Blood of Elves

Fredegard drew himself up. Yarpen Zigrin did not look at him. He was looking at the dead. At Regan Dahlberg still kneeling over his brother.

  “It was necessary, Zigrin,” said the knight. “This is war. There was an order. We had to be sure…”

  Yarpen did not say anything. The knight lowered his eyes.

  “Forgive us,” he whispered.

  The dwarf slowly turned his head, looked at him. At Geralt. At Ciri. At them all. The humans.

  “What have you done to us?” he asked bitterly. “What have you done to us? What have you made of us?”

  No one answered him.

  The eyes of the long-legged elf were glassy and dull. Her contorted lips were frozen in a soundless cry.

  Geralt put his arms around Ciri. Slowly, he unpinned the white rose, spattered with dark stains, from her jerkin and, without a word, threw it on the Squirrel’s body.

  “Farewell,” whispered Ciri. “Farewell, Rose of Shaerrawedd. Farewell and…”

  “And forgive us,” added the witcher.

  They roam the land, importunate and insolent, nominating themselves the stalkers of evil, vanquishers of werewolves and exterminators of spectres, extorting payment from the gullible and, on receipt of their ignoble earnings, moving on to dispense the same deceit in the near vicinity. The easiest access they find at cottages of honest, simple and unwitting peasants who readily ascribe all misfortune and ill events to spells, unnatural creatures and monsters, the doings of windsprites or evil spirits. Instead of praying to the gods, instead of bearing rich offerings to the temple, such a simpleton is ready to give his last penny to the base witcher, believing the witcher, the godless changeling, will turn around his fate and save him from misfortune.

  Anonymous, Monstrum, or Description of the Witcher

  I have nothing against witchers. Let them hunt vampires. As long as they pay taxes.

  Radovid III the Bold, King of Redania

  If you thirst for justice, hire a witcher.

  Graffitti on the wall of the Faculty of Law, University of Oxenfurt

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Did you say something?”

  The boy sniffed and pushed his over-sized velvet hat, a pheasant’s feather hanging rakishly to the side, back from his forehead.

  “Are you a knight?” he repeated, gazing at Geralt with wide eyes as blue as the sky.

  “No,” replied the witcher, surprised that he felt like answering. “I’m not.”

  “But you’ve got a sword! My daddy’s one of King Foltest’s knights. He’s got a sword, too. Bigger than yours!”

  Geralt leaned his elbows on the railing and spat into the water eddying at the barge’s wake.

  “You carry it on your back,” the little snot persisted. The hat slipped down over his eyes again.

  “What?”

  “The sword. On your back. Why have you got the sword on your back?”

  “Because someone stole my oar.”

  The little snot opened his mouth, demanding that the impressive gaps left by milk teeth be admired.

  “Move away from the side,” said the witcher. “And shut your mouth or flies will get in.”

  The boy opened his mouth even wider.

  “Grey-haired yet stupid!” snarled the little snot’s mother, a richly attired noblewoman, pulling her offspring away by the beaver collar of his cloak. “Come here, Everett! I’ve told you so many times not to be familiar with the passing rabble!”

  Geralt sighed, gazing at the outline of islands and islets looming through the morning mist. The barge, as ungainly as a tortoise, trudged along at an appropriate speed – that being the speed of a tortoise – dictated by the lazy Delta current. The passengers, mostly merchants and peasants, were dozing on their baggage. The witcher unfurled the scroll once more and returned to Ciri’s letter.

  …I sleep in a large hall called a Dormitorium and my bed is terribly big, I tell you. I’m with the Intermediary Girls. There are twelve of us but I’m most friendly with Eurneid, Katye and Iola the Second. Whereas today I Ate Broth and the worst is that sometimes we have to Fast and get up very early at Dawn. Earlier than in Kaer Morhen. I will write the rest tomorrow for we shall presently be having Prayers. No one ever prayed in Kaer Morhen, I wonder why we have to here. No doubt because this is a Temple.

