Lady of the Lake by Andrzej Sapkowski
"Of course”, agreed the sneezer and trumpeted into his handkerchief. "He lives and reigns. He is at his peak, both physically and mentally. The latter, especially, cannot be disputed, after he has gotten rid of both your highnesses - along with any troops that would have been faithful to you. How will you accomplish a revolution, my Lord Prince Ardal, if you have to spend each moment overseeing the Eastern Division of the army in battle? And Prince Joachim will probably have to be with his troops in the Verden Special Operational Group."
"Spare me the tips, Stefan Skellen.” said the creaky. “And pulling that face only makes you look similar to your magician Vilgefortz in your imagination. And you should know, Owl, that if Emhyr really does get suspicious, it will be because of you - you and Vilgefortz. Admit it, you tried to catch the Cintran and buy Emhyr’s favor with her? Now that the girl is dead, you no longer have anything to offer, right? Emhyr would quarter you, truly. You will not raise your hand against us, neither you nor the magician with whom you have allied yourself!"
"No one of us will raise our hands, Joachim," put in the bass. "We need to look the truth in the face. We are in no better position than Skellen. The circumstances have brought us together. We are all in the same boat now."
"But the Owl was the one who put us in this boat!” shouted the creaky “Why do we have to act secretly now? Emhyr knows everything! Vattier de Rideaux’s agents search the whole empire for the Owl. And he has gotten rid of us, truly, sent us to war!"
"Exactly”, the syllable stretcher, "And you should take advantage of that. I can assure you gentlemen, everyone is fed up with the war currently underway. The army, the common people, and especially the merchants and entrepreneurs. The mere fact that the war is over will cause joy throughout the entire empire, regardless of how the war ends. Gentlemen, military leaders influence the course of the war, so, if I may say so, the end is always within reach. What is easier than to taking credit as heroes for ending an armed conflict in victory? And in case of defeat, as men who, sent by providence, negotiated an end to the bloodshed?"
"True," said the creaking after a while. "By the Great Sun, that is true. You're right, Mr. Leuvaarden."
"Emhyr," said the bass, "wrapped the rope around his neck when he sent us to the front."
"Emhyr," said the exalted, "is still alive, my lord Prince. He is alive and doing well. We do not want to split the skin of the bear."
"No," said the bass. "Not before we kill the bear."
The silence lasted a long time.
"So an assassination attempt. Death."
"Death."
"Death!"
"Death. It is the only solution. Emhyr has followers as long as he lives. When Emhyr dies, everyone will support us. The aristocracy will side with us, because we are part of the aristocracy, and the power of the aristocracy lies in solidarity. A significant part of the army will be on our side, especially the officer corps, who still remember Emhyr’s purges after the defeat of Sodden. The people will be on our side ...”
"Because the people are ignorant, stupid, and easy to manipulate," Skellen finished the sentence, after he had himself a sneeze. "You need only ‘Hurrah!' and make a speech from the senate steps promising to open the prisons and cut the taxes."
"You are absolutely right, Owl," said the syllable stretcher. "Now I know why you shout so loudly for democracy."
"I warn you," creaked the man they called Joachim, "that everything will not go as smoothly as it sounds, gentlemen. Our whole plan is based on the death of Emhyr. But we must not close our eyes to the fact that Emhyr has many followers, he has the units in the main army, and he has a fanatical guard. It will not be easy to pass through the Imperial Guard and strike at the Emperor, because, have no illusions, they will fight to the death."
"And here," declared Stefan Skellen, “Vilgefortz offers us his help. We will not have to besiege the palace, and we will not have to fight through the Imperial Guard. The thing can be done by a single assassin with magical protection. As in Dreiberg, just before the mages coup on Thanedd."
"King of Radovid of Redania."
"Yes."
"Vilgefortz has as an assassin?"
"Yes. To prove our trust, gentlemen, I will tell you who it is. The sorceress Yennefer, who we’ve imprisoned."
