‘A girl, about fourteen years old. Ashen hair, big green eyes… Before we had time to contemplate it, the girl began to prophesy. She told about the events in Dol Angra. No one had any doubts she was telling the truth. She was in a trance, those in a trance don’t lie.’
* * *
‘Last night,’ said the medium. ‘an army with the banners of Lyria and the standards of Aedirn perpetrated an attack against the rule of Nilfgaard. They attacked Glevitzingen an outpost located in Dol Angra. A herald announced on behalf of King Demavend to the surrounding villages, from today, Aedirn assumes government over all the country. Then called people to take up arms against Nilfgaard…’
‘Impossible! It is a hideous provocation!’
‘How easily those words leave your mouth, Philippa Eilhart.’ Tissaia de Vries said quietly. ‘But do not worry, your cries have not interrupted the trance. Keep talking, girl.’
‘Emperor Emhyr van Emreis gave the order to answer blow with blow. Nilfgaard armies have entered this morning at dawn Aedirn and Lyria.’
‘So then,’ smiled Tissaia. ‘Our kings have shown themselves to be the intelligent, enlightened and peace-loving rules that they are. And some sorcerers have proven on whose side they are. To those who might have had the foresight avoided a predatory war they have been placed in demeterium chains and have absurd accusations levelled against them…’
‘It is all a lie!’
‘To hell with you all!’ Sabrina Glevissig suddenly shouted. ‘Philippa! What does all this mean? What does this trouble in Dol Angra mean? Did not establish that it shouldn’t start so soon? Why had this fucking Demavend not stopped it? Why is this slut Meve…’
‘Shut up, Sabrina!’
‘Oh no, let her speak.’ Tissaia de Vries raised her head. ‘We speak of the Henselt’s Kaedwen army concentrating on the border. We speak about the soldiers of Foltest of Temeria who surely now has his ships pouring in to the water that had been hidden in the forests of Yaruga. We speak of the special forces under the command of Vizimir of Redania next to the Pontar. Did you think, Philippa that we are deaf and blind?’
‘This is nothing but a bloody provocation! King Vizimir…’
‘King Vizimir,’ the impassive voice of the ashen haired medium interrupted, ‘was murdered last night. Killed by an assassin. Redania no longer has a king.’
‘Redania has long had no king.’ Tissaia de Vries stood. ‘In Redania his majesty has been ruled by Philippa Eilhart, a worthy successor to Raffard the White. Willing to sacrifice tens of thousands of lives to achieve absolute power.’
‘Do not listen!’ Philippa cries. ‘Do not listen to this medium! It is a tool, a mindless tool… Who do you server, Yennefer? Who commanded you to bring this monster here?’
‘I did.’ Tissaia de Vries said.
* * *
‘What happened next? What happened to the girl? With Yennefer?’
‘I don’t know.’ Keira closed her eyes. ‘Tissaia suddenly lifted the blockade. ‘With a spell. I’ve never seen anything like it… We were stunned and blocked, then she released Vilgefortz and the others… and Francesca opened the basement door and Garstang immediately started swarming with Scoia’tael. They were being lead by a monster in Nilfgaardian armour and a winged helmet. They were helped by a man with a scar on his face. He knew how to cast spells. And protected himself with magic…’
‘Rience.’
‘Maybe, I don’t know. It was hot… The ceiling collapsed. Spells and arrows… a massacre… Among them Fercart was killed, among us Drithelm was killed, Radcliffe was killed, Marquard was killed, Rejean and Bianca d’Este… Triss Merigold was injured, Sabrina was wounded… When Tissaia saw the corpses she started to understand her error and tried to protect us, tried to restrain Vilgefortz and Terranova… Vilgefortz ridiculed and mocked her. Then he lost his mind and ran away. Oh, Tissaia… So many dead…’
‘What about the girl and Yennefer?’
‘I don’t know.’ The sorceress was drowning in coughing, spitting blood. She was breathing very slowly and with obvious effort. ‘After one of the row of explosions I lost consciousness for a moment. The one with the scar and his elves had overpowered me. Terranova first kicked me, then threw me out the window.’
‘It’s not just your leg, Keira. You have broken ribs.’
