"Geralt," she whispered into his ear. "I still can't believe it."
"Yen," he answered her in a whisper. "I love you."
XI.
"Where in all devils is Herwig?"
"I've no idea," answered Dandelion, while polishing the buckles on his fashionable heather-coloured camisole. "And where is Ciri?"
"I don't know," frowned Yennefer and sniffed. "You stink of parsley quite nicely, Dandelion. Have you become a vegetarian?"
The guests began to assemble, and slowly they filled the spacious chapel. Agloval, all in ceremonial black, escorted a shiny white Sh'eenaz, next to them scurried the troop of halflings in beige, brown and ochre, Yarpen Zigrin and the dragon Villentretenmerth shone with gold, Freixenet and Dorregaray in purple, the royal messengers in their heraldic colours, elves and dryads in green, and Dandelion's acquaintances in all colours of rainbow.
"Has anyone seen Loki?" asked Mousehunt.
"Loki?" Eskel stepped nearer and looked at them from under the pheasant feathers decorating his beret. "Loki went fishing with Herwig. I saw them in a boat on the lake. Ciri went after them, to tell them that it's starting."
"When was that?"
"Well, it's been a while."
"Plague on them, bloody fishers!" cursed Crach an Craite. "When the fish are nibbling, they forget about the entire world. Ragnar, go fetch them!"
"Wait," said Braen and brushed the dandelion fluff out of her deep decolletage. "We need someone who can run fast. Mona! Kashka! Raenn'ess aen laeke, va!"
"I told you," spluttered Nenneke, "that you couldn't rely on Herwig. An irresponsible fool like all the atheists. Whoever had the idea that he should be the master of ceremony?"
"He's a king," said Geralt uncertainly. "A former one maybe, but still a king."
"Long liiive..." sang suddenly one of the prophets, but the crocodile-breaker calmed him down with a punch to the back of his neck. The crowd of the halflings buzzed, someone cursed and someone else got punched in the nose. Gardenie Biberveldt screamed, because the doppler Tellico had stepped on her dress.
The female medium began to sniffle without reason.
"A little while more," hissed Yennefer with a kind smile and fingers clenched around the bouquet. "Just a little while more and I'll have haemorrhage. Let it finally start. Let it be done with."
"Don't wriggle, Yen," snarled Triss, "or you'll rip the stitching."
"Where is the gnome Schuttenbach?" squawked one of the bards.
"We have no idea," the four whores shrieked in chorus.
"Then, by dog's mother, have someone look for him!" yelled Dandelion. "He promised to bring flowers. What are we going to do now? Neither Schuttenbach nor the flowers are here. What do we look like now?"
From the chapel entrance came murmur and both dryads sent to the lake ran in screaming. Behind them dashed Loki, soaking wet and dirty, with a big slash on his forehead.
"Loki!" cried Crach an Craite. "What happened?"
"Maaamaaaaaa!" wept Kashka.
"Que'ss aen!" Braenn grabbed her daughters and, all shaking and disturbed, she passed into the dialect of Brokilon dryads: "Que'ss aen que suecc'ss feal, caer me?"
"Our boat turned over." breathed Loki. "Right at the shore. A terrible monster! I hit it with the paddle, but it chewed it up ... It chewed up my paddle!"
"Who? What?"
"Geralt!" cried Braenn. "Geralt, Mona says that it's a cinarea!"
"A zhirritva!" cried the witcher. "Eskel, go get my sword!"
"My wand!" called Dorregaray. "Radcliffe, where is my wand?"
"Ciri!" said Loki, wiping blood from his forehead. "Ciri is fighting it! She's fighting the monster!"
"Fuck! Ciri doesn't have a chance against a zhirritva! Eskel! Get me a horse!"
"Wait!" Yennefer pulled down her tiara and threw it on the floor. "We'll teleport you. You'll be there sooner! Dorregaray, Triss, Radcliffe! Give us your hands."
