Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 06]

by The Lady of the Lake (fan translation) (epub)

  An armed mercenary ran into the burning lab. Geralt's companion turned his head towards him, hissed and bared his fangs. The mercenary screamed terribly. His scream soon faded into silence or the distance.

  Emiel Regis dropped the minion's body to the ground, stood up and stretched just like a cat.

  'Who would have thought?' he said. 'Such an insect, and yet he had great blood in him. This is what we call a - hidden quality. Let's go, Ciri, I'll escort you to Geralt.'

  'No,' Ciri said.

  'Do not be afraid of me.'

  'I'm not afraid,' she protested, bravely clenching her jaw so that he could not hear her teeth chattering in terror. 'No, because … Because Yennefer is imprisoned somewhere here. I have to find her as quickly as possible. I fear that Vilgefortz … Please, sir …'

  'Emiel Regis.'

  'Warn Geralt, good sir, that Vilgefortz is here. He is a sorcerer, a powerful sorcerer. Geralt has to be careful.'

  * * *

  'You have to be careful,' Regis repeated his warning, staring at Milva lying motionless. 'Because Vilgefortz is a powerful sorcerer. She went to free Yennefer.'

  Geralt cursed.

  'Come on,' he shouted, to wake up the spirits of his companions. 'Let's go!'

  'Let's go,' Angouleme stood up, wiping her tears. 'Let's go! We need to kick some ass!'

  'I feel in me,' the vampire hissed with a sinister smile, 'a power with which I could smash down this whole castle.'

  The witcher looked at him suspiciously.

  'I don't think so,' he said. 'But try and break through to the upper levels and stir it up and try and lure away some attention from me. I'll look for Ciri. She has not been treated well, vampire and you left her alone.'

  'She demanded it,' Regis explained quietly. 'In a tone that ruled out any discussion. I admit, I was surprised.'

  'I know. Go to the upper floors. And hold on! I will try to find her and Yennefer.'

  * * *

  He found her. And it was fast.

  He met them out of the blue, totally unexpected when running around a corner in the corridor. He was met with a sight that made his blood boil and the veins stick out on the back of his hands.

  Yennefer was being dragged down the hall by a group of guards. She was ragged and bound in chains, but it did not prevent her from putting up a fight with her captors and swear at them like a porter.

  Geralt did not let them recover from their surprise. He slashed once and only once, a short economical movement of his forearm. A guard howled like a dog, turned on the spot and smashed his head into the plate armour statue standing in the hallway alcove; he slipped to the ground and smeared blood over the armour.

  His three companions released Yennefer and quickly backed away. But one grabbed the sorceress by the hair and held a knife to her throat just above the dimeritium collar.

  'Stay away!' he shouted. 'Or I'll slaughter her! I'm not kidding!'

  'Me either,' Geralt twirled his sword and looked the man in the eye.

  The man could not stand it; he released Yennefer and ran back to his companions. All of them had their hands on weapons. One of them took an antique halberd from the wall. They spread out into a semi-circular attack position.

  'I knew you'd come,' Yennefer said, straightening up proudly. 'Geralt, teach these ruffians what a sword in the hands of a witcher can do.'

  She raised her hands high, lifting the shackles. Geralt grasped Sihil in both hands, cocked his head slightly and took aim. He slashed. So fast that no one saw the blade move.

  The shackles fell with a clatter to the floor. One of the guards sighed. Geralt tightened his grip, moving his index finger under the hilt.

  'Don't move, Yen. Tilt your head slightly to the side, please.'

  The sorceress did not even blink. The sound of the sword striking metal was very faint.

  The dimeritium collar fell beside the chains on the floor. On the sorceress neck appeared on tiny drop of blood. She rubbed her wrists and laughed. She slowly turned to the guards. None of them held her gaze.

  The one with the halberd carefully as if afraid to break it, laid it on the floor.

  'With someone like that, he mused, 'the Owl can fight her in person. I value my life.'

  'We were ordered …' muttered another, retreating. 'We were ordered … The decision was not ours …'

  'We have never treated you badly, ma'am,' said a third, his mouth going dry. 'While in prison … Bear witness ….'

