Blood of Elves

by Andrzej Sapkowski

  At a distance of about twenty yards from the ship’s side, the water surged. For a moment, both men saw a twenty-pound or more specimen of the king pickerel swallowing a dead rat and disappearing into the depths, having gracefully flashed its tail fin.

  “What was that?” The Master Tutor shuddered.

  “I don’t know.” Geralt looked at the sky. “A penguin maybe?”

  The scholar glanced at him and bit his lips.

  “In all certainty it was not, however, your mythical aeschna! I have been told that witchers possess considerable knowledge about some rare species. But you, you not only repeat rumours and tales, you are also mocking me in a most crude manner… Are you listening to me at all?”

  “The mist isn’t going to lift,” said Geralt quietly.

  “Huh?”

  “The wind is still weak. When we sail into the arm of the river, between the islets, it will be even weaker. It is going to be misty right up to Novigrad.”

  “I’m not going to Novigrad. I get off at Oxenfurt,” declared Pitt dryly. “And the mist? It is surely not so thick as to render navigation impossible; what do you think?”

  The little boy in the feathered hat ran past them and leaned far out, trying, with his stick, to fish out a rat bouncing against the boat. Geralt approached and tore the stick from him.

  “Scram. Don’t get near the side!”

  “Muuuummyyyy!”

  “Everett! Come here immediately!”

  The Master Tutor pulled himself up and glared at the witcher with piercing eyes.

  “It seems you really do believe we are in some danger?”

  “Master Pitt,” said Geralt as calmly as he could, “two weeks ago something pulled two people off the deck of one of the Company’s barges. In the mist. I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was your hyphydra or whatever its name is. Maybe it was a long-barbel gudgeon. But I think it was an aeschna.”

  The scholar pouted. “Conjecture,” he declared, “should always be based on solid scientific foundations, not on rumours and gossip. I told you, the hyphydra, which you persist in calling an aeschna, does not appear in the waters of the Delta. It was wiped out a good half-century ago, due – incidentally – to the activity of individuals such as yourself who are prepared to kill anything that does not instantly look right, without forethought, tests, observation or considering its ecological niche.”

  For a moment, Geralt felt a sincere desire to tell the scholar where he could put the aeschna and its niche, but he changed his mind.

  “Master Tutor,” he said calmly, “one of those pulled from the deck was a young pregnant girl. She wanted to cool her swollen feet in the water. Theoretically, her child could, one day, have become chancellor of your college. What do you have to say to such an approach to ecology?”

  “It is unscientific; it is emotional and subjective. Nature is governed by its own rules and although these rules are cruel and ruthless, they should not be amended. It is a struggle for survival!” The Master Tutor leaned over the railing and spat into the water. “And nothing can justify the extermination of a species, even a predatory one. What do you say to that?”

  “I say that it’s dangerous to lean out like that. There might be an aeschna in the vicinity. Do you want to try out the aeschna’s struggle for survival on your own skin?”

  Linus Pitt let go of the railing and abruptly jumped away. He turned a little pale but immediately regained his self-assurance and pursed his lips again.

  “No doubt you know a great deal about these fantastical aeschna, witcher?”

  “Certainly less than you. So maybe we should make use of the opportunity? Enlighten me, Master Tutor, expound a little upon your knowledge of aquatic predators. I’ll willingly listen, and the journey won’t seem so long.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Not at all. I would honestly like to fill in the gaps in my education.”

  “Hmmm… If you really… Why not? Listen then to me. The Hyphydridae family, belonging to the Amphipoda order, includes four species known to science. Two live exclusively in tropical waters. In our climate, on the other hand, one can come across – though very rarely now – the not-so-large Hyphydra longicauda and the somewhat larger Hyphydra marginata. The biotope of both species is stagnant water or water which flows very slowly. The species are, indeed, predatory, preferring to feed on warm-blooded creatures… Have you anything to add?”

  “Not right now. I’m listening with bated breath.”

  “Yes, hmm… Mention can also be found, in the great books, of the subspecies Pseudohyphydra, which lives in the marshy waters of Angren. However, the learned Bumbler of Aldersberg recently proved that this is an entirely different species, one from the Mordidae family. It feeds exclusively on fish and small amphibians. It has been named Ichthyovorax bumbleri.”

