The doors of the inn were opened by a kick and two more rats entered the rom. The first was tall and swarthy and wore a studded jacket with a scarlet scarf tied at the front. This one, with two quick slashes of his sword, sent two trappers to separate corners, then cut at Vercta. The second, a broad-shouldered blond sent a wide cut in the direction of Remiz, Skomlik’s brother. The rest took flight towards the kitchen door. But the Rats were entering there as well. At the rear jumped suddenly a dark girl dressed in a colourful outfit. A quick thrust of her sword pierced one of the Trappers, then chased the another, and soon after skewed the innkeeper before he could yell who he was.
The room was filled with the noise and clashes of swords. Ciri hid behind the pole.
‘Mistle!’ Kayleigh shouted, having broken free from the ropes that bound him, was now wrestling with the strap around his neck that was still binding him to the pole. ‘Giselher! Reef! To me!’
The Rats, however, were still busy fighting, though Skomlik heard Kayleigh’s cry. The trapper turned around with the intention of nailing the Rat to the post. Ciri reacted quickly and instinctively; just like during the fight with the Wyvern in Gors Velen, like in Thanedd, all the movements she had learned in Kaer Morhen took over suddenly, almost without her participation. She jumped out from behind the pole, spun in pirouette; fell heavily on Skomlik, hitting him in the hip. She was too small and puny to dislodge the huge trapper, but managed to disrupt the rhythm of his movement. And turn his attention to her.
‘You whore!’
Skomlik swung his sword and the air howled. Ciri’s body again made the same economical dodge, the trapper almost fell over, following the path of his accelerating blade. Cursing vilely, he hacked again, putting the full force of his body behind the blow. Ciri jumped agilely aside, landing safely on her left foot and then spun in the opposite direction in a pirouette. Skomlik hacked again, but was unable to reach her.
Vercta abruptly fell between them, covered in blood.
The trapper stepped back and looked around. He was surrounded only by corpses. And the Rats were approaching from all sides with swords ready.
‘Stand fast.’ The swarthy one with the red scarf said coldly, finally releasing Kayleigh. ‘It seems he wants to slice this girl at all costs. I don’t know why. I do not know by what miracle you have not already done it. But let’s give him a chance, since he wants it so much.’
‘Give her a chance too.’ Said Giselher, the one with the broad-shoulders. ‘Let this be a fair fight. Give her iron, Iskra.’
Ciri felt in her hand the grip of a sword. It was a little too heavy.
Skomlik grunted furiously, threw himself upon her, brandishing his blade in front of him. He was too slow. Ciri avoided the feints and cuts through fast turns, without even trying to stop the blows raining down. The sword only served as a counterweight to facilitate her easy evasions.
‘Incredible!’ Laughed the girl with the short cut hair. ‘She’s an acrobat!’
‘She is fast.’ Said the one in the colourful outfit, who had given her the sword. ‘Quick as an elf. Hey you! Perhaps you would prefer one of us? You are having no luck with her!’
Skomlik glanced back, then all of a sudden lunged at Ciri stretching like a heron with its beak. Ciri avoided the onslaught with a short feint, she turned. For a second she saw a swollen and throbbing vein on Skomlik’s neck. She knew that in the position she was in he was unable to avoid her blow. She knew where and how to strike.
She did not strike.
‘Enough of this.’ She felt a hand on her shoulder. The girl in the colourful outfit pushed her, while two other Rats, the boy in the sheepskin jacket and short hair, herded Skomlik into a corner of the room, keeping him in check with their swords.
‘Enough of this fun.’ Repeated colourful outfit, Ciri turned to face her. ‘This is taking a little too long. And it is your fault, girl. You can kill him, or not. I get the feeling you will not live long.’
Ciri trembled, looking at the big dark, almond shaped eyes, seeing bare teeth through a smile so small as to make it look ghostly. These were not human eyes or teeth. The girl in the bright outfit was an elf.
‘Time to blow.’ Giselher said sharply, the one with the scarlet scarf, evidently the leader. ‘It really is taking too long! Mistle, finish off the bastard.’
Short cut hair approached, carrying a sword.
‘Mercy!’ Skomlik screamed, falling to his knees. ‘Forgive my life! I have small children… Little ones…’
The girl struck a strong blow, turning at the hips. Blood splatter onto the whitewall as a large irregular spot of crimson.
