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Castoff: The Price To Be Paid (ch. 13)
🕑 Added 2023-02-12 16:05:05 +0000 UTC"No. That's a horrible idea, Ciri," Triss stated in no uncertain terms. Triss was even looking at her as if she genuinely couldn't understand where the question came from. "Djinns are beyond dangerous. You should know that better than anyone. All the wishes in the world aren't worth a thing if the one granting them is trying to get you to choke on them." Triss crossed her arms over her chest, her brow drawing together. "And I know you know that."
Ciri bit her lip, not quite willing to meet her gaze. She did know that. "Dangers can be mitigated. They have been before. Using a Djinn is risky, but it's not outright suicide."
"It's close enough. Yen and Geralt are the only ones that I know that have encountered a Djinn and survived. Despite the danger, they are prized creatures. Yet, somehow, everyone that gets their hands on one ends up dead not long after." Triss sent her a rather pointed look and Ciri's lips thinned.
"Panic wishes," Ciri retorted. "Those are what kill people. Every successful use of a Djinn documented has been due to precise wishes that can't be misinterpreted." Djinns were incredibly rare, but they were some of the most well known monsters simply because of the allure of what they offered -- three wishes. Even better, three near limitless wishes. Nearly a thousand years ago, a man wished to become a prince of a kingdom and the result was half of a kingdom in the north deciding to break off from another well established kingdom with him as its leader. Naturally, the original kingdom didn't take kindly to a rebellion and tried to ruthlessly stamp it out. They succeeded because the prince didn't have the knowledge or strength of arms to keep hold of his kingdom.
Which is how most tales about a Djinn tended to play out. There was always a caveat to the wish. Ask for eternal life? You wouldn't have eternal youth, your body slowly growing older until you were little more than a mummified corpse that still lived. Wish to be king of the world? You would be king -- all of the other kingdoms would submit to you, but it would only last until they rebelled or a dagger found its mark.
Triss wasn't wrong about the dangers of a Djinn. They were extremely powerful, capable of even bending forces of nature such as Destiny to their will. "Everyone thinks they have an air tight wish, Ciri. Few rarely do. Yen wasn't any different. She was so sure that she found the correct wording for her wish, but it took me all of three seconds to poke a hole in it. I know you want to help, but it's not worth the risk."
It was. Triss hadn't seen it. The look on Guts face when he looked at Casca. Like a man dying of thirst when he was surrounded by an ocean of water. The woman that he loved was right in front of him, but she wasn't there.
"The risk is leaving things to the Djinns interpretation," Ciri argued, not willing to abandon the course of action just yet. "Asking it to make something happen is far more dangerous than for it to do a specific thing. Cure Casca's madness with no harmful side effects," Ciri tested the wish, leaning against the wall while a foot bounced in place. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Triss pinch the bridge of her nose.
A sign escaped Triss. "Is her madness an affliction or is it natural?" She asked, sounding annoyed that she was getting dragged into the idea.
"Natural," Ciri answered after a moment.
"Then it won't work. Her mind would be restored, but the cause of the madness would still be there, and she'd be driven insane again," Triss pointed out and Ciri inclined her head to her, knowing that Triss had a point. "I wish that the source of Casca's madness would be removed. That would be closer, but it leaves the method to the Djinn. It could decide that her capability to feel emotions is the source just as likely as it would be the memories that drive her to that state."
Ciri pursed her lips, her brow furrowing in thought. "I wish that Casca's mind was restored to the event prior to her being driven insane."
"Better, but madness isn't something that happens instantly. I don't know what happened to that poor woman," Ciri winced at that. "And it is none of my business. However, she's not the first I've seen, Ciri. What they all have in common is trauma heaped upon trauma until their minds can't take it any longer."
This was annoying, Ciri decided, trying to pick out the correct order of words that would get her what she wanted. "I wish the memories of the trauma that…" Ciri trailed off, not certain that was the correct path to follow. It would be a lie to claim that she understood it all, but Guts… Guts sounded scared when he spoke of the Eclipse. And anything that was capable of scaring him was downright terrifying in Ciri's book.
