He leaped at her with a knife in his hand, cunningly and treacherously. As quiet as a ghost. Only at the last moment, when his dagger was about to go into her back, did he scream. In it was all of his rage and hatred.
She avoided the cowardly attacked with a half-turn and jumped away. She immediately shifted and struck, hard and strong, with her whole arm, strengthening the cut with a twist of her hips. Swallow whistled and cut with the tip of its blade. Bonhart clutched at his throat. Hit fish eyes bulged from their sockets.
‘I told you,’ Ciri said coldly. ‘I remember everything.’
Bonhart stared at her wide-eyed. Then he fell.
He fell backwards into the dust with billowed around him. He lay on his back, tall, skinny and a skeleton and squeezed his throat with all his might. But no matter how firmly he held, his life slipped out between his fingers and the layer of grey dust under his body grew wet and black.
Ciri stood over him. Without saying anything. But ensuring that he saw. That this last image would be the image that accompanied him wherever he went.
He looked at her with hardening eyes. He convulsively reared up, digging his heels into the ground. Then he gurgles like a funnel emptying.
And that was the last sound he made.
* * *
The stone walls trembled, beams cracked and glass poured from lead frames.
‘Watch out, Geralt!’
He dodged again at the last minute. Brilliant lightning ploughed a furrow in the ground, the air hissed with colour, murderously sharp fragments from broken windows. Lightning hit the column, behind which the witcher hid. The column broke up into three parts. It broke from the roof and collapsed to the floor with a deafening crash.
Geralt, lying flat on the floor, his head cupped in his hands, was aware of how miserable a shield this was from the falling debris. He prepared for the worst, but nothing happened. He jumped up and could see the glow of a magical shield around him, he realised Yennefer’s magic had saved him.
Vilgefortz threw a bolt of lightning at the other column behind which the sorceress was hiding. He roared furiously and a cloud of dust and smoke appeared. Yennefer deftly slipped between them and retaliated with her own flash of lightning, which bounced off of the wizard with no visible effect. He answered with a crushing blow that knocked Yennefer to the ground.
Geralt wiped the dust from his eyes and attacked. Vilgefortz turned his eyes towards him and pointed his arm, and from his hands roared fire. The witcher instinctively swung his sword. The dwarven blade, covered with runes, shielded him and but the stream of fire in half.
‘Ha!’ roared Vilgefortz. ‘Impressive, witcher! What do you say to this!’
The witcher said nothing. He was hit by an invisible battering ram, flew backwards, fell on the floor and slid until he found the base of a buttress. A pillar flew apart and again tumbled from the roof. This time he did not have Yennefer’s protection. The heavy carved block struck him in the side, fortunately, not fully, but even so it hurt and completely paralysed him.
Yennefer chanted spells and threw them at Vilgefortz one after another. However, none of them hit, and they all bounced harmless off of the wizard’s magical shield. Vilgefortz suddenly spread his arms wide. Yennefer wailed in pain and started rising from the ground. The wizard clapped his hands together and his fingers started to shake and if squeezing a wet rag. The sorceress cried shrilly. And started to squirm.
Geralt clenched his teeth in pain and rose to return to the fight. But he was overtaken by Regis.
The vampire came flying from out of nowhere in the shape of a giant bat and rushed at Vilgefortz quietly. Before the sorcerer could raise a protection spell, Regis attacked his face with his claws; he missed the eye because it was so unnaturally small. Vilgefortz yelled and waved his arms in surprise. Yennefer freed from the spell, fell with a scream of surprise into a pile of rubble, blood spurting from her mouth and down her chin and breasts.
Geralt was already close. He raised Sihil ready to deal a blow. But Vilgefortz had no intention of surrendering. He pushed the witcher with a powerful surge of energy and attacked the vampire with a dazzling white beam, which passed through a stone pillar like a hot knife through butter. Regis deftly evaded the beam and returned to his usual form. He materialised at Geralt’s side.
‘Be careful,’ the witcher grunted, trying to discern what was wrong with Yennefer. ‘Be careful, Regis …’
‘Be careful?’ said the vampire. ‘I? That’s not why I came here!’