‘I cannot stand small children.’ Said short hair, while with a swift movement flicked the blood from the sword.
‘Do not just stand there, Mistle.’ Scarlet scarf urged her. ‘To the horses! We have to blow! This is a Nilfgaard settlement, we have no friends here!’
The Rats quickly ran out of the inn. Ciri did not know what to do, but had no time to reflect, Mistle, the short haired one, pushed her towards the door.
Before the inn, among the remains of the gnawed bones and jars, were the corpses of the Nissir guarding the entrance. From the village came running farmers with spears, but in light of the Rats emerging, they immediately disappeared among the huts.
‘Do you know how to ride?’ Mistle shouted at Ciri.
‘Yes…’
‘The come, grab one and gallop! There is a reward for our heads in this Nilfgaardian village! They’re all reaching for bows and spears! Ride behind Giselher! By the middle of the street! And stay away from the huts!’
Ciri flew over the low railing, grabbing the reins of one of the trappers horses, jumped into the saddle then slammed the rump of the horse with the flat of her sword, which she had not let go off. She went into a fast gallop ahead of Kayleigh and the colourful elf, who was called Iskra The Rats rushed in the direction of the mill. She saw out of the darkness of a house, jump a man with a crossbow, pointed at Giselher’s back.
‘Stop him!’ She heard from the rear. ‘Stop him, girl!’
Ciri leaned in the saddle, jerking the reins and forcing her galloping horse to change direction, raising her sword. The man with the crossbow turning at the last second, she saw his face furrow in fear. Her hand hesitated only a moment, which was enough for her gallop to bring her alongside him. She heard the sound of the string releasing, the horse screamed, dropped to its haunches and reared. Ciri jumped, pulling her feet from the stirrups, landing lightly and dropping into a squat. Iskra, who was approaching, launched from the saddle a heavy blow, cutting down the crossbowman. The crossbowman fell to his knees, leaned forward and fell onto his face into a puddle, splashing mud. The wounded horse snorted and flung to the side, finally running between the huts, kicking hard.
‘You idiot!’ Yelled the elf, as she rode past Ciri. ‘You bloody idiot’
‘Jump on!’ Kayleigh shouted, approaching her. Ciri ran, grabbed the hand he offered to her. The momentum pulled at her shoulder joint until it cracked, but she managed to jump on the horse, clinging to the back of the blond haired Rat. They went at a gallop past Iskra. The elf turned, chasing down another crossbowman, who threw down his weapon and ran towards the barn doors. Iskra reached him effortlessly. Ciri turned away. She heard the crossbowman scream cut short, like a wild beast.
Mistle caught up with them pulling along a saddled horse. She shouted something, Ciri could not understand the words, but she realised on the fly. She released Kayleigh’s back and jumped back to the ground, ran to the saddled horse which was getting dangerously close to the huts. Mistle threw her the reins, looked up and shouted a warning. Ciri turned just in time to perform a half pirouette which helped her avoid the treacherous onslaught of a spear wielded by a stocky farmer who had emerged from a pigsty.
What happened next haunted her dreams for a long time. She remembered everything, every movement. The half pirouette that saved her from the tip of the spear, had set her in the ideal posit
ion. The spearman, however, was leaning forward to heavily, was unable to either jump away or shield himself as he held the spear with both hands. Ciri struck a blow, turning in an opposite half pirouette. For a moment she saw his lips open to scream in his face that was covered by a few days growth of beard. She saw on his long bald forehead the line where his cap or hat protected against a tan. And then everything she saw, was obscured by the fountain of blood.
Still holding the horse by the reins, the horse broke into a ghoulish squeal, and turning knocked her to her knees. Ciri did not let go of the reins. The wounded man screamed in a death rattle, was thrown convulsively into the straw and manure where blood flowed from him like a pig. Ciri felt bile rising to her throat.
Next to her nailed to her horse was Iskra. The elf seized the reins and tugged, forcing Ciri, who was still clutching the reins, back to her feet.
‘Into the saddle!’ She screamed ‘And run!’
Ciri contained her nausea and jumped into the saddle. On the sword, which she still held in her hand was blood. She barely mastered the desire to throw the weapon as far away from herself as possible.
