* * *
The district of the Elms was located on the shore of the lake in a cove where grew alders, weeping willows and of course, elms. Here everything was much quieter and calm, nobody was buying anything and nobody wanted to sell.
From the lake a breeze was blowing which was especially nice for the two after escaping the suffocating stench and flies of the market streets.
They soon found the Wirising tavern. It was the first on the street and the saw it with ease.
The porch was covered in climbing roses, and under the roof overgrown with moss, where a swallows nests hung, were two dwarves.
'Geralt and Dandelion,' said one of the dwarves belching loudly. 'You, rogues have come as expected.'
Geralt dismounted.
'Hail, Yarpen Zigrin. Good to see you, Zoltan Chivay.'
* * *
They were the only guests in the pub that smelled of garlic, spices and something indescribable, but pleasant. They sat at a heavy table overlooking the lake, which through the glass window next to the table, appeared mysterious, magical and romantic.
'Where is Ciri?' Yarpen Zigrin asked bluntly. 'I hope nothing …'
'No,' Geralt quickly interrupted him, 'she is on her way. You will see her soon. Well, bearded storyteller, tell me what is new.'
'What did I tell you?' Yarpen said sarcastically. 'What did I tell you, Zoltan? He returns from the end of the world, where he, if you believe the rumours, waded through blood, killed dragons and overthrew an empire. And he asks, how we are going. The same witcher.'
'What smells so good?' Dandelion said, sniffing.
'Lunch,' Yarpen Zigrin said. 'Meat. Don't ask us, Dandelion, where we came by the meat.'
'No I'm not asking, because I know the joke.'
'Don't be a bore.'
'Where did the meat come from?'
'He came alone to find us.'
'And now, seriously,' Yarpen said, wiping his eyes, though the joke was, in fact, very old. 'With regard to the food, we are in a critical situation, as always after a war. The meat is rarely seen, even poultry, fish is difficult to find as well … It is just as bad with flour, potatoes, and legumes … Farms were burned along with their stores, ponds were emptied, and the fields are fallow …'
'Production has stagnated,' added Zoltan. 'There is no transport. The only thing that works is usury and barter. Have you seen the bazaar? The rich alongside the poor, selling and bartering the last remnants of his property and amassed fortunes …'
'If we get a poor harvest before this winter then people will die of starvation.'
'Is it really that bad?'
'Coming from the south, you had to pass villages and settlements. Think of in how many you heard the barking of dogs.'
'Bloody hell,' Dandelion slapped his forehead. 'I saw … I told you, Geralt, it was not normal! That something was missing! Ha! Now I realise! I did not hear any dogs! There was no …'
He stopped suddenly, looked towards the kitchen where the smell of garlic and spices came from and terror came into his eyes.
'Don't worry,' Yarpen grumbled. 'Our meat has never barked, meowed or cried for mercy. Our meat is nothing like that. It is fit for a king!'
'Confess, dwarf!'
'When we received your letter and it was clear that we would see you in Rivia, we were thinking, Zoltan and me, how we could entertain you. We were going round in circles until we felt like pissing. Then we approached the lake shore and saw that it was plagued by snails. Se we took a bag and filled it to the brim with those precious molluscs.'
'We missed a few of them,' nodded Zoltan Chivay. 'But we were very drunk and they were very quick.'
Both dwarves again burst out in laughter at the joke.
'Wirsing,' Yarpen said pointing to the kitchen, 'can prepare snails well, as you must know that it requires a lot of science. The chef is well renown. Before becoming a widower, he and his woman owned an inn in Maribor, and he cooked so well that even the King himself was a guest there. And now let's drink, I say!'
'But first,' Zoltan said, 'try some of the whitefish, freshly smoked and caught from the lake.'
'And we are waiting for you story, gentlemen,' said Yarpen. 'We are curious to hear what you experienced.'
* * *
The whitefish was still warm, oily and fragrant. The vodka was cold and her their teeth.
Dandelion went first, with his flowery style, colourful language and embellishments on the story full of nonsense and lies. Then the witcher spoke. He told the pure truth, and spoke dry and monotonously. Dandelion could not stand it and interrupted again and again which earned him reprimands from the dwarves.
And then the story was over and there was a long silence.
