One of the officers who accompanied Dijkstra took one look at the dungeon, fell abruptly, leaned on the wall and was as white as paper and gave the impression that at any moment he was going to faint. Dijkstra noted in his memory that the officer be transferred to a desk job. But upon looking in the cell, he immediately changed his mind. His stomach jumped up to his throat. He could not, however, show weakness in front of his subordinates. Without haste he pulled out a perfumed handkerchief and put it against his nose and mouth, and bent over the naked bodies lying on the stone floor.
‘The abdomen and uterus are sliced open.’ He diagnosed, striving for peace and a cold tone. ‘Very expertly, a surgeon’s hand. The girl has had the fetus removed. When this was done, she was alive. But it was not done here. Are all of them in a similar state? Lennep, I’m talking to you.’
‘No…’ the agent shook, dropping his gaze from the corpse. ‘Others had their necks broken with a garrote. They were not pregnant… But an autopsy will be done…’
‘How many were found in total?’
‘In addition to this one here, four. None could be identified.’
‘Not true,’ Dijkstra denied from behind the handkerchief. ‘I’ve already managed to identify this one here. This is Jolie, she is the youngest daughter of Count Lanier. She disappeared without a trace a year ago. I’ll take a look at the others.’
‘Fire has deformed some of them.’ Lennep said. ‘It will difficult to learn… But, Sir, besides that… We found…’
‘Speak and stop stuttering.’
‘In that pit,’ the agent pointed to a hole that opened in the floor, ‘there are bones… Lots of bones. We have not had time to remove and examine them, but judging by the bones of the head, they are all young girls. If we ask the magician they may be able to recognize them… I could then notify the parents who are still searching for their missing daughters…’
‘Under no circumstances,’ Dijkstra turned sharply, ‘are you to breathe a word to anyone about what was found here. No one. And especially not magicians. After what I have seen here, I have lost trust in them. Lennep, have the upper levels been thoroughly investigated? Did you not find anything that could help us in our investigation?’
‘Nothing, Sir.’ Lennep bowed his head. ‘As soon as the report reached us, we raced to the castle, driving the horses hard. But we arrived too late. Everything was burned. The fire had a terrible force. It must have been magic. But here in the dungeon, The spell did not reach. I don’t know why…’
‘I know. The fire was not lit by Vilgefortz but by his handyman Rience or another sorcerer. Vilgefortz would not make such a mistake; we would have left us with nothing but black soot on the walls. Yes, he knows that fire purifies… It obliterates all traces.’
‘Well, it is obliterated,’ Lennep muttered. ‘There isn’t even any evidence that Vilgefortz was here at all…’
‘Then fabricate the evidence.’ Dijkstra removed the handkerchief from his face. ‘Do I have to teach you how? I know Vilgefortz was here. In the basement apart from the bodies, is there nothing left? What is behind those iron doors?’
‘Allow me, Sir.’ The agent picked up a torch. ‘I’ll show you.’
There was no doubt that the magic fire that should have turned everything in the basement to ash, started right there in the spacious room behind the iron doors. The error in the spell had disrupted the plan to a significant extent, but the fire had still been strong and violent. The fire had charred the shelves occupying one wall and melted glassware turned everything into a stinking mass. All that had remained intact in the room was a table and two chairs, one wooden, one steel, strangely shaped, embedded in the ground. Strangely shaped, but leaving no doubt as to their purpose.
‘It is constructed,’ Lennep swallowed, indicating the chairs and the brackets attached to them, ‘to keep… legs… open. Very open.’
‘Son of a bitch,’ Dijkstra growled through clenched teeth. ‘Damned, son of a bitch…’
‘In the channel below the wooden chair,’ continued the agent, ‘there are traces of blood, feces and urine. The steel chair is brand new, probably never used. I don’t know what to think…’
‘I do,’ said Dijkstra. ‘The steel chair was prepared for someone special. Someone Vilgefortz suspected had special abilities.’
‘I do not underestimate Dijkstra and his secret service,’ said Síle de Tansarville. ‘I know that finding Vilgefortz is a matter of time. Aside from the personal motive of revenge, that seems to fascinate some of the ladies, I would note that it is not certain that Vilgefortz has Ciri.’
