‘How are you so certain?’
‘The ship that carried Pavetta and Duny disappeared over the Sedna-Depth. Theirs was not the first ship to have disappeared there. Surely you know about this.’
‘A fairy tale. Ships suffer disasters, which is a pretty natural thing…’
‘On the Skellige Islands,’ he interrupted sharply and continued, ‘we know enough of ships and seafaring to distinguish between natural and unnatural disasters. Ships go under above the Sedna-Depth unnaturally. And it is no coincidence. This also applies to the ship that Pavetta and Duny were travelling on.
‘I do not want to argue’, the sorceress sighed. ‘What does it even matter? After nearly fifteen years?’
‘For me, it plays a…’ The Earl pressed his lips together. ‘I'll clarify this matter. It is only a matter of time. I know I'll… Declarations will be found. I'm going to find explanations for all the mysteries. Including the time of the massacre of Cintra…’
‘What's that again about a mystery?’
‘When the Nilfgaardians stormed Cintra,’ he murmured as he looked out the window, ‘Calanthe gave orders to secretly evacuate the girl from the city. The city was burning, but already the blacks were everywhere, the chances of breaking out of the siege were negligible. The Queen had been advised of the risk. Her advisors suggested Ciri might formally surrender to the Nilfgaardian army leaders and thus save her life and the Cinterein line of royalty. In the burning streets, she would inevitably and futilely die at the hands of the mobs of soldiers. But the lioness… Do you know what she is supposed to have said, according to witnesses?’
‘No.’
‘‘Better that the blood of the girl flows on the pavement of Cintra than it be desecrated.’ How would it be desecrated?’
‘Through her marriage to Emperor Emhyr. The infamous Nilfgaardian. Earl, it's late. I start at dawn tomorrow morning… I will keep you informed and up to date on the progress made.’
‘I count on it. Good night, Yenna… Hmmm…’
‘What, Crach?’
‘I was wondering if you would like to, well…hmmm…as lust would have it…’
‘No, Earl. The past is the past and was not written into the register. Good night.’
* * *
‘Well, well.’ Crach an Craite glanced at his visitor, his head tilted to one side. ‘Triss Merigold in person. What an exceptionally pretty dress. And the lining… That’s chinchilla is it not? I would ask, what leads you to the Skellige… If I did not already know. But I do know.’
‘Very good.’ Triss smiled seductively, flipping her beautiful auburn hair. ‘Very well, you know, Earl. That saves us the introduction and the introductory statements, so we can immediately get down to business.’
‘For what purpose?’ Crach folded his arms across his chest and measured the sorceress with a cold stare. ‘What statements do you reckon we should we start with? Who do you represent, Triss? In whose name are you here? King Foltest granted you employment as a reward for your services with a curse. But now he has driven you out of Temeria, even though you're guilty of nothing. So I've heard Philippa Eilhart has taken you under her wing. Philippa, who is currently working with Dijkstra and the de facto government of Redania. I see that you are thanking her for her asylum as well as possible. You don’t even hesitate to take on the role of a spy who is to track down her former friend.’
‘You insult me, Earl.’
‘I humbly ask for forgiveness. If I have erred. Was I wrong?’
They were silent for long, measuring each other with suspicious eyes.
Finally, Triss waved, swore, and stamped her heel. ‘Oh, damn! Let us stop leading each other around by the nose! What it does it matter now who serves whom, who is on whose side, and who remained loyal to whom for what reasons? Yennefer is no longer alive. It is still not known where Ciri is and in whose power… What is the sense of this secrecy? I did not come as a spy, Crach. I came out of my own accord, as a private person. Guided by concern for Ciri.’
‘Many are concerned for Ciri. The girl is very lucky.’ Triss’ eyes flashed. ‘I would not mock it. Especially not in your place.’
‘Forgive me.’
They fell silent, looking out the window at the red sun setting behind the wooded peaks of Spikeroog.
‘Triss Merigold.’
‘Yes, Earl.’
‘I would like to invite you to dinner. Ah yes, the cook wants to know whether all the sorceresses despise seafood.’
