Chapter 34: Cahir's Ambush
POV: Adam
The forest road wound through ancient trees like a serpent made of packed earth and desperate hope, its surface worn smooth by generations of travelers seeking passages between destinations that might or might not provide the safety they promised. Adam walked beside Roach while Geralt's gelding carried supplies that spoke of people preparing for extended isolation in places where civilization's reach couldn't penetrate.
Kaer Morhen. The witcher fortress where we'll spend winter learning things that formal education doesn't cover.
The plan was elegant in its simplicity—travel north through forests that provided concealment, reach the ancient keep before snow made mountain passes impassable, then use winter months for training that would prepare them for whatever spring might bring. Sensible strategy that accounted for pursuit while providing time for skill development.
If we can reach it alive.
Geralt rode with the fluid grace of someone whose body had adapted to mounted travel through decades of necessity, his attention constantly scanning their surroundings for threats that experience had taught him to expect. Beside him, Ciri maintained alertness that spoke of someone who'd learned that survival required eternal vigilance.
We're being followed. Have been for hours.
The sensation had been building since dawn—atmospheric disturbances that spoke of multiple people maintaining pace while staying beyond visual contact. Adam's expanded Air Sense detected emotional signatures that carried professional competence mixed with determined pursuit.
Fifteen men minimum. Moving with military precision.
"Geralt," Adam said quietly, his voice pitched to carry without alerting potential observers to their awareness. "We have company."
The witcher's golden eyes shifted to meet his gaze, evaluation that lasted perhaps three seconds before resulting in careful nod. "How many?"
Professional response. No surprise, no panic, just tactical assessment.
"Fifteen. Maybe more. They've been shadowing us since morning."
"Nilfgaard?" Ciri's voice carried tension that spoke of someone understanding exactly what pursuit meant for her continued existence.
They found us. Despite everything, they found us.
The attack came with coordination that spoke of soldiers who'd spent weeks planning this moment, black-armored figures emerging from forest cover with weapons drawn and expressions that promised violence delivered with professional efficiency. Their leader wore armor that marked him as someone whose authority exceeded normal military hierarchy.
Cahir. It has to be Cahir.
The Nilfgaardian knight who'd become obsessed with capturing Ciri stepped into view with dramatic timing that suggested he'd been rehearsing this moment, his pale features bearing satisfaction that came from finally cornering prey that had eluded him for too long.
Level 25. Skilled, experienced, and completely obsessed with her.
"Princess Cirilla," Cahir said, his voice carrying formal courtesy that made his intentions feel more threatening than direct aggression would have. "You've led us quite a chase."
Fifteen soldiers plus their commander. Against three of us.
Geralt's response was characteristically direct—steel appearing in his hands with fluid motion while Aard sign sent two soldiers tumbling backward into trees that stopped their flight with bone-breaking impact. His attention fixed on Cahir with predatory focus that spoke of someone evaluating threat level and combat priority.
Geralt takes Cahir plus eight soldiers. I protect Ciri and handle the rest.
The mathematics were brutal but clear—Adam would face seven professional soldiers while keeping Ciri alive, relying on forest terrain and airbending to overcome numerical disadvantage that could easily prove fatal.
Air Jump for mobility. Wind Barrier for defense. Use the environment.
The first soldier died before understanding that air magic could be lethal at close range, Air Blade opening his throat in spray of arterial blood that painted autumn leaves red. Two more fell to ranged attacks that used forest spacing to prevent effective counterattack.
Three down. Four to go.
The remaining soldiers adapted with professional competence, closing distance to force melee combat where swords could find flesh more easily than wind could provide protection. Adam's blade work had improved dramatically during Geralt's training, but four trained killers still represented odds that required tactical innovation rather than direct confrontation.
Wind Barrier to block arrows. Ciri providing sword support.
They fought back-to-back against enemies whose coordination spoke of extensive experience working as unit, Linked Combat bonus turning their different fighting styles into collaborative advantages. But the soldiers were good—very good—and Adam felt steel find his leg with impact that sent fire racing through his nervous system.
Wounded. Not crippled, but wounded.
The slash across his thigh opened muscle and cloth with equal efficiency, blood painting his pants red while pain made every step feel like walking on broken glass. But the wound wasn't immediately fatal, and two soldiers fled when faced with opponents who fought like they had nothing left to lose.
