Chapter 84: The Duel - Part 2
POV: Ciri
She emerged from the bunker despite Lambert's protests, drawn by the impossible silence that had fallen over the battlefield.
The scene that greeted her defied expectation. Nilfgaardian soldiers kneeling in surrender. Dwarven warriors standing guard with weapons still ready but not striking. Two witchers watching from elevated positions. And in the clearing's center, Adam and Cahir facing each other with the tension of men who'd been fighting moments before.
"What's happening?" She moved toward Adam, felt their bond pulse with complex emotions—anger, sympathy, confusion, hope.
"Complication." Adam didn't look away from Cahir. "His family's hostage. Emperor's leverage."
Ciri studied the knight she'd fled from for months. Without his helm, Cahir looked... young. Tired. Haunted in ways she recognized from her own mirror.
"Tell me about them." The words surprised even her. "Your family."
Cahir's expression flickered—suspicion giving way to something rawer. "My mother Elena. Widowed young, raised me alone after father died in the last war. My sister Ana." His voice cracked. "Seven years old. Loves flowers. Draws pictures of horses she's never seen because they don't allow her outside anymore."
"Seven years old. The age I was when I still believed the world was kind."
"Why are you telling us this?" Geralt had descended from his position, silver sword still in hand but not threatening.
"Because you asked." Cahir's laugh held no humor. "Because I'm tired of hunting a girl who reminds me of my sister. Because maybe if you understand why I can't stop, you'll make ending me quick."
—Scene Break—
POV: Adam
The dilemma crystallized with brutal clarity.
Kill Cahir: his family dies, Emperor sends another hunter. Let Cahir take Ciri: unacceptable, she'd be prisoner or breeding stock. Run again: Cahir tracks endlessly, cycle never breaks.
"There has to be another way." I turned to Geralt. "You've dealt with impossible situations before. What would you do?"
"I'd avoid getting into them." But the witcher's expression suggested he was actually considering the problem. "Emperor Emhyr doesn't release hostages. Even if Cahir succeeded, his family stays leverage. The threat maintains indefinitely."
"So they're dead regardless?"
"Unless the Emperor dies. Or someone extracts them. Or—" Geralt paused. "—or Cahir stops being useful."
Lambert jumped down from his wall. "What do you mean, stops being useful?"
"If Cahir reports Ciri dead, Emperor has no more need for him. No more missions. No more failures to punish." Geralt's gaze fixed on Cahir. "Your family's at risk because you're hunting her. Stop hunting, risk diminishes."
"I can't just say she's dead. Emperor's mages would detect the lie."
"What if it wasn't a lie?" The idea formed as I spoke, taking shape like water finding its level. "What if Ciri really was dead? As far as anyone could prove?"
Ciri's hand found mine. Through our bond, understanding passed without words.
"You want to fake my death."
"I want to give Cahir something he can report honestly." I turned back to the knight. "A body. Evidence. Whatever it takes to convince Emperor Emhyr that his prize is beyond reach."
—Scene Break—
POV: Lambert
"That's insane." Lambert circled the impromptu council, unable to stay still. "Fake a princess's death? With a body? Do you have any idea how hard that is to pull off?"
"Shapeshifting potion." Geralt's answer came quiet but certain. "Rare, expensive, dangerous—but possible. Find a fresh corpse, apply potion, corpse takes Ciri's appearance for several hours. Long enough for confirmation and transport."
"Where do we get a fresh corpse that won't be missed?"
"The battlefield." Adam gestured toward the fallen Nilfgaardians. "Several soldiers died. One could become Ciri, killed in the fighting, body recovered by her grieving hunter."
"And Cahir? He just goes along with this? Reports his own failure convincingly?"
"I don't report failure." Cahir's voice had steadied, hope kindling where despair had lived. "I report tragic success. Found the princess, engaged her protectors, battle ensued, she died in the crossfire. Body recovered, returned to Emperor for proper burial. Mission complete. No more hunting. Family safe."
"Until someone notices Ciri walking around alive."
"By then, we're gone." Ciri spoke with the steel she'd developed over months of survival. "Different names, different appearances, somewhere far from Nilfgaardian reach. Let the Emperor bury his 'princess' while the real one lives free."
Lambert wanted to object. The plan had a thousand failure points, a thousand ways to collapse into disaster. But looking at the faces around him—Adam's determination, Ciri's hope, Geralt's calculating acceptance, even Cahir's desperate gratitude—he found his objections dying unvoiced.
"When did I become the cautious one?"
"Fine." He threw up his hands. "Fake death, shapeshifting corpse, fool an emperor. What could possibly go wrong?"
—Scene Break—
POV: Adam
The staging took four hours.
Geralt produced the shapeshifting potion from his alchemical supplies—apparently witchers carried all sorts of strange substances for all sorts of stranger situations. One dead soldier became Ciri's twin: ash-blonde hair, green eyes, features that matched closely enough to fool anyone except intimate family members.
"It won't last forever." Geralt warned as he applied the potion. "Six hours, maybe eight. After that, features revert. Body needs to be burned before then."
"Nilfgaardian tradition cremates fallen royalty." Cahir studied the transformed corpse with something between relief and horror. "Emperor will want immediate confirmation, then cremation to prevent grave-desecration. Timeline works."
We staged the scene carefully. A collapsed earth wall that could have fallen during combat. The "princess" crushed beneath it, face intact but body clearly dead. Mourning protectors who'd fled when victory became impossible.
Cahir knelt beside the fake Ciri, practicing the grief he'd need to sell.
"I'm not an actor."
"You're a son who almost lost his family." I crouched beside him. "Channel that. The relief that it's over, even if the ending's not what you wanted. The exhaustion of months of hunting finally finished. That's what they'll see."
"And if they don't believe me?"
"Then we're back where we started. But at least we'll have tried something other than killing each other."
He met my eyes. Whatever he saw there—sincerity, perhaps, or just mutual desperation—seemed to satisfy him.
"Thank you." The words came rough, unused to being spoken. "For finding another way."
"Don't thank me yet. We still have to make this work."
[ QUEST UPDATE: Resolve Cahir Situation ]
[ Status: False Death Staged ]
[ Outcome: Pending ]
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