  'Be gone,' said the sorceress. Liberated from the dimeritium, she stood erect with her head held proudly and in their eyes she appeared as a giantess. It seemed to them that her tousled, black mane touched the roof of the vaulted corridor.

  The guards fled. Hunched as if expecting an attack from behind, but none of them looked back. Yennefer returned to her normal size. She threw her arms around Geralt's neck.

  'I knew that you'd come for me,' she whispered, searching with her mouth for his lips. 'That you'd come, even if …'

  'Let's go,' he said after a moment, gasping for air. 'Now for Ciri.'

  'Ciri,' she said and in her eyes for a brief moment blazed a fearsome purple fire. 'And Vilgefortz.'

  * * *

  From around a corner a mercenary crossbowman jumped out, shouted and fired. He aimed for the sorceress. Geralt jumped as if driven by a spring and waved his sword. The arrow deflected and flew over the head of the archer, so close that he had to duck. He did not have time to stand again because the witcher jumped forward and skewered him like a carp. Further along in the hallway stood two other, who also had crossbows and fired them, but their hands were shaking so they did not find their mark. In the next moment, the witcher was among them and they both died.

  'Which way, Yen?'

  The sorceress focused, closing her eyes.

  ‘This way. After these steps.'

  'Are you sure that's a good way to go?'

  'Yes.'

  More mercenaries attacked them from just behind the corner of the hallway, near an ornate archway. There were more than ten and they were armed with spears and halberds. And they were determined and stubborn. Despite this, they went down quickly.

  Yennefer immediately struck one in the chest with a ball of fire. Geralt spun in a pirouette and fell among the others, his Dwarven Sihil flashing and hissing like a snake. When four more had fallen, then others fled, clanging and clattering along the corridors.

  'All right, Yen?'

  'Could not be better.'

  Under the archway stood Vilgefortz.

  'I'm impressed,' he said quietly. 'I'm really impressed, witcher. You are hopelessly naive and stupid, but your technique is really impressive.'

  'Your underlings,' Yennefer said calmly, 'just took off and left you. Give us Ciri and we'll leave you alone.'

  'You know, Yennefer,' sneered the wizard, 'that is the second generous offer I've had today? Thank you, thank you. And here is my answer …'

  'Look out!' Yennefer screamed and jumped. Geralt also jumped to the side at the last minute. A pillar of fire roared from the wizard's hands and burst through the place Geralt stood a moment before, hissing and burning the area. The witcher wiped soot and the charred remains of an eyebrow from his face. He saw Vilgefortz again raise his hand. He dodged and ducked behind a column. The boom popped his ears. The whole castle shook on its foundations.

  * * *

  Echoes of the vast boom rolled through the corridors, halls and rooms of the castle. The walls trembled and rafters creaked. With a loud crack, a portrait with a heavy gilt frame fell from the wall.

  In the eyes of the fleeing mercenaries was an unspeakable fear. Stefan Skellen mollified them with a threatening glare and called them to order with a stern look and voice.

  ‘What is it? Report!’

  ‘Mister Coroner …’ grunted one of them. ‘This is terrible! They are demons … Every arrow kills one of us … Every slash sprays red blood … Death is coming for us … He butchered everyone! We lost ten men … Maybe
more … Do you hear that?’

  The boom repeated, the castle trembled again.

  ‘Magic,’ Skellen said through clenched teeth. ‘Vilgefortz … Well, now we’ll see who’s who.’

  He approached another soldier. He was pale and covered with debris. For a while he was unable to bring himself to speak, when he finally spoke his voice trembled.

  ‘There … there … is a monster … Mister Coroner … Big black bat … Tearing at people’s heads. Blood ran in streams! And he flew around and laughed … And his teeth!’

  ‘It could not carry the heads …’ someone whispered from behind the Owl.

  ‘Mister Coroner,’ Boreas Mun decided to speak. ‘There are ghosts. I saw … young Count Cahir aep Ceallach. And he is dead.’

  Skellen looked at him but said nothing.

  ‘Lord Stefan …’ Dacre Silifant mumbled. ‘Who are we fighting here?’

