Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 06]

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

  The battle degraded into a bloodbath, in a massive attack from the humans against the districts occupied by the non-humans and the district of the Elms. In less than an hour, since the incident at the bazaar to the intervention of the sorceresses, one hundred and seventy people were killed, about half of which were women and children.

  This version of events is reflected in the works of Professor Emmerich Gottschalk of Oxenfurt.

  But there are others who argue otherwise. How can this be spontaneous, this unpredictable explosion, that within minutes of there were carts on the streets of the bazaar handing out weapons among the humans? Where did the sudden righteous anger of this mob come from, of who the most visible and active members at the time of the massacre, were people whom nobody new, and who had only come to Rivia a few day s before the incident, and they disappeared without a trace? why did the military intervene so late? And why with such distaste?

  Some scholars sought to interpret events in Rivia as a Nilfgaardian provocation, and there were others who argued that everything had been hatched by dwarves in league with the elves. Who were killing their own to discredit the humans.

  Lost among the majority of scientific voices was a theory by a young, bold and eccentric lawyer, who - until he was silenced - claimed that the incident in Rivia was not from secret conspiracies, but ordinary and very common characteristics of the local population - ignorance, xenophobia, violence and profound brutalisation.

  Later, everyone grew board and stopped talking about the matter altogether.

  * * *

  'Into the cellar,' the witcher said grimly, listening to the approaching noise and the roar of the crowd. 'Get into the basement, dwarves! And without your stupid heroism!'

  'Witcher,' Zoltan protested, clutching the handle of his axe. 'I cannot … They are killing my brothers …'

  'Into the cellar. Think about Eudora. Do you want her to be a widow before the wedding?'

  The argument worked. The dwarves ran to the cellar. Geralt and Dandelion hid the entrance with a rug. Wirsing, usually pale, was as white as buttermilk.

  'I saw a pogrom in Maribor,' he stammered, looking at the entrance of the cellar. 'If they find them there …'

  'Go to the kitchen.'

  Dandelion was also pale. Geralt was not surprised. Until recently it was a formless and monotonous roar but now they could pick out individual voices. The sound of them lifted the hair on his head.

  'Geralt,' moaned the poet. 'I have a certain resemblance to an elf …'

  'Don't be stupid.'

  Clouds of smoke appeared over the rooftops. A group of dwarves came running through the alleys. Dwarves of both sexes.

  Two of them, without hesitation, jumped into the lake and started swimming, splashing hard and moving for the center of the lake. The rest scattered. Some turned towards the inn.

  The mob poured into the street. They were faster than the dwarves. In their race was the lust for killing.

  The cries of the victims drilled their ears, ringing on the stained glass windows of the premises. Geralt noticed that his hands had begun to tremble.

  One of the dwarves was literally torn to pieces. Another was thrown to the ground and in seconds became a shapeless, bloody mass. A woman was massacred with pitchforks and spears. The child she was protecting was simply trampled, crushed to death beneath their feet.

  Three dwarves - a man and two women - ran towards the inn. The roaring crowd raced after them.

  Geralt took a deep breath. He stood up. Feeling the terrified eyes of Dandelion and Wirsing, he removed from the shelf above the fireplace, Sihil, the Mahakam sword forged in the foundry of Rhundurina itself.

  'Geralt …' Dandelion moaned in a heartbreaking tone.

  'Very well,' said the witcher, walking towards the exit. 'But this is the last time! Damn me, but it really is the last time!'

  He went out onto the porch, then jumped off it and cut a hulking man in a masonry smock, then a woman that threatened him with a shovel. He then amputated the hand of a woman who was grasping the hair of one of the dwarves. With two quick diagonal cuts he finished off the men kicking one of the fallen dwarves.

  He waded into the crowd. Quickly moving in semicircles. He slashed wide, seemingly at random - knowing that such swings were more spectacular than violent. He did not want to kill them. He just wanted to wounded them.

  'An elf! An elf!' someone in the mob shouted as if possessed. 'Kill the elf!'

  What nonsense, he thought, Dandelion might look like an elf, but I don't look like an elf in any way.

