‘You're right,’ agreed the witcher. ‘They usually do that. I still don't understand why all these people are in such a panic! Is this the first war they've ever seen? As usual, the army of kings fight each other, then the kings come to an agreement, sign a treaty and take advantage of the occasion. These events shouldn't concern all these people stampeding on the pier! So why all this outburst of violence?’
Dandelion looked intently at the witcher's face without releasing the stirrup.
‘You clearly are poorly informed, Geralt. Or you don't understand the gravity of the situation. This is not an ordinary war of succession or a dispute over the a piece of land; this is not a skirmish between two feudal lords, which the peasants watch without interrupting their haymaking.’
‘What is it then? Enlighten me, because I don't know what's going on. Just between you and me, it doesn't really interest me, but explain it anyway, please.’
‘This war is different,’ the bard explained seriously. ‘The Nilfgaardian army leave nothing behind but scorched earth and dead corpses. Entire fields of corpses. It's a war of annihilation, of complete destruction. Nilfgaard against everything. The cruelty…’
‘There is no war without cruelty,’ the witcher interrupted. ‘You're exaggerating, Dandelion. It's like burning the ferry: this is the norm… It is, I would say, a military tradition. Since the beginning of the world, throughout the land armies have been killing, plundering, burning and attacking, not necessarily in that order. Since the beginning of the world, when a war breaks out, the farmers hide in the woods with their woman and what few possessions that they can carry by hand, and return home when everything ends…’
‘Not this war, Geralt. After this war, no one returns and there’s nothing to return to. Nilfgaard leaves only rubbles behind; its armies advance like lava and casting everything out. The roads are strewn, for miles, with gallows and pyres; smoke filled the sky across the horizon. You said, since the beginning of the world there hasn’t been such a thing? Well, you’re right. Since the beginning of the world. Our world. Because it seems that the Nilfgaardians have come from behind the mountains to destroy this world.’
‘This makes no sense. Who would benefit from the destruction of the world? Wars aren't fought for the sake of destruction. Wars are fought for two reasons: the first is power; the second is wealth.’
‘Don’t philosophize, Geralt! You can't change what's happening with philosophy! Why don't you listen? Why don’t you see? Why don’t you understand? Believe me, Yaruga will not stop the Nilfgaardians. In winter, when the river freezes over, they will push further. I’m telling you, we need to flee, flee up to the North, out of their reach. But even if they fail to reach there, our world will no longer be the same. Geralt, don't leave me here! I won’t survive this alone! Don't leave me!’
‘You've gone mad, Dandelion.’ The witcher leaned over his saddle. ‘You’ve gone mad with fear, if you think that I’d leave you? Give me your hand. Get on my horse. You won't find what you’re looking for on the ferry. Besides, they'll never let you on board. I'll take you up the river. We'll look for a boat or a raft.’
‘The Nilfgaardians will overtake us. They’re already there. Have you seen these horsemen? You can see that they come directly from the battlefield. Let's go downriver, toward the mouth of the Ina.
‘Stop being so ominous. We'll manage, you’ll see. Downriver, there are large crowds of people, each ferry will be the same as it is here. All the boats will surely have been requisitioned. We'll go upriver against the current. Don't be afraid. I'll get you across, on a tree trunk if necessary.’
‘You can hardly see the other bank!’
‘Stop complaining. I told you I would get you across.’
‘And you?’
‘Get on my horse. We'll discuss it on the way. Hey, the hell, not this sack! You want to break Roach's spine?’
‘It's Roach? Roach was a bay, this one is chestnut.’
‘All of my horses are named Roach. You know that very well and you still say this to me. I said, away with the sack. What the hell do you have in there? Gold?’
‘Manuscripts! Poems! And my rations…’
‘Throw it all in the river. You'll write new poems. As for food, I'll share mine with you.’
Dandelion made a mournful face, but after a long hesitation he threw his bag into the water with a flourish. He jumped onto the horse, sitting on the saddlebags and clinging to the witcher's belt.
‘On the way, on the way,’ he repeated anxiously. ‘Let’s not waste time, Geralt, go into the woods before…’
‘Come on, Dandelion… You're making Roach nervous.’
‘Don't mock me. If you knew what I…’
‘Shut up, damn it. We're taking the road, and I can get you across before nightfall.’
‘Me? How about you?’
