Chapter 52: THE ROAD SOUTH
The mountain path dropped away behind us, and with it, the last familiar landmark.
Yennefer rode ahead, posture perfect despite hours in the saddle. Her black horse matched her clothing—a statement of aesthetic rather than practicality. I followed on a sturdy bay Vesemir had provided, my lute case secured against my back.
"You're staring."
Her voice carried without her turning. Of course she'd noticed.
"Admiring the view. Mountains are beautiful this time of year."
"The mountains are behind us."
"Different kind of view."
She made a sound that might have been amusement. Or irritation. Hard to tell with Yennefer.
We rode in silence for another hour. The terrain shifted from mountain stone to forested hills, the path widening enough for two horses to walk abreast. Neither of us moved to close the gap.
"You're quieter than I expected." She slowed her horse until we were side by side. "The famous bard, silenced by what? Nerves?"
"Strategy. You're prickly in the mornings. I've learned to let you warm up before attempting conversation."
"Prickly." The word held warning. "Is that how you see me?"
"Among other adjectives. Sharp. Brilliant. Terrifying when provoked." I met her eyes. "Also beautiful, but you already know that."
"Flattery."
"Observation. I'm a professional observer—it's how I write songs."
Something shifted in her expression. The wariness didn't disappear, but it softened at the edges.
"You're not what I expected either," she admitted. "When Geralt first mentioned you, I assumed... well. Bards have a reputation."
"Vain? Frivolous? Good for entertainment and little else?"
"Something like that."
"And now?"
She was quiet for a moment. "Now I'm not sure what you are. Which is uncomfortable for someone who prides herself on categorizing people quickly."
"Maybe I'm a new category."
"Maybe you are."
We made camp in a hidden valley as sunset painted the sky orange and gold.
The fire crackled between us, illuminating Yennefer's face as she studied maps of the towns we'd target. Her brow furrowed in concentration, fingers tracing routes and calculating distances.
"Three weeks to Novigrad if we push," she said. "Faster if we use portals, but that would announce our presence to anyone monitoring magical signatures."
"Horses it is, then."
"Horses." She folded the map with precise movements. "I hate traveling slowly."
"Think of it as time to strategize. We can plan exactly which stories to spread, which towns to prioritize, how to make the misinformation campaign most effective."
"I've already planned all that."
"Then think of it as time to get to know your traveling companion." I set down my wine. "We're going to be together for months. Might as well make it pleasant."
"Pleasant." The word dripped skepticism. "You think traveling with me will be pleasant?"
"I think it has potential."
She studied me across the flames. "You're not intimidated by me. At all."
"I told you before—I'm terrified. But I've learned that fear doesn't have to dictate behavior."
"Most people can't separate those things."
"I'm not most people."
The firelight caught her eyes, turning violet to amber. "No. You're definitely not."
The bandits appeared at a mountain pass, three days into our journey.
Six men, armed and confident, blocking the narrow path with weapons drawn. Their leader—scarred face, missing teeth—stepped forward with a grin that suggested he'd done this many times before.
"Well, well. A fine lady and her musician. Lot of coin for safe passage, or we take everything you have."
Yennefer's hand began to rise, chaos magic gathering. I spoke first.
"Let me handle this."
She hesitated. The bandits laughed—a bard offering to handle anything was apparently hilarious.
I started playing.
The Terror Ballad poured from my lute, aimed and focused, driving primal fear directly into the minds of six armed men. The melody caught them mid-laugh, and I watched their expressions transform—confusion, then unease, then raw panic.
"What—" The leader's voice cracked. "What is—"
They broke.
Six men, armed and confident moments ago, fled in different directions. Some dropped weapons. One screamed. Within thirty seconds, the pass was empty except for us and the echo of my song.
I stopped playing.
Yennefer stared at me.
"That wasn't calming or healing." Her voice was flat.
"I have range." I secured my lute. "Fear, confidence, perception—emotions are my territory. All emotions."
"You could have done that to anyone. At any time."
"I could have. I don't." I met her eyes. "Power is only useful if you control it, not the other way around."
Something shifted in her expression. Not the curiosity I'd seen before—something deeper. Respect, maybe. Or recognition of a kindred spirit.
"You're potentially dangerous," she said finally. "I'm not sure I understood that until now."
"Does it change things?"
She considered the question. "No. If anything, it's... reassuring. I don't work well with people I have to protect."
"Partners, then."
"Partners."
That night, by firelight, we traded truths.
Yennefer told me about Aretuza—the school for sorceresses that had transformed her from a hunchbacked girl into the beautiful woman she was now. The price of that transformation: fertility sacrificed, humanity diminished, power replacing everything soft.
"They told us it was worth it," she said, voice distant. "Power for weakness. Beauty for deformity. I believed them for a long time."
"And now?"
"Now I'm not sure what I believe. The woman I was before Aretuza—she's dead. But the woman who replaced her isn't happy. Just powerful." She poked the fire with a stick. "Is that a trade worth making?"
"I don't know. I made a similar trade, in my own way."
"Tell me."
I chose my words carefully. "I woke one day with abilities I didn't understand. Powers that grew as my fame grew. It felt like being reborn—the person I was before seems like a stranger now."
"Woke one day. You mean this wasn't gradual?"
"Parts were gradual. But the beginning was sudden." True, if incomplete. "I made choices after that—to protect rather than conquer, to use what I have for others rather than myself. But the power itself wasn't chosen. Just accepted."
"That's unusual. Most people with power spend years developing it."
"I'm not most people."
She smiled slightly. "So you keep reminding me."
The fire crackled between us. Her hair had come loose from its pins, dark strands framing her face. I resisted the urge to brush them aside.
"We should sleep," she said. "Long ride tomorrow."
"We should."
Neither of us moved immediately. The moment stretched, heavy with possibility.
Then she stood, retreating to her bedroll. I watched her go, heart hammering, wondering where this was leading.
The first town appeared on the horizon the next morning. Time to begin spreading lies that would save Ciri's life.
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