The Sword of Destiny (43 page)

"Not today," she replied. "Another day, yes. But not today."

"You've taken everything from me..."

"No," she interrupted. "Me, I take nothing. I only take by the hand. So that no-one must be alone and lost in the fog... Goodbye, Geralt of Rivia. Some other day."

The witcher did not respond. She turned slowly and then disappeared into the fog that was drowning the summit of the hill where everything was disappearing: into that damp and white haze vanished the obelisk, the flowers placed at its base and the fourteen engraved names. Soon there was nothing left but the fog and the grass wet with brilliant droplets under his feet, a grass whose sweet, heavy aroma created a doleful atmosphere, a will to forget and collapse from fatigue...

"Master Geralt! What is it? Were you asleep? I warned you that you could still weaken yourself. Why did you climb to the summit?"

"I was asleep," he groaned, wiping his face with his hand. "I was asleep, by the plague... It's nothing, Yurga, it's because of this heat..."

"Yes, you have a devil of a fever... We must continue on our way, my lord. Come, I'll help you down the slope."

"I have nothing..."

"Nothing, nothing. I'm curious to know the reason for your staggering. By the plague, why did you climb the hill in this heat? You wanted to read all their names?"

"Nothing... Yurga... you really remember all of the names inscribed on the monument?"

"Of course."

"I'll test your memory... The last. The fourteenth. What is it?"

"But you're a real skeptic. Don't you believe anything? You want to verify that I'm not lying? I told you that even children know the names. The last, you say? Yes, the last, it's Yol Grethen of Carreras. You know her, perhaps?"

"No," he replied. "I don't know her."

VII

"Master Geralt?"

"Yes, Yurga?"

The merchant bowed his head and was quiet, wrapping his finger with the thin strap with which he had repaired the witcher's seat. He stood at last and nudged the back of the valet who was driving the cart.

"Let go of the reins, Profit. I'll drive. Sit on the seat next to me, master Geralt. And you, Profit, what are you still doing here? Come on, hop to it! We need to talk. No need for your ears here!"

Roach, ahead of them a little and biting the rope that secured her to the charriot, appeared to envy the little mare that Profit rode at a trot along the highway.

Yurga clicked his tongue, lightly striking the horse with the reins. "Well," he drawled, "the situation is this, my lord. I promised you... then, on the bridge... I made a promise..."

"Forget it," the witcher interrupted promptly. "Forget it, Yurga."

"I cannot forget it," the merchant responded bluntly, "my word is not the wind. That which I don't expect to find at home when I return with you."

"Leave me be. I don't want anything from you. We are settled."

"No, lord. If I find such a thing at home, it will be the sign of destiny. And if one makes a mockery of Destiny, if one tells lies, she takes it very seriously."

/ know, thought the witcher. / know.

"But... master Geralt..."

"What, Yurga?"

"I won't find anything at home that I don't expect to see. Not a thing, let alone what you want. Listen, master witcher: Chrysididae, my wife, will give me no more children. Whatever may happen, there will not be a new child at home. You are mistaken."

Geralt did not respond.

Yurga remained quiet also. Roach snorted again, tossing her head.

"But I have two sons," Yurga said very quickly, looking at the road ahead of him. "Two healthy sons, strong and not stupid. I must send them into apprenticeships. One of them will, I think, learn the trade with me. But the other..."

Geralt continued to be silent. Yurga turned his head and looked at him:

"You were saying? You demanded an oath from me on the bridge. It was for you to find a child, nothing else, isn't that so? I have two sons: let one of them study the witchers' arts. It's not a bad idea."

"You are sure," Geralt interrupted in a low voice, "that he isn't stupid?"

Yurga blinked.

"Defending people, saving their lives, in your opinion, is it a good or a bad thing? Those fourteen, on the hill? You, on the bridge? What you yourself have accomplished, is it good or bad?"

"I don't know," Geralt managed to respond. "I don't know, Yurga. Sometimes, I think that I know. But sometimes I have my doubts as well. Would you like for your sun to have such doubts?"

"And why not?" the merchant replied seriously. "Why not have doubts? It's nothing but a human and good thing."

"What?"

"Doubt. Only an evil man, master Geralt, is without it. And no-one escapes his destiny."