"I can't talk you out of this, can I?" Triss questioned, her tone mournful as she stood by a window, gazing out of it into the city. Mourning had come but the night was not over. Ciri could hear the sounds of rioting. She wasn't even sure about what -- the King's death? The extermination of the Witch Hunters? Puck and his reign of tyranny? The war being all but lost for the North? Honestly, the citizens of Novigrad had a whole slew of reasons to be upset at the moment.
Expressing how upset they were by destroying their own homes was an odd choice though. Something that Ciri would never understand, but she knew better than to try to stop it. Geralt tried once and it ended with him taking a pitchfork to the gut.
"I have to do something," Ciri told her, an apology in her tone. Guts was a friend. A big, gruff, growly friend. He grew on her. And right now he needed help. So, no matter the risks, Ciri was going to make sure he got it.
"You're too much like Geralt for your own good," Triss sighed and looked annoyed when Ciri visibly took the words as a compliment. "Fine. Fine! I'll see what I can do to help, but I warn you, it won't be much. Because of your friend, every plan just went up in smoke. Nilfgaard is going to conquer the North. I'm sure it'll take them some time to build up for another invasion, but they're not going to stop until they've conquered the entire world." Triss said with a sigh, and Ciri felt a pang of guilt.
Mostly because she didn't disagree. Unprovoked invasions were a staple of Nilfgaardian culture. The country might break apart in grief if they ever ran out of kingdoms to conquer.
"Thank you," Ciri replied, meaning it. "Do you know what you're going to do?" Ciri questioned, seeing Triss frown through the window.
"I have an idea. If running away won't work, then we may just have to fight," Triss muttered and Ciri didn't at all like the sound of that. More than that, she had no idea how Triss was hoping to get the mages to fight. Sodden Hill was a testament to what thirteen mages could accomplish in combat, but getting thirteen mages to actually fight was nothing short of a miracle that wasn't likely to be seen again.
Mages were powerful. They just weren't warriors. They were politicians, advisors, and clerks.
"Can I help?" Ciri questioned, earning a glance from Triss and a thankful smile.
"Not now, no. I'm not sure if it's even possible," Triss admitted. "I'll need to speak with the others before they flee the city. If I do need your help, I'll let you know. For what you need -- You need to find Yen and Geralt. Especially Yennefer. I don't even know where to start looking for a Djinn, and I wouldn't trust my comrades to help look for it. Foolish or not, they'd use the wishes in a heartbeat." That, Ciri believed easily. And Triss really wasn't making her thoughts a secret about her plan.
Without any warning, Triss backed away from the window and not a second later, a brick came flying through and smashed a glass beaker, sending shards of glass and liquids spilling out into the desk. Triss hissed in frustration, more when the ingredients began to mix together, steaming as they did so. Ciri stepped forward, looking through the window to see that the rioting had spread. It wasn't pure chaos in the streets, but some troublemakers were taking the opportunity to trash the nicer parts of the city.
"Debawh!" Casca announced her presence with the swinging of a door, and Guts was behind her, sticking so close it was as if she had a second shadow. Naturally, Casca zeroed in on the steaming mess of potion ingredients before heading straight for it. Before she could lose a finger, Guts kept her at bay, making Casca whine like a child.
"The city is in shambles," Triss cursed, sending a not so subtle glare at Guts, who didn't seem to notice. "The Witch Hunters were practically the city guard, and without them, there's no one to stop the riots."
"They'll burn themselves out," Guts dismissed the issue out of hand, uncaring in favor of hovering over Casca. Her whining was cut short when Puck revealed himself, popping out of Guts pouch. He led her away from the steaming mess as Triss was too busy cleaning it up.
"Before or after they burn the city down?" Triss questioned, her tone sharp. Guts just grunted, but Ciri heard the answer -- 'either.'
Right. "Do you have any leads on where we could find Yennefer?" Ciri decided to change the subject, her hopes falling when Triss shook her head.
