Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 06]

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

  ‘I have to meet,’ continued Ciri, ‘with the witcher Geralt in the city of Rivia. I promised that I would be there and that Yennefer would accompany me. I will fulfil my promise, with or without your consent. Lady Rita, here knows that, when I go to Geralt, i9can always find a hole in the wall.’

  Margarita Laux-Antille nodded with a smile.

  ‘I need to talk to Geralt. Say goodbye to him. And tell him the truth. You should know one thing, ladies. When we left castle Stygga, leaving behind their dead and ours, I asked Geralt if it was all over, if we had won, if evil was defeated then good had prevailed. He did not answer, he just smiled a sad smile. I thought it was from fatigue and the sorrow of leaving all his friends buried under the walls. Only now I know what his smile meant. It was a sympathetic smile at the naivety of a child who believed that killing Vilgefortz and Bonhart represented the triumph of good over evil. have to try and convince Geralt that what you ladies want to do with me, differs substantially from what Vilgefortz wanted to do with his glass tube. I’ll try and explain to him the differences between castle Montecalvo and castle Stygga, although Vilgefortz thought he was doing was for the good of the world and you ladies also do for the good of the world. I know it is not going to be easy to convince as old wolf like Geralt. Geralt will say that I’m a brat and can easily be fooled into doing noble things. But I have to try. It is important that he understand it, that he accepts it. It is very important. Also for you ladies.’

  ‘you did not understand,’ Sile de Tansarville snapped sharply. ‘You’re still a snotty nosed girl who replaced whining with arrogance. The only thing that gives me some hope is the acumen of your mind. You learn quickly. Believe me, you will soon laugh at the stupid things you have said here. Relative to your trip to Rivia, I express my strong opposition. It is a matter of principle, to prove to you that I, Sile de Tansarville, never talk to the wind. That I can grab the necks of the rebellious. It is for your own good, to learn discipline.’

  ‘Therefore, let us resolve this issue,’ said Philippa Eilhart, placing her hands on the table. ‘Let each of us express our opinion. Should we allow this arrogant maid, Ciri, to travel to Rivia? To meet with the witcher, for whom there is no place in her life? Are we to allow this sentimentality, which we will soon have to rid her of? Sile is against. What about the other ladies?’

  ‘I am also against,’ Sabrina Glevissig announced. ‘Also as a matter of principle. The girl, I like. I like her arrogance and stubbornness, it is better than flabby softness. I have nothing against her pleading. I have no doubt that she would return - I respect her word. But the girl has dared to threaten. So let her know that threats are no to be tolerated.’

  ‘I’m against it,’ said Keira Metz. ‘For purely practical reasons. I also like the girl and Geralt delivered me out of the hands of danger on Thanedd. It is a sentiment that I long ago gt rid of, but I do not deny that it was pleasant to me. I could repay him this way. But will not. Because you are wrong, Sabrina. This girl is a witcheress and is trying to be smarter than us. In short, she is just trying to get away.’

  ‘Does anyone here,’ Yennefer said ominously, dragging her words, ‘dare doubt the word of my daughter?’

  ‘Be silent, Yennefer,’ Philippa hissed. ‘Do not talk, or I’ll lose patience. We have two votes against. Let’s listen to the others.’

  ‘I am in favour of letting her go,’ said Triss Merigold. ‘I know her and can vouch for her. I would also, if permitted, accompany her on this trip. To help, if I may, in her meditations and reflections. And with her conversation with Geralt.’

  ‘I also vote for her,’ Margarita said with a smile. ‘You may wonder at my motivations, ladies, but I do it for Tissaia de Vries. If Tissaia was among us she would not agree that in order to maintain the unity of the Lodge it is necessary to use coercive methods or restriction of personal freedom.’

  ‘I vote for her,’ said Francesca Findabair, adjusting the lace at her neckline. ‘I have many reasons, but I do not wish to explain them.’

  ‘I vote for her,’ said Ida Emean aep Sivney. ‘So my heart dictates.’

  ‘I’m against it,’ Assire var Anahid said dryly. ‘I do not decide out of lack of sympathy, antipathy or principled reasons. I fear for her life. Under the protection of the Lodge, Ciri is safe and on the route to Rivia she will be an easy target. I fear those that stole her identity and even her name, still don’t think that it’s enough.’