All fell silent and then cried out loudly. In the door of the chapel appeared the king Herwig, soaking wet, but whole. Next to him stood a bareheaded youngster in a strange shining armour. Behind them entered Ciri, water tricking down from her, she was all muddy, dishevelled, with Gevir in her hand. Her face was gashed from temple to chin. From beneath the sleeve, ripped from the shirt, blood rushed out.
"Ciri!!!"
"I killed it," said the girl witcher in a weak voice. "I split its skull."
She quailed and so Geralt, Eskel and Dandelion caught her and supported her. But she didn't let go of her sword.
"Again." moaned the bard. "Again she caught it straight in her face ... Why must she have such a damn bad luck?"
Yennefer shrieked loudly, pushed away Jarre, who was only standing in the way with just one hand, and grabbed Ciri. The sorceress didn't even look at the muddy water and blood staining and damaging her dress, put her fingers on the girl witcher's face and shouted an incantation. It seemed to Geralt that the whole castle shook and the sun darkened for a second. Yennefer moved her hands away from Ciri's face and everybody sighed in wonder. The ugly gash pulled back into a thin red scar, hemmed with several small drops of blood. Ciri stayed hanging in the arms that held her.
"Excellent," said Dorregaray. "A Master's hand is known."
"Congratulations, Yen," said Triss quietly and Nenneke started crying.
Yennefer smiled, rolled her eyes and fainted. Geralt managed to catch her before she slid down to the floor like a soft silk ribbon.
XII.
"Calm down, Geralt," said Nenneke. "Don't get excited. It will pass in a moment. She just exerted herself a bit too much, that's all. And besides those nerves ... You know how much she loves Ciri."
"I know." Geralt raised his head and looked at the young man in the shining armour, standing at the chamber's door. "Listen, son, return to the chapel. This is none of your business. And, just between you and me, who are you anyway?"
"I'm ... I'm Galahad," replied the young knight. "May I ... May I inquire how is the beautiful and brave maiden feeling?"
"Which one?" smiled the witcher. "There are two here, both beautiful, brave, and both maidens, though one of them is a maiden only by chance. Which one do you mean?"
The young man blushed visibly. "The younger one," he answered. "The one who rushed to help the Fisher King without hesitating."
"Who?"
"He means Herwig," Nenneke butted in. "The zhirritva attacked the boat in which Herwig and Loki were fishing. Ciri came at the zhirritva and this lad, who was nearby by chance, came to her help."
"So, you helped Ciri," the witcher looked at the young knight with more attention and gratitude. "What's your name again? I've forgotten."
"Galahad. Is this Avalon? The castle of the Fisher King?"
The door opened and a pale Yennefer appeared, supported by Triss Ranuncul.
"Yen!"
"We're going to the chapel," announced the sorceress in a quiet voice. "The guests are waiting."
"Yen, we can postpone it."
"I will become your wife even if devils had to take me! And I will do it now!"
"And Ciri?"
"What Ciri?" The girl witcher came out from behind Yennefer, smearing glamarye in the healthy part of her face. "Everything's all right, Geralt. It was just a stupid scratch, I didn't even feel it."
Galahad, with loud clanging and creaking, knelt, or fell on one knee.
"Fair lady."
Ciri's big eyes widened even more.
"Ciri, allow me," said the witcher. "This is knight ... hmmm ... Galahad. You already know each other. He helped you when you were fighting the zhirritva."
Ciri blushed deeply. The glamarye began to work, so it was a blush really fair and the scar was almost invisible.
"Lady," mumbled Galahad. "Be so kind. Allow me, o beautiful one, to stay. I desire ... I desire..."
"Knowing life, I believe he desires to become your knight, Ciri," said Triss Ranuncul.
Ciri clasped her hands behind her back and bowed
gratefully, still silent.