‘Don’t leave me.’
‘I have to. I’ll be back for you.’
‘Sure.’
* * *
At first there was only a chaos of amber, a dark pulse, a tangle of dark and light, a gibbering chorus of voices, which came from afar. Suddenly the voice gathered strength, exploding all around her in booms and noise. The light from the darkness became a fire that devoured carpets and tapestries, sheaves of sparks that seemed to pour from the walls, balustrades and columns that supported the roof.
Ciri choked from the smoke and realized that it was no longer a dream.
She tried to stand up, leaning on her hands. Her fingers touched something wet and she looked down. She was kneeling in a pool of blood. Next to her lay a dead body. The body of an elf. She recognized it instantly.
‘Get up.’
Yennefer was at her side. She had a dagger in one hand.
‘Lady Yennefer… Where are we? I don’t remember anything…’
Swiftly, the sorceress grabbed her hand.
‘I’m with you, Ciri.’
‘Where are we? Why is everything burning? Who is this… this one here?’
‘I told you once, centuries ago, that chaos stretches out its hand after you. Remember? No. You probably don’t remember. The elf reached out his hand for you. I had to kill him with a dagger, because his superiors are hoping that some of us will reveal ourselves using magic. And I will, but I’m not yet fully recovered… Are you fully conscious?’
‘Those sorcerers…’ Ciri whispered. ‘those in the large hall… What did I tell them? And why did I say it? I did not want to… But I had to say it! Why? Why, Lady Yennefer?’
‘Silence, ugly one. I made a mistake. Nobody’s perfect.’
From below came a roar followed by a shriek.
‘Come on. Quickly. We do not have much time.’
They ran down the hallways. The smoke was getting thicker, strangled, chocked and blinded. The wall were shaking from the explosion.
‘Ciri.’ Yennefer stopped at an intersection of corridors and firmly squeezed the girl’s hand. ‘Listen to me now, listen carefully. I have to stay here. See those stairs? Go down them…’
‘No! Don’t leave me alone!’
‘I have to. Again, go down those stairs. All the way down. There will be doors and behind them a long corridor. Down the hall there is a stable where a horse is saddled. Just one. Get it out and you jump on it. It is a well-trained horse, it serves the messengers of Loxia. He knows the way, simple spur him on. When in Loxia, look for Margarita and get under her protection. Do not swerve from it, not one step…’
‘Lady Yennefer! No! I do not want to be alone!’
‘Ciri,’ the sorceress said softly. ‘Once I told you everything I do is for your own good. Please trust me. Run.’
Ciri was already on the stairs when she heard Yennefer’s voice again. The sorceress stood beside a pillar, leaning her forehead against it.
‘I love you, my daughter,’ she said, her voice muffled. ‘Run.’
* * *
They surrounded her in the middle of the stairs. Below her two elves with squirrel tails in their caps, above a man dress in black. Ciri without hesitation jumped the railing and fled down a side corridor. They ran after her. She was faster and would have escaped without effort if it were not for the corridor ending at a window.
She looked through. Along the wall ran a stone ledge, perhaps two spans thick. Ciri went through the window her feet on the ledge. She turned from the window, her back to the wall. In the distance shone the sea.
An elf leaned out the window. He had light hair and green eyes, a velvet scarf was ties aroun
d his neck. Ciri quickly turned away, moving to another window. But the man in the dark suit appeared. He had dark terrible eyes and a red scar across his cheek.
‘We have you, girl!’
She looked down. There, very far away, she could see the courtyard. Above the courtyard, about ten feet below the parapet on which she stood, there was a bridge linking two galleries. Only it was not a bridge. It was the ruins of a bridge. A narrow stone walkway with the remains of a railing.
‘What are you waiting for?’ cried the man with the scar. ‘Get out there and get her!’
‘The fair-haired elf with caution made his way out onto the ledge, he pressed his back against the wall. He reached out his hand. He was close.
Ciri swallowed. The stone bridge, the remainder of the bridge was not narrower that the swing at Kaer Morhen, and she had jumped dozens of times onto the swing, she could absorb the jump and keep her balance. But the witchers swing was only four feet off the ground, while below the stone bridge an abyss that the courtyard tiles seemed smaller than a hand.
