‘There's no booze left,’ Ripper interrupted them, turning the empty demijohn upside down.
‘Get some more then. You're the youngest. The contract, Geralt, was our idea, because we aren't mercenaries or some other unscrupulous kind. Niedamir can't just send us into the dragon's clutches and then give us a pittance of gold pieces. The truth is that we don't need to slay the dragon for Niedamir. On the contrary, he needs us. In this situation, who has the most significant role and who should get the most silver are obvious questions. We therefore proposed a fair deal: those who will personally take part in the battle against the dragon will take half the treasure. Niedamir will take a quarter by virtue of birth and title. The others, if they contributed in any way to the enterprise, will equally share the last quarter. What do you think of it?’
‘What did Niedamir think of it?’
‘He answered neither yes nor no. It would be in his best interest to cooperate, that greenhorn, because I'm telling you: alone, he will never slay the dragon. Niedamir remains dependent on professionals, that's to say on us, the Reavers, as well as on Yarpen and his boys. It's us, and nobody else, that will come within a sword's length of the dragon. If any others help out, including magicians, they will be able to share a quarter of the treasure.’
‘Besides the magicians, who do you count amongst these others?’ Dandelion asked with interest.
‘Certainly not musicians and authors of trashy verse,’ Yarpen laughed. ‘We include those who toil with the axe, not with the lute.’
‘Ah good!’ Three Jackdaws interjected, looking up at the starry sky. ‘And what did the shoemaker Kozojed and his band toil with?’
Yarpen Zigrin spat into the fire, muttering something in the language of the dwarves.
‘The Holopole militia knows these shitty mountains and will be our guide,’ explained Boholt in a low voice. ‘It's fair to include them in distribution. As far as the shoemaker's concerned, that's a bit different. When a dragon arrives in a region, it's no good that the people think they can force-feed it poison with impunity then carry on screwing girls in the fields instead of calling professionals. If such a practice carried on, we'd be reduced to begging, wouldn't we?’
‘That's true,’ replied Yarpen. ‘That's why I'm telling you: the shoemaker should be held responsible for that mess rather than be declared a legend.’
‘He's got it coming,’ punctuated Nischuka firmly. ‘I'll do it.’
‘And Dandelion,’ continued the dwarf, ‘can write a comedic ballad about it, so that his shame and ignominy can live on forever in song.’
‘You forgot an important element,’ said Geralt. ‘There is one who can confuse matters by refusing any payment or contract. I'm talking about Eyck of Denesle. Did you talk to him?’
‘For what purpose?’ Boholt murmured under his breath while stirring the fire with a branch. ‘Regarding Eyck, there's nothing to discuss, Geralt. He doesn't know what he's doing.’
‘We encountered him,’ Three Jackdaws said. ‘On the path leading to your camp. Kneeling on the stones, dressed in his complete armour, he was gazing at the sky.’
‘He always does that,’ explained Ripper. ‘He meditates or prays. He says it's his divine mission to protect humans from evil.’
‘Back home, in Crinfrid,’ muttered Boholt, ‘They lock madmen such as him up in the in the back of a cowshed, tie them to a chain and when they give them a piece of coal, they draw marvellous pictures on the walls. But let's cease wasting time by endlessly discussing our fellows: let's talk business.’
A young petite woman, with black hair covered with a gold mesh and dressed in a wool coat, silently entered the circle of light.
‘What stinks so?’ Yarpen Zigrin asked, pretending not to notice her. ‘Is it sulphur?’
‘No.’ Boholt sniffed ostentatiously looking away ‘It's musk or some kind of incense.’
‘No, it's probably…’ the dwarf grimaced: ‘Ah! It's the noble Lady Yennefer. Welcome, welcome!’
The sorceress' gaze slowly took in the gathered individuals. Her shining eyes stopped for one instant on the witcher. Geralt smiled slightly.
‘May I sit?’
‘But of course, benefactor,’ replied Boholt, hiccupping. ‘Take a seat, there near the saddle. Move over, Kennet my friend, and give your seat to the sorceress.’
