Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 04]

by Baptism of Fire (fan translation) (epub)

  ‘The woods are quiet.’ Cahir said. ‘The army is gone. The battle must be over.’

  ‘The massacre, you mean.’

  ‘Our cavalry…’ he stammered, clearing his throat. ‘The imperial cavalry struck the camp, and then from the south your army attacked. Probably Temerian.’

  ‘If the fighting is over then we must go back there. We need to look for the witcher, Dandelion and the others.’

  ‘It will be wiser to wait until nightfall.’

  ‘This is a horrible place,’ she said softly, squeezing her bow. ‘Grim and chilling. Not even a breeze moves through here, but something keeps making noises in the bushes… The witcher talked about ghouls being attracted to battlefields… And the peasants spoke of vampires…’

  ‘You are not alone.’ He soothed his companion. ‘A lonely man has more reason to fear.’

  ‘Certainly.’ She understood his meaning. ‘You have been following us for almost two weeks, alone. Behind are you people and all around is your army… Although you say that you are not Nilfgaardian, you did belong with them once. And the devil take me if I understand… Instead of going back to your people, you follow after the witcher. Why?’

  ‘It is a long story.’

  * * *

  When the tall Scoia’tael bent over him, tied to a post as he was, Struycken closed his eyes in horror. It was said that there are no ugly elves, they are all born beautiful. Perhaps the legendary leader of the Scoia’tael was born beautiful too. But now his face was cut diagonally with an ugly scar that disfigured his forehead, eyebrow, nose and cheek, of his elven beauty, nothing was left.

  The elf sat down on a cracked tree trunk lying on its side.

  ‘My name is Isengrim Faoiltiarna,’ he said, leaning over the prisoner again. ‘For four years I have fought with humans, for three years I have run my own command. I buried a fallen brother in a struggle, four cousins and more than forty comrades. In my fight for your Emperor I have been an ally who has repeatedly proved myself by submitting intelligence to your Secret Service and helping your agents eliminate inconvenient people.’

  Faoiltiarna paused and waved his gloved hand. The Scoia’tael beside him picked up a small box made of birch bark. A sweet scent rose from the box.

  ‘I thought and still think Nilfgaard is my ally,’ the scarred Scoia’tael said, ‘so I at first did not believe it when my informant warned me that they were preparing to ambush me. That when I was to meet alone with the Nilfgaardian emissary, I would be captured. I did not believe my ears, but being cautious by nature, I arrived at the meeting a little early and not alone. You can imagine how great my surprise and disappointment was when it turned out that at the secret meeting place, instead of an emissary, waiting for me was six thugs equipped with fishing nets, ropes, a leather hood with a gag and a shirt with belts and buckles attached to it. Equipment, I would say, that is commonly used by your Secret Service agents. The Secret Service of Nilfgaard wanted to capture me, Faoiltiarna, alive, take me somewhere, gagged and fastened to the ears in a straightjacket. A puzzling matter, I would say. Requiring an explanation. I was pleased that at least one of the thugs survived, was captured and will be willing to give me an explanation.’

  Struycken gritted his teeth and turned his head so as not to look at the scarred face of the elf. He preferred to look at the box made of birch bark, around which to wasps buzzed.

  ‘Now, then,’ Faoiltiarna continued, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, ‘talk, Mister. To facilitate the discussion I will clarify a few things. In this box is maple syrup. If our conversation does not proceeded in the spirit of mutual understanding and far-reaching sincerity, said maple syrup will be generously smeared onto your head. With particular emphasis on the eyes and ears. Then we will put you on an anthill, oh, look, that’s exactly where those nice and laborious insects scamper. Let me assure you that the method has already proven itself perfectly for a few Dh’oine and an’givare who showed me stubbornness and lack of sincerity.’

  ‘I’m in the imperial service!’ yelled the spy, turning pale. ‘I am an officer in the imperial Secret Service, subordinate to Vattiera de Rideaux, Viscount of Eiddon! My name is Jan Struycken! I protest…’

  ‘A fatal meeting of circumstances,’ interrupted the elf, ‘you see the local forest ants have herd of maple syrup, they haven’t ever heard of Lord de Rideaux. Let us begin. I will not ask who gave the order to kidnap me, because it is obvious. My first question is then: Where were you to take me?’

