The Tower of the Swallow

  ‘Nothing is fraudulent and deceptive, brat! Than a judgment hasty and unbalanced!’

  ‘You have not found a cure for evil! And I, a witcher brat, I found it! A reliable cure!’

  He did not answer, but his face betrayed his opinion, because Ciri abruptly jumped up from the table.

  ‘Do you think that I am talking nonsense? That I am speaking just to speak?’

  ‘I think,’ he said quietly, ‘that you speak in anger. I think that you are planning revenge in anger. Therefore, I urge you to calm down.’

  ‘I am calm! And revenge? Explain to me why not? Why should I give up revenge? On behalf of what? Moral principles? And what of the higher order of things, in which evil deeds are punished? For you, a philosopher and ethicists, an act of revenge is bad, disgraceful, unethical and illegal. But I ask: where is the punishment for evil? Who has is and grants access? The Gods, in which you do not believe? The great demiurge-creator, which you decided to replace the gods with? Or maybe the law? Maybe with Nilfgaardian justice, with judges and imperial prefects? Naïve old man!’

  ‘So an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, blood for blood. And for that blood, more blood, a sea of blood. Do you want the world to drown in blood? You naïve and wounded girl. So you can fight against evil, witcher?’

  ‘Yes. Exactly so! Because I know what evil is afraid of. Not your ethics, Vysogota, not your preaching or moral treaties on the life of dignity. Evil is afraid of pain, mutilation, suffering and at the end of the day, death! The dog howls when it is badly wounded! Writhing on the ground and growls, watching the blood flow from it veins and arteries, seeing the bone that sticks out from a stump, watching its guts escape its open belly, feeling the cold as death is about to take them. Then and only then will evil begin to beg, ‘Have mercy! I regret my sins! I’ll be good, I swear! Just save me, do not let me waste away!’ Yes, hermit. That is the way to fight evil! When evil wants to harm you, inflict pain – anticipate them, it’s best if evil does not expect it. But if you fail to prevent evil, if you have been hurt by evil, then avenge him! It is best when they have already forgotten, when they feel safe. Then pay them in double. In triple. An eye for an eye? No! Both eyes for an eye! A tooth for a tooth? No! All their teeth for a tooth! Repay evil! Make it wail in pain, howling until their eyes pop from their sockets. And then, you can look under your feet and boldly declare that what is there cannot hurt endanger anyone, cannot hurt anyone. How can someone be a danger, when they have no eyes? How can someone hurt when they have no hands? They can only wait until they bleed to death.’

  ‘And you,’ said the hermit, ‘stand with a sword in your hand and look at the growing puddle of blood. And you have the arrogance to think that you’ve solved the age-old dilemma, answered the eternal question of philosophers. Do you think the nature of Evil has changed?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said firmly. ‘Because what lies on the ground and drowns in blood, that’s not evil. Maybe it is not good, but it is no longer evil!’

  ‘Scholars say that nature abhors a vacuum,’ said Vysogota. ‘What lies on the ground drowning in blood, which you fell with your sword, and isn’t evil. So what is it? Have you thought about that?’

  ‘No. I am a witcher. When I was taught, I swore to fight evil. Always. And without thinking.’

  ‘Because when you start to think,’ she added in a low voice, ‘the killing ceases to make sense. And that cannot be allowed.’

  He shook his head, but she waved and prevented him from arguing.

  ‘It is time to finish my story, Vysogota. I have told you for over three nights, from the equinox to Saovine. And yet I have not told you everything. Before I go, you should learn what happened in the village named Unicorn…’

  She cried as she was pulled from the saddle. The hip, in which she had been kicked yesterday, hurt. He jerked on her chain collar and dragged her to a building.

  At the cottage door stood a few armed men. And one woman.

  ‘Bonhart,’ said one of the men, slim and dark, in his hand was a brass spiked whip. ‘I’ll have to admit that you can surprise people.’

  ‘Hello, Skellen.’

  The man named Skellen approached her captor as he looked straight into her eyes. She shivered under his gaze.

  ‘So?’ he turned to look at Bonhart. ‘Will you be explaining it all at once or little by little?’

  ‘I do not like to explain anything in the courtyard, where flies can crawl into the mouth. Are you going to invite me in?’

  ‘Come in.’

  Bonhart jerked the chain collar.

