‘It's incredible,’ murmured Dorregaray. ‘Incredible…’
‘Hey!’ Dandelion pulled so hard on his bonds, the wagon shook. ‘What's that? There! Look!’
They saw a big cloud of dust on the side of the eastern ravine, soon followed by a tumult of shouting, rattle and clatter. The dragon raised its head to look.
Three big wagons carrying armed men came out onto the plain. They scattered to encircle the dragon.
‘Bloody hell! It's the militia and guilds of Holopole! ‘ cried Dandelion. ‘They succeeded in by-passing the river Braa! Yes, it's them! Look, there's Kozojed at the head!’
The dragon lowered its head to gently push the small, greyish, chirping creature towards the wagon. It then struck the ground with its tail, roaring loudly, before launching itself like a speeding arrow to meet the inhabitants of Holopole.
‘What's that small thing moving in the grass over there, Geralt?’ Yennefer asked.
‘It's what the dragon protected,’ replied the witcher. ‘It was just recently hatched in a cavern in the northern ravine. It's the offspring of the female dragon poisoned by Kozojed.’
The baby reptile, stumbling and hugging the ground with its rounded belly, came up to the wagon with a halting step. It chirped, stood on its hind legs and unfurled its wings. It suddenly went to snuggle up against the sorceress. Yennefer sighed deeply, looking puzzled.
‘He likes you,’ murmured Geralt.
‘He may be young, but he's no idiot,’ added Dandelion, fidgeting enthusiastically in spite of his bonds. ‘Look where he lays his little head. I'd like to be in his place, damn it. Hey! Little one! You should run away. This is Yennefer, the bane of dragons! And witchers! At least of one witcher in particular…’
‘Shut up, Dandelion,’ shouted Dorregaray. ‘Look at what's happening on the ground over there! They're going to catch it! Plague upon on all of them!’
The wagons of the inhabitants of Holopole, rumbling like chariots, rushed at the attacking dragon.
‘Hack it to pieces,’ shouted Kozojed hanging on the driver's shoulders. ‘Hack it to pieces until it's dead, my friends! Don't hold back!’
In a single leap, the dragon evaded the first wagon, but found itself trapped between the two following, from whence a big double fisherman's net, tied with ropes, was thrown over him. The entangled dragon fell, struggling, then curled into a ball before lashing out its legs. The net ripped sharply, torn to pieces. The first wagon, which had now managed to turn around, threw another net, immobilizing it completely. The other two wagons made a u-turn and charged the dragon once again, rattling and bouncing over the potholes in the ground.
‘You are caught in the net, carp!’ yelled Kozojed. ‘We're not going to delay gutting you!’
The dragon roared, fire billowing out into the sky with clouds of smoke. The Holopole militiamen jumped down from their wagons and rushed towards it. The dragon roared once again, a desperate, resounding call.
An answer came up from the northern canyon in the form of a piercing war cry.
At a full on gallop, their blonde braids flitting in the wind and blades flashing, there suddenly appeared from the ravine…
‘The Zerricanians!’ cried the witcher, struggling to free himself from his bonds.
‘Oh, shit!’ exclaimed Dandelion. ‘Geralt, do you know what this means?’
The Zerricanians cut through the mass of militiamen like a hot knife in through butter, leaving in their wake heaps of slashed bodies. They dismounted from their horses before running flat out towards the imprisoned dragon. A militiaman tried to intervene. His head rolled from his shoulders. Another one tried to stab Vea with a pitchfork, but the Zerricanian, holding her sword with both hands, disembowelled him from his perineum up to his sternum. The others took to their heels.
‘To the wagons,’ shouted Kozojed. ‘To the wagons, my friends! We shall crush them with the wagons.’
‘Geralt!’ Yennefer shouted suddenly. Stretching her trussed up legs, she managed to move them under the wagon, very close to the witcher's hands which were tied behind his back. ‘The Sign of Igni! Burn my bonds! Can you feel the rope? Burn it, damn it!’
‘Without looking?’ Geralt protested. ‘I'll burn you, Yen!’
‘Form the sign! I can take it!’
