Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 06]

by The Lady of the Lake (fan translation) (epub)

  The sword of destiny cuts both ways.

  By all the gods, that’s enough. Enough. We must end this once and for all!

  ‘Come on, Ciri.’

  ‘In these clothes?’ she said. ‘To the palace?’

  ‘I don’t see anything wrong with our clothes,’ he interrupted. ‘We are not going to a ball. We can meet Dandelion in the stables.’ He saw the look on her face and quickly added. ‘I have to go down to the bank. I’ll pick up some cash. In the squares and streets you’ll find a lot of tailors and dressmakers. You can buy what you want and dress up how you please.’

  ‘Good,’ she playfully cocked her head. ‘You’ve got cash?’

  ‘You can buy yourself whatever you want,’ he repeated. ‘Even ermine. And basilisk shoes. I know a shoemaker, who should have some in stock.’

  ‘How did you make so much money?’

  ‘By killing. Let’s go, Ciri, let’s not waste time.’

  * * *

  In the bank of Cianfanelli, Geralt requested a transfer, credit allocation and took some money. He wrote letters that were given to fast couriers that were riding for the Yaruga. He politely excused himself from the dinner invitation from the attentive and polite banker.

  Ciri waited in the street watching the horses. The street, which was empty a moment ago, was now swarming with people.

  ‘I think today is a holiday,’ Ciri nodded with her head towards the square where the crowd was heading. ‘Or a fair …’

  Geralt took a quick look.

  ‘That’s not a fair.’

  ‘Ah …’ Ciri stood up in her stirrups and looked around. ‘So it’s …’

  ‘A execution,’ he confirmed. ‘The most popular post-war entertainment. What are the reasons, Ciri?’

  ‘For desertion, treason, cowardice before the enemy,’ she recited fluently. ‘And for economic crimes.’

  ‘Supplying the army with mouldy biscuits,’ said the witcher. ‘During the war, an enterprising merchant can easily get into trouble.’

  ‘This does not look like the execution of a huckster,’ Ciri pulled on Kelpie’s reins, submerging herself in the middle of the crowd, ‘Look, the scaffolding is covered with cloth and the executioner has a new, clean hood. He is executing someone important, perhaps a noble. So it could be cowardice in the face of the enemy …’

  ‘Toussaint,’ Geralt shook his head, ‘did not have an army that faced the enemy. No, Ciri, I guess this has to do with the economy. The condemned is probably guilty of some scam in a wine shop and damaged the foundation for the local economy. Let’s go, Ciri. We don’t need to watch this spectacle.’

  ‘How do you expect me to move?’

  Indeed, it was impossible to keep riding. They had become stuck in the crowd gathering in the square, and were unable to make their way to the other side of the market.

  Geralt looked back and swore. He discovered that they could not even turn around, people clogged the streets behind them. The crowd carried them like a river, but stopped in front of a solid wall of halberds standing around the gallows.

  ‘Here they come!’ someone shouted and the crowd surged like a waved, picking up the cry. ‘Here they come!’

  The pounding of hooves and the rattle of a cart were fully covered by the buzz of the crowd, which sounded like the hum of bumblebees. So they were caught completely by surprise by the appearance of a cart from an ally, drawn by two horses. On the cart, trying to maintain his balance with difficult was …

  ‘Dandelion …’ Ciri groaned.

  Geralt suddenly felt ill. Very ill.

  ‘It’s Dandelion,’ Ciri said uneasily. ‘It’s him.’

  This is an injustice, thought the witcher. A damn injustice. This cannot be. This should not be. I know I was stupid and naive to believe that after all I had endured and experienced that destiny owed me. It was not only stupid, but egocentric. But I am aware, there is no need for destiny to persuade me. To prove it to me. Especially in this way. This is an injustice.

  ‘It cannot be Dandelion,’ he said flatly, staring at Roach’s mane.

  ‘It’s him,’ she said again. ‘Geralt, we have to do something.’

  ‘What,’ he asked bitterly. ‘Tell me what?’