‘My Lords, I hear that you're talking business.’ Yennefer sat down, stretching out in front of her shapely legs sheathed in black stockings. ‘Without me?’
‘We wouldn't dare bother such an important person,’ replied Yarpen Zigrin.
Yennefer blinked, turning to the dwarf:
‘You, Yarpen, you would better off being silent. Since the first day we met you've treated me like a bad smell. Now please continue and don't mind me. It doesn't bother me in the least.’
‘What are you saying, fair lady?’ Yarpen smiled showing a row of uneven teeth. ‘Leeches devour me if I do not treat you better than a bad smell. I sometimes pollute the air, but I would never dare to do so in your presence.’
The bearded 'boys' burst out laughing. They were immediately silent at the sight of a grey light which had formed around the sorceress.
‘Another word out of you and you'll be polluted air, Yarpen,’ Yennefer shot back at him in a metallic voice. ‘And a black stain on the grass.’
‘Very well’ Boholt broke the silence which had just descended with a cough. ‘Be silent, Zigrin. Let us hear what Lady Yennefer wants to tell us. She regrets that our business discussion is taking place without her. I deduce from this that she has a proposal to make to us. Let's listen, my dear fellows, to what this proposal consists of. However, let's hope that she doesn't offer to slay the dragon alone with her spells.’
‘Why not?’ Yennefer reacted, raising her head. ‘Do you think it impossible, Boholt?’
‘It is perhaps possible. But for us not very lucrative, because you would then demand half of the dragon's treasure.’
‘At the very least,’ the sorceress replied coldly.
‘You see that's not a good solution. We, madam, are only poor warriors. If we don't get paid, hunger threatens. We've only been eating sorrel and white goose…’
‘After a festival, sometimes marmot,’ added Yarpen Zigrin in a sad voice.
‘… We drink only water.’ Boholt drank a good draught from the demijohn and snorted. ‘For us, Lady Yennefer, there's no other solution. We get paid or it's death outside in the icy cold winter. Because the inns are so expensive.’
‘Beer too,’ added Nischuka.
‘And the whores,’ continued Ripper, dreamily.
‘That's why we're going to try to slay the dragon without your spells and without your help.’
‘Are you sure about that? Remember that there are limits as to how to go about it, Boholt.’
‘There are perhaps. I've never encountered them for my part. No, madam. I repeat: we shall kill the dragon ourselves, without your spells.’
‘What's more’ added Yarpen Zigrin, ‘spells, too, are subject to certain limits.’
‘Did you figure this out by yourself?’ Yennefer asked slowly. ‘Perhaps somebody else has told you? Does the presence of a witcher at this so noble gathering explain your egotism?’
‘No,’ replied Boholt looking at Geralt who pretended to be dozing, lazily stretched out on a blanket, his head resting on his saddle. ‘The witcher has got nothing to do with this. Listen, dear Lady Yennefer. We offered a proposal to the king and he has not honoured us with the answer. We'll wait patiently till morning. If the king accepts, we'll continue on our way together. Otherwise, we shall leave.’
‘Us too,’ murmured the dwarf.
‘No possible negotiation,’ Boholt went on. ‘Take it or leave it. Please repeat these words to Niedamir, dear Yennefer. And I'll also add that the deal could be favourable to you, to you and also to Dorregaray, if you agree with the king. We don't care about the dragon's carcass. We want only the tail. All rest will be yours. You have only
to help yourself. We shall claim neither the teeth nor the brain: nothing of interest to magicians.’
‘Of course,’ added Yarpen Zigrin, sneering, ‘you can also have the carrion. Nobody's going to steal that from you, except perhaps the vultures.’
Yennefer got up, drawing her coat around her shoulders.
‘Niedamir will not wait until the morning,’ she announced firmly. ‘He accepts your conditions forthwith. In spite of my advice, as you suspected, and that of Dorregaray.’