"No. I have no idea where she could be. Geralt set off in search of her, but that was months ago. Knowing her, she's gone in hiding for the sake of a plan. It might be easier to find Geralt than her," Triss voiced, glancing at Ciri. "Or you could give them a reason to come to you," she tacked on. Based on how she said that, Triss clearly had an idea of how that was possible. However, before she could explain, there was a knock at the door. Everyone's attention snapped to it, but it was Casca who skipped towards the door and swung it open with Guts right behind her.
"To… ah… the savior of the city… at the, erm… request of the Beggar King, your presence has been requested at the bathhouse to meet the Four-" a timid voice spoke up, his appearance hidden behind Guts broad shoulders.
"Fuck off," Guts growled, slamming the door shut.
"You absolute- Wait!" Triss called out, marching past Guts and giving him a shove for good measure before opening the door. This time, Ciri saw that it was a beggar, who looked at Triss, then at Guts, with wide eyes the size of plates. He was wringing a cap in his hands, his face marked with pox scars, clearly nervous. "I apologize for him. He's…" Triss trailed off, trying and failing to think of an excuse. "He will be meeting the Four. Do they expect him now?" She questioned, earning a shaky nod.
"Aye, my, uh, lady. They do. I was tasked with escorting him?" He made the statement sound like a question, his gaze flickering to Guts with obvious fear.
"Please allow him a moment to get ready," Triss said, closing the door before rounding on Guts. "You owe me," Triss stated in a furious whisper. "I need their connections to make up for the plans that you ruined." Triss added, one hand on the door while she glared up at Guts. Casca giggled, missing the tension between the staring contest, which made Guts glance at her. Or, rather, the seal over her Brand.
Guts worked his jaw for a moment. Ciri could see it clearly -- he had no interest in meeting the de facto rulers of Novigrad. Their summons meant nothing to him. She'd honestly be shocked if he bothered to even sleep until they found the Djinn and Casca's mind was restored. That was his only priority. "Fine," Guts bit the word out, offering a curt nod of his head.
Ciri smiled lightly as tension bled out of Triss. "Good," Triss said, removing a hand from the door before opening it, revealing the startled beggar who was trying very hard to pretend he hadn't overheard anything. "He'll be right with you."
Ciri crossed the room, Guts meeting her gaze before sharply looking away. Ah. Ciri nearly laughed, and she might have if it were any less tragic. Guts was embarrassed. Sparing him any further indignity, Ciri stepped up to the door, "Actually, there's been a change of plans. Tell the Four to meet us at the Rosemary and Thyme," Ciri informed, closing the door in the messenger's face before looking to Triss. "Let them come to us, Triss."
Because she had an idea why they wanted to meet.
…
The city was in absolute chaos, Guts saw as he and Ciri strode through the streets, yet the street they were on was unoccupied thanks to Puck proving himself useful by scouting ahead. Everyone that wasn’t on the streets rioting were in their homes, barricading their doors and hoping that someone would impose order. It was a familiar sight to Guts. Many cities had a similar reaction when an army finished sacking it, and those that survived were furious with what happened.
“It’s a left then a right!” Puck said, stealthing towards them, wearing some ridiculous black garb made out of what Guts was pretty sure was a scrap from his cloak. Ciri offered a thankful smile, her expression was tense and pained. Guts couldn’t say he was any different.
His eyes drifted to Ciri, feeling… something. Gratitude, if he had to put a word to it. She had protected Casca when he asked, taking her to Triss to suppress her Brand. When he first met her, when she had all but extorted his help in safeguarding those children… He hadn’t thought highly of her. She was a bother and an annoyance that he had to put up with. Guts wasn’t exactly sure when that opinion started to change, but after last night…
Trust wasn’t something that ever came easy to Guts. Even before the Eclipse. But after last night, seeing Casca in bed, happily snoring away, completely oblivious to it all…
He trusted Ciri. And Guts really had no idea how to handle that fact.