With an incredibly long and fast leap he reached the wizard and grabbed him by the throat. His vampire fangs glistened.
Vilgefortz scream with rage and terror. For a brief moment, it appeared this was the end of him. But it was premature. The wizard had an arsenal of weapons for every occasion. And against every opponent – even vampires.
The wizard hands grasped Regis and heated up like red hot irons. The vampire screamed. Geralt also cried out, seeing that the wizard was literally tearing the vampire. He jumped to his friend’s aid. But was too late. Vilgefortz pushed the vampire into a column, with both of his hands burning with white fire.
Regis screamed.
He screamed so loud that the witcher had to cover his ears with his hands. The remains of the windows shattered noisily. The column simply melted. And the vampire melted with it, turning into a shapeless stone.
Geralt cursed furiously and desperately. He jumped forward and swung Sihil. The wizard turned and hit him with magical energy. The witcher flew the entire length of the hall, hit a wall on the other side and slid down it.
He lay there gasping for air, like a fish out of water, wondering not what was broken, but what was whole.
Vilgefortz walked towards him. In his hand materialised a six-foot-long iron rod.
‘I could reduce you to ashes with a spell,’ he said. ‘Or I could melt you into a glassy mass, as I did with that monster. But you, witcher, you deserve a different death. In combat. Maybe not a fair fight, but still.’
Geralt did not believe he could stand up. But he did. He spat blood from his cut lip. He gripped his sword tighter.
‘In Thanedd,’ said Vilgefortz, approaching him, twirling the rod, ‘I settled for giving you a beating, in moderation, to serve as a lesson. But I can see that you have not learned anything, this time the beating with be thorough and I will not leave a healthy bone in your body. Nobody will be able to put you back together again.’
He attacked. Geralt did not try to escape. He accepted the fight.
The rod flashed and whirled, spinning around the sorcerer. Both opponents dodged around each other in a deadly dance. The rod flicked like lightning. Geralt managed to parry the hammering blow. Vilgefortz skilfully deflected. Each time steel meet steel it groaned pitifully.
The wizard was quick and nimble like a demon.
Geralt was fooled by a swing at his torso and a mock punch from the left – the opposite end of the stick hit him n the ribs. Before the witcher could get his wind back, he received a strong blow to the hip that almost knocked him down. He dodged a blow to the top of his head, but did not escape the stab at his stomach. He was thrown against the wall. He had enough presence of mind to fall to the floor. Just at the moment, the iron rod brushed his hair and it slammed into the wall raising sparks.
Geralt rolled; the rod drew sparks from the ground right next to his head. A second blow came and hit his shoulder. The shock sent numbing pain and weakness down his legs. The wizard raised the rod. His eyes burned in triumph.
Geralt clenched his fist around Fringilla’s medallion.
The rod fell. It struck the floor, a few inches from the witcher’s head. Geralt rolled to the side and quickly got up on one knee. Vilgefortz jumped after him and swung again. Again he missed by inches.
He shook his head unable to believe his eyes. He hesitated a moment. Then sighed, realising what was happening. His eyes twinkled and he leapt and swung his magical weapon. But it was too late.
G
eralt quickly slashed him across the stomach. Vilgefortz screamed, dropped the rod and took a few steps backwards. The witcher followed. Kicked him between the stumps of two columns and slashed his sword in a wide arc diagonally across the wizard’s torso to his collarbone. Drawing blood.
The wizard screamed and fell to his knees. He lowered his head and look at his chest and abdomen. For a long time he could not look away from what he saw.
Geralt calmly waited with Sihil raised, ready to strike.
Vilgefortz lifted his head and wailed shrilly.
‘Geraaaaaalt …!’
The witcher did not let him finish.
For a long time there was silence.
‘I didn’t know …’ Yennefer said, at last rising from the pile of rubble.
She looked pitiful. Blood smeared her chin and chest.
‘I didn’t know,’ she repeated, meeting Geralt’s puzzled gaze, ‘that you knew how to cast spells of illusion. And you were able to confuse Vilgefortz …’
‘It was my medallion.’
