‘Aye!’ Kabernik Turent cackled, ‘We could! Let’s ask Tawny Owl if it’s allowed—’
‘I tell you it’s not allowed!’ Dacre cut them off. ‘Naught else occupies your minds, you damned fornicators! I said leave the maid in peace. Andres, Stigward, stand here by her. Don’t take your eyes off her, or move a foot away. And use the lash on any that come close!’
‘Sod that!’ said Fripp. ‘Very well, makes no difference to us. Let’s be off, fellows, to the hay barn, and join the villagers, they’re roasting a ram and a porker for the banquet. For today is the Equinox, a feast, isn’t it? While the masters are deliberating, we can make merry.’
‘Let’s go. Take a demijohn from the chest, Dede. We’ll take a drink! May we, Mr Silifant? Mr Harsheim? It’s the feast today, and we shan’t be heading anywhere tonight.’
‘Oh, what droll designs!’ Silifant frowned. ‘They think of naught but feasting and toping! And who will stay here to help guard the wench and wait on Sir Stefan’s summons?’
‘I shall stay,’ said Neratin Ceka.
‘And I,’ said Kenna.
Dacre Silifant looked at them attentively. Finally, he gestured his assent. Fripp and company roared their thanks incoherently.
‘But have a care down there, at that merrymaking!’ Ola Harsheim warned. ‘Don’t molest any wenches, or you might get jabbed in the privates with a pitchfork!’
‘Sod that! Coming with us, Chloe? And you, Kenna? Won’t you think it over?’
‘No. I’m staying.’
*
‘They left me chained to the post, with my hands bound. Two of them were guarding me. And the two standing nearby kept glancing over, watching me. The tall, good-looking woman. And a man with slightly feminine looks and bearing. Odd in some way.’
The cat sitting in the middle of the room yawned broadly, bored, because the mouse it was tormenting had stopped providing amusement. Vysogota said nothing.
‘Bonhart, Rience and that Skellen-Tawny Owl were still debating in the headman’s hall. I didn’t know what about. I might have expected the worst, but I was resigned. One more arena? Or would they simply kill me? Blow it, I thought, let it finally be over.’
Vysogota said nothing.
*
Bonhart sighed.
‘Don’t glower, Skellen,’ he repeated. ‘I simply wanted to make some money. It’s time, you notice, I retired, to sit on the porch and watch pigeons. You gave me a hundred florins for the She-Rat, you badly wanted her dead. That puzzled me. How much could the maid really be worth, I thought. And I worked out that if she were killed or handed over, she would certainly be worth less than if she were kept. An old principle of economics and commerce. Goods like her keep gaining in value. One can always haggle . . .’
Tawny Owl wrinkled his nose, as though there was a bad smell in the vicinity.
‘You’re painfully frank, Bonhart. But get to the point. To the explanations. You fled with the girl through the whole of Ebbing, and all of a sudden you show up and start explaining the laws of economics. Tell me what happened.’
‘What is there to explain?’ Rience smiled repellently. ‘Mr Bonhart has simply finally grasped who the wench really is. And how much she’s worth.’
Skellen didn’t grace him with a glance. He was looking at Bonhart, into his fishlike, expressionless eyes.
‘And he pushes this precious girl, this valuable acquisition, meant to guarantee his pension, out into the arena in Claremont,’ he drawled, ‘and makes her fight to the death. Risks her life, though she’s allegedly worth so much alive. What’s it about, Bonhart? Because something doesn’t add up.’
‘Had she perished in the arena,’ Bonhart didn’t lower his eyes, ‘it would have meant she wasn’t worth anything.’
‘I see,’ Tawny Owl frowned slightly. ‘But rather than taking the wench to another arena you brought her to me. Why, if I might ask?’
‘I repeat,’ Rience grimaced. ‘He twigged who she is.’
‘You’re shrewd, Lord Rience.’ Bonhart stretched until his joints creaked. ‘You’ve guessed right. Yes, it’s true that there’s one more riddle linked to the witcher girl trained in Kaer Morhen. In Geso, when the noblewoman was robbed, the wench’s tongue wagged. That she was apparently so important and titled that the baron’s daughter was such small beer and so low-ranking she ought to bow down before her. In that case, this Falka, I think to myself, must be at least the daughter of a count. Curious. Firstly: a witcher girl. Are there so many of them? Secondly: in the Rats’ gang. Thirdly: the imperial coroner is chasing around after her, in person, from Korath to Ebbing and ordering her killed. And on top of all that . . . she’s a high-born noble woman. Ha, I think to myself, someone ought to ask that wench who she really is.’