Geralt obeyed. He felt a tingling in his fingers, forming the Sign of Igni just above the sorceress' ankles. Yennefer turned her head to bite the neck of her tunic, stifling a moan. The young dragon nestled his wings against her, chirping.
‘Yen!’
‘Burn the rope!’ she wailed.
The bonds finally gave way as the foul smell of charred meat became intolerable. Dorregaray issued a strange sound before fainting, sagging in his bonds against the wheel of the wagon.
The sorceress, face twisted with pain, sat back and extended a freed leg. She cried out in a voice full of rage and suffering. The medallion Geralt wore at his neck trembled as though it were alive. Yennefer shifted her hips and gestured with her leg towards the wagons of the Holopole militia and called out a spell. The air vibrated and filled with the smell of ozone.
‘Oh! By the Gods!’ Dandelion moaned with awe. ‘What a ballad it will be, Yennefer!’
The spell cast by her pretty leg did not quite succeed. The first wagon and everyone inside it took on a shade of buttercup yellow which the warriors Holopole, blinded by the heat of battle, did not even notice. The spell was more effective on the second wagon: all its crew were instantly transformed into huge pimply frogs which fled, croaking comically, in all directions. The wagon, deprived of a driver, turned over and smashed onto the ground. Dragging the torn off tongue behind them, the horses disappeared into the distance, neighing hysterically.
Yennefer bit her lip, raising her leg once more. The buttercup yellow wagon, accompanied by a rousing music coming from somewhere above, was reduced to a cloud of smoke of the same colour; all of the crew, dazed, crashed to the grass, forming a picturesque heap.
The wheels of the third wagon became square: the horses reared up, the wagon collapsed in on itself and the Holopole militiamen were ejected. Out of pure spite, Yennefer moved her leg again, and with an additional charm, transformed all of them at random into turtles, geese, millipedes, pink flamingos or suckling pigs. The Zerricanians expertly and methodically dispatched the others.
The dragon, finally tearing the net to pieces, jumped up, flapping its wings. It roared and flew like an arrow in pursuit of Kozojed, who had succeeded in escaping the massacre. The shoemaker ran like a gazelle, but the dragon was faster. Geralt, seeing its open maw and flashing teeth as sharp as daggers, turned away. He heard a bloodcurdling scream then a terrible crunch. Dandelion stifled a cry. Yennefer, pale as a sheet, doubled over and turned around to vomit under the wagon.
The silence which followed was broken only by the croaking, squawking and shrieking of the survivors of the Holopole militia.
Vea stood over Yennefer, legs wide apart, wearing a nasty smile. The Zerricanian drew her sword. Yennefer, pale, raised her leg.
‘No,’ interrupted Borch, alias Three Jackdaws, sat on a stone. He held in his arms the young dragon, calm and happy.
‘We will not kill Lady Yennefer,’ the dragon Villentretenmerth continued. ‘There's no point now. Besides, we are now grateful to Lady Yennefer for her invaluable help. Release them, Vea.’
‘Did you know, Geralt?’ Dandelion murmured, rubbing his numb hands. ‘Did you know? There's an ancient ballad about a golden dragon. Golden dragons can…’
‘can take all forms,’ completed the witcher, ‘even human form. I've also heard about it, but I didn't believe it.’
‘Mr. Yarpen Zigrin!’ the dragon called out to the dwarf hanging on the vertical cliff wall, about two hundred cubits above the ground. ‘What are you looking for up there? Marmots? They are not to your taste, if I remember rightly. Get down, I beg you, and busy yourself with the Reavers. They need assistance. Killing is over for today. It's better for everybody.
’
Dandelion tried to wake the still unconscious Dorregaray, casting anxious glances at the Zerricanians who continued to survey the battlefield attentively. Geralt salved and dressed Yennefer's burnt ankles. The sorceress hissed in pain and muttered curses under her breath.
Having finished with this task, Geralt got up.
‘Stay here,’ he said, ‘I need to talk to the dragon.’
Yennefer, wincing, rose.
‘I'll go with you, Geralt.’ She took him by the hand. ‘Can I? Please, Geralt.’
