'You slashed his throat?'
'If, out of inborn caution, I hadn't sent an illusion in first, I would be the one lying there now. Let's look at the other one… Bloody hell. Such a sturdy fellow and he still couldn't take it. Pity, pity '
'He's dead, too?'
'He couldn't take the shock. Hmm… I fried him a little too haul… See, even his teeth are charred- What's the matter with you, Dandilion? Are you going to be sick?'
'I am,' the poet replied indistinctly, bending over and leaning his forehead against the pigsty wall.
'That's everything?' The enchantress put her tumbler down and reached for the skewer of roast chickens. 'You haven't lied about anything? Haven't forgotten anything?'
'Nothing. Apart from 'thank you'. Thank you, Yennefer.' She looked him in the eyes and nodded her head lightly, making her glistening, black curls writhe and cascade down to her shoulders. She slipped the roast chicken onto a trencher and began dividing it skilfully, She used a knife and fork. Dandilion had only known one person, up until then, who could eat a chicken with a knife and fork as skilfully. Now he knew how, and from whom, Geralt had learnt the knack. Well, he thought, no wonder. After all, he did live with her for a year in Vengerberg and before he left her, she had instilled a number of strange things into him. He pulled the other chicken from the skewer and, without a second thought, ripped off a thigh and began eating it, pointedly holding it with both hands.
'How did you know?' he asked. 'How did you arrive with help on time?'
'I was beneath Bleobheris during your performance.'
'I didn't see you.'
'I didn't want to be seen. Then I followed you into town. I waited here, in the tavern – it wasn't fitting, after all, for me to follow you in to that haven of dubious delight and certain gonorrhoea. But I eventually became impatient and was wandering around the yard when I thought I heard voices coming from the pigsty. I sharpened my hearing and it turned out it wasn't, as I'd first thought, some sodomite but you. Hey, innkeeper! More wine, if you please!'
'At your command, honoured lady! Quick as a flash!'
'The same as before, please, but this time without the water. I can only tolerate water in a bath, in wine I find it quite loathsome.'
'At your service, at your service!'
Yennefer pushed her plate aside. There was still enough meat on the chicken, Dandilion noticed, to feed the innkeeper and his family for breakfast. A knife and fork were certainly elegant and refined, but they weren't very effective.
'Thank you,' he repeated, 'for rescuing me. That cursed Rience wouldn't have spared my life. He'd have squeezed everything from me and then butchered me like a sheep.'
'Yes, I think he would.' She poured herself and the bard some wine then raised her tumbler. 'So let's drink to your rescue and health, Dandilion.'
And to yours, Yennefer,' he toasted her in return. 'To health for which – as of today – I shall pray whenever the occasion arises. I'm indebted to you, beautiful lady, and I shall repay the debt in my songs. I shall explode the myth which claims wizards are insensitive to the pain of others, that they are rarely eager to help poor, unfortunate, unfamiliar mortals.'
'What to do.' She smiled, half-shutting her beautiful violet eyes. 'The myth has some justification; it did not spring from nowhere. But you're not a stranger, Dandilion. I know you and like you.'
'Really?' The poet smiled too. 'You have been good at concealing it up until now. I've even heard the rumour that you can't stand me, I quote, any more than the plague.'
'It was the case once.' The enchantress suddenly grew serious. 'Later my opinion changed. Later, I was grateful to you.'
'What for, if I may ask?'
'Never mind,' she said, toying with the empty tumbler. 'Let us get back to more important questions. Those you were asked in the pigsty while your arms were being twisted out of their sockets. What really happened, Dandilion? Have you really not seen Geralt since you fled the banks of the Yaruga? Did you really not know he returned south after the war? That he was seriously wounded -so seriously there were even rumours of his death? Didn't you know anything?'
'No. I didn't. I stayed in Pont Vanis for a long time, in Esterad Thyssen's court. And then at Niedamir's in Hengfors-'
'You didn't know.' The enchantress nodded and unfastened her tunic. A black velvet ribbon wound around her neck, an obsidian star set with diamonds hanging from it. 'You didn't know that when his wounds healed Geralt went to Transriver? You can't guess who he was looking for?'
'That I can. But I don't know if he found her.'
You don't know,' she repeated. 'You, who usually know everything, and then sing about everything. Even such intimate matters as someone else's feelings. I listened to your ballads beneath Bleobheris, Dandilion. You dedicated a good few verses to me.'
'Poetry,' he muttered, staring at the chicken, 'has its rights. No one should be offended-'
''I lair like a raven's wing, as a storm in the night…'' quoted Yennefer with exaggerated emphasis, ''… and in the violet eyes sleep lightning bolts…' Isn't that how it went?'
'That's how I remembered you.' The poet smiled faintly. 'May the first who wishes to claim the description is untrue throw the first stone.'
'Only I don't know,' the Enchantress pinched her lips together, 'who gave you permission to describe my internal organs. How did it go? 'Her heart, as though a jewel, adorned her neck. Hard as if of diamond made, and as a diamond so unfeeling, sharper than obsidian, cutting-' Did you make that up yourself? Or perhaps…?'
Her lips quivered, twisted.
'… or perhaps you listened to someone's confidences and grievances?'
'Hmm…' Dandilion cleared his throat and veered away from the dangerous subject. 'Tell me, Yennefer, when did you last see Geralt?'
'A long time ago.'
'After the war?'
After the war…' Yennefer's voice changed a little. 'No, I never saw him after the war. For a long time… I didn't see anybody. Well, back to the point, Poet. I am a little surprised to discover that you do not know anything, you have not heard anything and that, in spite of this, someone searching for information picked you out to stretch over a beam. Doesn't that worry you?'
'It does.'
'Listen to me,' she said sharply, banging her tumbler against the table. 'Listen carefully. Strike that ballad from your repertoire. Do not sing it again.'
'Are you talking about-'
'You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. Sing about the war against Nilfgaard. Sing about Geralt and me, you'll neither harm nor help anyone in the process, you'll make nothing any better or worse. But do not sing about the Lion Cub of Cintra.'
She glanced around to check if any of the few customers at this hour were eavesdropping, and waited until the lass clearing up had returned to the kitchen.
And do try to avoid one-to-one meetings with people you don't know,' she said quietly. 'People who 'forget' to introduce themselves by conveying greetings from a mutual acquaintance. Understand?'
He looked at her surprised. Yennefer smiled.
'Greetings from Dijkstra, Dandilion.'
Now the bard glanced around timidly. His astonishment must have been evident and his expression amusing because the sorceress allowed herself a quite derisive grimace.
'While we are on the subject,' she whispered, leaning across the table, 'Dijkstra is asking for a report. You're on your way back from Verden and he's interested in hearing what's being said at King Ervyll's court. He asked me to convey that this time your report should be to the point, detailed and under no circumstances in verse. Prose, Dandilion. Prose.'
The poet swallowed and nodded. He remained silent, pondering the question.