Five soldiers dead. Seven remaining with Geralt.
Geralt's duel with Cahir possessed the terrible beauty of masters practicing violence that had been refined through decades of application, steel meeting steel in patterns that spoke of technique elevated to art form. But this was combat rather than exhibition, each movement carrying lethal intent that could end careers or lives with single mistake.
Epic sword fight. Like something from movies, except the consequences are permanent.
Cahir proved skilled beyond normal military training, his blade work flowing with precision that spoke of someone who'd dedicated himself to martial excellence as completely as others pursued scholarly achievement. But Geralt carried sixty years of experience fighting things that wanted to kill him, supernatural reflexes honed through encounters that had claimed lesser practitioners.
Experience versus talent. Age versus youth. Professional versus obsessed.
The duel's conclusion came when Geralt's blade found opening that Cahir's passion had created, silver steel opening a line across the knight's chest that spoke of damage severe enough to require immediate attention. Cahir staggered backward, his sword lowering as blood painted his armor red.
Wounded but not dead. He'll recover, which means he'll keep hunting her.
"I'll find her again, witcher!" Cahir's retreat was conducted with dignity that spoke of someone accepting tactical defeat while maintaining strategic commitment. "Destiny cannot be denied forever!"
Promises. He's making promises about continued pursuit.
The aftermath of combat left them bloodied but alive, fifteen Nilfgaardian soldiers reduced to seven corpses and eight men who'd fled when faced with odds that no longer favored survival. Geralt cleaned his sword with movements that spoke of routine rather than celebration, golden eyes already scanning for additional threats.
Not victory. Survival. There's a difference.
"They know where we are," Geralt said, his voice carrying grim assessment of tactical reality. "We move fast."
Forty-eight hours to Kaer Morhen. If we can maintain the pace.
The forced march that followed pushed all of them beyond normal endurance, urgency replacing comfort as primary consideration while they navigated terrain that grew progressively more difficult as elevation increased. Adam's wounded leg protested every step, but stopping meant risking another encounter with pursuit that might prove less favorable.
Keep moving. Pain is temporary. Death is permanent.
Ciri matched their pace despite exhaustion that painted her face pale, determination that spoke of someone understanding that survival required pushing past normal limits. She walked with grace that made Adam's heart swell with pride he hadn't earned but felt anyway.
Shaken but not broken. They'll never stop hunting her, but she won't stop fighting.
"They'll never stop hunting me," Ciri said as they paused for water beside a stream that promised eventual confluence with rivers leading toward their destination.
Truth. Hard truth, but truth nonetheless.
"Then we'll never stop protecting you," Adam replied, meaning every word with desperate intensity that came from understanding exactly what such protection would require.
Whatever it costs. Whatever we have to become.
Kaer Morhen appeared as afternoon shadows lengthened toward evening, its ancient walls rising from mountain stone with architectural authority that spoke of fortification built by people who understood that safety required more than hope and good intentions. The witcher keep had endured centuries of conflict through design that prioritized defense over comfort.
Sanctuary. Real sanctuary, finally.
They approached the gates with relief that felt almost religious, three survivors carrying wounds and wisdom earned through violence that had tested everything their training had attempted to teach. The massive doors opened to reveal corridors that promised winter sanctuary and answers to questions they were only beginning to formulate.
Safe. For now, we're safe.
[Experience Gained: 635 XP - Combat, survival, reaching Kaer Morhen]
[LEVEL UP! 18 → 19]
[Free Stat Points: +5]
[Allocation: +2 STR, +2 AGI, +1 STA]
[New Stats: STR 34, STA 44, AGI 43, HP 340, MP 440]
[Relationship: Geralt +10 (now 55/100, combat builds trust)]
As they passed through Kaer Morhen's gates, Adam understood that reaching the witcher fortress marked more than simple arrival at predetermined destination. It represented transition toward whatever they would need to become in order to survive forces that wanted to use Ciri's power for purposes that would destroy everything they cared about.
Winter training. Learning to become something more than we are.
But looking at Ciri's profile as torchlight painted her features in gold and shadow, Adam knew that some transformations were worth whatever cost they demanded.
Together. Whatever we become, we become it together.
The ancient keep's corridors stretched ahead, leading toward knowledge and capability that might prove sufficient to protect what mattered most in a world that seemed designed to take such things away.
Beginning. This is just the beginning.
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