  The guard driving the cart treated Dandelion fairly, with surprising civility, without brutality, even differentially, as much as they could afford. At the foot of the steps to the gallows, they untied his hands. The poet nonchalantly scratched his ass and without hesitation began to climb the steps.

  One of the steps creaked suddenly and began to sag. Dandelion barely managed to keep his balance.

  ‘Damn!’ he exclaimed. ‘This needs to be fixed! You’ll end up killing someone with these stairs! That would be a disaster!’

  Once Dandelion reached the gallows, two of the executioners henchmen in leather vests grabbed him. The executioner, a hulk with arms as wide as the bastions of a castle, watched the condemned through the slits cut in his hood. Nearby stood a man in rich, thought mournful black clothing. He face was no less mournful.

  ‘Citizens of Beauclair and people from the surrounding countryside,’ he read in a troubled voice from parchment. ‘Notice is hereby given that Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, aka Dandelion …’

  ‘Pankratz what?’ Ciri asked in a whisper.

  ‘ …according to the Supreme Court ruling of this County has been found guilty of all crimes, offenses and misdeed of which he was accused, insulting Her Majesty, treason of the state and dishonouring the establishment of the nobility through perjury, libel, and slander, also for dissipation and indecency, furthermore, obscenity and whoredom. The Tribunal had decided that Viscount Julian et cetera, et cetera, his receive the following punishment – First, mortification of his coat of arms, a thick black line through his shield. Second, confiscation of all his property, both movable and immovable, including lands, forests, castles and palaces …’

  ‘Castles and palaces?’ said the astonished witcher. ‘What?’

  Dandelion snickered, making it blatantly clear what he thought of the judicial decree.

  ‘Third, the maximum penalty … our ladyship Anna Henrietta, Duchess of Toussaint and Castilian of Beauclair, has kindly switched the penalty for the above crimes, namely being dragged by horses and dismemberment, by substituting it for decapitation by the axe. Let justice be done!’

  From the crowd came a few incoherent cries. Women standing in the first row pretended to weep and lament. Adults lifted children in their arms or put them on their shoulders, that even the smallest child would not miss the upcoming spectacle. The executions assistants rolled a stump into the center of the scaffold covered with cloth. There was much excitement when someone swiped the wicker basket designed to collect the severed head, but another was soon found.

  At the foot of the scaffold four ragged urchins held out a scarf to collect the blood in. There was a great demand for this type of souvenirs, and good money could be earned.

  ‘Geralt,’ Ciri said in a low voice. ‘We have to so do something …’

  He did not answer.

  ‘I wish to speak to the people,’ Dandelion said proudly.

  ‘Keep it short, Viscount.’

  The poet walked to the edge of the scaffold and raised his arms. The crowd began to murmur and grew still.

  ‘Hey, folks’ Dandelion called. ‘What’s new? How are you?’

  ‘Well,’ someone from the crowd said after a moment.

  ‘I’m glad,’ nodded the poet. ‘In that case we can begin.’

  ‘Master Executioner,’ the bailiff said pathetically. ‘Do your duty!’

  The executioner approached, and according to ancient custom, knelt and bowed his head hooded head to the condemned.

  ‘Forgive me, my good man,’ he said gloomily.

  ‘I?’ Dandelion said, surprised. ‘You?’

  ‘Mhm.’

  ‘Not for anything in the world.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I will not forgive you f
or anything in the world. Why should I? Hear that, joker! In a moment, you will cut off my head, and you want me to forgive you? Are you kidding me or what? Shame on you! In such a sad moment.’

  ‘But sir,’ said the executioner. ‘This is the custom … It is your last duty in the world … The condemned should forgive his executioner. Good lord, forgive me, please …’

  ‘No,’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I will not kill him,’ said the executioner standing up. “If he will not forgive me, I will not do anything.’

  ‘Lord Viscount,’ the bailiff took Dandelion by the elbow. ‘Do not make trouble. The people are gathered, waiting … Forgive him, when he begs so nicely …’

  ‘I will not forgive him and that’s it!’