He was silent for a time.
‘At first –’ he wiped his nose with his cuff ‘– she wouldn’t talk. Although I asked. I asked with hand, foot and whip. I didn’t want to cut her . . . But as luck would have it, a barber surgeon turned up. With instruments for extracting teeth. I bound her to a chair . . .’
Skellen swallowed audibly. Rience smiled. Bonhart studied a cuff.
‘She told me everything, before . . . As soon as she saw the instruments. Those toothed pliers and pincers. She became more forthcoming at once. It turns out she’s a—’
‘Cintran princess,’ said Rience, looking at Tawny Owl. ‘The heiress to the throne. A candidate for marriage to Emperor Emhyr.’
‘Which Lord Skellen didn’t deign to tell me,’ the bounty hunter sneered. ‘He ordered me simply to murder her, he stressed it several times. Kill her mercilessly, on the spot! Well, Lord Skellen? Kill a queen? Our emperor’s future spouse? With whom, if one is to believe the rumours, the emperor will tie the knot any moment, after which there is to be a general amnesty?’
Bonhart glared at Skellen as he delivered his oration. But the imperial coroner didn’t lower his eyes.
‘And so,’ the hunter continued, ‘out it comes: a delicate situation. Thus, though I regret it, I gave up my plans regarding the witcher girl-princess. I’ve brought the whole predicament here, to Lord Skellen. To talk, to sort things out . . . For I’d say that this predicament is a little too much for one Bonhart . . .’
‘A very reasonable conclusion,’ said a harsh voice from Rience’s bosom. ‘Very reasonable, Mr Bonhart. What you’ve caught, gentlemen, is a little too much for you both. Luckily, you still have me.’
‘What’s that?’ Skellen leaped up from his chair. ‘What the bloody hell is that?’
‘My master, the sorcerer Vilgefortz.’ Rience drew from his bosom a tiny silver casket. ‘More precisely, my master’s voice. Coming from this magical device; it’s called a xenogloss.’
‘Greetings to all you,’ said the casket. ‘Shame I can only hear you, but urgent business prevents me from using teleprojection or teleportation.’
‘That’s all we bloody need,’ Tawny Owl snarled. ‘But I might have guessed. Rience is too stupid to act alone and by himself. I might have guessed you were lurking somewhere in the gloom, Vilgefortz. You lurk in the dark like a fat old spider, waiting for your cobweb to quiver.’
‘What a vivid comparison.’
Skellen snorted.
‘And don’t try to pull the wool over our eyes, Vilgefortz. You’re using Rience and his casket not because of the amount of work you have, but from fear of the army of sorcerers, your former comrades in the Chapter, who are scanning the whole world in search of traces of magic with your algorithm. Were you to try teleportation, they would locate you in an instant.’
‘What impressive knowledge.’
‘We haven’t been introduced.’ Bonhart bowed quite theatrically before the silver box. ‘But nevertheless, is the honourable Rience promising to torture the girl on your instructions and with your authorisation, master sorcerer? Am I not mistaken? Upon my word, the girl is becoming more and more important with every moment. It turns out she’s necessary to everybody.’
&
nbsp; ‘We haven’t been introduced,’ Vilgefortz said from the casket. ‘But I know you, Leo Bonhart, you’d be astonished just how well. And the girl is, indeed, important. After all, she’s the Lion Cub of Cintra, the Elder Blood. In keeping with Ithlinne’s Prophecy, her descendants will rule over the world in the future.’
‘Why do you need her so much?’
‘I only need her placenta. Her womb. Once I’ve removed it, you can take the rest. What do I hear there, some kind of snorting? Some kind of disgusted sighing and puffing? Whose? Bonhart’s – who physically and psychologically maltreats the girl every day in intricate ways? Or Stefan Skellen’s – who intends to kill her on the orders of traitors and plotters? Eh?’
*
I eavesdropped on them, recalled Kenna, lying on her pallet with her hands behind her head. I stood around the corner and heard their thoughts. And my hair stood on end. Over my entire body. All of a sudden I understood the extent of the predicament I’d got myself into.