The witcher did not respond.

The main road ran along a high promontory and bent birches that mysteriously managed to keep hold of the steep slope. The trees had yellow leaves. Fall is returning, thought Geralt, it's a new autumn. Below, a river shimmered. Behind a freshly-whitewashed fence, one could see the roofs of houses and the polished stilts of the wharf.

The winch squeaked.

The ferry was heading toward the edge, pushing a wave ahead of it. It split the waters with its blunt prow, pushing aside the grass and leaves that floated on the surface, trapped by a coating of dust. The ropes, pulled by the ferrymen, groaned. The crowd assembled on the banks was raising a commotion: women's cries, men's cursing, children's tears, bellowing, neighing, bleating. The deep monotone chant of fear.

"Stand back! Make way! Stand back, damn it!" shouted a knight, his head covered by a bloody rag.

His horse, immersed up to the abdomen, was annoyed, lifting its forelegs roughly and raising splashes. On the pier could be heard screams, cries: soldiers armed with shield pushed the crowd back, striking where they could with the butt of their spears.

"Stay away from the ferry!" cried the knight, swinging his sword. "The army has priority! Stay back, or heads will fly!"

Geralt pulled on the reins to stop his horse, which danced on the edge of the slope.

At the bottom of the valley marched heavily-armed soldiers. The movement of their weapons and armor enveloped the wearers in a cloud of dust that reached the shield-bearers in their path.

"Geraaaalt!"

The witcher looked down. A thin man with a cherry-colored jacket and a hat with an egret-feather plume jumped up and hailed him from a cart loaded with wooden cages that had been abandoned at the side of the road. In the cages, hens and geese were cackling constantly.

"Geraaaalt, it's me!"

"Dandelion! Come join me!"

"Stay away from the ferry," the knight continued to scream from his bandaged head, on the pier. "The ferry is only for the army! If you want to get to the other side, you pack of dogs, take your hatchets and get to work in the forest! Make yourself a raft! The ferry is only for the army!"

"By all the gods, Geralt," panted the poet, climbing the side of the valley. His cherry-colored jacket was covered with poultry feathers white as snow. "You see what's happening? Sodden just lost the battle: they retreated. Retreat? But what am I saying? It's more of a stampede... a full panic! We need to get out of here, Geralt, and cross to the other side of the Yarouga river..."

"What are you doing here, Dandelion? Where did you come from?"

"What am I doing here?" shouted the bard. "You ask me that? I am doing the same as the others. I was jolted all day yesterday on this cart! Some son of a bitch stole my horses during the night! Geralt, I beg you, get me out of here! Those Nilfgaardians could arrive at any moment! Anyone without the Yarouga river between himself and their army will be slaughtered. Slaughtered, you understand?"

"Don't panic, Dandelion."

Below, they heard the neighing of horses forced aboard the ferry and the clamor of their hooves striking the boards; the screaming; the uproar of the crowd; the sound of splashing caused by a cart pushed into the water; the bellowing of cattle whose faces broke the surface of the water. Geralt saw the crates and bundles of hay carried by the current smash against the hull of the ferry and continue on their way. All was clamor and cursing; a cloud of dust rose from the valley; hoofbeats could be heard.

"Each in turn!" yelled the knight with the bandaged head, plunging with his horse into the crowd. "In order, you sons of bitches! One after the other!"

"Geralt," moaned Dandelion, clinging to the stirrup, "you know what's happening? We'll never get aboard the ferry. The soldiers will outdo themselves and burn it afterward so it can't be used by Nilfgaardians. That's what they do in general, eh?"

"You're right," agreed the witcher. "That's the favored practice. I still don't understand why all these people are in such a panic! Is this the first war they've ever seen? Usually, the royal troops fight amongst themselves, then the kings come to an agreement, sign a treaty and take advantage of the occasion to kill each other. These events shouldn't concern all the people stampeding on the pier! What explains this outburst of violence?"

Dandelion looked directly at the witcher's face without releasing the stirrup:

"You clearly have very meager access to information, Geralt. Or you don't know how to interpret it. This is not an ordinary war of succession or a dispute over the ownership of a piece of land; we are not dealing with the quarrel of two noblemen to which peasants, occupied by their crops, remain passive witnesses."

