‘No, sir,’ servant looked at him, slightly frightened. ‘Only on Wednesdays. Wednesday is a market day.’
On an arcade at the top of the next portal was a cartouche, surely magical too. This one presented a muzzle of an amphisbena. The portal was closed by a decorative and solid looking grate, which however when pushed by the servant moved lightly and smoothly.
The second bailey was much bigger. And this place enabled assess to the castle properly. The view from afar was misleading.
Rissberg was much larger than it seemed. It cut deep into the mountain, went into it with a whole complex of buildings, edifices rough and ugly that were not usually a part of castle architecture. They looked like factories, and probably where factories. There were chimneys and ventilation pipes sticking out of them. The smell of something burning, sulphur and ammonia could be felt. A slight vibration of the ground could be felt too - evidence of some subterranean machines working.
The servant took Geralt’s attention away from the factory complex with a grunt. They were supposed to go the other way - to the castle tower, the lower one, towering above the more classical palace buildings. The interior proved to be also that of a classical palace. It smelled of dust, wood, wax and old things. It was bright - under the ceiling, sleepy fish in an aquarium floated surrounded with an aureole of light magical balls, the standard lighting of wizard houses.
‘Greetings, witcher.’
The greeting ones proved to be two wizards. He knew both of them, although not in person. Harlan Tzara was shown to him by Yennefer, he remembered him, as he was probably the only wizard to shave his head bald. Algernon Guincamp, also known as Pinety he remembered from Oxenfurt, from the academy.
‘We welcome you in Rissberg,’ greeted Pinety. ‘We are glad that you wanted to visit us.’
‘You mock me? I'm not here of my own free will. To force me to come here Lytta Neyd put me in prison...’
‘But then she got you out of it,’ interrupted Tzara. ‘And generously rewarded you. Recompensed the discomforts with great, hmm, adoration. It's said that for at least a week you were with her in good... relations.’
Geralt fought away a great need to strike him in the face. Pinety had to see it.
‘Stop, Harlan,’ Pinety lifted his hand. ‘Stop. Let's stop the arguments. Let's give up these fights using sarcasm and allusions. We know that Geralt is prejudiced against us, it can be heard in his every word. We know why that is the way it is, we know how depressed he was by the scandal with Yennefer. And our circle reaction on this scandal. We can't change it. But Geralt is a professional, he will be able to rise above it.’
‘He will,’ confirmed Geralt wryly. ‘The other question is will he want to. But let's get to the point. Why I'm here?’
‘You are needed here,’ Tzara said dryly. ‘Only you.’
‘Only me. Am I to feel honored? Or should I be afraid?’
‘You are famous, Geralt of Rivia,’ said Pinety. ‘Your deeds and feats are generally recognized as truly remarkable and spectacular. For our wonder, as you surely know yourself, you can't count, we are not quick to show admiration to someone like you. But we can respect professionalism and experience. Facts fend for themselves. You are, I dare say, outstanding... hmm...’
‘Yeah?’
‘An eliminator,’ Pinety found the word without effort, evidently having it prepared earlier. ‘Someone that eliminates monsters and beasts that endanger people.’
Geralt did not comment on that. He waited.
‘It's also our goal, the goal of wizards to provide humanity with safety and well-being. We can therefore talk about the bond of our businesses. An occasional misunderstanding should not interfere with that. It was indicated by the master of this castle. Who heard about you. And wanted to get to know you in person. He wished it so.’
‘Ortolan.’
‘Archmaster Ortolan. And his closest collaborators. You will be presented to them. Later. Servant will point you to your quarters. Please refresh yourself after your journey. Rest. We will call upon you shortly.’
***
Geralt was thinking. He remembered everything that he ever heard about Archmaster Ortolan. Being as it was common knowledge a he a living legend.
***
Ortolan was a living legend, a person with a vast merit for the wizard arts.
His obsession was popularizing magic. In contrast to other mages he thought, that the benefits and advantages of supernatural powers should be used for the common good, and should serve the strengthening of general well-being, comfort and common happiness. Every man - dreamed Ortolan - should be guaranteed free access to magical medicines and elixirs. Enchanted amulets, talismans, and all artifacts should be commonly accessible and free of charge. Telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation and telecommunication should be a privilege of every citizen. To achieve this Ortolan incessantly invented something. That is - he made inventions. Some of them as legendary as he was.
