‘And we, as usual, are out of luck,’ Dandelion nodded. ‘Because we need to get to Caed Dhu, and the path leads straight through Angren, the focus of the timber wars. Damn, is there another way?’
The same question, recalled the Witcher, staring at the sun setting over the Yaruga, I asked Regis once the thud of hooves ceased in the distance and we were finally able to continue on our way.
‘Another way to Caed Dhu?’ the vampire looked thoughtful. ‘To avoid the armies, but also not go through the hills? Yes, there is a way. It is not very comfortable or safe. And it is longer. But I guarantee you that we will not find any armies there.’
‘Speak.’
‘We turn south and try and cross the depression in the meandering Yaruga. To Ysgith. Do you know about Ysgith, Witcher?’
‘I know.’
‘Have you ever gone through there?’
‘Yes.’
‘There is serenity in your voice,’ the vampire cleared his throat, ‘that seems to indicate that you accept the idea. Well, there are five of us, including a Witcher, a warrior and an archer. Experience, two swords and a bow. Not enough to face a Nilfgaardian patrol, but it should suffice for Ysgith.’
Ysgith, thought the Witcher. Thirty square miles of swamps and marshes, dotted with lakes and eyelets. Where on the shores of the lakes, strange trees grow. Some have trunks covered with scales at the base which are bulbous and thin as they go upwards, towards a flat and dense crown. Others are small and crooked, twisted piles sitting on octopus-like roots and from their bare limbs hang beards of moss and lichen. The lichen is constantly moving, but not from the wind, but the poisonous marsh gas. Ysgith, or as it is more accurately known by its other name “Harrier”.
And among the mud, swamps, pond and lagoons in duckweed-covered rivers and wetland vegetation, it is seething with life. It is not only inhabited by beavers, frogs, turtles and waterfowl. Ysgith is full of wild beasts far more dangerous, armed with claws, tentacles and prehensile limbs, with which they catch, maim, drown and tear apart. These creatures are so many that no one has ever managed to get to know and classify them all. Not even the witchers. He himself had seldom hunted in Ysgith and in general the Lower Angren.
The country was sparsely populated; the few people who lived on the edges of the swamp were used to the monsters and treated them as landscape elements. They respected them, and they seldom thought of hiring a witcher to fight them. Rarely, but not never. Geralt, therefore knew Ysgith and its horrors. Two swords and a bow, the thought. And my experience and training as a witcher. Going as a group should work. Especially if I lead in the forefront and keep an eye on everything. On rotten trunks, piles of weeds, bushes, clumps of grass, plants, even orchids. Because in Ysgith sometimes what looks like a normal orchid can actually turn out to be a poisonous crab spider. Dandelion will need to be watched to make sure he doesn’t touch anything. There are plenty of plants that would like to supplement their diets with pieces of meat. Those whose branches that come in contact with the skin work as effectively as crab spider venom. And we must not forget the swamp gas. A poisonous vapor. We’ll have to think about something to cover the mouth and nose.
‘Well?’ Regis pulled him from his thoughts. ‘Do you agree?’
‘I agree. Let’s go.’
Something prompted me then, the Witcher recalled, not to say anything to the rest of the company about the idea of crossing Ysgith. And to not even ask Regis about it. Not even I know why. Today when everything is fucked up, I could persuade myself that I paid attention to the behavior of Milva. To the problems that she had. To her obvious symptoms. But it would not be true. I noticed nothing, and what I did noticed, I underestimated. Like an idiot. And we kept heading east, hesitating in entering the swamps.
On the on the hand, it is well that we did hesitate, he thought taking the sword and running his thumb down the metal, sharp as a razor blade. If we had entered Ysgith immediately, today I would not have this weapon.
Since dawn they had not seen or heard any troops. Milva led the way, far ahead of the rest of the company. Regis, Dandelion and Cahir talked.
‘I hope your druids will help in the matter of Ciri.’ worried the poet. ‘I meet druids occasionally, and believe me, they are usually recluses. They might not want to talk to us, let alone use magic.’
‘Regis,’ reminded the Witcher, ‘knows someone among those of Caed Dhu.’