  “The monster’s lucky,” smiled the witcher. “That’s the third time he was named.”

  “How come?”

  “The creature you’re talking about is an ilyocoris, called a cinerea in Elder Speech. And if the learned Bumbler states that it feeds exclusively on fish then I assume he has never bathed in a lake with an ilyocoris. But Bumbler is right on one account: the aeschna has as much in common with a cinerea as I do with a fox. We both like to eat duck.”

  “What cinerea?” The Master Tutor bridled. “The cinerea is a mythical creature! Indeed, your lack of knowledge disappoints me. Truly, I am amazed—”

  “I know,” interrupted Geralt. “I lose a great deal of my charm when one gets to know me better. Nevertheless I will permit myself to correct your theories a little further, Master Pitt. So, aeschnae have always lived in the Delta and continue to do so. Indeed, there was a time when it seemed that they had become extinct. For they lived off those small seals—”

  “River porpoises,” corrected the Master Tutor. “Don’t be an ignoramus. Don’t mistake seals for—”

  “—they lived off porpoises and the porpoises were killed off because they looked like seals. They provided seal-like skins and fat. Then, later, canals were dug out in the upper reaches of the river, dams and barriers built. The current grew weaker; the Delta got silted up and overgrown. And the aeschna underwent mutation. It adapted.”

  “Huh?”

  “Humans have rebuilt its food chain. They supplied warm-blooded creatures in the place of porpoises. Sheep, cattle, swine began to be transported across the Delta. The aeschnae learned in a flash that every barge, raft or barque on the Delta was, in fact, a large platter of food.”

  “And the mutation? You spoke of mutation!”

  “This liquid manure” – Geralt indicated the green water – “seems to suit the aeschna. It enhances its growth. The damn thing can become so large, apparently, that it can drag a cow off a raft with no effort whatsoever. Pulling a human off a deck is nothing. Especially the deck of one of these scows the Company uses to transport passengers. You can see for yourselves how low it sits in the water.”

  The Master Tutor quickly backed away from the ship’s side, as far as the carts and baggage allowed.

  “I heard a splash!” he gasped, staring at the mist between the islets. “Witcher! I heard—”

  “Calm down. Apart from the splashing you can also hear oars squeaking in rowlocks. It’s the customs officers from the Redanian shore. You’ll see them in a moment and they’ll cause more of a commotion than three, or even four, aeschnae.”

  Boatbug ran past. He cursed obscenely as the little boy in the feathered hat got under his feet. The passengers and messengers, all extremely nervous, were going through their possessions trying to hide any smuggled goods.

  After a little while, a large boat hit the side of the barge and four lively, angry and very noisy individuals jumped on board. They surrounded the skipper, bawled threateningly in an effort to make themselves and their positions seem important, then threw themselves enthusiastically at the baggage and belongings of the travellers.

  “They check even befor
e we land!” complained Boatbug, coming up to the witcher and the Master Tutor. “That’s illegal, isn’t it? After all, we’re not on Redanian soil yet. Redania is on the right bank, half a mile from here!”

  “No,” contradicted the Master Tutor. “The boundary between Redania and Temeria runs through the centre of the Pontar current.”

  “And how the shit do you measure a current? This is the Delta! Islets, shoals and skerries are constantly changing its layout – the Fairway is different every day! It’s a real curse! Hey! You little snot! Leave that boathook alone or I’ll tan your arse black and blue! Honourable lady! Watch your child! A real curse!”

  “Everett! Leave that alone or you’ll get dirty!”

  “What’s in that chest?” shouted the customs officers. “Hey, untie that bundle! Whose is that cart? Any currency? Is there any currency, I say? Temerian or Nilfgaardian money?”

  “That’s what a customs war looks like,” Linus Pitt commented on the chaos with a wise expression on his face. “Vizimir forced Novigrad to introduce the ius stapulae. Foltest of Temeria retaliated with a retortive, absolute ius stapulae in Wyzima and Gors Velen. That was a great blow for Redanian merchants so Vizimir increased the tax on Temerian products. He is defending the Redanian economy. Temeria is flooded with cheap goods coming from Nilfgaardian manufactories. That’s why the customs officers are so keen. If too many Nilfgaardian goods were to cross the border, the Redanian economy would collapse. Redania has practically no manufactories and the craftsmen wouldn’t be able to cope with competition.”