  ‘Master executioner,’ the bailiff said turning to the executioner. ‘Can you behead him without his forgiveness? I’ll repay you …’

  The executioner wordlessly held out his open hand, as wide as a pan. The bailiff sighed, pulled out a purse and poured some coins into the hand. The executioner looked and then clenched his fist. He rolled his eyes within his hood.

  ‘Okay,’ he agreed, he hid the money and walked back over to the condemned. ‘Knee down, stubborn sir. Put your head on the block. If I want I can be stubborn and mischievous too. I can cut twice what I can do in one. Or in three.’

  ‘I forgive you!’ Dandelion promptly shouted. ‘I forgive you!’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Since you have been given your pardon,’ said the mournful bailiff, ‘return my money.’

  ‘The executioner turned on his heel and raised his axe.

  ‘Move aside, sir,’ he said in an ominously hollow voice. ‘You know that according to the rules that you must not interfere with the performance of the execution. When I chop the head, blood flies.’

  The bailiff backed away so rapidly that he almost fell from the scaffold.

  ‘Is this right?’ Dandelion knelt and stretched his neck across the stump. ‘Master? Hey, Master!’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You were kidding, right? When you said you wouldn’t behead me with the first blow? You’ll only cut once? Right?’

  The executioner’s eyes sparkled.

  ‘It’ll be a surprise,’ he growled ominously.

  The crowd suddenly parted before a rider who burst into the square on a lathered horse.

  ‘Halt!’ the rider called, waving a large roll of parchment with a red seal. ‘Stop the execution! On the orders of our Lady Duchess! Stop the execution! I’m here to bring clemency for the accused.’

  ‘Not again,’ growled the executioner lowering his axe sullenly. ‘Another pardon? This is getting boring.’

  ‘A pardon! A reprieve!’ roared the crowd. The women in the first row started wailing even louder. The children whistled and booed with disappointment.

  ‘Hush, people!’ shouted the bailiff and unrolled the parchment. ‘This is the will of Duchess Anne Henrietta! In her immense goodness and to celebrate the peace of Cintra Her Ladyship has waived all charges against Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove and pardons him from execution …’

  ‘My Dear Ermine,’ Dandelion said, smiling broadly.

  ‘ …And orders that the above Viscount Julian et cetera promptly leave the capital and the County of Toussaint and never return, because his presence is no longer welcome here, and her Ladyship never wants to lay eyes on him again. You are free, Viscount.’

  ‘What about my property?’ the troubadour said indignantly. ‘My lands, forests and castles you can have, but let me take my lute, my horse, Pegasus, my one hundred and forty ducatsand eighty dimes, my cloak lined with duck, my ring …’

  ‘Shut up!’ shouted Geralt, pushing through the crowd on his horse. ‘Shut up and get down here you mutton head! Ciri, clear us a way! Dandelion! Did you hear what I said?’

  ‘Geralt? Is that you?’

  ‘Stop your questions and get down from there right now! Come here! Jump up!’

  They walked through the crowd and went into a gallop down a close alley. Ciri went first, followed by Geralt and Dandelion riding Roach.

  ‘What’s the rush?’ the bard asked from behind the witcher. ‘No one is persecuting us.’

  ‘For now. The Duchess is likely to change her mind and revoke what she previously decided. Admit it – you knew you were going to get a pardon?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ Dandelion muttered. ‘But I counted on it. My Ermine has a good heart.’

  ‘Stop with the Ermine, dammit. You just got pardoned for insults against Her Majesty, you don’t want a recurrence.’

  The troubadour was silent. Ciri stopped Kelpie and waited for them. When they arrived, she saw Dandelion wiping tears from his eyes.

  ‘Look at him,’ she said. ‘A viscount …’

  ‘Let’s go,’ the witcher urged. ‘Let’s get out of this town and out of the borders of this lovely country. While there is still time.’

  * * *

  When they were almost to the border of Toussaint, in sight of the mountain Gorgon, And official overtook them. He brought Pegasus, a saddle, a lute and Dandelion’s ring. He did not listen to the question on the hundred and forty ducats.

  He ignored the bard’s plea to give a kiss to the Duchess with a straight face.

  They followed the course of the Sansretour, until it became a small stream. The bypassed Belhaven.