Reality painfully verified the dreams of the old wizard. Not a single one of his inventions created to bring magic to masses and make it democratic went out of the prototype phase. Everything that Ortolan thought of, that was supposed to be simple turned out to be very complex in practice. What was to be mass produced proved to be extremely expensive. Ortolan however did not lose his spirit, his failures instead of discouraging him, excited him to new efforts. Leading to new failures.
It was suspected – Ortolan himself, of course, never had such thoughts - that the failures of the inventor were a result of simple sabotage. And it was not - or at least not only – the simple envy of the wizards brotherhood, about the reluctance to popularize art, that wizards would like to see in hands of the elite - that is themselves. It was more of an anxiety of the inventions being used in a military or murderous character. And it was not unfounded. Like every inventor, Ortolan had stages of fascination with explosives, incendiary materials, bombards, armored chariots, firearms, and poisonous gases. A condition of well-being, argued the old man, is a common peace between the nations, and peace is achieved by armaments. The surest way to detract from war is scaring it away with scary weapons, and the scarier the weapons the longer and more stable the peace. As Ortolan did not listen to any arguments, saboteurs were secretly placed into his inventive group, which hindered the dangerous inventions. Almost none of them saw the light of day. An exception was the famous, and the point of many anecdotes, ball thrower. It was a kind of telekinetic arbalest with a great flagon for lead balls. The ball thrower - as the name suggests - was supposed to throw balls into a target, and in quick succession. The prototype went, to his surprise, beyond the walls of Rissberg, it was even tested out in some battles. With poor effect however. The shooter using the invention when asked about the arm's usefulness reportedly said that the ball thrower was like his mother-in-law. Heavy, ugly, absolutely useless and there's nothing to do with it but drown it in river. The old wizard did not take it to heart however. The ball thrower was a toy, he supposedly said, he had on his drawing board, other projects far more advanced, able to strike in mass. He, Ortolan, would give humanity the benefit of peace, even if it meant killing half of mankind.
***
The wall of the room, to which he was lead into was decorated with a large tapestry, a masterpiece of weaver's craft, an Arcadian verdure. It was fouled by a poorly removed stain looking a bit like a giant squid. Someone, appraised the witcher, probably quite recently, must have vomited on the weaver's masterpiece. Behind the great table occupying center of the room sat seven people.
‘Master Ortolan,’ Pinety bowed slightly, ‘let me introduce. Geralt of Rivia. A witcher.’
Ortolan looks did not surprise Geralt. It was thought that he was the oldest living wizard. Maybe it was true, maybe it was not, but the fact was that Ortolan was the oldest looking wizard. It was strange considering the fact that it was Ortolan and no one else that had invented the mandrake decoction, an elixir that was used by wizards to
prevent ageing. Ortolan himself, when he finally got a working formulation of magical liquid did not profit from it because he was quite already old. The elixir prevented aging but it did not rejuvenate. This was why Ortolan, although he had used elixir for a long time looked like an old man - particularly when compared to other mages - aged wizards, looking like middle-aged men, and sorceresses worn with life looking like girls. The overflowing with youth and charm sorceresses and slightly grizzled sorcerers, whose true birth dates were lost at the dawn of the ages were cherishing the secret of the elixir like the apple of their eye, and sometimes even denied its existence. They kept Ortolan in the belief that the elixir was commonly available, and thanks to it, humankind was practically immortal - and - as a result - absolutely happy.
‘Geralt of Rivia,’ repeated Ortolan, crumpling a lock of his beard. ‘O, yes, yes, we’ve heard about you. A defender, as they say, a defender, bringing salvation from monsters to people. Considered a preservative and antidote for all monstrous evil.’
Geralt put a humble look on his face and bowed.
‘Of course, of course,’ continued the wizard pulling at his beard. ‘We know, we know. Forced to defend people by all assertions you do not spare, boy, you don't spare. And truly worthy of esteem is your profession, a truly honorable craft. We welcome you in our castle, happy that fate has brought you here. Because, although you yourself may not know it, you are returning like a bird to its nest... I rightly say, like a bird. We like you, and we think that you like us, eh?’