Triss not disdain the seafood. On the contrary, she ate twice as much as she had planned, and now began to worry about her waist – to those twenty-two inches, of which she was so proud. She decided to promote the digestion with white wine, made with the famous Toussaint Est Est. She drank from a horn with Crach.
‘So Yennefer,’ Triss continued the conversation, ‘turned up here on the nineteenth day of August by spectacularly falling from the sky fell into a fishing net. You, a loyal vassal of Cintra, granted her asylum. You helped her build a megascope… And, of course, you know with whom she spoke and what about.’
Crach an Craite took a swig from the horn and stifled a belch. ‘I do not know.’ He smiled slyly. ‘Of course I know nothing. How should I, a poor and simple sailor, know anything about the activities of a powerful sorceress?’
* * *
Sigrdrifa, the priestess of Modron Freyja, bowed her head low, as if the Earl’s conversation dragged her down like a thousand-pound weight. ‘She trusts me, Earl,’ she murmured almost inaudibly. ‘She has not asked that I promise not to disclose, but discretion was obviously implied. I really do not know if…’
‘Modron Sigrdrifa.’ Crach an Craite interrupted seriously. ‘What I ask for is not a betrayal. Like you, I support Yennefer. Like you, I hope that she finds and rescues Ciri. Ha, I've taken a Bloedgeas, a blood oath! But Yennefer worries me, I am guided by concern for her. She is an inordinately proud woman. Even if she had to undertake a very great risk, she would not be reduced to asking for assistance. Therefore, it may be necessary to rush to help her unbidden. To do this, I need information.’
Sigrdrifa cleared her throat. Her face was expressionless.
But as she spoke, her voice trembled a little. ‘She has designed this machine… Actually that's not a machine, because there is no mechanism, only two mirrors, a black velvet curtain, the housing, two lenses, four lamps, and of course the Brisingamen… If she says a spell, the two lamps light and…’
‘Let's leave out the details. With whom does she communicate?’
‘She has spoken with several people. With sorcerers -… Earl, I have not heard much, but from what I have heard… There are not really any worthy people among them. None of them unselfishly wanted to help… They have asked for money… They have all asked for money…’
‘I know,’ murmured Crach. ‘I’ve seen the transfers she’s made from my bank account. A pretty, oi, a beautiful chunk of money my oath has cost me! But money comes and goes. What I’ve spent on Yennefer and Ciri, I'm going to repeat on the Nilfgaardian provinces. But keep talking, Mother Sigrdrifa.’
‘Some’ – the priestess bowed her head -’Yennefer blackmailed easily. She indicated that she was in possession of compromising information and that if cooperation was refused she would reveal it to the whole world… Earl… She is a wise and good woman, all in all… But she has no qualms at all. She is ruthless. And merciless.’
‘I know that all too well. On the other hand, on the details of extortion I want to know nothing, and I advise you to forget it as quickly as possible. This is dangerous knowledge. Outsiders should not play with such fire.’
‘I know, Earl. I owe obedience… And I think that your goals justify the means. No one else will learn anything from me. Neither the friend nor the friendly chatter of the enemy during torture.’
‘Well, Modron Sigrdrifa. Very good… What was discussed in the communications, do you remember?’
‘I didn’t always understand everything, Earl. They
used a jargon that as difficult to understand… There was often talk of a certain Vilgefortz…’
‘Of course.’ Crach ground his teeth audibly. The priestess gave him a frightened look. ‘Much was also said of the elves and the elder speech’, she said. ‘And about magic portals. Even from the Sedna-Depth… But most of all, I think it was about towers.’
‘Towers?’
‘Yes. Two of them. The Tower of Gulls and the Tower of the Swallow.’
* * *
‘As I suspected,’ said Triss. ‘Yennefer found out about the first secret report of the Radcliffe Commission, which investigated the events on Thanedd. I do not know what news of the affair penetrated here, to Skellige… Have you heard of the portal in the Tower of Gulls? And the Radcliffe Commission?’
Crach an Craite looked at the sorceress suspiciously. ‘Here on the island,’ – he sounded sour -’neither politics nor culture penetrate. We are isolated.’