“Who are these people?” Guts asked, glancing up to see a child was peering at him through a window before a concerned mother dragged him back down. He recalled something about the Four being mentioned, but he hadn’t been paying attention. The inner workings of this city didn’t mean anything to him since he fully intended to put it behind him.
Triss. He trusted her less than Ciri, but he was thankful all the same. It was nothing short of a relief that she had called in this favor, as reluctant as he was to delay Casca’s mind being restored. He could repay this favor, and then he and Triss would be even. She was the one that made this city a concern. And he did owe it to her, that much Guts could agree with.
“I don’t really know them,” Ciri answered as the Rosemary and Thyme entered view. “They’re the unofficial rulers of this city according to everyone. Gang leaders acting as nobility. Well, acting is probably a poor choice of word. The Four likely have a great deal more power within this city than any noble,” Ciri explained, sounding glad for the distraction. “Triss wants them for something. Didn’t really say what. If I had to guess, it involves the fate of Novigrad. The North has all but lost, meaning that Novigrad isn’t just a giant coin purse for one side or the other to ransack.”
She wasn’t wrong. The soldiers would have been drooling at the prospect of sacking this city, but the blue bloods in charge would want to take it whole and undamaged. It’d be like burning a house you planned on moving into. “Hm. Do they have the resources for a stand?” Guts questioned as Ciri pushed the door open.
“I guess we’ll find out- Zoltan!” Ciri called out, warding off a dwarf that was readying a warhammer to take her out at the hips. Seeing that it was Ciri brought him up short.
“Lass! Look at you! Ya’ certainly grew up. Like ya’ better when I could look ya’ in the eye,” the dwarf grumbled out as they entered before he turned his attention to Guts. “Ain’t you a big fucker. You’s the one that started this whole mess?” Zoltan questioned, cocking his head back to look at Guts.
Guts met his gaze and answered with a curt nod. Surprisingly, Zoltan let out a belch of a laugh. “HA! Get round here, so I can pour ya’ a drink. Saw tha’ aftermath of your battle -- was a right beautiful sight. Wish I could’a seen the King’s head go flying,” Zoltan said with a laugh, going to the counter and Guts heard the sounds of scrambling. “Dandelion! Drop yer cock and pick up yer socks! Ciri’s here!” He added and Ciri just shook her head, a fond smile tugging at her lips.
Not long after, a disheveled looking Dandelion stumbled out of a back room, followed by a far more put-together blonde-haired woman. Dandelion started to smile when he saw Ciri, only for it to promptly fall into a frown when his gaze landed on Guts. “You- Good morning, Ciri. Guts. I do hope you aren’t going to punch anyone’s head off?” He questioned, looking more than a little nervous as he finished buttoning his frilly shirt.
“Not without reason,” Guts returned while the woman laughed when she saw that Dandelion had misaligned the buttons. She looked familiar, he thought, trying to place her. She… was at the banquet last night. She had played with Dandelion.
“Well, I do hope no one provides you with one. Thank you, dear - ah, where are my manners? Ciri, this is Priscilla. Stage name Callonetta. Priscilla is perhaps the second greatest troubadour in these fine kingdoms,” Dandelion introduced Priscilla with evident pride.
Princilla offered a curtsey, a slight grin playing at her lips. She looked to be in her early twenties at the oldest. Dandelion was in his late thirties at his youngest. "Greetings. Dandelion and Zoltan told me a lot about you, Ciri. And you, Guts, I must say that you certainly stole the show. I've already started my balad," she remarked, her tone taking a teasing edge.
"It's a pleasure," Ciri started before she shifted foot to foot. "And sorry, this is a little short notice, but I might have volunteered the Rosemary and Thyme to act as a neutral ground? I wasn't sure where else we could go. Just that it was a bad idea to meet them on their terms." That caught their attention and Dandelion finished rebuttoning his shirt.
