The Saga of the Witcher

by Andrzej Sapkowski

  ‘The end justifies the means,’ Emhyr said dully. ‘What I’m doing, I’m doing for posterity. To save the world.’

  ‘If the world is to be saved like that—’ the Witcher lifted his head ‘—it would be better for it to perish. Believe me, Duny, it’d be better if it perished.’

  ‘You’re pale,’ Emhyr var Emreis said, almost gently. ‘Don’t get so excited, for you are liable to faint.’

  He moved away from the wardrobe, selected a chair and sat down. The Witcher’s head was indeed spinning.

  ‘The Iron Urcheon,’ the emperor began calmly and quietly, ‘was to be a way of forcing my father to collaborate with the usurper. It was after the coup. My father, the overthrown emperor, was in prison and being tortured. He couldn’t be broken, so another way was tried. A sorcerer hired by the usurper changed me into a monster in front of my father’s eyes. The sorcerer added a little something on his own initiative. Namely humour. Eimyr in our language means an “urcheon”, an old name for a hedgehog.

  ‘My father didn’t allow himself to be broken and so they murdered him. I, meanwhile, was released into a forest amidst mockery and scorn, and dogs were set on me. I survived. I wasn’t hunted too seriously, for it wasn’t known that the sorcerer had botched his work, and that my human form returned at night. Fortunately, I knew several people of whose loyalty I could be certain. And at that time I was, for your information, thirteen.

  ‘I had to flee the country. And the fact that I ought to search for a cure to the spell in the North, beyond the Marnadal Stairs, was read in the stars by a slightly crazy astrologer by the name of Xarthisius. Later, when I was emperor, I gave him a tower and apparatus for that. At that time, he had to work on borrowed equipment.

  ‘You know, it’s a waste of time getting bogged down in what happened in Cintra. I deny, however, that it supposedly had anything to do with Vilgefortz. Firstly, I didn’t know him then, and secondly I had a strong aversion to mages. Even today I don’t like them, actually. Ah, while I remember: when I regained the throne I caught up with the sorcerer who had served the usurper and tortured me in front of my father’s eyes. I also displayed a sense of humour. The mage’s name was Braathens, and in our language that sounds almost the same as “fried”.

  ‘Enough digressions, though, let’s get back to the matter at hand. Vilgefortz visited me secretly in Cintra, shortly after Ciri’s birth. He passed himself off as a trusted friend of people in Nilfgaard who were still loyal to me and had conspired against the usurper. He offered help and soon proved to be capable of helping. When, still mistrustful, I asked about his motives, he bluntly declared he was counting on gratitude. For the favours, privileges and power he would be given by the great Emperor of Nilfgaard. Meaning me. A powerful ruler who would govern half the world. Who would beget an heir who would govern half the world. He intended to rise high himself – or so he declared, without inhibition – at the side of those great rulers. Here he took out some scrolls bound with snake skin and commended the contents to my attention.

  ‘Thus I learned of the prophecy. I learned about the fate of the world and the universe. I found out what I had to do. And came to the conclusion that the end justifies the means.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘My affairs were prospering in Nilfgaard, meanwhile.’ Emhyr ignored the sarcasm. ‘My partisans were gaining more and more influence. Finally, having a group of front line officers and a corps of cadets, they decided to launch a coup d’état. I was needed for that, nonetheless. Me myself. The rightful heir to the throne and crown of the empire, a rightful Emreis with the blood of the Emreises. I was to be something akin to the standard of the revolution. Just between us, plenty of the revolutionaries cherished the hope that I would be nothing more than that. Those among them who are still alive cannot get over it to this day.

  ‘But, as has been said before, let us leave the digressions. I had to return to home. The time came for Duny, the false prince of Maecht and the phoney duke of Cintra, to demand his inheritance. I hadn’t forgotten about the prophecy, however. I had to return with Ciri. And Calanthe was keeping a weather eye on me.’

  ‘She never trusted you.’

  ‘I know. I think she knew something about that prediction. And would have done anything to hamper me, and in Cintra I was in her power. It was clear: I had to return to Nilfgaard, but in a way that no one could guess that I was Duny and Ciri was my daughter. Vilgefortz suggested a way. Duny, Pavetta and their child had to die. Vanish without trace.’

