by Unknown
The doppler accused Villentretenmerth of racism, chauvinism and lack of knowledge on the discussion's topic. Therefore the insulted Villentretenmerth changed for a moment into his natural dragon form, destroying several pieces of furniture and causing a general panic. When the situation calmed down, a fierce quarrel began, in which humans and non-humans accused each other of lack of broad-mindedness and racial tolerance. A quite unexpected twist in the discussion came from the freckled Merle, a whore who didn't look like a whore. Merle announced that the whole debate was stupid and pointless and didn't concern true professionals, who don't make difference between such things, which she is willing to prove on the spot (for an adequate reward, of course), even with the dragon Villentretenmerth in his natural form. In the silence that fell abruptly in that instant they heard the female medium proclaim that she's willing to do the same, and for free. Villentretenmerth quickly changed the topic and began discussing safer topics, such as economy, politics, hunting, fishing and hazard.
Other scandals were more or less friendly. Mousehunt, Radcliffe and Dorregaray made a bet about who can levitate more things at once with the power of their wills. Dorregaray won, having managed to keep in the air two chairs, a fruits tray, a bowl of soup, a globe, a cat, two dogs and Kashka, Freixenet and Braenn's daughter.
Then two Freixenet's daughters, Cirilla and Mona, brawled, and had to be sent to their rooms. Following shortly, Ragnar brawled with the knight Matholm over Morenn, Freixenet's oldest daughter. The pissed Freixenet ordered Braenn to lock all their red-haired children in a room and joined the competition in drinking, which was organized by Mousehunt's girlfriend Freya. It became apparent very soon that Freya had an unimaginable resistance against alcohol, verging on immunity. Most of the poets and bards, Dandelion's friends, were already under the table, but Freixenet, Crach and Craite and the reeve Caldemeyn were still fighting bravely; however, at the end they gave in, too. The wizard Radcliffe was holding up very sturdily, but only until it was discovered that he had a unicorn's horn at himself. After it was confiscated, he couldn't stand a chance against Freya. For a while, the islander's table was empty - then an utterly unknown pale man in an old-fashioned kaftan drank with her for a while. After some time the said man stood up, staggered, bowed politely and walked through a wall as if it were mist. A thorough search through the ancient portraits decorating the walls of the hall brought a discovery that it could be Willem called the Devil, the heir of Rozrog, murdered in the dark ages several hundred years ago.
The ancient castle was hiding various secrets and in the past it enjoyed a questionable and grim fame. No further supernatural incidents occurred, though. Around midnight, a vampire flew in through an open window, but was chased off by the dwarf Yarpen Zigrin, who was throwing garlic at him, trying to hit. Throughout the whole evening something howled, rang with chains and moaned, but no one took notice of that, because everyone thought that it was Dandelion and the strongly rarefied group of his still relatively sober friends. It was nonetheless the ghosts, which was proved by a large amount of ectoplasm covering the stairs, on which several people slipped.
The threshold of tolerance was crossed by a fuzzy phantom with fiery eyes, who mischievously pinched at Sh'eenaz's butt. This disturbance could be set right only with difficulties, because Sh'eenaz thought it had been Dandelion. The phantom immediately took advantage of this mistake and began pinching other victims in the hall, until it was caught by Nenneke and expelled it with exorcism.
Several people saw the White Lady, who - as far as the legends can be trusted - was buried alive in the Rozrog's catacombs. There were sceptics, who claimed that it was no White Lady, but the female medium that staggered around the galleries in search of more bottles.
Then there was the general disappearing of persons. The first ones to disappear were the knight Yves and the crocodile-breaker, a short while afterwards no one could find Ragnar and Eurneid, the priestess of Melitele. Next disappeared Gardenie Biberveldt, but it turned out that she went to bed. Suddenly, Jarre Onehand was missing, and so was the second Melitele priestess, Iola. Ciri, even though she had been claiming that she didn't have any feelings towards Jarre, expressed certain concern, but it became clear that the young man fell into a shallow ditch, where he fell asleep. Iola was found under the staircase. With the elf Chireadan. Also Triss Ranuncul was seen, disappearing with the witcher Eskel from Kaer Morhen into the garden summerhouse. By morning someone claimed to have seen the doppler Tellico leaving the summerhouse. There was a lot of guesswork, which form did the doppler take, whether Triss or Eskel. Someone even presented a very bold thought that there were actually two dopplers present at the castle. They wanted to ask the dragon Villentretenmerth for his opinion, him being an expert on changing forms, but it turned out that the dragon has disappeared and the trollop Merle with him.
The second whore disappeared, too, and one of the prophets. The prophet that stayed, claimed to be the real one, but was unable to prove it. Also the gnome passing as Schuttenbach disappeared, and still hasn't been found by now.
"You can feel sorry," finished the bard with a wide yawn. "Regret that you weren't there, Geralt. It was quite dense."
"I do regret it," growled the witcher. "But you know I couldn't, because Yennefer... Well, you know it the best yourself."
"'Course I know," agreed Dandelion. "That's why I don't get married."
VIII.