  Geralt. Mother Nenneke has read and said I must not write Silly Things and write clearly without mistakes. And about what I’m studying and that I feel well and healthy. I feel well and am healthy if unfortunately Hungry, but Soone be Dinner. And Mother Nenneke also said write that prayer has never harmed anybody yet, neither me nor, certainly, you.

  Geralt, I have some free time again, I will write therefore that I am studying. To read and write correct Runes. History. Nature. Poetry and Prose. To express myself well in the Common Speech and in the Elder Speech. I am best at the Elder Speech, I can also write Elder Runes. I will write something for you and you will see for yourself. Elaine blath, Feainnewedd. That meant: Beautiful flower, child of the Sun. You see for yourself that I can. And also—

  Now I can write again for I have found a new quill for the old one broke. Mother Nenneke read this and praised me that it was correct. That I am obedient, she told me to write, and that you should not worry. Don’t worry, Geralt.

  Again I have some time so I will write what happened. When we were feeding the turkey hens, I, Iola and Katye, One Enormous Turkey attacked us, a red neck it had and was Terrible Horrible. First it attacked Iola and then it wanted to attack me but I was not afraid because it was smaller and slower than the Pendulum anyway. I dodged and did a pirouette and walloped it twice with a switch until it Made Off. Mother Nenneke does not allow me to carry My Sword here, a pity, for I would have shown that Turkey what I learned in Kaer Morhen. I already know that in the Elder Runes it would be written Caer a’Muirehen and that it means Keep of the Elder Sea. So no doubt that is why there are Shells and Snails there as well as Fish imprinted on the stones. And Cintra is correctly written Xin’trea. Whereas my name comes from Zireael for that means Swallow and that means that…

  “Are you busy reading?”

  He raised his head.

  “I am. So? Has anything happened? Someone noticed something?”

  “No, nothing,” replied the skipper, wiping his hands on his leather jerkin. “There’s calm on the water. But there’s a mist and we’re already near Crane Islet—”

  “I know. It’s the sixth time I’ve sailed this way, Boatbug, not counting the return journeys. I’ve come to know the trail. My eyes are open, don’t worry.”

  The skipper nodded and walked away to the prow, stepping over travellers’ packages and bundles stacked everywhere. Squeezed in amidships, the horses snorted and pounded their hooves on the deck-boards. They were in the middle of the current, in dense fog. The prow of the barge ploughed the surface of water lilies, parting their clumps. Geralt turned back to his reading.

  …that means I have an elven name. But I am not, after all, an elf, Geralt, there is also talk about the Squirrels here. Sometimes even the Soldiers come and ask questions and say that we must not treat wounded elves. I have not squealed a word to anyone about what happened in spring, don’t worry. And I also remember to practise, don’t think otherwise. I go to the park and train when I have time. But not always, for I also have to work in the kitchen or in the orchard like all the girls. And we also have a terrible amount of studying to do. But never mind, I will study. After all, you too studied in the Temple, Mother Nenneke told me. And she also told me that just any idiot can brandish a sword but a witcher-girl must be wise.

  Geralt, you promised to come. Come.

  Your Ciri

  PS Come, come.

  PS II. Mother Nenneke told me to end with Praise be to Great Melitele, may her blessing and favour always go with you. And may nothing happen to you.

  Ciri

  I’d like to go to Ellander, he thought, putting away the letter. But it’s dangerous. I might lead them to— These letters h
ave got to end. Nenneke makes use of temple mail but still… Damn it, it’s too risky.

  “Hmmm… Hmm…”

  “What now, Boatbug? We’ve passed Crane Islet.”

  “And without incident, thank the gods,” sighed the skipper. “Ha, Geralt, I see this is going to be another peaceful trip. Any moment now the mist is going to clear and when the sun peeps through, the fear is over. The monster won’t show itself in the sunlight.”

  “That won’t worry me in the least.”

  “So I should think.” Boatbug smiled wryly. “The company pays you by the trip. Regardless whether something happens or not a penny falls into your pouch, doesn’t it?”