  ‘They are not men,’ moaned one of the mercenaries. ‘They are demons from hell! A force no human can hope to stand against …’

  The Owl crossed his arms and stared at the mercenaries with an authoritarian and determined look.

  ‘Then,’ he proclaimed loudly and clearly, ‘we will not meddle in the conflict between the forces of hell! Let the demons fight with demons, sorcerers with sorcerers and vampires can crawl out of their tombs. We won’t disturb them! We will stay here, quietly and await the outcome of the fight.’

  The faces of the mercenaries shone. The mood grew palpable.

  ‘These stairs,’ Skellen said in a strong voice, ‘is the only way out. We’ll wait here. Let’s see who tries to go down them.’

  From above came a terrible boom. They could smell sulphur and smoke even here.

  ‘It is dark in here!’ the Owl shouted, loud and clear, to give encouragement to his troops. ‘Move, get some torches! We need light to shine on those stairs! Light a fire in those braziers!’

  ‘We have no fuel, Sir!’

  Skellen wordlessly pointed to the artworks on the wall in the hall.

  ‘The artworks?’ a mercenary asked incredulously. ‘We are to burn paintings?’

  ‘Why not?’ said the Owl. ‘What are you looking at? Art is dead!’

  The frames were broken down to chips and the images shredded. The well dried wood and the cloth saturated with varnish immediately caught flame.

  Boreas Mun watched. Already fully committed.

  * * *

  A thunderous noise, a flash and the column from where they were hiding a moment before, crumbled apart. The core broke; the decorated column crashed to the floor and crushed a terracotta mosaic. From the side flew a hissing ball of lightning. Yennefer stopped it, uttering spells and gesturing.

  Vilgefortz walked towards them, his cloak billowing out behind him like dragon wings.

  ‘I’m not surprised by Yennefer,’ he said walking. ‘She is a woman, so she is evolutionarily lower and ruled by her hormones. But you, however, Geralt, you’re not only a man who is inherently reasonable, but a mutant, exempt from emotions …’

  He gestured. Thunder. A flash. Lightning rebounded from Yennefer’s shield.

  ‘But despite your better judgement,’ continued Vilgefortz, passing fire from one hand to another, ‘you demonstrate a remarkable consistency and know nothing. You constantly want to paddle against the current and piss into the wind. It had to end badly. Know that today, here; in castle Stygga, you have pissed into a hurricane.’

  * * *

  Somewhere on the lower floors was furious fighting, someone shouted, screamed and then groaned in pain. Something burned, Ciri could smell the burning smell and smoke, a gust of warmer air was blown into her face.

  Something banged with such forces that even the roof trembled on its support columns and stucco showered from the walls.

  Ciri cautiously peered around a corner. The corridor was empty. She went quickly and quietly, flanked on both sides by statues in the wall niches. She had seen those statues before.

  In her dreams.

  She left the corridor and came face to face with a man armed with a spear. She stopped short, ready to jump and spin. But then realised that this was not a man but a woman with grey hair, skinny and bent. And she was not carrying a spear, but a broom.

  ‘There is a prisoner here,’ Ciri said, ‘a black-haired sorceress. Where is she?’

  The woman with the broom was silent for a long moment, moving her mouth as if chewing something.

  ‘And how would I know, my dove?’ she mumbled finally. ‘I’m here to clean.’

  She turned her back to the girl and began to sweep.

  ‘I clean and I clean and I clean,’ she repeated to herself. ‘And every time it just becomes dirty again. Just look at this mess, my dove.’

  Ciri looked. On the floor, she saw a wide, winding bloody smear. It ran for a few steps and ended at a wall, under a dead man. Nearby lay two more dead men, one twisted in his death throws, the second with outspread limbs. Next to them lay crossbows.

  ‘There is mess again,’ she said taking a bucket and rag, dropping to her knees, she began to mop the floor. ‘Such filth. And I used to get it clean. Will it never end?’

  ‘No,’ said Ciri flatly. ‘Never. Such is the way of the world.’

  The old woman stopped mopping, but did not turn her head.

  ‘I clean,’ she said. ‘Nothing more. By you, my dove, you should go straight and then left.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The woman bowed her head lower and again wearily began to mop.

