He remained silent.
‘But we cannot overcome death. At dawn, two of them were killed crossing the Ribbon. Of the three that survived, I have not seen more than once. My mother used to say that every girl always knows whose fruit she carries in her womb… But I do not know. Not even the names of those elves I found, so how do you know? Tell me, how?’
He was silent. He allowed his shoulder to speak for him.
‘And besides, all I want to know is if the vampire has prepared the remedy… You will have to leave me in a village… No, do not talk, be silent. I know how you are. You are not even able to get rid of this vicious mare to get another horse. You do not leave any one behind. But now you are going to. After the remedy, I will not be able to climb into the saddle. But I will heal, and I will follow you. Because I want you to find Ciri, witcher. With my help you can find and recover her.’
‘That is why you came with me,’ he said raising his head. ‘For this reason.’
She lowered her head.
‘That’s why you came with me,’ he repeated. ‘You wanted to help save someone else’s child. You wanted to pay. To pay off a debt and you were determined to do it at the time, when we left… Someone else’s child for you own. And I promised to help when you needed it. Milva, I cannot help you. Believe me, I cannot.’
This time she was silent. He no longer felt that he could be silent.
‘Then, in Brokilon, I contracted a debt with you and I promised you I would pay. It was not reasonable. I was a fool. You offered me help when I needed urgent help. There is no way to pay that debt. You cannot put a price on something priceless. Some say that absolutely everything in the world has its price. It is not true. Some things are priceless, and you cannot pay. There is an easy way to recognize those things, because once lost, they are lost forever. I have lost many of those things. So today I cannot help you.’
‘You just did,’ she said calmly. ‘You do not know how much. Now go, please. Leave me alone. Go away, witcher. Go away, before you shatter my world completely.’
When they left at dawn, Milva was at the head of the company, calm and smiling. And riding behind her was Dandelion who began to strum his lute, while whistling a tune.
Regis and Geralt were bringing up the rear – at one point the vampire looked over at the witcher, smiled and nodded with approval and admiration. Without a word. He then pulled from his doctor’s bag a small dark glass bottle and showed it to Geralt. He smiled again and threw it into the bushes.
The Witcher was silent.
When they stopped to water the horses, Geralt pulled Regis aside into a secluded spot.
‘Change of plans,’ he announced dryly. ‘We are not going through Ysgith.’
The vampire paused for a moment, staring at him with black eyes.
‘If I didn’t know,’ he said at last, ‘that as a witcher you only fear real danger, I would think that this is the unreasonable babble of the insane.’
‘But you do know. So think more logically.’
‘Certainly. However, I would draw your attention to two things. First, the condition in which Milva finds herself is not a disease or disability. She must of course take care of herself, but she is completely healthy and functional. I would say even more capable. The hormones…’
‘Drop the mentoring tone,’ Geralt interrupted. ‘Because it is starting to get on my nerves.’
‘That was the first thing,’ reminded Regis, ‘the second is that if Milva realizes you are being overprotective, treating her like a plaything and sheltering her like an egg, she is simply going to get mad. And then she will get stressed, which is absolutely inappropriate for her. Geralt, I do not want to be a mentor. I want to be rational.’
He did not answer.
‘And there is a third issue,’ Regis said, his eyes still drilling into Geralt. ‘I do not push for Ysgith for a lust for adventure, but as a necessity. For the armies roam the hills and we must get to the Druids in Caed Dhu. It seems to me that this is urgent. That we want to get the information as quick as possible and be off to rescue Ciri.’
‘Yes,’ Geralt looked away. ‘It is important. I want to save and recover Ciri. Until recently I thought at any price. But not now. Not at this price. I will not pay this price; I do not agree to take this risk. We are not going through Ysgith.’
‘And the alternative?’
‘The opposite shore of the Yaruga. We will go up the river, far beyond the marshes. We’ll then cross back across the river and travel on to Caed Dhu. If it is too difficult, then just the two of just will visit the Druids. I’ll swim and you can cross in bat form. Why are you staring at me? After all, the river is not obstacle for a vampire; it is another myth and superstition. Or maybe I’m wrong?’