"Imprisoned? I've heard that Yennefer worked with Vilgefortz willingly."
"She is his prisoner. Bewitched and hypnotized, programmed like a golem, she will execute the assassination. Then she will commit suicide."
"Some magical witch doesn’t quite suit me," said the one who extended the syllables, extending them even more out of sheer disgust. "A hero would be better, a blazing champion of an idea, an avenger ..."
"An avenger" interrupted Skellen. "Fits like a glove, Mr. Leuvaarden. Yennefer will avenge the suffering that was inflicted by the tyrant. Emhyr has persecuted and driven to death her girl, an innocent child. This cruel tyrant, this pervert, has persecuted and murdered children instead of taking care of empire. Therefore, he will be overtaken by the avenging hand ...”
"I", announced Ardal aep Dahy’s bass voice, "I like it very well."
"Me too," agreed to Joachim De Wett.
"Wonderful!" shouted the eccentric Count Broinne. “For the rape of foreign women, the avenging hand will overtake the tyrant and pervert. Wonderful!"
"One more thing," said Leuvaarden, stretching his syllables. "To guarantee your trust, Lord Skellen, I’ll ask you to please betray to us the whereabouts of Mr. Vilgefortz."
"Gentlemen, I ... I cannot ..."
"That is why it would be a guarantee. A pledge of the sincerity and devotion to the cause."
"You need not fear betrayal, Stefan," added aep Dahy. "None here will betray you. This is a paradox. In other circumstances, someone among us might even try to buy his life by betraying the rest. But all of us know only too well that they would buy nothing with the betrayal. Emhyr var Emreis does not forgive. He cannot. Instead of a heart he has a lump of ice. And therefore, all will be killed."
Stefan Skellen no longer hesitated. "Okay," he said. "As a pledge of sincerity. Vilgefortz is hidden at the ...”
The witcher sat at the opening of the tube and clenched his fists until they hurt. He strained his hearing. And his memory.
The witcher’s doubts concerning Fringilla’s amulet were unjustified and vanished in a moment. When he returned the great cavern and approached the stone bridge over the abyss, the medallion began to jerk on his neck and struggle, not like a sparrow, but more like a large and powerful bird. Let's say, a crow.
Geralt froze. He calmed the amulet. He did not make the slightest movement, so that no rustle, not even a breath, could deceive his hearing. He waited. He knew that on the other side of the abyss, beyond the bridge, there was something, something that was lurking in the dark. He did not rule out that it could also be concealed behind his back, and that the bridge might be a trap. He was not going to walk into this trap. He waited. And not in vain.
"Hail, Witcher," he heard. "We are waiting for you here."
The voice that came out of the darkness sounded strange and alien. But Geralt had heard voices like it more than once, he knew them. Thus spoke beings that were not used to communicating with the aid of articulate speech. Although they were able to use the apparatus of the lungs, diaphragm, trachea, and throat, these creatures could not use completely the articulation apparatus, even though their lips, palate, and tongues were built very similar to humans. Such beings accentuated their spoken words not only strangely and proudly, but also with sounds that are uncomfortable to the human ear - hard and ugly barking or soft and slimy hissing.
"We are waiting for you here," repeated the voice. "We knew that you would come if we fed you with rumors. That you would come crawl under the earth, to search, to hunt, to track, to kill. But you will not leave here. You will never again see the sun that is so dear to you."
"Show yourself."
In the darkness beyond the bridge, something m
"A Korr," he stated calmly. "I should have expected to see the likes of you here. It's a miracle that I didn’t find you earlier."
"Take a look at you." The unnatural voice of the creature sounded mocking. "In the dark, and still you recognized me. And do you recognize that? And that? And that?"
From the darkness emerged three more creatures, silently as ghosts. One, who had been hiding behind the Korr’s back, also had the general shape and appearance of a humanoid, but it was more stocky, hunched, and ape-like. Geralt knew it was a Killmouli.