Mistle appeared from among the huts, chasing two people. One managed to escape by jumping a fence; the second was struck, feel to his knees and clutched his head in both hands.
Both Ciri, and the elf started off at a gallop, but after a moment stopped. Returning from the mill was Giselher with the other Rats. Behind them shouting encouragingly to each other was an armed group of farmers.
‘Follow us!’ cried Giselher passing them at a gallop. ‘Follow us, Mistle! To the river!’
Mistle, leaning to one side, tugged the reins, turned her horse and was soon galloping behind him, jumping a low fence. Ciri put her face into the mane of her horse and followed. Iskra galloped along beside her. The momentum of the race had messed her beautiful black hair, revealing a small, pointed ear adorned with a filigree earring.
The man that Mistle had wounded was still kneeling in the middle of the road, swaying and clutched his bleeding head with both hands. Iskra turned around, rode up to him and struck with her sword from above with all her might. The wounded man screamed. Ciri saw severed fingers leap to the side like long cut chips, then fall to the ground like fat white worms.
With great effort, she managed not to vomit.
Before the hole in the palisade, waiting, were Mistle and Kayleigh, the rest of the Rats were already far ahead. All four went into a sharp, extended gallop, next to the river, the spraying water reached well above their horses’ heads. Bent over, cheeks snuggled into the manes of their horses they crossed onto the sandy rocks , then ran on through a meadow covered with lupines. Iskra, having the best horse, was ahead of them.
They entered a forest, in the humid darkness between the trunks of the beeches. They caught up to Giselher and the others, but stopped for only a moment. They crossed the forest and entered a moors, then enter a gallop again. Ciri and Kayleigh soon began to lag behind the others, the trapper mounts were unable to keep the pace with the other Rats mounts. Ciri had another problem: it was a big horse and her feet barely reached the stirrups and during the gallop she was unable to adjust them. She knew how to ride without stirrups no worse than with stirrups, but knew at this pace she could not sustain a gallop for long.
Fortunately, after a few minutes Giselher slowed and stopped , allowing her and Kayleigh to join the group. Ciri came at a trot. She still could not adjust the strap on the stirrups. Without slowing she shifted her right leg over and sat down side saddle on the horse.
Mistle, seeing the position the girl was riding in burst into laughter.
‘See, Giselher? Not only is she an acrobat, but also a mountebank! Hey, Kayleigh, where did you get this devil?’
Iskra, stopped her beautiful chestnut mare, still dry and eager to continue came nearer, pushing into the grey mare Ciri rode. Her horse snorted and stepped back, tossing its head. Ciri pulled on the reins and leant in the saddle.
‘Do you know why you are still alive, moron?’ the elf growled, pushing aside the hair from her forehead. ‘That farmer that respected your life so mercifully dropped the hammer early and hit the horse instead of you. Otherwise you would now have a bolt sticking out of your back! Why are you wearing that sword?’
‘Leave her alone, Iskra’ Mistle said, stroking sweat from the neck of her mount. ‘Giselher, we need to slow down, the pace is killing the horses! No one is chasing us’
‘I want to cross the Velda as soon as possible.’ Said Giselher. “We can rest across the river. Kayleigh, how is your horse?’
‘It’ll endure. It is a thoroughbred, not meant for racing, but it’s a strong beast/’
‘Well, let’s run.’
‘One moment,’ said Iskra. ‘What about this brat?’
Giselher looked back, adjusted his scarlet scarf and fixed his gaze on Ciri. His face, his expression, reminded her a little of Kayleigh – the same angry grimace of the lips, the same squinting eyes and the protruding lower jaw. But he was older than the blond haired Rat – bluish shadows on his cheeks testified that he shaved regularly already.
‘True,’ he said sharply. ‘What about you, lass?’
Ciri lowered her head.
‘She helped.’ Said Kayleigh. ‘It it were not for her, that nasty trapper would have nailed me to the post…’
‘The villagers,’ added Mistle ‘saw her running away with us. She slashed one, I doubt he survived. Those Nilfgaardians are farmers. If the girls falls into their hands, they’ll kill her. We cannot leave her.’
Iskra snorted angrily, but Giselher raised his hand.
‘Let us cross the Velda,’ he decided. ‘Then we’ll see. Come, sit on the horse as you should, girl. If you fall, we will not see. Understand?’
