charred worse than a burning pig."

"One more word from you and I'll break your leg."

Sigismund's face trembled. Yennefer patted Geralt's shoulder. "I've told you we don't support the South, but a word of advice: stop your operation while you still can."

Philippa's face fell. "If you love to take the moral high ground so much, why don't you go into the hall and tell the traitors to submit?"

"I was going to do that, but the process won't be nice. If you don't want to get hurt, stay with me and do as I say."

Yen, you've long abandoned the council's position, and you are no longer a royal consultant. You have no position or power. What makes you think you can talk to me like that?" Philippa sneered and shook her head in disdain.

"The arrogant consultant of Redania's royalty, I've always wanted to tell you this: you're not the only ones with allies." Yennefer felt the thrill of vengeance coursing through her heart. She turned to the window, where black shadows flickered through the night. No one noticed them.

***

Footsteps echoed in the hall, ripples flaring in the air. Fabric rustled as guests walked. The sorcerers were starting to smell like alcohol. Some were whispering to one another, while some were laughing.

Gerhart of Aelle was wiping the sweat off his forehead, his cheeks green, as if he were suffocating. The old sorcerer was breathing heavily, clutching his heaving chest with one hand. Humans, unlike elves, did not possess long lifespans. Even with magic modifying their bodies, 500 years was already ancient for them. A few hours of banquet took all he had.

Tissaia patted the back of Gerhart, looking at Lytta and Triss apologetically. "Sorry, but Gerhart's heart isn't in the best condition. He cannot chat for too long."

"It's alright. We just want to give a word of advice." Triss looked at Margarita, Tissaia, and Gerhart. The three highest ranking sorcerers in the brotherhood who chose to be neutral no matter what. "Just in case of a heart attack, summon Marti the healer over so she can help out if anything happens."

Tissaia mused over it and did as she was asked to. "Thank you for the concern, ladies, but why bring it up all of a sudden? Do you know something we don't?" Tissaia lowered her voice to a whisper. "Is someone trying to break the rules and launch an attack?"

"Wait, what is that? Seagulls?" Gerhart looked at the night skies outside the window. "Tissaia, I thought Aretuza's protective barrier can stop all bats, bugs, and birds from coming in. How did seagulls even get near the palace?"

"No, I can feel that the barrier is working as usual. Are you seeing things?" Tissaia looked outside the window and stopped talking. She had a look of bemusement on her face.

***

"I have a feeling weve been made." Artaud swung his head around uneasily, pacing around. He was like an oversized marmot bobbing his head around the plains. "Should we summon Francesca and make our move?"ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ N(o)vᴇl(ꜰ)ire.nᴇt

"Launching the attack now is too risky. Best if we wait until tomorrow, when everyone is in Garstang. Once the dimeritium barrier kicks in, our Scoia'tael allies can do what they do best." Fercart looked around cautiously, nervous like someone who'd just lit up a bunch of explosives.

"Taking a risk is better than apprehension. Think about it. I'm one of the brotherhood's highest ranking members, while you are Foltest's consultant, yet we're working for Emhyr as spies. Do you have any idea what happens if the plan fails? It's a straight walk to Tretogor's gallows."

"Quiet. That mutant with tri-colored eyes is watching us from under the pillar on the left. What's he trying to do?"

"Ignore him. He can't do anything when so many people are arou Hold on, what's that sound? Do you hear that?"

A thud and something akin to a scream came from outside the hall. The traitors looked out the window. The sorcerers who were killing time with Gwent, booze, chat, and making out heard the sounds too.

"Something's flying outside." A lanky man in an oversized robe leaned on the wall, burping drunkenly. And then he was shocked. Something odd appeared before his eyes. It had crimson eyes, webbed wings, and fangs in its maw.

"It's a bat?" Dorregaray, the naturalist from Cidaris, put down his wine glass and praised, "I've never noticed this. Never knew Thanedd had a species of bat I've never seen before."

Linus adjusted his glasses. Passion flared in his eyes, and he asked, "Can you capture a few of them so I can keep them in Oxenfurt?"

"Peculiar interest you have there." The man burped. "This bat's bigger than my head. Maybe it's venomous too." The sorcerer shook his head, and then he had a weird look on his face. "Well, I'll be. More bats? Wait, this isn't normal. Everyone, look out!"

A steam of crimson light flashed through the night, and shadows swam through the darkness. The sea roared, and the waves shattered as they crashed onto the walls of Thanedd. The brightly-lit palace of Aretuza dimmed as an ocean of bats gathered in the night, blocking the moon's light. They covered the shining stained glass windows of the palace, covering the structure in a layer of thick black scarf.

The bats came quietly, without even radiating a hint of mana. The sorcerers only realized what was happening when the bats were right before them.

Alas, it was too late.

Supersonic waves reverberated through the air like sledgehammers, and screams exploded everywhere. Destructive, hellish magic poured forth, and the windows shattered. The ivy and vines surrounding the walls were snapped into pieces, and they fell with the glass shards. Rumblings spread through the statues of a farmer and a nymph at the entrance, all the way to the hall.

The chandeliers hanging above shook violently, and the flames on the magical candelabras flickered, illuminating faces pale and in agony.

Caught by surprise, the sorcerers swayed and wobbled as if they had drunk. Then they fell.

Within the chaos, Tissaia shouted, "Marti, save Gerhart! He's having a heart attack! He can't hold on much longer!"

However, Coen, who'd been keeping an eye on these traitors, shoved a blast of Aard forward and cancelled their spell. Like a jaguar, he leapt ahead and slammed an uppercut into Artaud's chin. The sorcerer's head jerked back, and he flew away, falling limply on his colleague's lap, blood spurting from his nose and mouth.

"The witchers murdered someone!" Fercart hurled a fireball at Coen. The flames roared brightly, though it hit nothing but air. Eventually, it lit up a tapestry with a boat embroidered on it. Before he could cast another spell, a punch came to his face.

Fercart saw stars, and he fell unconscious.

Then the bats swarmed into the halls. A few sorcerers managed to react fast enough. They tossed beams and energy balls at the bats, but they passed through them like air. Eventually, the spells disappeared into thin air.

Caught by surprise, the sorcerers couldn't cast any large-scale spells, and they didn't want to hurt their colleagues. Thanks to that, the bats could spread without fear. In the end, they became a gigantic cloud hanging overhead, and they fell.

Flames burst through the halls. Screams and gasps spread through the darkness. The light of magic dimmed. Thuds rang in the air. The sorcerers screeched in terror and grunted in pain. Tables flew everywhere, and the ground was covered in booze. The hall was plunged into chaos.

And it only lasted for moments. The chaos came to an end, and deadly silence ensued. The whole of Aretuza was plunged into viscous darkness, robbing everyone's sight, but then the wriggling darkness merged into gaunt silhouettes. All were cloaked in black. All were sickly pale. All were slender and had lips red as blood. They stood behind all the guests silently, like shadows.

Moments ago, the best sorcerers of the North were chatting happily, but now they were taken as hostage, unable to move. They couldn't even move a finger, so all they could do was stare in horror.

This was more preposterous than any nightmare they could conjure. Not even the horrific battle at Sodden Hill could hit the brotherhood this hard.

And then, slow footsteps echoed in the air, scaring the sorcerers. Everyone turned to see who came in. Roy entered from a corridor, his hands behind his back. The witcher was calm, as if he were walking through his own home.

The mysterious, powerful people in black bowed to him humbly, making a path to the hall's center for him. Francesca followed Roy quietly. She was calm on the outside, but her panicked footsteps and erratic breathing betrayed her true thoughts.

And she knew what the witcher meant.

***

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