He didn’t complete the sentence. Yennefer pulled out a dagger from a sheath fastened to her inner thigh, sprang like a cat and thrust blindly. She missed. The blade merely brushed her target, tearing his trousers. Rience leaped aside and fell over.

Immediately, a hail of blows and kicks rained down on her. She howled as a heavy boot dropped on her hand, squeezing the dagger from her crushed fist. Another boot kicked her in the belly. The sorceress curled up, rasping. She was picked up from the ground, her arms jerked behind her. She saw a fist flying towards her, the world suddenly flashed brightly, and her face exploded with pain. A wave of pain passed downwards, to her stomach and crotch, transforming her knees into a thin jelly. She drooped in the arms holding her up. Someone seized her from behind by the hair, lifting up her head. She was struck once more, in the eye socket, and again everything vanished in a blinding flash.

She didn’t faint. She could still feel. They beat her. They beat her hard, cruelly, as a man is beaten. With blows that aren’t just meant to hurt, but meant to fracture, meant to crush all energy and the will to resist from the victim. She was beaten, jerking in the steely grip of many hands.

She wanted to faint but couldn’t. She could feel it.

‘Enough,’ she suddenly heard from far away, from behind the curtain of pain. ‘Have you gone mad, Rience? Do you mean to kill her? I need her alive.’

‘I vowed to her, master,’ snarled the shadow looming in front of her, which gradually took on Rience’s form and face. ‘I promised I’d pay her back… With these hands…’

‘I care little for what you promised her. I repeat, I need her alive and capable of articulated speech.’

‘It’s not so easy,’ laughed the one holding her by the hair, ‘to knock the life out of a cat or a witch.’

‘Don’t be clever, Schirrú. I said she’s been sufficiently beaten. Pick her up. How do you do, Yennefer?’ The sorceress spat red and lifted her puffy face. At first she didn’t recognise him. He was wearing a kind of mask, covering the entire left side of his head. But she knew who it was.

‘Go to hell, Vilgefortz,’ she mumbled, gingerly touching her front teeth and cut lips with her tongue.

‘What did you make of my spell? Did you like it when I lifted you and that boat up from the sea? Did you enjoy the flight? What charms did you protect yourself with to survive the fall?’

‘Go to hell.’

‘Tear that star from her neck. And to the laboratory with her. Let’s not waste time.’