  He spotted the person who had shouted, maybe a soldier, for he was wearing uniform and high boots. He advanced through the crowd, dodging like an eel. The soldier was protecting himself with a pike, holding it with both hands. Geralt chopped at the pole, severing fingers. He spun, causing another large cut, screams of pain and a fountain of blood.

  'Mercy!' A lad said on his knees before him, peering through his dishevelled hair. 'Mercy!'

  Geralt spared him, stopping his arm and sword, using the attacking impetus to complete his turn. From the corner of his eye he saw the dishevelled young man with a smirk on his face and saw what he was holding in his hands. He changed the direction of his movement, trying to escape. But he was caught in the crowd. And for a split second he was mired in the crowd.

  He could only watch at the pitchfork that was flying towards his body.

  * * *

  The fire in the huge fireplace went out. A gust of wind from the mountains whistled through the crevices of the walls and screamed through the improperly closed shutters of Kaer Morhen, Home of the Witchers.

  'Damn it!' Eskel said, standing up and going to the cupboard. 'Seagull of vodka?'

  'Vodka,' Geralt and Coen said with one voice.

  'Sure,' interjected Vesemir, hidden in the shadows, 'Yes, of course! Drown your stupidity in vodka. Damn fools!'

  'It was an accident …' muttered Lambert. 'She had already mastered the comb …'

  'shut your big mouth, you idiot! I don't want to hear any more! I warned you, if something happened to that little girl …'

  'Enough,' Coen interrupted him, softly. 'She sleeps peacefully. Deep and healthy. She will wake up a bit sore, but that's it. About the trance, and what happened, she will not even remember it.'

  'As long as you remember,' said Vesemir, panting angrily. 'Cabbage heads! Pour for me too, Eskel.'

  They were silent for a long time, listening intently to the howling gale.

  'We will need to call someone,' Eskel finally said. 'We will need to bring a sorcerer here. What is happening to the girl, it is not normal.'

  'That is her third trance.'

  'But the first time she has spoken clearly.'

  'Repeat to me again what she said,' Vesemir said, emptying his cup in one gulp. 'Word for word.'

  'I cannot repeat it verbatim,' Geralt said, staring into the embers. 'But the sense of it, if you can make sense of it, was as follows - Coen and I will die. The teeth will be our undoing. We will both be killed by teeth. He two. And me three.'

  'It is quite likely,' snorted Lambert. 'that you'll be killed from bites. Teeth can kill any of us at any time. But you two, if that prophecy is truly prophetic, will be finished off by some very jagged monsters.'

  'Or festering gangrene because of bad teeth,' Eskel agree, apparently quite serious. 'But we are not missing any teeth.'

  'I,' said Vesemir reprovingly, 'would not take the matter lightly.'

  The witchers were silent. The wind howled through the walls of Kaer Morhen.

  * * *

  The dishevelled lad, as if afraid of what he had done, let go of the pitchfork. The witcher, unable to repress a cry of pain, bent forward, stuck in his belly, the pitchfork unbalanced him and he fell to his knees, and slid onto the pavement. Blood spilled with a murmur and a splash worthy of a waterfall.

  Geralt tried to stand. Instead he collapsed on his side.

  The sounds that surrounded him, acqui
red resonances and echoes, heard as if underwater. His eyes deceived him, with impaired perspective and completely false geometry.

  He saw the crowd disperse. They escaped from those who were coming to his aid. Zoltan and Yarpen with axes, Wirsing with his butcher knife and Dandelion armed with a broom.

  He wanted to scream, where are you going? It is not worth pissing in the wind for me. But he could not scream. His voice was stifled by a wave of blood.

  * * *

  It was noon, when the sorceresses arrived in Rivia, within sight of the shiny surface of Loc Eskalott, the towers of the castle and the red roofs of the city.

  'We're here,' said Yennefer. 'Rivia. What a curious and entangled destiny.'

  Ciri was excited and Kelpie kept dancing and shuffling on the edge of the road. Triss Merigold sighed unnoticed. Rather, she believed it had been unnoticed.