‘If Vilgefortz does not have her, then who does? I was on the island, none of us, if I understand correctly, teleported. Dijkstra does not have her nor any of the kings, we know this. And in the ruins of the Tower of Gulls her body was not found.’
‘Tor Lara,’ Ida Emean said slowly, ‘once concealed a very powerful portal. Can we exclude that the girl left Thanedd through this portal?’
Yennefer closed her eyes and dug her nails into the head of the sphinxes fastened to the armrests of her chair. Keep calm, she thought, keep calm. She felt the eyes of Margarita on her, but did not raise her head.
‘If Ciri entered the portal of Tor Lara,’ the rector of Aretuza’s voice changed a little, ‘I fear we can forget our plans and projects. I am afraid that we will never see Ciri again. The portal in the Tower of Gulls was destroyed.’
‘What are we talking about?’ Sabrina burst out. ‘Because in order to enter the teleporter tower, to even view it, you have to use magic at the fourth level. And in order to activate the portal would take the abilities of an arch mage! I don’t know if Vilgefortz could do this, let alone a fifteen year old girl. How can you assume something like that? Who do you think this girl is? What is so special about her?’
‘Does it matter,’ Stefan Skellen, called Kalous, coroner to the Emperor Emhyr var Emreis, stretched, ‘what is so special about her, Mister Bonhart? Or if there is indeed anything special about her? I am interest to see. I’ll pay you a hundred florens. If you so desire, check to see what it is, after killing her or before, as you prefer. The price will not go up one way or the other, even if you do find something, I tell you solemnly and faithfully.’
‘What if I bring her alive?’
‘No.’
The man called Bonhart, massive in size, but lean and bony like a skeleton, twisted his gray moustache. The other hand rested on his sword at all times, as if to hide from Skellen the relief on the pommel.
‘Should I bring you her head?’
‘No.’ Kalous grimaced. ‘What would I do with her head? Have it preserved in honey?’
‘As proof.’
‘I trust your word. You are famous, Bonhart. Also reliable.’
‘Thanks for the recognition.’ The bounty hunter smiled. Skellen had twenty armed men around the inn, but he still felt a cold shiver down his back at the sight of that smile. ‘It should always be so, but I seldom encounter it. The lords and barons of Varnhagen have me bring them the heads of all the Rats otherwise they do not pay. If you do not need Falka’s head then you won’t mind if I add it to the others?’
‘To further a second reward? What about professional ethics?’
‘I, Sir Skellen,’ Bonhart narrowed his eyes, ‘I do not get paid for killing, but for the service I provide to customer. And I provide that service to both you and Varnhagen.’
‘Logical.’ Kalous agreed. ‘Do whatever you want. When should I expect you to call on me for the reward?’
‘Soon.’
‘Does that mean…?’
‘The Rats are headed along the bandit’s trail, thinking to winter in the mountains. I’ll cut them off on the road. Twenty days, no longer.’
‘You are confident of their route?’
‘They were at Fen Aspra, they plundered a convoy of two merchants there. They travelled past Tyffi. They spent one night in Druigh to dance at the Harvest festival. They at last came to Loredo. There,
in Loredo, Falka killed a man. They still talk about it there, with chattering teeth. That is why I asked what you have against this Falka.’
‘Maybe the same as you,’ Stefan Skellen joked. ‘No, sorry. You, after all, do not accept money for killing, but for services rendered. You are a true craftsman, Bonhart, an honest professional. A professional like any other? You work for contracts? Do they pay enough for you to live? Huh?’
The bounty hunter stared at him for a long time. In the end the smile disappeared from Kalous’s lips.
‘Certainly,’ he said, ‘you have to live. Some make a living by what they know. Others do what they must. At the end of the day, life smiles on a lucky few, unless you’re a whore. They pay me for a craft that I love truly and sincerely.’
