Even when not believing in the success of the enterprise very much.
***
‘Just after I arrived at Rissberg,’ he pointed out to the wizards, ‘you showed me to Ortolan, and all the higher ranking wizards. Even assuming that the one guilty of practicing goetia and the massacres was not among them, the rumor about a witcher in the castle must have spread. Your perpetrator, if he exists, will instantly understand what's going on, and will go under cover. And stop any actions. Or he will wait for me to leave and then he will begin it again.’
‘We will stage your leaving,’ responded Pinety. ‘Your further stay in the castle will be secret. Have no fear, there is magic to make sure that what is supposed to be a secret will stay that way. We are able, we guarantee, to wield such magic.’
‘Does patrolling everyday make any sense, in your opinion?’
‘It does. Do your job, witcher. And don't worry about anything else.’
Geralt solemnly promised to himself that he would indeed not worry. And he did not fully believe the wizards. He had his suspicions.
But he did not want to show them.
***
In Dunnock's Clearing was the sound of briskly tapped axes, and clamored saws, it smelled of fresh wood and resin. The one fanatically deforesting here was a lumberjack named Dunnock with a large family. The older members of the family worked the axes and saws, the younger were cutting of branches and the youngest were carrying away brushwood. Dunnock saw Geralt, put his axe in a trunk, and wiped his forehead.’
‘Greetings,’ Geralt came nearer. ‘How are you? Everything in order?’
Dunnock looked at him grimly for a long while
‘It's bad,’ he finally said.
‘Because?’
Dunnock was silent for a long while.
‘A saw was stolen,’ he snarled at last. ‘A saw! So how it is, eh? Why are you, Mister, riding from one clearing to other? And why is Torquil traversing the forest? You are seemingly patrolling, eh? And saws are stolen!’
‘I will take care of that,’ Geralt lied smoothly. ‘I will take care of this case. Farewell.’
Dunnock spat.
***
In the next clearing - this time Hoopoe's, everything was in order, no one threatened Hoopoe, and it seemed that nothing was stolen from him. Geralt did not even stop Roach. He was heading to the next village. Called Salt Works.
***
Moving between the various villages was facilitated by forest roads, ploughed with cart wheels. Geralt met carts quite often, both full of forest products, and empty, travelling to get their load. People on foot could be met too, the traffic was surprisingly high. Even in a deep forest it was seldom totally desolate. Above the ferns showed from time to time like the back of a narwhal among the sea waves, was the bottom of a woman gathering berries and other fruits in the undergrowth on all fours. Among the trees waling with a stiff walk was something that looked by its posture and face like a zombie, but turned out however to be an old man looking for mushrooms. Sometimes something broke in the brushwood among wild shrieks - these were children, offspring of the lumberjacks and coalmen, armed with bows made of sticks and twine. It was surprising how much destruction they could bring with such crude equipment. It terrified him to think what would happen when the children would grow up and get professional equipment.
***
The village of Salt Works was also calm, nothing disturbed the work, nor threatened the workers. Its name - originally - was taken from the potash made here, a resource prized in the glass and soap industries. Potash, as the wizards explained to Geralt, was obtained from the ashes of charcoal, which was made in the region. Geralt had already visited -and planned to visit this day too – the villages of the coalmen. The nearest was called Oaks, and the road to it actually lead through a group of old, a few-hundred years, oaks. Even in the noon, even in full sun, and without clouds in the sky under the oaks it was always gloomy. It was near the oaks when Geralt met constable Torquil and his unit for the first time.
***
When they rode from behind the oaks at a gallop and encircled him from all sides, in green masking clothes, with longbows on their backs, Geralt instantly took them for Foresters, members of the famous voluntary paramilitary formation, calling themselves the Guardian of the Woods, who had taken to hunting nonhumans, particularly elves and dryads, and murdering them in various grisly manners. It happened that travelers were accused by the Foresters of helping nonhumans, or trading with them, both of them a reason to lynch, and it was hard to prove innocence. This meeting in the oaks promised to be drastically violent - Geralt was then relieved, when the green men turned out to be law enforcement officers on duty. The leader, a swarthy guy with a piercing look, presented himself as a constable in service of a bailiff from Gors Velen, and bluntly and harshly demanded Geralt to identify himself, and once he knew it, demanded to see the witcher's medallion. The medallion with its toothed wolf proved not only satisfactory proof, but it also caused the admiration of the constable. His esteem as it seemed covered also Geralt. The constable dismounted his horse, and asking the witcher for the same, invited him for a talk.
‘I am Frans Torquil,’ the constable had thrown away the appearance of a blunt disciplinarian, and proved to be a man of calm and precision. ‘You are Geralt of Rivia, witcher. The same Geralt of Rivia that a month ago in Ansegis saved a women and child from death by killing a man-eating monster.’
Geralt pursed his lips. He’d tried to forget about Ansegis, about the monster with the plate, and the man that was killed because of him. He fought with it for a long time, and finally convinced himself that he had done everything that was possible, that he saved two, and the monster would kill no more. Now everything came rushing back.
Frans Torquil seemed to miss the cloud that covered witcher's forehead after his words. Or if he saw it, he did not care.