  ‘In a staged shipwreck.’

  ‘That’s right. During the voyage from Skellige to Cintra, Vilgefortz was to pull the ship into a magical whirlpool over the Sedna Abyss. Pavetta, Ciri and I were supposed to have previously locked ourselves in a specially secured lifeboat and survive. And the crew—’

  ‘Were meant not to survive,’ finished the Witcher. ‘And that’s how your ruthless path began.’

  Emhyr var Emreis said nothing for some time.

  ‘It began earlier,’ he finally said, and his voice was soft. ‘Regrettably. At the moment it turned out Ciri wasn’t on board.’

  Geralt raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Unfortunately, I hadn’t appreciated Pavetta in my planning.’ The emperor’s face didn’t express anything. ‘That melancholy wench with her permanently lowered eyes had seen through me and my plans. She had sent the child ashore in secret before the anchor was weighed. I fell into a fury. As she did. She had an attack of hysteria. During the struggle . . . she fell overboard. Before I could dive after her, Vilgefortz had drawn the ship into his maelstrom. I hit my head against something and lost consciousness. I survived by a miracle, entangled in the ropes. I came to, covered in bandages. I had a broken arm.’

  ‘I wonder how a man feels after murdering his wife,’ the Witcher said coldly.

  ‘Lousy,’ replied Emhyr without delay. ‘I felt and I feel lousy and bloody shabby. Even the fact that I never loved her doesn’t change that. The end justifies the means, yet I sincerely do regret her death. I didn’t want it or plan it. Pavetta died by accident.’

  ‘You’re lying,’ Geralt said dryly, ‘and that doesn’t befit an emperor. Pavetta could not live. She had unmasked you. And would never have let you do what you wanted to do to Ciri.’

  ‘She would have lived,’ Emhyr retorted. ‘Somewhere . . . far away. There are enough castles . . . Darn Rowan, for instance. I couldn’t have killed her.’

  ‘Even for an end that was justified by the means?’

  ‘One can always find a less drastic means.’ The emperor wiped his face. ‘There are always plenty of them.’

  ‘Not always,’ said the Witcher, looking him in the eyes. Emhyr avoided his gaze.

  ‘That’s exactly what I thought,’ Geralt said, nodding. ‘Finish your story. Time’s passing.’

  ‘Calanthe guarded little Ciri like the apple of her eye. I couldn’t even have dreamed of kidnapping her. My relations with Vilgefortz had cooled considerably, and I still had a dislike of other mages . . . But my military men and aristocracy were urging me hard towards war, towards an attack on Cintra. They vouched that the people were demanding it, that the people wanted living space, that listening to the vox populi would be a kind of imperial test. I decided to kill two birds with one stone. By capturing both Cintra and Ciri in one go. You know the rest.’

  ‘I do,’ Geralt nodded. ‘Thank you for the conversation, Duny. I’m grateful that you were willing to devote your time to me. But I cannot delay any longer. I am very tired. I watched the death of my friends who followed me here to the end of the world. They came to rescue your daughter. Not even knowing her. Apart from Cahir, none of them even knew Ciri. But they came here to rescue her. For there was something in her that was decent and noble. And what happened? They found death. I consider that unjust. And if anyone wants to know, I don’t agree with it. Because a story where the decent ones die and the scoundrels live and carry on doing what they want is full of shit. I don’t have any more str
ength, Emperor. Summon your men.’

  ‘Witcher—’

  ‘The secret has to die with those who know it. You said it yourself. You don’t have a choice. It’s not true that you have plenty of them. I’ll escape from any prison. I’ll take Ciri from you. There’s no price I wouldn’t pay to take her away. As you well know.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘You can let Yennefer live. She doesn’t know the secret.’

  ‘She would pay any price to rescue Ciri,’ Emhyr said gravely. ‘And avenge your death.’

  ‘True,’ the Witcher nodded. ‘Indeed, I’d forgotten how much she loves Ciri. You’re right, Duny. Well, you can’t run from destiny. I have a request.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let me say goodbye to them both. Then I’ll be at your disposal.’