She jumped, landed, stumbled but kept her balance by clinging to the broken railing. With safe passage she had reached the gallery. She could not contain herself, she turned around and showed the pursuers a bent elbow, a gesture which had been taught to her by the dwarf, Yarpin Zigrin. Scarface swore loudly.
‘’Jump!’ He shouted at the blond elf standing on the ledge. ‘Jump after her!’
‘You’ve gone mad, Rience.’ said the elf with a cold voice. ‘Jump yourself, if you want her.’
* * *
Luck, as usual, did not accompany her for long. When she left the gallery and slipped behind the wall, among the blackthorns, they grabbed her. He grabbed her and pinned her in an incredibly strong hug, a slightly short, overweight man with a swollen nose and a cut lip.
‘Come here,’ he whispered. ‘Come here, little lamb.’
Ciri writhed and screamed, he has clamped his hands on her shoulders suddenly producing a paroxysm of crippling pain. The man laughed.
‘Do not wiggle, grey sparrow, or you’ll burn your feathers. Let me take a look. Let’s see what it is that makes you worth so much to Emhyr van Emreis, Emperor of Nilfgaard. And for Vilgefortz.’
Ciri ceased to struggle. The short man licked his cut lip.
‘Interesting.’ He hissed, leaning towards her. ‘So valuable you are to me, mind you, I wouldn’t give a sixpence. As well these appearances are deceptive. Ha! My darling! And what if Emhyr gave you as a gift to not Vilgefortz or Rience nor that gallant fellow in the feathered helmet, but to old Terranova? Would Emhyr be so kind to old Terranova? What do you say to that, prophetess? Since you are able to prophesy!’
His breath smelled unbearable. Ciri turned her head, wincing. He got it wrong.
‘Do not give me the beak sparrow! I do not shrink from birds. Or maybe I should? What, false seer? Did I guess wrong? Should I be afraid of birds?’
‘You should,’ whispered Ciri, feeling dizzy in the head and chill that was suddenly rising.
Terranova laughed while throwing back his head. The laughter became a cry of pain. A great gray owl flew down quietly and dug her claws into his eyes. The sorcerer let go of Ciri, and with a rapid motion knocked the owl itself, and soon fell to his knees clutching his face. From between his fingers flowed blood. Ciri screamed and fell back. Terranova withdrew his bloodstained hands from his face which was covered with mucus, he began chanting a spell with a wild piercing cry. He did not have time. Behind him materialized an indistinct shape, a witcher’s sword howled through the air and pierced his neck just below the occiput.
* * *
‘Geralt!’
‘Ciri.’
‘No time for sentimentality,’ said the owl from atop a wall, transforming into a dark haired woman. ‘Run! Squirrels are coming!’
Ciri freed herself from Geralt’s arms, and looked in amazement. The female owl sitting on top of the wall looked terrible. She was charred, scratched, smeared with ashes and blood.
‘You little monster,’ said the owl, looking down from above. ‘For your untimely prophesy I should… But I promised something to your witcher, and I always keep my word. I could not give you Rience, Geralt. In return I give you her. Farewell. Flee!’
* * *
Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach was angry. He had only been able to see for one second the girl he had been ordered to catch, but before he had time to take any action, those sorcerers had transformed Garstang into an inferno that prevented any action. Cahir lost his direction in the smoke and fire, blindly running down halls, stairs and galleries, cursing Vilgefortz to Rience, himself and the world.
From an elf he learned that the girl had been seen outside the palace, on her way to escaping to Aretuza. And then luck smiled on Cahir. The Scoia’tael found a horse saddled in the sable.
* * *
‘Run ahead, Ciri. They are close. I will stop them, and you run. Run with all your might! Like in the slaughterhouse!’
‘Do you want to leave me alone?’
‘I’ll go after you, But do not look back!’
‘Give me my sword, Geralt.’
He looked at her, Ciri felt self conscious. She had never seen eyes like those.
‘With a sword, you may have to kill. Can you?’
‘I don’t know. Give me the sword.’
