Blood Of Elves by Sapkowsk Andrzej

Author:Sapkowsk, Andrzej [Sapkowsk, Andrzej]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Magic
ISBN: 9780575077843
Publisher: Gollancz
Published: 1997-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

No one said anything.

Not far away, surrounded by soldiers in the black and gold of Kaedwen, lay Wenck. He was breathing with difficulty and every breath forced bubbles of blood to his lips. Triss knelt next to him and a knight in shining armour stood over them both.

‘Well?’ asked the knight. ‘Lady enchantress? Will he live?’

‘I’ve done everything I can.’ Triss got to her feet, pinched her lips. ‘But . . .’

‘What?’

‘They used this.’ She showed him an arrow with a strange head to it and struck it against a barrel standing by them. The tip of the arrow fell apart, split into four barbed, hook-like needles. The knight cursed.

‘Fredegard . . .’ Wenck uttered with difficulty. ‘Fredegard, listen—’

‘You mustn’t speak!’ said Triss severely. ‘Or move! The spell is barely holding!’

‘Fredegard,’ the commissar repeated. A bubble of blood burst on his lips and another immediately appeared in its place. ‘We were wrong . . . Everyone was wrong. It’s not Yarpen . . . We suspected him wrongly … I vouch for him. Yarpen did not betray . . . Did not betr—’

‘Silence!’ shouted the knight. ‘Silence, Vilfrid! Hey, quick now, bring the stretcher! Stretcher!’

‘No need,’ the magician said hollowly, gazing at Wenck’s lips where no more bubbles appeared. Ciri turned away and pressed her face to Geralt’s side.

Fredegard drew himself up. Yarpen Zigrin did not look at him. He was looking at the dead. At Regan Dahlberg still kneeling over his brother.

‘It was necessary, Zigrin,’ said the knight. ‘This is war. There was an order. We had to be sure . . .’

Yarpen did not say anything. The knight lowered his eyes.

‘Forgive us,’ he whispered.

The dwarf slowly turned his head, looked at him. At Geralt. At Ciri. At them all. The humans.

‘What have you done to us?’ he asked bitterly. ‘What have you done to us? What have you made of us?’

No one answered him.

The eyes of the long-legged elf were glassy and dull. Her contorted lips were frozen in a soundless cry.

Geralt put his arms around Ciri. Slowly, he unpinned the white rose, spattered with dark stains, from her jerkin and, without a word, threw it on the Squirrel’s body.

‘Farewell,’ whispered Ciri. ‘Farewell, Rose of Shaerrawedd. Farewell and . . .’

‘And forgive us,’ added the witcher.

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