Time of Contempt (The Witcher) (25 page)

He knew what that meant. The illusion disguising Thanedd was becoming unstable and weakening. The bridge was also partly illusory. A chasm with a waterfall roaring at its foot was visible
through the hole-riddled camouflage.

There were no dark slabs to indicate a safe way across. He crossed the bridge tentatively, careful of every step, cursing to himself at the time he was wasting. When he reached the far side of
the chasm, he heard running footsteps.

He knew who it was at once. Running down the steps towards him was Dorregaray, the sorcerer in the service of King Ethain of Cidaris. He recalled the words of Philippa Eilhart. The sorcerers who
represented neutral kings had been invited to Garstang as observers. But Dorregaray was hurtling down the steps at such a speed that it appeared his invitation had suddenly been revoked.

‘Dorregaray!’

‘Geralt?’ panted the sorcerer. ‘What are you doing here? Don’t stay here. Run away! Get down to Aretuza quickly!’

‘What has happened?’

‘Treachery!’

‘What?’

Dorregaray suddenly shuddered and coughed strangely, then toppled forwards and fell onto the Witcher. Before Geralt could catch hold of him he spotted the grey fletching of an arrow sticking out
of his back. He and the sorcerer swayed in an embrace. That movement saved the Witcher’s life as a second, identical, arrow, rather than piercing his throat, slammed into the grotesquely
grinning face of a stone faun, knocking off its nose and part of its cheek. The Witcher released Dorregaray and ducked down behind the balustrade. The sorcerer collapsed onto him.

There were two archers, and both had squirrels’ tails in their hats. One remained at the top of the staircase, pulling his bowstring back, while the other drew his sword and hurtled down
the stairway, several steps at a time. Geralt pushed Dorregaray aside and leapt to his feet, drawing his sword. An arrow sang, but the Witcher interrupted the song, deflecting the arrowhead with a
quick blow of his sword. The other elf, already close, hesitated for a moment on seeing the arrow deflected. But only for a moment. He came at the Witcher, swinging his blade and ready to strike.
Geralt made a short parry, obliquely, so that the elf’s sword slid across his. The elf lost his balance, the Witcher spun around smoothly and slashed him across the side of the neck below his
ear. Just once. Once was enough.

The archer at the top of the stairway bent his bow again but did not have time to release the string. Geralt saw a flash. The elf screamed, spread out his arms and fell forwards, tumbling down
the steps. The back of his jerkin was on fire.

Another sorcerer ran down the steps. On seeing the Witcher, he stopped and raised a hand. Geralt didn’t waste time with explanations but flattened himself on the ground as a fiery
lightning bolt flew over him with a hiss, pulverising a statue of a faun.

‘Stop!’ he yelled. ‘It’s me, the Witcher!’

‘Damn it,’ the sorcerer panted, running over to Geralt, who could not remember him from the banquet. ‘I took you for one of those elven thugs . . . How is Dorregaray? Is he
still alive?’

‘I think so . . .’

‘Quickly, to the other side of the bridge!’

They dragged Dorregaray across. And luck was on their side, because in their haste they paid no attention to the wavering and vanishing illusion. No one was pursuing them, but the sorcerer
nonetheless extended a hand, chanting a spell, and sent a lightning bolt to destroy the bridge. The stones crashed down the walls of the abyss.

‘That ought to hold them back,’ he said.

The Witcher wiped away the blood pouring from Dorregaray’s mouth.

‘He has a punctured lung. Can you help him?’

‘
I
can,’ said Marti Södergren, hauling herself up the steps from the tunnel leading from Aretuza. ‘What’s happening, Carduin? Who shot him?’

‘Scoia’tael,’ said the sorcerer, wiping his forehead with a sleeve. ‘There’s a battle raging in Garstang. Bloody rabble. They’re all as bad as each other!
Philippa handcuffed Vilgefortz during the night, and Vilgefortz and Francesca Findabair brought Squirrels to the island! And Tissaia de Vries . . . She’s stirred everything up!’

‘Be clearer, Carduin!’

‘I’m not hanging around here talking! I’m fleeing to Loxia, and from there I’m going to teleport to Kovir. Everyone in Garstang can go ahead and slaughter each other!
It’s all meaningless now! It’s war! This mayhem was concocted by Philippa to allow the kings to start a war with Nilfgaard! Meanwhile Meve of Lyria and Demavend of Aedirn have provoked
Nilfgaard! Do you understand that?’

‘No,’ said Geralt. ‘And we don’t want to understand it. Where’s Yennefer?’

‘Stop it, you two!’ screamed Marti Södergren, attending to Dorregaray. ‘Help me! Hold him! I can’t pull the arrow out!’

