The Time of Contempt

  Vedymins, a. called Witchers by Nordlings (ob.) – a mysterious elite cast of warrior-priests, probably an offshoot of Druids (ob.). According to folk beliefs they possessed magic powers and superhuman abilities with which they fought against dark spirits, monsters and evil creatures. In reality, being the masters of swordsmanship, they were used by Northern Chieftains in their tribal battles. During the battle they fell into a trance, most probably caused by autohypnosis or drugs, during which they fought with blind fury while completely immune to pain and even the most severe wounds – the fact which strengthened the superstitions about their supernatural powers. The theory about their supposed origins as products of mutation or genetic engineering had not been proved. V. are heroes of many folktales of Nordlings (por. F. Delanhoy „Myths and legends of Northern Peoples’)

  Effenberg & Talbot, Encyclopaedia Maxima Mundi, Book XV

  CHAPTER ONE

  In order to make a living as a courier, Aplegatt used to say to the youngsters applying in the ranks, two things are needed - a head of gold and an ass of steel.

  A head of gold is indispensable, taught Aplegatt, since inside of the leather sack under his clothes the courier keeps only messages of low importance, the kind that can be fearlessly entrusted to the treacherous paper. The truly important, secret messages, the kind that matter a lot, the courier must memorize and tell the one whom they are intended for. Word by word, and sometimes these are not simple words. Hard to pronounce, much less memorize. In order to remember and make no mistake in repeating one needs truly a head of gold.

  As for an ass of steel, well, that every courier will find out by himself. After having spent three days and nights in the saddle and having run for a hundred or even two hundred miles on rocky roads. Ha, sure, one does not sit in the saddle all day long, one dismounts sometimes to rest. The human can withstand much, but the horse cannot. But when time comes to go back in the saddle, the rear sometimes yells ‘God, no!’

  But who needs couriers nowadays Master Aplegatt, asked the youngsters. From Vengerberg to Vizima, for example, one cannot pass the distance in less than four or five days, even on the fastest mount. And how much does a wizard in Vengerberg need to pass the message to wizard in Vizima? Half an hour at most. Courier’s horse might go limp. Robbers or Squirrels might shoot him, wolves or gryphons might rip him apart. One minute there’s a courier, the next he’s gone. While a magic message will reach destination point for sure, won’t lose the way, be late or become lost. Who needs couriers with wizards everywhere, close to every castle?

  Couriers are not needed anymore, Master Aplegatt.

  For some time Aplegatt also thought that he’s not needed by anybody anymore. He was thirty-six, short but strong and sinewy, hard work didn’t scare him and he had, naturally, a head of gold. He could find another job to feed himself and his wife, save some money for his two unwed as of yet daughters’ dowry and keep helping the one who was wed already, but whose dim-witted husband had no luck in business. But Aplegatt didn’t want to and couldn’t imagine himself doing anything else. He was the Royal Messenger.

  And suddenly, after a long and painful period of obscurity and inactivity, Aplegatt became needed once more. The hooves thundered on the roads once again. The couriers, like during good old days, again started crossing the country carrying messages from one settlement to another.

  Aplegatt knew why it was so. He saw a lot, and heard even more. He was expected to wipe the passed message from his mind immediately, so as not to be reminded of it even during torture. But Aplegatt did remember. And understood why kings suddenly stopped communicating with each other by the use of magic and help from wizards. The messages carried by couriers were supposed to be kept secret from the magicians. The kings lost trust in the wizards, stopped sharing with them their secrets.

  What was the cause of this sudden cooling in relations between kings and wizards, Aplegatt didn’t know and didn’t care much about. Both were, in his opinion, inconceivable creatures whose moves were incomprehensible – particularly now, in such difficult times. And the fact that difficult times were approaching was hard to miss while travelling the land from one city to another, one castle to another, one kingdom to another.