‘I have something to do on this side of the river.’
‘You have surely gone mad, Geralt. Has life been so unkind to you? What do you have to do?’
‘It's none of your concern. I'm going to Cintra.’
‘To Cintra? But Cintra doesn't exist anymore!’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Cintra doesn't exist anymore. It's nothing but ruins and a heap of rubble now. The Nilfgaardians…’
‘Get down, Dandelion…’
‘What?’
‘Get down!’
The witcher turned forcefully. At the sight of his face, the bard shot down from the horse like an arrow, took a step back, and tripped. Geralt dismounted calmly. He threw the rein over the mare’s head, and stood indecisively for a moment before running his gloved hand over his face. He sat on a stump, under a bush of blood-red dogwood shoots spread.
‘Come here, Dandelion,’ he said. ‘Sit down. Tell me what happened to Cintra. Tell me everything.’
The poet sat down.
‘The Nilfgaardians went through the mountain passes,’ he began after a moment of silence. ‘There were thousands of them. They surrounded the forces of Cintra in the Marnadal valley. The battle lasted all day, from dawn to dusk. Cintra's troops stood valiantly, but they were decimated. The king died, and then the queen…’
‘Calanthe.’
‘Yes. Seeing that her army had succumbed to panic and scattered, she gathered around herself and her standard any who could still fight, broke through enemy ranks, retreated across the river to the city. All the soldiers who were still able followed.’
‘And Calanthe?’
‘With a handful of knights, she defending the troops' crossing and protected the rear. They say she fought like a man, plunging into the thick of the battle. She was pierced by pikes when she charged against the Nilfgaardian infantry. She was then transported into the city. What's in that flask, Geralt?’
‘Vodka. Want some?’
‘Well, gladly.’
‘Speak. Continue, Dandelion. Tell me everything.’
‘The city, in principle, did not resist. There was no siege because there was not anyone left to stand on the walls. The rest of the knights and their families, the nobles, and the queen barricaded themselves in the castle. The Nilfgaardians then seized the castle after their sorcerers reduced the gate to cinders and burned down the walls. Only the inner keep, clearly protected by magic, resisted the spells of the Nilfgaardian sorcerers. Even so, the Nilgaardians stormed inside after four days. The women killed their children, the men killed the women, then threw themselves on their swords or… What's is it, Geralt?’
‘Speak up, Dandelion.’
‘Or… like Calanthe… head first, from the battlement, from the very top… They said that she asked to be… but no one would do it. So she climbed up to the battlements and… jumped head first. Apparently horrible things were done to her corpse. I don't want… What is it?’
‘Nothing, Dandelion… At Cintra, there was… a girl: Calanthe’s granddaughter, about ten or eleven years old. Her name was Ciri. Have you heard anything about her?’
&n
bsp; ‘No, but there was terrible massacre in the city and the castle and almost none escaped alive. None of those who defended the keep survived, as I told you. Most of the women and the children of the noble families were there.’
The witcher remained silent.
‘You knew Calanthe?’ asked Dandelion.
‘I knew her.’
‘And the little girl, about whom you asked? Ciri?’
‘I knew her.’
A wind blew across the river, rippling the surface of the water, shaking the branches, and glittering leaves flew down swirling from the branches. Autumn, the witcher thought. It's autumn again.
He stood up.
‘Do you believe in destiny, Dandelion?’
The bard lifted his head and looked at the witcher wide-eyed.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Answer me.’
‘Well… yes, I believe.’
‘But do you know that sharing the same destiny is not enough? Because you need something more?’
‘I don't understand.’
‘You're not alone. But that's how it is. You need something more. The problem is that I… I will never know what that it is.’
‘What’s the matter, Geralt?’
‘Nothing, Dandelion. Come on, hop. Let's go, it’s getting late. Who knows how long it will take us to find a big enough boat. I'll not abandoning Roach.’
‘We're going to cross together, then?’ asked the poet, invigorated.
‘Yes. I have nothing more to look for on this side of the river.’
IX
‘Yurga!’
‘Złotolitka!’
The young woman ran from the gate, waving the scarf that she removed from her hair, stumbling, shouting. Yurga tossed the reins to his servant, leapt out of the cart to meet her, took her by the waist, firmly, lifted her up and whirled her around.
‘I'm back, Złotolitka! I'm back!’
