Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 03]

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

  Geralt was silent.

  ‘As we are at disgusting symbols, Dandelion,’ he asked after a moment, ‘what did the sorcerers think? I mean those from the Council and Chapter?’

  ‘None remained with Demavend,’ answered the poet. ‘Foltest, on the other hand, banished all of the mages that served him from Temeria. Phillipa is in Tretogor, she helps queen Hedwig with the turmoil that is still in Redania. Triss and three others whose names I can‘t remember are with her. A few sorcerers are in Kaedwen, many fled to Kovir and Hengfors. Many chose neutrality, because Esterad Thyssen and Medamir are, as you know, still neutral.’

  ‘I know. And Vilgefortz? And those who were with him?’

  ‘Vilgefortz disappeared. It was expected that he would show up in the conquered Aedirn as the Emhyr governor. But no one has seen him or heard of him. Of him, or his companions. Except…’

  ‘Speak, Dandelion.’

  ‘Except one sorceress. She became queen…’

  * * *

  Filavandrel aep Fidhail silently waited for his answer. The queen, looking out of a window, was also silent. The window lead into a garden, one that was until recently the pride of the previous ruler of Dol Blathanna, a governor of the tyrant of Vengenberg. Fleeing from the Free Elves, marching as the vanguard of the imperial armies, the governor took most valuables from the ancient elven castle, even part of the furniture. But he could not steal the garden – so he destroyed it.

  ‘No, Filavandrel,’ the queen finally answered his question. ‘It is too soon for that, too soon. We should not think about expanding our borders, for we dont even safely know where they are now. Henselt of Kaedwen stands on the shores of Dyfne. The scouts report that he still hasnt stopped thinking about possible aggresion. He could attack us any day.’

  ‘So we have not accomplished anything.’

  The queen slowly stretched her hand. A Small Tortoiseshell, that entered through the window, sat down on her laced sleeve, folded and unfolded its colorful wings.

  ‘We have accomplished more,’ reminded the queen very silently, as to not frighten the butterfly ‘that we could have hoped. After a hundred years we finally have our Valley of Flowers back…’

  ‘I would not call it like that,’ smiled Filavandrel bitterly. ‘After the march of the army, its more like the Valley of Ashes.’

  ‘We have our own land again,’ the queen answered and carefully inspected the butterfly. ‘We are a nation again, and not exiles. And ashes fertilize the land, the Valley will bloom once again in spring.’

  ‘That is little, Daisy, very little. We have become modest. Only recently, we boasted that we would push the humans to the seas, from where they came. And now he limited our lands and ambition only on Dol Blathanna.’

  ‘Emhyr Deithwen gave us Dol Blathanna as a gift. What do you expect me to do Filavandrel? Should I demand more? Do not forget, that in accepting gifts we have to have a certain degree of gratitude. Especially when it is Emhyr’s gifts, for the Emperor never gives anything for free. The land he gave us, we have to keep. The powers that we have, are just enough to defend Dol Blathanna.’

  ‘We will pull out the commandos from Temeria, Redania and Kaedwen,’ advised the whitehaired elf. ‘Lets call all Scoia’tael fighting the humans. You are their queen now, Enid, they will obey you. Now, that we have our own land, their fight lost its meaning. Their duty is to come back and protect the Valley of Flowers. Let them fight as a free nation protecting their country. For now, they are dying in forests like bandits.’

  The elf’s head sank.

  ‘Emhyr will not allow it,’ she whispered. ‘The commandos are to continue fighting.’

  ‘Why? What for?’ straightened suddenly Filavandrel aep Fidhail.

  ‘I will tell you more. It is forbidden for us to support and help them. That was Foltest’s and Henselt’s condition. Temeria and Kaedwen will respect our authority in Dol Blathanna, but only if we officially condemn the actions if the Squirrels and terminate all connections.’

  ‘ Those children are dying, Daisy. They are dying each day, dying in an unfair battle. After the hidden contracts with Emhyr, the people will turn on them and crush them. After all, they are our children, our future! Our blood! And you are telling me, we have to terminate all our connections. Que’ss aen me dicette, Enid? Vorsaeke’llan? Aen vaine?’