  * * *

  She was alone. Alone and lost in a maze of corridors.

  ‘Lady Yennefer!’

  So far she had kept silent, fearing that yelling would attract Vilgefortz’s people. But now …

  ‘Yennefeeeeeer!’

  It seemed to her that she heard something. Yes, definitely!

  She ran into a gallery and then into a great hall with high porches. Again she smelt the burning smell.

  Bonhart emerged like a spirit from a niche and hit her in the face with his fist. She stumbled, and he jumped on her like a hawk, grabbing her by the throat and pushing her against the wall with his forearm. Ciri looked into his pale fishlike eyes and felt her heart drop low in her chest.

  ‘I would not have found you, if you were not calling out,’ he croaked. ‘And how wistfully you called. Do you long for me so, my darling?’

  Still against the wall, his hand slipped behind her neck. Ciri tossed her head. The Bounty hunter bared his teeth. He slid hi hand over her chest, squeezing her breast, and brutally grabbed her crotch. The he released her and pushed, she fell to the floor.

  He threw a sword at her feet. Swallow. And she immediately understood what he wanted.

  ‘I would have preferred the arena,’ he drawled. ‘As a culmination, the final to your fine performances. The witcheress verses Leo Bonhart! Eh, people would pay to see something like that! Come on! Lift the steel and draw it.’

  She obeyed. But did not draw the sword from its sheath, she slung the belt over her shoulder so that the hilt was in reach.

  Bonhart took a step back.

  ‘I thought,’ he said, ‘that my old eyes would be comforted by what Vilgefortz was going to do to you. I was wrong. I need to feel how your blood flows down my sword. To hell with vile sorcery and sorcerers, destiny, prophecies and the fate of the world, defiling elder and younger blood. What does all this divination and witchcraft mean to me? Shit! Nothing can compare with the pleasure …’

  He did not finish the sentence. She saw his lips move and his eyes flash ominously.

  ‘I’ll release the blood from your veins, witcheress,’ he hissed. ‘And then, before it gets cold, we will celebrate. You’re mine. All mine. Raise your weapon!’

  The castle shook from a distant rumble.

  ‘Vilgefortz,’ Bonhart announced gleefully, ‘is making mincemeat of your valiant rescuers. Well, darling, draw your sword.’

  Flee, she thought, paralyzed with fear, flee
to another place, to another time, far away from him. She felt shame. Run? Leave Geralt and Yennefer to their mercy? But common sense told her, dead I can do nothing to help them …

  She concentrated, pressed her fists to her temples.

  Bonhart immediately understood what was going on and rushed to her. But he reacted too late.

  There was a flash and a murmur in her ears

  I did it, she triumphantly.

  She immediately realised that the triumph was premature. She realised that she could hear angry shouts and curses. The failure was probably caused by the evil, paralyzing aura of this place. She had transferred, but only a small jump. She had not even gotten out of sight of the opposite end of the gallery. She was not far from Bonhart. But she was still beyond his reach and his sword. At least temporarily.

  Dogged by his roar, she turned and ran away.

  * * *

  She ran along long, wide corridors, the dead eyes of the statues followed her. She turned once, then a second time. She wanted to get lost and confuse Bonhart; moreover, she was headed towards the sounds of battle. Where it was being fought, were her friends.

  She entered into a large, circular room, in the middle of which stood a marble plinth sculpture representing a woman with a veiled face, probably a goddess. The room opened onto two corridors, both quite narrow. She picked one at random. She chose the wrong path.

  ‘The girl!’ roared one of the mercenaries. ‘We have her!’

  There were too many of them to risk a fight, even in a narrow corridor. And Bonhart was probably close. Ciri turned and ran to escape. She entered the room with the marble goddess. And froze.

  Before her stood a knight with a large sword, in a black coat and a helmet adorned with the wings of a bird of prey.

  The city was burning. She could hear the crackling of the fire, could see the undulation of the flames, she felt the heat of the fire and the neighing of horses, the screams of the victims … Suddenly, there appeared a black bird flapping its wings, covering everything … Help!