Yennefer greeted with relief, joy and hope the break for a snack and the wetting of dry throats, proposed by Philippa. It became immediately clear that her hopes were going to be dashed. Margarita m clearly wished to speak with her, Philippa quickly pulled her to the other end of the hall. Triss Merigold, who approached her was accompanied by Francesca. The elf monitored the conversation without embarrassment. But Yennefer saw the anxiety in Triss’ eyes and she was sure had the conversation had no witnesses it would have been full of useless pleas for help. Triss no doubt had committed her whole soul to the Lodge already. And no doubt sense that Yennefer’s loyalty was still uncertain.
Triss tried to comfort her, to ensure her that Geralt was safe and was recovering in Brokilon with the dryads who were helping him back to health. As always, talk of Geralt made her blush. He must have accommodated her, Yennefer thought without malice. She hasn’t known anyone like him before. She will not soon forget about him That’s good.
She accepted the revelations with a shrug of indifference. Not thrilled by the fact that neither Triss nor Francesca believed her indifference. She wanted to be alone, she wanted to make them understand.
Understand.
She moved to the far end of the buffet and dedicated herself to the oysters. She ate carefully, still feeling pain, the effects of the compression. She was afraid to drink wine, she wasn’t sure who she would react.
‘Yennefer?’
She turned around slowly. Fringilla Vigo smiled slightly, looking at the small knife she clenched in her fist.
‘I see and feel,’ she said, ‘that you would rather thrust that knife into me than the oysters. Is there still enmity?’
‘The Lodge,’ Yennefer replied coolly, ‘requires mutual loyalty. Friendship is not mandatory.’
‘It is not and nor should it be,’ the Nilfgaardian sorceress looked around the room. ‘Friendship is the result of a long process, or it is spontaneous.’
‘The same is true of enmity.’ Yennefer opened one of the oysters and swallowed the contents along with the sea water. ‘Sometimes you see someone for a split second, just before they blind you, and you do not like them.’
‘Oh, the issue of enmity is much more complicated.’ Fringilla squinted. ‘Let’s say someone you do not recognize at top of a hill, smashes to pieces your friend, right before your eyes. You do not know her, cannot see her, but you do not like her.’
‘It happens sometimes.’ Yennefer shrugged. ‘Fate plays with us in many ways.’
‘Fate,’ Fringilla said quietly, ‘is a very unpredictable and mischievous child. Friends sometimes turn their backs and the enemies become friends. You can, for example, talk to them alone. Nobody tries to disturb or interrupt you, nor hear you. Everybody says that these two enemies can speak with each other. They talk about nothing important. They just turn to banalities, throwing jabs from time to time.’
‘No doubt,’ Yennefer nodded, ‘so everyone thinks. And they have it absolutely right.’
‘It will then be convenient,’ Fringilla did not dismiss her, ‘that we are in such a circumstance as to raise a question, both important and unique.’
‘And what question did you have in mind?’
‘The question of the escape you are planning.’
Yennefer, in the process of opening another oyster, almost sliced her finger. She looked around furtively, then looked at the Nilfgaardian from behind lowered eyelashes. Fringilla Vigo smiled slightly.
‘Be so kind as to lend me your knife. For the oysters. Your oysters are delicious. In the south, they are not easy to get. Especially now, in these conditions with the war blockade... The blockades are a terrible thing. Agreed?’
Yennefer coughed softly.
‘I noticed,’ Fringilla swallowed an oyster, then reached for another one, ‘Yes, Philippa is watching us. Assire too. Assire is probably afraid for my loyalty to the Lodge. My loyalty threatened. She is considering whether I might succumb to compassion. Hmm... Your imprisoned... Perhaps the threat of death? Or maybe she is simply being used as a card in a game of gamblers? Believe me, I would not last here. I would run away immediately. Please, take the knife. I’ve had enough oysters, I have to watch my waistline.’
‘A blockade, as you say,’ Yennefer whispered, staring into the green eyes of the enchantress from Nilfgaard, ‘is a terrible thing. Disgusting even. You are not allowed to do what you want to do. But a blockade can be overcome if you have... the right means. I do not have them.’
‘You are counting on me to give them to you?’ the Nilfgaardian enchantress studied the oyster in her hand. ‘Oh, this is not an option. I am loyal to the Lodge and the Lodge, it is obvious does not want you hurrying away to try and save you loved ones. In addition, I am your enemy, how could you forget about that, Yennefer?’