‘With me, Yen? I thought that…’
‘Don't think.’
She clung to his shoulder.
‘Yen?’
‘Everything is okay now, Geralt.’
He looked into her eyes, which were now as warm as they once were in the past. He bent and kissed her on the lips. They were hot, soft and yearning. As they once were in the past.
They approached the dragon. Yennefer, supported by Geralt, made a very low courtesy as if she were before a king, holding the hemline of her dress with the tips of her fingers.
‘Three Jack-… Villentretenmerth…,’ stated the witcher.
‘My name means literally in your language ' three black birds ',’ explained Borch.
The young dragon clutched Three Jackdaws' forearm with its claws and stretched out his neck to receive a caress.
‘Order and Chaos,’ said Villentretenmerth, smiling. ‘Remember, Geralt? Chaos represents aggression, while order represents the means to protect itself from it. Shouldn't we go to the ends of the earth to stand against aggression and evil, Geralt? Especially when, as you said, the wage is attractive. As it was in this case. It was the treasure of the female dragon Myrgatabrakke, poisoned near Holopole. It was she who called me so that I could help her to neutralize the evil that threatened her. Myrgatabrakke flew off shortly after Eyck de Denesle had been removed from the field of battle. She had time to escape during your debates and quarrels, leaving me her treasure, in other words, my wage.’
The young dragon chirped and flapped its wings.
‘Therefore, you…’
‘Yes,’ interrupted the dragon. ‘It's necessary in this day and age. The creatures that you commonly call monsters have felt, for some time, more and more threatened by humans. They don't know how to defend themselves and they need a protector… a witcher.’
‘And the goal at the end of the path?’
‘Here it is.’ Villentretenmerth raised his forearm; frightened, the young dragon started to chirp. ‘Here is my goal, my purpose. Thanks to him, I shall prove, Geralt of Rivia, that there is no limit as to what's possible. You too, one day, will discover such a purpose, witcher. Even those who are different deserve to live. Goodbye, Geralt. Goodbye, Yennefer.’
The sorceress courtesied once again, steadying herself firmly on Geralt's shoulder. Villentretenmerth stood up and looked at her, his face very serious.
‘Excuse my boldness and my frankness, Yennefer. It's written on your faces, I don't even need to read your thoughts. You were made for each other, you and the witcher. But nothing will come of it. Nothing. I'm sorry.’
‘I know.’ Yennefer turned a little pale. ‘I know, Villentretenmerth. But I too would like to believe that there is no limit as to what's possible or at least that this limit is very distant.’
Vea went up to Geralt. She whispered to him, touching his shoulder. The dragon laughed.
‘Geralt, Vea wants you to know that she will never forget the tub at the Pensive Dragon. She hopes that she will see you again.’
‘What?’ Yennefer asked, blinking anxiously.
‘Nothing,’ the witcher replied quickly. ‘Villentretenmerth…’
‘I'm listening, Geralt of Rivia.’
‘You can take all forms. Whatever you wish?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why transform into a human? Why Borch, with the coat of arms of three black birds?’
The dragon gave him a broad smile.
‘It's hard for me to say, Geralt, in what circumstances our respective forefathers had their first meeting, but I know that for dragons nothing is more loathsome than man. Man awakens in dragons an instinctive and irrational hatred. I am an exception. To me… you are quite likeable. Goodbye.’
It was not a gradual transformation, like the hazy disappearance of an illusion. It took place in the blink of an eye. In place of where there was, a moment earlier, a curly-haired knight in a tunic adorned with three black birds there now appeared a golden dragon, stretching his long slender neck gracefully. Bowing his head, the dragon unfurled wings that shone brilliant gold in the rays of the sun. Yennefer sighed loudly.
Vea, already in the saddle next to Tea, waved goodbye.
‘Vea,’ said the witcher, ‘you were right.’
‘Hmm?’
‘He is definitely the most beautiful.’
