The Sword of Destiny (29 page)

"My talisman," she repeated, lowering her head. "A pearl trapped in silver just as I will never be free, myself. My jewel, my substitute. Can a talisman like that bring good luck?"

"Yes, Essi. Be sure of it."

"Can I keep sitting with you?"

"You can."

Sunset was approaching. Darkness was falling little by little. They stayed together, positioned next to each other on a mattress filled with straw in an attic room, devoid of furniture, with only an unlit candle stuck in a cold puddle of wax.

They sat in silence for a long time. Then Dandelion returned. They heard his footsteps, the strains of his lute and his humming. In the room, Dandelion noticed their presence without saying a word. Essi didn't say anything either. She stood and walked out without looking at them.

Dandelion made no comment, but the witcher saw in his eyes the words he didn't say.

VIII

"An intelligent race," repeated Agloval, lost in thought, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair and his chin on his fists. "An underwater civilization. Ichtyoide creatures living at the bottom of the sea. A staircase leading into the depths. Geralt, do you take me for the most naive of dukes?"

Little-Eye, standing next to Dandelion, snorted angrily. Dandelion shook his head nervously. Geralt was a statue.

"It's all the same to me whether you believe me or not. My duty is to warn you. The boats sailing in the area and the people who approach the Dragon's Teeth at low tide are in mortal danger. If you want to verify my statements; if you want to take that risk: it's your business. I'm only giving you fair warning."

"Ah!" Zelest intervened suddenly. The steward was sitting behind Agloval in a windowed alcove. "If these are monsters like elves or goblins, then they're not dangerous. My fear is of the greater monster: sorcery. From what the witcher said, they are like ghosts of the watery depths. We can overcome ghosts. A story recently reached my ears about a magician who killed the ghosts of Lake Mokva in the blink of an eye. He threw a barrel of magic potion into the water: the ghosts were done for. Not a trace left."

"That's right," interrupted Drouhard, who until then had remained silent. "It didn't leave a trace... But the bream, pike, crayfish and mussels suffered the same fate; just like the weeds at the bottom; even the nearby alders dried up."

"Marvelous," Agloval commented drily. "Thank you for that brilliant idea, Zelest. Do you have any others?"

"That's right... That's right..." the steward continued, growing a deep red. "The magician overdid it a bit, he went a little too far. But I will succeed without a magician, Duke. The witcher said that it's possible to fight and kill the monsters. Then it's a war, my lord. Like the old days. Nothing new for us! Dwarves lived in the mountains. Where are they now? Elvish savages and malevolent fairies can still be found in the forests, but they too will be done for soon. We must defend our land as our ancestors did..."

"And only my grandchildren will see the color of pearls once more?" interrupted the duke with a grimace. "We don't have time, Zelest."

"It will be easy. I say: for each boat of fishermen, two boats of archers. The monsters will see reason, learn fear. Isn't that right, master witcher?"

Geralt looked at him coldly without responding.

Agloval exposed his most noble profile, turning his head and biting his lips, then turned his gaze on the witcher, blinking and frowning.

"You have not completed your mission, Geralt..." he said. "You have once again

wasted the opportunity to do well. It is true that you have shown some good will, I don't deny that. But I am not paying you for good will; it's the result I pay for. It is the effectiveness that interests me, witcher, and your effectiveness is in fact, pardon the term, pathetic."

"Well said, my dear duke!" Dandelion cut in mockingly. "It's just a pity that you weren't with us at the Dragon's Teeth. We, the witcher and myself, would have granted you the opportunity to meet one of the creatures surging from the sea with sword in hand. Then you would understand what the situation is and stop dithering about the payment you owe..."

"Like a fish-merchant," said Little-Eye.

"I'm not in the habit of dithering, bargaining or arguing," Agloval replied calmly. "I said that I will not give you a cent, Geralt. Our contract was in effect: remove the threat, eliminate the danger, make pearl diving safe. And what do you do? You tell me a romantic story about an intelligent race living at the bottom of the sea. You advise me to stay as far as possible from the place where my resources are gathered. What have you really done? You will have killed... how many, by the way?"

"Their number is not important," Geralt responded, paling slightly. "For you at least, Agloval."