  “In a nutshell,” smiled Geralt, “Nilfgaard is slowly taking over with its goods and gold that which it couldn’t take with arms. Isn’t Temeria defending itself? Hasn’t Foltest blocked his southern borders?”

  “How? The goods are coming through Mahakam, Brugge, Verden and the ports in Cidaris. Profit is all the merchants are interested in, not politics. If King Foltest were to block his borders, the merchants’ guilds would raise a terrible outcry—”

  “Any currency?” snarled an approaching customs officer with bloodshot eyes. “Anything to declare?”

  “I’m a scholar!”

  “Be a prince if you like! I’m asking what you’re bringing in?”

  “Leave them, Boratek,” said the leader of the group, a tall, broad-shouldered customs officer with a long, black moustache. “Don’t you recognise the witcher? Greetings, Geralt. Do you know him? Is he a scholar? So you’re going to Oxenfurt, are you, sir? With no luggage?”

  “Quite so. To Oxenfurt. With no luggage.”

  The customs officer pulled out an enormous handkerchief and wiped his forehead, moustache and neck.

  “And how’s it going today, Geralt?” he asked. “The monster show itself?”

  “No. And you, Olsen, seen anything?”

  “I haven’t got time to look around. I’m working.”

  “My daddy,” declared Everett, creeping up without a sound, “is one of King Foltest’s knights! And he’s got an even bigger moustache than you!”

  “Scram, kid,” said Olsen, then sighed heavily. “Got any vodka, Geralt?”

  “No.”

  “But I do.” The learned man from the Academy, pulling a flat skin from his bag, surprised them all.

  “And I’ve got a snack,” boasted Boatbug looming up as if from nowhere. “Smoked burbot!”

  “And my daddy—”

  “Scarper, little snot.”

  They sat on coils of rope in the shade of the carts parked amidships, sipping from the skin and devouring the burbot in turn. Olsen had to leave them momentarily when an argument broke out. A dwarven merchant from Mahakam was demanding a lower tax and trying to convince the customs officers that the furs he was bringing in were not silver fox but exceptionally large cats. The mother of the nosey and meddlesome Everett, on the other hand, did not want to undergo an inspection at all, shrilly evoking her husband’s rank and the privileges of nobility.

  The ship, trailing braids of gathered nenuphars, water lilies and pond-weed at its sides, slowly glided along the wide strait amongst shrub-covered islets. Bumble bees buzzed menacingly amongst the reeds, and tortoises whistled from time to time. Cranes, standing on one leg, gazed at the water with stoical calm, knowing there was no point in getting worked up – sooner or later a fish would swim up of its own accord.

  “And what do you think, Geralt?” Boatbug uttered, licking the burbot’s skin clean. “Another quiet voyage? You know what I’d say? That monster’s no fool. It knows you’re lying in ambush. Hearken to this – at home in our village, there was a river and in that river lived an otter which would creep into the yard and strangle hens. It was so crafty that it never crept in when Father was home, or me and my brothers. It only showed up when Grandpa was left by himself. And our grandpa, hearken, was a bit feeble in the head and paralysis had taken his legs. It was as if the otter, that son-of-a-bitch, knew. Well then, one day our pa—”

  “Ten per cent ad valorem!” yelled the dwarven merchant from amidships, waving the fox skin about. “That’s how much I owe you and I’m not going to pay a copper more!”

  “Then I’ll confiscate the lot!” roared Olsen angrily. “And I’ll let the Novigrad guards know so you’ll go to the clink together with your ‘Valorem’! Boratek, charge him to the penny! Hey, have you left anything for me? Have you guzzled it down to the dregs?”

  “Sit down, Olsen.” Geralt made room for him on the ropes. “Stressful job you’ve got, I see.”