  They camped in the valley of Newi. In a place that the witcher and the bard remembered well.

  Dandelion lasted a long time without asking questions.

  But finally they had to tell him everything. And sit with him in silence. During the hard, painful silence that reigned, when all was said.

  * * *

  At noon the next day they were on the slopes of Riedburne. The peace was prevailing throughout the area. People were trusting and accommodating. They felt safe.

  At the crossroads gallows were laden with corpses.

  They passed through towns on their way towards Dol Angra.

  ‘Dandelion,’ Geralt just now noticed what he should have noticed a while ago. ‘Your priceless tube! Your memoirs. The courier didn’t bring it, it’s still in Toussaint.’

  ‘I left it,’ the poet said indifferently. ‘In Ermine’s dressing room, under a pile of coats, clothes and corsets. And they can stay there for centuries.’

  ‘Do you want to explain it?’

  ‘There’s nothing to explain. In Toussaint I had enough time to carefully read everything that I had written.’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘I’ll write it again. From the beginning.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Geralt. ‘You’re a lousy writer as well as a royal favourite. To put it bluntly, what you touch you screw up. Half a century and you still have the possibility of correcting and re-writing, but not for the Duchess. What a shame, a lover driven away. Yes, yes, there is no reason to make faces! Being married to the Duchess of Toussaint was not written for you, Dandelion.’

  ‘That remains to be seen.’

  ‘Do not count on me.’

  ‘Nobody asked you anything. But I can tell you that my Ermine has a good heart, and is a very forgiving woman. It is true that she was unnerved when she caught me with the young Baroness Nique … But surely she has calmed down, she will realise that I was not made for monogamy. She’ll forgive me and be waiting …’

  ‘You are hopelessly stupid,’ Geralt said and Ciri nodded vigorously to indicate she felt the same way.

  ‘I will not argue with you,’ Dandelion said, offended. ‘It’s an intimate matter. But I am sure that she will forgive me. I’ll write a touching ballad or sonnet, I’ll sent it to Toussaint and …’

  ‘Have mercy!’

  ‘Oh, you don’t want to talk about it. Come on, let’s go! Forward, Pegasus! Forward!’

  They rode.

  It was the month of May.

  * * *

  ‘Because of you,’ the wit
cher said reproachfully, ‘we had to run away from Toussaint like outlaws or bandits. I did not have any time to see …’

  ‘Fringilla Vigo? You would not have seen her. She left shortly after your departure, In January. She simply disappeared.’

  ‘I did not mean her,’ Geralt coughed, looking over at Ciri who was listening. ‘I wanted to see Reynart. To introduce him to Ciri …’

  Dandelion bowed his head.

  ‘The good knight Reynart do Boris-Fresnes,’ Dandelion said, ‘fell in late February when facing some invaders near the border fortress of Vedette near the Cervantesa Pass. Anarietta bestowed on him posthumously …’

  ‘Shut up, please.’

  Dandelion was silent and incredibly obedient.

  * * *

  May continued and grew. The intense yellow thistle in meadows disappeared, replaced by blooming, white, fluffy dandelions.

  It was very green and warm. The air, after brief thunderstorms became hot, dense and sticky as barley porridge.

  * * *

  On the twenty-sixth of May they crossed the Yaruga on a new, white resin scented bridge. Remnants of the old bridge, black, burnt, charred piles were still visible in the water and on the shore.

  Ciri began to get restless.

  Geralt knew why. He knew her intentions, her plans and arrangement with Yennefer. He was ready. Yet the thought of the painful parting stung his heart. As if in his chest a poisonous scorpion had awakened.

  * * *

  At the crossroads of the village of Koprivince, was an inn burned during the war and next to it stood a hundred year old oak, now in bloom. The population of the whole area, even from distant Spall, regularly used the oak tress low hanging branches to hung tablets and posters with all kinds of information. It served the people as communication. The tree was known as the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.

  ‘Ciri, you start from that side,’ Geralt ordered dismounting form his saddle. ‘Dandelion you look from the other side.’

  The branches draped with tablets, swayed in the light wind and clattered and bumped into each other.