‘Niedamir,’ stated Boholt slowly, ‘has proved himself of sound judgment for such a young king. Because for me, Lady Yennefer, the wise show an ability to remain deaf to the advice of stupid or hypocritical people.’
Yarpen Zigrin sniggered. The sorceress put her hands on her hips and retorted:
‘You'll be singing another tune tomorrow when the dragon falls upon you, skewers you to the ground and breaks your legs. You'll kiss my arse and beg me to help you. As usual. I know you well, as I know all those of your kind. I know you so you well, it makes me sick.’
She turned and walked away into the darkness, without saying goodbye.
‘In my time,’ said Yarpen Zigrin, ‘magicians remained locked up in their towers. They read learned books and mixed potions in their cauldrons with a spatula without sticking their noses into the affairs of warriors. They minded their own business without flaunting their arses at all the boys.’
‘And a very pretty arse it is too, to be frank,’ added Dandelion, tuning his lute. ‘Eh, Geralt? Geralt? Where's the witcher gone?’
‘What's it to us?’ Boholt grumbled, feeding the fire with some more wood. ‘He left. Perhaps to satisfy the usual needs, my dear lords. That's his business.’
‘Of course,’ replied the bard, playing a chord on his lute. ‘What would you say to a song?’
‘Sing, damn it,’ Yarpen Zigrin grumbled, spitting, ‘but don't expect that I'll give you a shilling for your bleating, Dandelion. This is not the royal court, my lad.’
‘That's for sure,’ replied the troubadour, shaking his head.
V
‘Yennefer.’
She feigned astonishment as she turned around. The witcher knew that she had heard his footsteps from afar. She deposited a wooden bowl on the ground and lifted her head, pushing back a lock of hair which fell across her forehead. Her curly tresses, now freed from the gold mesh, cascaded onto her shoulders.
‘Geralt.’
As usual, she wore only two colours - white and black. Her hair and long black eyelashes invited a guess as to the colour of her eyes, which they hid. A black dress, a small black jerkin with a white fur collar. A white shirt of fine linen. Around her neck, on a black velvet ribbon adorned with small diamonds, was a star of obsidian.
‘You haven't changed, Yennefer.’
‘Neither have you.’ Her lips tightened in a line. ‘And in both cases, nothing more normal than that. Or, if you prefer, nothing more abnormal. But talking about the effects of time on our appearance, even if it is a very good means to start conversation, is slightly absurd, don't you think?’
‘That's true.’
He raised his head, looking to the side of Niedamir's tent at the fires of the royal archers, who were hidden by the dark silhouettes of the wagons.
At a fire located farther away, they heard the tuneful voice of Dandelion singing Stars Above the Road, one of his most successful romantic ballads.
‘Indeed,’ said the sorceress, ‘preamble over, what do you have to say? I'm listening.’
‘You see, Yennefer…’
‘I see,’ she interrupted him wildly, ‘but I don't understand. What's the reason for your presence here Geralt? Certainly not the dragon. From that point of view, I imagine nothing has changed.’
‘No. Nothing changed there.’
‘Then why did you join us?’
‘If I tell you that it's because of you, would you believe me?’
She looked at him in silence. Her bright eyes expressed something unpleasant.
‘I believe you,’ she said finally. ‘Why not? Men like to see their former lovers again to reminisce about the good old times. They take pleasure in imagining that their bygone love affairs assure them a perpetual right of possession on their ex-partners. It's good for their self-esteem. You're no exception, apparently.’
‘Apparently’ he replied, smiling. ‘You're right, Yennefer. The sight of you has boosted my self-esteem. In other words, I'm happy to see again you.’
‘Is that all? Oh well, let's say that I'm also happy to see you again. And now we're both contented, I wish you good night. I'm going to bed. Before that, I intend to have a bath and so need to undress. I kindly ask you to go away to grant me a minimum of privacy.’
‘Yen.’
He reached out to her.
