A dwarvern mercenary, who ran alongside Geralt, dressing in a doublet that was burned and charred, lost no time in amazement at all. With a flourish he thrust his spear into the belly of the Nilfgaardian, pushing the pole in far then yanked it out. Another came and pressed his heavy boot onto the breastplate of the fallen and stabbed a spear into his throat. The Nilfgaardian issued a gasp, vomited blood and scratched the earth with his spurs.
At that moment the witcher was hit in the back with something very heavy and hard. His knees buckled under him. He fell and heard a great roar of triumph. He saw the riders in black cloaks flee into the forest. He heard the bridge rumble under the hooves of the horses approaching from the left bank, cavalry, carrying a flag with an eagle surrounded by red diamonds.
And so ended the great Battle for the Bridge on the Yaruga, a battle that in latter chronicles, of course, does not even get the slightest mention.
* * *
‘Do not be troubled, noble sir,’ said the surgeon, while massaging and tapping the witcher’s back. ‘The bridge was demolished. We chased the enemy to the opposite shore. Your friends and the lady are also safe. Is she your wife?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, I thought … It is terrible, my lord, when war harms the pregnant …’
‘Be silent, not a word about it. Whose are these banners?’
‘You do not know for whom you fought? Surprise, surprise … This is the army of Lyria. You see the black eagle of Lyria and the red diamonds of Rivia. Well, I’m finished. It was just a contusion. Your back will hurt for a while, but it’s nothing serious. You’ll recover.’
‘Thanks.’
‘It’s me who should be thanking you. If you had not defended the bridge, Nilfgaard would have exterminated us to the last; we would have been thrown into the river. We would not have had time to escape persecution … You saved the Queen! Farewell, my lord. I’m going, other wounded need my help.’
‘Thanks.’
He sat on a tree stump, tired, sore and uncaring. Alone. Cahir had disappeared somewhere. Between the piles in the middle of the broken bridge the Yaruga flowed green and gold, gleaming in the glare from the sunset.
He raised his head, hearing steps, the clatter of hooves and armour.
‘That’s him, Your Majesty. Let me help you down …’
‘I’m fine.’
Geralt raised his head. The woman who stood before him in armour had very fair hair, almost as white as his own. He realised that the hair was not white, but grey, but the woman’s face showed no signs of aging. Maturity, yes. But not old age.
The woman press to her mouth a cambric handkerchief with lace edges. The handkerchief was covered in blood.
‘Stand up, sir,’ one of the knights, standing next to Geralt whispered. ‘Offer up tribute. This is the Queen.’
The Witcher stood up. He bowed, overcoming the pain in his loins.
‘Tyf defended moft?’
‘What?’
The woman removed the handkerchief from her mouth and spat blood. Some of the red droplets fell onto her breastplate.
‘Her Majesty, Meve, Queen of Lyria and Rivia,’ said one of the knights standing beside the woman, who was dressed in a purple cloak adorned with gold embroidery, ‘asks whether you are the man who heroically defended the bridge over the Yaruga?’
‘It just happened.’
‘Wyflo!’ the queen attempted to laugh, but did not succeed. She frowned, then cursed, although unclear and spat again. Before she was able to cover her mouth, he saw a terrible wound and noticed the lack of several teeth. She caught his eye.
‘The attack,’ she said from behind the handkerchief, looking into his eyes. ‘Jakif fkurwyfyn slammed me in the mouth.’
‘Queen Meve,’ the man in the purple cloak said emphatically, ‘stood in the first line, brave as a knight and stood against the overwhelming forces of Nilfgaard! The wound hurts, but it will not disfigure! You saved her and the whole army. After some traitors kidnapped the ferry, the bridge was our only hope. And you heroically defended …’
‘Pfeftan, Odo, as fie nazywaf, hero?
‘Me?’
‘Of course you.’ The knight with the purple cloak looked at him menacingly. ‘What’s wrong with you? Are you wounded? Did you hit your head?’
‘No.’
‘Then answer, when the queen asks! You can see that she is wounded in the mouth and finds it difficult to speak!’
‘Pfeftan, Odo.’
The knight in purple bowed, and then looked at Geralt.’
‘What is your name?’
Who cares, he thought. I’m sick of all this. I will not lie.
‘Geralt.’
‘Geralt from where?’
‘Nowhere.’
‘No famowy?’ Meve redecorated the sand under her feet with splashes of saliva mixed with blood.
‘What? No, no family. Your Royal Highness.’
Meve drew her sword.
‘Kneel.’
He obeyed, still unable to believe what was happening. Still thinking about Milva and the way he chose for her, fearing the Ysgith marsh.
The queen turned to Purple.
‘You powief formula. I can not spweak.’
‘For unprecedented valour in battle for a just cause,’ Purple recited emphatically, ‘as proof of your virtue, honour and fidelity to the crown, I, Meve, by the grace of the gods, queen of Lyria and Rivia, By my power, right and privilege knight thee. Serve faithfully. Accept this accolade, one that will not hurt.’
Geralt felt a blow on the shoulder blade. He looked into the pale green eyes of the queen. Meve spit, thick and red, pressed a handkerchief to her face and winked at him from over the lace.
Purple walked over to the queen and whispered. The Witcher heard the words –“predicate”, “red diamonds”, “banner” and “tribute”.
‘Slufilie,’ Meve nodded. She spoke more clearly, overcoming the pain from the gap in her broken teeth. ‘You held the bridge together with the soldiers of Rivia, valiant Geralt of nowhere. Thus this honour, ha, ha. Well, it gives me great privilege to knight – Geralt of Rivia. Ha, ha.’
‘Bow, sir knight,’ Purple hissed. Geralt of Rivia, the knight bowed to Queen Meve, his sovereign, who did not see his smile, a bitter smile, over which he had no control.
Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 04] Page 36