*
‘Yes, yes,’ said the voice from the xenogloss, ‘you’ve betrayed your emperor, Skellen. Without hesitation, at the first opportunity.’
Tawny Owl snorted disdainfully.
‘The charge of treachery from the lips of such an arch-traitor as you, Vilgefortz, is indeed a great matter. I’d feel honoured, if it didn’t smack of a cheap, vulgar joke.’
‘I’m not accusing you of treachery, Skellen, I’m mocking your naivety and inability to betray. Who are you betraying your emperor for? For Ardal aep Dahy and de Wett, princelings, their morbid pride piqued, insulted because the emperor rejected their young daughters by planning a marriage with the Cintran. Whereas they were hoping that a new dynasty would emerge from their families, that their families would become the first in the empire, that soon they’d rise even higher than the throne! Emhyr divested them of that hope at one stroke and then they decided to amend the course of history. They aren’t yet ready with an armed rebellion, but they can at least eliminate the girl that Emhyr chose over their daughters. Of course, they don’t feel like sullying their own delicate aristocratic hands; they found a hired thug, Stefan Skellen, suffering from an excess of ambition. Was it like that, Skellen? Don’t you want to tell us?’
‘What for?’ Tawny Owl shouted. ‘And tell whom? As usual you know everything, don’t you, O great mage? Rience, as usual, doesn’t know anything and that’s as it should be, and Bonhart is unconcerned . . .’
‘You, though, as I’ve already demonstrated, don’t have anything to boast about. The princes bought you with promises, but you’re too intelligent not to realise that you’ll gain nothing with the lordlings. Today they need you as a tool to eliminate the Cintran, tomorrow they’ll get rid of you, because you’re a low-born upstart. Did they offer you Vattier de Rideaux’s position in the new empire? You surely don’t believe that, Skellen. They need Vattier more, since secret services always stay the same – coups or not. They only want to murder using your hands, but they need Vattier to take over the security apparatus. Besides, Vattier is a viscount and you’re a nobody.’
‘Indeed,’ Tawny Owl pouted. ‘I’m too intelligent not to have noticed that. In that case, I ought in turn to betray Ardal aep Dahy and join you, Vilgefortz? Is that what you’re driving at? But I am not a weathercock! If I support the idea of revolution, it’s from conviction and principle. Autocratic tyranny ought to be finished, a constitutional monarchy introduced, and after that democracy . . .’
‘What?’
‘The power of the people. A system where the people will rule. The citizenry of all states, through the most worthy and honest representatives chosen in an honest election . . .’
Rience roared with laughter. Bonhart laughed wildly. The xenogloss of the mage Vilgefortz laughed heartily, if somewhat screechingly. All three of them laughed and guffawed, weeping great tears.
‘Very well,’ Bonhart interrupted the merriment. ‘We haven’t gathered here for diversion, but to trade. The girl, for now, doesn’t belong to the population of honest citizens of all states, she belongs to me. But I can resell her. What does my lord sorcerer have to offer?’
‘Does ruling the world interest you?’
‘No.’
‘Then I shall let you,’ Vilgefortz said slowly, ‘be present during what I do to the girl. You’ll be able to watch. I know you prefer that kind of voyeurism to all other pleasures.’
Bonhart’s eyes flashed with white flame. But he was composed.
‘And more specifically?’
‘And more specifically: I’m prepared to pay your fee twentyfold. Two thousand florins. Think, Bonhart; that’s a sack of money you won’t be able to lift. You’re going to need a pack mule. It’ll suffice you for your retirement, porch, pigeons, and even for vodka and harlots, if you do it in sensible moderation.’
‘Agreed, mage, sir,’ the hunter laughed, seemingly blithely. ‘You’ve touched my heart with that vodka and those harlots. Let’s strike a deal. But I’d also be interested in that observation you suggested, too. I’d prefer, admittedly, to watch her expire in the arena, but I’d also be glad to take a look at your knife work. Throw it in as a bonus.’
‘Done.’
‘That didn’t take you long,’ Tawny Owl observed sardonically. ‘In sooth, Vilgefortz, you’ve struck up a partnership with Bonhart swiftly and smoothly. A partnership which indeed is and will be a societas leonina. But might you have forgotten something? The headman’s hall where you’re sitting and the Cintran you’re trading are surrounded by two dozen armed soldiers. My soldiers.’
