The Divine Hunter Chapter 629: Sudden Change

Concealed behind crimson draperies in a secluded corner, Philippa peered through a narrow gap. Her attention was fixed on the silhouettes of a witcher and the elven queen engaged in conversation down the corridor. "Perhaps that witcher has allied himself with that Scoia'tael hussy. Now would be the opportune moment to strike."

"You're overly jumpy. Witchers maintain strict neutrality; they don't involve themselves in political affairs," Sigismund, a spy under Vizimir II, commented while scratching his head. He was a burly man, well over two hundred pounds, with skin as pale as a freshly scrubbed pig. "Remember, they were responsible for the massacre of Scoia'tael in Novigrad. The animosity between them is profound, making a partnership exceedingly improbable."

"Yet, their prolonged conversation and the activation of a protective ward suggest otherwise. Do you truly believe the witcher is offering an apology?"

"It is impolite to discuss individuals in their absence." From behind the saffron-colored curtains, Yennefer emerged silently, her gaze fixed upon Vizimir's trusted ministers.

Philippa's face paled considerably. A torrent of thoughts raced through her mind as she met Yennefer's steady gaze.

Sigismund drew a deep breath, his chest threatening to burst the buttons of his shirt. He subtly moved his left hand towards his lower back, but his intention faltered upon seeing the white-haired man accompanying Yennefer into the room. His expression soured, and he withdrew his hand. Engaging a master of arms in combat was tantamount to suicide.

"Compose yourselves, both of you. While I may possess elven heritage, I have no inclination to aid the Scoia'tael in attacking my colleagues." Yennefer's eyes flashed with disdain. "Philippa, relax your tense grip and dismiss the mana. Let's not mar this occasion with an unnecessary spell."

Philippa exhaled slowly and exchanged a knowing glance with Sigismund. "Who divulged our secret? Was it that blabbermouth Keira, or perhaps Triss?"

"The source is inconsequential. What matters is that Thanedd is a hallowed ground for magic and should not be defiled by bloodshed stemming from mere political disputes." Yennefer tossed her hair back, her voice resonating with solemnity. "Yet, you are attempting to instigate a conflict purely to curry favor with the Northern kings and their rash scheme. Countless colleagues will suffer, and Aretuza itself, the jewel of magical academia for a millennium, will be reduced to ruins."

Philippa shot Yennefer a venomous glare. "Are you dictating to me now, Yen? You're an intelligent woman. Why can't you perceive the true situation?" Philippa's eyes darted through the curtain's seams, observing the throng in the hall below. "More than half the individuals present are my staunch allies and the North's staunch defenders, even your former associate, Dethmold. Once we initiate the offensive, capturing these traitors will be swift. And you possess only three witchers and three sorceresses on your side. The imbalance of power is glaringly obvious. What emboldens you to address me in such a manner?"

With a queenly air of concern for her minister, Philippa chuckled and lightly brushed Yennefer's chest. "You are presented with two options: join our cause, or face detainment. Once this situation is resolved, I shall grant you an opportunity to demonstrate your innocence before our peers."

Yennefer tilted her head back, her unspoken reply hanging in the air. As if acknowledging a command, Geralt took a step back, turning slightly, his fists clenched.

"I acknowledge your combat prowess, but you are no match for magic." Sigismund offered a menacing grin, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Make a move, and your attractive features will be scorched beyond recognition, resembling a roasted swine."

"Utter one more word, and your leg will be broken."

Sigismund's face contorted slightly. Yennefer placed a comforting hand on Geralt's shoulder. "I've already stated our non-support for the Southern faction, but a word of advice: halt your operation while you still have the chance."

Philippa's expression soured. "If you are so devoted to upholding the moral high ground, why not step into the hall yourself and command these traitors to surrender?"

"That was my intention, but the ensuing process will not be pleasant. If you wish to avoid harm, remain here with me and follow my instructions."

"Yen, you have long relinquished your position on the council and are no longer a royal consultant. You hold no influence or authority. What prompts you to believe you can address me with such audacity?" Philippa scoffed, shaking her head in clear disapproval.