‘It turns out, witcher - that we both are travelling through this thicket for the same reason. Some bad things have begun to happen since the spring in the Tukajan Foothills, some very nasty things happened here. And it’s time to put an end to it. After the massacre at Arches I advised the wizards of Rissberg to hire a witcher. They listened it seems, although they don't like to listen.’
The constable took off his hat, and shook the needles and seeds off of it. His head-wear was identical to that which Dandelion wore, although of a worse grade of felt. And instead of an egret feather it had the flight feather of a pheasant.
‘I’ve guarded law and order for a long time here, in the Foothills,’ he continued looking Geralt in the eyes. ‘Not boasting, I’ve caught many criminals, and with many I’ve decorated dry branches. But what been happening here recently... It needs someone like you. Someone that knows a bit about magic, and has knowledge of monsters, someone who will not be afraid to face neither a wraith nor a dragon. And it's good too that we will together guard and defend people. I, for my mediocre pay, and you for the wizard’s money. I'm curious, do they pay much?’
The five hundred novigradian crowns, sent to a bank account in advance, Geralt had no intention to speak of. That's how much they pay for my service and my time, the wizards of Rissberg. Fifteen days of my time. And after this fifteen days elapse, independently of what would happen, another payment for the same amount. Generous. More than satisfying.
‘Yeah, they surely pay well,’ Frans Torquil understood quickly that he would not hear an answer. ‘They can afford it. And I will tell you only this: No money is too much here. Because it's a nasty affair, witcher. Nasty, dark and unnatural. The evil which rages here came from Rissberg, I'll bet my head. It's sure that the wizards mucked something up with their magic. Because their magic is like a bag of vipers: no matter how well it's tied, eventually something venomous will get out of it.’
The constable stared at Geralt, and this one stare was enough for him to understand that the witcher would not reveal anything about his deal with the w
izards.
‘They acquainted you with the details? Told you what happened in Yews, Arches and in Rogowizna?’
‘Kind of.’
‘Kind of,’ repeated Torquil. ‘Three days after Belleteyn, in village of Yews, nine lumberjacks were killed. In the middle of May, in a village of saw-men, twelve killed. Beginning of June, in Rogowizna a colony of smokers. Fifteen victims. This is the current state as of today, witcher. Because it's not over. I'll bet my head it's not over.’
Yews, Arches, Rogowizna. Three mass crimes. So - not an accident during work. Not a demon that got free and escaped, one that a mediocre goet was not able to control. Someone three times enslaved a demon in a carrier and send him to murder.
‘I've seen much,’ the muscles on the constable jaws played strongly. ‘Many battlefields, many dead people. Assaults, sacking, bandit raids, blood feuds, even a wedding from which six dead were carried away, including the bridegroom. But cutting tendons to later cut the lamed one's throats? Scalping? Biting throats open with teeth? Tearing alive people asunder, and dragging their bowels out? And finally making pyramids from the cut off heads? With what we dealing with here? The wizards have not told you this? They did not explain why they need a witcher?’
Why would wizards of Rissberg need a witcher? So much so, that he had to be forced into cooperation by blackmail? With every demon and every carrier, the wizards could easily deal themselves, and effortlessly at that. Fulmen sphaericus, Sagitta aurea, just two spells on the shelf that could be used to treat an energumen from a hundred paces, and it's doubtful that he would live through such a treatment. But no, the wizards prefer a witcher. Why? The answer is simple - a wizard had become an energumen, confrater, a colleague. One among their colleagues summons demons and lets them enter him and runs to murder. He’d done it three times already. But it's awkward for wizards to hit a colleague with a globe of lightning or puncture him with a golden arrowhead. To treat a colleague, a witcher is needed.’
He neither could nor wanted to tell all this to Torquil. He neither could nor wanted to tell, what he told the wizards at Rissberg. And how they reacted with disdain. With well-deserved banality.
***
‘You still do it. You still toy with, how you call it, goetia. You summon those creatures, pull them out of their planes, from behind closed doors. With the same old song: we will control them, we will rule over them, make them obedient, take them to work. With always the same justification: we will know their secrets, we will force them to reveal secrets and arcana, thanks to which we will multiply the power of our own magic, we will heal and cure, we will eliminate illnesses and natural disasters, we will make the world a better place, and people will be happy. And without a change it turns out to be a lie, that it's only your own power and rule you care about.’
Tzara, it was obvious, was in a hurry to reply, but Pinety held him back.
‘And as to creatures from behind closed doors,’ continued Geralt. ‘The ones that we call demons for convenience - you surely know exactly what we, witchers, know. What we came to know long ago and have written down in witcher protocols and chronicles. Demons will never, ever reveal to you any secrets, nor arcana. They will never be put to work. They let you summon them and come to our world with one goal. To murder. Because they like it. And you know it. But you let them do so.’
‘Let's shift from theory,’ said Pinety after a long while of silence, ‘to practice. I think that the witchers' protocols and chronicles also contain something about that. And we want from you witcher is not a moral treatise in the least, but a rather practical solution.’
