The Tower of the Swallow by Andrzej Sapkowski
‘One dies only once, Lord Coroner,’ said Til Echrade gently. ‘You've chosen your path, we are choosing ours. Either way is risky and uncertain. And you do not know what fate has determined for either.’
‘You will not force us’ – Kenna held her head proudly – ‘to chase the girl like dogs, Lord Skellen. And we will not end up killed like dogs, as Neratin Ceka was. Oh, enough talk. We are turning around! Boreas! Come with us.’
‘No.’ Boreas shook his head and pulled his fur cap over his forehead. ‘Farewell, I wish you no harm. But I'll stay. I serve. I have sworn.’
‘Who?’ Kenna frowned. ‘The Emperor or the Owl? Or the magician who speaks out of the box?’
‘I am a soldier. I serve.’
‘Wait,’ cried Duffi Kriel, who rode out behind Dacre Silifant’s back. ‘I'm coming with you. I have also had enough of this! Last night I dreamed of my own death. I do not want to die for this lousy and suspicious cause!’
‘Traitors,’ yelled Dacre, red as a radish. It looked as if he might start spraying blood from his face. ‘Treacherous, miserable dogs!’
‘Quiet.’ The Owl was still glaring at Kenna. His eyes were as repulsive as those of the bird for which he was nicknamed. ‘They have chosen their path, you heard them. There is nothing to do but shout and waste spit. But we'll meet one of these days. I promise you.’
‘Maybe even on the same scaffold,’ Kenna said without irony. ‘Because you, Skellen, will not be executed with the noble-born princes, but with us – the mob. But you are right, there's no use wasting spit. We ride. Good luck, Boreas. Take care, Mr. Silifant.’
Dacre spat over his horse's head.
‘And that is everything I have to say’ – Joanna Selbourne raised her head proudly and stroked a dark lock of hair from her forehead – ‘I have nothing to add, High Tribunal.’
The chairman of the tribunal looked down on her from above. With his almost-gray eyes. His expression was inscrutable.
Oh, what the heck, thought Kenna, I'll try. We only die once, all or nothing. I'm not going to rot in the citadel, waiting for death. The Owl spoke to the wind, which could take revenge even from the beyond the grave...
What the heck! Maybe they won’t notice it. All or nothing!
She put her hand to her nose, as if to wipe something away. She looked into the chairman of the tribunal's almost-gray eyes.
‘Guard!’ Said the chairman of the tribunal. ‘Please return to the witness Selbourne to...’
He paused, then coughed. Suddenly sweat stood out on his forehead.
‘...to the law office,’ he concluded and violently pulled air through his nose. ‘Have the relevant documents issued. And release her. The witness Selbourne is no longer required by the court.’
Kenna secretly wiped away a drop of blood that ran from her nose. She smiled and thanked her magic with a slight bow.
‘They deserted?’ Bonhart repeated incredulously. ‘They just deserted? Simply rode away? Skellen? You allowed this?’
‘If they blow the whistle on us...’ began Rience, but the Owl stopped him immediately. ‘They will not, because they love their own heads! After Kriel joined them, I had only Dacre and Mun, and they were four...’
‘Four,’ said Bonhart maliciously ‘is not so much. After we catch up with the girl, I’ll ride for them. And the ravens will feed on them. In the name of certain principles.’
‘First of all, we must catch the girl,’ the Owl interrupted and drove his gray horse forward with the whip. ‘Boreas! Watch the road!’
The bell shaped valley was filled with a dense fog, but they knew there would be a lake at the bottom, because this was Centloch, and in the bottom of every valley here was a lake. However, they also knew because the black mare's hoof tracks had not been their only way to catch the girl – Vilgefortz had told them to seek this lake. He had accurately described it to them. And the name it was called.
Tarn Mira.
The lake was narrow, no wider than an arrow shot. It formed a slightly curved crescent between high, steep slopes, on which grew a forest of black spruce, beautifully dusted with white snow. It was silent on the slopes, not a sound could be heard. Even the crows were silent, whose ominous croaking had accompanied them for over a dozen days on the road.
‘This is the south end,’ stated Bonhart. ‘If the magician has not bungled and confused the thing, the magical tower should be located at the north end. Watch out for her tracks, Boreas! If we lose the trail, the lake could separate us from her!’