  In the house was another man, disheveled and pale, perhaps a chef, because he was busy cleaning his clothes that were covered in flour and cream. Seeing Ciri, his eyes sparkled. He approached.

  He was not a chef.

  She recognized him; she remembered those terrible eyes and the burn on his face. It was he who along with the Squirrels had been pursuing her in Thanedd, she had escaped from him by jumping out of a window and he had ordered the elves to go after her. What did the elf call him? Rens?

  ‘Well, well!’ he said with a venomous voice, while he planted his hand hard and painfully into her chest. ‘Lady Ciri! We have not seen each other since Thanedd. I’ve been looking for you for a long, long time. And now I have finally found you!’

  ‘I don’t know who you are, sir,’ Bonhart said coldly. ‘But what you have found is mine; keep your hands off of her, if you value your fingers.’

  ‘My name is Rience,’ the wizard’s eyes shone in an unpleasant manner. ‘Do yourself a favor and remember it, sir bounty hunter. And who I am, you will see soon. You’ll also see who the girl belongs too. But let’s not get ahead of events. For now, I just want to convey my greetings and make a promise. You do not have anything against that, I hope?’

  ‘You are free to wait for whatever you want.’

  Rience approached Ciri; he looked closely into her eyes.

  ‘Your guardian, the witch Yennefer,’ he hissed viciously, ‘once crossed my path. When she fell into my hands, I, Rience, taught her pain. With these hands, these fingers. And I made her a promise that if you fell into my hands, princess, that you would also learn the same pain. With these hands, these fingers…’

  ‘Risky,’ Bonhart said quietly. ‘Very risky, Mister Rience, or whoever you are, to tease my girl and threaten her. She is vindictive, prepare to remember that. Keep, I repeat, your hands and fingers and all other body parts away from her.’

  ‘Enough,’ Skellen snapped, not taking his eyes from Ciri. ‘Leave him, Bonhart. And you, Rience, calm down too. I have granted mercy, but I can think better of it and tie you back to the legs of the table. Both of you sit. Let’s talk like civilized people. It seems we have what we want. And the object of our conversation is still under guard. Mister Silifant!’

  ‘Just look after her well,’ Bonhart gave the chain to Silifant. ‘Like the apple of your eye.’

  Kenna stayed on the side-lines. Yes, she wanted to look at the girl who had generated so much talk lately, but she felt a strange compunction to get into the crowd surrounding Harsheim and Silifant who led the enigmatic prisoner to a pillar in the courtyard.

  Everyone pushed and stared and tried to touch, pinch and scratch her. She walked stiffly, limping a bit with her head held high. He has beaten her, thought Kenna. But she has not broken.

  ‘So this is Falka.’

  ‘She is a girl, barely an adult!’

  ‘A girl? She is a rogue!’

  ‘And apparently went up against six men in the Claremont arena…’

  ‘And how many before… bitch…’

  ‘She wolf!’

  ‘Look at her mare! A wonderful pure blood… And there, attached to Bonhart’s saddlebags, what a sword… A wonder…’

  ‘Leave her alone!’ Dacre Silifant barked. ‘Do not touch her! Keep your hands out of the affairs of others. And away from the girl too. Do not show her disgust or scorn! Show a little compassion. Give her a bit of room.’

/>   ‘If she is going to die,’ Cyprian Fripp the younger showed his teeth, ‘maybe we can sweeten and comfort the remnant of her life? Take her to the hay and fuck her?’

  ‘Of course!’ laughed Cabernet Turent. ‘That is not a bad idea. We’ll go ask The Owl…’

  ‘I forbid it,’ Dacre cut them off. ‘Can you not think of anything else, you whoreson! I told you to leave the girl alone. Andres, Stigward, stand there with her. Do not take your eyes off her. And any who come too close, use the whip!’

  ‘Damn!’ cursed Fripp. ‘If not, then we do not care. Come on fellas, let’s go roast a suckling pig and feast. The equinox holiday is today. While the gentry chatter, we can celebrate.’

  ‘Let’s go! A drink, Dede, a jug of rum. Let’s drink! Can we, Mister Silifant? Mister Harsheim? Today is a holiday, and we are not leaving here tonight.’

  ‘What a good idea!’ Silifant frowned. ‘Feast and booze! And who will stay here to help protect the girl and be ready to answer the call of Lord Stefan?’

  ‘I’ll stay,’ said Neratin Ceka.

  ‘And I,’ said Kenna.

