‘You’re counting on the Congress of Sorcerers to make a difference?’
‘Count on it. You said yourself that there are two factions among the Sorcerers. There were already times when Sorcerers mitigated kings, put end to wars and rebellions. After all it was the Sorcerers who made peace with Nilfgaard three years ago. They can now…’
Bernie Hofmeier paused and pricked up his ears. Dandelion’s hand muted the string of the lute.
From the darkness emerged the Witcher from the direction of the dike. He walked slowly towards the house. Again the lightning flashed. When the thunder struck, the Witcher was already with them, on the porch.
‘What happened, Geralt?’ Dandelion asked to break the awkward silence. ‘Did you get the monster?’
‘No. This is not a night to track. It’s a restless night. Restless… I’m tired, Dandelion.’
‘Then sit down and rest.’
‘You misunderstand me.’
‘Indeed,’ muttered the Halfling, looking at the sky and listening. ‘A restless night, something evil is brewing… The animals are crowded in the barn… and screams can be heard in the wind…’
‘The Wild Hunt ‘ the Witcher said quietly. ‘We’ll close the shutters, Mr Hofmeier.’
‘The Wild Hunt?’ Bernie was terrified ‘Ghosts?’
‘Do not fear. It flies high. In the summer it always flies high. But it may wake the children. The Hunt brings nightmares. Better close the shutters.’
‘The Wild Hunt’ Dandelion said, glancing nervously up. ‘heralds war.’
‘Nonsense. Superstition.’
‘But shortly before the attack on Cintra by Nilfgaard…’
‘Quiet!’ The Witcher interrupted with a gesture, straightening up suddenly, staring into the darkness.
‘What is…’
‘Horses.’
‘Damn it’ Hofmeier hissed, springing up from the bench. ‘at night it can only be Scoia’tael…’
‘One horse’ the Witcher interrupted, taking up his sword which he had placed on the bench. ‘One real horse, the rest are the ghost of the Hunt… Damn, it is not possible… In the Summer?’
Dandelion also rose, but he was ashamed to flee, as neither, Geralt or Bernie had made a move to escape. The Witcher drew his sword from it sheath and ran towards the dike, the Halfling without hesitation rushed after him, arming himself with a pitchfork along the way. Lightning flashed again, illuminating on the dike a galloping horse. And behind the horse came something vague, something that was irregular, woven with darkness with glowing flashes, a whirlpool, mirage. Something that gave rise to panic, disgusting, visceral horror that twisted the entrails.
The Witcher cried, raising his sword. The rider saw him and hasted their gallop, steering the mount towards him. The Witcher cried again. Thunder boomed overhead.
There was a flash again, this time it was not lightning. Dandelion crouched next to the bench and would have crawled under it, but it proved to be too low. Bernie dropped his pitchfork. Petunia Hofmeier ran from the house screaming.
In a blinding flash materialized a transparent sphere, inside loomed a form which was rapidly gaining form and shape. Dandelion recognized her immediately. He knew those black curls and that obsidian star on a velvet ribbon. What he did not know and had never before seen was her face. The face of Fury and Rage, the face of the Goddess of Vengeance, Destruction and Death.
Yennefer raised her hands and shouted a spell, from her hands poured a hissing spiral of sparks that cut the night sky and reflected thousands of times from the surface of the pond. The spirals darted like spears through the tangled cloud chasing the lone rider. The cloud gurgled, and to Dandelion it seemed that he heard the cries of ghosts, and he saw nightmarish silhouettes of spectral horses. He saw it only for a split second because the cloud suddenly shrunk, collapsed into a ball and sped up into the sky, stretching with the momentum and dragging behind it a tail like a comet. Darkness fell, lit only by the glow of a lantern that Petunia was holding.
The rider led the horse into the courtyard before the house and jumped from the saddle, the hesitated. It was then that Dandelion realized who it was. He had never seen this lean, ashen haired girl. But her immediately recognized her.
‘Geralt…’ The girl said quietly. ‘Lady Yennefer… I’m sorry… I had to. You know…’
‘Ciri’ said the Witcher. Yennefer had taken a step towards the girl, but stopped. She was silent.