"What is it then? Enlighten me, because I don't know what's going on. Between you and me, it doesn't interest me much, but explain it anyway, please."

"This war is unique," the bard explained seriously. "The armies of Nilfgaard leave behind them nothing but desolation and corpses: entire fields of corpses. It's a war of total extermination. Nilfgaard against everything. The cruelty..."

"There is no war without cruelty," the witcher interrupted. "You're exaggerating, Dandelion. It's like burning the ferry: such is the practice... It is, I would say, a military tradition. Since the beginning of the world, armies have been killing, stealing, burning and attacking, unceasingly, and in that order. Since the beginning of the world, when a war breaks out, the farmers and their wives hide in the woods with the few possessions that they can carry and return home when the conflict is over..."

"Not this war, Geralt. After this war, no-one returns. There will be nothing to return to. Nilfgaard leaves behind it only rubble; its armies advance like lava from which no-one escapes. The roads are strewn, for miles, with gallows and pyres; the sky is cut with columns of smoke as long as the horizon. Since the beginning of the world, in fact, nothing of this sort has happened before. Since the world is our world... You must understand that the Nilfgaardians have descended from their mountains to destroy this world."

"That's absurd. Who would benefit from destroying the world? Wars aren't fought for the sake of destruction. Wars are fought for two reasons: the first is power; the second is money."

"Stop your philosophizing, Geralt! You can't change what's happening with philosophy! Why aren't you hearing me? Why do you refuse to understand? Believe me, Yarouga will not stop Nilfgaard's momentum. In winter, when the river freezes, they will push the front even farther. I tell you this: we must flee to the North. They may not reach that far. But in any case, our world will no longer be the same. Geralt, don't leave me alone here! Don't go without me! Don't leave me!"

"You've lost your mind, Dandelion." The witcher leaned over his saddle. "Fear must have made you take leave of your senses. How can you believe that I would leave you alone? Give me your hand. Get on my horse. You won't find anything of value on the ferry. Besides, they'll never let you on board. I'll take you up the river. We'll look for a boat or a raft."

"The Nilfgaardians will catch us. They are already there. Have you noticed the knights? You can see that they come directly from the battlefield. Let's go downriver, toward the mouth of the Ina.

"Stop panicking. We'll get through, don't worry. Downriver, there are crowds of fugitives. At each ford, like here, there will be problems with crossing by ferry. All the boats

must have been requisitioned. We'll go upriver, against the current. Don't be afraid. I'll get you across, on a tree trunk if necessary."

"You can hardly see the other bank!"

"Stop complaining. I told you I would get you across."

"And you?"

"Get on my horse. We'll discuss it on the way. Hey, by the devil, you're not taking this huge bag! You want to break Roach's spine?"

"It's Roach? Roach was a bay, this one is chestnut."

"All of my horses are named Roach. You know that very well. Stop giving me the run-around. What do you have in there? Gold?"

"Manuscripts! Poems! And my rations..."

"Throw it all in the river. You'll write new poems. As for food, I'll share mine with you."

Dandelion made a mournful face, but didn't hesitate. He threw his bag into the water and jumped onto the horse, sitting on the saddlebags and clinging to the witcher's belt.

"On the way, on the way," he repeated anxiously. "Don't lose any time, Geralt, go into the woods before..."

"Stop, Dandelion... You're making Roach nervous."

"Don't mock me. If you knew what I..."

"Shut up, by the plague. We're taking the road. I'd like to get you across before nightfall."

"Me? And you?"

"There's nothing calling me to the other side of the river."

"Have you gone mad, Geralt? You've had enough of living? What are you doing?"

"It's nothing that concerns you. I'm going to Cintra."

"To Cintra? But Cintra doesn't exist anymore!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Cintra doesn't exist anymore. It's only rubble and ruins. The Nilfgaardians..."

"Get down, Dandelion..."

"What?"

"Get down!"

The witcher turned forcefully. At the sight of his face, the troubadour shot down from the horse like an arrow, stumbling. Geralt in turn dismounted calmly. Having passed the reins over the mare's head, the witcher stood indecisively for a moment before running his gloved hand over his face. He sat on a stump opposite a bush of blood-red dogwood shoots.