‘Godless, pagan land,’ muttered Heinrich von Schwelborn. ‘Much, much work, much hardship and labour await us before the Order of the Teutonic Knights will finally drive the Devil from this nest of Slavs.’

‘Little Horse,’ said Ciri, reproachfully and sneeringly at once. ‘I don’t want to be intrusive, but I’m in a bit of a hurry to get back to my world. My friends and family need me, you know that, don’t you? And first we end up by some lake with a ridiculous boor in chequered clothes, then run into a pack of filthy, yelling shaggy heads with clubs, and finally on a madman with a black cross on his cloak. They’re the wrong times, the wrong places! Please, do try a bit harder. I beg you.’

Ihuarraquax neighed, nodded his horned head and communicated something to her, a clever thought. Ciri didn’t quite understand. She didn’t have time to ponder, since the inside of her skull was filled with cool brightness, her ears buzzed and her nape tingled.

And black and very soft nothingness engulfed her again.

Nimue, laughing joyously, dragged the man by the hand. The two of them ran down to the lake, winding their way among the young birches and alders, among stumps and blown down trees. After running onto the sandy beach, Nimue threw off her sandals, lifted up her dress and splashed around in bare feet in the water by the shore. The man also took off his boots, but was in no hurry to enter the water. He removed his cloak and spread it out on the sand.

Nimue ran over, threw her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoes to kiss it. The man had to lean over a long way in any case. Not without reason was Nimue called Squirt–but now that she was eighteen and was a novice of the magical arts, the privilege of using that epithet was exclusively reserved for her closest friends. And some men.

The man, his mouth clamped on Nimue’s, put his hand down the front of her dress.

It moved fast after that. The two of them ended up on the cloak spread out on the sand, Nimue’s dress up above her waist, her thighs powerfully gripping the man’s hips, and her hands digging into his back. When he took her–too impatiently as usual–she clenched her teeth, but quickly caught up with him in excitement, drew level, and kept up with him. She was skilled.

The man was uttering amusing sounds. Nimue observed fantastic shapes of the cumuli slowly gliding across the sky over his shoulder.

Something rang, as a bell submerged at the bottom of the ocean rings. There was a sudden buzzing in Nimue’s ears. Magic, she thought, turning her head, freeing herself from under the cheek and shoulder of the man lying on her.