‘Be clearer, Carduin!’
‘I’m not hanging around here talking! I’m fleeing to Loxia, and from there I’m going to teleport to Kovir. Everyone in Garstang can go ahead and slaughter each other! It’s all meaningless now! It’s war! This mayhem was concocted by Philippa to allow the kings to start a war with Nilfgaard! Meanwhile Meve of Lyria and Demavend of Aedirn have provoked Nilfgaard! Do you understand that?’
‘No,’ said Geralt. ‘And we don’t want to understand it. Where’s Yennefer?’
‘Stop it, you two!’ screamed Marti Södergren, attending to Dorregaray. ‘Help me! Hold him! I can’t pull the arrow out!’
They helped her. Dorregaray groaned and trembled, and then the steps shook. At first Geralt thought it was the magic of Marti’s healing spells. But it was Garstang. The stained-glass windows suddenly exploded and flames could be seen flickering inside the palace. Smoke was billowing out.
‘They’re still fighting,’ said Carduin, grinding his teeth. ‘It’s hot down there, one spell after another . . .’
‘Spells? In Garstang? But there’s an anti-magic aura there!’
‘It was Tissaia’s doing. She suddenly decided whose side she was on. She took down the blockade, removed the aura and neutralised the dimeritium. Then everyone went for each other! Vilgefortz and Terranova on one side, Philippa and Sabrina on the other . . . The columns cracked and the vaulting collapsed . . . And then Francesca opened the entrance to the cellars, and those elven devils suddenly leapt out . . . We told them that we were neutral, but Vilgefortz only laughed. Before we had time to build a shield, Drithelm had been shot in the eye, and Rejean had been spitted like a hedgehog . . . I didn’t wait to see what happened after that. Marti, are you going to be much longer? We have to get out of here!’
‘Dorregaray won’t be able to walk,’ said the healer, wiping her bloody hands on her white ball gown. ‘Teleport us, Carduin.’
‘From here? You must be insane. It’s too close to Tor Lara. The Lara portal gives out emanations which warp any attempts at teleportation. You can’t teleport from here!’
‘He can’t walk! I have to stay with him—’
‘Well stay, then!’ Carduin stood up. ‘And enjoy yourself! Life is dear to me! I’m going back to Kovir! Kovir is neutral!’
‘Splendid,’ said the Witcher, spitting and watching the sorcerer disappear into the tunnel. ‘Friendship and solidarity! But I can’t stay with you either, Marti. I have to go to Garstang. Your neutral comrade smashed up the bridge. Is there another way?’
Marti Södergren sniffed. Then she raised her head and nodded.
He was at the foot of the wall in Garstang when Keira Metz landed on his head.
The way he’d been shown by the healer led through some hanging gardens linked by winding steps. The steps were covered in dense ivy and vines and the vegetation made climbing difficult but it also gave cover. He managed to get to the foot of the palace wall undetected and had been looking for a way in when Keira had fallen on him, and the two of them tumbled into some blackthorn bushes.
‘I’ve lost a tooth,’ said the sorceress, gloomily, lisping slightly. She was dishevelled, dirty and covered in plaster and soot. There was a large bruise on her cheek.
‘And I think I’ve broken my leg,’ she added, spitting blood. ‘Is that you, Witcher? Did I land on you? How come?’
‘I was wondering the same thing myself.’
‘Terranova threw me out of a window.’
‘Can you stand?’
‘No, I can’t.’
‘I want to get inside. Unnoticed. Which way is it?’
‘Are all witchers,’ said Keira, spitting blood again, groaning, and trying to prop herself up on an elbow, ‘insane? There’s a battle going on in Garstang! It’s kicking off so badly the plaster’s falling off the ceiling! Are you looking for trouble?’
‘No. I’m looking for Yennefer.’
‘Oh!’ said Keira, giving up her struggles and lying on her back. ‘I wish someone would love me like that. Carry me.’
‘Another time, perhaps. I’m in a bit of a hurry.’
‘Carry me, I said! I’ll show you the way into Garstang. I have to get that son of a bitch Terranova. Well, what are you waiting for? You won’t find the way yourself, and even if you did, those fucking elves would finish you off . . . I can’t walk, but I’m still capable of casting a few spells. If anyone gets in our way they’ll regret it.’
She cried out when he picked her up.