‘No, no you’re not wrong. But I can only fly when the moon is full.’
‘It is only two weeks away. By the time we reach the right place, it will be almost full.’
‘Geralt,’ the vampire said, still not taking his eyes from the witcher. ‘You are a strange man. For clarification, it was not a derogatory term. Very well, we renounce Ysgith as to dangerous for a woman in a difficult state. Crossing to the other shore of the Yaruga, in your opinion, is safer.’
‘I can assess the level of risk.’
‘I do not doubt it.’
‘Not a word to Milva and the others. If they ask, this is part of our plan.’
‘Of course. Let us start searching for a boat.’
They did not have to search for a long time, and the result of the search exceeded expectations. They did not find a boat, but a ferry. Hidden among the willows, cleverly camouflaged with branches and bunches of rushes, it was betrayed by the rope connecting it to the left bank.
They also found the ferryman. When he heard them coming, he hid in a thicket, but Milva easily tracked down his hiding place and pulled him out by his collar. She also found in the thicket a powerfully built young man with face like an idiot. The ferryman was shivering with fear and his eyes where circling like mice in an empty granary.
‘To the other side?’ he groaned when he heard what was required of him. ‘Not for anything! That is Nilfgaardian territory and this is wartime! They will catch us and plant us on a pole! I will not cross! Kill me if you like, but I will not cross!’
‘I can kill you,’ Milva said with clenched teeth. ‘But before I do I may break all your bones as well. Open your mouth again and you’ll see how I can.’
‘War time,’ the vampire’s eyes drilled into the ferryman, ‘certainly does not prevent smuggling, my good man? This is your ferry, yet it is cunningly placed far from the royal and Nilfgaardian frontiers, if I’m not mistaken? So get under way and push it into the water.’
‘This would be wise,’ Cahir said, stroking the hilt of his sword. ‘If you do not go with us, then we will cross without you and your raft will remain on the opposite shore. You’ll have to swim for it. So take us across then come back. An hour of fear, then forget about it.’
‘But you will wear a big purse,’ hissed Milva ‘so you won’t forget us until winter.’
In view of these arguments, the ferryman relented and soon the whole company was on the ferry. Some of the horses, especially Roach, were stubborn and refused to embark, but the ferryman and his assistant managed to get them aboard. The skill with which they did this, argued that this was not the first time they had smuggled stolen horses across the Yaruga. The fool assistant grabbed the rope and started the crossing.
When they were out on the open water and the wind enveloped them, they became more animated. The crossing of the Yaruga was something new, the next step, indicating progress in the journey. Before them was the Nilfgaardian shore, the line, the border. Everyone felt the excitement. Even the ferryman and the assistant, who suddenly began to whistle a tune. Geralt also felt a strange exhilaration, as if at any moment from the alders on the left bank Ciri would emerge and he would shout with joy at the sight.
Instead the ferryman shouted. An
d it was not in joy.
‘Gods! We’re doomed!’
Geralt looked in the indicated direction and cursed. Among the alders high on the left bank, armor flashed and hooves thundered. Within seconds the pier on the left bank was covered with horsemen.
‘Black ones!’ cried the ferryman, pale and releasing the wheel. ‘The Nilfgaardians! Death! Gods, save us!’
‘Hold the horses, Dandelion!’ Milva ordered, removing her bow from its case. ‘Hold the horses!’
‘It is not the imperials,’ Cahir said. ‘I do not think…’
His voice was drowned by the cries of the nearest horse and the screaming ferryman. Spurred on by the shouts, the assistant grabbed an axe, swung and cut at the rope. The ferryman helped him with a second axe. The riders on the pier saw it to and began to shout. Several dove into the water and grabbed the rope. Some threw themselves into the water and swam towards the boat.