From the castle's kitchen came the sounds of pans chiming, merry laughter and ditties. To feed all that mass of guests was a problem, because king Herwig had practically no household. The presence of the wizards solved nothing, because for the purpose of general happiness it was decided, that only natural products would be served, and the idea of culinary magic was scrapped. So it ended with Nenneke hunting anyone she could into work. At first it wasn't simple; those who were snatched up by the priestess had not the least idea about kitchen work, and those who did, ran away. However, Nenneke found an unexpected help in the person of Gardenia Biberveldt and the hobbits from her company. And, surprisingly, all four trollops from Dandelion's company proved to be excellent cooks, willing to cooperate.
There were also no problems with provisions. Freixenet and prince Agloval organised a hunt and supplied enough of venison. It took Braenn and her daughters only two hours to fill the kitchen with game. Even the youngest dryad Kashka could brandish her bow fairly well. King Herwig, who loved fishing, sailed out at the grey dawn on the lake and delivered pikes, walleyes and huge basses. Loki, the younger son of Crach an Craite, usually kept him company. Loki was well up in fishery and boats, and in addition he was of use in the morning, because, like Herwig, he didn't drink.
Dainty Biberveldt and his relatives, enforced by the doppler Tellico, saw to the decoration of the hall and the chambers. Into the washing and cleaning up they chased both prophets, the crocodile-breaker, the sculptor and the ever-drunk female medium.
Surveillance over the cellar and drinks was first delegated to Dandelion and his friends the poets, which actually proved to be a catastrophic mistake. Therefore the bards were driven out and the keys handed off to Mousehunt's girlfriend Freya. Dandelion and his poets sat whole days in front of the cellar door and tried to excite Freya with love ballads, against which the islander, however, proved to be as resistant as against alcohol.
Geralt raised his head, yanked out of his slumber by the clattering of hooves on the stony courtyard. From behind the bushes growing around the walls came out Kelpie shining with water, with Ciri in the saddle. Ciri was dressed in her black leather costume and had a sword on her back, the famed Gevir, gained in the desert catacombs of Korath.
For a while they looked silently at each other, then the girl spurred her mare with her heel and came closer. Kelpie bowed her head to reach the witcher with her teeth, but Ciri held her back with a strong jerk of the bridle.
"So, today," said the girl witcher. "Today, Geralt."
"Today," he confirmed, leaning against the wall.
> "I'm glad of it," she said uncertainly. "I think ... I'm not sure that you two will be happy, but I'm glad still."
"Dismount, Ciri. We'll have a talk."
The girl shook her head and threw back her hair, behind her ear. Geralt saw a wide, ugly scar on her face - a memory of the earlier terrible days. Ciri let her hair grow to her shoulders and combed it in a way to hide the scar, but she often forgot.
"I'm leaving, Geralt," she announced. "Right after the feast."
"Dismount, Ciri."
The girl witcher jumped down from her saddle and sat down next to him. Geralt hugged her and Ciri put her head on his shoulder.
"I'm leaving," she repeated.
He said nothing. The words pushed to his lips, but there were none that he would consider suitable. Or necessary. He said nothing.
"I know what you think," she said slowly. "You think I'm running away. And you're right."
He was silent. He knew that.
"After all, after all these years, you're wedded - Yen and you. You deserve happiness and peace. Home. But that horrifies me, Geralt. That's why I run away."
He was silent. He remembered his own runaways.
"I'll get going right after the feast," Ciri repeated. "I want ... I want to feel the wind in my face on the back of a galloping horse again. I want to see the stars on the horizon again, I want to whistle Dandelion's ballads at night. I'm longing for fight, the dance with a sword, I'm longing for the risk, for the delight victory brings me. And I'm longing for solitude. Do you understand me?"
"Of course," he smiled sadly. "Of course I understand you, Ciri. You're my daughter, you're a witcher. You'll do what you must. But I must tell you one thing. One thing. You can't run away, even though you'll always try."
"I know," she replied and cuddled herself closer to him. "I still have hope that one day ... If I wait, if I'm patient, then I, too, perhaps will live such a beautiful day like this. Such a nice day ... Even though ..."
"What, Ciri?"
"I've never been pretty. And with that scar..."
"Ciri," he cut her off. "You're the most beautiful girl in the world. Right after Yen, of course."
"Oh, Geralt."
"If you don't believe me, ask Dandelion."
"Oh, Geralt."
"Where ..."
"South," she interrupted him at once, without averting her face. "Smoke is still rising from the ground after the war there, the restoration is under way, people fight for survival. They need protection and guard. I'll be of use there. And there is also Korath ... And Nilfgaard. I have my unfinished business there. We both have our unfinished business there, Gevir and me."