"The self-important Redanian royal consultant, I've always wanted to tell you this: you are not the sole possessor of allies." Yennefer felt a surge of vengeful satisfaction coursing through her. She turned her gaze towards the window, where dark shapes flickered indistinctly in the night. Unseen by anyone.

***

Footfalls echoed throughout the grand hall, causing subtle disturbances in the air. The rustling of fabric accompanied the movement of guests. A distinct aroma of alcohol began to permeate the atmosphere among the assembled mages. Some were engaged in hushed conversations, while others erupted into laughter.

Sweat beaded on Gerhart of Aelle's forehead, his complexion turned a sickly green, as if he struggled to breathe. The aged sorcerer inhaled sharply, one hand gripping his heaving chest. Unlike elves, humans possessed lifespans far shorter. Even with arcane modifications, five centuries marked an advanced age for their kind. Merely a few hours at this banquet had taxed him greatly.

Tissaia gently rubbed Gerhart's back, offering Lytta and Triss an apologetic glance. "I apologize, but Gerhart is not in the best condition. He cannot converse for much longer."

"It is quite alright. We merely wished to offer a word of counsel," Triss responded, her gaze sweeping over Margarita, Tissaia, and Gerhart. These three held prominent positions within the brotherhood, yet had steadfastly maintained their neutrality. "Just in case of any cardiac event, perhaps summon Marti the healer. She could provide aid should anything unfortunate occur."

Tissaia considered this, then nodded in agreement. "Thank you for your concern, ladies, but why bring this up so abruptly? Have you learned something we are unaware of?" Tissaia's voice dropped to a confidential whisper. "Is there a risk someone might breach the regulations and instigate an assault?"

These thoughts echoed in the minds of Coral and Triss.

"Wait, what is that sound? Are those seagulls?" Gerhart peered out at the night sky visible through the window. "Tissaia, I was under the impression that Aretuza's warding barrier prevented all manner of flying creatures – bats, insects, and birds. How did seagulls manage to approach the citadel?"

"No, I can distinctly feel the barrier is functioning as it should. Are you perhaps envisioning things?" Tissaia looked out the window herself, then fell silent, a look of bewilderment gracing her features.

***

"I have a distinct feeling we've been discovered," Artaud declared uneasily, swiveling his head and pacing. He moved like a large rodent, its head bobbing nervously across open ground. "Should we perhaps summon Francesca and initiate our action?"

"Launching an offensive at this precise moment would be excessively perilous. It would be far wiser to delay until dawn, when everyone is gathered in Garstang. Once the dimeritium barrier is active, our Scoia'tael comrades can then enact their specialized skills." Fercart scanned their surroundings with palpable caution, his demeanor akin to someone who had just set off a cascade of explosives.

"Taking a calculated risk is preferable to succumbing to anxiety. Consider our situation: I hold a senior rank within the brotherhood, and you serve as Foltest's advisor, yet we are both operating as operatives for Emhyr. Do you have any comprehension of the consequence should this scheme falter? It would lead directly to the gallows in Tretogor."

"Hush. That abomination with the tri-colored eyes is observing us from beneath the column on our left. What is its objective?"

"Pay it no mind. It is powerless amidst such a throng... Hold on, what was that noise? Do you discern it?"

A heavy thud, followed by a sound like a shriek, emanated from beyond the hall. The traitors glanced out the window. The sorcerers who were idly passing the time with Gwent, imbibing spirits, engaging in conversation, and romantic liaisons also registered the sudden commotion.

"Something is flying out there," remarked a gaunt individual clad in an oversized robe, leaning against the wall and emitting a drunken burp. Then, his expression shifted to one of astonishment. A most peculiar sight materialized before his eyes: crimson eyes, webbed wings, and a maw filled with sharp fangs.

"Is that a bat?" Dorregaray, the renowned naturalist from Cidaris, set down his wine goblet and exclaimed, "I had never observed such a creature. I was unaware that Thanedd harbored a species of bat previously unknown to me."

Linus adjusted his spectacles. A flicker of intense curiosity ignited in his eyes as he inquired, "Might you be able to secure a few of them for my collection in Oxenfurt?"

