Lady of the Lake by Andrzej Sapkowski
"I'll never forget you."
"Oh," she hissed. "You have no idea how much I desire to make sure of that. If not with magic, then with this whip!"
"You wouldn’t."
"You're right, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I’m behaving like an abandoned and spurned lover. Classic. I’ll accept it with my head held high. With pride and dignity. I’ll bite back my tears. Then I'll cry into my pillow. And then I let myself be with another!"
Towards the end she almost shouted.
He said nothing. She was also silent.
"Geralt," she finally said in a very different voice. "Stay with me.”
“I think I love you," she said when she saw that he hesitated before answering. "Stay with me. I beg you. I've never asked that of someone and do not think I'll ever do it again. I beg you."
"Fringilla" he replied after a while. "You're a woman that a man could only dream of. It is my fault, entirely my fault, that I am not a dreamer by nature."
"You," she said, biting her lip, "are like a fish hook, which, once stuck, can only be uprooted together with blood and flesh. Well, I myself am guilty, I knew what I was doing when I began this dangerous game. Luckily I also know how to deal with the consequences. In this regard, I have more than other women."
He said nothing.
"Besides," she added, "a broken heart, while it hurts much more than a broken arm, also heals much, much faster."
Again he said nothing.
Fringilla looked at the bruise on his cheek. "What about my amulet? Does it work well?"
"It is simply fabulous. Thank you."
She nodded.
"Where do you ride?" She asked in a completely different voice, in a very different tone. "What did you learn? You know where Vilgefortz is hiding, don’t you?"
"Yes. Please do not ask me to tell you. I will not."
"I'll have that information. One way or the other."
"Really?"
"I have a message”, she stated, "that is very valuable. And for you, simply priceless. I will sell it to you in exchange for ...”
"For a clear conscience," he finished the sentence for her. He looked into her eyes. "For the trust that I have given you. A moment ago you spoke of loving me. And now we begin to talk of exchanges?"
She was silent for a long time. Then they fought fiercely for the whip they both were holding.
"Yennefer." she said quickly, "The one whose name you've mentioned a few times to me at night, in moments of ecstasy, has not ever betrayed you or Ciri. She was not an accomplice to Vilgefortz. She fearlessly undertook an unprecedented risk to save Cirilla. She suffered a defeat and fell into Vilgefortz’s hands. She was surely forced by torture to perform the magical detection that took place last year. Whether she still lives is not known. That's all I know. I swear it."
"Thank you, Fringilla."
"Go."
"I trust you," he said without leaving. "And I will never forget what happened between us. I trust you, Fringilla. I will not stay with you, but I think I loved you too ... in my way. I ask that you keep secret what you are about to hear. Vilgefortz’s hiding place is ...”
"Wait," she interrupted. "Tell me later, after you say goodbye to me. A proper goodbye. Not with a note, not with stammering apologies. Say goodbye to me, as I want."
She took off her lynx fur and laid it on a pile of straw. With a violent movement she tore open her blouse, she wore nothing underneath. She plopped down on the fur, taking Geralt with her. Geralt grabbed her neck, pulled up her skirt, and suddenly realized that there was no time to take off his gloves. Fortunately, Fringilla was not wearing any gloves. Or underwear. He was even more fortunate that she was not wearing spurs, for immediately afterwards the heels of her riding boots were literally everywhere – there was no telling what might have happened if she had been wearing spurs.
When she cried, he kissed her. Stifling her cry.
The horses, sensing both of their raging passions, neighed, stomped, and pushed against the walls, swirling the dust and hay.
"Castle Rhys-Rhun, in Nazair, on the shores of Lake Muredach" Fringilla Vigo concluded triumphantly. "That is Vilgefortz’s hideout. I got it out of the witcher before he rode away. We have enough time to pre-empt him. He cannot possibly be there before April."
The nine women gathered in the great pillared hall of Castle Montecalvo nodded, looking at Fringilla with appreciative eyes.
"Rhys-Rhun" repeated Philippa Eilhart while she bared her teeth in a predatory smile and played with the sardonyx cameo pinned to her dress. "Rhys-Rhun in Nazair. See you soon, Mr. Vilgefortz ... See you soon!"