‘And this knowledge doesn’t go back three or four hundred years?’
‘It is far more recent,’ the vampire said with an enigmatic smile. ‘In any case, druids are long-lived. They constantly stay out in the air, among the primal and unspoiled nature, and this has great influences on their health. Breathe a lung full of air, Dandelion, fill your lungs with forest air, and you’ll also be healthy.’
‘From this forest air,’ Dandelion said with a sneer, ‘I’m going to start growing hair on my body, the plague. At night I dream of taverns, beer and bathrooms. And the primal nature can go to the primal devil, and I also doubt its beneficial influence on health, especially mental. The mentioned druids are the best example, because they are bizarre and unusual. They are absolutely crazy in regards to nature and its defense. Several times I have been there when they have delivered petitions to rulers, demanding a ban on hunting, cutting down trees, don’t throw rubbish into the rivers and similar nonsense. And the height of stupidity was when a delegate submitted himself wearing only mistletoe to King Ethain of Cidaris. I was there then…’
‘What did he want?’ Geralt said with interest.
‘Cidaris, as you know, is one of the kingdoms in which the majority of the population make a living from fishing. The druid demanded that the king order the fishermen to use nets with a large mesh and to strictly punish those who would fish with nets smaller than those ordered. Ethain’s jaw dropped when the man in mistletoe made it clear that this was the only way to protect the fish stock from depletion. The king led him to the terrace, and showed him the sea and told how his bravest sailor once sailed westward for two months and came back because they ran out of fresh water on the ship and on the horizon there was no sign of land. Did he, he asked the druid, imagine that the stocks could be exhausted from such a sea? Of course, confirmed the druid in mistletoe, fishing will be the last chance of mankind to obtain food from nature, there will come a time when the fish run out and there is hunger in the eyes of the people. It is therefore necessary to fish with nets made with larder meshes, to catch the larger fish and protect the smaller fry. Ethain asked the druid, when, according to the druid, will this terrible time of hunger come, and the druid replied, not for two thousand years, according to their forecasts. The king dismissed him and politely asked him to come through here in a few thousand years and then he would think about it. The druid did not understand the joke and began to object, so they threw him out of town.’
‘All druids are alike,’ confirmed Cahir. ‘We, the Nilfgaardians…’
‘I gotcha!’ Dandelion cried triumphantly. ‘We, the Nilfgaardians! Only yesterday, when I called you a Nilfgaardian you jumped like you had been stung by a wasp. See if you can decide, Cahir, who you are.’
‘To you,’ Cahir shrugged, ‘I am a Nilfgaardian, and I can see I’m not going to convince you otherwise. However, to be accurate, know that such a name in the Empire is only entitled to the indigenous inhabitants of the capital and the surrounding area, located along the lower basin of the Alba. My family comes from Vicovaro and therefore…’
‘Shut your mouth!’ Milva ordered sharply with little courtesy, who was at the forefront. Everyone immediately fell silent and halted the horses, as they had been taught when the girl saw, heard or felt not only danger, but also something they could eat if it was possible to approach it and hit it with an arrow. Milva indeed prepared her bow, but jumped from the saddle. So she was not hunting. Geralt approached with caution.
‘Smoke,’ she said tersely.
‘I don’t see it.’
‘Use
your nose.’
The Archer’s sense of smell was not mistaken, but the smell of smoke was barely noticeable. It could not be smoke from a fire or conflagration. This smoke, Geralt thought, smells nice. It came from a fire, which was baking something.
‘Will we avoid it?’ Milva asked softly.
‘First let’s take a look,’ he said getting off his horse and handing the reins to Dandelion. ‘Better to know what we are avoiding. And who it is behind us. Come with me. The rest of you stay in your saddles. Be alert.’
In a thicket on the edge of the forest a stretched a view of a hill with logs placed in piles around it. A fine ribbon of smoke rose from the logs. Geralt calmed down a bit – in sight nothing moved and between the logs was not enough space to be able to hide a large group. Milva noticed it to.
‘There are no horses,’ she whispered. ‘It is not the army. I’d guess woodcutters.’
‘Me too. But I’ll go check. Cover me.’
