The castle fell silent and it wasn't the silence of peace, it was the heavy, hollow quiet that follows a storm and a storm did in fact arrive. The frost that had poured through the portals receded slowly, retreating back, leaving behind only the devastation it had wrought. The portals themselves had sealed, their jagged edges smoothing into nothingness, as if they had never been. The frost hounds lay dead, their bodies dissolving into mist and ice, leaving only the carnage they had wrought.
The survivors stood among the ruins, their faces pale, their hands trembling. Soldiers leaned on their swords, their breath misting in the cold air that still clung to the stones. Mages slumped against walls, their magic spent, their eyes hollow with shock. Servants emerged from their hiding places, their faces streaked with tears, their voices choked with grief.
The casualties were staggering. Hundreds of lives lay dead, their bodies frozen where they had fallen, their faces frozen in expressions of terror. Mages who had given their last breath to hold the line were scattered across the corridors, their hands still raised in futile defense. And the monarchs, the kings and queens of the North lay in the summit chamber, their bodies broken, their dreams of unity shattered.
The survivors mourned. They wept for their fallen comrades, for their fallen kings, for the world that had been torn apart in a single, terrible moment. Yet they still demanded answers, they demanded justice.
And Sheala de Tancarville was ready to give them a story.
In the great hall, Queen Meve stood among the survivors, her face pale, her hands still trembling. Her crown sat on her head, her hair a tangled mess of frost and sweat. She had seen her fellow monarchs torn apart, had witnessed the slaughter of her guards, had felt the cold breath of death on her neck. She was alive, but she was not whole.
Beside her, Radovid of Redania surveyed the scene with cold, calculating eyes. His guards had found him hiding in a secured chamber, his face pale, his composure shaken but intact. He had escaped the frost, but he had not escaped the suspicion that now gnawed at him.
Sheala stood before them, her robes torn, her face lined with exhaustion after the battle she claimed to have fought. "Queen Meve. King Radovid." Sheala's voice was steady, commanding. "I have seen what happened here, I know who was responsible."
Radovid's eyes narrowed, his voice sharp and cutting. "Speak, then. Tell us who did this. I want names, I want explanations and I want the whole bloody truth."
Sheala's gaze swept the room, her expression grim. "It was the Witcher, Foltest's guard. Sebastian." She paused, letting the name hang in the air. "And Triss Merigold."
A murmur rippled through the survivors. Soldiers exchanged glances, their faces dark with anger. Mages whispered among themselves, their eyes fixed on Sheala with a mixture of shock and disbelief.
Radovid stepped forward. "How can a mere witcher and Merigold cause all of this on their own?" His eyes swept the room, sharp and accusing. "You are telling me he overpowered all of you?" He paused, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. "And why were you together? I sent my soldiers to find Philippa, way before all of this happened. If not for my men's cunning, I would have died inside the summit chamber alongside the others."
Queen Meve spoke, her voice trembling, her eyes fixed on Sheala with a mixture of gratitude and confusion. "She protected me... She stood between me and that frost monster... she saved my life."
Sheala nodded, her expression solemn. "I did what I had to do your majesty. I had a choice.. go after them, or save you. I chose the latter. I chose to protect the living rather than pursue the guilty."
Radovid's eyes narrowed, his suspicion deepening. "I just do not buy this," he said. "I knew you scum could not be trusted.. We had a whole school of mages here, and you let this happen?" He shook his head slowly, his voice rising with barely contained fury. "There is more to this.. I can feel it in my bones."
He turned to his guards, his voice rising to a shout that echoed through the hall. "Seize her! She'll tell me the whole truth in person..."
The guards moved forward, their hands reaching for Sheala.
Sheala's eyes flashed. Her hands erupted with magic, a barrier of shimmering energy surrounding her. Her voice was cold, contemptuous, she had no intention of being taken. "As if I will allow it..."
Before the guards could reach her, a portal swirled into existence behind her, its edges crackling with power. She stepped through, her image flickering and fading, and vanished.