She fell silent. Her face hardened, her green eyes narrowed, her mouth twisted in a hateful grimace. "I remember," thought Geralt, "I remember. It was like this that time, when they fought together hand in hand on the stairs of the castle Rhys-Rhun. The stairs were slippery with blood, and on them stood he and she. Wolf and Cat, two deadly machines inhumanly fast and inhumanly cruel, drove into a corner, pushed back against a wall. Yes, then the Nilfgaardians, awestruck, retreated before the flashes and whiz of their blades, and they slowly moved down, down the stairs of the castle Rhys-Rhun, wet with blood. They moved down, leaning on each other, linked together, and before them went the death, death on two shiny sword blades. A cool, calm Wolf and an insane Cat. Flash of the blade, cry, blood, death ... Like that, that time it was like that. That time."
Ciri threw back her hair and among the blond strands shone a snow-white streak on the temple.
That time, her hair whitened.
"I have unfinished business there," she hissed. "For Mistle. For my Mistle. Even though I revenged her, but for Mistle one death is not enough."
Bonhart, he thought. She killed him out of hatred. Oh, Ciri, Ciri. You're standing on the edge of an abyss, daughter. Not a thousand deaths would revenge your Mistle. Beware of hatred, Ciri, it consumes like cancer.
"Watch out for yourself," he whispered.
"I'll rather watch the others," she smiled ominously. "It pays off more, it has more sense."
I will never see her again, he thought. If she leaves, I will never see her again.
"You will," she answered unexpectedly and smiled with a smile of a sorceress, not of a witcher. "You will, Geralt."
Then she drew away, tall and slender like a boy, agile like a dancer. She sprang up into the saddle.
"Yaaa, Kelpie!!!"
From beneath the hooves sparkles spurted out, stricken out of the courtyard by the horseshoes. Behind the wall, Dandelion showed up, his lute on his shoulder, in each hand a big jug of beer.
"Here, have a drink," he said and sat next to him. "It will do you good."
"I don't know. Yennefer warned me that if she smells something from me..."
"You'll chew some parsley. Drink, whipped guy."
For a long time they sat in silence, slowly drinking the beer out of jugs. Dandelion sighed.
"Ciri is leaving, isn't she?"
"Hm."
"I thought so. Listen, Geralt..."
"Shut up, Dandelion."
"Oh well."
They fell silent again. From the kitchen there came a lovely smell of roasted venison, strongly spiced with juniper.
"Something ends," Geralt said with difficulty. "Something ends, Dandelion."
"Not at all," the poet argued back seriously. "Something begins."
IX.
The afternoon passed in the sign of general weeping. It all began with the elixir of beauty. The elixir, an ointment to be more precise, called Feenglanc and "glamarye" in the Old Speech, used in a specific way, incredibly improved the attractiveness. Triss Ranuncul, whom the hosting ladies had asked for it, prepared a larger amount of the ointment and the ladies started the cosmetic edits. From behind the closed doors could be heard the weeping of Cirilla, Mona, Eithe and Kashka, who were not allowed to use glamarye. This honour was given only to the oldest dryad Morenn. The loudest one was Kashka. One floor above cried Lily, the daughter of Dainty Biberveldt, because it turned out that glamarye, like most of other charms, doesn't work on hobbits. In the garden sniffled the female medium, because she had no idea that glamarye caused immediate sobering up and the consequences that go with it, mainly a deep melancholy. In the western wing of the castle cried Annika, reeve Caldemeyn's daughter, who didn't know that glamarye must be smeared under eyes, ate her portion and got diarrhoea. Ciri took her portion and painted Kelpie with it.
Also the priestesses Iola and Eurneid sobbed, when Yennefer refused to put on the white wedding dress they had made for her. Not even Nenneke's mediation helped. Yennefer cursed, threw around hexes and dishes, while repeating that she looks like a fucking virgin in white. The enraged Nenneke began yelling, too, and told the sorceress that she behaved worse than three fucking virgins at once. Yennefer responded by conjuring a ball lightning and demolishing the roof of the corner tower, which had its good side, too. The crash was so terrible that Caldemeyn's daughter got shock from it and her diarrhoea stopped.
Again were seen Triss Ranuncul and the witcher Eskel from Kaer Morhen, sneaking, arms linked, into the garden summerhouse. There were no doubts now that it was really them, because the doppler Tellico drank beer in the company of Dandelion, Dainty Biberveldt and the dragon Villentretenmerth.
And despite a thorough and constant search, the gnome claiming to be Schuttenbach could not be found.
X.
"Yen..."
She looked breathtaking. Black wavy locks, tied up with a golden tiara, fell in a shining cascade on the shoulders and the high collar of a long white brocade dress with black stripes on the sleeves, pulled together on a bodice with uncountable amount of tucks and violet ribbons.
"Flowers, don't forget the flowers," warned Triss Ranuncul, all in dark blue, and handed a bouquet of white roses to the bride. "Oh, Yen, I'm so happy..."
"Triss, darling," sobbed Yennefer all of a sudden, upon which both sorceresses embraced and kissed the air aroun
d their ears and diamond earrings.
"Enough of those endearments," ordered Nenneke and smoothed back the plies on her snow-white priestess attire. "We're going to the chapel. Iola, Eurneid, hold her dress, or she'll kill herself on the stairs.
Yennefer moved to Geralt and with a hand in a white lace glove she straightened the collar of his black cloak, embroidered with silver. Geralt offered her an arm.