Blood of Elves Read Free Page B

son—”
    “Liar!” shouted a red-haired man in a sealskin jacket, a checked kerchief bound around his forehead. “Queen Calanthe, the Lioness of Cintra, had a daughter called Pavetta. She died, together with her husband, in a tempest which struck out at sea, and the depths swallowed them both.”
    “So you see for yourselves I’m not making this up!” The ironware gnome called everyone to be his witnesses. “The Princess of Cintra was called Pavetta, not Ciri.”
    “Cirilla, known as Ciri, was the daughter of this drowned Pavetta,” explained the red-haired man. “Calanthe’s granddaughter. She was not the princess herself, but the daughter of the Princess of Cintra. She was the Child Surprise destined for the witcher, the man to whom – even before she was born – the queen had sworn to hand her granddaughter over, just as Master Dandilion has sung. But the witcher could neither find her nor collect her. And here our poet has missed the truth.”
    “Oh yes, he’s missed the truth indeed,” butted in a sinewy young man who, judging by his clothes, was a journeyman on his travels prior to crafting his masterpiece and passing his master’s exams. “The witcher’s destiny bypassed him: Cirilla was killed during the siege of Cintra. Before throwing herself from the tower, Queen Calanthe killed the princess’s daughter with her own hand, to prevent her from falling into the Nilfgaardians’ claws alive.”
    “It wasn’t like that. Not like that at all!” objected the red-haired man. “The princess’s daughter was killed during the massacre while trying to escape from the town.”
    “One way or another,” shouted Ironware, “the witcher didn’t find Cirilla! The poet lied!”
    “But lied beautifully,” said the elf in the toque, snuggling up to the tall, fair-haired elf.
    “It’s not a question of poetry but of facts!” shouted the journeyman. “I tell you, the princess’s daughter died by her grandmother’s hand. Anyone who’s been to Cintra can confirm that!”
    “And I say she was killed in the streets trying to escape,” declared the red-haired man. “I know because although I’m not from Cintra I served in the Earl of Skellige’s troop supporting Cintra during the war. As everyone knows, Eist Tuirseach, the King of Cintra, comes from the Skellige Isles. He was the earl’s uncle. I fought in the earl’s troop at Marnadal and Cintra and later, after the defeat, at Sodden—”
    “Yet another veteran,” Sheldon Skaggs snarled to the dwarves crowded around him. “All heroes and warriors. Hey, folks! Is there at least one of you out there who didn’t fight at Marnadal or Sodden?”
    “That dig is out of place, Skaggs,” the tall elf reproached him, putting his arm around the beauty wearing the toque in a way intended to dispel any lingering doubts amongst her admirers. “Don’t imagine you were the only one to fight at Sodden. I took part in the battle as well.”
    “On whose side, I wonder,” Baron Vilibert said to Radcliffe in a highly audible whisper which the elf ignored entirely.
    “As everyone knows,” he continued, sparing neither the baron nor the wizard so much as a glance, “over a hundred thousand warriors stood on the field during the second battle of Sodden Hill, and of those at least thirty thousand were maimed or killed. Master Dandilion should be thanked for immortalising this famous, terrible battle in one of his ballads. In both the lyrics and melody of his work I heard not an exaltation but a warning. So I repeat: offer praise and everlasting renown to this poet for his ballad, which may, perhaps, prevent a tragedy as horrific as this cruel and unnecessary war from occurring in the future.”
    “Indeed,” said Baron Vilibert, looking defiantly at the elf. “You have read some very interesting things into this ballad, honoured sir. An unnecessary war, you say? You’d like to avoid such a tragedy in the future, would you? Are we to understand that if