  Dacre Silifant looked at them carefully. At last accepting with a wave of his hand. Fripp and company thanked him with a roar.

  ‘But watch out during the celebrations!’ Ola Harsheim warned. ‘Do not take offence if the village girls do not let you fuck them!’

  ‘Oh yeah! Are you coming with us Chloe? And you, Kenna? Will you not change your mind?’

  ‘No. I’m staying.’

  ‘I was left attached to the pillar, shackled, with my hands tied. I was watched by two of Skellen’s people. A further two were standing nearby and paying attention. A tall and very pretty woman. And a man. And a man with a somewhat feminine appearance and movements. Very strange.’

  The cat was sitting in the middle of the room yawning hard, bored because the mouse it was tormenting was no longer fun. Vysogota was silent.

  ‘Bonhart, Rience and Skellen, or the Owl, were still talking in the council hall. I did not know why. I had to expect the worst, but I was resigned. Yet another arena? Or were they just going to kill me? Let them, I thought, Let it finally be over.’

  Vysogota was silent.

  Bonhart sighed.

  ‘Do not look into these eyes, Skellen’ he repeated. ‘I just want to make some money. For me, I think it is time to retire, sit on the porch, watching the pigeons. For each of the rats I’ll get a hundred florins, for them dead. That puzzled me. How much can this girl really be worth, I thought. I figured that if I did not give her to you, she would be more profitable in the long run. The old principal of a deal – such a precious commodity is constantly gaining in price. One can bargain…’

  The Owl wrinkled his nose as if something stunk.

  ‘You are sincere even beyond the point of endurance, Bonhart. But get to the point, clarify. You flee with the girl across Ebbing, and suddenly show up and explain everything with the laws of economics. Explain what happened.’

  ‘What is there to explain,’ Rience smiled sarcastically. ‘Mister Bonhart has simply learned who the girl really is. And what she is worth.’

  Skellen did not deign to look. He looked at Bonhart, his fish-like eyes devoid of expression.

  ‘And this precious girl,’ he drawled, ‘this valuable prize that is supposed to guarantee your pension, you push into the arena in Claremont and compel her to fight to the death? Risking her life, though apparently it is worth much more living. How come, Bonhart? Because something is wrong here.’

  ‘If she was killed in the arena,’ Bonhart did not lower his eyes, ‘that would mean that she was worth nothing.’

  ‘I understand,’ The Owl frowned. ‘But instead of leading the girl to another arena, you brought her to me. May I ask, why?’

  ‘Again,’ Rience frowned. ‘He found out who she is.’

  ‘You are smart, Mister Rience,’ Bonhart stretched until his joints cracked. ‘You guessed it. I found out that she had trained with the witchers in Kaer Morhen, but there was another question. In Geso, during an attack on a noblewoman, the girl told a baroness that her high birth and title were worth shit and the she should kneel before her. Then I thought that Falka was at least a countess. Curious. First a witcher. Are there a lot of witchers? Then the band of rats, second. And the Imperial Coroner chasing after her since Korath in Ebbing with orders to kill, third. And more than that… a noble, and high-born. Ha, I thought, I must finally learn who this girl actually is.’

  He paused.

  ‘At first,’ he wiped his moustache on the cuff of his sleeve, ‘she did not want to talk. I asked her. I hit her hands and feet with a whip. I didn’t want to maim her… But with luck we came across a barber. With instruments to pull teeth. I tied her to a chair…’

  Skellen gulped audibly. Rience smiled cruelly. Bonhart looked at his sleeve.

  ‘She told me everything… As soon as she saw the instruments, dental pliers and blades. All of a sudden she became more talkative. Turns out she is…’

  ‘The Princess of Cintra,’ Rience said looking at The Owl. ‘The heir to the throne. And candidate bride of Emperor Emhyr.’

  ‘Mister Skellen failed to inform me,’ the bounty hunter twisted his lips. ‘He told me to just kill her; he pointed in out several times. Killed on the spot and without any mercy. But what is this, Mister Skellen? To kill the queen? The future wife of your beloved Emperor? Which if you believe the rumors, the Emperor only thinks of holy matrimony, after which will come a large amnesty?’

  While pitching his speech, Bonhart’s eyes pierced Skellen’s. But the Imperial Coroner never looked down.