"The guests are waiting," Yennefer interrupted them. "Galahad, I can see that you're not merely a warrior, but a polite lad. You fought together with my daughter, so you may offer her your arm during the feast. Ciri, go on, change into a dress. Geralt, you comb your hair and tuck your shirt into your trousers, because it's out. In ten minutes I want to see all of you in the chapel!"
XIII.
The wedding was splendid. Ladies and maidens cried collectively. Herwig was the master of ceremony, a former king, but still a king. Vesemir from Kaer Morhen and Nenneke acted as parents of the betrothed couple, Triss Ranuncul and Eskel as witnesses. Galahad accompanied Ciri, and Ciri was blushing like a peony.
Those who had swords created an espalier. Dandelion's friends played their lutes and fiddles, and sang a song composed just for this occasion, being helped with the refrain by the red-haired Freixenet's daughters and the siren Sh'eenaz, famous near and far because of her beautiful voice. Dandelion made a speech, wished the newlyweds a lot of happiness, good luck, and a most successful wedding night, for which Yennefer rewarded him with a kick in the ankle.
Then they all rushed into the throne hall and besieged the tables. At the head sat Yennefer with Geralt, hands still bound with the wedding sash. They smiled and answered to the toasts and well-wishing.
The guests, who roared and rampaged out themselves the last night, were having fun in a considerate and disciplined way - and for an admirably long time no one managed to get drunk. An unexpected exception became Jarre Onehand, who overdid it when he couldn't stand the sight of Ciri burning red under Galahad's sweet looks. Nobody disappeared either, except Kashka, who was soon found under the table, where she was sleeping on a dog.
The ghosts of Rozrog must have had enough experiences the previous night, because they showed no signs of life. There was only one exception in the form of a skeleton behung with the remains of a shroud, who suddenly appeared behind Agloval, Mousehunt and Freixenet's backs. The prince, baron and druid were however so deeply absorbed in a discussion about politics, that they didn't even notice the apparition. The skeleton got very upset by this lack of attention, moved around the table and snapped its teeth at Triss Ranuncul. The sorceress, snuggled tenderly against the arm of Eskel from Kaer Morhen, raised her graceful hand and snapped her fingers. The dogs took care of the bones.
"May the Great Melitele load you with her grace and blessings, loved ones." Nenneke kissed Yennefer and clinked her glass against Geralt's goblet. "But it took you a damn long time. Well, you're wedded now. I'm very happy for you, and I hope Ciri will take your example, and if she finds someone, she won't delay it for too long."
"I have the impression," waved Geralt in the direction of Galahad, enchanted by the girl witcher, "that she's already found someone."
"Are you talking about that odd character?" said the astonished priestess. "Oh, no. Nothing will come out of that. Did you take a closer look at him? No? Well then, look at what he's doing. For effect he's courting Ciri, but at the same time constantly examines and gropes at all the cups on the table. You must admit that it's not really a normal behaviour. I'm wondering why that girl looks at him like at a picture. Jarre, that's something different. He's a reasonable, polite..."
"Your reasonable and polite Jarre has just fallen under the table," Yennefer interrupted her. "And now enough, Nenneke. Ciri is coming to us."
The blond girl witcher sat on the chair left free by Herwig and cuddled up against the sorceress.
"I'm leaving," she said quietly.
"I know, daughter."
"Galahad ... Galahad is coming with me. I don't know why. But I can't hinder him, can I?"
"Of course not. Geralt!" Yennefer's eyes, glowing with a warm violet light, fixed upon her husband. "Go and have a walk around the tables and talk with the guests. You can also drink something. One cup. A small one. I'd like to have a talk with my daughter here, like a woman with a woman."
Geralt sighed.
The party was getting more and more jovial. Dandelion's pals sang songs that caused Annika, Caldemeyn's daughter, to blush fiercely. A very tipsy dragon Villentretenmerth was hugging an even drunker doppler Tellico and tried to convince him that changing into the prince Agloval in order to replace him in the bed of the beautiful siren Sh'eenaz would not be a very friendly deed.