While approaching, carefully dodging between piles of tree trunk, he heard voices. He moved closer. And was greatly surprised. But his hearing did not deceive him.
‘Double clubs!’
‘Stack of diamonds!’
‘Screwed!’
‘Raise. Hearts! Oh m...’
‘Ha, ha, ha! A jack and a runt! Before you take a good shit you have to mount a heap!’
‘I’ll put down the jack! Hey, Yazon, you have sunk like a duck’s ass!’
‘Why not put down the lady, you bastard? I picked up a spade...’
The Witcher might have still remained cautious, after all Screwed could be played by many different people and many different people have the name Yazon. However, above the excited voices of the players was a well known hoarse croak.
‘Rrrraaaa... motherfuckers!’
‘Greetings, boys,’ Geralt said as he came out from behind a pile of logs. ‘I’m glad to see you alive and healthy. Even with the parrot.’
‘Damn it!’ Zoltan Chivay dropped his cards in surprise, after which he jumped to his feet so suddenly that Field Marshal Duda, who was on his shoulder, flapped his wings and shrieked with terror. ‘The Witcher has found us! Or is he a mirage? Percival, do you see what I’m seeing?’
Percival Schuttenbach, Munro Bruys, Yazon Varda and Figgis Merluzzo surrounded Geralt and patted and hugged him. And when the rest of the company emerged from behind the piles of logs, the shouts of delight intensified accordingly.
‘Milva! Regis!’ Zoltan shouted, squeezing all. ‘Dandelion, alive, albeit with a bandage on his head! And what do you have to say about this melodramatic cliché? Life, is not poetry! And you know why? Because it is not subjected to criticism!’
‘And where is Caleb Stratton?’ Dandelion said looking around.
Zoltan and the other fell silent and suddenly became serious.
‘Caleb,’ the dwarf said at last, inhaling through his nose, ‘lies under the ground next to a birch tree, away from his beloved mountain peaks and coal. When we were caught by the Black ones at the Ina, he moved his feet too slowly and did not reach the forest... They struck him in the head with a sword and when he fell they pierced him with pikes. Come now, do not be sad, we have already mourned, it is enough. Better to be happy. You however, escaped the riot in the camp. You have even increased the size of your company, I see.’
Cahir bowed slightly under the watchful gaze of the dwarf and said nothing.
‘Well, sit down,’ invited Zoltan. ‘We are roasting a lamb here. We found it a few days ago, lonely and sad, we gave it a good death, and it won’t die of hunger or end up in the clutches of a wolf, we were compassionate and slit her throat. Please sit down. And you, Regis, please come to this side for a moment and you to Geralt.’
Behind a pile of logs, two women were sitting. The younger of them was nursing a baby and she turned away shyly at seeing them approaching. Nearby, on the sand with a pair of children played a young girl with a bandage of dirty bandage on her hand. The witcher knew her at once and met her hazy, indifferent eyes.
‘We untied her from the wagon that was already burning,’ said the dwarf. ‘In the end the stubborn priest ended up like the one he hated so much. He underwent a baptism of fire. The flames burned the flesh of her hand. We have treated it the best that we could, smearing it with lard, but it somehow keeps filling with pus. Surgeon, if you could...’
‘Immediately.’
When Regis went to unfold the dressing, the girl wailed, leaning back and covering her face with her good hand. Geralt came over to hold her, but the vampire restrained him with a gesture. He looked deeply into the eyes of the girl and she immediately calmed down. Her head fell slightly onto her chest. She did not even flinch when Regis carefully peeled off the dirty rags and rubbed her scorched arm with a strangely scented ointment.
Geralt turned his head and looked at the two women with the two children and then at the dwarf. Zoltan grunted.
‘The women,’ he explained in an undertone, ‘we found wandering here in the Angren. They were lost during their flight, they were alone, frightened and hungry, so we offered to accompany them. It just came out.’
‘It just came out,’ Geralt repeated, smiling slightly. ‘You are an incorrigible altruist, Zoltan Chivay.’
‘Every person is defective. You, you’re still looking to rush to a girl’s rescue.’
‘I still do. Although the issue is complicated.’