  “You ask as if you didn’t know. What is this – envy talking? That I earn money standing leaning against the side, watching the lapwings? And what do you get paid for? The same thing. For being on board. When everything is going smoothly you haven’t got anything to do. You stroll from prow to stern, grinning at the women or trying to entice merchants to have a drink. I’ve been hired to be on board too. Just in case. The transport is safe because a witcher is on board. The cost of the witcher is included in the price of the trip, right?”

  “Well, that certainly is true,” sighed the skipper. “The company won’t lose out. I know them well. This is the fifth year I sail the Delta for them from Foam to Novigrad, from Novigrad to Foam. Well, to work, witcher, sir. You go on leaning against the side and I’ll go for a stroll from prow to stern.”

  The mist thinned a little. Geralt extracted another letter from his bag, one he had recently received from a strange courier. He had already read it about thirty times.

  Dear friend…

  The witcher swore quietly, looking at the sharp, angular, even runes drawn with energetic sweeps of the pen, faultlessly reflecting the author’s mood. He felt once again the desire to try to bite his own backside in fury. When he was writing to the enchantress a month ago he had spent two nights in a row contemplating how best to begin. Finally, he had decided on “Dear friend.” Now he had his just deserts.

  Dear friend, your unexpected letter – which I received not quite three years after we last saw each other – has given me much joy. My joy is all the greater as various rumours have been circulating about your sudden and violent death. It is a good thing that you have decided to disclaim them by writing to me; it is a good thing, too, that you are doing so so soon. From your letter it appears that you have lived a peaceful, wonderfully boring life, devoid of all sensation. These days such a life is a real privilege, dear friend, and I am happy that you have managed to achieve it.

  I was touched by the sudden concern which you deigned to show as to my health, dear friend. I hasten with the news that, yes, I now feel well; the period of indisposition is behind me, I have dealt with the difficulties, the description of which I shall not bore you with.

  It worries and troubles me very much that the unexpected present you received from Fate brings you worries. Your supposition that this requires professional help is absolutely correct. Although your description of the difficulty – quite understandably – is enigmatic, I am sure I know the Source of the problem. And I agree with your opinion that the help of yet another magician is absolutely necessary. I feel honoured to be the second to whom you turn. What have I done to deserve to be so high on your list?

  Rest assured, my dear friend; and if you had the intention of supplicating the help of additional magicians, abandon it because there is no need. I leave without delay, and go to the place which you indicated in an oblique yet, to me, understandable way. It goes without saying that I leave in absolute secrecy and with great caution. I will surmise the nature of the trouble on the spot and will do all that is in my power to calm the gushing source. I shall try, in so doing, not to appear any worse than other ladies to whom you have turned, are turning or usually turn with your supplications. I am, after all, your dear friend. Your valuable friendship is too important to me to disappoint you, dear friend.

  Should you, in the next few years, wish to write to me, do not hesitate for a moment. Your letters invariably give me boundless pleasure.

  Your friend Yennefer

  The letter smelled of lilac and gooseberries.

  Geralt cursed.

  He was torn from his reverie by the movement on deck and a rocking of the barge that indicated they were changing course. Some of the passengers crowded starboard. Skipper Boatbug was yelling orders from the bow; the barge was slowly and laboriously turning towards the Temerian shore, leaving the fairway and ceding right of way to two ships looming through the mist. The witcher watched with curiosity.

  The first was an enormous three-masted galliass at least a hundred and forty yards long, carrying an amaranth flag with a silver eagle. Behind it, its forty oars rhythmically hard at work, glided a smaller, slim galley adorned with a black ensign with gold-red chevron.

  “Ooohh, what huge dragons,” said Boatbug standing next to the witcher. “They’re pushing a heck of a wave, the way they’re ploughing the river.”

  “Interesting,” muttered Geralt. “The galliass is sailing under the Redanian flag but the galley is from Aedirn.”

  “From Aedirn, very much so,” confirmed the skipper. “And it carries the Governor of Hagge’s pennon. But note, both ships have sharp keels, near on four yards’ draught. That means they’re not sailing to Hagge itself – they wouldn’t cross the rapids and shallows up the river. They’re heading to Foam or White Bridge. And look, there are swarms of soldiers on the decks. These aren’t merchants. They’re war ships, Geralt.”