A Shard of Ice
I
The dead sheep, swollen and bloated, its four rigid legs raised towards the sky, gave a convulsion. Geralt, sitting on his haunches against the wall, drew his sword slowly, taking care that the blade did not make a sound as it left the sheath. Ten paces away from him, the pile of refuse suddenly swelled and heaved. The witcher had just enough time to leap up and avoid the wave of refuse that had been set in motion and now poured forth violently.
A tentacle with a blunt, tapering end suddenly emerged from the refuse and shot forward to meet him with incredible speed. The witcher jumped onto the remnants of a broken cabinet that lay on top of a pile of rotting vegetables; he regained his balance and struck the tentacle with his sword, quickly and cleanly, severing the suckers with the staggering blow. He immediately leapt backwards, but slipped on the boards, landing thigh-deep in the rotting mass.
The mountain of trash exploded like a geyser, expelling a dense and foul-smelling sludge of kitchen waste, rotting rags and whitish strands of sauerkraut; from beneath there appeared a huge and bulbous body, shapeless like a grotesque potato, lashing the air with its three tentacles and its mutilated stump.
Geralt, still stuck in the sludge, twisted his hips, smoothly severed another tentacle with a broad stroke. The remaining two tentacles, as thick as boughs, fell heavily onto him, driving him deeper into the refuse. The monster's body barrelled towards him, ploughing through the refuse. Geralt saw the hideous bulb split open, revealing a gaping maw full of enormous, jagged teeth.
He let the tentacles grab him around the waist and was pulled out of the mess with a squelching noise. He was drawn towards the beast as it advanced through the refuse, reeling itself nearer; it's serrated jaws gnashed wildly and furiously. When he got close to the strange mouth, the witcher struck at the beast, wielding his sword with both hands, the blade sliding slowly and casually into its flesh. It emitted a choking, sickly sweet stench. The monster started to hiss and tremble; it released its prey, tentacles waving in the air convulsively. Once again mired in the filth, Geralt struck again, body twisting, so that the blade crunched and ground hideously against the monster's snarled teeth. The creature gurgled and collapsed, but then suddenly surged upwards, hissing and splashing the witcher with stinking slime. Desperately wading through the sludge, Geralt dragged himself forward, pushing the refuse aside with his torso before launching himself outwards. He then struck with all his might, blade cleaving downwards between the monster's two faintly phosphorescent eyes, slicing its body from top to bottom. The monster groaned with pain; it shuddered, spilling forth a pile of waste like a punctured bladder and emitting warm waves of palpable stench. The tentacles twitched and trembled amongst the decay.
The witcher scrambled out of the thick sludge, finding himself standing on a swaying but solid footing. He felt something sticky and repulsive that had seeped into his boot creep further up his calf. To the well, he thought, so I can clean this filth off as quickly as possible. Wash myself clean. The monster's tentacles slapped loudly and wetly on the refuse once more, then fell still.
A shooting star
flashed across the sky, for one second enlivening the black firmament studded with unmoving bright points. The witcher didn't make a wish.
He breathed heavily, harshly, feeling the effects of the elixirs he had drunk before the battle subsiding. Adjacent to the city walls, the huge heap of refuse and debris sloping steeply down toward the glittering ribbon of the river now looked exotic and picturesque in the light of the stars. The witcher spat.
The monster was dead. It had now become part of the pile in which it had lived.
A second shooting star passed.
‘Trash,’ the witcher uttered with difficulty, ‘Nothing but muck, filth and shit.’
II
‘You stink, Geralt,’ Yennefer frowned, not turning from the mirror before which she removed the make-up from her eyelids and lashes. ‘Take a bath’.
‘There's no water,’ he said, peering into the tub.
‘We'll sort something out.’ The sorceress stood up and opened wide the window. ‘Would you prefer seawater or fresh water?’
‘Sea, for a change.’
Yennefer quickly threw open her arms, then cast a spell by performing a swift, intricate gesture with her fingers. A strong wind blew through the open window, cool and damp. The shutters rattled as an irregular green sphere burst, whistling, into the room, disturbing the dust. The tub foamed with water, heaving restlessly, beating against the edges and splashing out onto the floor. The sorceress returned to her original task.
The Sword of Destiny Page 9