‘Leave the rope!’ Dandelion cried. ‘They are not Nilfgaardians! Do not cut…’
But it was too late. The rope was cut and sank under its weight; the ferry turned slightly and began to sail down the river. The horsemen on the shore raised a terrible roar.
‘Dandelion is right,’ Cahir said grimly. ‘Those are not the imperials… This is the Nilfgaardian shore, but that is not Nilfgaard.’
‘Of course not!’ exclaimed Dandelion. ‘I recognize the emblems! Eagles and diamonds! That is the emblem of Lyria! It is Lyria and Rivia! Hey, people…’
‘Take cover behind the rail, you idiot!’
The Poet, as usual, rather than obeying a warning, he went to investigate what it was for. And then in the air, arrows whistled. Some of them stuck into the side of the ferry, some flew higher and splashed into the water. Two flew straight at Dandelion, but the Witcher already with his sword in hand, jumped and with two quick blows, deflected the arrows.
‘By the Great Sun,’ Cahir gasped. ‘He deflected them… Two arrows! Incredible! I have never seen anything like it…’
‘And you’ll not see it again! This was the first time in my life I was able to deflect two! Hide behind the side!’
The soldiers stopped firing, seeing the current started to push the ferry directly to their bank. The water foamed from where it was filled with horses. The pier was filled with further horses. There were at least two hundred armed men on the banks.
‘Help!’ cried the ferryman. ‘Grab those spars, my lords! Push us away from the banks!’
The obeyed immediately, grabbing the spare spars on board. Dandelion and Regis stayed with the horses. Milva, Cahir and the witcher supported the efforts of the ferryman and his assistant.
With the five spars they were slowly able to turn the ferry about and send it gliding towards the center of the river. The soldiers on the bank again raised a roar, and laid their hands on their bows, arrows began to whistle through the air and one of the horses whinnied wildly. Luckily the ferry, driven by a strong current, began moving away from the shore, faster and faster, beyond the reach of effective shots.
Soon they were sailing down the middle of the river. The ferry was spinning like shit in a sink. The horses continued to stamp and neigh, shaking the vampire and Dandelion, who were holding the reins. The riders on the shore shook their fists at them in a threatening manner. Geralt could distinguish among them a knight on a white horse, waving a sword and giving orders. After a moment the cavalcade rode back into the woods and galloped along the high edge of the bank. Their armor gleamed among the thickets.
‘They will not let us go, the bastards,’ the ferryman moaned. ‘They know that the current will curve around and carry us against their shore... Have the spars ready, lady and gentlemen! If we turn towards the shore on the right, we must help overcome the current and make a landing... Otherwise we are fucked... ‘
They sailed, spinning and sliding slightly towards the right bank, with its high, steep cliffs, bristling with pines. The left bank, from which they were moving away from, had a flat semi-circular headland protruding into the river. The horsemen galloped onto the headland, their momentum helping them enter the water. Around the headland, clearly there were shoals, some sandy, and before the water reached the horses’ belly, they had gone quite far into the river.
‘They have us in range,’ Milva said in somber tone. ‘Take cover.’
Arrows whistled again, some hit against the boards of the ferry. However, the current steer the front of the craft in the direction of the right bank.
‘To the spars now!’ The ferryman cried, trembling. ‘We must land before the current snatches us!’
‘It was not easy. The current was strong, the water was deep and the ferry was unwieldy. At first it did not react to all of their efforts, but finally they planted the spars firmly into the ground. It seemed like they would succeed, when suddenly Milva let go of her spar and without a word pointed at the right bank.
‘This time...’ Cahir said, wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘This time, it is Nilfgaard.’
Geralt also saw it. The riders, who had appeared on the right bank, wore black and green cloaks, the horses wore distinctive harnesses. There were at least a hundred.
‘We go from the frying pan into the fire...’ groaned the ferryman. ‘By the Gods! It is the Black ones!’
‘The spars!’ roared the Witcher. ‘Use the spars and the current! Get further from the shore.’