‘Run. And don’t look back’
* * *
Horse’s hooves rang on the road. Ciri looked back. And she was paralysed with fear.
The knight in pursuit wore black armour with a helmet adorned with wings of a bird of prey. The wings rustled, waving wildly. Horseshoes created sparks on the cobblestones of the road.
Ciri was unable to move.
The black horse broke through the roadside bushes, the knight gave a loud cry. In that cry was Cintra, a night of murder, blood and fire. Ciri overcame her overwhelming fear and rushed to escape. With momentum she jumped over a fence, falling into a small courtyard with a pond and fountain. There was no way out of the yard, all about rose high smooth walls. The horse snorted almost behind her. Ciri fell back, stumbled and shuddered at finding her back against a hard, unmoveable wall. She was trapped.
A bird of prey flapped its wings and flew away. The black knight made his horse rear, jumped the fence separating him from the courtyard. The hooves echoed on the flagstones, the horse slipped and dove, sitting on its haunches. The knight reeled in the saddle, tipped. The horse rose and the knight feel, causing a crash as his armour hit the stones. He, however, rose immediately and moved quickly towards Ciri, who was squeezed into a corner.
‘Don’t touch me!’ She shouted, drawing her sword. ‘I will never let you touch me again!’
The knight approached slowly, looming above her like a huge black tower.
The wings on his helmet shook and rustled.
‘You will not escape me now, young lion of Cintra.’ Through the visor of the helmet his eyes burned mercilessly. ‘Not this time. This time you have no escape, my wild lady.’
‘Do not touch me,’ she repeated, her voice choked with horror, her back pressed against the stone wall.
‘I have to. I’m following orders.’
When he reached out, fear suddenly disappeared; in its place was a wild rage. Tense muscles that had been paralysed with fear, sprang into action, all the moves she had learned in Kaer Morhen performed by themselves, smoothly and seamlessly. Ciri jumped, the knight rushed at her, but was not prepared for a pirouette, that without effort, took her out of reach of his hands. Her sword howled and bit, hitting safely on his plate armour. The knight staggered and fell to one knee, from under his pauldron a trickle of bright red blood appeared. Screaming with rage, Ciri circled him again with a pirouette, she struck again, this time directly to the top of his helmet, the knight fell on his other knee. Rage and fury blinded her completely; she could see nothing but hateful wings. A shower of black feathers, a wing fell off, the other hung on the bloody pauldron. The knight, still
vainly trying to rise from his knees, tried to stop the sword with his armoured glove, he groaned painfully, when the witcher’s blade cut the mesh and hand. For her next blow to the helmet, Ciri jumped to gain momentum for the last murderous blow.
She did not strike.
There was no black helmet, no wings of a bird of prey, whose sound had pursued her in her nightmares. He was no longer the Black Knight of Cintra. Instead there was a pale dark-haired young man writhing in a pool of blood, a young man with blue eyes and his mouth twisted into a grimace of terror. The Black Knight of Cintra had fallen under the blows of her sword, had ceased to exist, the wings that caused her to be afraid were no more than limp feathers. The frightened boy, bent over, vomiting blood, was nothing. She did not know him, had never seen him before. She did not care. She as not afraid of him, did not hate him. She did not want to kill him.
She threw her sword on the ground.
She turned around, hearing the screams from the Scoia’tael running from Garstang. She realised that in a moment they would surround the courtyard. She realised that they would catch her on the road. She had to be faster than them. She ran to the black horse, who was stamping its hooves on the flagstones and galloped off with a cry, leaping into the saddle as she ran.
* * *
‘Leave me alone…’ Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach groaned to the elves trying to lift him, pushing himself up with his good hand. ‘I’m all right! It’s a small wound… after her. After the girl…’
One of the elves cried, splattering blood across Cahir’s face. Another Scoia’tael staggered and fell to his knees, holding both of his hands to his belly, were it had been torn open. The others fell back, dispersing across the courtyard with swords drawn.
A white-haired monster attacked them. He jumped from the wall. From a height it was impossible to jump without breaking a leg. It was impossible to land softly, turning a pirouette that blurred to the eye and killing a split second later. But the white-haired monster did it. And he began to kill.
Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 03] Page 19