A night short like blink of an eye.
A mad night, full of thunders.
***
In the morning after the solstice he woke up alone. In the kitchen breakfast waited. And not only it.
‘Good morning Mozaïk. Beautiful weather, isn't it. Where's Lytta?’
‘You have your day off today.’ she responded without looking at him.
‘My in equable mistress is occupied. Until late. During the time that she dedicated to... pleasures her patients piled up.’
‘Patients.’
‘She cures infertility. And other women's illnesses. You didn't know? So you know now. Have a nice day.’
‘Don't leave yet, I'd like...’
‘I don’t know what you would like,’ she interrupted. ‘But it's a rather bad idea. It would be better if you did not talk to me. Pretended that I don't exist.’
‘Coral will not hurt you anymore, I assure you. Besides, she’s not here, she doesn't see us.’
‘She sees all she wants to see, all she needs is an artifact and a couple of spells. And don't delude yourself into thinking that you have any influence over her. To achieve this you would need a lot more than...’ With a movement of her head she indicated the bedroom. ‘Please, don't mention my name when you are with here. Even in passing. She will remind me of it. Maybe it will take a year, but she will remind me.’
‘If she treats you like this... Can't you just leave?’
‘Where to?’ She snorted ‘To a weavers manufacture? To a Taylor's guild? Or off to a brothel? I'm no-one. And I'll be no-one. Only she can change it. I will bear anything. But please do not contribute, if you can.’
‘In the city,’ she looked at him after a while, ‘I met your friend. This poet, Dandelion. He asked about you. He was worried.’
‘Did you calmed him down? Explained to him that I'm safe here? That nothing threatens me?’
‘Why would I lie?’
‘Pardon?’
‘You are not safe here. You are here, with her, because of the sorrow after that other. Even when you are close with her you think only about the other. She knows it. But she plays a game, because she's entertained by it, and you pretend so well, you are devilishly convincing. Have you thought what will happen when you will betray yourself?’
***
‘Tonight you will stay with her too?’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Geralt.
‘It will be a week, you know?’
‘Four days.’
Dandelion pulled his fingers across lute's strings in spectacular glissando. He looked around the inn, pulled at his tankard, wiped froth from his nose.
‘I know that's it’s not my business,’ he said, unnaturally hard and strongly. ‘I know I shouldn't interfere. I know that you don't like it when someone interferes. But some things shouldn't be left untold. Coral, if you want to know my opinion belongs to women that should have constantly and clearly placed label. Saying "Look, but don't touch". Something like that is placed in a zoo in a terrarium, where they keep rattlesnakes.’
‘I know.’
‘She plays with you and toys with you.’
‘I know.’
‘And you simply are getting over Yennefer, about whom you can't forget.’
‘So, why...’
‘I don't know.’
***
In the evenings they went out. Sometimes to a park, sometimes on a hill overlooking the docks, and sometimes they simply strolled through Root Market.
They visited together the inn "Natura Rerum" a few times. Febus Ravenga was very happy, on his order the waiters attended them as best they could. Geralt finally came to know the taste of turbot in cuttlefish ink. And later goose leg in white wine, and leg of calf with vegetables. Only in the beginning - and shortly after - he was disturbed by bothersome and flamboyant interest shown by other guests. Later taking an example from Lytta he ignored them. Wine from local cellar helped with that.
Later they came back to the villa. Coral dropped her dress already in the antechambers, and completely naked went to bedroom. He went behind her. He liked to look at her.
***
‘Coral?’
‘What?’
‘Rumor has it that you can always see what you want to see. All you need is a few spells an artifact.’
‘I will need,’ she lifted herself on her elbow and looked him in the eye, ‘to twist some joint of that rumor. It should keep the rumor from talking.’
‘I beg you please...’
‘I was kidding,’ she interrupted. In her voice was not a single note of joy.