  'Please,' Yennefer looked at he. 'What strange sounds float from you beauteous breast, Triss. Ciri, go out and see what lies ahead.'

  Triss averted her face, determined not to give Yennefer any excuse. She sis not expect it to work. For a long time she had been sensing Yennefer's anger and aggression growing stronger as they approached Rivia.

  'You, Triss,' Yennefer mischievously insisted, 'do not blush, do not sigh, do not drool or wiggle around in your saddle. Or is it that you think because I agreed to your request that I want to have you with us? That I was interested in seeing you spend a meeting with an old love? Ciri, I asked you to go on ahead. The two of us need to talk!'

  'It is not a discussion, it is a lecture,' Ciri dared to argue, but under the threatening glare from violet eyes, she immediately recoiled, clucked and galloped off on Kelpie on the road ahead.

  'You're not going to meet a loved one, Triss,' Yennefer continued. 'I am not so noble or stupid enough to give you the opportunity, or him the temptation. But just for today. I could not deny myself the sweet satisfaction. He knows what role you play as a member of the Lodge. He will thank you for that with his famous look. And I'll be looking at your quivering lips and trembling hands, I will listen to your lame apologies and excuses. And you know what, Triss? I will faint with delight.'

  'I knew,' Triss grunted. 'That you would not forget, that you would take your revenge. I agreed to this, because I was actually at fault. But one thing I must tell you, Yennefer. Do not count too much on fainting. He knows how to forgive.'

  'He knows what was done to him, of course,' Yennefer narrowed her eyes. 'But he will never forgive you for what was done to Ciri. And me.'

  'It is possible,' Triss swallowed. 'He may not forgive. Especially if you insist. But he won't fly into a rage. He won't lower himself like that.'

  Yennefer flicked her horse with her whip in anger. The animal whinnied and leapt and the sorceress swayed in her saddle.

  'Enough talk,' she snapped. 'more humility, you smug viper! He is my man, mine and only mine! Do you understand? You have to stop talking about him, to stop thinking about him, you have to stop admiring his noble character … As of right now, right now! Oh I want to grab you by your matted red hair …'

  'Try it!' screamed Triss. 'Just try it, you vindictive bitch and I'll scratch out your eyes!' I …'

  The both fell silent when they saw the cloud of dust as Ciri galloped back towards them. They immediately understood that something was happening. Even before Ciri had reach them.

  Above the thatched roofs and red tiles, suddenly shot out red tongues of flame and belching clouds of smoke. To the sorceresses ears came a sound like the intrusive buzz of flies, or the buzzing of angry bees. Screams grew stronger in counterpoint to the buzzing.

  'What the hell is going on?' Yennefer stood in her stirrups. 'A raid? A fire?'

  'Geralt …' Ciri suddenly groaned, turning as white as paper. 'Geralt!'

  'Ciri? What is the matter?'

  Ciri raised her hand and the sorceresses saw blood running down her palm. Down the life line.

  'He has come full circle,' said the girl, her eyes closed. 'e hurt me with the thorn from Shaerrawedd, the snake Uroboros biting his own tail. I'm coming, Geralt! I'm coming to you! I will not leave you alone!'

  Before the sorceresses were able to protest, she turned Kelpie and immediately went into a full gallop.

  They had enough presence of mind to immediately kick their horses into a gallop. But their mounts were not able to keep pace with Kelpie.

  'What is it?' shouted Yennefer, cutting the wind. 'What is going on?'

  'You know!' sobbed Triss, galloping at her side. 'Ride, Yennefer!'

  They had ridden between the city's outskirts before they passed their first fugitives fleeing from the city, Yennefer was bright enough to know what was happening in Rivia, no fire or raid of troops, but a pogrom. She also knew what Ciri had sensed, what -and whom - she was rushing too. She knew that she could not catch her. There was nothing she could do.

  Frightened people had compacted into a crowd and she and Triss had to slow their mounts to try and get through. Kelpie just jumped, the hooves of the horse knocking off a few hats and caps.

  'Ciri! Stop!'