  “Ah, I’ve had it up to my ears,” sighed the customs officer, then took a swig from the skin and wiped his moustache. “I’m throwing it in, I’m going back to Aedirn. I’m an honest Vengerberger who followed his sister and brother-in-law to Redania but now I’m going back. You know what, Geralt? I’m set on enlisting in the army. They say King Demawend is recruiting for special troops. Half a year’s training in a camp and then it’s a soldier’s pay, three times what I get here, bribes included. This burbot’s too salty.”

  “I’ve heard about this special army,” confirmed Boatbug. “It’s getting ready for the Squirrels because the regular army can’t deal with the elven commandos. They particularly want half-elves to enlist, I hear. But that camp where they teach them to fight is real hell apparently. They leave fifty-fifty, some to get soldier’s pay, some to the burial ground, feet first.”

  “And so it should be,” said the customs officer. “The special army, skipper, isn’t just any old unit. It’s not some shitty shield-bearers who just need to be shown which end of the javelin pricks. A special army has to know how to fight like nobody’s business!”

  “So you’re such a fierce warrior, are you, Olsen? And the Squirrels, aren’t you afraid of them? That they’ll spike your arse with arrows?”

  “Big deal! I know how to draw a bow too. I’ve already fought Nilfgaard, so elves are nothing to me.”

  “They say,” Boatbug said with a shudder, “if someone falls into their hands alive, the Scoia’taels’… It’s better they hadn’t been born. They’ll be tortured horrifically.”

  “Ah, do yourself a favour and shut your face, skipper. You’re babbling like a woman. War is war. You whack the enemy in the backside, and they whack you back. Captured elves aren’t pampered by our men either, don’t you worry.”

  “The tactic of terror.” Linus Pitt threw the burbot’s head and backbone overboard. “Violence breeds violence. Hatred has grown into hearts… and has poisoned kindred blood…”

  “What?” Olsen grimaced. “Use a human language!”

  “Hard times are upon us.”

  “So they are, true,” agreed Boatbug. “There’s sure to be a great war. Every day the sky is thick with ravens, they smell the carrion already. And the seeress Ithlin foretold the end of the world. White Light will come to be, the White Chill will then follow. Or the other way round, I’ve forgotten how it goes. And people are saying signs were also visible in the sky—”

  “You keep an eye on the fairway, skipper, ’st
ead of the sky, or this skiff of yours is going to end up in the shallows. Ah, we’re already level with Oxenfurt. Just look, you can see the Cask!”

  The mist was clearly less dense now so that they could see the hillocks and marshy meadows of the right bank and, rising above them, a part of the aqueduct.

  “That, gentlemen, is the experimental sewage purification plant,” boasted the Master Tutor, refusing his turn to drink. “A great success for science, a great achievement for the Academy. We repaired the old elven aqueduct, canals and sediment trap and we’re already neutralising the sewers of the university, town and surrounding villages and farms. What you call the Cask is a sediment trap. A great success for science—”

  “Heads down, heads down!” warned Olsen, ducking behind the rail. “Last year, when that thing exploded, the shit flew as far as Crane Islet.”

  The barge sailed in between islands and the squat tower of the sediment trap and the aqueduct disappeared in the mist. Everyone sighed with relief.

  “Aren’t you sailing straight by way of the Oxenfurt arm, Boatbug?” asked Olsen.

  “I’m putting in at Acorn Bay first. To collect fish traders and merchants from the Temerian side.”

  “Hmm…” The customs officer scratched his neck. “At the Bay… Listen, Geralt, you aren’t in any conflict with the Temerians by any chance, are you?”

  “Why? Was someone asking about me?”

  “You’ve guessed it. As you see, I remember you asked me to keep an eye out for anyone interested in you. Well, just imagine, the Temerian Guards have been enquiring about you. The customs officers there, with whom I have a good understanding, told me. Something smells funny here, Geralt.”

  “The water?” Linus Pitt was afraid, glancing nervously at the aqueduct and the great scientific success.

  “That little snotrag?” Boatbug pointed to Everett who was still milling around nearby.

  “I’m not talking about that.” The customs officer winced. “Listen, Geralt, the Temerian customs men said these Guards were asking strange questions. They know you sail with the Malatius and Grock barges. They asked… if you sail alone. If you have— Bloody hell, just don’t laugh! They were going on about some underage girl who has been seen in your company, apparently.”