"Precisely, and there is not even any evidence. If at least you had brought me the right hand of one of these fish-frogs, perhaps I would have given you the usual compensation for my ranger when he brings me a few pairs of wolf ears."

"Well," the witcher said coldly, "there is nothing left for me to do but bid you farewell."

"You are mistaken," said the duke. "I propose a full-time job with an honest salary: captain of the armored guard that will now protect the fishermen. This is not a position for life; you can leave once this intelligent race knows to stay away from my people. What do you think?"

"Thank you, but I'm not interested," the witcher replied with a grimace. "Such work doesn't suit me. I believe that waging war against another race is idiotic. It may perhaps be an ideal activity for a bored and idle duke, but not for me."

"Oh, but that's grand!" Agloval cried with a laugh. "That's just sublime! You reject my offer of a job fit for a king! You renounce, with the air of a rich man after a feast, a very handsome sum of money. Geralt, have you eaten anything today? No? And tomorrow? And the day after? Your options are dwindling, witcher. It is difficult to make a living under ordinary circumstances, let alone with an arm in a sling..."

"How dare you!" Little-Eye yelled. "How dare you speak to him in that tone, Agloval? The arm he carries in a sling was injured during a mission that you yourself ordered! How can you behave in such a petty way?"

"Stop," interrupted Geralt. "Stop, Essi. There's no point."

"Wrong," she replied with anger. "There is a point. Someone must finally tell the truth to the duke who owes his title to the fact that no-one wanted, aside from him, to reign over this tiny rock in the sea, and who thinks he is in any position to humiliate others."

Agloval clenched his teeth, reddening, but remained silent.

"Yes, Agloval," continued Essi, "you take pleasure in belittling your fellows; you love to look down on someone like the witcher who was ready to die for your money. But you should know that the witcher doesn't care about your scorn and your insults; that they don't make any impression on him at all; that he does not even take them into consideration. The witcher doesn't even feel what your servants and subjects, Zelest and Drouhard, must feel: a deep and gnawing shame. The witcher doesn't feel what we, Dandelion and myself, feel in your sight: disgust. Do you know, Agloval, why that is? I'll tell you: because the witcher knows that he's better than you, that he is worth a thousand of you. That is what gives him his strength."

Essi stopped. She looked down quickly so that Geralt would not have time to notice the tears beading at the corner of her beautiful eye. The girl brought her hand to the flower of silver petals at her neck, in the center of which was set an azure-blue pearl. The latticed petals of the mysterious flower had been carved by a master jeweler worthy of the title. The witcher was pleased with the quality of the craftsman hired by Drouhard, who had paid for everything without requiring reimbursement.

"Therefore, my lord duke," Little-Eye said, lifting her head, "do not insult the witcher by offering a position as a mercenary in the army that you want to raise against the ocean. Do not embarrass yourself by presenting a proposition that can only provoke laughter. Have you figured it out yet? You can hire the services of a witcher for a particular mission, to protect people from harm or threat; but you cannot buy a witcher and use him for your own purposes. Because a witcher, even injured and hungry, will always be better than you. That is why he spurns your miserable job. Do you understand?"

"No, Miss Daven," Agloval replied coldly. "I don't understand. On the contrary, I understand less and less. The first thing that I don't understand is why I have not yet ordered that all three you be drawn and quartered, or certainly beaten and branded with a red-hot iron. You, Miss Daven, you try to convince us that you know everything, but then tell me why I should spare you?"

"But of course, right away," the poet responded tit for tat. "It is because deep down, Agloval, in your heart, there is still a spark of dignity, a remaining trace of honor that the arrogance of the nouveau riche miscreant has not snuffed out. Deep down, Agloval: in the deepest place in your heart you are still capable of loving a mermaid."

Agloval, white as a sheet, wiped his sweaty hands on the arms of his chair. Bravo, thought the witcher, bravo, Essi. You are brilliant. But he also felt tired, terribly tired.

"Get out," Agloval ordered dully. "Be on your way. Go where you like. Leave me alone."

"Farewell, duke," said Essi. "Before I go, accept one more piece of advice, something that the witcher should tell you, but I don't want him to forget. I will do so in his place."

"I'm listening."