To which of the two will she go to first, thought Dandelion. None of them, or the Witcher, or Sorceress. To whom will she first approach? To him? Or her?
Ciri did not approach any of them. She could not choose. So she passed out.
* * *
The house was empty, the Halfling and his family had gone to work at dawn. Ciri pretended to sleep, so she heard when Geralt and Yennefer left. She slipped out of bed, dressed quickly and quietly slipped out of the room, following behind them out into the courtyard.
Geralt and Yennefer turned towards the dike between the white and yellow water lilies. Ciri hid behind a ruined wall and watched both of them through a crack. She had thought that Dandelion, a famous poet, whose poems she often used to read, was still asleep. But she was wrong. Dandelion the poet was not sleeping. And caught her red-handed.
‘Hey,’ he said, approaching suddenly and laughing. ‘Is it nice to spy and eavesdrop? More discretion, little one. Let them be alone for a while longer.’
Ciri blushed, but quickly opened her mouth.
‘First, I’m not little.’ She whispered proudly. ‘And secondly I do not think I’m bothering them, right?’
Dandelion grew serious.
‘Probably not,’ he said. ‘In fact you might even be helping.’
‘How, In what way?’
‘Don’t pretend. You were very clever yesterday. But you didn’t fool me. You pretended to faint right?’
‘Yes,’ she muttered, turning her face away. ‘Lady Yennefer realized, but not Geralt…’
‘They brought you inside the house together. Their hands touched. They sat next to your bed almost until dawn, but didn’t say a word to each other. It’s only now that they have decided to talk. There, at the dike, by the pond. And you decided to eavesdrop on what they are saying… To spy on them through a hole in the wall. Are you so interested in what they are doing there?’
‘They aren’t doing anything there. A little talking and that’s it.’
‘And you’ Dandelion sat down on the grass under and apple tree and leaned his back against the trunk, but not before examining to make sure there were no ants or caterpillars, ‘Would like to know what they are talking about?’
‘Yes… No! And anyway… Anyway, I can’t hear anything. They are too far away.’
‘If you want,’ the bard laughed ‘I’ll tell you.’
‘Any how would you know?’
‘Ha, ha. Noble Ciri, I’m a poet. A poet knows all about these kind of issues. I’ll tell you something else: Poets know more about such matters than the people who are involved.’
‘Sure!’
‘I give you my word. The word of a Poet.’
‘Yes? Well… Well, tell me what they are saying. Explain to me what it all means!’
‘Look out through the hole again and then tell me what they are doing.’
‘Hmm… ‘ said Ciri biting her lower lip, then leaning down a peered through the crack. ‘Lady Yennefer is standing by the willow… Pulling off the leaves and playing with her star… She isn’t saying anything and she isn’t looking at Geralt… And Geralt is at her side. He lowered his head. And said something. No, he is silent. Oh, what a face… What a funny face he has…’
‘Child’s play.’ Dandelion found an apple in the grass which he started to rub against his pants and then examined critically. ‘He is asking her to forgive him for his various foolish words and actions. He apologizes for his impatience, lack of faith and hope, his stubbornness, his viciousness, his anger and attitude which is unw
orthy for a man. He apologizes for what he once did not understand, for which you would not understand…’
‘Impossible, that’s a lie!’ Ciri straightened and pulled her bangs violently back from her forehead. ‘You’re making it up!’
‘Apologizes for what he understood only now.’ Dandelion stared at the sky and his voice began to take the proper rhythm for ballads. ‘For he wants to understand, but is afraid that he does not have time… And what they have he’ll never understand. He apologizes and asks for forgiveness… Hmm, hmm… Meaning … Conscience… Purpose? All trivial, shit…’
‘That’s not true!’ Ciri stamped her foot. ‘Geralt doesn’t say those things! He… doesn’t say anything. I saw him, he stand with her silently…’
‘This is the task of poetry, Ciri. Speaking of what other would keep silent.’
‘What a silly task. And you made it up!’