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. ‘It’s that leg. Did you know you still smell of her perfume? No, not that way. Turn back and go uphill. It’s the second entrance on the Tor Lara side. There may not be any elves there . . . Ouch! Gently, damn it!’
‘Sorry. How did the Scoia’tael get here?’
‘They were hidden in the cellars. Thanedd is as hollow as a nutshell and there’s a huge cavern under it; you could sail a ship in if you knew how. Someone must have told them the way— Ouuuch! Be careful! Stop jolting me!’
‘Sorry. So the Squirrels came here by sea? When?’
‘God knows when. It might have been yesterday, or a week ago. We were preparing to strike at Vilgefortz, and Vilgefortz at us. Vilgefortz, Francesca, Terranova and Fercart . . . They conned us good and proper. Philippa thought they were planning a slow seizure of power in the Chapter, and to put pressure on the kings . . . But they were planning to finish us off during the Conclave . . . Geralt, it’s too painful . . . It’s my leg . . . Put me down for a second. Ouuuch!’
‘Keira, it’s an open fracture. The blood’s seeping through your trousers.’
‘Shut up and listen. Because it’s about your Yennefer. We entered Garstang and went into the debating chamber. There’s an anti-magic blockade there, but it doesn’t affect dimeritium, so we felt safe. There was an argument. Tissaia and the neutrals yelled at us and we yelled at them. And Vilgefortz just said nothing and smiled . . .’
‘I repeat: Vilgefortz is a traitor! He’s in cahoots with Emhyr of Nilfgaard, and he’s inveigled others into the plot! He broke the Law, he betrayed us and the kings . . .’
‘Slow down, Philippa. I know the grace and favour Vizimir surrounds you with mean more to you than the solidarity of the Brotherhood. The same applies to you, Sabrina, for you play an identical role in Kaedwen. Keira Metz and Triss Merigold represent the interests of Foltest of Temeria, and Radcliffe is a tool of Demavend of Aedirn—’
‘What does that have to do with it, Tissaia?’
‘The kings’ interests don’t have to correspond to ours. I know perfectly well what it’s all about. The kings have begun the extermination of elves and other non-humans. Perhaps you, Philippa, regard that as legitimate. Perhaps you, Radcliffe, think it appropriate to help Demavend’s forces in their hunt for the Scoia’tael. But I am opposed to it. And it doesn’t surprise me that Enid Findabair is also against it. But that is not sufficient to call it treachery. Let me finish! I know perfectly well what your kings were planning. I know they want to unleash a war. The measures which were meant to prevent that war may be seen as treachery by Vizimir, but not by me. If you wish to judge Vilgefortz and Francesca; do the same to me!’
‘What war do you speak of? My king, Esterad of Kovir, will not support any acts of aggression against the Nilfgaardian Empire! Kovir is, and will remain, neutral!’
‘You are a member of the Council, Carduin! Not Kovir’s ambassador!’
‘Look who’s talking, Sabrina.’
‘Enough!’ Philippa slammed her fist down on the table. ‘I shall satisfy your curiosity, Carduin. You ask who is preparing a war? Nilfgaard. They intend to attack and destroy us. But Emhyr var Emreis remembers Sodden Hill and has decided to protect himself by removing the mages from the game first. With this in mind, he made contact with Vilgefortz of Roggeveen. He bought him with promises of power and honour. Yes, Tissaia. Vilgefortz, hero of Sodden, sold us out to become the gov
ernor and ruler of all the conquered territories of the north. Vilgefortz, helped by Terranova and Fercart, shall rule the provinces which will be established in place of the conquered kingdoms. It is he who will wield the Nilfgaardian scourge over the people who inhabit those lands and will begin toiling as the Empire’s slaves. And Francesca Findabair, Enid an Gleanna, will become queen of the land of the free elves. It will, of course, be a Nilfgaardian protectorate, but it will suffice for the elves so long as Emperor Emhyr will give them a free hand to murder humans. The elves desire nothing so much as to murder Dh’oine.’