  Emhyr stood by the window, staring at the mountain peaks.

  ‘I cannot decline you. But—’

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell Ciri anything. I’d be harming her by telling her who you are. And I couldn’t harm her.’

  Emhyr said nothing for a long time, still turned towards the window.

  ‘Perhaps I do have a debt to you.’ He turned on his heel. ‘So hear what I will offer you in payment. Long, long ago, in former times, when people still had honour, pride and dignity, when they valued their word, and were only afraid of shame, it happened that persons of honour, when sentenced to death, and to escape the shameful hand of the executioner, would enter a bath of hot water and open their veins. Is it possible—?’

  ‘Order the bath filled.’

  ‘Is it possible,’ the emperor calmly continued, ‘that Yennefer might wish to accompany you in that bath?’

  ‘I’m almost certain of it. But you must ask. She has quite a rebellious nature.’

  ‘I know.’

  *

  Yennefer agreed at once.

  ‘The circle is closed,’ she added, looking down at her wrists. ‘The serpent Ouroboros has sunk its teeth into its own tail.’

  *

  ‘I don’t understand!’ Ciri hissed like an infuriated cat. ‘I don’t understand why I have to go with him. Where to? What for?’

  ‘Daughter,’ Yennefer said softly. ‘This, and no other, is your destiny. Understand that it simply can’t be otherwise.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Our destiny awaits us.’ Yennefer looked at Geralt. ‘This is the way it has to be. Come here, my daughter. Hug me tightly.’

  ‘They want to murder you, don’t they? I don’t agree! I’ve only just got you back! It’s not fair!’

  ‘He who lives by the sword,’ Emhyr var Emreis said softly, ‘dies by the sword. They fought against me and lost. But they lost with dignity.’

  Ciri was standing before him in three strides, and Geralt silently sucked in air. He heard Yennefer’s gasp. Dammit, he thought, everybody can see it! All his black—uniformed army can see what can’t be hidden! The same posture, the same sparkling eyes, the same grimace. Arms crossed on the chest identically. Fortunately, extremely fortunately, she inherited her ashen hair from her mother. But anyhow, when you scrutinise them, it’s clear whose blood . . .

  ‘But you won,’ said Ciri, glaring at him passionately. ‘You won. And do you think it was with dignity?’

  Emhyr var Emreis didn’t reply. He just smiled, eyeing the girl with a clearly contented gaze. Ciri clenched her teeth.

  ‘So many have died. So many people have died because of all this. Did they lose with dignity? Is death dignified? Only a beast could think like that. Though I looked on death from close up it wasn’t possible to turn me into a beast. And it won’t be possible.’

  He didn’t answer. He looked at her, and it seemed he was drinking her in with his gaze.

  ‘I know what you’re plotting,’ she hissed, ‘Know what you want to do with me. And I’ll tell you right now: I won’t let you touch me. And if you . . . If you . . . I’ll kill you. Even tied up. When you fall asleep I’ll tear your throat out with my teeth.’

  With a rapid gesture, the imperator quietened the rumble gathering among the officers surrounding them.

  ‘What is destined, shall be,’ he drawled, not taking his eyes off Ciri. ‘Say goodbye to your friends, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon.’

  Ciri looked at the Witcher. Geralt shook his head. The girl sighed.

  She and Yennefer hugged and whispered for a long time. Then Ciri went closer to Geralt.

  ‘Pity,’ she said quietly. ‘Things were looking more promising.’

  ‘Much more.’

  They hugged each other.

  ‘Be brave.’

  ‘He won’t have me,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll escape from him. I have a way—’

  ‘You may not kill him. Remember, Ciri. You may not.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I wasn’t thinking about killing at all. You know, Geralt, I’ve had enough of killing. There’s been too much of it.’

  ‘Too much. Farewell, Witcher Girl.’

  ‘Farewell, Witcher.’

  ‘Just don’t cry.’

  ‘Easier said than done.’

  *

  Emhyr var Emreis, Imperator of Nilfgaard, accompanied Yennefer and Geralt all the way to the bathroom. Almost to the edge of a large, marble pool, full of steaming, fragrant water.