‘Certainly. How could I?’
‘A friend,’ Fringilla said quietly, ‘would warn that even with the components for a teleport spell, you’d fail to break the blockade unnoticed. This operation requires time and is obvious. Almost better would be an unobtrusive, natural attractor. I repeat, almost. Teleportation with an improvised attractor is certainly, as you well know, very risky. A friend, would try to dissuade another friend from doing this. But you’re not a friend.’
Fringilla tipped the shell in her hand and poured a little sea water on the table.
‘Now let us finish this banal conversation,’ she said. ‘The Lodge requires loyalty. Friendship, fortunately, is not mandatory.’
‘She has teleported,’ Francesca Findabair said coldly without emotion, once the turmoil caused by the disappearance of Yennefer had calmed down. ‘There is no reason to break your heads, ladies. We cannot do anything now. It was my mistake. I suspected that the star of obsidian masked the casting of spells...’
‘How did she do it, damn it?’ Philippa screamed. ‘A spell can be masked, it is not difficult. But by what miracle could she open a portal? Montecalvo has a blockage!’
‘I have never liked her,’ Síle de Tansarville shrugged. ‘Never did I approve of her lifestyle. But I never questioned her abilities.’
‘She will tell everything!’ Sabrina Glevissig shouted. ‘Everything about the Lodge! She will go right...’
‘Nonsense,’ Triss Merigold interrupted, looking at Francesca and Ida Emean. ‘Yennefer will not betray us. Nothing says that Yennefer fled in order to betray us.’
‘Triss is right,’ Margarita Laux-Antille supported, ‘I know why she ran away, who she wants to save. I saw them both, her and Ciri, together. I understand everything.’
‘And I don’t understand anything!’ Sabrina screamed out loud again.
Assire var Anahid leaned towards her friend.
‘I will not ask why you did it,’ she whispered. ‘I will not ask you how you did it. I will ask: where?’
Fringilla Vigo smiled slightly, her fingers stroking the sphinx’s head carved on the arm of her chair.
‘How should I know,’ she whispered, ‘from which coastline the oysters originated?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ithlina, in reality Ithlinne Aegli, daughter of Aevenien, the legendary elven healer, astrologist and diviner, famous for her predictions, divinations and prophesies of which the most famo
us remains Aen Ithlinnespeath, known as Ithlinne's Prophesy. Indexed and transcribed many times in various forms, the prophesy enjoyed considerable popularity during a number of different periods; the comments, clues and explanations concerning it conveniently adapted themselves to the events of the time, reinforcing the general conviction of the existence of the great gift of second sight of Ithlina
In particular, it is believed that Ithlina predicted the Nordling Wars (1239–1268), the Great Plagues (1268, 1272 and 1294), the bloody war of the Two Unicorns (1309–1318) and the Haak Invasion (1350). It was equally believed that she predicted the climate changes observed beginning at the end of the 13th century (The White Frost), which popular superstitions always associated with the end of the word and the prophetic arrival The Destroyer (sic). This fragment of Ithlina's prophecy was the trigger of the infamous Witch Hunts (1272–1276) and caused the deaths of numerous women and unfortunate girls, who were mistaken for the incarnation of The Destroyer. Today, Ithlina is considered as a legendary figure by a number of researchers, and her “prophesies” as contemporary apocrypha cobbled together from bits and pieces, an ingenious literary fraud.
Effenberg and Talbot
Encyclopaedia Maxima Mundi, Volume IX
The children, who surrounded the wandering storyteller called Pogwizd, expressed their protest by raising an indescribable uproar. Finally, Connor, son of the blacksmith and the largest, strongest and boldest who had brought the storyteller a bowl of cabbage soup and some potatoes seasoned with bacon, was made the spokesperson and expressed the common opinion.
‘How is this so?’ he yelled. ‘How is this so, grandfather? How can this be the end for today? Is it proper to end a story like that? Half way through the story? We want to know what happened! We do not want to wait until you come back to the village, because it may be six months or a year away! Say on!’
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