"If the witcher gets there," hissed Keira Metz, "he will find debris that won’t even smell burnt anymore."
"And neither will the dead bodies." Sabrina Glevissig smiled charmingly.
"Bravo, Miss Vigo" Síle de Tansarville gave her a nod - a gesture that Fringilla would never have expected of the famous magician. "Perfect Work."
Fringilla bowed her head.
"Bravo," repeated Síle. "About three months Toussaint ... But it was well worth it."
Fringilla Vigo let her eyes wander around the sorceresses sitting at the table. Around Síle, Philippa, and Sabrina Glevissig. Around Keira Metz, Margarita Laux-Antille, and Triss Merigold. Around Francesca Findabair and Ida Emean, whose intensely painted elven eyes expressed nothing. Around Assire var Anahid, whose eyes were restlessness and full of anxiety.
"That it was," she admitted.
Perfectly sincere.
The dark blue sky was gradually turning black. A strong, icy wind blew through the vineyards. Geralt buttoned up his wolf's fur clothing and wrapped a wool scarf wound around his neck. He felt very well. The lovemaking had, as usual, brought him up to peak physical, mental, and spiritual condition, wiping out all traces of doubt, making his mind clear and lively. He only regretted only that he would not experience this wonderful panacea again for a long time.
The voice of Reynart de Bois-Fresnes tore him from his thoughts.
"Bad weather is coming," the knight-errant said as he stared into the east, from whence the wind blew. "Hurry. If this wind brings snow, if it manages to catch you on the passes, then you are sitting in a trap. The only thing you can do then is pray to the gods - both those that you worship and those you've only heard of - for the snow to thaw."
"We understand."
"The Sansretour will lead you the first few days, keep to the river. You will ride past a trapper trading post and come to a point where a tributary flows into the Sansretour from the right. Do not forget, from the right. Its course will show you the way to Malheur Pass. If, with the help of the gods, you manage to conquer the Malheur, do not rejoice too much, you still have the Sansmerci and Mortblanc passes in front of you. You have to overcome both, then you can descend into the Sudoth Valley. Sudoth has a warm micro-climate, almost like Toussaint. But the soil is so poor, no wine will grow there ...”
He broke off embarrassed, as he noticed the disapproving glances.
"Okay," he croaked. "To the point. The town of Caravista is located at the end of the Sudoth. My cousin lives there, Guy de Bois-Fresnes. Visit him and refer to me. If it turns out that he has died, or is an imbecile, then remember that the next step of your journey is towards the plains of Mag Deira and the valley of the Sylte River. From there, Geralt, follow the map you had the cartographers in town draw you. While we are discussing cartography - I do not quite understand why you asked him about the castles...”
"Forget it, Reynart. Nothing like happened. You heard nothing and saw nothing. Even if they tighten you up on the rack. Do you understand?"
"I understand."
"A horseman," warned Cahir, subduing his erupting stallion. "A rider approaches from the palace, at a gallop."
"If there is only one" Angoulême said with a big smile, stroking the axe hanging from her saddle, "it will hardly be a problem."
The rider on the galloping horse turned out to be Dandelion. And, wonder of w
"Well," the troubadour said, so out of breathe that it looked like he had carried the gelding instead of the other way around. "Well, I did it. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to catch you."
"Don’t tell me you’re coming along with us now."
"No, Geralt" - Dandelion bowed his head - "I’m not coming along. I'm staying here in Toussaint, with Weasel. That is, with Anarietta. But I had to say goodbye to you. Wish you luck on your way."
"Thank the princess for everything. And find a justification for us leaving so suddenly, and without saying goodbye. Explain it somehow."
"You took a chivalrous vow, and now you must fulfill it. Everyone in Toussaint, including Little Weasel, will understand that. But here ... take this. This will be my contribution."
"Dandelion" - Geralt took a bag from the poet - “we do not suffer lack of money. It isn’t necessary ...”