  The butterfly fluttered its wings, rose and flew to the window, where the flow on hot air carried it away. Francesca Findabair called Enid an Gleanna, formerly a sorceress, now the queen of Aen Seidhe, the Free Elves, looked up. In her beautiful blue eyes, tears glistened.

  ‘The commandos,’ she said silently, ‘must continue the war. They have to trouble the human kingdoms, make their preparations for war more difficult. That is Emhyr’s order. I cannot stand against the Emperor. Forgive me Filavandrel.’

  ‘Filavandrel aep Fidhail looked at her and bowed deeply.

  ‘I forgive you Enid. But I do not know, if they will too.’

  * * *

  ‘Not one of the sorcerers changed their mind? Not even when Nilfgaard was beating and burning Aedirn, no one abandoned Vilgefortz and joined Phillipa?’

  ‘No one’

  Geralt was silent for a long time.

  ‘I dont believe it,’ he said finally very silently. ‘I dont believe that none would reject Vilgefortz, when his true motives and consequences for his betrayal came to light. I am, as is known, a naive, stupid, anachronistic witcher. Perhaps that is why I cannot believe that none of the mages conscience awakened.’

  * * *

  Tissaia de Vries put her trained decorative signature under the last sentece of the letter. After some thinking, she added an ideogram telling her true name. A name, that no one these days knew. A name, she has not used for a long, long time. From the time, she became a sorceress.

  Lark.

  She put down the pen. Very carefully, straight, exactly across the written sheet of parchment. For a long time she sat motionless, looking at the red ball of the setting sun. Then she stood up. She went to the window. For some time, she looked at the house roofs.Houses, in which ordinary people were going to sleep, tired from their ordinary human lives and work, full of ordinary human fears of what awaits them, what will happen tommorow. The sorceress looked at the message on the table. A message for ordinary people. The fact, that most ordinary people could not read, was not important.

  She stood in front of the mirror. She adjusted her hair. Adjusted her clothes. Blew a nonexistent speck from her puffed sleeve. Adjusted her necklace of spinel over her neckline.

  The candles under the mirror were not on their places. A maid must have touched them while cleaning the room. The maid – an ordinary woman. An ordinary person with eyes full of fear, of what would happen. An ordinary person, lost in the times of contempt. An ordinary person looking for hope and assurance in her, in a sorceress…

  An ordinary person, whose trust she did not fulfill.

  From the streets, an echo of steps came to her, of heavy military steps. Tissaia de Vries did not do a single motion, did not turn her head to the window. She did not care whose steps it were. The royal guard? The judge with the order to arrest the traitress? Assassins? Vilgefortz men? She did not care.

  The steps grew quiet in the streets.

  The candles under the mirror were not in the right place. The sorceress arranged them, arranged the position of the tablecloth, so that its corner fell exactly in the middle of the table edge and was parallel with the square candlestand. She pulled her golden armbands from her wrists and put them on the smooth tablecloth. She looked at everything with her critical eyes, but did not find any error. Everything was perfect, exactly, as it should be.

  She opened a shelf of a dresser and took out a short scalpel with a bone handle.

  Her face was hard and motionless. Dead.

  The house was silent. So silent that one could hear the petal of a fading Tulip fall on the table.

  The sun, red as blood, slowly set behind the
roofs.

  Archmistress Tissaia de Vries sat down on her chair, blew out the candles, arranged the postion of the pen on the parchment for one last time, then cut the wrists on both of her hands.

  * * *

  The fatigue from the all day travel showed. Dandelion suddenly woke up and realized, that he probably fell asleep while talking. He moved a bit and rolled from the heap of branches; Geralt was not laying next to him and their night-lying area lost balance.

  ‘Where did…’ he sat down and cleared his throat. ‘Where did I stop? Ah, at the mages… Geralt? Where are you?’

  ‘Here’ said the invisible witcher out of the darkness. ‘Continue please. You were about to talk about Yennefer.’

  ‘Listen,’ answered the bard, that perfectly knew, that he will not mention even a word about that person concerned. ‘I really dont…’

  ‘Dont lie. I know you.’