Geralt was on the spot to address Ortolan. Wizards did not approve of honorifics, and they did not expect them from others. He did not know however the proper way to address the old man, a live legend at that. So instead of speaking he bowed again.
Pinety presented the sorcerers sitting behind the table one by one. Geralt knew some of them. Others from rumors.
Axel Esparza, more widely known as Axel Pitted, really had his forehead and cheeks covered with pockmarks. He did not remove them out of simple spite, gossip had it. Lightly grizzled Myles Trethevey and somewhat more grizzled Stucco Zangenis looked at the witcher without much interest. The interest shown by Biruta Icarti, a moderately beautiful blond sorceress was a bit higher. Tarvix Sandoval, broad of shoulders, by stature more knight than a mage was looking to the side, at the tapestry, like he was also admiring the stain, and investigating how it come to be and who was guilty.
A seat closest to Ortolan was occupied by the youngest, as it seemed among the gathered mages, Sorel Degerlund, with long hair and quite feminine looks.
‘We too,’ said Biruta Icarti, ‘greet the famous witcher, defender of the people. We are happy to greet him, as we too, here, in this castle, are under the auspices of the Archmaster Ortolan to make efforts to make people's lives lighter and safer by progress. For us too, the good of the people is our highest goal. The age of the Archmaster makes it impossible to make this audience overly long. I will ask then, as it's proper: do you have any wishes, Geralt of Rivia? Is there something we could do for you?’
‘My thanks to,’ Geralt bowed again, ‘Archmaster Ortolan. And to you, respectful ones. And because you dare me with a question... Yes, there is something that you could do for me. You could explain to me... this. This thing. I tore it from a vigilosaur that I killed. He put on the table an oval metal plate about the size of child's hand. With embossed signs.’
‘RISS PSREP Mk IV/002 025’ Axel Pitted read aloud. He passed the plate to Sandoval.
‘A mutation, created here, in Rissberg,’ Sandoval appraised wryly. ‘In the pseudoreptile section. A guardian lizard. Fourth model, second series, twenty fifth specimen. Outdated, we have been creating better for a long time. What else is there is to explain?’
‘He says that he killed the vigilosaur,’ Stucco Zangenis winced, ‘so this is not about an explanation, it is about resentments. We judge complaints only from legal buyers, and only with proof of purchase. Exclusively basing on proof of purchase we will service, and fix flaws...’
‘The guarantee for this model expired long ago,’ added Myles Trethevey. ‘And no guarantee includes faults that were caused by improper use, or use inconsistent with the user manual. If the product was used improperly Rissberg does not take responsibility. Any responsibility.’
‘And for this,’ Geralt took out of his pocket and put down a second plate, ‘do you take responsibility?’
The second plate was of a similar size and shape, but darkened and corroded. Into the embossment dirt was embedded. But the signs were still legible:
IDR UL Ex IX 0012 BETA
A long silence fell.
‘Idarran of Ulivo,’ –Pinety said finally, surprisingly quietly, and surprisingly unsure. ‘Alzur's apprentice. I did not think...’
‘From where did you get this, witcher?’ Axel Pitted leaned over table. ‘How did you come by this?’
‘You ask, as if you don't know,’ answered Geralt. ‘I tore it from the carapace of creature that I killed. And a creature that killed at least twenty people in the region. At least, because I think that there was many more. I think it had murdered for years.’
‘Idarran...’ murmured Tarvix Sandoval. ‘And before him Malaspina and Alzur...’
‘But that's not us,’ said Zangenis. ‘Not us, not Rissberg.’
‘The ninth experimental model,’ added Biruta Icarti in reverie. ‘A beta version, twelfth...’
‘The twelfth specimen,’ Geralt spoke up, not without malice. ‘And how many there were? How many were created? I will not get, of course, an answer to the question about responsibility, as it was not you, not Rissberg, you are clear, and you want me to believe in this. But tell me at least, because you surely know, how many like this one are there in forests and murder people. How many need to be found. And chopped up. I want to say: eliminated.’