‘That is a serious accusation. Which means the proof will also have to be as weighty. But before you throw your proof onto the scale, Philippa Eilhart, be aware of my stance. Proof may be fabricated. Actions and their motives may be misinterpreted. But nothing can change existing facts. You have broken the unity and solidarity of the Brotherhood, Philippa Eilhart. You have handcuffed members of the Chapter like criminals. So do not dare to offer me a position in the new Chapter which your gang of traitors – who have sold out to the kings, rather than to Nilfgaaard – intend to create. We are separated by death and blood. The death of Hen Gedymdeith. And the blood of Lydia van Bredevoort. You spilled that blood with contempt. You were my best pupil, Philippa Eilhart. I was always proud of you. But now I have nothing but contempt for you.’
Keira Metz was as pale as parchment.
‘It’s been quieter in Garstang for some time now,’ she whispered. ‘It’s coming to an end . . . They are chasing each other through the palace. There are five floors and seventy-six chambers and halls. That’s plenty of room for a chase . . .’
‘You were going to tell me about Yennefer. Be quick. I’m worried you’ll faint.’
‘Yennefer? Oh, yes . . . Everything was going according to plan until Yennefer suddenly appeared. And brought that medium into the hall . . .’
‘Who?’
‘A girl, aged perhaps fourteen. Very fair hair and huge, green eyes . . . She began to prophesy before we’d had time to look at her properly. She talked of the events in Dol Angra. No one had any doubt she was speaking the truth. She was in a trance, and in a trance no one lies.’
‘Last night,’ said the medium, ‘armed forces in Lyrian livery and carrying Aedirnian standards committed acts of aggression against the Empire of Nilfgaard. Glevitzingen, a border outpost in Dol Angra, was attacked. King Demavend’s heralds informed the people of the surrounding villages that Aedirn is taking control of the entire country from today. The entire population was incited to rise up against Nilfgaard—’
‘That is impossible! It’s nothing but vile provocation!’
‘You utter that word easily, Philippa Eilhart,’ said Tissaia de Vries calmly. ‘But do not deceive yourself; your cries will not break her trance. Speak on, child.’
‘Emperor Emhyr var Emreis has given the order to answer blows with blows. Nilfgaardian forces entered Lyria and Aedirn at dawn today.’
‘And thus,’ laughed Tissaia, ‘our kings have shown what judicious, enlightened and peace-loving rulers they are. And some of our mages have proved which cause they really serve. Those who might have prevented this imperialist war have been prudently clamped in dimeritium handcuffs and are facing trumped-up charges—’
‘That is nothing but a pack of lies!’
‘Fuck the lot of you!’ roared Sabrina Glevissig suddenly. ‘Philippa! What is this all about? What was the purpose of that brawl in Dol Angra? Hadn’t we agreed not to begin too soon? Why couldn’t that fucking Demavend restrain himself? Why did that slut Meve . . .’
‘Silence, Sabrina!’
‘No, no. Let her speak,’ said Tissaia de Vries, raising her head. ‘Let her speak of Henselt of Kaedwen’s army, which is concentrated on the border. Let her speak of Foltest of Temeria’s forces, which no doubt are already launching the boats which have been hidden in undergrowth by the Jaruga. Let her speak of the expeditionary force under the command of Vizimir of Redania, standing ready on the Pontar. Philippa, did you think we were both blind and deaf?’
‘It’s nothing but an enormous bloody provocation! King Vizimir—’
‘King Vizimir,’ interrupted the fair-haired medium in an unemotional voice, ‘was murdered yesterday evening. Stabbed by an assassin. Redania no longer has a king.’
‘Redania has not had a king for a very long time,’ said Tissaia de Vries, rising to her feet. ‘The Most Honourable Philippa Eilhart, the worthy successor of Raffard the White, ruled in Redania. A person prepared to sacrifice tens of thousands of beings in order to gain absolute power.’
‘Do not listen to her!’ yelled Philippa. ‘Do not listen to that medium! She’s a tool, an unthinking tool . . . Who do you serve, Yennefer? Who instructed you to bring that monster here?’
‘I did,’ said Tissaia de Vries.
‘What happened next? What happened to the girl? To Yennefer?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Keira, closing her eyes. ‘Tissaia suddenly lifted the blockade. With one spell. I’d never seen anything like it in my life. She stunned and blocked us, then freed Vilgefortz and the others . . . And then Francesca opened the entrance to the cellars and suddenly Garstang was swarming with Scoia’tael. They were being led by a freak in armour wearing a winged, Nilfgaardian helmet. Helped by that character with the mark on his face. He knew how to cast spells. And shield himself with magic . . .’
‘Rience.’