***
‘I 'm glad to make your acquaintance,’ Frans Torquil shook Geralt's hand. ‘And now to work, back to patrol. To guard, and protect people. That's our job.’
‘That it is.’
The already mounted constable leaned down.
‘I bet,’ he said softly, ‘that you already know what I'm going to tell you. But I will say it anyway. Beware, witcher. Take care. You don't want to say anything, but I know this and that. Wizards surely hired you to repair something they broke themselves, to clean up the foul things with which they fouled. But if something goes awry they will look for a scapegoat. And you look like one.’
***
The sky above the forest began to darken, a sudden wind rustled in the treetops. Distant thunder hummed.
***
‘If not thunder then downpours,’ said Frans Torquil, when they met the next time. ‘Every second day it thunders and rains. And as a result all traces, when you look for them, are destroyed by rain. Convenient, isn't it? Almost like it was ordered. This also smells of wizardry, Rissberg in particular. They say that magicians can control weather. Force magical winds to blow, while natural wind they force to blow in any direction they want it to. Scatter clouds, create rain and hail, and a thunderstorm too. When they want it. Too cover the traces for example. What do you say, Geralt?’
‘Wizards, it's true, can do much,’ he responded. ‘They always were able to control the weather, since the First Landing, which they say was only due to Jan Bekker's spells, did not end in catastrophe. But blaming mages for all bad luck and failures is I think too much. You talk about natural phenomena, Frans. We just have such a season. A season of storms.
***
He hurried his mare. The sun was already low over the western horizon, and he wanted to patrol a few more villages. The nearest was a colony of coalmen, located in a clearing called Rogowizna. When he went there for the first time, Pinety was with him.
***
The terrain of the massacre, to the witcher’s amazement, instead of being a grim deserted place which everyone gave a wide berth to, was a place of intense labor, full of people. Coalmen - they called themselves smokers - where working on building a new charcoal pile, a construction used to make charcoal. The charcoal pile was a round pile of wood, not some chaotic pile, but a pile that was constructed evenly and with care. When Geralt and Pinety rode into the clearing they met the coalmen covering this pile with moss and carefully spilling dirt over it. The second pile, constructed earlier was already working, that is smoking. The whole clearing was full of acrid smoke, and a sharp smell assaulted the nose.
‘How long,’ the witcher coughed. ‘How long ago, you said...’
‘Precisely a month ago.’
‘And people are working here like nothing happened?’
‘There is a huge demand,’ explained Pinety, ‘for charcoal. Only charcoal allows when burned to achieve a temperature high enough to smelt metals. Blast furnaces near Dorian and Gors Velen could not work without charcoal, and metallurgy is the most important and most rapidly developing branch of industry. Thanks to the demand, the coalmen are well paid, and economy, witcher, is like nature -it can't stand a vacuum. The murdered smokers where buried there - you see the barrow? Fresh sand is still yellow. And new ones have taken their place. The pile smokes, life continues.’
They dismounted. The smokers did not pay them any attention; they were too occupied. If someone was interested, it was the women and children, a few of which were running among the shacks.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Pinety guessed the question, before witcher asked it. ‘Among the buried in the barrow there were children. Three. Three women. And nine men and boys. Follow me.’
They went among the piles of drying wood.
‘Few men were killed instantly, their heads were smashed. The rest were overwhelmed and immobilized, tendons in their feet cut with a sharp device. Many, including the children had additionally broken arms. The overpowered were murdered. Throats were torn asunder, bellies were ripped, chests opened. Skin was torn from their backs, there was scalping. To one of the women...’
‘Enough,’ the witcher looked at the black stains of blood, still visible on the birch trunks. ‘Enough, Pinety.’
‘I think it would be worth it to know with whom... and with what we are dealing.’
‘I alre
ady know.’
‘So the last detail then. The body count didn't match. All those killed had their heads cut off. And placed in a pyramid here, exactly in this place. There were fifteen heads, and thirteen bodies. Two bodies have vanished.’
‘Two other villages were treated,’ continued the sorcerer after a short pause, ‘to a very similar scheme, Yews, and Arches. In Yews there were nine killed, and in Arches, twelve. I'll take you there tomorrow. Today we will go to New Tar Kiln, its close. You will see how pine tar and birch tar are made. When you next smear something with tar you will know how it's made.’
‘I have a question.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘You truly had to resort to blackmail? You did not believe I would come to Rissberg of my own free will?’
‘Opinions were mixed.’
‘Putting me in jail in Kerack, to free me, but still threaten me with court - whose idea was it? Who thought it out? Coral, am I right?’
Pinety looked at him. He kept looking for a long time.
‘You are,’ he said eventually. ‘It was her idea. And her plan. Put you in, free you, and threaten. And in the end make the justice abandon process. It was done instantly after you left. Your record at Kerack is as clear as a tear. Any other questions? No? Then let's go to New Tar Kiln, we will look at tar. Then I will open a teleport and we will go back to Rissberg. In the afternoon I’d like to visit my river with my fly fishing rod. Mayflies are swarming, trout will be feeding. Have you ever hooked a fish, witcher? Are you into angling?’
Stephen Hulin Page 13