Freixenet's red-haired daughters could jump out of their skins just to please the royal messengers, and the royal messengers tried their best to impress the dryads, which in a way resembled a fun house. Yarpen Zigrin, snuffling with his hooked nose, explained to Chireadan that as a child he wanted to become an elf. Mousehunt roared that the government would fall, and Agloval opposed him. No one knew which government they meant. Herwig was telling Gardenia Biberveldt about the great carp he caught on a rod with a horse-mane line, and the hobbit nodded dreamily and only occasionally called at her husband to stop drinking too much.
On the galleries, the prophets and the crocodile-breaker ran about, trying in vain to find the gnome Schuttenbach. Freya, clearly disgusted with the weaker men, drank helter-skelter with the female medium, while both of them kept a virtuous and serious silence.
Geralt walked around the table, clinked his glass against the guests' ones, proffered his back to friendly claps and his cheeks to friendly kisses. At last he came near to the place where the lonely Galahad was joined by Dandelion. Galahad, his gaze fixed at the poet's cup, mumbled something and the troubadour squinted and listened with interest. Geralt stopped and stood above them.
"... and so I boarded that ship," Galahad was saying, "and I sailed out into the mist, even though I must confess to you, Master Dandelion, that my heart was clutched by terror ... And I confess that I was losing hope at times. I thought that my end had come, that I would die in that impenetrable mist. And then the sun came up, shone upon the water like ... like gold ... And then suddenly I saw before me ... Avalon. This is Avalon, isn't it?"
"Not at all," argued Dandelion, filling their cups. "This is Schwemmland, which can be translated as Marshland. Have a drink, Galahad."
"And this castle ... that must be Montsalvat, no?"
"By no means. This is Rozrog. I have never heard of Montsalvat in my life, son. And if I haven't heard about it, then it by no means exists. Cheers to the newlyweds, my lad!"
"Cheers, Master Dandelion. But that king ... Isn't he the Fisher King?"
"Herwig? Oh he likes fishing, true. He used to prefer hunt before, but then he was wounded in leg in the battle at Orth, and so can't ride a horse anymore. But don't call him Fisher King, Galahad. First, it sounds quite stupid, and second, Herwig could get offended."
Galahad said nothing for a long time, while playing with a half-empty glass. Then he sighed deeply and looked around.
"They were right," he whispered. "It's but a legend. A fairy tale. A fantasy. In short - a lie. Instead of Avalon a common Marshland. And no hope."
"There, there," the poet jabbed at his side with his hand. "Don't fall into sorrow, boy. Why the damn melancholy? You're at a wedding, so have fun, drink and sing. You're still young, you have an entire life ahead of you."
"Life," repeated the knight thoughtfully. "How is it again, Master Dandelion? Something begins, or something ends?"
Dandelion shot a short, inquisitive look at him.
"No, I don't know," he replied. "And if I don't know, then no one does. The conclusion is that nothing ever ends and nothing ever begins."
"I don't understand."
"And you don't have to."
Galahad thought again, frowning.
"And the Grail?" he asked finally. "What has become of the Grail?"
"What is this Grail?"
"It's something we're searching for," explained Galahad, setting his sad eyes on the troubadour. "Which is the most important. Without which the life doesn't have sense. Without which we're incomplete and imperfect."
The bard pressed his lips and looked at the knight with his famous look, in which a wi
se sight mixed with a jovial honesty.
"You fool," he replied, "you've been sitting next to your Grail for the entire evening."
XIV.
Around midnight, when the guests were already quite capable of having fun by themselves, and Yennefer with Geralt, freed from the feast, could look into each other eyes in peace, the door flew open and into the hall walked the bandit Vissing, generally known as Loot-Pat. Loot-Pat was something around two meters tall, had a waist-long beard and a nose of the shape and colour of a radish. On one shoulder he had his famed club Toothpick and on the other he was carrying a huge sack.