‘My dear Skellen,’ came Vilgefortz’s voice from the box. ‘You insult me by thinking I plan to disadvantage you in the exchange. On the contrary. I mean to be extremely generous. I can’t guarantee you – as you deigned to call it – democracy. But I guarantee you material assistance, logistical support and access to information, owing to which you’ll stop being a tool and a minion to the conspirators, and will become a partner. One whose person and opinion Prince Joachim de Wett, Duke Ardal aep Dahy, Count Broinne, Count d’Arvy and all the rest of the blue-blooded plotters will take into account. What if it’s a societas leonina? Certainly, if Cirilla is the loot, then I shall take the lion’s share, deservedly so, it seems to me. Does it pain you? After all, you will make a considerable profit. If you give me the Cintran, Vattier de Rideaux’s position is yours for the taking. And as the head of the secret service, Stefan Skellen, one can enact all sorts of utopias, perhaps even democracy and honest elections. So as you see, I give you the fulfilment of your life’s dreams and ambitions in exchange for one skinny fifteen-year-old. Do you see that?’
‘No,’ Tawny Owl shook his head. ‘I only hear it.’
‘Rience.’
‘Yes, master.’
‘Give Lord Skellen an example of the quality of our information. Tell him what you got out of Vattier.’
‘There’s a spy in your troop,’ said Rience.
‘What?’
‘You heard. Vattier de Rideaux has planted someone here. They know about everything you’re doing. Why you’re doing it and for whom. Vattier has an agent amongst you.’
*
He walked quietly over to her. She almost didn’t hear him.
‘Kenna.’
‘Neratin.’
‘You listened in to my thoughts. Over there, in the headman’s hall. You know what I was thinking. So you know who I am.’
‘Listen, Neratin—’
‘No. You listen, Joanna Selborne. Stefan Skellen is betraying his country and his emperor. He’s conspiring. Everyone who’s with him will end up on the scaffold. Will be torn apart by horses in Millennium Square.’
‘I don’t know anything, Neratin. I carry out my orders . . . What do you want from me? I serve the coroner . . . And who do you serve?’
‘The empire. Viscount de Rideaux.’
‘What do you want from me?’
‘To demonstrate good sense.’
‘Go away. I won’t betr
ay you, I won’t tell . . . But go away, please. I can’t, Neratin. I’m a simple woman. It’s too much for my head . . .’
*
I don’t know what to do. Skellen said ‘Miss Selborne’. As though to an officer. Who am I serving? Him? The emperor? The empire?
And how am I to know?
Kenna pushed herself away from the corner of the cottage, flourished a withy and growled menacingly to drive away some village children who were curiously watching Falka sitting at the foot of the post. Oh, I’ve got myself in a fine pickle.
Oh, there’s a whiff of the noose in the air. And horse shit in Millennium Square.
I don’t know how it will finish, thought Kenna. But I have to go inside her. Enter Falka. Sense her thoughts if only for a moment. Know what she knows.
Understand.
*
‘She came close,’ said Ciri, stroking the cat. ‘She was tall, well-groomed, standing out very much from the rest of that pack . . . Even pretty, in her own way. And commanding respect. The two who were guarding me, vulgar oafs, stopped swearing when she approached.’
Vysogota said nothing.
‘She,’ Ciri went on, ‘leaned over and looked me in the eyes. I felt something at once . . . Something strange . . . It was as though something had crunched at the back of my head. It hurt. There was a rushing sound in my ears. For a moment everything went very bright . . . Something entered me, something repulsive and slimy . . . I recognised it. Yennefer had shown it to me in the temple . . . But I didn’t want to allow that woman do it . . . So I simply pushed away the thing she’d put into me, pushed it away and expelled it from myself, with all the strength I could muster. And the tall woman bent backwards and staggered, as though she’d been punched, took two steps backwards . . . And blood rushed from her nose. From both nostrils.’
Vysogota said nothing.
‘But I,’ Ciri raised her head, ‘understood what had happened. I suddenly felt the Power in me. I’d lost it in Korath desert, I’d renounced it. Later I couldn’t draw on it, couldn’t make use of it. But she, that woman, had given me the Power, had literally shoved the weapon into my hand. It was my chance.’
The Saga of the Witcher Page 146