Triss thought it appropriate to note neither his voice nor his face. ‘The Radcliffe Commission examined the tracks leading away from Thanedd teleportation portal. The teleportation portal of Tor Lara, located on the island, was disabled as long as the magical blocks of the Tower existed in any considerable degree. But as you without a doubt know, the Tower of Gulls exploded and collapsed, which made teleportation possible. Most of those who were involved in the events on Thanedd left the island through teleportation.’
‘Indeed.’ The Earl smiled. ‘For example, your flight directly into Brokilon. With a witcher on your back.’
‘There you go.’ Triss looked into his eyes. ‘Neither politics nor culture penetrate here, but rumours do. But let's leave that for now. We turn again to the work of the Radcliffe Commission. The Commission's aim was to determine exactly who teleported from Thanedd. They used a so-called Synopse, a spell that can reflect an image of past events. They also detected traces of teleportation and correlated them with the directions in which they lead, subsequently identifying the specific individuals who have opened a portal. We succeeded in virtually all cases. Except one. A teleportation trail that led nowhere. More specifically, into the sea. Into the Sedna-Depth.’
‘Someone,’ the Earl realized immediately, ‘teleported to a ship waiting at an agreed location. Strange that they teleported over such a long distance… And to such a notorious place. Well, if you have a knife to your throat…’
‘Exactly. The Commission also thinks so. And thus has formulated the following conclusion: Vilgefortz kidnapped Ciri, but had no other escape route, so he had to use the emergency exit – he teleported with the girl to the Sedna-Depth, to a Nilfgaardian ship waiting there. The Commission’s conclusion is supported by the fact that Ciri was presented at the imperial court in Loc Grim on the tenth of July, just ten days after the events on Thanedd.’
‘Well.’ The Earl's eyes narrowed. ‘That explains a lot. Of course, under the assumption that the Commission did not err.’
‘Naturally.’ The enchantress held his gaze, even allowing herself a wry smile. ‘Loc Grim, of course, may have just been a look-alike, not the real Ciri. That would also explain a lot. It would explain another fact that the Radcliffe Commission has determined. Such a curious fact that it wasn’t even mentioned in the first version of the report, as it was deemed too unlikely. It was, however, in the second, top-secret version of the report. As a hypothesis.’
‘I've been all ears for some time, Triss.’
‘The hypothesis of the Commission is thus: The teleport in the Tower of Gulls came into function. Someone walked through it, and the energy of this passage was so great that the teleport exploded and was destroyed.
‘Yennefer’ Triss continued after a short silence, ‘must have guessed what the Radcliffe Commission found out. What has been firmly kept in the secret report. There is a chance… a shadow of a chance… that Ciri was the one who travelled through the portal of Tor Lara. That she escaped Nilfgaard and Vilgefortz…’
‘Where is she then?’
‘I would also like to know that.’
* * *
It was devilishly dark out. The clouds clustered together to hide the moon behind them, letting through almost no light. Compared to the exceedingly windy previous night, however, there was little wind and therefore it did not feel so cold. The little boat rocked on the rippling waves of water. It smelled like mud. And like rotting plants. And like ashes.
Somewhere on the bank a beaver's tail hit the water, so that they both jumped. Ciri was sure that Vysogota had dozed off and that the beaver had woken him.
‘Tell me more,’ she said, wiping her nose on a clean, not covered with mucus, part of her sleeve. ‘Don't sleep. If you doze off and I fall asleep too, we will be carried by the current and will wake up in the sea! Tell me more of this teleporting!’
‘When you fled from Thanedd,’ continued the hermit, ‘you went through the portal at Tor Lara, the Tower of Gulls. However, Geoffrey Monck – who is the highest authority in matters of teleportation and the author of a book titled The Magic of the Elder Races, which is the magnum opus of knowledge of elven teleports – writes that the portal at Tor Lara leads to Tor Zireael, The Tower of the Swallow…’
‘The portal at Thanedd was broken,’ interrupted Ciri. ‘Maybe before it broke down it lead to a tower. But now it leads to the desert. It is called a chaotic portal. I've studied this.’