"This will be my contribution," repeated the troubadour. "Cash never hurts. Plus, it's not mine - I took these ducats from Little Weasel’s privy purse. Why are you looking at me like that? Women don’t need money. And why should they? They don’t drink, don’t roll dice - women are condemned, they do it to themselves. So, it's all good! Now ride off, before I start to cry. And when it's over, you have to stop by Toussaint, come back to tell me everything. And I will paint Ciri. Do you promise, Geralt?"
"I promise."
"Well, it's all good."
"Wait." Geralt turned his horse, rode close to the poet, and removed a secret letter from his jacket. "See that this letter comes to the right place ..."
"Fringilla Vigo?"
"No. Dijkstra."
"Why, Geralt? And how am I supposed to do that?"
"Find a way. I know you can do it. And now, take care. Give me a hug, old fool."
"Give me a hug, friend. I'll keep my eye out for you!"
They watched him leave, riding at a trot towards Beauclair.
The sky was dark.
"Reynart." The witcher turned in the saddle. "Ride with us."
"No, Geralt," replied Reynart de Bois-Fresnes after a moment. "I am a knight-errant. But I am not crazy."
In the great pillared hall of Castle Montecalvo they were in unusually high spirits. Here the usually dominant light of the candelabra had now been replaced by the milky light of a large, magical screen. The image on the screen wavered, flickered, and disappeared from time to time. All this increased the tension and excitement. And nervousness.
"Ha," said Philippa Eilhart with a predatory smile. "What a shame that I cannot be there. A little action would do me good. And a little adrenaline."
Síle de Tansarville gave her a disapproving look, but said nothing. Francesca Findabair and Ida Emean stabilized the image with spells and enlarged it so that it occupied the entire screen. They could clearly see black peaks against the backdrop of deep blue sky, filled with stars, which also reflected on the surface of a lake situated by a dark and edgy profile of a castle.
"I am still not sure,” Síle said, "whether it was proper to transfer the management of this task force to young Sabrina and Metz. Keira had her ribs broken on Thanedd, she will probably want to take revenge. And Sabrina... well, she likes the action and adrenaline a bit too much. Isn’t that so, Philippa?"
"We talked about this already”, snapped Philippa, her voice was as sour as a plum. "We've laid down the rules. No one is killed if it can be avoided. Sabrina and Keira’s group will enter Rhys-Rhun on tiptoe, quiet as a mouse, psst. They will take Vilgefortz alive, without a scratch, without a bruise. Those are the rules we set. Although I am still of the opinion that we should have made an example. So that the few in the castle who would have survived the night would have woken up crying, and would have dreamed of this night for the rest of their lives."
"Revenge," the sorceress from Kovir said dryly, "is the joy of mediocre, weak, and petty minds."
"Maybe," agreed Philippa with a seemingly indifferent smile. "But it is still a joy."
"Enough of that," Margarita Laux-Antille lifted a glass of sparkling wine in the air. "I suggest we drink to the health of Miss Fringilla Vigo, through whose efforts Vilgefortz’s hideout was discovered. Really, Miss Fringilla, good work, very good work."
Fringilla bowed and raised her glass in reply. She noticed a hint of mockery in Philippa's black eyes. There was indignation in Triss Merigold’s blue-eyed gaze. She could not decipher the smiles of Francesca or Síle.
"It begins," said Assire var Anahid, pointing to the magical image.
They sat down comfortably. In order to see better, Philippa dampened the candlelight with a spell.
They watched as black figures flew by the mountains, as silent and agile as bats. As they broke formation and descended to the battlements and ramparts of Castle Rhys-Rhun.
"It must be a hundred years ago," murmured Philippa, "since I’ve had a broom between my legs. Soon I will forget how to fly."
Síle, eyes fixed on the screen, silenced her with an impatient hiss.
The windows of the black castle flashed briefly with fire. Once, twice, three times. They knew what it was. Locked doors and locking chains being shattered under the blows of ball lightning.
"They're inside," Assire var Anahid said quietly, the only one not looking at the screen, but instead into a crystal ball lying on the table. "The task force is inside. But something is wrong. Something is not as it should be."