‘By this Nilfgaardian who used to follow you, but is now part of your company?’
‘Partially. Zoltan, where are the refugees? Who ran away? Away from the Nilfgaardians and the Squirrels?’
‘It is hard to guess. The kids do not know shit; the girls are not very talkative and are afraid of something. Blaspheme before them, and they turn red as beets like these... Never mind. But we encountered other fugitives, woodcutters, from them we know that the Nilfgaard are prowling. Our old friends, from the incursion, who came from the west, from the other side of the Ina. But there are also reports of troops that came from the south. From beyond the Yaruga.’
‘And who are they fighting?’
‘This is a puzzle. The woodcutter spoke about an army, which is led by some White Queen. She is fighting the Black ones. Apparently she has taken her army to the other side of the Yaruga and carries fire and sword into imperial lands.’
‘Whose army is moving?’
‘I have no idea,’ Zoltan scratched his ear. ‘You know, every day hooves tread the path, but I do not ask them who they are. We hide in the bushes...’
Regis interrupted the conversation, after finishing treating the girl’s burn.
‘The dressing must be changed daily,’ he said to the dwarf. ‘I’ll leave you with an ointment and something that does not stick to the burn.’
‘Thank you, Surgeon.’
‘The arm will heal,’ the vampire said quietly, starring at the witcher. ‘Over time the scar will disappear along with the young skin. Worse is what is happening in the head of this unfortunate. This is something my ointments cannot cure.’
Geralt was silent. The vampire wiped his hands with a rag.
‘Fate or curse,’ he said in a low voice. ‘To be able to perceive the disease in the blood, the essence of the disease but not be able to cure…’
‘True,’ sighed Zoltan, ‘dressing the skin is one thing, but if the brain is fucked up, you cannot do anything. Just be caring and care for her… Thank you for your help, Surgeon. I see that you have also joined the company of the witcher.’
‘It just came out.’
‘Hmmm,’ Zoltan stroked his beard. ‘So then, what are your plans to find Ciri?’
‘We are headed to the east, to Caed Dhu, to the Druid Circle. We hope the druids will help…’
‘There is no help,’ the girl sitting next to the piles of logs with a bandaged arm spoke in a loud and metallic voice. ‘There is no help. Only blood. And a baptism of fire. The fire purifies. But also kills.’
Regis firmly grabbed the stunn
ed Zoltan by the arm, and with a gesture ordered him to silence. Geralt, who knew about hypnotic trances, was silent and did not move.
‘He who spills blood, and he who drank blood,’ said the girl, without raising her head, ‘will pay with blood. Three days will pass and one will die in the second, and then something will die in each. After a bit both will die, little by little… And when at last they collide with iron shoes and dry her tears, then what is left will die. Die, even that which never dies.’
‘Speak,’ Regis said quietly and gently. ‘Tell us what you see.’
‘Mist. A tower in the mist. This is the Tower of Swallows… On a lake, which is covered in ice.’
‘What else do you see?’
‘Mist.’
‘What do you feel?’
‘Pain…’
Regis did not have time to ask the next question. The girl shook her head and screamed wildly. When she raised her eyes there was indeed nothing in them but mist.
Zoltan, Geralt remembered, still running his fingers over the blade covered in runes, after this event acquired a new respect for Regis, he abandoned the familiar tone with which he used to address the surgeon. Under the request of Regis, they did not say a word about the strange event to the rest. The Witcher was not greatly affected by the event. He had seen similar trances and sometimes it was said that the talk of the hypnotized was not prophetic, but a simple repetition of one’s thoughts and subconscious suggestions of the hypnotist. Admittedly, in this case it was not hypnosis, but the vampire’s spell, and Geralt wondered what the girl would have drawn out of Regis’s mind had the trance lasted longer.
For half a day they walked along with the dwarves and their protégés. Zoltan Chivay then stopped walking and took the Witcher aside.
‘We must separate,’ he said. ‘We have already made our decision, Geralt. To the north is Mahakam, the valley leads directly to the mountains. Enough adventure. We are returning to our own. Beneath Mount Carbon.’
Baptism of Fire Page 32
