The Sword of Destiny - Andrzej Sapkowski

practice... It is, I would say, a military tradition. Since the beginning
of the world, armies have been killing, stealing, burning and
attacking, unceasingly, and in that order. Since the beginning of the
world, when a war breaks out, the farmers and their wives hide in the
woods with the few possessions that they can carry and return home
when the conflict is over..."
"Not this war, Geralt. After this war, no-one returns. There will be
nothing to return to. Nilfgaard leaves behind it only rubble; its
armies advance like lava from which no-one escapes. The roads are
strewn, for miles, with gallows and pyres; the sky is cut with columns
of smoke as long as the horizon. Since the beginning of the world, in
fact, nothing of this sort has happened before. Since the world is our
world... You must understand that the Nilfgaardians have descended
from their mountains to destroy this world."
"That's absurd. Who would benefit from destroying the world? Wars
aren't fought for the sake of destruction. Wars are fought for two
reasons: the first is power; the second is money."
"Stop your philosophizing, Geralt! You can't change what's
happening with philosophy! Why aren't you hearing me? Why do you
refuse to understand? Believe me, Yarouga will not stop Nilfgaard's
momentum. In winter, when the river freezes, they will push the
front even farther. I tell you this: we must flee to the North. They
may not reach that far. But in any case, our world will no longer be
the same. Geralt, don't leave me alone here! Don't go without me!
Don't leave me!"
"You've lost your mind, Dandelion." The witcher leaned over his
saddle. "Fear must have made you take leave of your senses. How
can you believe that I would leave you alone? Give me your hand. Get
on my horse. You won't find anything of value on the ferry. Besides,
they'll never let you on board. I'll take you up the river. We'll look for
a boat or a raft."
"The Nilfgaardians will catch us. They are already there. Have you
noticed the knights? You can see that they come directly from the
battlefield. Let's go downriver, toward the mouth of the Ina.

"Stop panicking. We'll get through, don't worry. Downriver, there are
crowds of fugitives. At each ford, like here, there will be problems
with crossing by ferry. All the boats
must have been requisitioned. We'll go upriver, against the current.
Don't be afraid. I'll get you across, on a tree trunk if necessary."
"You can hardly see the other bank!"
"Stop complaining. I told you I would get you across."
"And you?"
"Get on my horse. We'll discuss it on the way. Hey, by the devil,
you're not taking this huge bag! You want to break Roach's spine?"
"It's Roach? Roach was a bay, this one is chestnut."
"All of my horses are named Roach. You know that very well. Stop
giving me the run-around. What do you have in there? Gold?"
"Manuscripts! Poems! And my rations..."
"Throw it all in the river. You'll write new poems. As for food, I'll
share mine with you."
Dandelion made a mournful face, but didn't hesitate. He threw his
bag into the water and jumped onto the horse, sitting on the
saddlebags and clinging to the witcher's belt.
"On the way, on the way," he repeated anxiously. "Don't lose any
time, Geralt, go into the woods before..."
"Stop, Dandelion... You're making Roach nervous."
"Don't mock me. If you knew what I..."
"Shut up, by the plague. We're taking the road. I'd like to get you
across before nightfall."

"Me? And you?"
"There's nothing calling me to the other side of the river."
"Have you gone mad, Geralt? You've had enough of living? What are
you doing?"
"It's nothing that concerns you. I'm going to Cintra."
"To Cintra? But Cintra doesn't exist anymore!"
"What are you talking about?"
"Cintra doesn't exist anymore. It's only rubble and ruins. The
Nilfgaardians..."
"Get down, Dandelion..."
"What?"
"Get down!"
The witcher turned forcefully. At the sight of his face, the troubadour
shot down from the horse like an arrow, stumbling. Geralt in turn
dismounted calmly. Having passed the reins over the mare's head,
the witcher stood indecisively for a moment before running his
gloved hand over his face. He sat on a stump opposite a bush of
blood-red dogwood shoots.
"Come here, Dandelion," he said. "Sit with me and tell me what
happened to Cintra. Tell me everything."
The poet sat:
"The Nilfgaardians dealt the first blow," he began after a moment of
silence. "There were thousands. They met with the armies of Cintra
in the Marnadal valley. The battle lasted all day: from dawn to dusk.
Cintra's troops valiantly resisted before being decimated. The king
died, and that's when the queen..."