  The Nilfgaardian spy struggled in the ropes; he shook his head, because it seemed to him that the ants were already crawling on his cheeks. He remained silent, however.

  ‘A pity,’ Faoiltiarna muttered, giving a sign to the elf holding the box. ‘Smear him.’

  ‘I was to transport you to Verden, to the castle Nastrog!’ Struycken roared. ‘At the command of Lord de Rideaux!’

  ‘Thank you. What was waiting for me in Nastrog?’

  ‘An interrogation…’

  ‘What questions were you to ask?’

  ‘About what happened in Thanedd! I beg you, untie me! I will tell you everything!’

  ‘Of course you’re going to tell me everything,’ drawled the elf. ‘Especially since the beginning is behind us and the beginning is always the hardest. Continue.’

  ‘I had orders to force you to confess where you are hiding Rience, Vilgefortz and Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach!’

  ‘Amusing. You set a trap to ask me about Rience and Vilgefortz? What can I know about them? Where can you join them? And the matter of Cahir is even more amusing. I sent him back to you, just as you wished. In fetters. Has the shipment not arrived yet?’

  ‘The detachment was killed at the meeting place… Cahir was not among those killed…’

  ‘Oh, and Vattier de Rideaux became suspicious? But instead of sending another emissary to the towns to one of my commandos to ask for clarification, he decided to ambush me. He orders me dragged to Nastrog for questioning. About the events of Thanedd.’

  The spy remained silent.

  ‘Did you not understand?’ The elf leaned over him with his horrible face. ‘That was a question. What is it?’

  ‘I do not know… I do not know, I swear…’

  Faoiltiarna waved his hand. Struycken screamed, writhed and cursed the Great Sun, swearing his ignorance, he shook his head and spat out the thick syrup they cast into his face. Only when he had been carried by four Scoia’tael to the anthill did he talk. He tried to banish the idea that the consequences could be worse than the ants.

  ‘Sir… If anyone hears about this, I’m dead… But I’ll tell you… I saw secret orders. I overheard… I will tell you everything…’

  ‘That is obvious,’ the elf nodded. ‘The record on the anthill is one hour and forty minutes and belongs to a certain official of king Demavend’s special forces. But he also spoke in the end. Come on, begin. Fast, neat and to the point.’

  ‘The Emperor is convinced that those at Thanedd betrayed him. The traitor Vilgefortz Roggeveen, sorcerer. And his assistant, called Rience. And above all, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach. Vattier… Lord Vattier is not sure that you have not been dipping your fingers into this betrayal, even unknowingly… So I was ordered to capture and secretly transport you to Nastrog… Sir Faoiltiarna, twenty years I have worked in the Secret Service… Vattier de Rideaux is my third commander…’

  ‘Briefly, please. And stop shaking. If you are sincere with me, you will still have the chance to serve a few more commanders.’

  ‘It was the deepest state secret, but I learned who Vilgefortz and Cahir caught on the island. I faced the fact that they had succeeded. Because they took to Loc Grim… What’s her name… Yes, the princess of Cintra. We thought it was a success and Rience and Cahir would be made Barons, and the sorcerer an Earl at least… But instead the Emperor called Kalous. I mean Lord Skellen and Lord Vattier and ordered the capture of Cahir… and Rience and Vilgefortz… Everyone who might know somet
hing about the events on Thanedd had to be subjected to torture… And you too… It was not hard to imagine… Well, there had to have been treason. They had brought to Loc Grim a false princess…’

  The spy took a deep breath and his mouth flooded with maple syrup.

  ‘Untie him,’ Faoiltiarna ordered the Squirrels, ‘And wash your face.’

  The order was carried out immediately. After a while, the organizer of the failed ambush was standing with bowed head before the Scoia’tael leader. Faoiltiarna regarded him with indifference.

  ‘Wipe the syrup from your ears carefully,’ he said a last. ‘and listen to what I am about to tell you. Exercise your memory, as benefits a spy with many years of practice. I will give you proof of my loyalty to the Emperor, I’ll give you a full account of the matter that are of interest to you. But you will repeat everything to Vattier de Rideaux, word for word.’

  The spy nodded eagerly.