"How short-" Dandelion started, falling silent when there was a deliberate knock at the door. His gaze flickered to Ciri, who offered a hesitant smile in response. He swallowed a sigh, "Get in position. If my cabaret must be used for illicit dealings, then I at least want to be seen as professional," Dandelion decided, and Guts would give him this -- he rolled with the punches. Ciri gently placed a hand on Guts' prosthetic, guiding him to a round table that gave him a straight shot at the door.
Dandelion cleared his throat, straightened out his shirt, before he swung the door open. "Gentlemen, welcome to the Rosemary and Thyme- erk," Dandelion sounded like he swallowed his own tongue when the first of the men entering the tavern strode past him. It was a dwarf, Guts noticed. One wearing heavy armor, enough so that he could have been used as a cannonball. On one shoulder, he carried a battle axe, a braided beard falling to the center of his chest.
Behind him were humans. One was a weedy looking runt. Sunken in cheeks and eyes, receding hairline, but cruelty shone in his eyes and by the slight grin tugging at his lips. After him was a more portly man -- shaved head, pox scars,simple clothing that had golden fixtures. Almost as if they were trophies to show off rather than actual accessories.
The very last man to enter was a tall man. Shaved head, heavy features that matched a thick gut and a pronounced limp. A light sheen of sweat made it clear that the walk had taxed him. However, his height was the most noticeable, because he was one of the few men that Guts found taller than himself.
As they entered, Dandelion closed the door, a smile on his face but he was screaming internally. All four of them came to a stop in front of the table, all of them looking to Guts. All except for the tall one, who spared Ciri a glance with his brow drawing together. When he looked away, his gaze settled on Guts. "Introductions are in order. I'm Sigi Reuven," Sigi introduced himself, earning him a dirty look from the others for being the one to break the tense silence.
"Carlo Varese," the dwarf spoke up, crossing his arms. "Most of the lads call me Cleaver on account to me habit of taking hands with my favorite cleaver," he tacked on.
"I'm the King of Beggars, but most people call me Francis," Francis stated, an easy smile on his face that didn't match his sharp gaze.
"Whoreson Junior," Junior said after a long moment, eyeing Guts up like he knew a joke that only he found funny. "Can't say I take kindly to getting summoned."
"I don't take kindly to people wasting my time," Guts growled the words out, turning his gaze to Junior. The four of them were unimpressive, he decided. He was no stranger to criminals. Mercenaries were just bandits with pay, and thugs were all the same. Nothing about them particularly stood out in that regard. Though, perhaps that was too hasty of a thought because Puck hovered over Junior's head and started flailing about. Guts couldn't exactly look at him without giving his presence away, but odds were that it would be nonsense even if he did.
Still, it was clear that Puck knew Junior. And didn't like him.
Dandelion made a sputtering sound, the screaming in his eyes getting louder. "W-wine?" He tried, presenting a bottle. "I have a fine aged Chateau red, year 1150," he offered, still smiling but it seemed as fragile as smoke in the wind.
"That would be lovely," Francis decided. "We do have a great deal to speak about."
"Mostly about how you rightly fucked this city," Carlo spoke up, glaring up at him. "Which fucks our business. Which fucks us. As to say, you fucked us."
"And?" Guts prompted, ignoring a glance from Ciri. She didn't seem to disapprove. She was just openly shocked that he was talking, he figured. It wasn't as if he hadn't given her good reason to be surprised, but this was different. If it was up to him, he'd kill the lot of them for being in his way if he bothered to meet them at all. This wasn't for him, though. This was for Triss. He had a debt to repay and it wasn't one that could ever really be repaid. She helped Casca.
"And we believe that you are in a position to make amends," Sigi voiced, his voice flat.
That was almost funny. "I don't have any reason to make amends with you," Guts stated, his voice just as flat. "If you're here to complain, then get out. I don't care to hear it." That was still true. He just had to figure something out for Triss. Wrangle a favor out of them or something.
Junior scoffed, "Do you have any bleeding idea who we are?" He questioned, bristling at the blatant disrespect.
"It wouldn't matter if I did," Guts admitted.