The other two monsters were hiding, as he had correctly guessed, behind the bridge, ready to cut off his retreat if he had stepped onto the bridge. The first, on the left, resembled a giant spider, it stood in place while flexing its many legs. It was a Molding. The last creature reminded him of a candelabra, it liked something that had jumped straight out of the broken slate wall. Geralt could not say what it was. No such monster was recorded in the witcher books.
"I want no quarrel with you”, he said, and putting a little hope in the fact that the creatures had begun with conversation, rather than just going for his jugular in the dark. "I want no quarrel with you. But if it comes to that, I will defend myself."
“We have taken that into account,” the Korr said, hissing. "That is why we are four. That is why we have lured you here. You poison our lives, fucking witchers. The most beautiful holes in this part of the world, wonderful places to hibernate. We’ve spent the winter here almost since the beginning of time. And now you show up here to prey on us, you wretch. In order track us, hunt us, and kill us for money. But no more. Not from you."
"Listen, Korr ..."
"Politely," snarled the creature. "I do not tolerate insolence."
"So how am I to address you ...?"
"Mr. Schweitzer."
"Well, Mr. Schweitzer," continued Geralt, seemingly obedient, "here is the thing. I have, I will not hide it, come here as a witcher with a witcher’s job. I propose to let that subject rest. However, something happened in this cave, something that has changed the situation diametrically. I've learned something unusually important for me. Something that can change my whole life."
"And what will follow from this?"
"I need" - Geralt was a model of composure and patience - "to immediately get to the surface and to immediately set off for a long journey, without the slightest delay. A journey from which there might be no return. I do not think I will ever … return to this area ...”
"Trying to buy you your life, witcher?" hissed Mr. Schweitzer. "No use. You ask in vain. We've got you in a bind and will not let you out. We will kill you and think not only of ourselves, but also of our other comrades. We will kill you, if I may say so, for both our and their freedom."
"I'll not only never come back to this area”, Geralt continued patiently, "but will give up all my work as a witcher. I will never kill any of you ...”
"You're lying! You lie in fear!"
"But," - Geralt could not be interrupted this time - "I must, as I said, get outside, immediately. So you have two choices. The first: You believe in my sincerity, and I get out of here. The second: I leave behind your corpses."
"The third," growled the Korr, "your corpse is left behind."
The witcher removed his sword from the scabbard on his back with a hiss.
"It will not be the only one," he said, unmoved. "Certainly not the only one, Mr. Schweitzer."
The Korr was silent for a while. The Killmouli, who still stood behind his back, rocked back and forth and growled a little. The Molding bent and stretched its legs. The Candelabra had changed shape. Now it looked like a crooked little tree with two large, phosphorescent eyes.
"Give us," finally said the Korr, "proof of your sincerity and your good will."
"How?"
"Your sword. You claim that you will cease to be a witcher. A sword makes a witcher. Throw it into the abyss. Or break it. Then we let you out."
Geralt stood there motionless for a moment, only the water dripping from the ceiling and walls broke the silence. Then he slowly placed the sword vertically and deeply into a crevice. And broke the blade with a powerful kick of his boot. The sword burst with a sighing sound that echoed in the depths.
The water dripped from the walls, ran them down like tears.
"I cannot believe it," the Korr said slowly. "I cannot believe that someone could be so stupid."
They all rushed at him, instantly, without a cry or a command. Mr. Schweitzer was the first to over the bridge - with stretched claws and bared fangs, which even a wolf would not have been ashamed of.
Geralt approached it, whereupon he turned and struck it in the hip, the lower cheek, and its neck, renting its throat. The next moment he was on the bridge and slashed off one of the Killmouli’s wrists with a blow. He doubled over and threw himself on the ground, just in time, because the Candelabra flew over him, grazing his jacket with its paws. The Molding jumped in front of witcher, thin legs whirling like a windmill. A swipe from one of its paws hit him on the side of the head; Geralt danced, made a feint, and hit with a sweeping blow. However, the Molding jumped again, but missed him. It landed on the railing and he pushed it, along with a hail of stones, into the abyss. Until then it had not made the slightest sound, but now that it fell into the abyss, it howled. It was a long time before the howling ceased.
