Chapter 15 - Enduring Scars (4)

Alaric darted through the chaos, weaving between clashing swords and the mangled bodies strewn across the courtyard.

Just as he reached the shattered archway leading into the building, a shadow flickered in his periphery. His instincts screamed.

He threw himself to the side, narrowly evading the lethal arc of a scythe-like claw that struck the stone wall behind him with a deafening crack, spraying debris into the air.

A chimera lunged from the darkness, its grotesque form illuminated by the dim torchlight spilling in from outside. Its segmented body coiled like a spring, dozens of bristling limbs propelling it with terrifying speed. Razor-sharp mandibles snapped viciously, ichor dripping from their serrated edges.

Alaric rolled to his feet, his sword drawn in one fluid motion. The chimera's many eyes glinted, locking onto him with malicious intelligence. It lunged again, its movements so unnervingly fast that it was upon him in an instant.

He raised his blade just in time to parry its attack, sparks flying as steel met chitin. The force of the blow drove him back a step, but he used the momentum to twist his body, delivering a precise slash to one of its limbs.

The chimera screeched, its cry a high-pitched cacophony that set his teeth on edge. Dark ichor splattered the ground, but the creature didn't falter. Instead, it reared up, feinting toward him with its mandibles while another claw lashed out from the side.

Alaric anticipated the trick. He dropped low, ducking under the claw as it whistled through the air above him. His sword lashed out in a quick, brutal arc, severing one of the creature's pincers with a sickening crunch.

The chimera recoiled, its bristles twitching in agitation. It circled him, its segmented body rippling like liquid as it sought an opening. Alaric's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.

"Smart bastard," he muttered.

The chimera lunged again, this time leaping high to avoid his counterattack. Its mandibles snapped inches from his face, and he staggered back, narrowly avoiding the strike. As it landed, its bristling hairs flared, sensing his every movement with uncanny precision.

Alaric gritted his teeth and reached for the small pouch on his belt. In one swift motion, he hurled a flash bomb at the creature's feet.

The bomb detonated with a blinding burst of light and a sharp crack. The chimera shrieked, its many eyes spasming as it recoiled in confusion. Alaric didn't hesitate. He surged forward, his blade flashing in the torchlight as he drove it deep into the creature's exposed underbelly.

The chimera thrashed violently, its segmented body writhing as ichor poured from the wound. Alaric twisted the blade, then yanked it free with a grunt. The creature collapsed, its limbs twitching spasmodically before going still.

Alaric exhaled sharply, wiping the ichor from his blade. He cast a wary glance toward the interior of the keep. Magic pulsing, stronger now, as if taunting him.

"Whoever's behind this is going to pay," he growled, stepping over the chimera's corpse.

...…

The chaos had spilled into the inner keep, turning it into another battlefield drenched in blood and desperation. Witchers fought shoulder to shoulder with the remaining defenders, their blades flashing as they clashed against waves of soldiers and the chimeras prowled among the carnage. Soldiers screamed orders, peasants cried out in terror, and the unholy shrieks of the insectoid monsters echoed off the walls.

Alaric moved like a tempest, his blade cutting a deadly swath through the chaos. His movements lethal, precise, powerful, honed by years of combat. A soldier lunged at him with a jagged spear, but Alaric sidestepped the thrust, his sword slashing across the man's chest in a single fluid motion.

"OUT OF MY WAY, PEASANTS!" he roared, his voice carrying over the din.

Two soldiers tried to block his path, their halberds raised in unison. Alaric surged forward, parrying one blade while driving the pommel of his sword into the second man's throat. The mercenary crumpled, choking, as Alaric's blade found its mark in the other's neck. He pulled the weapon free, ichor and blood mingling as it sprayed across the stone floor.

He didn't stop to assess the carnage. His goal was ahead, and nothing would keep him from reaching it. As pushed through the mass of bodies, his sharp eyes caught a glimpse of movement near the central hall.

There, amidst the chaos, Barmin—his armor battered and spattered with blood—was locked in combat with a sorceress. Her robes, tattered but still shimmering with magical energy, marked her as the source of the oppressive aura. Strands of wild, chestnut hair framed her pale, defiant face as she hurled bolts of raw power at the Witcher.

Barmin dodged one such blast, his blade flashing as he countered with a fierce lunge. The sorceress raised a shimmering ward just in time, the sword's edge skidding off the barrier with a screech.

"That's gotta be her," Alaric muttered, his eyes narrowing.

The press of bodies slowed his progress, but Alaric was relentless. He unleashed a blast of kinetic energy, sending several combatants sprawling and clearing his path for a few precious moments.

Every instinct screamed that this sorceress was the one responsible for summoning the Idr and unleashing the chimeras. Her aura pulsed with the same oppressive magic.