  ‘Farewell,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to hurry. I’m going, but I’m leaving people here who I shall instruct and to whom I shall issue orders. When you’re ready, just call, and a lieutenant will give you a knife. But I repeat: you don’t have to hurry.’

  ‘We appreciate your favour,’ Yennefer nodded gravely. ‘Your Imperial Majesty?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Please, as far as possible, don’t harm my daughter. I wouldn’t want to die with the thought that she’s crying.’

  Emhyr was silent for a long time. A very long time. Leaning against a window. With his head turned away.

  ‘Madam Yennefer,’ he finally answered, and his face was very strange. ‘You may be certain I shall not harm your and Witcher Geralt’s daughter. I’ve trampled human bodies and danced on the barrows of my foes. And I thought I was capable of anything. But what you suspect me of, I simply wouldn’t be capable of doing. I know it now. So I thank you both. Farewell.’

  He went out, quietly closing the door behind him. Geralt sighed.

  ‘Shall we undress?’ He glanced at the steaming pool. ‘The thought that they’ll haul me out of here as a naked corpse doesn’t especially delight me.’

  ‘And, can you believe it, to me it’s all the same.’ Yennefer threw off her slippers and unfastened her dress with swift movements. ‘Even if it’s my last bath, I’m not going to bathe in my clothes.’

  She pulled her blouse over her head and entered the pool, energetically splashing water around.

  ‘Well, Geralt? Why are you standing there like a statue?’

  ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful you are.’

  ‘You forget easily. Come on, into the water.’

  When he sat down beside her she immediately threw her arms around his neck. He kissed her, stroking her waist, above and below the water.

  ‘Is it,’ he asked for form’s sake, ‘an appropriate time?’

  ‘Any time,’ she muttered, putting a hand under the water and touching him, ‘is the right time for this. Emhyr repeated twice that we don’t have to hurry. What would you prefer to spend doing during the last minutes given to you? Weeping and wailing? That’s undignified, isn’t it? Examining your conscience? That’s banal and stupid, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘So what did you mean?’

  ‘The cuts will be painful if the water cools down,’ he murmured, caressing her breasts.

  ‘It’s worth paying in pain—’ Yennefer put her other hand in the water ‘—for pleasure. Are you afraid of pain?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Neither am I. Sit on the edge of the pool. I love you, but I’m not bloody going to do it underwa
ter.’

  *

  ‘Oh my, oh my,’ said Yennefer, tilting her head back so that her hair, damp from the steam, spread over the edge like little black vipers. ‘Oh my . . . oh.’

  *

  ‘I love you, Yen.’

  ‘I love you, Geralt.’

  ‘It’s time. We’ll call them.’

  ‘We’ll call them.’

  They called. First the Witcher called, and then Yennefer called. Then, not having heard any reaction, they yelled in unison.

  ‘Now! We’re ready! Give us that knife! Heeey! Dammit! The water’s cooling down!’

  ‘Get out of there,’ said Ciri, peeping into the bathroom. ‘They’ve all gone.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m telling you. They’ve gone. Apart from us three there isn’t a living soul here. Get dressed. You look awfully funny in the nude.’

  *

  As they were dressing, their hands began to tremble. Both Geralt’s and Yennefer’s. They had great difficulty coping with the hooks and eyes, clasps and buttons. Ciri was jabbering away.

  ‘They rode away. Just like that. All of them, as many as there were of them. They took everyone from here, mounted their horses and rode away. As fast as they could.’

  ‘Didn’t they leave anybody?’

  ‘Nobody at all.’

  ‘That’s staggering,’ whispered Geralt. ‘It’s staggering.’

  ‘Has anything happened—’ Yennefer cleared her throat ‘—to explain it?’

  ‘No,’ Ciri quickly replied. ‘Nothing.’

  She was lying.

  *

  At first she put on a brave front. Erect, with head haughtily raised and stony-faced, she pushed away the gloved hands of the black-cloaked knights, looking boldly and defiantly at the menacing nose-guards and visors of their helmets. They didn’t touch her any longer, particularly since they were stopped from doing so by the growl of an officer, a broad-shouldered soldier with silver braid and a white heron-feather plume.