Again, this proved to be a difficult task. The current by the right bank was strong and pushing the ferry straight towards a high embankment, they could already hear the cries of the Nilfgaardians.
When after a few moments of straining with the spar, Geralt looked up and saw pine boughs over his head. An arrow shot from the top of the cliffs, struck on the deck of the barge only two feet away from him. Another was heading straight for Cahir, which the witcher deflected with a slash of his sword.
Milva, Cahir, the ferryman and his assistant, no longer pushed from the bottom, but from the shore and the slope. Geralt threw down his sword and sized a spar to help them, and the ferry began to drift back towards the center of the river. But it was still dangerously close to the right banks and on the bank the Nilfgaardians started a galloping chase. Before they had time to get away they sailed around the ends of the cliffs. In the small reeds on the shore appeared the Nilfgaardians. The air began to howl with the sounds of feathered arrows.
‘Take cover!’
The ferryman’s assistant suddenly coughed in an odd way and dropped his spar into the water. Geralt saw the arrowhead and four inches of the shaft protruding from his back. Cahir’s chestnut reared on two legs and whinnied with pain, snorted and shook its neck that was pierced by an arrow, it knocked down Dandelion and jumped overboard. The other horses also whinnied and reared; the barge was shaking and pounding with hooves.
‘Hold the horses!’ shouted the vampire. ‘Hold...’
He stopped suddenly, fell back onto the railing and sat down heavily. A black feathered arrow was protruding from his chest.
Milva also saw this. She screamed with rage, seized the bow at her feet and pulled arrows from her quiver. She began to shoot. Faster. Arrow after arrow. Not one missed its target.
On the shore was pandemonium, the Nilfgaardians retreated into the forest, among the reeds, leaving the dead and the screaming wounded. Hidden in the woods, they continued to fire, but the arrows could not reached them, because the ferry was dragged by the current to the center of the river. The distance was too great for the Nilfgaardians with their short bows. But not for Milva’s bow.
Among the Nilfgaardians there suddenly appeared an officer in a black cloak, wearing a helmet, from which swayed the wings of a crow. He shouted, waving his club, pointing down the river. Milva her legs wide, brought the string to her cheek, and measured the distance.
An arrow sounded in the air, the officer bent back in the saddle, sagging into the arms of his soldiers. Milva again stretched the bow string and realized it from her fingers. One of the Nilfgaardian suppo
rting officers screamed piercingly and flew from his horse. The others disappeared into the woods.
‘Masterful shots,’ Regis said quietly from behind the witcher. ‘But we better work the spars. We’re still too close to shore, and we are going into the shallows.’
Geralt and the archer turned around.
‘You’re alive?’ they cried in unison.
‘You don’t think,’ the vampire showed them the black feathered arrow, ‘that I can be harmed by a single stick of wood?’
There was no time to wonder. The ferry again turned around and flowed towards the center of the river. But from around a bend in the river, appeared another beach, sandy and with shallow shoals and on the shore were the Nilfgaardian troops. Some rode into the river and prepared their bows. Everyone, including Dandelion, rushed to the spars. Soon they were unable to reach the bottom; the current was dragging the ferry.
‘Well,’ said Milva, panting and releasing the spar. ‘Now they will not catch us...’
‘One has ridden out to the end of a sand bank,’ Dandelion pointed. ‘He is getting ready to shoot! Take cover now!’
‘It will not hit,’ Milva estimated with the look of an experienced archer.
The arrow splashed into the water two fathoms from the bow of the ferry.
‘He is aiming again!’ cried the minstrel, leaving the side of the ferry. ‘Beware!’
‘It will not hit,’ Milva repeated while she adjusting the guard on her left forearm. ‘The bow is not bad, but the archer is no good. A scatterbrain. After each shot he is shivering and slipping like he is flowing a snails trail. Grab the horses. Do not let go of them.’
This time the Nilfgaardian’s arrow flew over their heads and the ferry. Milva raised her bow, stood with legs apart, quickly pulled the string to her cheek and lowered it gently, without changing position a fraction of an inch.