Ciri nodded readily.
* * *
‘Tell me, girl who are you? Where are you from? What is your name? Why do you travel under escort?’
Ciri bowed her head. During the gallop she had plenty of time to try and invent a story. She had invented a few. But the leader of the Rats did not look like someone who believed just anything.
‘Come on,’ urged Giselher. ‘You have ridden with us a few hours. You have listened to us, but I have not had a chance to know the sound of your voice. Are you mute?’
The fire shot up in a cloud of sparks and flames, flooding the ruined shepherd’s hut with a wave of golden light. As if obeying a command of Giselher’s, the fire lit up of the questioned party making it easier to discover if it held lies or falsehood.
But I cannot tell them the truth. Ciri thought desperately. They are thieves. Bandits. If they found out what the Nilfgaardians want me, that the Traps caught me for a reward, they may want the reward themselves. Besides, the truth is too incredible I do not even believe it.
‘We saved you from the village,’ the leader of the bandits slowly continued. ‘We brought you here to one of our hideouts. Gave you food. You are sitting here by our fire. So tell me who you are!’
‘Leave her alone.’ Mistle said suddenly. ‘When I look at you, Giselher, I’m suddenly reminded of the Nissir, or the Trappers or one of those bastard Nilfgaardians. I feel like I am in an interrogation, tied to a rack in the dungeon.’
‘Mistle is right,’ said the blond wearing the sheepskin jacket. Ciri twitched upon hearing his accent. ‘It is clear that the girl does not want to say who she is and she is entitled to that. When I joined you, I also did not talk much. I did not want to mention I was one of those bastard Nilfgaardians…’
‘No shit, Reef.’ Giselher waved his hand. ‘With you it was different. And you Mistle, you exaggerate. There is no interrogation. I want to hear who she is and from where she is from. Once I’ve heard it I’ll show her the way home and that’s it. How can I do that if I do not know…’
‘You do not know anything.’ Mistle looked back. ‘Even if she has a home, which I doubt. The trappers grabbed her on the road because she was alone. That’s typical of these cowa
rds. If she is forced to go, she would not survive alone in the mountains. Wolves would tear her apart or she’d die of hunger.’
‘So, what do we do with her?’ the broad shouldered one said with a young sounding voice, while stirring the wood in the fire with a stick. ‘Do we leave her near a village?’
‘Great idea, Asse.’ Mistle sneered, ‘Do you know the farmers? With the lack of hands to do the work now. Maybe they can get the girl to graze cattle, breaking her leg so she cannot escape. In the evening she will be treated like a nobody, and therefore common property. And you know how she’ll pay for the roof over her head. And in the spring will have fevers after recently giving birth to someone’s bastard in a pigsty.’
‘If we leave her the horse and the sword,’ Giselher drawled slowly, still looking at Ciri. ‘I would not want to be in the shoes of the farmer who wanted to break her leg. Or make a bastard. You saw the dance that she danced in the inn with the trapper whose throat Mistle cut. He was slashing air and she danced as if nothing was happening… Ha, I do not care about her name or her family, but would be happy to know where she learned these tricks…’
‘Tricks will not save her,’ Iskra said suddenly, who had been busy sharpening her sword. ‘She can only dance. To survive she must learn to kill, and that she does not know.’
‘I think she knows.’ Kayleigh smiled. ‘When in that village she ripped open the neck of that farmer, the blood flew out half a fathom…’
‘And at the sight of it she nearly fainted.’ Snorted the elf.
‘Because she is still a kid.’ Mistle interjected. ‘I can imagine who she is and where she learned these tricks. I’ve seen people like her before. She’s a dancer or acrobat with a travelling troupe.’
‘And since when,’ Iskra snorted again ‘do we care about dancers and acrobats? Damn, midnight is approaching, sleep is overcoming me. Let’s stop with the empty chatter. We have to sleep and rest, tomorrow at dusk we will be in Forge. You have not forgotten that it was the mayor who gave the Nissir, Kayleigh. The whole village will see how the night takes on a red face. And the girl? She can have the horse and sword, both were honestly earned. Give her some food and some money. For helping to save Kayleigh. Let her go where she wants, let her care for herself…’
The Time of Contempt Page 32