  ‘If you know me that well,’ said the bard angrily, ‘why the hell are you forcing me to talk. You know me like a gappy penny, you must know why I was silent, why why did not repeat overheard gossip! You must know what kind of gossip they are and why I want to spare you from them!

  ‘Que suecc’s?’ reacted one of the sleepy dryads on his raised voice.

  ‘I am sorry,’ said the witcher silently.

  The Brokilonian Lamps faded, only a few green lights remained.

  ‘Geralt,’ interrupted Dandelion the silence. ‘You always said, that you stand aside, you dont care about anything… She could have believed it. Perhaps she believed it when she took part in Vilgefortz game…’

  ‘Enough,’ stopped him Geralt. ‘Not a word more. If I hear the word game, Im in the mood to choke someone. Ech, better give me your razor, I want to shave finally.’

  ‘Now? Its still dark…’

  ‘It is never too dark for me. Im a mutant.’

  The witcher ripped the pack with toilet needs from his hands and went to the well. Dandelion found out, that sleepiness had completely left him. The sky was getting brighter, dawn grew near. He stood up and walked under the trees, carefully avoiding the sleeping, cuddling dryads

  ‘Do you belong to those, who caused it?’

  He sharply turned around. The dryad leaning on the pine had hair the color of silver, he could see that even in twilight.

  ‘An unpleasant view,’ she said and crossed her hands on her chest. ‘The one, who lost everything. It is interesting, bard, because I once though that one can never lose everything, that something always has to remain. Always. Even in the times of contempt, where naivety can take revenge in the cruelest way, one cannot lose everything. And he… He lost a lot of blood, the option of healthy walking, partial movement of his left hand, a witchers sword, the woman he loves, the daughter he miraculously found, confidence, faith… I told myself, that there had to be something he had not lost. But I was wrong, he has nothing, not even that razor.’

  Dandelion didnt say anything, The dryad didnt move.

  ‘I asked, if you also took part in it.’ she said after a while. ‘Perhaps my question was pointless. Obviously, it is also your fault. If someone has friends, but still loses everything, they are also guilty. For what they did, or did not. Guilty for not knowing, what they had to do.’

  ‘What could I have done?’ he whispered silently. ‘What could I have changed?’

  ‘I dont know,’ answered the dryad.

  ‘I didnt tell him everything…’

  ‘That I know.’

  ‘Im not guilty.’

  ‘But you are.’

  ‘No! Im not!

  He jumped up, the branches of their improvised bed cracked. Geralt was sitting next to him and wiped his face. He smelled of soap.

  ‘You are not?’ he asked. ‘What did you imagine? That you are a frog prince? Calm down, you are not. That you are a braggart? In that case, it may have been a precognitive dream.’

  Dandelion looked around. They were alone.

  ‘Where… Where are they?’

  ‘In the outskirts of the forest. Pack up, your time has come.

  ‘Geralt, a moment ago I talked to a dryad. She talked common without an accent. She told me…’

  ‘No dryad in this squad talks common without accent. You imagined something, Dandelion. This is Brokilon, here you can see all kinds of stuff.’

  * * *

  On the outskirts of the forest, one single dryad awaited them. Dandelion recognized her immediately, it was the one with green hair that brough them the light and wanted him to sing more yesterday night. She raised her hand for them to stop. In her second hand, she held a bow and strung arrow. Geralt put his hand on the bards shoulder and pressed strongly.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ asked silently Dandelion.

  ‘Of couse. Be silent and dont move.’

  The thick mist over the Ribbon muffled voices and sounds, but not enough, as Dandelion heard splashes and snuffling of horses. Riders were wading through the river.

  ‘Elves’ he figured. ‘Scoia’tael. They are running to Brokilon to hide right? A whole commando…’

  ‘No’ said Geralt, looking at the mist. The poet knew that the witchers senses were incredibly sharp and sensitive, although even he could not tell whether he was using sight or hearing. ‘That is no commando, only those who remain. Five or six riders, three additional horses. Stay here Dandelion, Im going there.’

  ‘Gar’ean,’ warned the green-haired dryad and raised her bow. ‘N’te va, Gwynbleidd! Ki’rin!’