  ‘We have,’ Sabrina said sarcastically, ‘yet to know the opinion of Lady Fringilla Vigo. I guess that it is obvious. We all remember the castle Rhys-Rhune.’

  ‘I am grateful for the reminder,’ Fringilla cocked her head proudly. ‘I am for Ciri. To prove the admiration and affection I have for the girl. I also do it for the witcher, Geralt of Rivia, without which the girl would not be sitting here today. To save Ciri, he went to the edge of the world and fought everyone trying to prevent him - even himself. It would be shameful to deny him a meeting with his daughter.’

  ‘I have not heard here any shameful acts,’ Sabrina said cynically. ‘But a lot of naive sentimentality. Just such sentimentality that we want to eradicate from the girl. The results are that the scales have settled in deadlock. We have not decided anything. We need to vote again. I suggest that this time we do it secretly.’

  ‘Why?’

  All looked at the one who spoke - at Yennefer.

  ‘I am still a member of the Lodge,’ said Yennefer. ‘I have not been deprived of membership, you have not put anyone else in my place, so I have the right to vote. Certainly I know how I will vote. My vote therefore pushes the scales over and settles the matter.’

  ‘Your insolence,’ Sabrina said, lacing her fingers together, loaded with onyx rings, ‘borders on bad taste, Yennefer.’

  ‘If I was in your place, madam, I would keep a discreet silence,’ Sile added gravely. ‘And be fearful of another vote, to deal with you.’

  ‘I voted for Ciri,’ Francesca said, ‘but you, Yennefer, I have to call to order. You ran away from the Lodge, refusing to cooperate. But you have responsibilities and obligations, debts that you have to repay, the verdict must be made. Otherwise you would not have been allowed to cross the threshold of Montecalvo.’

  Yennefer grabbed Ciri, who was dying to get up and scream. Finally, without resistance, Ciri dropped back into her chair in silence. Lady Owl, suddenly rose from her seat, dominating the whole table.

  ‘Yennefer,’ she proclaimed loudly, ‘you are not entitled to a vote, that is clear. But I am. I have heard all the voices present. I guess, I will finally make my vote.’

  ‘Who do you vote, Philippa?’ Sabrina frowned.

  Philippa Eilhart looked across the table. She met Ciri’s green eyes and stared at them.

  * * *

  The bottom of the pond was a multicoloured mosaic, the coloured tiles appeared to move. Sitting on the pong creating shadows were the broad leaves of water lilies hiding goldfish. The water’s surface reflected the dark eyes of a little girl, he long hair floated on the water. The girl had forgotten the whole world, laying on the edge of the pool with her little hands in the water.

  She went to try and touch those gold and red fish. The fish approached her fingers and palms, curiously circling around them, but she couldn’t catch them. They remained as elusive as light and shadow, as the water itself. The dark-eyed girl fingers clutched emptiness.

  ‘Philippa!’

  It was the most beloved voice in the world. And yet she was not a little girl now. Furthermore, she was not looking into the water. The water lilies, fish and reflection were gone.

  ‘Philippa!’

  * * *

  ‘Philippa!’ Sile de Tansarville’s sharp voice pulled her from her reflections. ‘We are waiting.’

  Through the open window cam the cold wind of spring. Philippa Eilhart shuddered. Death, she thought. Death has passed by my side/

  ‘This Lodge,’ she said at last in a firm voice, ‘is to decide the fate of the world. S
o, this Lodge must reflect the world. Here, equilibrium and wisdom does not always mean cold and selfish, calculation and vileness, and sentimentality is not always naive. On one hand, iron discipline and on the other responsibility, resistance to violence, gentleness and trust. Cool reason … And heart.’

  ‘I,’ she said into the silence that reigned after her introduction, ‘cast the last vote. I will take into account one more thing. An element that without balancing anything, balances everything.’

  Following her gaze, everyone looked at the wall, to a mosaic of many multicolour tiles depicted the snake Uroboros, biting it’s own tail.