"Calanthe."
"Yes. Seeing that her army had succumbed to panic and scattered,
she gathered around herself and her standard any who could still
fight and formed a line of defense that reached the river, next to the
city. All the soldiers who were still able followed."
"And Calanthe?"
"With a handful of knights, she covered the troops' crossing and
defended the rear. They say she fought like a man, plunging into the
thick of the battle. She was impaled by pikes when she charged
against the Nilfgaardian infantry. She was then evacuated to the city.
What's in that flask, Geralt?"
"Vodka. Want some?"
"Well then, gladly."
"Speak. Continue, Dandelion. Tell me everything."
"The city wasn't properly defended. There was no headquarters. The
defensive walls were empty. The rest of the knights and their
families, the princes and the queen, barricaded themselves in the
castle. The Nilfgaardians then took the castle after their sorcerers
reduced the gate to cinders and burned down the walls. Only the
tower, apparently protected by magic, resisted the spells of the
Nilfgaardian sorcerers. Even so, the attackers penetrated inside four
days later without making camp. The women had killed the children,
the boys and girls, and fell upon their own swords or... What's is it,
Geralt?"
"Continue, Dandelion."
"Or... like Calanthe... head first, from the battlement, the very top...
It's said that she
asked to be... but no-one would agree. So she climbed up to the
crenelations and... jumped

head first. They say they did horrible things to the corpse afterward. I
don't want... What is it? „
"Nothing, Dandelion... At Cintra, there was... a child: the little
daughter of Calanthe, about ten or eleven years old. Her name was
Ciri. Have you heard of her?"
"No, but a there was terrible massacre that left almost no-one alive in
the city and the castle. None of the defenders of the keep escaped
from death, as I told you. Most of the women and the children of the
royal families were there."
The witcher remained silent.
"You knew Calanthe?" asked Dandelion.
"I knew her, indeed."
"And the little girl you told me of? Ciri?"
"I knew her well."
A wind blew across the river, rippling the surface of the water and
shaking the branches of the bush. Some leaves flew by, swirling. It's
fall, the witcher thought. It's the new autumn.
Geralt stood.
"Do you believe in destiny, Dandelion?"
The bard lifted his head and looked at the witcher with eyes wide
with astonishment.
"Why do you ask me that?"
"Answer."
"Well... yes, I believe."

"But do you know that destiny alone is not enough? That there must
be something more?"
"I don't understand."
"You're not alone. But that's how it is. It takes something more. The
problem is that I... I never knew what that was."
"What is it, Geralt?"
"Nothing, Dandelion. Come on, in the saddle. Let's go. Hurry up.
Who knows how long it will take to find a big enough boat. I'm still
not abandoning Roach."
"We're going to cross together, then?" asked the poet, invigorated.
"Yes. I have nothing more to look for on this side of the river."
IX
"Yurga!"
"Chrysididae!"
The young woman standing next to the gate ran, stumbling and
crying out, hair flying, to Yurga who tossed the rains to his servant
and leapt out of the cart toward his wife. He took her by the waist,
energized, lifted her and whirled.
"I'm back, Chrysididae! I'm back!"
"Yurga!"
"I'm back! Throw the doors open wide! The master of the house has
returned!"
Surprised in the middle of doing laundry, Chrysididae was wet and
smelled of soapy water. Yurga set her back down without releasing
her. She remained in his arms, trembling, pressed tight against him.