  ‘Thaess aep, Fauve,’ interrupted the the witcher unexpectedly harshly. Aespar que va’en, ell’ea? Help yourself, shoot. If not be silent and dont try to scare me off. Nothing will make me afraid anymore. I have to talk to Milwa Barring and I will do it, whether you like it or not! Wait here, Dandelion.’

  The dryad dipped her head. And her bow.

  Nine horses emerged from the mist. Dandelion noticed, that truly only six of them had riders. He recognized indistinct forms of dryads, abandoning the undergrowth and going towards them. He noticed, that three riders needed help dismounting and had to be supported, so that could reach the hideout of Brokilonian trees. Other dryads ran into the mist and disappeared like ghosts. From the other shore, sounds of cries, whinning of horses and splashing water could be heard after a while. He had the feeling he also heard the whiz of arrows, but he was not sure.

  ‘They were followed…’ he let out a sigh. Fauve turned to him. Her fingers still held her bow.

  ‘Sing a song, taedh’ she hissed. ‘N’te shaent a’minne, not about Ettariel. Not love. No time. Now it is time to kill, so. Sing such a song, so!’

  ‘I, I,’ he stuttered, ‘I did not cause what is happening…’

  The greenhaired was silent for a while and looked away.

  ‘I did not either,’ she said and disappeared into the undergrowth.

  The witcher returned after about an hour. He led two saddled horses - Pegas and a brown mare. On the mare were bloodstains.

  ‘That is an elven horse eh? Of those who came through the river?’

  ‘Yes’ confirmed Geralt. His face was motionless and his voice was alien. ‘That is an elven mare. I will take her. Once I have the opportunity, I will trade her for a horse, that knows how to carry a wounded man, and if the wounded falls, stays with him. They did not teach that to this mare.’

  ‘Are we leaving?’

  ‘You are leaving,’ the witcher handed Dandelion his reins. ‘Farewell, Dandelion. The dryads will accompany you two miles upstream and there you can go, and not fall into the hands of the Brugge mercanaries, that still could be waiting on the other shore.’

  ‘And you? Will you stay here?’

  ‘No, I wont.’

  ‘You learned something? From the Squirells? Something about Ciri?’

  ‘Good luck, Dandelion.’

  ‘Geralt! Listen…’

  ‘What should I listen to?’ shouted the witcher and his voice broke. ‘I cant… I cant just leave her to her destiny. She is alone… She
must not be alone, Dandelion! You cannot understand that. No one understands but I know… If she is alone, the same thing will happen as before… What once happened to me… You dont understand…’

  ‘I understand. Thats why Im going with you.’

  ‘Are you insane? Do you know where Im heading?’

  ‘I know Geralt, I… I didnt tell you everything, I… I feel guilty. I didnt do anything, I did not know what to do… But now I know. I will go with you. Im your friend. I did not tell you… about Ciri, about the gossip I heard. I met friends from Kovir, that heard with their own ears the messages, that came from Nilfgaard,,, I figure that those messages may have reached the Squirells. That you already know everything from the elves that came through the Ribbon. But allow… that it will be me… that tell you everything…’

  The witcher stood with his head and clueless hands hanging.

  ‘Jump on your horse,’ he finally said with a resignated voice. ‘You will tell me on the way.’

  * * *

  That morning, an unusual excitement reigned over castle Loc Grim, the summer residence of the Emperor. Even more unusual because all excitement and impatience surely did not belong to the customs of the Nilfgaardian nobility and all expressions of impatience and excitement were regarded as inmature. Similar behaviour was regarded as punishable by the Nilfgaardian aristocracy, that even the inmature youth was ahshamed of it, and for them, excitement and inmature feelings were natural and excusable.

  That morning on Loc Grim, no youth was present, they had no place here. The great throne room was filled by serious and stern magnates, squires and knights, all dressed in ceremonial court black, like one man, refreshed only by white collars and cuffs. The men were accompanied by equally serious and stern ladies, whom customs allowed to decorate their black dresses with jewelry. All showed dignity, seriousnes and strictness. But in truth, they were incredibly excited.