‘The tracks are clear,’ cried Boreas Mun from below. ‘And fresh! It leads to the lake!’
‘Forward.’ Skellen grey horse shied in front of the steep slope, but he forced it under his control.
‘Down!’
They rode down the slope, carefully holding back the snorting horses. They forced their way through the black, barren, icy bushes that blocked the way to the bank.
Bonhart's brown cautiously stepped onto the ice, crunching the glass-smooth surface broken by protruding reeds. The ice began to crackle under its hooves and long cracks suddenly ran radially apart.
‘Get back!’ Bonhart pulled the reins and turned the snorting beast towards the shore. ‘Dismount! The ice is too thin.’
‘Only on the bank, near the reeds,’ estimated Dacre Silifant after he hit the ice with his heel. ‘And even here it is one and a half inches thick. It will carry a horse, there is nothing to fear...’
His words were drowned out by a curse and neighing. Skellen's gray horse slipped and fell on its hind legs, resulting in his legs sliding apart. Skellen swore again and hit the horse with his spurs. This time the curse was accompanied by the sharp cracking of ice bursting. The gray horse began to stamp its front feet as its rear collapsed. It struggled in the hole, breaking more ice and stirring up the bulging dark waters underneath. The Owl jumped out of the saddle and pulled on the reins, but slipped and fell down headlong. He was lucky that he did not fall under the hooves of his own horse. Two Gemmerans helped him to his feet, and Bert Brigden and Ola Harsheim drew the neighing gray horse to the shore.
‘Dismount, guys,’ Bonhart repeated, looking into the fog that covered the lake. ‘We do not want to take any risks. We will pursue the girl on foot. She will also have been forced to walk.’
‘Too true,’ confirmed Boreas Mun as he pointed to the lake. ‘You can see it.’
On the shore, where branches hung over, the ice was smooth and semi-transparent, like dark glass bottles. They could see the brown reeds and other water plants beneath. Further out, however, the ice was covered by a thin layer of wet snow. And dark footprints stretched as far as the eye could see in the fog.
‘We have her!’ Rience cried eagerly, throwing his reins over a tree. ‘She's not as smart as she looks. She went onto the ice in the middle of the lake. If she would have chosen one of the banks, or the forest, it would have been much more difficult to catch her!’
‘In the middle of the lake...’ repeated Bonhart with a thoughtful expression. ‘The centre of the lake is the shortest and easiest path to this magical tower, so Vilgefortz told us. She knows it. Mun? How much advantage does she have?’
Boreas Mun, who was already on the lake, knelt down by a boot print, bent down low, and looked.
‘Half an hour,’ he estimated. ‘No more. It's getting warmer, but the track has not blurred, you can see every nail in the sole.’
‘The lake,’ murmured Bonhart, who tried in vain to penetrate the fog with his stare, ‘extends more than five miles to the north. That's what Vilgefortz said. If the girl has a half-hour head start, she is about a mile ahead of us.’
‘On smooth ice?’ Mun shook his head. ‘No sir. Half a mile at most.’
‘All the better! March!’
‘March,’ repeated the Owl. ‘Watch the ice and march forward as quickly as possible!’
They breathed heavily. The proximity of the victim excited them and filled them with enthusiasm like a narcotic.
‘D
‘Just do not lose the track...’
‘And don't get lost in this damn fog... As white as milk... you can't see more than twenty paces...’
‘Toward the pines,’ growled Rience. ‘Faster, faster! As long as there is snow on the ice we can follow her footsteps...’
‘The tracks are fresh,’ Boreas Mun began to murmur suddenly. ‘Very fresh... You can see every nail impression... She is directly in front of us... Directly in front of us! Why can we not see her?’
‘And why can we not hear her?’’ Wondered Ola Harsheim. ‘Our footsteps resound on the ice, the snow crunches! Why can we not hear her?’
‘Because you are prattling’ Rience violently cut him off. ‘Go on, march!’
Boreas Mun took off his cap and wiped his sweaty brow. ‘She's there in the fog,’’ he said quietly.
‘Somewhere in the fog... And we cannot see. We cannot see where she will hit... like before... in Dun Dare... on the night of Saovine...’ With a trembling hand he drew his sword from its sheath.