Radovid's scream echoed through the hall, raw and furious. "Bastards! All of this! Find this whore and the others! The scum will pay for this!"
The guards scrambled, their boots pounding against the stone floor, but they were too late. Sheala was gone, leaving only the faint shimmer of residual magic and the echo of Radovid's rage.
Queen Meve stood frozen, her face pale, her voice barely a whisper."You think they really betrayed us? Our very own court mages?!"
Radovid turned to her, his eyes blazing with fury. "I suspected this for a long time." His voice dropped to a cold, bitter whisper. "Too bad the others did not listen.. Too bad they trusted the mages." He paused, his eyes sweeping the room. "I'm only alive thanks to that. Thanks to my caution. Thanks to my unwillingness to trust them."
.
.
.
.
Across the city, in a tavern near the eastern gate, Dandelion and Zoltan had been enjoying a rare moment of peace. The booze was flowing freely, the music was lively, they wanted to spend some fun times before leaving Rivia alongside Sebastian back to Temeria. Dandelion had been regaling the patrons with tales of his adventures, his voice rising and falling with theatrical flair, his hands gesturing wildly as he described battles fought and victories won.
Then a man burst through the door, his face pale, his voice ragged with panic. "The castle! The royal castle has been attacked!"
The tavern fell silent. Patrons turned, their eyes wide, their drinks forgotten. The music stopped mid-note, the musician's hands frozen above his lute.
The man continued, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "There has been carnage inside! They say blood can be seen from the gates alone! The frost, the monsters...I do not know how else to explain it.."
Dandelion's face went pale, his hand tightening around his tankard. He set it down with a sharp clunk, rising from his seat with a sudden urgency. "The castle? Attacked?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the murmur of the crowd. "What are you talking about? Frost? Monsters?"
Zoltan was already on his feet, his hand on his axe, his face grim. "Speak human language damn it!"
The man shook his head, his voice trembling. "I do not know! I only heard that the castle is in ruins! Soldiers everywhere... Dead...."
Dandelion didn't wait for the rest. He grabbed Zoltan by the arm, his voice low and fierce. "We need to get back there. Now!"
Zoltan nodded grimly, his thick fingers wrapping around the handle of his axe. "Aye. If Seb and Triss are in there.."
"They are." Dandelion's voice was tight with fear, his usual bravado completely stripped away. "Seb is strong but... what this man is saying..."
They rushed out of the tavern, their boots pounding against the cobblestones, the sounds of the city rising around them. The streets were chaos, people running in every direction, their voices rising in panic. Soldiers who had been stationed in the city were scrambling toward the castle, their faces filled with confusion.
Dandelion's heart pounded as they ran, his mind racing with terrible possibilities. "What if they are hurt?" he muttered, his voice barely audible over the din. "What if they are.."
Zoltan cut him off, his voice gruff but steady. "Do not think like that... they are strong." He paused, his voice dropping. "We need to understand what is going on first.. Maybe that man was just panicking and it just bandits... or some dumb assassins."
They reached the castle gates and it was full of people watching too, and the scene that greeted them stopped them cold.
The gates were wide open, their guards nowhere to be seen. The courtyard was littered with bodies, soldiers, servants, and the unmistakable shapes of monsters that had been reduced to corpses as well. The stones were coated with ice, their surfaces gleaming in the pale light. The air was thick with the smell of blood and cold and death.
Dandelion's face was ashen, his voice barely a whisper. "By the gods... what happened here?"
Zoltan's jaw tightened, his eyes scanning the carnage. "Whatever it was, it seems over now.." He paused, his voice hardening. "Seb and Triss are still inside it seems..."
They moved through the courtyard, their eyes scanning the carnage, their hearts heavy with dread. The bodies of the fallen lay everywhere, their faces frozen in expressions of shock and terror. The frost clung to their armor, their clothes, their skin.
Dandelion's voice was raw, trembling with emotion. "If anything has happened to them..."
/-\
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