Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 03]

by The Time of Contempt (fan translation) (epub)

  Keira Metz returned after a short time, not alone. She came accompanied with a sorcerer with hair the colour of flaxen that the previous day had been introduced to Geralt as Dethmold of Ban Ard. Upon seeing the Witcher, the sorcerer cursed and slammed his fist into his hand.

  ‘Damn it! Is this the one whom took a liking to Yennefer?’

  ‘This,’ Keira confirmed. ‘is Geralt of Rivia. The problem is that I do not know how he is with Yennefer…’

  ‘I also do not know.’ Dethmold shrugged. ‘In any case, he is already involved in this. He has seen too much. Take him to Philippa, she can decide.’

  ‘There is no need,’ Dijkstra said sleepily. ‘I can vouch for him. I’ll take him to where he belongs.’

  ‘Fine then.’ Dethmold said. ‘Because we do not have time. Come, Keira, up there things get more complicated…’

  ‘Beware those who are angry.’ The Redanian spy muttered, looking after those departing. ‘A lack of skill, nothing else. A coup like all coups are like gazpacho. It should be eaten cold. Come on, Geralt. And remember, peacefully, with dignity, without any fuss. Do not make me regret not tying you in chains.’

  ‘What is going on, Dijkstra?’

  ‘Have you not guessed?’ The spy walked beside him, three soldier hang behind them. ‘Tell me honestly, Witcher, how did it happen that you came to be here?’

  ‘I was afraid the nasturtium where drying up.’

  ‘Geralt,’ Dijkstra gave him an evil look. ‘You are up to your neck in shit. And you are just keeping your mouth above the surface, but your legs do not reach the bottom. Someone is giving you a helping hand, risking that they might also fall in and drown. Then stop these stupid jokes. It was Yennefer who told you to come here, right?’

  ‘No, Yennefer is still asleep in bed. Has this reassured you?’

  The huge spy turned sharply, seized the Witcher by the shoulders and pinned him to the wall of the corridor.

  ‘No, it has not reassured me, fucking idiot,’ he yelled. ‘Do you not understand, clown, that sorcerers honest and loyal to the kings do not sleep tonight? Have not even gotten into bed? Those who are sleeping in their beds are traitors bribed by Nilfgaard. Traitors who themselves have been preparing a coup, but for later. They did not know that there plans had been discovered we were warned of their intentions. And right now they are being pulled from their warm beds and being given a knuckle duster to the nose and their wrists are being put in demeterium shackles. The traitors are finished, understand? If you do not want to go down with them, stop pretending idiot! Where you recruited by Vilgefortz last night? Or were you recruited before by Yennefer? Speak? Hurry, because the shit has already started to reach your mouth!’

  ‘Cold gazpacho, Dijkstra.’ Geralt reminded him. ‘Lead me to Philippa. Calmly, with dignity and no fuss.’

  The spy let him go and took a step back.

  ‘Come on,’ he said coldly. ‘Up these stairs. But this conversation is finished. I promise you that.’

  * * *

  Where the four corridors joined beneath a column that supported the roof, had a clarity that came from Lanterns and magic globes. Soldiers and sorcerers gathered here. Among the latter were members of the Council: Radcliffe and Sabrina Glevissig. Sabrina, like Keira Metz, was also wearing gray men’s clothing. Geralt realised that the coup was taking place before eyes and could recognise the different factions by their uniforms.

  Kneeling on the floor was Triss Merigold, bent over a body lying in a pool of blood. Geralt recognised Lydia van Bredevoort. He recognised her by her hair and silk dress. The face he would never have recognised, because it was no longer a face. It was a hideous, gruesome death’s mask, with bared teeth gleaming through half of her check and the lower jaw was deformed, sunken, and badly swollen.

  ‘Cover her.’ Sabrina Glevissig said dully. ‘When she died the illusion dispelled… Damn it, cover her with something.’

  ‘What has happened, Radcliffe?’ Triss asked, removing the hand from the hilt of the dagger stuck below Lydia’s breastbone. ‘How could this happen? It was to be done without deaths!’

  ‘She attacked us.’ The sorcerer muttered, bowing his head. ‘When they took Vilgefortz they fell on us. There was an uproar… I myself do not know how… It is her own dagger.’

  ‘Cover her face!’ Sabrina turned sharply. Geralt saw her eyes gleam like charcoal.

  ‘How did he get here?’