‘Yurga!’
‘I'm back! Come, open the gates! The master of the house has returned! Eh, Złotolitka!’
She was wet and smelled of soap. She must have been doing laundry. He set her back down, but she did not let go of him, clinging to him, trembling, warm.
‘Come with me into the house, Złotolitka.’
‘By the gods, you’ve returned… I couldn't sleep at night… Yurga… I couldn't even sleep…’
‘I'm back. Hey, I'm back! I came back rich, Złotolitka! You see the cart? Hey, hurry up and pull up the gate! You see the cart, Złotolitka? There are enough goods to…’
‘Yurga, what do I care about your cart? You've come back… in good health… whole…’
‘I came back rich, I tell you. Come see…’
‘Yurga? And him, who is he? The one dressed in black? By the gods, he carries a sword…’
The merchant turned. The witcher dismounted, turned around and pretended to adjust the cinches and the saddlebags. He did not look at them nor did he approach them.
‘I'll tell you later. Oh, Złotolitka, if he didn’t… Tell me, where are the children? Are they healthy?’
‘Yes, Yurga, they are healthy. They went out to the fields to shoot the crows. The neighbors will tell that you’re home. They'll come running together, all three…’
‘Three? What is it, Złotolitka? Perhaps…’
‘No… but I must tell you something… you won't get angry?’
‘Me? With you?’
‘I took in a little girl, Yurga. The druids took her in…You know, the ones who rescued the children after the war… They gathered them up in the forests, the homeless and lost children… barely alive… Yurga? Are you angry?’
Yurga slapped his hand to his forehead and looked around. The witcher walked behind the cart, leading his horse. He did not look at them, his head still turned away.
‘Yurga?’
‘Oh, by the gods,’ groaned the merchant. ‘By the gods, Złotolitka! Something that I didn't expect! At home!’
‘Don't be angry, Yurga… You'll see, you'll like her. She's a smart little girl, friendly, hardworking… a little strange. She refused to say where she was from and just cried. So I don't ask her about that. Yurga, you know how much I've always wanted a daughter… What do you think?’
‘Nothing,’ he replied softly. ‘Nothing. Destiny. All along the way in his sleep, raving in fever, he talked about nothing but fate and destiny… By the gods… it’s beyond our reasoning, Złotolitka. We won’t understand the thoughts of those like him. And the dreams. It’s beyond our reasoning…’
‘Papa!!!’
‘Nadbor! Sulik! How you've grown, like bulls! Come to me! Quickly…’
He paused when he saw a small, thin, ashen-haired creature slowly reaching for the boys. The little girl looked at him with large eyes that were green as the grass in the spring and bright as two stars. He saw her suddenly pick up speed and run… He heard her cry out in a shrill and piercing voice:
‘Geralt!’
The witcher turned away from the horse in a swift and graceful motion. He ran to meet the young girl. Yurga was speechless. He never thought that a man could move so fast.
They met in the middle of the yard: the little ashen-haired girl dressed in gray; the white-haired witcher with a sword on his back, dressed in shiny silver-studded black leather. The witcher jumped lightly, the little girl stumbled, the witcher on his knees, thin girlish hands around his neck, gray mousy hair falling on his shoulders. Złotolitka gave a muffled scream. Yurga drew her to him without saying a word and took her in his arms. His other arm hugged the two boys.
‘Geralt!’ the little girl repeated, clinging to the witcher's chest. ‘You've found me! I knew it! I always knew! I knew you'd find me!’
‘Ciri,’ the witcher said.
Yurga did not see Geralt's face, hidden by the ashen hair. He could only see hands clad in black gloves squeezing the girl’s back and shoulders.
‘You've finally found me! Oh, Geralt! I waited all this time! Yes, a terribly long time… We'll stay together now, won't we? Now we'll be together, right? Say it, Geralt! Forever! Say it!’
‘Forever, Ciri.’
‘Yes, just like they said! Geralt! Like they said… I'm your destiny? Say it! I'm your destiny?’
Yurga was astonished when he saw the eyes of the witcher. He heard Złotolitka's weeping quietly and felt her shoulders trembling. He watched the witcher and waited, in suspense, for his answer. He knew that he would not understand the answer, but he waited anyway. And as he waited.
‘You're something more, Ciri. Something more.’
Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher] Page 37