...…

The battlefield inside the inner keep had devolved into a maelstrom of blood and magic, the air thick with smoke and screams. Alaric's boots pounded against the stone floor as he closed the distance between himself and the clash ahead. Barmin and the sorceress were locked in a desperate battle, the Witcher's strikes relentless, the sorceress countering with waves of raw, crackling energy.

Alaric's medallion vibrated violently against his chest as he cut down the last peasant in his path. His amber eyes locked onto the duel, and he saw Barmin, staggering from a stunning spell that erupted in violet arcs across his body; the sorceress, her hands raised high, weaving a final killing blow, her face alight with malice.

"No!" Alaric roared, his voice ripping through the chaos. His hand shot forward, and with a furious surge of will, he unleashed a kinetic blast, the air rippling violently as the force tore through the space between them.

Time seemed to slow.

Barmin, teeth gritted against the paralysis, with a final act of defiance and desperation he hurled his fallen sword with all his might. The weapon shot through the air, its blade glinting as it closed the distance.

The sorceress released her spell, a beam of searing energy that streaked toward Barmin, its glow carving through the murk of the battlefield.

The sword. The spell.

They collided almost simultaneously.

The spell slammed into Barmin, sending him crashing backwards, his armor smoking and his body jerking violently. In that same instant, the blade pierced the sorceress's abdomen, driving deep as her eyes widened in a mixture of agony and disbelief.

But Alaric's blast reached her a heartbeat later. The impact was devastating, flinging her backward like a ragdoll, sword and all. She crashed into a crumbled pillar, her body striking with a sickening thud that sent chunks of stone tumbling to the ground.

Alaric exhaled sharply, his muscles coiled to move toward Barmin—

But his medallion screamed.

A shadow fell across him, a chittering shriek slicing through the air as a chimera descended from the rafters behind him. Its scythe-like claw arced toward him, impossibly fast.

"Alaric, behind you!" a Witcher yelled, his voice distorted by adrenaline and panic as he ran towards Alaric.

Alaric began to turn, his instincts roaring a fraction too late.

Time slowed again.

The Witcher charged toward him, blade flashing as he aimed for the chimera. The monster's claw swung down, glinting wickedly in the flickering light.

Alaric's arm, still extended from the kinetic blast, was caught in the deadly arc.

The claw cleaved through flesh and bone.

His severed arm spun through the air, droplets of blood scattering like crimson rain, his fingers still curled in the ghost of the spell he'd just cast.

Pain erupted through him, sharp and blinding, as he stumbled forward, clutching at the spurting stump where his arm had been.

The Witcher slammed into the chimera, driving his silver sword deep into its carapace. The monster screeched, its body thrashing violently as it collapsed, twitching in a pool of its own ichor.

Alaric fell to his knees, gasping, his vision swimming with pain. He pressed his hand against the bleeding stump, gritting his teeth against the agony as he turned his gaze toward the sorceress's broken form.

The Idr's chittering screeches echoed across the keep, rising in a crescendo of rage. Then, as if tethered to the sorceress's lifeforce, the creatures faltered. The monstrous insectoid, once engines of chaos, hesitated for the first time.

The Idr unleashed one last screech of defiance before retreating, its segmented body twisting as it slithered away, moving with unnatural speed toward the shattered wall. Its feelers twitched, sensing its escape path, and within moments, it disappeared into the forest's shadowed depths.

The battlefield stilled slightly.

Alaric, drenched in blood, struggled to his feet, his remaining hand trembling as he leaned on his sword. The Witcher who saved him crouched nearby, catching his breath after the chimera's death.

...…

Alaric staggered toward Barmin, his blood-slicked boots scraping against the stone floor. The older Witcher lay sprawled on the ground, his armor dented and scorched, blood pooling beneath him. His chest rose and fell shallowly, each breath a struggle, but his lips curled into a faint smile when he saw Alaric.

"Don't look at me like that," Barmin rasped, his voice hoarse, each word a fight against the blood bubbling in his throat. "No Witcher… has ever died… resting in his own bed."

Alaric knelt beside him, his jaw clenched, the pain in his severed arm throbbing in time with the anguish in his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but Barmin coughed violently, cutting him off.

"Save your breath," Alaric muttered, his voice tight.

Barmin's hand weakly reached out, gripping Alaric's wrist with surprising strength. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Alaric's feline gaze. "Elgar…" he choked out, his body trembling. "He clashed with another mage… in the smithy."

Barmin's body seized briefly, his breathing ragged, before his voice softened. "Save him. That's an order, pup."

Alaric gripped Barmin's hand, his chest heaving as he nodded.

Barmin exhaled a long, rattling breath, his body slackening as his hand slipped from Alaric's grip. His eyes, still open, stared skyward, unseeing.