  “Someone important is on that galliass. They’ve set up a tent on deck.”

  “That’s right, that’s how the nobles travel.” Boatbug nodded, picking his teeth with a splinter peeled from the barge’s side. “It’s safer by river. Elven commandos are roaming the forests. There’s no knowing which tree an arrow’s going to come flying from. But on the water there’s no fear. Elves, like cats, don’t like water. They prefer dwelling in brushwood…”

  “It’s got to be someone really important. The tent is rich.”

  “That’s right, could be. Who knows, maybe King Vizimir himself is favouring the river with his presence? All sorts of people are travelling this way now… And while we’re at it, in Foam you asked me to keep my ears open in case anyone was interested in you, asking about you. Well, that weakling there, you see him?”

  “Don’t point, Boatbug. Who is he?”

  “How should I know? Ask him yourself, he’s coming over. Just look at his stagger! And the water’s as still as a mirror, pox on it; if it were to swell just a little he’d probably be on all fours, the oaf.”

  The “oaf” turned out to be a short, thin man of uncertain age, dressed in a large, woollen and none-too-clean cloak pinned in place with a circular brass brooch. Its pin, clearly lost, had been replaced by a crooked nail with a flattened head. The man approached, cleared his throat and squinted with his myopic eyes.

  “Hmm… Do I have the pleasure of speaking to Geralt of Rivia, the witcher?”

  “Yes, sir. You do.”

  “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Linus Pitt, Master Tutor and Lecturer in Natural History at the Oxenfurt Academy.”

  “My very great pleasure.”

  “Hmm… I’ve been told that you, sir, are on commission from the Malatius and Grock Company to protect this transport. Apparently from the danger of some monster attack. I wonder what this ‘monster’ could be.”

  “I wonder myself.” The witcher leaned against the ship’s side, gazing at the dark outline of the marshy meadows on the Temerian river bank looming in the mist. “And have come to the conclusion that I have most likely been hired as a precaution against an attack from a Scoia’tael commando force said to be roaming the vicinity. This is my sixth journey between Foam and Novigrad and no aeschna has shown itself—”

  “Aeschna? That’s some kind of common name. I would rather you used the scientific terminology. Hmm… aeschna… I tr
uly do not know which species you have in mind—”

  “I’m thinking of a bumpy and rough-skinned monster four yards in length resembling a stump overgrown with algae and with ten paws and jaws like cut-saws.”

  “The description leaves a lot to be desired as regards scientific precision. Could it be one of the species of the Hyphydridae family?”

  “I don’t exclude the possibility,” sighed Geralt. “The aeschna, as far as I know, belongs to an exceptionally nasty family for which no name can be abusive. The thing is, Master Tutor, that apparently a member of this unsympathetic clan attacked the Company’s barge two weeks ago. Here, on the Delta, not far from where we are.”

  “He who says this” – Linus Pitt gave a screeching laugh – “is either an ignoramus or a liar. Nothing like that could have happened. I know the fauna of the Delta very well. The family Hyphydridae does not appear here at all. Nor do any other quite so dangerous predatory species. The considerable salinity and atypical chemical composition of the water, especially during high tide—”

  “During high tide,” interrupted Geralt, “when the incoming tide wave passes the Novigrad canals, there is no water – to use the word precisely – in the Delta at all. There is a liquid made up of excrement, soapsuds, oil and dead rats.”

  “Unfortunately, unfortunately.” The Master Tutor grew sad. “Degradation of the environment… You may not believe it, but of more than two thousand species of fish living in this river only fifty years ago, not more than nine hundred remain. It is truly sad.”

  They both leaned against the railing and stared into the murky green depths. The tide must have already been coming in because the stench of the water was growing stronger. The first dead rats appeared.

  “The white-finned bullhead has died off completely.” Linus Pitt broke the silence. “The mullet has died, as have the snakehead, the kithara, the striped loach, the redbelly dace, the long-barbel gudgeon, the king pickerel…”