‘Oh,’ she said suspiciously. ‘An interesting thing. But even so, we live thanks to Ciri.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His eye. He did not regain full coordination. And often missed. Although I mainly owe my life …’
She fell silent, looking at the remains of the melted column in which she could recognise the outline of a person.
‘Who was that, Geralt?’
‘A friend. I’ll miss him very much.’
‘Was he human?’
‘He was an incarnation of humanity. How are you, Yen?’
‘Some broken ribs, a concussion, a bumped hip and a bruised spine. Otherwise, I’m great. What about you?’
‘I’m more or less the same.’
Without emotion he eyed Vilgefortz head, lying exactly in the middle of the floor of mosaics. The sorcerer’s little glassy eye watched them with mute reproach.
‘Nice view,’ she said.
‘Nice,’ he said. ‘But it’s not the first I’ve seen.’ Can you walk?’
‘With your help, yes.’
* * *
They met in a place where the corridors came together to form and arch. They met under the dead eyes of the statues.
‘Ciri,’ the witcher said, rubbing his eyes.
‘Ciri,’ Yennefer said, supported by the witcher.
‘Geralt,’ Ciri said.
‘Ciri,’ he answered, with a lump in his throat. ‘I’m glad to see you again.’
‘Lady Yennefer.’
The sorceress released herself from the witcher’s arms and straightened with a tremendous effort.
‘What a sight you are, girl,’ she said sternly. ‘Look at yourself and how you look. Fix your hair! Don’t slouch. Come to me.’
Ciri walked, stiffly over to Yennefer. Yennefer smoothed her collar and tried to wipe the dried blood from her sleeve. She fixed her hair, revealing the scar on her cheek. She hugged her tightly. Very tightly. Geralt saw the sorceress’s hands on Ciri’s back. He saw the deformed fingers. He did not feel anger, grief or hatred. He felt only fatigue. And a great desire to be done with it all.
‘Mummy.’
‘My daughter.’
‘Let’s go,’ Geralt decided to interrupt, but only after a long time.
Ciri sniffed noisily and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Yennefer scolded her with a look and rubbed one of her eyes. Surely she had gotten a speck of powder in them. The witcher watched the corridor from which Ciri emerged, as if expecting someone else to come from there. Ciri shook her head. He understood.
‘Let’s go,’ he repeated.
‘Yes,’ said Yennefer. ‘I want to see the sky.’
‘I’ll never leave you again,’ Ciri said dully. ‘Never again.’
‘Let’s go,’ said Geralt. ‘Ciri help Yen.’
‘I don’t need help!’
‘Let me help you, mother.’
Before them was a staircase. Bathed in smoke and at the bottom flaming torches and braziers with fire. Ciri shivered. She knew those stairs. They had appeared in her dreams and visions.
Below armed men were waiting.
‘I’m tired,’ she said.
‘Me too,’ said Geralt as he drew Sihil.
‘I’m tired of killing.’
‘Me too.’
‘Is there no other way?’
‘No, there is no other way. Only those stairs. We have no choice, girl. Yen wants to see the sky. And I want to see the sky, Yen and you.’
Ciri looked at Yennefer, who if not for the railing she was leaning against, would have fallen down. She pulled out the medallions she took from Bonhart. The cat she hung around her neck, the wolf she gave to Geralt.
‘I hope you know,’ the witcher said, ‘it’s just a symbol.’
‘Everything is just symbols.’
She drew Swallow from its sheath.
‘Come on, Geralt.’
‘Let’s go. Stay close to me.’
At the foot of the stairs Skellen’s mercenaries were waiting for them, clutching weapons in sweaty palms. The Owl with a quick gesture sent the first wave of attackers. The stair thundered with the sound of heavy boots.
‘Slowly, Ciri, don’t rush. Stay close to me.’
‘I know, Geralt.’
‘And calmly, girl, quietly. Remember, no anger, no hated. We have to get out of here to see the sky. And those who stand in our way, they die. Do not hesitate.’
‘I will not hesitate. I want to see the sky.’