Sigi shot Junior a sharp look that the smaller man missed. "He killed the king. Why the fuck would he hesitate to kill us?" He remarked, and that got a glare from Junior, which he ignored to focus on Guts. "Making amends with us, and this city, is in your interest. For more reasons than you know," he added, his tone deliberately cryptic.
Hm. He knew about Triss.
"I doubt it," Guts remarked, an edge in his voice. "You came to us asking for an apology. One that I'm not going to give."
"I imagine not. Then again, I wouldn't have thought that a man like you -- who would so brazenly murder a king in front of his court in the middle of a bloody speech -- would bother to meet us at all," Sigi pointed out, proving that he had a read on him. "I'll be blunt, Guts. You've fucked more than just this city. You've fucked the North entirely. Victory was on the horizon, and you snuffed out any chance for it. Radovid was a rabid dog, but he was a clever one, and it was too early to put him down."
Guts offered a flat look in response, not hearing why this was his problem. It was Francis that continued.
"Radovid managed to create a stalemate. Nilfgaard didn't have the strength to push through his fortified positions and Emperor Emhyr knew it. That changes when the Crookback Bog suddenly started drying up. For centuries, it acted as a natural barrier. Any army that tried to cross it would end up picked apart by monsters, mud, and disease. Now, word is that it's bone dry, just another part of the forest, and it opened a path for Nilfgaard," Francis continued, and Guts felt a stirring at that.
The timing was too perfect to be anything else. Killing the Crones had made the bog dry up.
The mercenary part of his mind told him he should go to Emhyr and demand payment. Apparently he had been paving the way for Nilfgaard's victory since he arrived.
"Oxenfurt is under siege and it'll fall," Sigi added. "With it, Nilfgaard will pour through the Pontar and into the North. Without Radovid, the North doesn't have a unifying figure to rally around. Won't be long before the nobility falls to infighting because he never bothered to leave an heir."
"But that doesn't need to be the case," Francis pitched in, getting to the heart of the matter. "If the Nilfgaardian army fails to take Oxenfurt, then the war is over. Nilfgaard doesn't have the strength in them to suffer another defeat. That is what we would like to ask your help with."
Francis wasn't posturing. Sigi was. Junior just crossed his arms and scowled while Carlo frowned deeply. Though, Carlo did take a sip of the wine that Dandelion silently poured.
This time, it was Ciri that spoke up. "You, what, just want to throw Guts at an entire Nilfgaardian army?" She exclaimed, protesting the very idea.
Sigi scoffed, "It'd be suicide for a normal man. Let me ask you this -- do you know how many Witch Hunters were in Novigrad before last night? Hm? Five hundred and thirty-six," he stated. "As of this morning, there are one hundred and three. He's already killed a small army in the same amount of time I would take for my supper." Guts was annoyed that there had been so many that survived last night. He killed all that he found, but far too many managed to skip through the cracks.
"He wouldn't be fighting alone, either," Francis added. "We have contacts in the army. We can muster a good thousand men. Suicide against Nilfgaard's thirty thousand, but they know the risks. What we ask is that you inflict enough damage on the army and kill the general leading it. Inflict enough damage on them to break the siege, and the North will be saved. Novigrad will be saved." He continued, finishing the pitch. Guts saw the play pretty easily.
Have one posture while the other spoke softly. One made demands while the other made requests. All to warm him up to the idea.
Attacking an army was a big ask, but he could see why they would. As they said, it was an insane thing to ask a normal man… but Guts had never been a normal man. Killing thirty thousand men was impossible -- at least in one day -- but he wouldn't need to. Kill the blue bloods, kill the officers, kill the generals. From there, the peasant footmen that made up the bulk of the army would splinter and flee. Almost certainly in the face of him as he carved through them. Guts doubted he would need to kill more than a thousand to do the job.
Still, now that he knew what they wanted, and what they had to lose… he could start discussing a price.
"Not interested."
Comments
Dion
The audacity lol I love it
Boyo
lol, I love the way you have portrayed Guts. So far, this story has been an absolute treat. Thanks for the chapter!