‘Don't call me that!’ she hissed furiously, drawing back. Blue and red sparks flew from her fingers which the sorceress aimed at him. ‘And if you touch me, I'll burn out your eyes, you bastard.’
The witcher backed off. The sorceress, somewhat composed, pushed back her hair which had fallen across her forehead. She stood before him, resting her hands on her hips.
‘What were you thinking, Geralt? That we would talk casually and cheerfully? That we would remember the old times? That after this conversation we would go to lie down in a wagon and make love on the furs… just like that, just to refresh our memories? Is that it?’
Geralt, not sure whether the sorceress knew how to read thoughts or just successfully guessed them, remained silent and smiled crookedly.
‘These past four years did their job, Geralt. I overcame the pain at last. It's only for this reason that I did not spit in your face as soon as I saw you. But don't let my courtesy deceive you.’
‘Yennefer…’
‘Silence! I gave more to you than I have to any other man, you piece of shit. I didn't know myself why I had chosen you. And you… Oh no, my dear. I'm neither a whore nor an elf met at random on a forest path that you can run out on the following morning without waking, leaving a bunch of violets on the table. A girl you can turn into a laughing stock. Watch out! If you say even one word, you could end up regretting it.’
Geralt did not say a word as he sensed Yennefer's seething anger. The sorceress once again pushed the insubordinate curls from her forehead. She looked him closely in the eye.
‘We met. Too bad,’ she continued in a low voice. ‘We're not going to put on a show for the others. Let's preserve our dignity. Let's pretend to be good friends. But don't be mistaken, Geralt: between us there is nothing more than that. Nothing more, do you understand? And rejoice because it means that I've abandoned some plans I've been cooking up for you. But it doesn't mean that I forgive you. I shall never forgive you, witcher. Never.’
She turned wildly, grabbing her bowl so violently that she splashed herself with water, and disappeared behind a wagon.
Geralt shooed away a mosquito which flitted around his ear making an irritating noise. He slowly took the path back to the fire where sparse applause expressed approval for Dandelion's singing.
He looked at the dark blue sky gaping above the black, jagged crest of the mountains.
He wanted to laugh. He didn't know why.
VI
‘Watch out there! Pay attention!’ shouted Boholt, turning round in the driver's seat towards the rest of the column behind him. ‘You're too near the rocks! Look out!’
The wagons moved onward behind each other, bouncing along on the stones. The drivers swore and cracked their whips; anxious, they leaned over to check that the wheels remained a respectable distance from the ravine and always in contact with the narrow, uneven path. Down in the bottom of the chasm, the River Braa bubbled with white foam between the rocks.
Geralt kept his horse very close to the stony wall covered in patches of brown moss and white blooms of lichen. He allowed the Reavers' wagon to pass. At the head of column, Ripper led the train along with the scouts of Holopole.
r /> ‘Good!’ he called ‘Make some effort! The way becomes broader.’
King Niedamir and Gyllenstiern caught up with Geralt on their chargers. Several archers on horseback flanked them. Behind them, all the royal wagons followed, making a deafening noise. Far behind them followed that of the dwarves, driven by Yarpen Zigrin, swearing incessantly. Niedamir, a thin and freckled lad in a white sheepskin coat, passed the Witcher, shooting him an arrogant, but clearly bored look. Gyllenstiern straightened up, stopping his mount.
‘If you please, Sir Witcher,’ he shot with an air of superiority.
‘I'm listening.’
Geralt spurred on his mare and rode alongside the chancellor behind the wagons. He was surprised that with such a fat gut, Gyllenstiern preferred riding a horse rather than in the comfort of a wagon.
Gyllenstiern pulled lightly on his reins adorned with golden studs and pushed a turquoise coat off his shoulders.
‘Yesterday, you said that dragons did not interest you. In what, therefore, are you interested, Sir Witcher? Why do you travel this road with us?’
‘It's a free country, Lord Chancellor.’
‘At the present time, Lord Geralt, everybody in this convoy must know his place and his role in accordance with the will of King Niedamir. Do you understand?’