'For the archer Milva!' Zoltan cleared his throat and raised his cup in a salute. 'For the Nilfgaardian. For Regis the herbalist, who entertained strangers in his hut, with moonshine made from mandrake. And for this Angouleme, with who I am not familiar. Let the earth rest light on them. Let them have there, in the afterlife, everything that they had scarce in this life. And let their names live on long in songs and stories. Let's drink.'
'Let's drink,' echoed Dandelion and Yarpen.
Let's drink, thought the witcher.
* * *
Wirsing, a grey-haired man, pale and skin as a stick, a veritable denial of a stereotypical innkeeper and master of the culinary mysteries, deposited on the table a basket of white fragrant bread and a platter of snails, sizzling in garlic and spices on a bed of radish leaves.
Dandelion, Geralt and the dwarves dug in quickly. The meal was exquisitely tasty and very funny at the same time, given the need for clumsy forceps and forks.
They ate, smacking their lips, eating the bread and mincing words when referring to every second snail that slipped from the forceps. Two kittens also enjoyed the meal whenever a snail slipped from the clamps and rolled on the floor.
The smell coming from the kitchen indicated that Wirsing was preparing another serving.
* * *
Yarpen Zigrin reluctantly waved his hand, but realised the witcher was not going to give up.
'For me there has been nothing new,' he said, spitting out a piece of snail shell. 'I was in the army … Then I was selected as a bailiff. I'll do a career in politics. There is too much competition in business. In politics any fool can hold the purse of a thief. It is easy to stand out.'
'Well, I,' said Zoltan Chivay, gesturing with a snail, 'am not for politics. I'll go home to my forge, driven by water and steam, accompanied by Figgis Merluzzo and Munro Bruys. You remember Figgis and Munro, witcher?'
'Not just them.'
'Yazon Varda was killed at the Yaruga,' Zoltan said dryly. 'Quite stupidly, in one of the last battles.'
'A pity. And Percival Schettenbach?'
'The gnome? Ah, he's fine. That rogue escaped the recruitment claiming his religion forbids war. And he succeeded, even though everyone knows that the entire pantheon of gods and goddesses would go to war for a pickled herring. He has a jewellery shop in Novigrad. He bought my parrot, Field Marshal Duda, and made the bird a living advertisement. He taught him to say "Diamonds! Diamonds!' And it works, go figure. The gnome has clientele loaded with money. But it is Novigrad! And there is money in the streets. Therefore, we also want to establish a forge in Novigrad.'
'Those people with scribble with shit on your door,' Yarpen said. 'Throw stones through your windows. They call you a damned dwarf. It doesn't matter that you are a veteran. In Novigrad you'll be nothing more than a pariah.'
'I'll go anyway,' Zoltan said cheerfully. 'There is too much competition in Mahakam. And a lot of politicians. Let's drink for our friends. For Caleb Stratton. For Yazon Varda.'
'For Regan Dahlberg,' Yarpen added, frowning. Geralt shook his head.
'Regan also …'
'Also. In Mayena. The old Dahlberg has been left alone in this world. Ah, hell, enough of this! Let's drink. and hurry up with those snail, because Wirsing is coming over w
ith another pan.'
* * *
The dwarves, with belts unbuckled, listened to Geralt's story of Dandelion's aristocratic romance, that ended on the gallows. The poet seemed offended and did not comment. Zoltan and Yarpen almost spilt apart with laughter.
'Yes, yes,' Yarpen said finally, 'in the words of the old song - a man breaks down in tears and the woman smiles. pleased.' Some distinguish examples of that saying have joined with us around this table today. Look no further than Zoltan Chivay. With all the stories that have been told, he forgot to add that he is getting married. Soon, in September. The lucky woman is called Eudora Brekekes.'
'Breckenriggs!' Zoltan emphatically corrected, frowning. 'I'm starting to get tired of correcting your pronunciation, Zigrin. Take heed, when I get tired of something I kick it up the ass!'
'Where's the wedding? And when exactly?' Dandelion said soothingly. 'I ask because we will come. If you invite us, of course.'
'We have not yet reached a decision on where, when or how, or if we are even getting married,' muttered Zoltan, visibly confused. 'Yarpen has rushed things. I think Eudora has committed, but who knows what will happen? It is still bad times.'