‘And what,’ she continued when he was silent, ‘would you like to see. Or divine? How long you will live? How and when you will die? Which horse will win The Great Tretogor? Who will be elected by a collegiate of electors to be the new ruler of Novigrad? With whom is Yennefer now?’
‘Lytta.’
‘What this is all about, if I may know?’
He told her about theft of his swords.
***
It flashed. And after a while with rattle in rolled a thunderclap.
The fountain was silently splashing, the pool smelled of wet stone. The marble girl froze in dancing pose, wet and shiny.
‘The statue and fountain,’ Coral hastened with an explanation, ‘don't serve to fulfill my love of pretentious kitsch nor an expression of my submission to snobbish fashion. They serve a more precise goal. The statue is a representation of me. In miniature. When I was twelve.’
‘Who would think that you would develop so nicely?’
‘It's a magical artifact, strongly coupled with me. The fountain, and more precisely water is used for divination. You know, I suppose what divination is, and what it consists of?’
‘Just the basics.’
‘The theft of your swords happened some ten days ago. To read, and analyze the past events, even those that happened very long ago the best and surest is oneiromancy, but it needs a quite rare talent for dreaming, which I don't have. Sortilegia, or cleromancy would be rather not useful to us, just like aeormancy and pyromancy witch are good for guessing a humans fate, but only if you have something that belonged to them. For items, in this instance - swords, it’s useless.’
‘So,’ Lytta took a red lock of hair from her forehead, ‘we are left with divination. That one as you know enables us to see future events. The elements will help us, because we have quite a stormy season. We will join divination with ceraunoscopy. Approach. Take my hand and don't let go of it. Lean and look into the water, but under no condition touch it. Concentrate. Think of your swords. Intensely think about them.’
He heard her chanting a spell. The water in pool the reacted with every word of the magical formula frothing and waving stronger. From the bottom great bubbles started to rise.
The water smoothed and became foggy. And then completely clear.
From the depth look violet eyes. Raven black hair fall on shoulders, shining, reflecting light like peacocks feathers, coiling and waving with the smallest movement.
‘About the swords,’ Coral reminded him, quietly and maliciously. ‘You were supposed to think about swords.’
The water twisted, and the women vanished in the vortex.
‘About the swords,’ Lytta hissed, ‘not about her.’
She chanted a spell in the next flash of thunder. The statue in the fountain glowed milkily, and the water grew calm and clear. And then he saw. His sword. Hands touching it. Rings on the fingers.
...of meteorite. Exquisite weight, the weight of the blade equal to the weight of the handle.
His second sword. Silver. The same hands.
...steel core coated with silver. Along the whole length runic markings.
‘I see them,’ he whispered loudly, clenching Lytta's hand. ‘I see my swords, really.’
‘Silence,’ she responded by clasping his hand even stronger. ‘Be silent and concentrate.’
The water froths shortly.
A grizzled man with noble features, in a black velvet jacket, and a golden brocade vest, both hands on a mahogany desktop. ‘Lot number ten,’ he says loudly. ‘An absolutely unique, incredible find, two witcher's swords.’
A big black cat twisting in place tries to reach with his paw to a medallion on a chain. On a golden oval of a medallion enamel, a blue dolphin nageant.
A river flows among trees, under a canopy of branches and boughs hanging over water. On one of the branches a woman in long tight-fitting dress is standing.
The water frothed for a short time, and then grew smooth again.
He saw a sea of grasses, limitless, reaching the horizon. He saw it from above, like from a bird's perspective. Or maybe from the top of a hill. A hill from which down the slope descended a row of fuzzy characters. When they turned they heads he saw immobile faces, unseeing dead eyes. They are dead, he realized instantly. This is procession of the dead...’
Lytta's fingers clasped his hand again. With the force of pliers. Flash. A sudden gust of wind tugged their hair. The water in pool the ruffled, coiled, covered with froth, lifted in a wave big like a wall. And crashed right into them. They both jumped away from the fountain, Coral stumbled, and he held her up. Thunder clapped. The sorceress shouted a spell, waved her hand.