‘What is it, what is it?’ Ortolan suddenly livened up. ‘What do you have there? Show me! Oh...’
Sorel Degerlund leaned over the old man and whispered into his ear for a long time. Myles Trethevey, showing him the plates, whispered from the other side. Ortolan was pulling his beard.
‘Killed?’ he shouted suddenly. ‘Witcher? You destroyed the genial work of Idarran? Killed? Destroyed thoughtlessly?’
The witcher could not stand it anymore. He snorted. Any respect for old age and gray hair vanished instantly. Then he snorted again. And laughed. Sincerely and irrepressibly.
The frozen faces of the mages behind the table instead of stopping him made him laugh even harder. Damn it, he thought, I can't remember when the last time I laughed sincerely like this was. Probably Kaer Morhen, he remembered, yes, Kaer Morhen. When the rotten board in the privy broke under Vesemir.
‘And he laughs, the snotnose,’ shouted Ortolan. ‘Whinnies like a donkey. Witless squirt! Just think that I took your side when others were denigrating you. And that he fell in love with little Yennefer. And that little Yennefer loves him back? The heart wants what it wants, I say, do leave them in peace!’
Geralt stopped laughing.
‘And what have you done, the most stupid of slaughterers?’ the old man continued to shout. ‘What have you done? Do you understand what kind of masterpiece, what a wonder of genetics you destroyed? No, no, to the layman it's beyond the grasp of your small reason. You are unable to understand the ideas of the geniuses. Such as Idarran, and Alzur, his teacher which were both gifted by extraordinary talent and genius. Which great things they invented and created, bringing great good to people, and not seeking gain or indecent wealth bearing in mind, nor pleasures and fun, but progress and common good. But what do you understand of this? You don't understand anything, nothing, not a bit.’
‘And I will tell you additionally,’ gasped Ortolan, ‘that you have disgraced the work of your fathers with this imprudent murder. Because it was Cosimo Malaspina, and after him his apprentice Alzur, exactly Alzur that created witchers. It was they that invented mutation, thanks to which you were cr
eated. Thanks to which you exist, thanks to which you walk the world, you ingrate. You should esteem Alzur, and his followers, and their work and not destroy them. Oh... Oh...’
The old wizard fell suddenly into silence, rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.
‘I must go for a stool,’ he said. ‘I must go quickly. Sorel! Kind boy!’
Degerlund and Trethevey rushed from their places, and aided old man to rise, and lead him out of the room.
After a short while Biruta Icarti stood up. She looked at the witcher in a way that said much, and left without a word. Next, following her, without looking at the witcher at all left Sandoval and Zangenis. Axel Pitted stood up, crossed his arms and looked at Geralt for a long time. Looked long and rather unkindly.
‘It was a mistake to invite you here,’ he said finally. ‘I knew it. I hoped however that you would show some signs of polish.’
‘It was mistake to accept your invitation,’ said coldly Geralt. ‘I knew it too. Yet I still hoped that I would get an answer for my questions. How many numbered masterpieces were created by Malaspina, Alzur and Idarran. How many were created by your respected Ortolan? How many monsters with your plates will I have to kill? I, a witcher, preservative and antidote? I didn’t get any answers and I understand well why that was. As to the polish: fuck you, Esparza.’
Exiting, Pitted slammed the door. So forcefully that plaster felt from the stucco.
‘I did not make a good impression it seems.’ appraised the witcher. ‘But I did not expect that I would, so no disappointment here. But that's not all, right? All this effort to get me here... And this is supposed to be all? Well if it is... Do you have any inn with drinks in the foulburg? May I go?’
‘No,’ responded Harlan Tzara. ‘You can't go.’
‘Because that's not all,’ confirmed Pinety.
***
The room that he was lead into, was not a typical room in which wizards used to meet their customers. Usually - Geralt managed to get to know this custom - mages granted audience in rooms with very formal decorations, very often rather austere and depressing. It was rather unthinkable to meet someone in a private room, a personal one, and thus able to provide information about the mage's character, his preferences - particularly about the kind and specifics of magic he performs.