They helped her. Dorregaray groaned and trembled, and then the steps shook. At first Geralt thought it was the magic of Marti’s healing spells. But it was Garstang. The stained-glass
windows suddenly exploded and flames could be seen flickering inside the palace. Smoke was billowing out.

‘They’re still fighting,’ said Carduin, grinding his teeth. ‘It’s hot down there, one spell after another . . .’

‘Spells? In Garstang? But there’s an anti-magic aura there!’

‘It was Tissaia’s doing. She suddenly decided whose side she was on. She took down the blockade, removed the aura and neutralised the dimeritium. Then everyone went for each other!
Vilgefortz and Terranova on one side, Philippa and Sabrina on the other . . . The columns cracked and the vaulting collapsed . . . And then Francesca opened the entrance to the cellars, and those
elven devils suddenly leapt out . . . We told them that we were neutral, but Vilgefortz only laughed. Before we had time to build a shield, Drithelm had been shot in the eye, and Rejean had been
spitted like a hedgehog . . . I didn’t wait to see what happened after that. Marti, are you going to be much longer? We have to get out of here!’

‘Dorregaray won’t be able to walk,’ said the healer, wiping her bloody hands on her white ball gown. ‘Teleport us, Carduin.’

‘From here? You must be insane. It’s too close to Tor Lara. The Lara portal gives out emanations which warp any attempts at teleportation. You can’t teleport from
here!’

‘He can’t walk! I have to stay with him—’

‘Well stay, then!’ Carduin stood up. ‘And enjoy yourself! Life is dear to me! I’m going back to Kovir! Kovir is neutral!’

‘Splendid,’ said the Witcher, spitting and watching the sorcerer disappear into the tunnel. ‘Friendship and solidarity! But I can’t stay with you either, Marti. I have to
go to Garstang. Your neutral comrade smashed up the bridge. Is there another way?’

Marti Södergren sniffed. Then she raised her head and nodded.

He was at the foot of the wall in Garstang when Keira Metz landed on his head.

The way he’d been shown by the healer led through some hanging gardens linked by winding steps. The steps were covered in dense ivy and vines and the vegetation made climbing difficult but
it also gave cover. He managed to get to the foot of the palace wall undetected and had been looking for a way in when Keira had fallen on him, and the two of them tumbled into some blackthorn
bushes.

‘I’ve lost a tooth,’ said the sorceress, gloomily, lisping slightly. She was dishevelled, dirty and covered in plaster and soot. There was a large bruise on her cheek.

‘And I think I’ve broken my leg,’ she added, spitting blood. ‘Is that you, Witcher? Did I land on you? How come?’

‘I was wondering the same thing myself.’

‘Terranova threw me out of a window.’

‘Can you stand?’

‘No, I can’t.’

‘I want to get inside. Unnoticed. Which way is it?’

‘Are all witchers,’ said Keira, spitting blood again, groaning, and trying to prop herself up on an elbow, ‘insane? There’s a battle going on in Garstang! It’s
kicking off so badly the plaster’s falling off the ceiling! Are you looking for trouble?’

‘No. I’m looking for Yennefer.’

‘Oh!’ said Keira, giving up her struggles and lying on her back. ‘I wish someone would love me like that. Carry me.’

‘Another time, perhaps. I’m in a bit of a hurry.’

‘Carry me, I said! I’ll show you the way into Garstang. I have to get that son of a bitch Terranova. Well, what are you waiting for? You won’t find the way yourself, and even
if you did, those fucking elves would finish you off . . . I can’t walk, but I’m still capable of casting a few spells. If anyone gets in our way they’ll regret it.’

She cried out when he picked her up.

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. ‘It’s that leg. Did you know you still smell of her perfume? No, not that way. Turn back and go uphill.
It’s the second entrance on the Tor Lara side. There may not be any elves there . . . Ouch! Gently, damn it!’

‘Sorry. How did the Scoia’tael get here?’

‘They were hidden in the cellars. Thanedd is as hollow as a nutshell and there’s a huge cavern under it; you could sail a ship in if you knew how. Someone must have told them the
way— Ouuuch! Be careful! Stop jolting me!’

‘Sorry. So the Squirrels came here by sea? When?’

‘God knows when. It might have been yesterday, or a week ago. We were preparing to strike at Vilgefortz, and Vilgefortz at us. Vilgefortz, Francesca, Terranova and Fercart . . . They
conned us good and proper. Philippa thought they were planning a slow seizure of power in the Chapter, and to put pressure on the kings . . . But they were planning to finish us off during the
Conclave . . . Geralt, it’s too painful . . . It’s my leg . . . Put me down for a second. Ouuuch!’

