'Go, please.'
She jumped out of the wagon and straight onto Yarpen who was waiting, leaning against a wheel and pensively chewing a blade of grass. The dwarf put his arm around her. He did not need to lean over in order to do so, as Geralt did. He was no taller than her.
'Never make the same mistake, little witcher-girl,' he murmured, indicating the wagon with his eyes. 'If someone shows you compassion, sympathy and dedication, if they surprise you with integrity of character, value it but don't mistake it for… something else.'
'It's not nice to eavesdrop.'
'I know. And it's dangerous. I only just managed to jump aside when you threw out the suds from the bucket. Come on, let's go and see how many trout have jumped into Regan's breeches.'
'Yarpen?'
'Huh?'
'I like you.'
'And I like you, kid.'
'But you're a dwarf. And I'm not.'
'And what diff- Ah, the Scoia'tael. You're thinking about the Squirrels, aren't you? It's not giving you any peace, is it?'
Ciri freed herself from his heavy arm.
'Nor you,' she said. 'Nor any of the others. I can plainly see that.'
The dwarf said nothing.
'Yarpen?'
'Yes?'
'Who's right? The Squirrels or you? Geralt wants to be… neutral. You serve King Henselt even though you're a dwarf. And the knight in the fort shouted that everybody's our enemy and that everyone's got to be… Everyone. Even the children. Why, Yarpen? Who's right?'
'I don't know,' said the dwarf with some effort. 'I'm not omniscient. I'm doing what I think right. The Squirrels have taken up their weapons and gone into the woods. 'Humans to the sea,' they're shouting, not realising that their catchy slogan was fed them by Nilfgaardian emissaries. Not understanding that the slogan is not aimed at them but plainly at humans, that it's meant to ignite human hatred, not fire young elves to battle. I understood - that's why I consider the Scoia'tael's actions criminally stupid. What to do? Maybe in a few years time I'll be called a traitor who
sold out and they'll be heroes… Our history, the history of our world, has seen events turn out like that.'
He fell silent, ruffled his beard. Ciri also remained silent.
'Elirena…'he muttered suddenly. 'If Elirena was a hero, if what she did is heroism, then that's just too bad. Let them call me a traitor and a coward. Because I, Yarpen Zigrin, coward, traitor and renegade, state that we should not kill each other. I state that we ought to live. Live in such a way that we don't, later, have to ask anyone for forgiveness. The heroic Elirena… She had to ask. Forgive me, she begged, forgive me. To hell with that! It's better to die than to live in the knowledge that you've done something that needs forgiveness.'
Again he fell quiet. Ciri did not ask the questions pressing to her lips. She instinctively felt she should not.
'We have to live next to each other,' Yarpen continued. 'We and you, humans. Because we simply don't have any other option. We've known this for two hundred years and we've been working towards it for over a hundred. You want to know why I entered King Henselt's service, why I made such a decision? I can't allow all that work to go to waste. For over a hundred years we've been trying to come to terms with the humans. The halflings, gnomes, us, even the elves – I'm not talking about rusalkas, nymphs and sylphs, they've always been savages, even when you weren't here. Damn it all, it took a hundred years but, somehow or other, we managed to live a common life, next to each other, together. We managed to partially convince humans that we're not so very different-'
'We're not different at all, Yarpen.'
The dwarf turned abruptly.
'We're not different at all,' repeated Ciri. 'After all, you think and feel like Geralt. And like… like I do. We eat the same things, from the same pot. You help Triss and so do I. You had a grandmother and I had a grandmother… My grandmother was killed by the Nilfgaardians. In Cintra.'
And mine by the humans,' the dwarf said with some effort. 'In Brugge. During the pogrom.'
'Riders!' shouted one of Wenck's advance guards. 'Riders ahead!'
The commissar trotted up to Yarpen's wagon and Geralt approached from the other side.
'Get in the back, Ciri,' he said brusquely. 'Get off the box and get in the back! Stay with Triss.'
'I can't see anything from there!'
'Don't argue!' growled Yarpen. 'Scuttle back there and be quick about it! And hand me the martel. It's under the sheepskin.'
'This?' Ciri held up a heavy, nasty-looking object, like a hammer with a sharp, slightly curved hook at its head.
'That's it,' confirmed the dwarf. He slipped the handle into the top of his boot and laid the axe on his knees. Wenck, seeming calm, watched the highway while sheltering his eyes with his hand.
'Light cavalry from Ban Glean,' he surmised after a while. 'The so-called Dun Banner – I recognise them by their cloaks and beaver hats. Remain calm. And stay sharp. Cloaks and beaver hats can be pretty quick to change owners.'
The riders approached swiftly. There were about ten of them. Ciri saw Paulie Dahlberg, in the wagon behind her, place two readied crossbows on his knee and Regan covered them with a cloak. Ciri crept stealthily out from under the canvas, hiding behind Yarpen's broad back. Triss tried to raise herself, swore and collapsed against her bedding.
'Halt!' shouted the first of the riders, no doubt their leader. Who are you? From whence and to where do you ride?'
Who asks?' Wenck calmly pulled himself upright in the saddle. 'And on whose authority?'
'King Henselt's army, inquisitive sir! Lance-corporal Zyvik asks, and he is unused to asking twice! So answer at the double! Who are you?'
'Quartermaster's service of the King's army.'
'Anyone could claim that! I see no one here bearing the King's colours!'
'Come closer, lance-corporal, and examine this ring.'
'Why flash a ring at me?' The soldier grimaced. 'Am I supposed
to know every ring, or something? Anyone could have a ring like that. Some significant sign!'
Yarpen Zigrin stood up in the box, raised his axe and with a swift move pushed it under the soldier's nose.
'And this sign,' he snarled. 'You know it? Smell it and remember how it smells.'
The lance-corporal yanked the reins and turned his horse.
'Threaten me, do you?' he roared. 'Me? I'm in the king's service!'
'And so are we,' said Wenck quietly. 'And have been for longer than you at that, I'm sure. I warn you, trooper, don't overdo it.'
'I'm on guard here! How am I to know who you are?'
'You saw the ring,' drawled the commissar. 'And if you didn't recognise the sign on the jewel then I wonder who you are. The colours of your unit bear the same emblem so you ought to know it.'
The soldier clearly restrained himself, influenced, no doubt, equally by Wenck's calm words and the serious, determined faces peering from the escort's carts.
'Hmm…' he said, shifting his fur-hat towards his left ear. 'Fine. But if you truly are who you claim to be, you will not, I trust, have anything against my having a look to see what you carry in the wagons.'
'We will indeed.' Wenck frowned. 'And very much, at that. Our load is not your business, lance-corporal. Besides, I do not understand what you think you may find there.'