The Owl jumped toward him, grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him vigorously. ‘Stop causing a panic, old fool,’ he hissed.
It was already too late. The horror had infected the others. They also pulled their swords and stood instinctively so that they had a comrade at their backs.
‘She is no ghost!’ Rience growled loudly. ‘She's not even a magician! And we have ten men here! It was four at Dun Dare, and they were all drunk!’
‘Fan out’ Bonhart said suddenly, ‘form a line to the left and right. And act as a chain! But so that you do not lose sight of each other.’
‘You too?’ Scoffed Rience. ‘You have also caught the fear Bonhart? I thought you were for less superstitious.’
The bounty hunter gave him a look that was colder than ice. ‘Fan out the line,’ he repeated, ignoring the magician. ‘Keep this distance. I'm turning around, to pick up the horses.’
‘What?’
Bonhart once again honored Rience with no response. Rience cursed, but the Owl laid his hand on his shoulder. ‘Leave him,’ he hissed. ‘Let him go. But let's not waste any time! Form a chain! Bert and Stigward, to the left! Ola, to the right...’
‘What for, Skellen?’
‘If we all travel in a cluster,’ Boreas Mun murmured, ‘we could break through the ice. Moreover, if we go as a chain, there is less danger that the girl will escape to the side somewhere.’
‘Side?’ Rience said dismissively. ‘How so? The tracks are clearly visible in front of us. The girl travels straight as an arrow, and if she did try to hit a hook, the track would betray her!’
‘Enough talk,’ the Owl cut off the discussion then turned to look back into the fog where Bonhart had disappeared. ‘Forward!’ They went.
‘It is getting warmer...’ gasped Boreas Mun. ‘The ice is melting from above. It forms a layer of water...’
‘The fog is thick...’
‘But the tracks are still visible,’ noted Dacre Silifant . ‘Besides, I think the girl is moving slower. She is losing energy.’
‘So are we.’ Rience tore his cap from his head and fanned the air.
‘Be still.’ Silifant stopped suddenly. ‘Did you hear that? What was that?’
‘I heard nothing.’
‘I did... a kind of crunching... a crunch on the ice... but not from there.’ Boreas Mun was in the fog where the tracks disappeared. ‘Somehow, from left, from the side...’
‘I also heard,’ confirmed the Owl and looked around uneasily. ‘But now it's quiet. Damn, I do not like this. I do not like it!’
‘The tracks!’ Rience repeated with bored emphasis. ‘We can still see her tracks! Have you no eyes? She goes straight. Straight! If she turned aside, even half a step, we would see it in the tracks! March, quickly, we almost have her! I guarantee we will see the same...’
He broke off. Boreas Mun gave a moan that vibrated in his lungs. The Owl cursed.
Ten paces in front of them, on the limit of visibility of the milk soup of fog they saw the tracks. They disappeared.
‘Hell and plague!’
‘What?’
‘Did she fly away, or what?’
‘No.’ Boreas Mun shook his head. ‘She's didn't fly away. Worse.’
Rience swore vulgarly and pointed at the grooves cut in the ice.
‘Skates,’ he growled and clenched his fists involuntarily. ‘She had her skates and has put them on... Now she will fly like the wind over the ice... We will not catch her! Where the hell is Bonhart? Without horses we will not catch her!’
Boreas Mun groaned loudly.
Skellen slowly unbuttoned his coat and put his hand across the chest bandolier, making sure the line of orions was easily accessible. ‘We will not have to catch her,’ he said coldly. ‘She will come to us. I'm afraid we will not have to wait long.’
‘Have you lost your mind?’
‘Bonhart foresaw this. That is why he turned around to get the horses. He knew the girl was luring us into a trap. Pay attention! Listening to the crunching of ice skates on the ice!’
Dacre Silifant turned pale, it was noticeable in spite of his frost red cheeks.
‘Boys!’ He shouted. ‘Look out! Watch out! And form a heap, a cluster! Make sure you don't get lost in the fog!’
‘Be still!’ Snapped the Owl. ‘Be still! Absolute silence, or we will not hear...’
They heard it. From left-most distant edge of the chain, beyond the fog, came a short, staccato cry. And a sharp, shrill squeak of ice that made their hair stand on end, like when you scratch iron on glass.