In the whole house the lights were lit.
The water in the pool, a boiling maelstrom just a while ago, was smooth, calm, moved only with lazily dripping stream of fountain. And on them, although they were flooded with almost a tide, there were not a single drop of water.
Geralt sighed heavily. Stood up.
‘That last image,’ he murmured helping sorceress to stand. ‘That last image, the hill and the row... of people... I didn't recognize it. I have not a clue what could it be.’
‘I too don't have a clue,’ she answered with a strange voice. ‘But it was not your vision. It was destined for me. I too don’t know what could it mean. But I have a strange feeling that it is nothing good.’
The thunder grew silent. The storm was passing, deeper inland.
***
‘Charlatanism, this whole divination,’ repeated Dandelion, turning pegs of his lute. ‘Fraudulent phantoms for naïve people. The power of suggestion, nothing more. You thought about swords and you saw swords. What else did you say you saw? A procession of the dead, a ghastly wave. A rock with a weird shape. What shape?’
‘Something like a huge key,’ the witcher pondered, ‘or two halves of a heraldic cross.’
The bard mused. And then wetted his finger with beer. And draw something on a table-top.
‘Similar to that?’
‘Yeah. Very.’
‘I'll be damned.’ Dandelion jerked the strings, getting the attention of whole inn. ‘I'll be damned, my friend Geralt. How many times do you rescue me from troubles? How many times you have helped. Did me a favor. It can't be counted! So now it's my turn. Maybe because of me you will get your famous weapons back.’
‘What?’
Dandelion stood up.
‘Lady Lytta Neyd, your newest conquest, to which I give back her honor as an exquisite diviner, and unchallenged clairvoyant. In her divination she clearly and without any doubt showed you place that I know. Let's go to Ferrant immediately. He must get us an audience. And give you pass to leave town by the service gate, to avoid those shrews from the guardhouse. We will get on a trip. Short and quite near.’
‘Where to?’
‘I recognized the rock from your vision. Professionally it's known as mogote. Locals call it the Griffin. A characteristic point, a signpost even, leading to a seat of a person that may actually know something about your swords. The place that we are going to visit is called Ravelin. Does it tell you something?’
Not only the workmanship, nor only the artisan's aptitude make witcher's sword worthy. Just like the mysterious elven or gnomish blades, which secrets are now lost, witcher's sword are by a secret power attached to the hand and senses of the witcher wielding it. And exactly by virtue of this power the witcher's sword are very effective against dark powers.
Pandolfo Forteguerra, Treatise on cold steel
I will reveal certain secret to you. About witcher's swords. It's a tall story that they have some mysterious power. And that they are so excellent arms that there are no better. It's all fiction, made up for appearance. I know this from an absolutely certain source.
Dandelion, Half a century of poetry
Chapter Eight
They recognized the rock named the Griffin instantly, it was visible from afar.
***
The place that they were going to was more or less halfway between Kerack and Cidaris, a bit off the road joining the two cities, a road that was meandering through forests and rocky wastelands. The road took some time, which they filled with talking. Dandelion was doing most of it.
‘Its common knowledge,’ said the poet, ‘that swords used by witchers have magical properties. Omitting made up stories about them causing impotence, there must be something to it. Your swords are not normal swords. Would you comment on it?’
Geralt stopped his mare. Roach bored with the long stay in the stable had every now and then a fancy to gallop.
‘I certainly will. Our swords are not normal swords.’
‘It’s said,’ Dandelion pretended that he didn't hear a hint of irony, ‘that magical power, so fatal to a monster with which you fight lies in the steel, from which they are forged. From the very raw materials, that its ore coming from meteorites that had fallen from the sky. So, how it is? Meteorites are obviously non-magical, they are a natural occurrence that can be explained by science. So from where does this magic come from?’
Geralt looked up at the sky, darkening from the north. It seemed that another storm was nearing. And that they would get wet.
