‘Yen,’ the Witcher grunted. ‘Do something… Cast a bloody spell!’

‘How can I?’ he heard a furious, muffled snarl. ‘I’m hanging on!’

‘Free one of your hands!’

‘I can’t…’

‘Hey!’ Dandelion yelled from above. ‘Can you hold on? Hey!’

Geralt did not deign to reply.

‘Throw down a rope!’ Dandelion bellowed. ‘Quickly, dammit!’

The Reavers, the dwarves and Gyllenstiern appeared beside the troubadour. Geralt heard Boholt’s quiet words.

‘Wait, busker. She’ll soon fall. Then we’ll pull the Witcher up.’

Yennefer hissed like a viper, writhing and suspended from Geralt’s back. His belt dug painfully into his chest.

‘Yen? Can you find a hold? Using your legs? Can you do anything with your legs?’

‘Yes,’ she groaned. ‘Swing them around.’

Geralt looked down at the river seething and swirling among the sharp rocks, against which some bridge timbers, a horse and a body in the bright colours of Caingorn were bumping. Beyond the rocks, in the emerald, transparent maelstrom, he saw the tapered bodies of large trout, languidly moving in the current.

‘Can you hold on, Yen?’

‘Just about… yes…’

‘Heave yourself up. You have to get a foothold…’

‘I… can’t…’

‘Throw down a rope!’ Dandelion yelled. ‘Have you all gone mad? They’ll both fall!’

‘Perhaps that’s not so bad?’ Gyllenstiern wondered, out of sight.

The bridge creaked and sagged even more. Geralt’s fingers, gripping the hilt of his dagger, began to go numb.

‘Yen…’

‘Shut up… and stop wriggling about…’

‘Yen?’

‘Don’t call me that…’

‘Can you hold on?’

‘No,’ she said coldly. She was no longer struggling, but simply hanging from his back; a lifeless, inert weight.

‘Yen?’

‘Shut up.’

‘Yen. Forgive me.’

‘No. Never.’

Something crept downwards over the timbers. Swiftly. Like a snake. A rope, emanating with a cold glow, twisting and curling, as though alive, searched for and found Geralt’s neck with its moving tip, slid under his armpits, and ravelled itself into a loose knot. The sorceress beneath him moaned, sucking in air. He was certain she would start sobbing. He was mistaken.

‘Careful!’ Dandelion shouted from above. ‘We’re pulling you up! Gar! Kennet! Pull them up! Heave!’

A tug, the painful, constricting tension of the taut rope. Yennefer sighed heavily. They quickly travelled upwards, bellies scraping against the coarse timbers.

At the top, Yennefer was the first to stand up.

VII

‘We saved but one wagon from the entire caravan, Your Majesty,’ Gyllenstiern said, ‘not counting the Reavers’ wagon. Seven bowmen remain from the troop. There’s no longer a road on the far side of the chasm, just scree and a smooth wall, as far as the breach permits one to look. We know not if anyone survived of those who remained when the bridge collapsed.’

Niedamir did not answer. Eyck of Denesle, standing erect, stood before the king, staring at him with shining, feverish eyes.

‘The ire of the gods is hounding us,’ he said, raising his arms. ‘We have sinned, King Niedamir. It was a sacred expedition, an expedition against evil. For the dragon is evil, yes, each dragon is evil incarnate. I do not pass by evil indifferently, I crush it beneath my foot… Annihilate it. Just as the gods and the Holy Book demand.’