  There were loads of soldiers on the roads. Each new step brought new rows of infantry or ride and each new commander was angry, alarmed, harsh and so sure of his own importance as if fate of the entire world depended on him alone. Also, settlements and castles were full of armed crowds, hustle and bustle day and night. The usually unseen counts and castellans were marching restlessly on the walls and courtyards, angry like wasps before the storm, they yelled, swore, gave orders and kicks.

  In other words, the threat of war hung over them in the air.

  Aplegatt rose and looked around. Downhill was a river and behind it were forests. The courier rushed his horse. Time was pressing on.

  He was on his way for the past two days. King’s orders and letters found him in Hagge, where he was resting after his return from Tretogor. He left the castle at night, galloping along the left bank of Pontar, he crossed the border of Temeria before dawn and now, at noon of the following day, he was already near the bank of Ismena. Had king Foltest stayed at Vizima, Aplegatt would have handed him the message just this night. Unfortunately, the king was not in the capital – he stayed in the southern part of his country, in Maribor, two hundred miles away from Vizima. Aplegatt knew this, which is why in the vicinity of the White Bridge he left the main, west-leading road in favour of forest paths in the direction of Ellander. It was a bit risky. The Squirrels still prowled the forests and pitiful was the lot of one who got in their arms or found himself in the range of their bows. But the royal messenger must take risks. Such is his work.

  He crossed the river with no trouble – there was no rain from June and water level fell a lot. He reached the road leading from Vizima to south-east in the direction of dwarfish smithies and settlements inside the mountain Mahakam. There were many wagons on this road and Aplegatt sighed with relief. Scoia’tael kept away from crowds. Campaign against human-killing elves continued in Temeria for a year, the pursued Squirrel commandos split into smaller groups and smaller groups kept away from busy roads and didn’t organize ambushes on them.

  Before the evening came he was already on the western border of Ellander principality, near Zavada village, from where he had a straight and safe way to Maribor. There was a tavern near the road. He decided to give a rest for himself and his horse. He knew that if he leaves at dawn then just before the sunset he will see silvery-black flags on the red roofs of Maribor towers.

  He took the saddle off the horse all by himself, ordering the stable boy to go away. The royal messenger never lets anyone touch his horse. He ate a solid meal. Drunk some bear. Listened to the news. There were lots of them. All sorts of travellers stayed in the tavern, from all parts of the world.

  In Dol Angra, heard Aplegatt, new incidents took place. Again, the Lyrian cavalry troops crashed on the border with Nilfgaardian ones. Again Meve, the Queen of Lyria, loudly accused Nilfgaard of a provocation and called the king of Aedirn, Demavend, for help. In Tretogor there was a public execution of a Redanian baron who secretly plotted with emissaries of the Nilfgaardian emperor Emhyr. In Kaedwen, joint Scoia’tael commandos massacred fortress Leyda. As retribution, the population of Ard Carraigh carried out a pogrom, murdering close to four hundred non-humans residing in the capital.

  In Temeria, said the merchants from the south, there’s a sadness and despair among Cintrian emigrants, gathered under the banner of Marshal Vissegerd. It seemed that the terrible news of the death of Lion Cub, Calanthe’s granddaughter princess Cirilla, had been confirmed.

  He also heard other, even m
ore terrifying rumours. In villages near Aldesberg cows have suddenly started leaking blood from the udders and the Deathly Maiden, an omen of horrible disasters, was seen at a dawn in the fog. In Brugge, near Brokilon Forest, the forbidden kingdom of the Dryads, the Wild Hunt appeared and as everyone knows it is a sure omen of war. As for cape of Bremervoord, a phantom ship was spotted there and on its deck stood a wraith – black knight with the bird of prey wings on his helmet.

  The courier didn’t listen very carefully; he was too tired for that. He laid down heavily on the bed and immediately fell asleep.

  He woke up at dawn. When he went outside he was surprised – he wasn’t the first one to be getting ready for departure and that was a rare event. A black stallion stood next to the well and beside it a woman dressed in male clothing washed her hands in the trough. Hearing Aplegatt’s footsteps she turned around and brushed away her long, black hair. The courier bowed. The woman nodded.