'The second example of a girl's omnipotence,' continued Yarpen, 'is Geralt of Rivia, the witcher.'
Geralt pretended to be busy with a snail. Yarpen snorted.
'After miraculously finding his Ciri, he allows her to leave. He leaves her alone again, even though, as someone rightly pointed out here, it is still bad times. All of this happens to the witcher, because a woman wanted it. The witcher always does what this woman wants, a certain Yennefer of Vengerberg. If he at least got something from the sorceress in question … But he gets nothing. The truth. as King Dezmod used to say, looking at the chamber pot after relieving himself "The mind cannot comprehend this."'
'I suggest,' said Geralt, picking up a cup with a wry smile, 'to drink and change to topic of conversation.'
'Right,' Zoltan and Dandelion said in unison.
* * *
Wirsing carried a third and forth platter of snails to the table. Not forgetting, of course, the bread and vodka. The diners were beginning to get full, so it was not surprising that the toast were becoming more frequent. Nor was there any wonder that they spoke more philosophy and with increasingly thick speech.
'The evil we were fighting against,' insisted the witcher, 'is a manifestation of the action of chaos and their performances aimed to disturb the order. So, when evil spread, the order could not reign, and all that order was building fell apart, and nothing was left standing. The faint glow of wisdom and the timid flame of hope, embers that still retained the heat, rather than flash and then die away. Darkness ensued. And the darkness was filled with fangs, claws and blood.'
Yarpen Zigrin stroked his beard, smearing grease from the snails through it.
'You speak well, witcher,' he admitted. 'But, as young Cerro said to King Vridnak on their first date "Does it have any practical uses?"'
'There is no ground for the existence of witchers,' Geralt did not smile, 'because the struggle of Good and Evil takes place now in an entirely different field of battle in a completely different way. The evil is no longer chaotic. It is no longer a blind force, unbridled, which a witcher has to face, a mutant as deadly as chaotic evil itself. Today Evil is governed by laws - because the laws serve them. They act in accordance with treaties and have signed for peace, because some treaties allow …'
'Settlers to be forcefully expelled,' Zoltan guessed.
'And not only that,' Dandelion added gravely. 'Not only that.'
'So what?' Yarpen Zigrin, sat back and folded his hands on his belly. 'We've all seen something. Everyone has been pissed on. Each lost a dream. That's what happens, it's always been like that and it always will be. We are the lowest, nothing more than these empty shells. What do you dislike, witcher? What is going on? The changes that the world is experiencing? The development? The progress?'
'Maybe.'
Yarpen was silent for a while, watching the witcher from under his bushy eyebrows.
'Progress,' he said at last, 'is like a herd of pigs. So that is the way you see progress, and that is how you judge it. Like a herd of pigs that walk through the courtyard of the farmhouse. The existence of the herd means profit. The pork knuckles. The sausages, the bacon. In short, there are a number of advantages! So you shouldn't pout and complain that there is shit everywhere.'
Everyone was quiet for a time, weighing his heart and conscience on all matters and important issues.
'I need a drink,' Dandelion finally said.
No one protested.
* * *
'Progress,' Yarpen Zigrin said into the silence, 'will, in the long run, brighten the darkness. the darkness will give way to the light. But not immediately. And, of course, not without a struggle.'
Geralt, staring out the window, smiled at his own thoughts and dreams.
'That darkness you speak of,' he said, 'is a state of spirit, not matter. To fight something you need to train something quite different than a witcher. It is time to start.'
'You will start to retrain? Is that what you were thinking?'
'Not at all. this job holds no interest to me. I will go into retirement.'
'Is that right!'
'I'm serious. no more being a witcher.'
There was a long silence, broken occasionally by the furious meows of the kittens as they scratched at each other in a game.
'No more being a witcher,' Yarpen Zigrin repeated. 'Ha! I don't know what to think about that, as old King Dezmod said when caught cheating at cards. But i have a very bad feeling. Dandelion, you have travelled with him and spent a lot of time at his side. Has he shown other symptoms of paranoia?'
'Okay, okay,' said Geralt with a stony face. 'No more jokes, as King Dezmod said when all of his guests at a feast began to go livid and croak. I have said all that I had to say. And now down to actions.'
