Ciri patted the wheezing Kelpie on her neck, and looked at the small group of elves who rode at an easy pace. A moment earlier, when Avallac’h had finally told her what they wanted from her, she had launched into a gallop, to escape from them, to leave them as far as possible behind her–they and their impudent, unthinkable task.

Now, though, they were in front of her again. At a distance of more or less a furlong.

Avallac’h hadn’t lied. There was no escape.

The only good thing the gallop had brought was that it had cooled her head, chilled her rage. She was now much calmer. But nonetheless she was still shaking with anger.

What a mess I’m in, she thought. Why did I go into the Tower?

She shuddered, thinking back. Recalling Bonhart riding after her across the ice on his grey horse, muzzle foaming.

She shuddered even more intensely. And calmed down.

I’m alive, she thought, looking around. It’s not the end of the battle. Death will end the fight, everything else only interrupts it. They taught me that at Kaer Morhen.

She urged Kelpie to a walk and then, seeing the mare was gamely raising her head, to a trot. She rode down an avenue of menhirs. The grass and heather reached her stirrups.

She quite quickly caught up with Avallac’h and the three elf-women. The Sage, smiling slightly, turned his aquamarine eyes enquiringly on her.

‘Please, Avallac’h.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Tell me it was a dismal joke.’

Something like a shadow passed over his face.

‘I’m not accustomed to joking,’ he said. ‘And since you consider it a joke, I’ll take the liberty repeating it with due gravity: we want to have your child, O Swallow, daughter of Lara Dorren. Only when you bear it will we permit you to leave here, to return to your world. The choice, naturally, is yours. I presume your reckless dash helped you to reach a decision. What is your answer?’

‘My answer is no,’ she replied firmly. ‘Categorically and absolutely no. I don’t agree and that’s that.’

‘Tough luck,’ he shrugged. ‘I admit I am disappointed. But why, it’s your choice.’

‘How can you demand something like that at all?’ she cried in a trembling voice. ‘How could you dare? By what right?’

He looked at her calmly. Ciri also felt the gaze of the elf-women on her.

‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that I told you the story of your family in detail. You seemed to understand. Thus your question astonishes me. We have the right to demand, and we can, O Swallow. Your father, Cregennan, took a child from us. You will give us one back. You will repay the debt. It seems just and logical to me.’

‘My father… I don’t remember my father, but he was called Duny. Not Cregennan. I’ve already told you!’