  ‘In mid Blathe, that is, by your reckoning the beginning of June,’ began the elf, ‘The sorceress Enid an Gleanna, also known as Francesca Findabair, established contact with me. At her command there soon arrived to my commando unit a certain Rience, reportedly a factotum of Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, also a sorcerer. In the deepest secrecy a plan of action was developed, aimed at eliminating a number of wizards at the Congress on the island of Thanedd. The plan was presented to me as an action that had the full support of the Emperor Emhyr, Vattier de Rideaux and Stefan Skellen, otherwise I would not have agrees to cooperate with the Dh’oine, sorcerers or not, because I have seen too many provocations in my life. The involvement of the empire in this affair was confirmed at Cape Bremervoord by the arrival of the vessel that brought Cahir, the son of Ceallach, equipped with special powers of attorney and orders. According to these orders I was to appoint a small group of my commandos which was subject only to Cahir. The group was tasked with abducting from the island… a certain person.’

  ‘We sailed to Thanedd,’ Faoiltiarna took a moment, ‘on the ship that Cahir arrived on. Rience had amulets which he used to cover the ship in magic mist. We sailed the boat into caverns beneath the island. From there we came to the basement under Garstang.’

  ‘Already in the basement, we knew that something was wrong, Rience received some telepathic communication from Vilgefortz. We knew that when we began our march we would be entering into an on-going struggle. We were ready. And this was a good thing, because right after we left the basement, all hell broke loose.’

  The elf twisted his heavily scarred face, as if the memories pained him.

  ‘After some initial success, things began to unravel. We could not eliminate all of the king’s witches and suffered big losses. Some of the magicians on our side were killed, others wanting to save their own skin, teleported away. At some point Vilgefortz disappeared, the Rience disappeared and soon after them Enid an Gleanna. The last disappearance I took as the definitive signal to retreat. I did not want to issue the order until the return of Cahir and his group, who had at the beginning of the action gone to perform his mission. Since they had not returned, we started searching for them.’

  Faoiltiarna looked into his eyes of the Nilfgaardian spy.

  ‘Not a single member of the group was left alive; they had all been killed in a brutal manner. I found Cahir on the steps leading to Tor Lara, the tower which exploded during the fight and was reduced to ruins. He was wounded and unconscious, it was clear that he had not fulfilled the mission entrusted to him. In the surrounding area there was no sign of the object of his mission, and below in Loxia and Aretuza had been occupied by king’s men. I knew there was no way that Cahir could fall into their hands, because it would have been proof of Nilfgaard’s participation in the action. I took him and ran to the basement, to the caverns. We boarded the ship and set sail. Of all of the commandos there were no more than twelve left and they were mostly wounded.’

  ‘The wind favoured us. We disembarked west of Hirundum and hid in the woods. Cahir tore at his bandages, shouting something about a crazy lady with green eyes, about Ciri the lion of Cintra, about a witcher who had destroyed his group and about a sorcerer who flew like a bird towards the Tower of Gulls. He asked for a horse and ordered us back to the island, claiming it was the Emperor’s orders, which, in this situation, I had to consider the ravings of a madman. In Aedirn, as we already knew, the war was already raging and I thought it best to put together a new squad and resume the fighting against the Dh’oine.’

  ‘Cahir was still with us when I found the contact box which contained your secret orders. I was surprised. Cahir, although it was clear that his mission had failed, nothing indicated that he was guilty of treason. However, I did not think too much of it, I thought it was your affair and you ought to solve it yourselves. Cahir, when he was tied up, offered no resistance, he was calm and resigned. I sent him in a wooden coffin and with the help of a hav’caaren friend, had him taken to the place indicated in the orders. I admit I had no desire to weaken my squad in an escort for him. I do not know who murdered your people at the meeting place. And only I knew the location. So if this version of events does not correspond entirely with the death of your unit, then look for traitors at home, because apart from you and me, only I knew the time and the place.’

  Faoiltiarna stood up.

