Blood of Elves

Not far away, surrounded by soldiers in the black and gold of Kaedwen, lay Wenck. He was breathing with difficulty and every breath forced bubbles of blood to his lips. Triss knelt next to him and a knight in shining armour stood over them both.

'Well?' asked the knight. 'Lady enchantress? Will he live?'

'I've done everything I can.' Triss got to her feet, pinched her lips. 'But…'

'What?'

'They used this.' She showed him an arrow with a strange head to it and struck it against a barrel standing by them. The tip of the arrow fell apart, split into four barbed, hook-like needles. The knight cursed.

'Fredegard…' Wenck uttered with difficulty. 'Fredegard, listen-'

'You mustn't speak!' said Triss severely. 'Or move! The spell is barely holding!'

'Fredegard,' the commissar repeated. A bubble of blood burst on his lips and another immediately appeared in its place. 'We were wrong… Everyone was wrong. It's not Yarpen… We suspected him wrongly… I vouch for him. Yarpen did not betray… Did not betr-'

'Silence!' shouted the knight. 'Silence, Vilfrid! Hey, quick now, bring the stretcher! Stretcher!'

'No need,' the magician said hollowly, gazing at Wenck's lips where no more bubbles appeared. Ciri turned away and pressed her face to Geralt's side.

Fredegard drew himself up. Yarpen Zigrin did not look at him. He was looking at the dead. At Regan Dahlberg still kneeling over his brother.

'It was necessary, Zigrin,' said the knight. 'This is war. There was an order. We had to be sure…'

Yarpen did not say anything. The knight lowered his eyes.

'Forgive us,' he whispered.

The dwarf slowly turned his head, looked at him. At Geralt. At Ciri. At them all. The humans.

'What have you done to us?' he asked bitterly. 'What have you done to us? What have you made of us?'

No one answered him.

The eyes of the long-legged elf were glassy and dull. Her contorted lips were frozen in a soundless cry.

Geralt put his arms around Ciri. Slowly, he unpinned the white rose, spattered with dark stains, from her jerkin and, without a word, threw it on the Squirrel's body.

'Farewell,' whispered Ciri. 'Farewell, Rose of Shaerrawedd. Farewell and…'

'And forgive us,' added the witcher.

They roam the land, importunate and insolent, nominating themselves the stalkers of evil, vanquishers of werewolves and exterminators of spectres, extorting payment from the gullible and, on receipt of their ignoble earnings, moving on to dispense the same deceit in the near vicinity. The easiest access they find at cottages of honest, simple and unwitting peasants who readily ascribe all misfortune and ill events to spells, unnatural creatures and monsters, the doings of windsprites or evil spirits. Instead of praying to the gods, instead of bearing rich offerings to the temple, such a simpleton is ready to give his last penny to the base witcher, believing the witcher, the godless changeling, will turn around his fate and save him from misfortune.

Anonymous, Monstrum, or Description of the Witcher

I have nothing against witchers. Let them hunt vampires. As long as they pay taxes.

Radovid III the Bold, King of Redania

If you thirst for justice, hire a witcher.

Grafitti on the wall of the Faculty of Law, University of Oxenfurt

CHAPTER FIVE

'Did you say something?'

The boy sniffed and pushed his over-sized velvet hat, a pheasant's feather hanging rakishly to the side, back from his forehead.

'Are you a knight?' he repeated, gazing at Geralt with wide eyes as blue as the sky.

'No,' replied the witcher, surprised that he felt like answering. 'I'm not.'

'But you've got a sword! My daddy's one of King Foltest's knights. He's got a sword, too. Bigger than yours!'

Geralt leaned his elbows on the railing and spat into the water eddying at the barge's wake.

'You carry it on your back,' the little snot persisted. The hat slipped down over his eyes again.

'What?'

'The sword. On your back. Why have you got the sword on your back?'

'Because someone stole my oar.'

The little snot opened his mouth, demanding that the impressive gaps left by milk teeth be admired.

'Move away from the side,' said the witcher. 'And shut your mouth or flies will get in.'

The boy opened his mouth even wider.

'Grey-haired yet stupid!' snarled the little snot's mother, a richly attired noblewoman, pulling her offspring away by the beaver collar of his cloak. 'Come here, Everett! I've told you so many times not to be familiar with the passing rabble!'

Geralt sighed, gazing at the outline of islands and islets looming through the morning mist. The barge, as ungainly as a tortoise, trudged along at an appropriate speed that being

the speed of a tortoise – dictated by the lazy Delta current. The passengers, mostly merchants and peasants, were dozing on their baggage. The witcher unfurled the scroll once more and returned to Ciri's letter.

… I sleep in a large hall called a Dormitorium and my bed is terribly big, I tell you. I'm with the Intermediary Girls. There are twelve of us but I'm most friendly with Eumeid, Katye and Iola the Second. Whereas today I Ate Broth and the worst is that sometimes we have to Fast and get up very early at Dawn. Earlier than in Kaer Morhen. I will write the rest tomorrow for we shall presently be having Prayers. No one ever prayed in Kaer Morhen, I wonder why we have to here. No doubt because this is a Temple.

Geralt. Mother Nenneke has read and said I must not write Silly Things and write clearly without mistakes. And about what I'm studying and that I feel well and healthy. I feel well and am healthy if unfortunately Hungry, but Soone be Dinner. And Mother Nenneke also said write that prayer has never harmed anybody yet, neither me nor, certainly, you.

Geralt, I have some free time again, I will write therefore that I am studying. To read and write correct Runes. History. Nature. Poetry and Prose. To express myself well in the Common Speech and in the Elder Speech. I am best at the Elder Speech, I can also write Elder Runes. I will write something for you and you will see for yourself. Elaine blath, Feainnewedd. That meant: Beautiful flower, child of the Sun. You see for yourself that I can. And also-

Now I can write again for I have found a new quill for the old one broke. Mother Nenneke read this and praised me that it was correct. That I am obedient, she told me to write, and that you should not worry. Don't worry, Geralt.

Again I have some time so I will write what happened. When we were feeding the turkey hens, I, Iola and Katye, One Enormous Turkey attacked us, a red neck it had and was Terrible Horrible. First it attacked Iola and then it wanted to attack me but I was not afraid because it was smaller and slower than the Pendulum