  ‘That thing,’ she continued, staring with her dark eyes at Ciri, ‘is destiny in which i, Philippa Eilhart have only begun to believe in recently, which I have only recently begun to understand. Destiny is not the way to providence or comfortable fatalism. Destiny is hope. I am full of hope that it will become what we want to happen, so I give my vote to Ciri - Child of Destiny, Child of Hope’

  In the pillared hall of Montecalvo the was silence for a long time. from outside of the window came the hunting cry from a sea eagle.

  ‘Lady Yennefer,’ Ciri whispered. ‘It means …’

  ‘Come, my daughter,’ Yennefer whispered back. ‘Geralt is waiting for is and it is a long road ahead.’

  * * *

  Geralt awoke suddenly and sat up. He heard the echoing cry of a sea eagle.

  Then the witcher and the sorceress were married at a glorious wedding. They stayed for a long time and ate honey and drank wine.

  They lived happily ever after, but very briefly. He died of a heart attack. She died soon after, of what the story does not mention. They say that it was with regret and longing, but who would believe in such fairy tales.

  Flourens Delannoy, Fairytales and Stories

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was the sixth day after the new moon of June when they reach Rivia.

  The emerged from the woods and appeared on the side of a hill. At the foot of the hill, suddenly, without warning, flashed the mirror surface of the lake of Loc Eskalott, which the valley took its name from. In its waters were reflected the shapes of mahakam massif, fir trees, and the larch-covered hills of Craag Ros. At the lake's peninsula was Castle Rivia, the winter residence of the kings of Lyria and at the southern tip of Loc Eskalott was situated the city.

  'So here we are,' Dandelion confirm the obvious fact. 'Destiny has brought us here again, the circle has closed. I don't see the blue and white banner on the castle towers, so Queen Meve must not be present. I don't think that she has forgiven your desertion …'

  'Believe me, Dandelion,' Geralt interrupted him, guiding his horse down the slope. 'I do not care if she has forgiven me or wont forgive me …'

  Next to the city, near the entrance gate, stood a colourful tent reminiscent of a cake. In front of the tent, on a pole, hung a white shield with a red chevron. Under the raised part of the tent stood a king in full armour and a white tabard the same as the shield. The knight, with a penetrating and challenging look, stared at the women passing by before him with sacks of coal, charcoal, deadwood and barrels of pitch. Upon seeing Geralt and Dandelion approach on horseback, his eyes lit up with hope.

  'The Lady of your heart,' Geralt thwarted the hopes of the knight with a chilling voice, 'whoever she is, is the most beautiful and virtuous of all women from the Yaruga to the Buina.'

  'On my honour,' the knight reluctantly answered. 'You speak the truth, sir.'

  * * *

  A blond girl in a silver studded, leather jacket vomited in the middle of the street, bent in half, holding the stirrup of a grey mare. Two colleagues of the girl, in identical clothing, with swords on their backs and headbands holding back their hair, vulgarly insulted passerbys with their slurred speech. both were more than drunk, weaving on their feet and clutching to the sides of horses tied to a pole set in front of the inn.

  'Do we really need to go in there?' asked Dandelion. 'Inside there is bound to be more like them.'

  'The meeting is arranged here, remember? This is the Cock and Bull inn, which was written on the tablet.'

  The blond girl again leaned forward in her next spasm of vomiting. The mare snorted and shied, so the girl fell to the ground landing in her own vomit.

  'What are you staring at, asshole?' yelled one of the colleagues. 'White hair!'

  'Geralt,' whispered Dandelion. 'Please don't do anything stupid.'

  'Don't worry.'

  They tied their horses to the berth at the front of the inn. The young men were ignoring them, busy shouting at a townswoman passing down the road with a child. They did not like what they saw.

  The first thing that drew the eye when they entered the inn was the inscription - CHEF WANTED. The second was the large painting on the wall showing a bearded monster with an axe dripping blood. The sign underneath it read - Mahakam Dwarf - vile traitor.

  Dandelion lacked no reason to be scared. The only customers in the establishment, apart from some winos who drank with dignity and a couple of prostitutes, were people wearing leather garments and with swords hanging from their backs.

  There were eight of them in total, of both sexes, but they made enough fuss to be eighteen. They constantly shouted insults and blasphemes.