  Entering the stables he almost crashed with the second early bird, a young lady in velvet beret who was leading an apple mare. The girl rubbed her face and yawned, supporting herself with the help of the horse.

  ‘Oh my’ she murmured, passing the courier ‘I will fell asleep on the horse… I will fell asleep for sure… Uaauaaua…’

  ‘When the mare starts trotting, the chill will awake you’ said Aplegatt taking the saddle off the belch ‘Have a safe ride Miss.’

  The girl turned around and looked at him like she had just noticed him. Her eyes were big and green like a pair of emeralds. Aplegatt settled the saddle on the horse.

  ‘I wished you a safe ride’ he repeated. Usually he wasn’t very talkative but now he felt the need to talk with another person, even if that person was just a plain, sleepy brat. Perhaps it was due to the long days on the trail, or maybe it was because the girl reminded him of his middle daughter.

  ‘May the Gods watch over you’ he added ‘May they keep you from accidents and poor weather. There’s only two of you and female at that… and times aren’t good. Danger lurks everywhere.’

  The girl opened her eyes widely. The courier felt a cold shiver sliding down his spine.

  ‘Danger…‘ the girl said suddenly in a strange, changed voice ‘The danger is quiet. You won’t hear it getting closer on its grey feathers. I had a dream. The sand… The sand was warm from the sun…’

  ‘What?’ Aplegatt froze ‘What are talking about Miss? What sand?’

  The girl shuddered and wiped her face. The apple mare shook its head.

  ‘Ciri!’ yelled the dark-haired woman outside ‘Hurry up!’

  The girl yawned, looked at Aplegatt and blinked as if surprised by his presence. The courier was silent.

  ‘Ciri’ spoke the woman again ‘Have you fallen asleep over there?’

  ‘I’m coming, Miss Yennefer!’

  When Aplegatt finished saddling the horse and took it outside there was no sign of the woman or the girl. The courier jumped onto the stallion and remembered the green eyes of the sleepy girl, her strange words. Quiet danger? Grey feathers? Warm sand? She must have been feeble-minded, he decided. Many of such unfortunates could be seen around these days, insane lasses harmed by renegade soldiers or other thugs… Yes, she was crazy for sure. Or maybe just not quite awake yet? It’s a wonder what people sometimes blabber about when still half-asleep.

  He shivered again and felt a tinge of pain between shoulder blades. He rubbed his back with a fist.

  The moment he was on the road to Maribor he forced his horse into a gallop. Time was pressing on.

  * * *

  He didn’t rest for long in Maribor – the day was not yet gone and the wind was already blowing in his ears. The new mount, straight from Mariborian stables, swept the road with its tail. Aplegatt’s chest was pressed by the sack with diplomatic post. His rear hurt like hell.

  ‘Pfeh, may yer break yor neck, yer damn yob!’ yelled some cart driver behind him while calming the horse scared by the galloping stallion ‘He runs like death itself were lickin' his toes! Yer won't escape the Reaper!’

  Aplegatt wiped the dust from his eyes.

  The previous day he handed the post to king Foltest and then recited the secret message from king Demavend.

  Demavend to Foltest. All is ready in Dol Angra. The masqueraders are waiting for orders. Planned time of action: second night of November, after the new moon. The boats must land on the other side of the river two days later.

  A flock of crows flew over the path. They were flying to the east, in the direction of Mahakam, Dol Angra and Vengerberg. The courier kept repeating to himself contents of the secret message from the king of Temeria to the ruler of Aedirn.

  Foltest to Demavend. First: Postpone the action. Smartasses are preparing a convent in Thanedd. This convent might change a lot. Second: the search for the Lion Cub can be called off. It’s confirmed. The Cub is dead.

  Aplegatt rushed his horse. Time was pressing on.

  * * *

  The narrow path was blocked by carts. Aplegatt slowly approached the long column of vehicles. He realized right away that he won’t be able to make his way past the jam. Turning away now would take too much time and the thought of going around the obstacle through the forest at dusk didn’t make him happy at all.