"The ocean is vast, Agloval. No-one yet knows what the horizon hides, if it does hide something. The ocean is larger than the largest of the wild forests from which you drove the elves. It is more difficult to cross than any mountain or valley where you massacred the dwarves. At the bottom of the ocean lives a race outfitted with cuirasses, one that knows the secrets of forging metal. Be careful, Agloval. If the archers begin to accompany the fishermen, you will start a war against an enemy that you do not know. What you start could turn out to be a nest of hornets. I advise you, therefore, to give the sea to them, because the sea is not for you. You do not know and you will never know where the steps lead that descend into the depths from the Dragon's Teeth."

"You are mistaken, Miss Essi," Agloval said quietly. "We know where the staircase leads. Even better: we will follow them, these Steps. We will discover what can be found on the other side of the ocean, if there is anything to be found. And we will take from this ocean all that we are able to take. If we are not capable, our children or our children's children will be. It is a matter of time. That is our undertaking, if we must fill the ocean with blood. Understand this, Essi, wise Essi, you who write in your ballads the chronicle of humanity. Life is not a ballad, poor girl, little poet with her charming eye blinded by the beauty of her own words. Life is a battle, as the witchers, in their superiority over us, have learned. It is they who have led the way, who have carved the path and littered it with the corpses of those who have crossed the path of humanity. It is they who, with us, defend the world. We, Essi, we only continue this fight. It is we, not your ballads, who will create the chronicle of humanity. We have never needed witchers more, because from now on nothing will stop us.

Nothing."

Essi paled and puffed on her circlet, violently shaking her head.

"Nothing at all, Agloval?"

"Nothing, Essi."

The poet smiled.

A sudden commotion filled the antechamber: the sound of footsteps and shouts. Paiges and guards burst into the room. They knelt and bowed, forming a hedge.

Sh'eenaz appeared in the doorway, wearing a sea-blue dress adorned with frills white as foam. A dizzying decolletage revealed the siren's charms, partially hidden and adorned by a collar of nephrite and lapis-lazuli worthy of admiration. Her celadon-green hair curled artfully and was retained by a tiara of coral and magnificent pearls.

"Sh'eenaz..." stammered Agloval, falling to his knees. "My... Sh'eenaz..."

The siren entered slowly with a stride that was light and graceful, as fluid as a wave. She stopped in front of the duke and, with a smile that displayed all her little white teeth, seized the dress in her small hands and lifted it high enough that everyone could see for himself the quality of work performed by the sea-witch. Geralt swallowed. The witch knew what nice legs were, obviously, and how to fashion them.

"Ah!" exclaimed Dandelion. "My ballad... That's exactly what I wrote in my ballad... For him, she traded her tail for legs, but she also lost her voice!"

"I haven't lost anything," Sh'eenaz declared, singing these words in the common tongue. "For the moment. I feel brand new after that procedure."

"You speak our language?"

"So what, is it forbidden? How are you, white-haired one? Oh, I see that your beloved is here also... Essi Daven, if I recall correctly. Do you know her a little better or still just barely?"

"Sh'eenaz..." Agloval stammered insistently, approaching her on his knees. "My love! My dear... my only... At last, you decided... At last, Sh'eenaz!"

With a distinguished gesture, the siren offered her hand to kiss.

"Ah yes, because I love you too, idiot. What kind of lover is incapable of a little dedication?"

IX

Their departure from Bremervoord took place with a fresh morning mist veiling the intensity of the disc of the sun that appeared on the horizon. They had decided to leave as a trio, but without real discussion and without a common goal, wanting simply to stay together for a while longer.

They left the rocky cape, bidding farewell to the cliffs carved by the surf and jutting vertically from the beach, the strange limestone formations lapped by the wind and waves. Upon entering the green and floral valley of Dol Adalatte, the scent of the sea, the crash of surf and the savage cries of seagulls still remained in their nostrils and their ears.

The talkative Dandelion kept jumping from subject to subject: the country of Bars and its idiotic custom of forcing young girls to remain virgins until marriage; the iron birds of the island of Inis Porhoet; the water of life and the water of death; the taste and the narcotic properties of the sapphire wine called cill; the royal quadruplets of Ebbing, dubbed with the quarrelsome names of Putzi, Gritzi, Mitzi, and Juan Pablo Vassermiller. He also criticized the new trends in music and poetry started by his competitors, poor specimens, he said, without a true artist among them.