  ‘What does this mean for me?’ Bonhart asked rhetorically and immediately answered. ‘Shit! So then, with regret, I had to give up my plans for the little witcheress and princess. I brought this whole mess here, Mister Skellen. To talk and come to an agreement… Because this shit seems to be a bit big for one Bonhart…’

  ‘A good decision,’ something yelled from under Rience’s arm. ‘A very good decision, Mister Bonhart. What you have captured gentlemen, is something a little bit too big for both of you. Fortunately, you still have me.’

  ‘What is that?’ Skellen rose from his chair. ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘My master, the sorcerer Vilgefortz,’ Rience pulled out from under his arm a silver shiny box. ‘More specifically, the voice of my master. Coming from this magical device called a Xenophon.’

  ‘I greet all those present,’ said the box. ‘It is a shame I can only hear you, but some urgent matters prevent me from teleprojecting or teleportation.’

  ‘Shit, this is all we need,’ The Owl swore. ‘But I should have guessed that Rience was too stupid to act on his own. I should have known that you were hiding in the darkness, Vilgefortz. Like an old fat spider, lying in waiting in the dark, waiting for the web to vibrate.’

  ‘What a most offensive comparison.’

  Skellen snorted.

  ‘And do not try and deceive us, Vilgefortz. Rience is using this box not because you are busy, but because you are afraid of the army of sorcerers, your former comrades of the Chapter, who are scanning the world looking for traces of magic with your algorithm. If you tried to teleport, they would find you in a flash.’

  ‘What an impressive knowledge.’

  ‘We have not been introduced to each other,’ Bonhart rather theatrically bowed to the silver box. ‘But if I’m correct, Sir Sorcerer, Mister Rience here promises to torture the princess. Have I made a mistake? On my soul, I am continually making sure of how important this girl is. Everyone is interested in her.’

  ‘We have not been introduced to each other,’ said Vilgefortz from the box. ‘But I know you, Sir Bonhart, as well. And the girl is certainly important. This Lion Cub of Cintra is of the Elder Blood. And according to the prophecy of Ithlinne, her descendants will rule the world.’

  ‘That’s why you need her?’

  ‘I only need the placenta. When I extract it from her, you can hav
e the rest. Do I hear snorts? What about upset and disgusted sighs? Whose? From Bonhart who every day tortures the girl both physically and mentally? Stefan Skellen, who is ordered by traitors and conspirators to kill the girl? Huh?’

  I eavesdropped on them, Kenna remembered, lying on the bunk with her hands behind her head. I was standing in a corner and felt. And my hair stood on end. All over my body. And suddenly I understood the terrible mess that I had gotten into.

  ‘Yes, yes’ the voice emerged from the Xenophon, ‘you betrayed your Emperor, Skellen. Without hesitation and at the earliest opportunity.’

  The Owl snorted with contempt.

  ‘The charge of betrayal from the mouth of the arch-traitor as you are, Vilgefortz is very tremendous. I would be honored. Had it not smacked of a cheap joke.’

  ‘I do not accuse you of treason, Skellen; I make fun of your naiveté and your inability to treason. Because, why betray your master? For Ardal aep Dahy and De Wett, dukes, in their pathological offended pride, offended that their daughters were repulsed by the Emperor, when he planned to marry the Cintran. At the same time they counted on the fact that from their families would arise a new dynasty, that their importance would overshadow even the Imperial Majesty. With one stroke, Emhyr deprived them of this hope and they decided to improve the course of history. They are not ready for an armed rebellion, but they can still kill the girl who moved ahead of their daughters. They do not want to mess their own aristocratic hands, so they found a henchman for hire, Stefan Skellen, who suffers from excessive ambition. How was that, Skellen? Do you want to say something?’

  ‘What for?’ The Owl cried. ‘And to whom? But you know everything, as usual, great sorcerer! Rience as usual doesn’t know shit! And Bonhart doesn’t care…’

  ‘And you, as I have pointed out, have nothing to brag about. The Dukes bought you with promises, but you are to intelligent not to understand that without the girl you have nothing. They need you as a tool to remove the Cintran and once you have finished the dirty work they’ll get rid of you because you are a low-born upstart. They promised you and Vattier de Rideaux positions in the new empire? Not even you, yourself believe it, Skellen. Vattier is more necessary, because of the coup, but the secret service will always be the same. They just want to kill with your hands, Vattier they need to control the secret service. Besides, Vattier is a Viscount and you are nothing.’