‘Perhaps. I don’t know. It was hot . . . The ceiling caved in. Spells and arrows were flying everywhere; it was a massacre . . . Fercart was among their dead, Drithelm and Radcliffe among ours. Marquard, Rejean and Bianca d’Este were killed . . . Triss Merigold was hurt. Sabrina was wounded . . . When Tissaia saw their bodies she understood her mistake, tried to protect us, tried to calm Vilgefortz and Terranova . . . But Vilgefortz ridiculed and laughed at her. Then she lost her head and fled. Oh, Tissaia . . . So many dead . . .’
‘What happened to the girl and to Yennefer?’
‘I don’t know,’ said the sorceress, coughing and spitting blood. She was breathing very shallowly and with obvious difficulty. ‘I passed out after one of the explosions. The one with the scar and his elves overpowered me. Terranova beat me black and blue and then threw me out of a window.’
‘It isn’t just your leg, Keira. You’ve got some broken ribs.’
‘Don’t leave me.’
‘I have to. I’ll come back for you.’
‘Yeah, right.’
At first, there was only shimmering chaos, the pulsing of shadows, a confusion of dark and light, and a choir of incoherent voices emerging from the abyss. Suddenly the voices became stronger and, from all around, the screaming and the roaring exploded. The brightness amongst the darkness became a fire consuming the tapestries, seeming to shoot streams of sparks from the walls, the balustrades and the columns supporting the ceiling.
Ciri choked on the smoke and realised it was no longer a dream.
She tried to stand, propping herself up on her arms. Her hand came to rest on something wet, and she looked down. She was kneeling in a pool of blood. Beside her lay a motionless body. The body of an elf. She knew at once.
‘Get up.’
Yennefer was standing beside her. She was holding a dagger.
‘Mistress Yennefer . . . Where are we? I don’t remember . . .’
The enchantress seized her by the hand.
‘I’m with you, Ciri.’
‘Where are we? Why is everything on fire? Who’s that . . . lying there?’
‘I told you once, a long time ago, that chaos is reaching out to seize you. Do you remember? No, you probably don’t. That elf reached out to get you. I had to kill him using a knife, as his paymasters are just waiting for one of us to reveal ourselves by using magic. And it will happen, but not yet . . . Are you totally conscious?’
‘Those sorcerers . . .’ whispered Ciri. ‘The ones in the great hall . . . What did I say to them? And why did I say it? I didn’t want
to at all . . . But I couldn’t stop myself! Why? Why, Mistress Yennefer?’
‘Be quiet, my ugly little duckling. I made a mistake. No one’s perfect.’
A roar and a terrifying scream resounded from below.
‘Come on. Quickly. There’s no time.’
They ran along the corridor. The smoke became thicker and thicker. It choked them, blinded them. The walls shook from the explosion.
‘Ciri.’ Yennefer stopped at a junction in the corridors and squeezed the girl’s hand tightly. ‘Listen to me now. Listen carefully. I have to stay here. Do you see those stairs? Go down them . . .’
‘No! Don’t leave me all alone!’
‘I have to. I repeat: go down those stairs. To the very bottom. There’ll be a door and, beyond it a long corridor. At the end of the corridor is a stable and a single, saddled horse. Only one. Lead it out and mount it. It’s a trained horse; it serves messengers riding to Loxia. It knows the way; just spur it on. When you get to Loxia find Margarita. She will look after you. Don’t let her out of your sight—’
‘Mistress Yennefer! No! I don’t want to be alone!’
‘Ciri,’ said the enchantress softly. ‘I once told you that everything I do is for your own good. Trust me. Trust me, I beg you. Now run for it.’
Ciri was already on the steps when she heard Yennefer’s voice one more. The enchantress was standing beside a column, resting her forehead against it.
‘I love you, my daughter,’ she said indistinctly. ‘Run.’
They trapped her halfway down the stairs. At the bottom there were two elves with squirrels’ tails in their hats and, at the top, a man dressed in black. Without thinking, Ciri jumped over the banisters and fled down a side corridor. They ran after her. She was quicker and would have escaped them with ease had the corridor not ended in a window.
She looked through the window. A stone ledge – about two spans wide – ran along the wall. Ciri swung a leg over the windowsill and climbed out. She moved away from the window and pressed her back to the wall. The sea glistened in the distance.