‘Bert,’ cried the Owl. ‘Bert! What's going on?’
They heard an unintelligible scream, and immediately the head and neck of Bert Brigden ran out of the fog. When he was close, he slipped, fell, and slid across the ice on his belly.
‘She caught... Stigward,’ he gasped, as he stood up with difficulty. ‘Cut him down... in passing... So fast... I've never seen anything like it... a little sorceress...’
Skellen cursed. Silifant and Mun, both with swords in hand, turned around and stared into the fog.
Crunching. Crunching. Crunching. Fast. Rhythmically. More and more. Increasingly clear...
‘Where from?’ Cried Boreas Mun, as he turned around and held the blade of the sword with both hands in the air. ‘Where?’
‘Be still,’ cried the Owl, an Orion in his raised hand. ‘From the right! Yes! From the right! She is coming from the right! Watch out!’
On the right wing a Gemmeran suddenly cursed, turned, and ran blindly into the fog slapping on the melting of ice. He did not get far, not even out of sight. They heard the sharp crunch of moving skates. They saw a blurred shade, scurrying along. And the flash of a sword. The Gemmeran howled. They saw him fall, saw the blood squirt wide onto the ice. The wounded man looked around, writhing, screaming, crying. Then he stopped and lay still.
But even as he howled, the crunching sound of approaching ice skates came again. They had not expected that the girl could turn so quickly.
She came in among them, exactly in the middle. She gave Ola Harsheim a passing cut, flat and below the knee. He folded up like a pocket knife. She whirled around in a pirouette and showered Boreas Mun with stabbing shards of ice. Skellen jumped back, slipped, and grabbed Rience on the sleeve. Both fell down. The skates crunched coldly next to them, spraying splinters in their faces. One of the Gemmeran screamed, cried, and broke off with a wild shriek. The Owl knew what had happened. He had heard a lot of people have their throats cut.
Ola Harsheim screamed and crawled over to the ice.
Crunching. Crunching. Crunching.
Silence.
‘Stefan,’ stammered Dacre Silifant. ‘Stefan... You are our only hope... Save us... Let us not come to...’
‘She made me lame, the biiitch!’ Shouted Ola Harsheim. ‘Help me, damn it! Someooone help me!’
‘Bonhart’ yelled Skellen into the fog. ‘Bonhaaart! Heeeelp! Where are y
‘She surrounded us,’ gasped Boreas Mun, as he turned and listened. ‘She runs in the fog around us... and you do not know where she is going to strike... Death! This bitch is death! This is a massacre, as in Dun Dare, on the night of Saovine...’
‘Keep yourselves together,’ groaned Skellen. ‘Keep yourselves together, she preys on individuals... If you see her coming, do not lose your head... Throw your swords at her feet – backpacks, belts... whatever you can, so that she...’
He did not finish. This time they did not even hear the crunch of ice skates. Dacre Silifant and Rience saved their lives by throwing themselves flat on the ice. Boreas Mun was able to jump away, but Bert Brigden slipped and was brought down. When the girl retreated, Skellen threw his Orion. He hit. But the wrong target. Ola Harsheim, who had finally been able to stand up, fell quivering on the bloody ice, and his wide-open eyes seemed to squint at the steel star that pierced him in the nose.
The last of the Gemmerans threw away his sword and began to sob in short, jerky spasms.
Skellen rushed to him and punched him with all his strength in the face. ‘Pull yourself together,’ he cried. ‘Pull yourself together, man! It's only a girl! Only a little girl!’
‘In Dun Dare, on the night of Saovine,’ Boreas Mun said quietly. ‘We created this ice monster. We will not leave this lake. Listen! And hear how death is hastening to you.’
Skellen picked up the Gemmerans's sword and tried to push it to the sobbing man's hand, but it was in vain. The Gemmeran, shaken by spasms, looked at him with dull eyes. The Owl let go of the sword and jumped towards Rience.
‘Do something, magician,’ he roared, shaking him by the shoulders. The horror doubled his strength; although Rience was bigger, heavier, and bulkier, he shook like a rag doll in Skellen’s grip. ‘Do something! Call your mighty Vilgefortz! Or do some magic yourself! Say a spell, call spirits, summon demons! Do something, anything, you dirty scum, you dung heap! Do something before this ghost kills us all!’