Chapter 82: Bait and Switch
POV: Adam
The false camp took six hours to construct.
Air manipulation created figures from dust and debris—humanoid shapes that moved with wind-powered animation, convincing enough at distance to pass for guards and travelers. A fire pit burning real flames added authenticity. Supply carts borrowed from Yarpen's caravan completed the illusion.
From underground, I controlled it all.
The chamber I'd carved sat twenty feet below the fake camp's center, connected to the surface by narrow shafts that let me observe without being seen. Seismic Sense extended outward in all directions, painting a picture of the terrain that no visual observation could match.
"Fifty-three heartbeats approaching from the south. Moving in three groups. Standard encirclement formation."
Through the observation shaft, dust clouds marked Cahir's army's approach. They'd made good time—two days of forced march to reach the Broken Ridge before their supposed quarry could escape.
"They're here." My whisper carried through speaking tubes connected to nearby positions. "Three columns. Twenty soldiers each in the flanking groups, ten with Cahir in the center. Mages with the center column."
Geralt's voice came back, distorted by distance but clear enough. "Wait for full commitment. Let them enter the kill-zone before we spring it."
Waiting proved harder than any training. Minutes stretched like hours as Cahir's forces descended into the valley, spreading out to surround a camp that held nothing but phantoms.
"They're checking the perimeter. Scouts moving ahead of main body. Professional, careful—Cahir's not taking chances."
A scout entered the camp. Walked right through one of my air-figures without noticing the deception. For a terrible moment, I thought the trap had failed—
The scout shouted something. Pointed at tracks I'd fabricated leading away from camp, toward the eastern pass.
"She's running!" His voice echoed off valley walls. "Fresh tracks heading east!"
Cahir's response came instantly. Orders barked in crisp Nilfgaardian, forces reorganizing to pursue. The careful encirclement dissolved into a chase, soldiers streaming toward the eastern exit.
Directly into our kill-zone.
—Scene Break—
POV: Geralt
The earth rose like teeth from the valley floor.
Stone walls erupted without warning, cutting Cahir's army into four isolated groups. Soldiers stumbled, fell, scrambled for weapons as the ground they'd trusted betrayed them.
Geralt emerged from his tunnel exit at a dead run, silver sword leading.
The first soldier never saw him coming. The second managed a half-block before Geralt's blade found the gap between helm and gorget. The third went down to a kick that shattered his knee, a mercy strike that rendered him unconscious rather than dead.
"Neutralize, not exterminate."
But mercy became harder as the fighting intensified. Nilfgaardian soldiers weren't conscripts—these were professional warriors, trained and equipped for serious combat. They recovered quickly from the surprise, formed defensive clusters, began fighting back with coordinated efficiency.
"Witcher!" A lieutenant's voice cut through the chaos. "Focus on the witcher!"
Six soldiers converged. Geralt met them in a whirlwind of steel and Signs—Aard sent three stumbling, Igni's flames scattered another two, and the sixth died with silver in his throat before he could complete his swing.
"Adam. Where's Adam?"
The answer came in the form of a stone wave that swept through the nearest Nilfgaardian cluster, scattering soldiers like leaves in a gale.
—Scene Break—
POV: Adam
Earth Armor coated my body as I rose from the ground, emerging into the battle like a golem given purpose.
The soldiers closest to my emergence point froze—confronted with something their training hadn't prepared them for. A figure of stone, eyes glowing faintly through helm slits, hands raised in gesture of command.
"Surrender." My voice echoed strangely through the armor. "Drop your weapons and you'll be allowed to live."
Three soldiers did. Smart ones, recognizing impossible odds.
The fourth charged.
His sword struck my chest. Steel against stone—the blade shattered on impact, shards spiraling away in glittering arcs. His face registered shock, then fear, then nothing as earth surged around his ankles and pulled him down into the ground up to his waist.
"Anyone else?"
Weapons clattered to stone.
Across the battlefield, similar scenes played out. Geralt's silver blade danced through the central cluster. Lambert's twin swords worked methodical destruction through the western group. Yarpen's dwarves pressed the eastern flank with axes and war-hammers that turned the narrow confines into an abattoir.
But Cahir—where was Cahir?
Seismic Sense found him. Moving fast, away from the main battle, heading toward—
"The eastern pass. Where Ciri's fake tracks led. He thinks she's still running."
I dropped into the earth, let stone close over my head, traveled through compressed mineral the way others traveled through air. Faster than running. More direct than any surface path.
When I emerged, Cahir stood thirty feet away, sword drawn, face grim behind his distinctive black armor.
"You." Recognition flickered in his eyes. "The mage. The one who protects her."
"Protect her. Hunt her. Seems like we're doing opposite things."
"Seems like." He didn't attack. Didn't retreat. Just stood there, measuring, calculating. "Your trap worked. My army's scattered. But I'm still here, and you're alone."
"I'm never alone." Earth Armor reformed, scales clicking into place like living metal. "But you are. Your family's hostage in Nilfgaard. Your Emperor demands results. Your army's defeated. What do you have left, Cahir? Pride? Duty?"
Something shifted in his expression. Pain, maybe. Desperation.
"I have orders." His sword rose to guard position. "And until I complete them or die trying, I have purpose."
"Then let me offer you different purpose." I raised my hands—not in attack, but in gesture of negotiation. "Help us instead of hunting us. We share an enemy, you and I. The Hunt wants Ciri dead or enslaved. Nilfgaard wants her controlled. What do you want?"
"I want my family safe."
"I can't give you that. But I can give you time. Choice. Options you don't have right now." I took a step forward. "Surrender. Come with us. Let Nilfgaard think you died in this battle. Your family might be safer if the Empire believes you're dead than if you keep failing to capture one girl."
The silence stretched. Seconds became eternities.
Cahir's sword lowered. Not dropped—lowered. The gesture of a man considering options rather than a warrior surrendering.
"You'd take me prisoner? After everything I've done?"
"I'd take you as ally if you'd let me. We need people who understand how Nilfgaard thinks. You need people who can actually protect you from what's coming." I met his eyes through my helm's stone slits. "The Hunt's getting closer. When they arrive, they won't care about Imperial politics or family hostages. They'll kill everything between them and Ciri. Including you."
"You're asking me to betray my Emperor."
"I'm asking you to choose between betraying your Emperor and losing your soul." I extended my hand. "Your family's dead if you fail. They're dead if Nilfgaard falls to the Hunt. But if you help us stop the Hunt—if we actually win against them—maybe, somehow, we can figure out how to free them."
[ QUEST UPDATE: Resolve Cahir Situation ]
[ New Outcome: Potential Alliance ]
Cahir stared at my extended hand. Behind us, the sounds of battle faded as dwarves and witchers secured the remaining Nilfgaardians.
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