"Come with me to the house, Chrysididae."
"By the gods, you returned... I couldn't sleep... Yurga... I couldn't
even sleep..."
"I'm back. Hey, I'm back! I've even come back rich, Chrysididae! You
see the cart? Hey, Profit! Crack the whip, go through the gate! You
see the cart, Chrysididae? It carries a lot of things..."
"Yurga, what do I care about your cart? You've come back... in good
health... whole..."
"I came back rich, I tell you. Come see..."
"Yurga? And him, who is he? The one dressed in black? By the gods,
with a sword..."
The merchant turned. Dismounting, the witcher pretended, with his
back turned, to settle the cinches and adjust the saddle of his horse.
He did not look up and he did not approach.
"I'll tell you later. Oh, Chrysididae, as long as... Tell me, where are
the children? They're in good health?"
"They're in good health, Yurga, in good health. They went out to the
fields to shoot crows. The neighbors will tell them to come home.
They'll turn up right away, all three..."
"All three? What's... Chrysididae? You can..."
"No... but I must tell you something... you won't get angry?"
"Me? With you?"
"I adopted a little girl, Yurga. The druids took her in...You know, the
ones who saved the lives of children after the war... They gathered
them up in the forests, the lost and abandoned kids... barely alive...
Yurga? Are you angry?"

Yurga slapped his hand to his forehead and turned around. The
witcher walked behind the cart, leading his horse. Avoiding their
gaze, he kept turning his head.
"Yurga?"
"Oh, by the gods," groaned the merchant. "By the gods, Chrysididae!
Something that I didn't expect! At home!"
"Don't be angry, Yurga... You'll see that you'll grow to love her. She's
a smart little girl, friendly, hardworking... a little strange, it's true.
She refused to say where she was from and then started to cry. So I
don't ask her questions. Yurga, you know how much I've always
wanted to have a little girl... What do you think?"
"Nothing," he replied softly. "Nothing. It's destiny." All along the
way, he kept repeating the word feverishly: "Destiny, destiny... By the
gods... we aren't capable of understanding what it is, Chrysididae. It's
impossible to know the thoughts of something like that. And the
dreams. We aren't capable..."
"Papa!!!"
"Nadbor! Sulik! How you've grown! Regular little bulls! Come to
me..."
Yurga stopped dead when he saw the sickly little girl with her ashen
hair walking slowly behind the boys. The little girl looked at him. The
merchant noticed the large green eyes like spring grass and bright as
two stars. He saw her suddenly pick up speed and run... He heard her
cry out in a shrill and piercing voice:
"Geralt!"
The witcher turned instantly and rushed to meet the young girl. The
scene left Yurga speechless. He had never seen anyone move so fast.
They met in the middle of the yard: the little girl with ashen hair
surrounded by a gray dress; the white-haired witcher with his sword
on his shoulder, dressed in black leather studded with silver;

bounding lightly; the little girl trotting; the witcher kneeling; the tiny
hands of the little girl around his neck; the mouse-gray hair of the
girl falling on the witcher's shoulders. Chrysididae gave a muffled
scream. Yurga drew her to him without saying a word and took her in
his arms. His other arm hugged the two boys.
"Geralt!" the little girl repeated, hugging the witcher's chest. "You've
found me! I knew it! I always knew! I knew you'd find me!"
"Ciri," the witcher said.
Yurga didn't see Geralt's face, hidden by the little girl's ashen hair.
He only saw black-gloved hands squeezing Ciri's back and shoulders.
"You've finally found me! Oh, Geralt! I waited all this time! It took so
long... We'll stay together now, won't we? Now we'll be together,
right? Say it, Geralt! Forever! Say it!"
"Forever, Ciri."
"It's just like they predicted, Geralt! Like they predicted... I'm your
destiny? Say it! I'm your destiny?"
Yurga saw astonishment in the eyes of the witcher. He heard
Chrysididae's discreet sobs and felt her shoulders trembling. He
knew that he would not understand the answer, but he waited
anyway. With good reason:
"You're more than that, Ciri. More than that."