‘This is also the task of poetry. Hey, I hear voices coming from the pond. Quickly, take a look at what is happening.’
‘Geralt’ Ciri said, eye again peering through the hole in the wall, ‘stands with his head lowered. And Yennefer is yelling at him horribly. Yelling and waving her arms. Oh… What does this mean?’
‘Child’s play’ Dandelion again stared at the clouds floating in the sky. ‘Now it is she who is apologizing to him.’
‘I take thee to my wedded wife, to have and to holde from this day forwarde, for better, for wurse, for richer, for poorer, in sickenes, and in health, to love and to cherishe, til death us departe.’
iaiii
Old marriage vows
We don't know much about love. Love is like a pear: it's sweet and it has a distinct shape. Try to define the shape of a pear.
Dandelion, Half a century of poetry
CHAPTER THREE
Geralt had reasons to believe – and so he did – that the banquets of wizards looked different from feasts and revels of regular mortals. However, he didn't expect them to differ so drastically.
Yennefer's offer to accompany her to the banquet at the eve of the convent was surprising, though not dumbstruckingly. It wasn't the first such offer. Before, when they were still living together, Yennefer desired his company on convents and gatherings. Back then, he refused. He was certain that wizards would treat him as a freak and a spectacle at best, and as an intruder and pariah at worst. Yennefer laughed his fears off, but didn't insist. Since in all other situations she could be so insisting that the whole house shook and creaked, it only served to reinforce Geralt's belief that his suspicions were true.
This time he agreed. Without hesitation. The offer was made after a long, sincere and emotional talk. After the talk, which brought them back together, putting aside former conflicts, the talk which melted the ice of bitterness and pride. After the talk at Hirundum's dike, Geralt would agree to every, virtually every offer from Yennefer. He wouldn't refuse even if she proposed a visit to hell in order to drink a glass of boiling tar while having a small talk with a bunch of fiery demons.
And there was Ciri, without whom that talk would have been impossible – that meeting wouldn't take place. Ciri, who, according to Codringher, was an object of interest to some wizard. Geralt hoped that his presence at the convent would provoke the wizard and force him to make a move. But he didn't say a word about this to Yennefer.
They set off from Hirundum straight to Thanedd; him, her, Ciri and Dandelion. At first, they made a stop at the huge Loxia palace, at the south-eastern bottom of the mountain. The palace was bustling with guests and their companions, but Yennefer was able to quickly acquire lodgings. They stayed there one whole day. Geralt spent it talking with Ciri; Dandelion on running around gathering and sharing rumours; and the sorceress on picking clothes. And once the evening came, the witcher and Yennefer joined the colourful procession on the way to Aretuza – the banquet's destination. And now, in Aretuza, Geralt was experiencing wonder and surprise, even though he had promised himself not to.
The giant hall was T-shaped. The longer part had windows, narrow and unbelievably high, almost reaching the ceiling. The ceiling was high as well. So high, that it was difficult to make sense of the murals which adorned it, least of all the gender of the nude figures which made a repeated appearance in the paintings. Windows were of stained glass, which must have cost a fortune, and yet the hall was uncomfortably cool. Geralt wondered why the candles hadn’t gone out yet, but stopped after taking a closer look. The candelabras were magical, perhaps even illusory. Either way, they gave a lot of light, much more than regular candles.
When they entered, close to a hundred guests were already entertaining themselves inside. The hall, in the witcher's opinion, could accommodate at least three times that, even if tables were to be placed in the middle, in the shape of a horseshoe, in accordance with the custom. But the traditional horseshoe was missing. It seemed that they were to feast while standing, wandering tirelessly alongside the walls decorated with tapestries, garlands and pennants fluttering in the wind. Under the tapestries and garlands stood rows of long tables with piles of fancy food on even more fancy plates between fancy flowery compositions and fancy ice figures. Upon taking a closer look, Geralt decided that there was more of the fancy than of the food.