They reached the first landing without obstacles. The mercenaries fell back before them, amazed and surprised by their icy calm. But after a moment, three men leapt forward, waving their swords. They died instantly.
‘Attack all at once,’ the Owl shouted from below. ‘Kill them!’
Three more attacked. Geralt stepped forward, feinted at one, and cut another’s throat. He spun and Ciri dashed under his right arm. The girl slashed a second mercenary under his arm. The third tried to escape by jumping over the railing. He did not make it.
Geralt wiped a few drops of blood from his face.
‘Calmly, Ciri.’
‘I am calm.’
Three more approached. A flash of swords, screaming, death.
Thick blood trickled down the smooth stone stairs.
A mercenary with a jacket with brass rivets rushed them with a spear. His eyes shone with narcotics use. Ciri, with a quick step, deflected the spear and Geralt slashed at the man. He wiped his face. They continued to walk, without looking back.
The second landing was close.
‘Kill them!’ Skellen shouted. ‘Kiillllll!’
Heave footsteps on the stairs. The bright flashing of a blade, a shout, death.
‘Excellent, Ciri. But calmly. Less excitement. And stay close to me.’
‘I’ll never leave you.’
‘Do not strike from the shoulder; you can do it from the elbow. Be careful.’
‘I’m careful.’
The brightness of a sword, a cry, blood, death.
‘Excellent, Ciri.’
‘I want to see the sky.’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
‘Watch out. It’s getting slippery.’
The flash of blades, screaming. They walked, overtaking the blood pouring down the steps. They continued down the stairs of castle Stygga.
One of the mercenaries slipped on the bloody stairs and fell straight beneath their feet. He wailed for mercy and covered his head with both hands. They walked around him without looking.
They reached the third and lowest landing and no one dared cross their path.
‘Bows!’ Stefan Skellen shouted from below. ‘Bows and crossbows! Boreas Mun was supposed to bring crossbows! Where is he?’
Boreas Mun – the Owl could not know – was already quite far away. He rode straight to the east, with his forehead to the mane of his horse, galloping as fast as he could.
Of
the other men who were sent to get crossbows, only one had returned. When he fired, his hands shook and his eyes watered from fisstech. The first bolt hit the railing. The second one did not even hit the stairs.
‘Higher!’ the Owl ordered. ‘Get closer, you idiot! Shoot up closer!’
The crossbowman pretended not to hear. Skellen swore, grabbed the crossbow, jumped up the stairs, knelt and aimed. Geralt immediately covered Ciri with his body, but the girl slipped past him and as the rope from the crossbow twanged, she was already in position. She twisted her sword into the upper quarter and the bolt hit it so hard it hung in the air a long time before falling to the ground.
‘Very good,’ Geralt muttered. ‘Very good, Ciri. But if you ever do something like that again, you’ll get a spanking.’
Skellen threw the crossbow aside. He suddenly realised he was alone.
All of his men huddled at the bottom of the stairs and none were in a hurry to climb. There even seemed to be less of them. Some had probably run off. For crossbows – no doubt.
The witcher and witcheress, calmly, without hurrying, walked down the blood slicked stairs of castle Stygga. The stood close to each other, shoulder to shoulder, beguiling the fast movements of their swords.
Skellen stepped back. And did not stop retreating until he reached the bottom. When he was surrounded by his men, he realised how far he had come. He cursed helplessly.
‘Men!’ he shouted, but his voice broke. ‘Forward! At them at once! Follow me!’
‘Get them yourself,’ growled one of them and raised his hand covered in fisstech to his nose. The Owl swung at his and he sprinkled white powered all over his face, sleeve and coat lapels.
The witcher and witcheress passed another platform.
‘When they get down here, they will be easier to surround,’ Skellen encouraged. ‘Men, to arms!’
Geralt looked at Cir and almost screamed with rage when he noticed silver threads among her grey hair. He restrained himself. This was not the time for anger.
‘Be careful,’ he said flatly. ‘Stay close to me.’
‘I’ll always be close to you.’
‘Down there it is going to be tricky.’
‘I know, but we’ll be together.’
Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 06] Page 38