‘Keira, it’s an open fracture. The blood’s seeping through your trousers.’

‘Shut up and listen. Because it’s about your Yennefer. We entered Garstang and went into the debating chamber. There’s an anti-magic blockade there, but it doesn’t affect
dimeritium, so we felt safe. There was an argument. Tissaia and the neutrals yelled at us and we yelled at them. And Vilgefortz just said nothing and smiled . . .’

‘I repeat: Vilgefortz is a traitor! He’s in cahoots with Emhyr of Nilfgaard, and he’s inveigled others into the plot! He broke the Law, he betrayed us and the
kings . . .’

‘Slow down, Philippa. I know the grace and favour Vizimir surrounds you with mean more to you than the solidarity of the Brotherhood. The same applies to you, Sabrina, for you play an
identical role in Kaedwen. Keira Metz and Triss Merigold represent the interests of Foltest of Temeria, and Radcliffe is a tool of Demavend of Aedirn—’

‘What does that have to do with it, Tissaia?’

‘The kings’ interests don’t have to correspond to ours. I know perfectly well what it’s all about. The kings have begun the extermination of elves and other non-humans.
Perhaps you, Philippa, regard that as legitimate. Perhaps you, Radcliffe, think it appropriate to help Demavend’s forces in their hunt for the Scoia’tael. But I am opposed to it. And it
doesn’t surprise me that Enid Findabair is also against it. But that is not sufficient to call it treachery. Let me finish! I know perfectly well what your kings were planning. I know they
want to unleash a war. The measures which were meant to prevent that war may be seen as treachery by Vizimir, but not by me. If you wish to judge Vilgefortz and Francesca; do the same to
me!’

‘What war do you speak of? My king, Esterad of Kovir, will not support any acts of aggression against the Nilfgaardian Empire! Kovir is, and will remain, neutral!’

‘You are a member of the Council, Carduin! Not Kovir’s ambassador!’

‘Look who’s talking, Sabrina.’

‘Enough!’ Philippa slammed her fist down on the table. ‘I shall satisfy your curiosity, Carduin. You ask who is preparing a war? Nilfgaard. They intend to attack and destroy
us. But Emhyr var Emreis remembers Sodden Hill and has decided to protect himself by removing the mages from the game first. With this in mind, he made contact with Vilgefortz of Roggeveen. He
bought him with promises of power and honour. Yes, Tissaia. Vilgefortz, hero of Sodden, sold us out to become the governor and ruler of all the conquered territories of the north. Vilgefortz,
helped by Terranova and Fercart, shall rule the provinces which will be established in place of the conquered kingdoms. It is he who will wield the Nilfgaardian scourge over the people who inhabit
those lands and will begin toiling as the Empire’s slaves. And Francesca Findabair, Enid an Gleanna, will become queen of the land of the free elves. It will, of course, be a Nilfgaardian
protectorate, but it will suffice for the elves so long as Emperor Emhyr will give them a free hand to murder humans. The elves desire nothing so much as to murder Dh’oine.’

‘That is a serious accusation. Which means the proof will also have to be as weighty. But before you throw your proof onto the scale, Philippa Eilhart, be aware of my stance. Proof may be
fabricated. Actions and their motives may be misinterpreted. But nothing can change existing facts. You have broken the unity and solidarity of the Brotherhood, Philippa Eilhart. You have
handcuffed members of the Chapter like criminals. So do not dare to offer me a position in the new Chapter which your gang of traitors – who have sold out to the kings, rather than to
Nilfgaaard – intend to create. We are separated by death and blood. The death of Hen Gedymdeith. And the blood of Lydia van Bredevoort. You spilled that blood with contempt. You were my best
pupil, Philippa Eilhart. I was always proud of you. But now I have nothing but contempt for you.’

Keira Metz was as pale as parchment.

‘It’s been quieter in Garstang for some time now,’ she whispered. ‘It’s coming to an end . . . They are chasing each other through the palace. There are five floors
and seventy-six chambers and halls. That’s plenty of room for a chase . . .’

‘You were going to tell me about Yennefer. Be quick. I’m worried you’ll faint.’

‘Yennefer? Oh, yes . . . Everything was going according to plan until Yennefer suddenly appeared. And brought that medium into the hall . . .’

‘Who?’

‘A girl, aged perhaps fourteen. Very fair hair and huge, green eyes . . . She began to prophesy before we’d had time to look at her properly. She talked of the events in Dol Angra.
No one had any doubt she was speaking the truth. She was in a trance, and in a trance no one lies.’