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flickering brightness of torches stuck in iron mounts on the walls. A black figure stood framed
in the door, blurred by the brightness.
'Who comes?' Ciri heard a menacing, metallic voice which sounded like a dog's bark. 'Geralt?'
'Yes, Eskel. It's me.'
'Come in.'
The witcher dismounted, took Ciri from the saddle, stood her on the ground and pressed a
bundle into her little hands which she grabbed tightly, only regretting that it was too small for
her to hide behind completely.
'Wait here with Eskel,' he said. 'I'll take Roach to the stables.'
'Come into the light, laddie,' growled the man called Eskel. 'Don't lurk in the dark.'
Ciri looked up into his face and barely restrained her frightened scream. He wasn't human.
Although he stood on two legs, although he smelled of sweat and smoke, although he wore
ordinary human clothes, he was not human. No human can have a face like that, she thought.
'Well, what are you waiting for?' repeated Eskel.
She didn't move. In the darkness she heard the clatter of Roach's horseshoes grow fainter.
Something soft and squeaking ran over her foot. She jumped.
'Don't loiter in the dark, or the rats will eat your boots.'
Still clinging to her bundle Ciri moved briskly towards the light. The rats bolted out from
beneath her feet with a squeak. Eskel leaned over, took the package from her and pulled back
her hood.
'A plague on it,' he muttered. 'A girl. That's all we need.'
She glanced at him, frightened. Eskel was smiling. She saw that he was human after all, that
he had an entirely human face, deformed by a long, ugly, semi-circular scar running from the
corner of his mouth across the length of his cheek up to the ear.
'Since you're here, welcome to Kaer Morhen,' he said. 'What do they call you?'
'Ciri,' Geralt replied for her, silently emerging from the darkness. Eskel turned around.
Suddenly, quickly, wordlessly, the witchers fell into each other's arms and wound their
shoulders around each other tight and hard. For one brief moment.
'Wolf, you're alive.'
'I am.'
'All right.' Eskel took a torch from its bracket. 'Come on. I'm closing the inner gates to stop
the heat escaping.'
They walked along the corridor. There were rats here, too; they flitted under the walls,
squeaked from the dark abyss, from the branching passages, and skittered before the swaying
circle of light thrown by the torch. Ciri walked quickly, trying to keep up with the men.
'Who's wintering here, Eskel? Apart from Vesemir?'
'Lambert and Coen.'
They descended a steep and slippery flight of stairs. A gleam was visible below them. Ciri
heard voices, detected the smell of smoke.
The hall was enormous, and flooded with light from a huge hearth roaring with flames which
were being sucked up into the heart of the chimney. The centre of the hall was taken up by an
enormous, heavy table. At least ten people could sit around that table. There were three. Three
humans. Three witchers, Ciri corrected herself. She saw nothing but their silhouettes against
the fire in the hearth.
'Greetings, Wolf. We've been waiting for you.'
'Greetings, Vesemir. Greetings, lads. It's good to be home again.'
'Who have you brought us?'
Geralt was silent for a moment, then put his hand on Ciri's shoulder and lightly pushed her
forward. She walked awkwardly, hesitantly, huddled up and hunched, her head lowered. I'm
frightened, she thought. I'm very frightened. When Geralt found me, when he took me with
him, I thought the fear wouldn't come back. I thought it had passed . . . And now, instead of
being at home, I'm in this terrible, dark, ruined old castle full of rats and dreadful echoes . . .
I'm standing in front of a red wall of fire again. I see sinister black figures, I see dreadful,
menacing, glistening eyes staring at me
'Who is this child, Wolf? Who is this girl?'
'She's my . . .' Geralt suddenly stammered. She felt his strong, hard hands on her shoulders.
And suddenly the fear disappeared, vanished without a trace. The roaring red fire gave out
warmth. Only warmth. The black silhouettes were the silhouettes of friends. Carers. Their
glistening eyes expressed curiosity. Concern. And unease . . .
Geralt's hands clenched over her shoulders.
'She's our destiny.'
Verily, there is nothing so hideous as the monsters, so contrary to nature, known as witchers
for they are the offspring of foul sorcery and devilry. They are rogues without virtue,
conscience or scruple, true diabolic creations, fit only for killing. There is no place amidst
honest men for such as they.
And Kaer Morhen, where these infamous beings nestle, where they perform their foul
practices, must be wiped from the surface of this earth, and all trace of it strewn with salt and
saltpetre.
Anonymous, Monstrum, or Description of the Witcher
Intolerance and superstition has always been the domain of the more stupid amongst the
common folk and, I conjecture, will never be uprooted, for they are as eternal as stupidity
itself. There, where mountains tower today, one day there will be seas; there where today seas [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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