  Before they knew it, they were among the streets crowded with people running and screaming. Yennefer, as she rode, saw bodies lying in gutters and noticed bodies hanging by their legs from posts and beams. She saw a dwarf lying on the ground, pounded by cudgels, she saw another who had been massacred with broken bottlenecks. She heard tormentors shout ad the screams of the tortured. She saw a woman thrown out of a window to the waiting crowd below an then beaten with sticks.

  The crowd thickened, the roar grew. It seemed that the distance between them and ciri had decreased. The next obstacle was a group of halberdiers, who tried to fence the black mare in before Kelpie jumped over them. One was knocked to the ground and the rest cowered in fright.

  They rushed into a square, which was covered in acrid smoke. Yennefer realised that Ciri, undoubtedly guided by a prophetic vision, was heading to the heat of the incident. Where the fires burned and murder was raging.

  In the next street there was fighting, dwarves and elves were fiercely defending themselves from behind a hastily erected barricade, defending a helpless position, falling and perishing under the pressure of the screaming mob that pounced on them. Ciri screamed and clung to the neck of her mare. Kelpie rose into the air and jumped over the barricade, not like a horse, but lie a huge black bird.

  Yennefer rain into the crowd, but pulled her horse up short, knocking over several people. She was pulled from the saddle before she had time to scream. She was beaten on the shoulders, on her back and neck. She fell to her knees, and saw an unshaven man, wearing a cobbler's apron, who was preparing to kick.

  Yennefer had had enough of being kicked.

  From her extended fingers shot a bolt of blue flame, which whistled like a whip, burning the face, torso and arms of the people striking her. It started to smell of burning flesh and the screams of pain, raised above the surrounding noise and din.

  'Witch! Elf sorceress!'

  Another man rushed at her brandishing an axe. Yennefer shot flames into his face, his eyeballs boiled and them burst, running down his cheeks with a hiss. She relaxed, someone grabbed her by the arm, and Yennefer pulled ready to shot, but it was Triss.

  'Let's go … Yenna … Run!'

  I've already heard that voice, Yennefer thought. From those lips that look wooded, without a droplet of saliva to wet them. from those lips that is paralysed with terror and shakes with panic. I've already heard that voice. On the Hill at Sodden.

  When I was dying in fear.

  Now he is dying in fear. Until the end of my days I'm going to be scared to death. Because those who do not break the cowardice, will be scared to death until the end of their days.

  The fingers that Triss dug into her arm were like steel, Yennefer liberated herself from the grip with a great effort.

  'Run if you want!' she shouted. 'Hide under the skirts of the Lodge! I have to nothing left to defend! I will not l
eave Ciri alone! Or Geralt! Begone! Get out of my way if you appreciate your skin!'

  The crowd keeping her away from her horse, retreated before the rays given off by the hands and eyes of the sorceress. Yennefer shook her head, ruffling her black curls. she seem to be fury incarnate, the avenging angel, with her flaming sword.

  'Return home, scum!' she cried, leaping at the crowd with a fiery whip. 'Run! Otherwise catch fire like cattle!'

  'It's just one witch, people!' A sonorous voice rang from the crowd. 'One cursed elf witch!'

  'She's alone! The other has fled! Hey, bring us the stones!'

  'Death to non-humans! Death to witches!'

  'To the gallows with her!'

  The first stone whizzed past her ear. The second hit her in the shoulder and rocked her back. The third struck her in the face. Pain exploded behind her eyes, then everything was wrapped in black velvet.

  * * *

  She came to, and groaned in pain. Both of her forearms and wrists ached like crazy. She mechanically fumbled around and noticed several layers of bandages. She groaned again, without words, desperate. With regret that this was not a dream. And regretting to have not succeeded.

  'It did not work,' Tissaia de Vries said, sitting next to the bed.

  Yennefer wanted a drink, something to wet her sticky lips. But she did not ask. Her pride would not allow it.

  'It did not work,' said Tissaia de Vries. 'But not because you did not try. You cut yourself deeply and accurately. Therefore, I am now with you. If you did not mean it seriously, if it was just a ridiculous, bogus exhibition, I have only contempt for you. But you cut yourself deep. Seriously.'