  Triss jumped up quickly, and threw herself on the Witcher. Geralt saw her face before her hand. Then he saw a flash and went down softly into darkness. He felt hands on his neck and a violent jolt.

  ‘Hold him, because he’ll fall.’ Triss’s voice was unnatural, it sounded like it was feigning anger. She tugged at him again, so for the moment he found himself next to her.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he heard her quickly whisper. ‘I had to.’

  Dijkstra’s men held him down.

  He shook his head. He moved to his other senses. In the corridor there was movement, the air rippled, carried smells. And voices. Sabrina Glevissig cursing, trying to calm Triss. The soldiers, smelling like barracks dragged along the ground a dead body, the silk dress whispering. Blood. The smell of blood. And the smell of ozone. The scent of magic. Raised voices. Steps, the nervous tapping of heels.

  ‘Hurry! This has been going on too long! We should already be in Garstang!’

  Philippa Eilhart. Nervous.

  ‘Sabrina, Marti Sodergren is faster. If necessary, get her out of bed. Something is wrong with Hen Gedymdeith. I think it’s a heart attack. Have Marti address it. But do not tell her anything about what is going on. Triss, you have locate and then take Dorregaray, Carduin and Drithelm to Garstang.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They represent the kings. Let Ethain and Esterad be informed of our action and it consequences. It will bring… Triss, you have blood on your hands! Who?’

  ‘Lydia.’

  ‘Damn. When? How?’

  ‘Does it matter how?’ said a cold, calm voice. Tissaia de Vries. Her dress rustled. Tissaia was dressed in an evening gown, not a rebel uniform. Geralt listened but could not hear the clink of demeterium chains.

  ‘You pretend to be affected?’ Continued Tissaia. ‘To be worried? When organising a revolt, when armed soldiers are entering in the night, you have to expect there will be casualties. Lydia is dead, Hen Gedymdeith is dying. I saw for a moment, Artaud, his face was butchered. How many more victims will there be Philippa Eilhart?’

  ‘I do not know.’ Philippa replied sharply. ‘But I will not go back.’

  ‘Of course. You do back off for anything.’

  The atmosphere trembled, heels hit against the floor at a familiar rhythm. Philippa was approaching him. He remembered the nervous rhythm of her steps when, the day before they walked together around the room of Aretuza to feast on the caviar. He remembered the smell of cinnamon and spikenard. Now the smell was mixed with baking soda. Geralt did not think he would participate in any coup, but if he were involved, he didn’t believe he would brush his teeth beforehand.

  ‘He cannot see you Phil.’ A seemingly sleepy Dijkstra said. ‘He sees nothing and saw nothing. The one with the pretty hair has blinded him.’

  He heard and felt the breath of Philippa, her every move, but shook his head awkwardly, feigning being perplexed. The Sorceress was not fooled.

  ‘Do not pretend Geralt, Triss has darkened your eyes, but do not get your head removed. How is it you have appeared here?’

  ‘I ran. Where is Yennefer?’

  ‘Blessed are those that do not know.’ Philippa’s voice held no mockery. ‘You will live longer. Say thank you to Triss. It was a weak spell, blindness, you will see again soon. And so you have not seen what may not be seen. Watch them, Dijkstra. I’ll be back.’

  Once again movement. Voices. The soprano sound of Keira Metz, the low nasal tone of Radcliffe. The tapping of soldiers boots. The raised voice of Tissaia de Vries.

  ‘Let go of her! How could you?
How could you do it?’

  ‘She’s a traitor!’ said nasal, Radcliffe.

  ‘I do not believe it’

  ‘Blood is not water.’ Philippa Eilhart said coldly. ‘And Emperor Emhyr has promised the elves freedom. And an independent state of their own. And that was enough to immediately betray us.’

  ‘Answer!’ Tissaia de Vries said with emotion. ‘Answer her, Enid!’

  ‘Answer, Francesca.’

  The clinking of demeterium shackles. And the lilting elvish accent of Francesca Findabair, the Daisy of the Valley, the most beautiful woman in the world.

  ‘Me Va a Vort, Dh’oine. These N’aen and dice’n.’

  ‘Is that enough for you, Tissaia?’ said Philippa’s voice, like a bark. ‘Do you believe me now? You, me, we all are and have always been to her Dh’oine, human, which she being Aen Seidh has nothing to say to. And you, Fercart? What has Emhyr and Vilgefortz offered you to, to make you decide to betray us?’