  ‘What happened here?’ he asked the drivers of the last cart in the column, two elderly men of which one looked asleep and the other looked dead ‘Robbery? Squirrels? Speak! I’m in a hurry…’

  Before any of them had a chance to answer, shouts could be heard from the faraway head of the column. The drivers quickly jumped onto the wagons and whipped their horses and oxen. The column started moving ahead. The sleeping old man woke up while the dead-looking one opened his eyes and stared at Aplegatt.

  ‘How impatient.’ he said ‘Oi, sonny, yer sure are lucky. Had yer arrived here at noon, yer’d be standin' here with us waitin' for a free pass. We’re all in an hurry, right, but we had ter wait. How ter get through the closed road?’

  ‘The road was closed? How come?’

  ‘Some terrible man-eater appeared here, sonny. Attacked a knight ridin' with his squire. It’s said that the monster ripped knight’s head off and horse’s guts out. The squire managed ter flee and came back with dreadful tales of the path bein' painted all over with blood…’

  ‘What kind of monster?’ asked Aplegatt, ‘a Dragon?’

  ‘No, not a dragon’ said the other man ‘They say ‘mandygore’ or sumfin’ like that. The squire said that it’s some sort of flyin' beast, right, terribly huge. And vicious! We thought: it’ll eat the chuffin' knight and leave, but no! Son of a whore sat on the bloody path and stays there, right, hissin', right, barin' its fangs…. So, whoever got close and took a peek at the bleedin' monster left the bleedin' cart behind and run like hell. The bloody jam got a mile long and swamps are everywhere 'round, right, no way back or through. So we waited…’

  ‘So many hardy men!’ snickered the courier ‘And stood there like a stunned mullet. Should have grabbed axes and slayed the beast.’

  ‘Well, some tried’ said the old man ‘Three dwarves from the merchant’s guard, and with them four conscripts on their way ter Carreras castle, right, to the army. The dwarves got terribly mauled and the conscripts…’

  ‘Chickened out’ finished the other man and spat ‘Run away the moment they saw that mandygore. Rumour has it that one crapped his pants. Oi, have a look, right, have a look, sonny, right there!’

  ‘I don’t wish to’ growled Aplegatt ‘Crapped pants are of no interest to me.’

  ‘Not that! The monster! The dead monster! Warriors are puttin’ it on a cart! See?’

  Aplegatt raised his head. Despite the gloom and curious mob he could see a huge carcass. Warriors lifted it up and threw it onto the cart. Horses, nervous from the stench, neighed.

  ‘No stopping!’ yelled the soldier in command ‘Drive ahead! No blocking the pass!’

  The elderly rushed the mules. Aplegatt rode along.

 
‘So it seems that the warriors did slay the monster after all?’

  ‘If only’ snickered the elder ‘Warriors, once they arrived, did nuffin’ but yell on people. Stand still, move away, do this, do that. They didn’t rush to the beast at all. They called for a witcher.’

  ‘For a witcher?’

  ‘Exactly’ assured him the other man ‘Someone recalled spottin’ a witcher in a village nearby, so they called for him. He rode past us later on. White hair, ugly gob and a big sword. Less than an hour later someone yelled that road is clear, because the witcher killed the beast. So we started movin’. And that’s when yer arrived.’

  ‘Ha!’ murmured Aplegatt deep in thoughts ‘I’ve been riding all over the world for so many years and yet I’ve never once seen a witcher. Did anyone watch him killing this monster?’

  ‘I saw!’ yelled a boy with unruly hair approaching the cart from the other side ‘I’ve seen everything! Struth! Coz’ I stood next to the soldiers, right on the front.’

  ‘Do tell, kid.’

  ‘Twas like this’ started the boy ‘The witcher came to the commander. Said his name’s Gernant. Commander said that one name or another, he better get the job done. And he showed where the monster were. The witcher came up, stared for a while and said that it’s an unusually big manticore and he’ll slay it for two hundred crowns.‘

  ‘Two hundred?’ gasped the elderly ‘Was he mad?’