Fringilla’s heart was pounding and her stomach felt queasy. She knew that everything was not the way it should be.
"Miss Glevissig" reported Assire again, "will open a direct communicator."
The space between the pillars of the hall suddenly flared up and an oval materialized into Sabrina Glevissig - dressed in men's clothes, her hair held back by a chiffon scarf around her forehead, her face blackened with strips of camouflage. Behind the sorceress’ back, they could see dirty stone walls and shredded rags that had once been tapestries.
Sabrina's hand stretched out towards them, her glove displaying the hanging remains of long strips of cobwebs.
"Just these," she said, gesturing violently, "there are plenty these here! Just these! Hell, what a stupid ... What a disgrace ...”
"Coherent, Sabrina!"
"What, coherent?" Shouted the magician from Kaedwen. "How should I make it more coherent? Can you not see? This is the castle of Rhys-Rhun! It is empty! Dilapidated and empty! It is a damned empty ruin! There's nothing here! Nothing!"
Keira Metz appeared standing behind Sabrina's back, looking like the purest hell with camouflage painted on her face.
"No one," she confirmed quietly, "has been in this castle. For about fifty years. For fifty years, there has not been a living soul, except for spiders, rats, and bats. We have raided the entirely wrong place."
'Have you verified that this is not an illusion?"
"Do you think we are children, Philippa?"
"Be careful, both of you." Philippa Eilhart nervously ran her fingers through her hair. "Tell the mercenaries and novices that this was an exercise. They should return to be paid. Return immediately. And it put on a good face, you hear? A very good face!"
The communication oval went out. Only one image remained on the screen. The castle of Rhys-Rhun against the black, glittering stars of the heavens. And the lake where the stars were reflected.
Fringilla Vigo looked at the table. She felt as though the pulsating blood in her cheeks would come bursting out at any moment.
"I really...,” she said, as she could no longer endure the silence that prevailed in the great pillared hall of Castle Montecalvo. "I really … do not..."
"I do," said Triss Merigold.
"This castle ..." Philippa said thoughtfully, ignoring the others. "This castle ... Rhys-Rhun ... We will have to destroy it. Completely lay it to ruins. And any records of this whole affair – legends or traditions, will be requi
"Very well." Findabair Francesca, who had been silent until then, nodded. Ida Emean, who had also been silent, allowed a very eloquent snort.
"I ..." Fringilla Vigo was still stunned. "I really do not understand how ... how this could happen..."
"Ah," Síle de Tansarville said after a very long silence. "There is nothing further to say, Miss Vigo. No one is perfect."
Philippa snorted softly. Assire var Anahid sighed and looked up at the ceiling.
"Ultimately," Síle added with pursed lips, "it is something that each of us has already experienced at some point. Each of us, as we sit here, has at some time been betrayed, exploited, or made a mockery of by a man."
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I love thee, thy beauty I covet and choose;
Be willing, my darling, or force I shall use’
‘Dear father, oh father, he seizes my arm!
The Alder King, father, has done me harm!’
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Everything has already been done once, everything will eventually happen again. And everything has already been described before.
Vysogota of Corvo
A hot and stuffy afternoon fell on the forest, the lake’s surface, until recently was dark as polished jade, now gleamed like gold. The reflection off of the surface from the sun was so blinding that Ciri had to shade her watery eyes with her hand.
She ran through the bushes that grew on the shore and forced Kelpie into the lake, the deep water reached above the knees of the mare. The water was so clear that, even from the height of her saddle, Ciri could see the shadow of the horse on the colorful mosaic floor, the seaweed and the shells. She saw a small crab moving very quickly among the pebbles.
Kelpie whinnied. Ciri jerked the reins and moved into the shallows, but not all the way to the shore because it was sandy with many stones which would hinder fast travel. She directed the mare closer to the edge of the water, where she could run on reasonably firm gravel. She let the mare trot, but after a while the trot became slower. With a cry she kicked her heels into Kelpie’s side and spurred into a gallop. Water sprayed up on all sides, flashing in the sun like molten silver.