‘There’s always the risk,’ he said, ‘that one of you will fall into the hands of my enemies and be interrogated. I’d like to think that you’ll demonstrate as much fortitude. Yes, I’d like to think so. But I don’t.’

Rience and Schirrú said nothing. Vilgefortz started up the megascope again and projected the image generated by the huge crystal onto the screen.

‘That’s all she could produce,’ he said, pointing. ‘I wanted Cirilla, she gave me the Witcher. Fascinating. She didn’t allow the girl’s empathic matrix to be wrested from her, but she cracked when it came to Geralt. And I didn’t suspect her of harbouring any feelings for Geralt at all… Well, for now let’s settle for what we have. Witcher, Cahir aep Ceallach, the bard Dandelion, some woman? Hmmm… Who’ll undertake this task? The final solution to the witcher problem?’

Schirrú volunteered, recalled Rience, raising himself up in the stirrups to give his saddle-sore buttocks at least some relief. Schirrú volunteered to kill the Witcher. He recognised the countryside Yennefer had traced Geralt and his company to; he had friends or family there. Vilgefortz sent me, meanwhile, to negotiate with Vattier de Rideaux, and then to tail Skellen and Bonhart…

And I–stupidly–was glad at the time, certain that the easier and more pleasant task had fallen to me. One I would make short, easy, pleasant work of…

‘If the peasants weren’t lying–’ Stefan Skellen stood up in his stirrups ‘–the lake must be over that hill, in the valley.’

‘The trail leads there,’ Boreas Mun confirmed.

‘Why have we stopped here?’ Rience rubbed a frozen ear. ‘Spur on the horses and let’s go!’

‘Not so fast.’ Bonhart held him back. ‘Let’s split up. We’ll encircle the valley. We don’t know which of the lake’s shores she took. If we choose the wrong way, we may put the lake between us.’

‘How very true,’ Boreas nodded.

‘The lake’s frozen over.’

‘It may be too thin for the horses. Bonhart’s right, we must split up.’

Skellen quickly issued orders. The group led by Bonhart, Rience and Ola Harsheim, numbering seven horses in total, galloped along the eastern shore, quickly disappearing into the black forest.

‘Very well,’ Tawny Owl ordered. ‘Let’s go, Silifant…’

He realised at once that something wasn’t right.

He reined his horse around, slapped it with his knout and rode directly for Joanna Selborne. Kenna backed up her mount, and her face seemed to be made of stone.

‘It’s no use, sir,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Don’t even try. We’re not going with you. We’re turning back. We’ve had enough.’

‘We?’ Dacre Silifant yelled. ‘Who’s “we”? What is this, a mutiny?’

Skellen leaned over in the saddle and spat on the frozen earth. Andres Vierny and Til Echrade, the fair-haired elf, had stopped behind Kenna.

‘Miss Selborne,’ said Tawny Owl scathingly, in a slow, drawling voice, ‘It isn’t the point that you are squandering a very promising career, that you’re permanently throwing away the chance of a lifetime. You’ll be handed over to the hangman. Along with these fools who’ve listened to you.’