For a moment, Alaric froze, his entire body stiff with the weight of the loss. He wanted to cry, but his mutated body denied him even that release. Stripped of tear glands, left him with nothing but the raw ache of grief clawing at his chest.

Slowly, his expression shifted. The pain, the sorrow, melted away, replaced by cold, burning resolve. His lips pressed into a thin line as he rose to his feet.

He reached for his blade, gripping it tightly in his remaining hand. The weapon's edge began to glow a fiery red as he channeled magic into it. Then, with a sharp inhale, he pressed the flat of the blade to his shoulder, directly against the stump of his severed arm.

The hiss of burning flesh filled the air as the wound seared shut, smoke curling upward in faint wisps. Alaric gritted his teeth, his entire body tensing as the white-hot pain surged through him.

Nearby, the other Witcher, Calith, winced, his expression twisting into a grimace. "By Melitele…" he muttered under his breath, watching as Alaric's flesh sizzled and blackened under the heat.

Alaric pulled the blade away, the cauterized wound still glowing faintly. His breaths came hard and fast, his body trembling from the ordeal, but his eyes burned with purpose.

"Calith," he said, his voice low but commanding. He glanced at the younger Witcher, his expression hard as steel. "Follow me. We're saving Elgar."

Calith hesitated for only a second before nodding, gripping his sword tightly. "Right behind you."

...…

A few hours ago-

The air above Kaer Morhen was cold with an ominous quiet, broken only by the crunch of boots on frozen earth and the low murmur of restless soldiers. Tetra led the procession—a grim column of rogue mages, Kaedweni troops clad in mismatched armor, and a rabble of peasants wielding crude weapons. The keep loomed in the distance, its ancient walls stark against the pale glow of the rising moon.

She raised her hand, signaling the column to halt. A moment later, a piercing streak of red fire shot skyward from the old signal tower, its light burning. A flare.

Tetra's teeth clenched, and her eyes narrowed to slits. "They're alerting the keep," she spat, her voice low and venomous. Her fingers twitched, already weaving. Power surged in her veins, coiling with destructive intent. She snapped her hand toward the signal tower, and the air split with a deafening crack. The spell struck true, detonating in a burst of light and stone. When the dust settled, the tower was a jagged ruin silhouetted against the night.

"They know we're here now." Tetra turned, her eyes blazing as she fixed her officer with a cold glare. "Take a unit and head for the bastion. Kill the trainees. Every last one."

The officer hesitated, his face pale against the torchlight. "Even the children?"

Tetra just glared at him.

The officer saluted stiffly and marched off, shouting orders to his men. Tetra didn't linger. She swung her attention to the two mages nearest her. "Sulla's tower," she snapped, pointing to the shadowy spire looming to the west. "Bring it down. If you see him, kill him."

The mages exchanged uneasy glances but obeyed, disappearing into the night.

Tetra's lips twisted into a grim smile. Let them hesitate. She wouldn't. Her hand rose again, tracing sharp sigils into the cold air. A portal blossomed before her. From its depths emerged the rumble of massive wheels and the creak of wooden beams. One by one, siege machines rolled onto the battlefield—a trebuchet, a battering ram, and heavy siege ladders.

"Form ranks!" she barked, her voice cutting through the growing chaos. Soldiers scrambled to position the machines, their movements a sharp contrast to the peasants, who surged forward in a disorganized mass. The peasants screamed battle cries as they rushed the walls, their torches flickering like fireflies in the dark.

Tetra watched them with thinly veiled disgust. They were little better than beasts, frothing with bloodlust and desperation. "Let them tire themselves out," she muttered. Turning to her soldiers, she commanded, "Hold the line. Lay siege properly. Do not waste your strength."

Behind her, the mages she had summoned stepped forward, their faces shadowed by their hoods. "The barrier around the keep," she ordered. "Destroy it."

The mages nodded and began their incantations, their voices weaving a dreadful harmony as energy crackled around them.

Tetra didn't stay to watch. There was still much to do, and time was slipping away. She motioned to a wiry mage standing at her side, his expression cold and calculating. "Come," she said. "It's time to prepare the main event."

Together, they stepped through a shimmering portal and vanished, leaving only the sound of the battering ram striking Kaer Morhen's gates and the screams of peasants as they flung themselves against the Witchers' defenses.

The siege had begun, and Tetra would see it through to the bitter end.

-x-x-x-

A/N:-

Almost 2600 words today!

I'll be wrapping up the climax in one or two chapters. Then some cleanup chapters to tie up the loose ends and the first volume will be done. It's estimated around 40k-45k words.

I'm trying to set up a Discord server but I'm not sure how to do it (sad author noises). If you have experience handling servers and are willing to help me, please comment.

As always, if you have any questions, feel free to ask, and I will try to answer without spoiling too much.

Clear skies to all of you.