‘Time to go, time to go,’ he urged anxiously. ‘Let’s not waste time, Geralt, we’ll disappear into the forest, before—’

‘Stop it, Dandelion. That panic of yours is beginning to affect Roach.’

‘Don’t mock. If you’d seen what I—’

‘Shut up, dammit. Let’s ride, I’d like to get you across before dusk.’

‘Me? What about you?’

‘I have matters to deal with on this side of the river.’

‘You must be mad, Geralt. Do you have a death wish? What “matters”?’

‘None of your business. I’m going to Cintra.’

‘To Cintra? Cintra is no more.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There is no Cintra. Just smouldering embers and piles of rubble. The Nilfgaardians—’

‘Dismount, Dandelion.’

‘What?’

‘Get off!’ The Witcher jerked around. The troubadour looked at his face and leaped from the horse onto the ground, took a step back and stumbled.

Geralt got off slowly. He threw the reins across the mare’s head, stood for a moment undecided, and then wiped his face with a gloved hand. He sat down on the edge of a tree hollow, beneath a spreading dogwood bush with blood-red branches.

‘Come here, Dandelion,’ he said. ‘Sit down. And tell me what’s happened to Cintra. Everything.’

The poet sat down.

‘The Nilfgaardians invaded across the passes,’ he began after a moment’s silence. ‘There were thousands of them. They surrounded the Cintran army in the Marnadal valley. A battle was joined lasting the whole day, from dawn till dusk. The forces of Cintra fought courageously, but were decimated. The king fell, and then their queen—’

‘Calanthe.’

‘Yes. She headed off a stampede, didn’t let them disperse, gathered anyone she was able to around herself and the standard. They fought their way through the encirclement and fell back across the river towards the city. Whoever was able to.’

‘And Calanthe?’

‘She defended the river crossing with a handful of knights, and shielded the retreat. They say she fought like a man, threw herself like a woman possessed into the greatest turmoil. They stabbed her with pikes as she charged the Nilfgaardian foot. She was transported to the city gravely wounded. What’s in that canteen, Geralt?’

‘Vodka. Want some?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Speak. Go on, Dandelion. Tell me everything.’

‘The city didn’t put up a fight. There was no siege, because there was no one to defend the walls. What was left of the knights and their families, the noblemen and the queen… They barricaded themselves in the castle. The Nilfgaardians captured the castle at once, their sorcerers pulverised the gate and some of the walls. Only the keep was being defended, clearly protected by spells, because it resisted the Nilfgaardian magic. In spite of that, the Nilfgaardians forced their way inside within four days. They didn’t find anyone alive. Not a soul. The women had killed the children, the men had killed the women and then fallen on their swords or… What’s the matter, Geralt?’

‘Speak, Dandelion.’

‘Or… like Calanthe… Headlong from the battlements, from the very top. They say she asked someone to… But no one would. So she crawled to the battlements and… Headfirst. They say dreadful things were done to her body. I don’t want to… What’s the matter?’