‘If I remember correctly,’ he answered with a question, ‘you studied all seven liberal arts?’
‘And I graduated summa cum laude.’
‘When there in quadrivium astronomy you attended the lectures of professor Lindenbrog?’
‘Old Lindenbrog called Opałek?’ laughed Dandelion. ‘But of course! I still can see him scratching his ass, and pointing with his pointer to maps and globes, mumbling monotonously. Sphera Mundi, ehhh, subdivitur into four Elemental Planes: Plane of Earth, Plane of Water, Plane of Air and Plane of Fire. Earth and Water form the planetary sphere that is surrounded from all sides by Air or Aer. Above Air, ehh, spreads Aether, Fiery Air vel Fire. Above Fire are the Subtle Sideral Heavens , the Firmamentum of a spherical nature. On this are located Erratica Sidera, the wandering stars and Fixa Sidera or fixed stars.’
‘I truly don't know,’ snorted Geralt, ‘what should I admire more. Your good memory or talent for emulation. Going back to our question: meteorites, which our good Opałek named falling stars, Sidera Cadens, or something like that, break down from firmament, and fall down to dig into our old good earth. During the fall they penetrate all the other planes, that is elemental planes, and para-elemental too, as those supposedly exist too. Elements and para-elements are saturated with powerful energy, which is as it is known is the source of all magic. Of all supernatural powers. The penetrating meteorite absorbs and stores this energy. Steel smelted from this meteorite, as well as a blade forged from this steel contains the power of the elements. It is magical. The whole sword is magical. Quod erat demonstrandum. You understand?’
‘Sure.’
‘Then forget it. It's a tall tale.’
‘What?’
A tall tale. An invention. You don't find meteorites under every bush. More than a half of witcher's swords are forged from steel smelted from magnetite ores. I myself used such swords. They are equally as good as swords made from si
derites fallen from the skies and penetrating elements. There is absolutely no difference. But keep it to yourself, Dandelion, I’m asking you very nicely. Don't tell it to anyone.’
‘But why? I'm supposed to be silent? You can't demand it! What sense is there in knowing something you can't share?’
‘Please. I prefer to be treated as a supernatural being with supernatural swords. As such they hire me, and as such they pay. Being common is being nondescript. And nondescript means cheap. So I’m asking you - keep your mouth shut. You promise?’
‘OK. Let it be so. I promise.’
***
They recognized rock named the Griffin instantly, it was visible from afar.
Indeed, with a bit of fantasy it could be seen as a griffin head atop a stretched neck. But it looked more like the neck of a lute or other stringed instrument.
The Griffin as it turned out was a mogote that towered over a huge karst spring. The Karst spring - Geralt remembered some tales - was called an Elven Stronghold, because of its quite regular shape, suggesting ruins of some old buildings, with walls, towers, and the rest. There never was any stronghold, elven or otherwise, the shapes of the spring were a creation of Nature, and a fascinating one at that.
‘There, below,’ pointed Dandelion, standing in his stirrups. ‘You see it? That's our goal. The Ravelin.’
And this name was appropriate too, as the mogote drew a surprisingly regular shape of a great triangle, advanced in front of the Elven Stronghold like a bastion. Inside the triangle was a building, resembling a fort. Surrounded by something that looked like a fortified camp.
Geralt remembered the gossip circulating about The Ravelin. And about a person that resided therein.
They turned from the road.
Beyond the first fence where a few entrances, every one of them guarded by sentries armed up to their teeth, judging by the gaudy and diverse clothes they were easily recognized as mercenaries. They were stopped at the first post. Despite Dandelion quoting he had an appointed audience and very good relations with their bosses they were force to get off their horses and wait. Quite long. Geralt even began to get impatient when a large ruffian with the appearance of a galley-slave, told them to follow him. Immediately it turned out that they were being lead in a roundabout way, to the back of the complex. From the center of the complex loud music and the buzz of voices could be heard.
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