They attacked from two sides - the Candelabra on one, and the blood soaked Killmouli on the other, which had managed to stand up in spite of its injuries. The witcher jumped on the small stone railing, shaking the whole bridge. He balanced out and was now located beyond the reach of the Candelabra’s clawed paws, and behind the Killmouli. The Killmouli had no neck, so Geralt gave him a blow to the temple. But the monster’s head was like iron, so he had to strike a second time to finish it. It took him a split second too long.
He received a blow to the head, pain flared in his skull and into his eyes. He spun around, covered himself with a large display of defense, and felt his blood gushing beneath his hair, trying to understand what had happened. After he avoided - miraculously - the second blow of the claws, he understood. The Candelabra had changed shape - it now attacked with almost impossibly long legs.
That brought a disadvantage. Namely, imbalance and a shifted center of gravity. The witcher ducked under its feet and shortened the distance. The Candelabra saw what was going on, threw itself back like a cat, and stretched up on its hind paws, which were also reinforced with claws. Geralt jumped over it, cutting it mid-jump. He felt his blade cut through the body. He ducked, spun around, struck again, and sank to one knee. The creature screamed violently and quickly lowered its head, full of teeth, to the height of the witcher’s chest. Its large eyes glowed in the dark. Geralt pushed it back with a sharp blow of his sword pommel, and made a strike at close range that separated half of its skull. Even without that half, this strange creature not recorded in the witcher books snapped at him with its teeth for another dozen seconds.
Then it died with a horrible, almost human sigh.
The Korr lay in a pool of blood and twitched convulsively.
The witcher stopped in front of him. "I cannot believe," he said, “that someone could be so stupid to fall for such a simple illusion as the broken sword."
He wasn’t sure whether the Korr was conscious enough to understand him. But basically, he didn’t care.
"I warned you," he said as he wiped the blood trickling down his cheek. "I warned you that I needed get out of here."
Mr. Schweitzer began to tremble violently. He gasped, whistled, and creaked. Then he was quiet and did not move again.
Water dripped from the ceiling and walls.
"Are you satisfied now Regis?"
&
"Well, then." The witcher stood up. "Go on and pack your things. But be quick."
"It will not take me long. Omnia mea mecum porto."
"What?"
"I do not have much luggage."
"All the better. Meet me in front of the city in half an hour."
"I'll be there."
He had underestimated her. She had caught him. He only had himself to blame. Instead of hurrying, he should have ridden Roach out of the back of the palace, from the larger stables that were used by knights-errant, servants, and the staff, where his company had their horses. He had rushed and by habit had used the Princess’ stable. And he should have guessed that she would be waiting in the royal stables.
She paced from wall to wall, churning up the straw. She wore a short lynx fur, a white satin blouse, a black skirt, and high riding boots. The horses snorted, they could feel the anger radiating from her.
"Oh, please," she said, grabbing the riding whip in his hand. "You are leaving! Without saying goodbye. Because a letter on a table is certainly not a goodbye. Not after what’s united us. I can just imagine how your behavior is explained and justified by unusually weighty arguments."
"It will be explained and justified. Sorry, Fringilla."
"Sorry, Fringilla" she repeated, twisting her mouth furiously. "How scarce, how cautious, nearly laconic - what sense of style. I bet the letter you left for me is edited just as elegantly. Without undue waste in terms of ink."
"I must go," he squeezed out. "You can imagine why. And for whom. Please forgive me. I was planning to sneak away in secret, quietly, because ... I do not want you trying to ride with us."
"There you worried needlessly," she said emphatically as she bent the whip into a loop. "I would not ride with you, even if you begged me from your knees. Oh no, witcher. Ride alone, die alone, freeze to death in the passes alone. I have no obligation to Ciri. And to you? Do you know how many people beg for this, what you have? What you now shove aside, throw away with contempt?"