  'I recognise you, gentlemen. I know who you are,' said the innkeeper. 'I have a message for you. You have to go to the tavern called Wirsing's.'

  'That's good tavern,' Dandelion rejoiced.

  'Well then, go and take advantage of their establishment,' the innkeeper said, drying glasses with his apron. 'If you don't like my place, take your business elsewhere. But I tell you that the Elms quarter only dwarves and non-humans inhabit there.'

  'So what?' Geralt blinked.

  'Well, you probably know this,' the innkeeper shrugged, 'but the one who left the message for you was a dwarf. If it pleases you t be dealing with such people … that is your business. You, gentlemen, know whose company you prefer.'

  'We are very picky when it comes to company,' said Dandelion, nodding his head towards the table with the men and women in leather jackets and headbands holding back their hair. 'But it is not kind to point out something under someone's nose.'

  The innkeeper placed a freshly dried glass on the counter and looked at them scowling.

  'You have to be more understanding,' he said in an emphatic tone. 'The young people need to let off steam. It is well know that young people should let off steam. The war has mistreated them. Their fathers died …'

  'And their mothers are whoring,' finished Geralt, his voice as cold as an icy mountain stream. 'I understand. I embody tolerance. At least I try. Come on, Dandelion.'

  'Go ahead then, with all due respect,' said the innkeeper without any respect. 'Just don't complain that I didn't warn you. In these times it is easy to get fleeced in the dwarven quarter. Just …'

  'Just what?'

  'Just nothing. This is not my thing.'

  'Come on, Geralt,' said Dandelion to the witcher, he had started to notice the war orphans, those not completely drunk, eyes begin to glitter with the use of fisstech.

  'Goodbye, innkeeper. Who knows, maybe someday I'll visit your business. When you take down the sign in the entrance.'

  'And which one of the signs does not please you, gentlemen?' the innkeeper frowned and glared at them. 'Huh? The one with the dwarf?'

  'No, the one about the chef.'

  Three young people got up from the table, swaying on their feet, evidently with the intention of intercepting them. Two boys and a girl in black leather jackets. With swords on their backs.

  Geralt did not slow, he walked towards them, his face and eye were cold and completely indifferent.

  The young people at the very last moment, parted and retreated. Dandelion noticed the stench of beer. Sweat. And fear.

  'They have to get used to it,' the witcher said as they entered the street. 'They have to adapt.'

  'Sometimes it is difficult.'

  '
This is not an argument, Dandelion.'

  The air was hot, stick and as thick as soup.

  * * *

  Outside, in front of the inn, two young men in black jackets helped the blond girl wash in the horse trough. The girl, spat, snorted and stammered trying to explain that she felt better and that she needed a drink. That they would definitely go the market stalls for entertainment, but not before a drink.

  Her name was Nadia Esposito. The name has been recorded in the annals. And went down in history.

  But Geralt and Dandelion did not know this yet. Nor did the girl.

  * * *

  The streets of Rivia were alive with a great buzz and what appeared to be locals completely absorbed visiting traders. It seemed that everyone there traded everything, trying to change one thing for something else. From everywhere came the cacophony of sound of products being advertised, fierce haggling and from both sides the sounds of people being accused of fraud, theft, chicanery and other sins which had nothing to do with trade.

  Before coming to the Elms district, Geralt and Dandelion received many intrusting proposals. Offered to them was, among other things - a astrolabes, a tin trumpet and decorative cutlery adorned with the Frangipani family crest, shares in a copper mine, a jar of leeches. a tattered tome entitled The Miracle or Head of Medusa, a pair of breeding ferrets, an elixir to increase potency and even - for a negotiated price - a not too young, not too thin, and not very clean bride.

  A black-bearded dwarf with an unprecedented brazenness was trying to convince them to buy a cheap mirror in a frame, which he claim to be one of the magical Cambuscan mirrors. At that moment a stone was thrown which knocked the goods from his hand.

  'Mangy kobold!' cried the assailant, a dirty, barefoot urchin who was running away. 'Non-human! Bearded Goat!'

  'I hope your gut rots, human worm!' roared the dwarf in return. 'I hope it will rot and come out your ass!'

  People watched in grim silence.