  ‘Go to hell, perverted slut.’

  Geralt listened but did not hear the sound of the brass knuckles colliding with a jaw. Philippa had more control that Keira. Or did not have any brass knuckles.

  ‘Radcliffe, take the traitors to Garstang! Dethmold, offer you arm to the great teacher de Vries. Go now. I will join you.’

  Steps. The smell of cinnamon and spikenard.

  ‘Dijkstra.’

  ‘Here I am, Phil.’

  ‘Your subordinates are not needed here. Have them return to Loxia.’

  ‘Are you sure…?’

  ‘To Loxia, Dijkstra!’

  ‘At your service, noble lady.’ The spy’s voice was perceived mockery. ‘The footmen will have already done their share. It is now the exclusive domain of sorcerers. And so I promptly removed myself from the beautiful eyes of your Highness. I did not expect gratitude for the assistance and participation in the coup but I’m sure your Highness will keep me in grateful memory.’

  ‘Sorry, Sigismund. Thank you for your help.’

  ‘Not at all, it has been a pleasure. Hey, Voymir, gather the troops. Five will be with me. Bring down the rest are to wait down below and embark on the Waterfall. Of course, in silence, on tiptoe, without noise or fuss. Use the side corridors. Off to Loxia’s port and not a word! Off!’

  You have not seen anything,’ Philippa Eilhart said in a whisper to Geralt, the Witcher caught a whiff of cinnamon, spikenard and baking soda. ‘You have not heard anything. You have never spoken to Vilgefortz. Dijkstra will lead you to Loxia. I will try to find you there when… When everything is over. I promised you something yesterday and I will keep my word.’

  ‘And what about Yennefer?’

  ‘He is obsessed.’ Dijkstra returned, shuffling his feet. ‘Yennefer, Yennefer… I get bored. Do not worry about him, Phil. There are more important issues. Did you find in Vilgefortz’s belongings what you expected to find?

  ‘Yes. Here, this is for you.’

  ‘Oho!’ The rustle of paper. ‘Oho! Oho, oho! Beautiful! Duke Nitert. Excellent! Baron…’

  ‘Discreetly, without names. And I ask of you, when you return to Tretogor, do not start immediately with executions. Do not induce and early scandal.’

  ‘Do not be afraid. The big boys on this list, greedy for the gold of Nilfgaard are safe. For now. This will be my beloved marionette to pull the strings on. And then impose on them more strings… Out of curiosity, were there any other lists? Do Kaedwen, Temeria or Aedirn have traitors? I would be glad to take a look. Even half a glance…’

  ‘I know you’d be happy. But it is none of your business. These lists have been given to Sabrina Glevissig and Radcliffe, they will know what to do with them. And now, goodbye. Hurry.’

  ‘Phil.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Restore the Witcher’s sight. Let’s not have him stumble on the stairs.’

  * * *

  In the ballroom of Aretuza the banquet continued, but had changed its form to something more traditional and intimate. Tables had been removed, sorcerers and witches had brought into the room sofas, chairs, and stools from who knows where, they sat on the and engaged in various amusements. Most of the diversions might have been considered tactless. A large group sat around a huge barrel, drinking, chatting and occasionally bursting into raucous laughter. Those that had long exercised the search for appetizers with silver forks, now shamelessly gnawed mutton ribs that they held in both hands. Some played cards with passion, contempt for those around them. Some slept. In one corner, a couple was kissing passionately and with the eagerness with which they did showed they were not going to confine it to kissing.

  ‘Just look at them, Witcher.’ Dijkstra leaned over the balustrade of the gallery, watching the sorcerers from a height. ‘How they play happily, you’d think they were youths. Meanwhile, the Council has been pried and almost all of its members are on trial for treason for allying with Nilfgaard. Look at this park. Just seek a secluded corner, and before the end of a fuck, Vilgefortz will already be hanging from a rope. Ah, the party, a kiss and a flower…’

  ‘Shut up, Dijkstra.’

  * * *

  The road to Loxia was a zigzagging stair leading down the slope of the mountain. Stairs laced with terraces decorated with poorly maintained hedges, flowerbeds and potted dry agaves. Dijkstra stopped at one of the terraces they had just passed and approached the wall, lined with the stone heads of chimeras, from which water poured out from between their teeth. The spy bent down and drank for a long time.

