Chapter 60: THE FLIGHT
"Survive." Geralt's voice was rough with emotion he'd never fully admit. "Find us in Oxenfurt in three weeks. The Kingfisher Inn—I'll leave word."
"We'll be there."
"Keep her safe." He looked at Ciri, at Yennefer, at me. "Keep each other safe."
"Always."
He mounted his horse. Eskel and Lambert flanked him; Vesemir brought up the rear. Four Witchers riding into darkness, visible and trackable—exactly as planned.
A decoy. A sacrifice. The steel wall drawing pursuit while the precious cargo slipped away in another direction.
"Geralt." I stopped him before he could go. "Brothers."
He almost smiled. "Brothers. Even when I want to strangle you."
Then he was gone. Four shapes disappearing into the mountain night, taking Nilfgaard's attention with them.
I turned to Yennefer and Ciri.
"Time to move."
The hidden paths were everything I'd hoped for.
Thirteen years in this world had taught me the Continent's geography—not from maps, but from experience. Routes that didn't appear on official charts. Mountain passes that only shepherds knew. Valleys where the mists gathered thick enough to hide armies.
I led. Yennefer protected. Ciri endured.
We moved by night, resting by day in caves and abandoned structures. No fires—smoke could be spotted from miles away. Cold meals, whispered conversations, constant vigilance.
Yennefer created illusions around our camps—visual and magical deceptions that made us invisible to scrying, undetectable to trackers. Her power was stretched thin by the battle's aftermath, but she pushed through exhaustion with characteristic stubbornness.
Ciri was afraid. I could see it in the tension of her shoulders, the way her eyes tracked every shadow. But she didn't complain, didn't slow us down, didn't let fear rule her.
"You're brave," I told her on the third night, as we huddled together for warmth in a narrow cave.
"I'm terrified."
"Bravery isn't the absence of fear. It's moving forward despite it." I adjusted the cloak covering her. "You've done that every day since Cintra."
"So have you."
"I learned it from you."
She almost smiled. Almost.
The Nilfgaardian patrol found us on the fifth day.
Six soldiers, moving in formation through a valley we'd meant to bypass. They spotted us at the same moment I spotted them—no time for concealment, no opportunity for evasion.
"Behind me." I pushed Ciri toward a rock formation as Yennefer's hands began to glow.
"I can take them." Her voice was cold, professional.
"Wait."
I stepped forward, gathering power I was still learning to control.
The Voice of Command came easier now—a month of training, the stress of recent days, the desperate need to protect the people behind me. I pitched my voice to carry, filling it with everything I had.
"Return to camp."
The command hit the soldiers like a physical force.
Two of them turned immediately, walking away with the mechanical obedience of puppets. A third hesitated, swayed, then followed.
The remaining three resisted. Strong-willed, determined, trained against magical compulsion.
Yennefer handled them.
Lightning struck. Silent, precise, lethal. Three bodies dropped in less than two seconds.
"That was impressive." She lowered her hands, watching the two compelled soldiers walk away. "Group compulsion. You've been practicing."
"Necessity inspires improvement." My voice was hoarse—the command had taken something out of me. "We should move before they come back."
"They won't come back." Yennefer's tone was matter-of-fact. "The compulsion you used—it felt different. Stronger. More permanent."
"I didn't mean—"
"I know. But you're evolving, Jackier. Your powers are growing beyond what you understood." She met my eyes. "We need to discuss that. Later, when we're safe."
"Later. Yes."
Ciri found me during the next rest period.
I was sitting apart, trying to process what had happened. Two soldiers walking away, their will overwritten by mine. Power I'd sworn to use ethically, now deployed in ways I hadn't fully controlled.
"Father." She sat beside me, using the title she'd only spoken a few times. "Are you okay?"
"I should be asking you that."
"I'm fine. You're the one who looks like he's going to throw up."
Fair assessment. "I did something back there. With my voice. I'm not sure it was right."
"You stopped them from hurting us."
"I controlled them. Made them walk away against their will."
"Is that worse than killing them?"
The question caught me off-guard. I looked at her—twelve years old, carrying destinies she hadn't asked for, wise beyond her years.
"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not."
"Then figure it out later. Right now, we're alive because of you." She leaned against my shoulder. "I'm glad you're my other father."
Something tightened in my chest. I kissed her forehead, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair.
"I'm glad too."
"Good." She pulled back, grinning slightly. "Now stop brooding. It's annoying."
"I learned it from Geralt."
"That explains so much."
We descended from the mountains on the seventh day.
The lowlands spread before us—farms and roads and distant lights that meant civilization. Dangerous territory for fugitives, but also opportunity. Crowds to disappear into. Resources to acquire. Allies who might shelter three travelers with interesting stories.
"Oxenfurt is two weeks from here," Yennefer said, studying the terrain. "If we avoid major roads."
"We avoid major roads." I adjusted my lute case—the instrument inside was battered but functional. "Small villages. Trading posts. Places where a traveling bard and his companions won't attract attention."
"A bard whose songs changed how the Continent sees Witchers." Her voice was dry. "You're not exactly anonymous."
"Then I'll perform sparingly. Just enough to earn food and shelter. Not enough to draw crowds."
"Can you do that? Perform sparingly?"
"I can do anything for Ciri."
Ciri, who was already moving toward the path that led downward. Eager to be off the mountains, away from the cold and fear of the high passes.
We followed. Three figures descending into a dangerous world, knowing Nilfgaard searched every road.
But also knowing we had each other. Family, forged in fire and flight, stronger than the forces hunting us.
Somewhere behind us, Geralt and the Witchers drew pursuit away from our trail.
Somewhere ahead, Oxenfurt waited with allies and answers.
And somewhere in between, the world would try to tear us apart.
We wouldn't let it.
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