"An unusual fascination you possess there," the man burped again. "This bat is larger than my own head. It might even be venomous." The sorcerer shook his head, then his face contorted into a peculiar expression. "Good heavens. More bats? Wait, this behavior is highly irregular. Everyone, be on guard!"

A torrent of scarlet light sliced through the velvety darkness, and shadowy forms glided through the night. The ocean surged, its waves violently smashing against the stone ramparts of Thanedd. The brightly illuminated structure of Aretuza flickered and dimmed as an immense swarm of bats converged in the night sky, eclipsing the moon's luminescence. They enveloped the edifice's gleaming stained-glass windows, shrouding the entire construction in a dense, black mantle.

The bats arrived with an unnerving silence, emitting no discernible trace of mana. The sorcerers remained oblivious to the impending threat until the creatures were perilously close.

Alas, the moment for reaction had long since passed.

Ultrasonic frequencies, like colossal hammers, reverberated through the atmosphere, accompanied by a cacophony of screams erupting from all directions. Devastating, infernal energies were unleashed, causing the windows to detonate inward. The ancient ivy and tenacious vines entwined around the walls were violently rent asunder, tumbling down alongside the shattered glass. Deep rumblings emanated from the statues depicting a farmer and a nymph at the main entrance and traveled all the way to the grand hall.

The opulent chandeliers suspended overhead quaked violently, and the flames adorning the magical candelabras danced erratically, casting fleeting illumination upon faces etched with pallor and profound agony.

Caught completely off guard, the sorcerers staggered and swayed as if intoxicated. Then, one by one, they collapsed.

Amidst the turmoil, Tissaia cried out, "Marti, save Gerhart! He's experiencing a heart attack! He can't last much longer!"

Both Fercart and Artaud shook their heads. Noticing no one was watching, they swiftly made hand gestures, and a wave of stifling chaos energy erupted from their palms.

However, Coen, who had been vigilant of these traitors, countered with a blast of Aard, neutralizing their spell. Leaping forward like a predator, he delivered an uppercut to Artaud's jaw. The sorcerer's head snapped back, sending him flying to land in a heap on his associate's lap, nose and mouth bleeding profusely.

"The witchers committed murder!" Fercart hurled a fireball at Coen. The flames blazed intensely but struck only empty air, eventually illuminating a tapestry depicting a boat. Before he could conjure another spell, a fist met his face.

Fercart saw stars and promptly lost consciousness.

Then, the bats descended into the halls. A handful of sorcerers reacted swiftly, launching beams and energy orbs at the airborne creatures, but their attacks passed through as if they were mere phantoms. The spells dispersed harmlessly.

Caught off guard, the sorcerers were unable to cast any large-scale incantations and were hesitant to harm their fellow mages. This allowed the bats to spread unimpeded. Ultimately, they coalesced into a massive swarm overhead before descending.

Flames erupted throughout the halls. Screams and gasps echoed in the darkness. The magical lights flickered and died. Thuds reverberated. The sorcerers shrieked in terror and cried out in pain. Tables were overturned, and the floor became slick with spilled liquor. The hall descended into utter pandemonium.

This chaos lasted mere moments before an unnerving silence fell. Aretuza was engulfed in a dense darkness that stole all vision. Then, the writhing shadows coalesced into gaunt figures. All were cloaked in black, with deathly pale skin and lips as red as blood. They materialized behind all the guests, silent as specters.

Only moments before, the most accomplished sorcerers of the North had been engaged in cheerful conversation. Now, they were held captive, utterly immobilized. They couldn't even twitch a finger, leaving them only the option to stare in abject horror.

This predicament was more unfathomable than any nightmare they could conceive. Even the harrowing battle at Sodden Hill had not struck their fellowship so profoundly.

Then, slow footsteps resonated through the air, unsettling the sorcerers. All eyes turned towards the entrance. Roy entered from a corridor, hands clasped behind his back. The witcher exuded an aura of calm, as if strolling through his own abode.

The mysterious, formidable figures in black bowed respectfully to him, clearing a path toward the center of the hall. Francesca followed Roy at a measured pace, her outward composure masking the frantic rhythm of her footsteps and her strained breathing, which betrayed her inner turmoil.

And she understood the witcher's intent.

***

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