  ‘That’s all. All of the information I have provided is true. Even in the dungeons of Nastrog you would not have gotten more. Lies and fabrication, which I probably would have provided to your torturer, would have proved to be harmful to you, rather than help. I do not know anything more, in particular, I do not know the whereabouts of Vilgefortz and Rience, I also don’t know whether to rightly suspect them of treason. And to tell you the truth, I know nothing about the princess of Cintra, neither true nor false. I have told you everything I know. I hope that Lord de Rideaux and Stefan Skellen no longer wish to ambush me. Dh’oine have long tried to capture or kill me, so I have developed the habit of killing all who try. In the future, I will not wait to see if any of the agents are sent by chance on the orders of Vattier or Skellen. I am not going to have the time or the inclination. Have I made myself clear?’

  Struycken nodded, swallowing.

  ‘So take your horse, spy and get out of my woods.’

  * * *

  ‘You endured the torment in that coffin they carried you in,’ Milva murmured. ‘I don’t understand. Why didn’t you go to a town and hide, why follow after the witcher? He hates you… The two times he saved your life…’

  ‘Three times.’

  ‘Twice I was there. Though you are not the sorcerer who broke the witcher’s bones at Thanedd, I don’t think it is safe for you to get close to his sword. What is between you I don’t understand, but you saved me and I look at you kindly… So I tell you, Cahir, the witcher is looking for those who kidnapped Ciri and took her to Nilfgaard, he grits his teeth so much that sparks fly. And when he spits, the saliva hisses.’

  ‘Ciri,’ he repeated. ‘Beautiful name.’

  ‘You didn’t know it?’

  ‘No. For me it has always been said Cirilla or young lion of Cintra… And when she was with me… Because she was once… She didn’t say a word. Although I saved her life.’

  ‘It’d take the devil to understand this,’ she said. ‘Your destiny, Cahir, is intricate and complex. Not for my head.’

  ‘And what is your name?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Milva… Maria Barring. But they call me, Milva.’

  ‘The witcher is moving in the wrong direction, Milva,’ he said after a moment. ‘Ciri is not in Nilfgaard. It was not Nilfgaard who kidnapped her. If she was kidnapped.’

  ‘How is that?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  * * *

  ‘By the Great Sun,’ Fringilla standing in the threshold, tilted her head in surprise and looked at her friend. ‘What have you done with your hair, Assire?’

  ‘I have washed it,’ Assire var Anahid replied dryly. ‘And curled it. Come in, please, s
it down. Get out of the chair, Merlin. Shoo!’

  The sorceress sat in the place the black cat has reluctantly vacated, still staring at her friend’s hair.

  ‘Stop staring at me,’ Assire’s hand touched the fluffy shiny curls. ‘I decided to change a bit. Anyway, I followed your example.’

  ‘I,’ Fringilla Vigo laughed, ‘have always been considered unruly and rebellious. But when they see you at the academy or the court…’

  ‘I do not go to court,’ said Assire. ‘And the academy will have to get used to it. This is the thirteenth century; it is high time we break superstition that attention to our external appearance shows frivolity and weakness of mind.’

  ‘The nails too,’ Fringilla narrowed her green eyes, which did not miss anything. ‘I do not recognise you, my dear.’

  ‘A simple spell,’ the sorceress answered coldly, ‘should be enough to prove I’m not a Doppler. Cast the spell, if you must. And then let’s move on to discuss the reason I invited you.’

  Fringilla Vigo stroked the cat that rubbed against her leg, purring and stretching, pretending it was a gesture of affection, not a veiled suggestion that the black-haired sorceress was in it’s chair.

  ‘Is it true,’ she said, without raising her head, ‘that Seneschal Ceallach aep Gryffyd visited you, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Assire confirmed. ‘Ceallach visited me, in despair, asking me for help for intercession, with his son, whom Emperor Emhyr has ordered captured, tortured and executed. To whom is a desperate father to turn to, if not a relative? Mawr, Ceallach’s wife, the mother of Cahir, is my niece, my sister’s youngest daughter. Despite this, I promised nothing. Because I cannot do anything in this case. Recently, circumstances have arisen that do not allow me to pull attention to myself. Let me explain it to you. But first, let me hear the information I asked you to collect.’

  Fringilla secretly breathed a sigh of relief. She was afraid that her friend wanted to get involved in the business of Cahir, the son of Ceallach, a matter that smelled of the scaffold. And if she had been asked for help, she would not be able to refuse.