‘Imagine that, so have I,’ snorted the old man. ‘Much of which I remember. That's why I wonder about your story… about some parts of it. And concerning the teleportation…’
‘Can you speak more clearly?’
‘Can I Ciri? I can. But now it's high time to haul in the trap. There are bound to be eels in it. Ready?’
‘Ready.’ Ciri spat on her hands and grabbed the boat hook. Vysogota reeled in the vanishing line from the water.
‘Out with it. Hee… eave! And into the boat! Catch them Ciri, hurry! Into the basket, otherwise they'll get away!’
* * *
This was the second night they had gone out into the marshy tributary of the river and laid fish traps for the eels that migrated to the sea en masse. They returned to the hut well after midnight, wet, tired, and covered from top to bottom with slime.
But all the same they did not go to sleep. The catch, intended for commercial exchange, had to be packed into boxes and sealed well – if the eels found even the smallest gap, there would not be a single one left in the morning. When they had finished working, Vysogota pulled out two or three of the fattest eels from the basket, cut them into pieces, rolled them in flour, and fried them in a huge pan. Then they ate and talked.
‘You know, Ciri, something still keeps me awake at night. I have not forgotten what we disagreed about, just after your recovery. About the date and the wound on your cheek that made the most accurate calendar imaginable. This wound could not be more than ten hours old, but you insisted it had been four days since you were wounded. Although I was sure this was a common mistake, I could not stop thinking about it. So I asked myself the question: Where did these four lost days go?’
‘And? Where have they been, in your opinion?’
‘I do not know.’
‘Wonderful, so…’
The cat interrupted her sentence by pouncing on a thin, squeaking mouse. The cat casually bit its throat, tore out its entrails, and then began to eat with an appetite. Ciri looked on indifferently.
‘The portal at the Tower of Gulls,’ resumed Vysogota ‘leads to the Tower of the Swallow. The Tower of the Swallow, but…’
The cat had eaten the mouse, leaving only the tail for dessert.
‘The portal from Tor Lara,’ said Ciri as she yawned heartily, ‘is broken and leads to the desert. That's what I've told you more than a hundred times.’
‘That doesn't matter for the moment. There is a connection between these two portals. The portal in Tor Lara is broken. But there is another portal in Tor Zireael. If you could get to the Tower of the Swallow, you could teleport yours
elf back to the island of Thanedd. You would be distanced from the danger that threatens you, out of the reach of your enemies.’
‘Ha! That would suit me. There is only one small problem. I have no idea where this Tower of the Swallow is.’
‘I, however, may be able to improve that situation. Ciri, do you know what earns a man his college degree?’
‘No. What?’
‘His ability to use sources.’
* * *
‘I knew it,’ Vysogota said proudly, ‘I've found it. I searched and searched and… Oh, crap…’
The stack of heavy books slipped from his fingers and the incunabula clattered to the ground. The pages fell from the crumbling bindings and scattered around randomly.
‘What have you found?’ Ciri knelt down beside him, helping him collect the scattered pages.
‘The Tower of the Swallow!’ The hermit shooed away the cat, who had seated himself on one of the pages. ‘Tor Zireael. Help me.’
‘This is dusty! The sticks! Vysogota? What is this? Here, in this picture? This man who hangs from a tree?’
‘That?’ Vysogota looked at the loose page. ‘A scene from the legend of Hemdall. The hero Hemdall hung for nine days and nine nights on the world-ash tree to gain knowledge and power through sacrifice and pain.’
Ciri rubbed her forehead. ‘I have dreamed such a thing a few times before. A man hanging from a tree…’
‘The engraving has… since fallen out of this book. If you want, you can read it later. But the most important thing now… alas, I finally have it. Walks on Trails and Places of Magic by Buyvid Backhuysen, a book known for its somewhat apocryphal…’
‘That means fraudulent?’
‘More or less. But there are always some people that know how to appreciate a book… So, listen… Damn, it is dark in here…’
Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 05] Page 35