‘No benches.’ He stated grimly, smartening up the short, black, snug-fitting jacket Yennefer picked for him. The jacket of this kind was known as a doublet and it was the newest fashion trend. The witcher had no idea where its name originated from and didn't wish to find out.
Yennefer didn't react. Geralt didn't expect her to, as he knew that the sorceress rarely reacted to statements of this sort. But it didn't discourage him. He kept whining. He just felt like whining for a bit.
‘No music. Cold as hell. Nowhere to sit. Are we supposed to eat while standing?’
The sorceress gave him a look.
‘Indeed,’ she said, surprisingly calm. ‘We shall dine while standing. Furthermore, care to remember that longer stops near the tables with food are considered a breach of etiquette.’
‘I shall take note of that,’ he murmured. ‘Especially considering that there's not much to stop for, as I see.’
‘Unrestrained drinking is a huge breach of etiquette.’ Yennefer continued to instruct him, dismissing his complaints. ‘Avoiding small talk, in turn, is an inexcusable breach…’
‘And how much of a breach,’ he interrupted, ‘does that gaunt idiot in goofy pants make by pointing at me to his companions?’
‘A tiny one.’
‘What are we going to be doing in here, Yen?’
‘Walking around the hall, making acquaintances, complimenting, conversing… Stop messing up your hair.’
‘You didn't let me tie it up…’
‘Your ponytail looks pretentious. Come, take my hand and lets go forward. Standing near the entrance is a breach of etiquette.’
They wandered around the hall, which was slowly filling with guests. Geralt was hungry as all hell but he quickly realised that Yennefer wasn't exaggerating. It was clear that the customs of the wizards truly demanded to eat and drink little and be casual. On top of that, every stop at the table required the use of etiquette. Someone always noticed, projected joy from the meeting and greeted with fake enthusiasm. After a mandatory kiss of air before the cheeks or an inadequately firm handshake, after fake smiles and even more fake compliments, came a short and wearisome talk about nothing in particular..
The witcher looked around, searching for familiar faces, mostly out of hope that he wasn't the only odd one out. Yennefer assured him that he wouldn't be and yet he didn't notice or couldn't recognize anyone else who didn't belong to the wizarding fraternity.
The pages were going from guest to guest, offering wine. Yennefer didn't drink at all. The witcher wanted to, but couldn't. The doublet was uncomfortably tight beneath the arms.
With an apt use of her arm, the sorceress dragged him away from the table and led him to the centre of the hall, which was at the same time the centre of
everyone's attention. Resistance was useless. He knew what it was all about. It was a simple demonstration.
Geralt knew what to expect, therefore he quietly withstood the looks of insatiable curiosity from the sorceresses and enigmatic smiles of the wizards. Despite Yennefer's insistence that the etiquette forbade the use of magic on such parties, he didn't believe that wizards could control themselves, especially with Yennefer provocatively bringing him out in the public's view. And he was right. He could feel the vibrations from his medallion as well as the sting of magical impulses. Some, women in particular, were tactlessly trying to read his mind. He prepared himself for that beforehand, so he knew how to respond. He looked at Yennefer at his side, at the black-white, sparkling with jewels Yennefer, with her raven hair and violet eyes, and the eavesdropping magicians were losing focus and retracting abashed, to his utter satisfaction.
Yes, he said in his thoughts, yes, you are correct. There's only her, her at my side, here and now, and this is all that matters. Here and now. And where she was before, with whom she was, doesn't matter in the slightest. Now, she is with me, here, among you. With me and no one else. That's what I'm thinking about; thinking about her, all the time, feeling the scent of her perfume and the warmth of her body. And you can choke on the envy.
The sorceress clasped at his arm and pressed herself to his side.
‘I appreciate that,’ she murmured, leading him back to the tables. ‘But avoid excessive ostentation, please.’
‘Do you wizards always take sincerity for ostentation? Is it because you doubt sincerity even when you see it in somebody's thoughts?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘And yet, you appreciate it?’
‘Because I don't doubt you.’ she clasped his arm even harder, then reached for a plate. ‘Put some salmon on it for me, witcher. And some crabs.’
The Time of Contempt Page 11