He picked up his sword, which was hanging on the back of his chair.
'Here is your Sihil, Zoltan Chivay. I return it to you with gratitude and recognition. It has been useful. It has helped me. It has saved lives. And taken lives.'
'Witcher …' the dwarf raised his hands in a defensive gesture. 'The sword is yours. I did not lend it to you, I gave it to you. As a gift …'
'Hush, Chivay. I give you back your sword. I'll no longer need it.'
'Quickly,' Yarpen said. 'Pour vodka into him, Dandelion, because he is talking like an old Schrader when he fell into the mine shaft on his head. Geralt, I know you've a deep temperament and a sensitive soul, but do not talk such crap, as you can see, Yennefer is not here, just us old wolves. Don't tell us old wolves stories of a witcher not needing a sword, the world is not like that. You are a witcher and you will need …'
'No, I won't,' Geralt gently denied. 'Perhaps this will surprise you old wolves, but I have come to the conclusion that it is foolish to piss in the wind. That it is foolish to stick my neck out for anyone. Even if that someone pays. An no, this is not an existential philosophy. Believe it, but suddenly, I have taken a tremendous affection for my own skin. I have come to the conclusion that it would be stupid to risk it in defence of others.'
'I noticed,' Dandelion nodded. 'On one hand, it is smart. On the other …'
'There is no other.'
'Yennefer and Ciri,' Yarpen asked after a little while, 'have something to do with your decision?'
'Much.'
'Then everything is clear,' Zoltan sighed. 'I have no clue how a master swordsman will adapt to normal life. But, try as I might, I cannot see you planting cabbages, although I do have respect for your choice … Innkeeper! This sword is a Mahakam Rune Sihil from the Rhundurina forge itself. It was a gift. If the recipient does not want it, then the one who gave it must take it back. Take it and hang it over your fireplace. Rename you inn to, "The Witcher's Sword". Then on winter nights we can tell stories about monsters and treasure, of bloody wars and bitter battles. Of de
ath. Of deep love and unwavering friendship. About courage and honour and this sword will hang there, above the listeners and inspire the storyteller. Now pour me a drink, gentlemen, a glass of vodka, because I will continue and will be delivering profound truths and philosophies, including existential ones.'
they pour vodka into their glasses quietly and with dignity. They looked each other in the eye and drank. With no less dignity. Yarpen Zigrin cleared his throat, looked at his audience to make sure they were sufficiently focused and dignified.
'Progress,' he spoke with deliberation, 'will brighten the darkness, because that is what progress does, like, excuse the expression, an ass is for shitting. Each time there will be more light, and we will be less afraid of the dark and the evil that lurks in it. Perhaps the day will come, when we will simply stop believing that something is hidden in the darkness. and we will laugh at that kind of fear. It will seem childish. And will bring shame! But there will always, always be darkness. And evil will always be waiting in the darkness, with its claws, fangs and blood. And witchers will always be necessary.'
* * *
They sat in meditation an silence, deep in thought, so deep that they did not noticed the increasing noise in the city - a sinister and menacing noise like the irritated buzzing of wasps.
They barely noticed how quiet and empty lakeside boulevard was until one person ran past, then another, then another.
Suddenly, shouting broke out in the city and the door of Wirsing's inn burst wide open and a young dwarf ran into the room. He was red with effort and had difficulty catching his breath.
'What is it?' Yarpen Zigrin lifted his head.
The dwarf, still breathless, pointed in the direction of the town. His eyes were wild.
'Take a deep breath,' Zoltan Chivay advised. 'And tell us what's wrong.'
* * *
Later it was claimed that the tragic events in Rivia were an unfortunate coincidence that was a spontaneous reaction, a sudden and unpredictable outburst of justified anger induced by the hostility of the dwarves and elves towards the humans of the city. It was argued that is was not the humans, but the dwarves that attacked first, that they provoked the violence. A dwarfish heckler insulted the noble Lady Nadia Esposito, a war orphan and that he used violence against her. Later when the nobles came to the defence of their friend, the dwarf called upon his relatives. A fight ensued, which soon became a real battle that , in the twinkling of an eye, engulfed the whole bazaar.
Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 06] Page 50