  The Witcher came closer to the railings. The sea shone golden, the sky’s colour was even more trashy that the painting in the Gallery of Glory. Down below he saw detachments of soldiers that had come from Aretuza and hurried to approach the harbor. They crossed over a bridge that cross to the shore through the cleft in the rock.

  What suddenly caught his attention, was the lone colourful character. The figure was conspicuous because it was moving so quickly. And in the opposite direction that the Redanians. Up to Aretuza.

  ‘Come.’ Dijkstra , hurried him with a cough. ‘He who rises early, the gods help.’

  ‘If you are in such a hurry, go alone.’

  ‘Well, of course,’ sneered the spy. ‘Then you can go back to the top and save your Yennefer. And fuck like drunken gnomes.’ We go to Loxia, witcher. Do you have delusions or something? Do you think I pulled you out of Aretuza because I’m secretly in love with you? Of course not. You are out of there because I need you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Are you pretending? Studying at Aretuza are a hundred ladies from the best families of Redanian. I cannot risk a conflict with the esteemed rector, Margarita Laux-Antille. The rector did not give me Cirilla, Princess of Cintra, who was brought to Thanedd by Yennefer. However, they will release her to you. When you ask her about it.’

  ‘Where did you get this funny idea that I’m going to ask?’

  ‘From the funny assumption that you want to ensure the safety of Cirilla. Under my protection, under the protection of King Vizimir, she will be safe. In Tretogor. On Thanedd it is not safe. Refrain from malicious comments. Yes, I know that initially the kings intentions were not exactly the cleanest in the world about the girl. But it has changed. It is now clear that Cirilla alive, healthy and safe can be, in the coming war, more valuable than ten heavy cavalry detachments. Dead she is not worth a damn.’

  ‘Does Philippa Eilhart know what you intend?’

  ‘She does not know. She does not even know that I know that the girl is in Loxia. My dear Phil lifts her head up high, but King Vizimir still gives the orders in Redanian. I will fulfil Vizimir’s orders, the machinations of sorcerers give a shit. Cirilla will be out on the Waterfall and will set sail for Novigrad and then on to Tretogor. She will be safe. Do you believe me?’

  The Witcher leaned over one of the heads of the chimeras and drank water from the monstrous maw.

  ‘Do you believe me?’ Dijkstra repeated, coming over to him.

  Geralt straig
htened up, wiped his mouth with his hand and punched him straight in the jaw. The spy staggered, but did not fall. The nearest Redanian soldier leaped and tried to grab the Witcher, but he grabbed air instead, and immediately sat down, spitting blood and teeth. Then they all rushed at him. It created a crowded clutter of confusion and this is precisely what the Witcher wanted.

  One Redanian had his face smashed into a stone chimera; the gushing water was immediately stained red. The second was punched in the windpipe, he double over as if he’d been hit in the genitals. A third was beaten in the eye with an elbow, and fell back groaning. Dijkstra grabbed the witcher in a bear hug, but Geralt hit him hard in the shin with his heel. The spy howled and comically hopped around on one leg.

  Another soldier tried to hit the Witcher with a swordstaff, but it just whistled through the air. Geralt grabbed him by the elbow with one hand, the other by the wrist and spun him, knocking him to the ground into two others who were trying to rise. The soldier he was holding was strong and was not releasing the sword staff. Geralt tightened his grip and broke his hand with a snap.

  Dijkstra, still limping on one leg, made for a triton with the intentions of nailing the Witcher to the wall between its three points. Geralt reached down and grabbed the swordstaff with both hands and applied a principle known to scholars as leverage. The spy, saw before his eyes the joints of the brick wall, as he was launched into the air but it was too late to avoid the blow to the crotch from the head of the chimera.

  Geralt used the swordstaff to take down another of the soldiers, he then thrust the sword at the ground and with a blow from his boot broke it, shortening the shaft. He tested the blade, first by hitting Dijkstra in the back who was sitting astride the chimera’s head, then by silencing the cries of the soldier with the broken hand. The seams had long ago been ripped on his doublet and the Witcher felt much better.

  The last of the soldiers who were still standing attacked with a triton, thinking that its length gave him an advantage. Geralt hit him in the face and the soldier collapsed into a pot of agaves. Another Redanian, with extraordinary stubbornness, grabbed the Witcher’s thigh and bit him painfully. The Witcher with a furious kick robbed the man of any possibility of biting.