Blood of Elves

abilities. It took me less than half an hour. After that I knew who, or rather what, the girl is.'

'And what is she?'

'A Source.'

'That's impossible!'

'It's possible. Certain even. Ciri is a Source and has mediumistic powers. What is more, these powers are very, very worrying. And you, my dear witchers, are perfectly well aware of this. You've noticed these powers and they have worried you too. That is the one and only reason you brought me here to Kaer Morhen? Am I right? The one and only reason?'

'Yes,' Vesemir confirmed after a moment's silence.

Triss breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief. For a moment, she was afraid that Geralt would be the one to confirm it.

The first snow fell the following day, fine snowflakes initially, but soon turning into a blizzard. It fell throughout the night and, in the early morning, the walls of Kaer Morhen were drowned beneath a snowdrift. There could be no question of running the Killer, especially since Ciri was still not feeling very well. Triss suspected that the witchers' accelerants might be the cause of the girl's menstrual problems. She could not be sure, however, knowing practically nothing about the drugs, and Ciri was, beyond doubt, the only girl in the world to whom they had been administered. She did not share her suspicions with the witchers. She did not want to worry or annoy them and preferred to apply her own methods. She gave Ciri elixirs to drink, tied a string of active jaspers around her waist, under her dress, and forbade her to exert herself in any way, especially by chasing around wildly hunting rats with a sword.

Ciri was bored. She roamed the castle sleepily and finally, for lack of any other amusement, joined Coen who was cleaning the stable, grooming the horses and repairing a harness.

Geralt to the enchantress's rage disappeared somewhere and

appeared only towards evening, bearing a dead goat. Triss helped him skin his prey. Although she sincerely detested the smell of meat and blood, she wanted to be near the witcher. Near him. As near as possible. A cold, determined resolution was growing in her. She did not want to sleep alone any longer.

'Triss!' yelled Ciri suddenly, running down the stairs, stamping. 'Can I sleep with you tonight? Triss, please, please say yes! Please, Triss!'

The snow fell and fell. It brightened up only with the arrival of Midinvaerne, the Day of the Winter Equinox.

On the third day all the children died save one, a male barely ten. Hitherto agitated by a sudden madness, he fell all at once into deep stupor. His eyes took on a glassy gaze; incessantly with his hands did he clutch at clothing, or brandish them in the air as if desirous of catching a quill. His breathing grew loud and hoarse; sweat cold, clammy and malodorous appeared on his skin. Then was he once more given elixir through the vein and the seizure it did return. This time a nose-bleed did ensue, coughing turned to vomiting, after which the male weakened entirely and became inert.

For two days more did symptoms not subside. The child's skin, hitherto drenched in sweat, grew dry and hot, the pulse ceased to be full and firm – albeit remaining of average strength, slow rather than fast. No more did he wake, nor did he scream.

Finally, came the seventh day. The male awoke and opened his eyes, and his eyes were as those of a viper…

Carla Demetia Crest, The Trial of Grasses and other secret Witcher practices, seen with my own eyes, manuscript exclusively accessible to

the Chapter of Wizards

CHAPTER THREE

'Your fears were unfounded, entirely ungrounded.' Triss grimaced, resting her elbows on the table. 'The time when wizards used to hunt Sources and magically gifted children, tearing them from their parents or guardians by force or deceit, is long gone. Did you really think I might want to take Ciri away from you?'

Lambert snorted and turned his face away. Eskel and Vesemir looked at Geralt, and Geralt said nothing. He continued to gaze off to the side, playing incessantly with his silver witcher medallion, depicting the head of a snarling wolf. Triss knew the medallion reacted to magic. On such a night as Midinvaerne, when the air itself was vibrating with magic, the witchers' medallions must be practically humming. It must be both irritating and bothersome.

'No, child,' Vesemir finally said. 'We know you would not do such a thing. But we also know that you do, ultimately, have to tell the Chapter about her. We've known for a long time that every wizard, male or female, is burdened with this duty. You don't take talented children from their parents and guardians any more. You observe such children so that later – at the right moment – you can fascinate them in magic, influence them-'

'Have no fear,' she interrupted coldly. 'I will not tell anyone about Ciri. Not even the Chapter. Why are you looking at me like that?'

'We're amazed by the ease with which you pledge to keep this secret,' said Eskel calmly. 'Forgive me, Triss, I do not mean to offend you, but what has happened to your legendary loyalty to the Council and Chapter?'

'A lot has happened. The war changed many things, and the battle for Sodden Hill changed even more. I won't bore you with

the politics, especially as certain issues and affairs are bound by secrets I am not allowed to divulge. But as for loyalty… I am loyal. And believe me, in this matter I can be loyal to both you and to the Chapter.'

'Such double loyalty' – Geralt looked her in the eyes for the first time that evening – 'is devilishly difficult to manage. Rarely does it succeed, Triss.'

The enchantress turned her gaze on Ciri. The girl was sitting on a bearskin with Coen, tucked away in the far corner of the hall, and both were busy playing a hand-slapping game. The game was growing monotonous as both were incredibly quick – neither could manage to slap the other's hand in any way. This, however, clearly neither mattered to them nor spoiled their game.

'Geralt,' she said, 'when you found Ciri, on the Yaruga, you took her with you. You brought her to Kaer Morhen, hid her from the world and do not let even those closest to the child know she is alive. You did this because something – about which I know nothing – convinced you that destiny exists, holds sway over us, and guides us in everything we do. I think the same, and have always done so. If destiny wants Ciri to become a magician, she will become one. Neither the Chapter nor the Council have to know about her, they don't have to observe or encourage her. So in keeping your secret I won't betray the Chapter in any way. But as you know, there is something of a hitch here.'

'Were it only one,' sighed Vesemir. 'Go on, child.'

'The girl has magical abilities, and that can't be neglected. It's too dangerous.'

'In what way?'

'Uncontrolled powers are an ominous thing. For both the Source and those in their vicinity. The Source can threaten those around them in many ways. But they threaten themselves in only one. Mental illness. Usually catatonia.'

'Devil take it,' said Lambert after a long silence. 'I am listening to you half-convinced that someone here has already lost their marbles and will, any moment now, present a threat to the rest of us. Destiny, sources, spells, hocus-pocus… Aren't you exaggerating,

Merigold? Is this the first child to be brought to the Keep? Geralt didn't find destiny; he found another homeless, orphaned child. We'll teach the girl the sword and let her out into the world like the others. True, I admit we've never trained a girl in Kaer Morhen before. We've had some problems with Ciri, made mistakes, and