Blood of Elves

metaphor. He miscalculated. Mirth in her hazel eyes and an impudent smile were all he saw.

A big grey owl glided down to the sill without a sound. Shani cried out quietly. Geralt reached for his sword.

'Don't be silly, Philippa,' said Dandilion.

The owl disappeared and Phillippa Eilhart appeared in its place, squatting awkwardly. The magician immediately jumped into the room, smoothing down her hair and clothes.

'Good evening,' she said coldly. 'Introduce me, Dandilion.'

'Geralt of Rivia. Shani of Medicine. And that owl which so craftily flew in my tracks is no owl. This is Philippa Eilhart from the Council of Wizards, at present in King Vizimir's service and pride of the Tretogor court. It's a shame we've only got one chair in here.'

'It's quite enough.' The enchantress made herself comfortable in the high-backed chair vacated by Dandilion, and cast a smouldering glance over those present, fixing her eyes somewhat longer on Shani. The medical student, to Dandilion's surprise, suddenly blushed.

'In principle, what I've come about is the sole concern of Geralt of Rivia,' Philippa began after a short pause. 'I'm aware, however, that to ask anybody to leave would be tactless, and so…'

'I can leave,' said Shani hesitantly.

'You can't,' muttered Geralt. 'No one can until the situation's made clear. Isn't that so, my lady?'

'Philippa to you,' smiled the enchantress. 'Let's throw formalities aside. And no one has to go – no one's presence bothers me. Astonishes me, at most, but what to do? – life is an endless train of surprises… as one of my friends says… As our mutual friend says, Geralt. You're studying medicine, are you, Shani? What year?'

'Third,' grunted the girl.

'Ah,' Philippa Eilhart was looking not at her but at the witcher, 'seventeen, what a beautiful age. Yennefer would give a lot to be that age again. What do you reckon, Geralt? Because I'll ask her when I get the chance.'

The witcher smiled nastily.

'I've no doubt you will ask. I've no doubt you'll follow the question with a commentary. I've no doubt it'll amuse you no end. Now come to the point, please.'

'Quite right.' The magician nodded, growing serious. 'It's high time. And you haven't got much time. Dandilion has, no doubt, already informed you that Dijkstra has suddenly acquired the wish to see and talk to you to establish the location of a certain girl. Dijkstra has orders from King Vizimir in this matter and so I think he will be very insistent that you reveal this place to him.'

'Of course. Thank you for the warning. Only one thing puzzles me a little. You say Dijkstra received instructions from the king. And you didn't receive any? After all, you hold a prominent seat in Vizimir's council.'

'Indeed.' The magician was not perturbed by the gibe. 'I do. I take my responsibilities seriously, and they consist of warning the king against making mistakes. Sometimes – as in this particular instance – I am not allowed to tell the king outright that he is committing a mistake, or to dissuade him from a hasty action. I simply have to render it impossible for him to make a mistake. You understand what I'm saying?'

The witcher confirmed with a nod. Dandilion wondered whether he really did understand, because he knew that Philippa was lying through her teeth.

'So I see,' said Geralt slowly, proving that he understood perfectly well, 'that the Council of Wizards is also interested in my ward. The wizards wish to find out where my ward is. And they want to get to her before Vizimir or anybody else does. Why, Philippa? What is it about my ward? What makes her so very interesting?'

The magician's eyes narrowed. 'Don't you know?' she hissed. 'Do you know so little about her? I wouldn't like to draw any hasty conclusions but such a lack of knowledge would indicate that your qualifications as her guardian amount to nothing. In truth, I'm surprised that being so unaware and so lacking in information, you decided to look after her. And not only that – you decided to deny the right to look after her to others, others who have both the

qualifications and the right. And, on top of that, you ask why? Careful, Geralt, or your arrogance will be the end of you. Watch out. And guard that child, damn it! Guard that girl as though she's the apple of your eye! And if you can't do so yourself, ask others to!'

For a moment Dandilion thought the witcher was going to mention the role undertaken by Yennefer. He would not be risking anything, and would flatten Philippa's arguments. But Geralt said nothing. The poet guessed why. Philippa knew everything. Philippa was warning him. And the witcher understood her warning.

He concentrated on observing their eyes and faces, wondering whether by any chance something in the past had tied the two together. Dandilion knew that similar duels of words and allusions -demonstrating a mutual fascination – waged between the witcher and enchantresses very often ended in bed. But observation, as usual, gave him nothing. There was only one way to find out whether something had tied the witcher to anyone – one had to enter through the window at the appropriate moment.

'To look after someone,' the enchantress continued after a while, 'means to take upon oneself the responsibility for the safety of a person unable to assure that safety for herself. If you expose your ward… If she comes to any misfortune, the responsibility falls on you, Geralt. Only you.'

'I know.'

'I'm afraid you still know too little.'

'So enlighten me. What makes so many people suddenly want to free me from the burden of that responsibility, want to take on my duties and care for my ward? What does the Council of Wizards want from Ciri? What do Dijkstra and King Vizimir want from her? What do the Temerians want from her? What does a certain Rience, who has already murdered three people in Sodden and Temeria who were in touch with me and the girl two years ago, want from her? Who almost murdered Dandilion trying to extract information about her? Who is this Rience, Philippa?'

'I don't know,' said the magician. 'I don't know who Rience is. But, like you, I'd very much like to find out.'

'Does this Rience -' Shani unexpectedly – 'have a third-degree burn on his face? If so, then I know who he is. And I know where he is.'

In the silence which fell the first drops of rain knocked on the gutter outside the window.

Murder is always murder, regardless of motive or circumstance. Thus those who murder or who prepare to murder are malefactors and criminals, regardless of who they may be: kings, princes, marshals or judges. None who contemplates and commits violence has the right to consider himself better than an ordinary criminal. Because it is in the nature of all violence to lead inevitably to crime.

Nicodemus de Boot, Meditations on Life, Happiness and Prosperity

CHAPTER SIX

'Let us not commit a mistake,' said Vizimir, King of Redania, sliding his ringed fingers through the hair at his temples. 'We can't afford to make a blunder or mistake now.'

Those assembled said nothing. Demawend, ruler of Aedirn, sprawled in his armchair staring at the tankard of beer resting on his belly. Foltest, the Lord of Temeria, Pontar, Mahakam and Sodden, and recently Senior Protector of Brugge, presented his noble profile to everyone by turning his head towards the window. At the opposite side of the table sat Henselt, King of Kaedwen, running his small, piercing eyes – glistening from a face as bearded as a brigand's – over the other participants of the council. Meve, Queen of Lyria, toyed pensively with the enormous rubies in her necklace, occasionally twisting her beautiful full lips into an ambiguous grimace.

'Let us not commit a mistake,' repeated Vizimir, 'because a mistake could cost us too much. Let us make use of the experience of others. When our ancestors landed on the beaches five hundred years ago the elves also hid