'Get to the point, Dandilion.'

'If you know where Geralt is, you ought to go and warn him. You owe him that, Yennefer. There was, after all, something between you.'

'Yes,' she acknowledged coldly. 'There was something between us. That's why I know him a bit. He does not like having help imposed on him. And if he was in need of it he would seek it from those he could trust. A year has gone by since those events and I… I've not had any news from him. And as for our debt, I owe him exactly as much as he owes me. No more and no less.'

'So I'll go then.' He raised his head high. 'Tell me-'

'I won't,' she interrupted. 'Your cover's blown, Dandilion. They might come after you again; the less you know the better. Vanish from here. Go to Redania, to Dijkstra and Filippa Eilhart, stick to Vizimir's court. And I warn you once more: forget the Lion Cub of Cintra. Forget about Ciri. Pretend you have never heard the name. Do as I ask. I wouldn't like anything bad to happen to you. I like you too much, owe you too much-'

'You've said that already. What do you owe me, Yennefer?'

The sorceress turned her head away, did not say anything for a while.

'You travelled with him,' she said finally. 'Thanks to you he was not alone. You were a friend to him. You were with him.'

The bard lowered his eyes.

'He didn't get much from it,' he muttered. 'He didn't get much from our friendship. He had little but trouble because of me. He constantly had to get me out of some scrape… help me…'

She leaned across the table, put her hand on his and squeezed it hard without saying anything. Her eyes held regret.

'Go to Redania,' she repeated after a moment. 'To Tretogor. Stay in Dijkstra's and Filippa's care. Don't play at being a hero. You have got yourself mixed up in a dangerous affair, Dandilion.'

'I've noticed.' He grimaced and rubbed his aching shoulder. 'And that is precisely why I believe Geralt should be warned. You are the only one who knows where to look for him. You know the way. I guess you used to be… a guest there…?'

Yennefer turned away. Dandilion saw her lips pinch, the muscles in her cheek quiver.

'Yes, in the past,' she said and there was something elusive and strange in her voice. 'I used to be a guest there, sometimes. But never uninvited.'

The wind howled savagely, rippling through the grasses growing over the ruins, rustling in the hawthorn bushes and tall nettles. Clouds sped across the sphere of the moon, momentarily illuminating the great castle, drenching the moat and few remaining walls in a pale glow undulating with shadows, and revealing mounds of skulls baring their broken teeth and staring into nothingness through the black holes of their eye-sockets. Ciri squealed sharply and hid her face in the witcher's cloak.

The mare, prodded on by the witcher's heels, carefully stepped over a pile of bricks and passed through the broken arcade. Her horseshoes, ringing against the flagstones, awoke weird echoes between the walls, muffled by the howling gale. Ciri trembled, digging her hands into the horse's mane.

'I'm frightened,' she whispered.

'There's nothing to be frightened of,' replied the witcher, laying his hand on her shoulder. 'It's hard to find a safer place in the whole world. This is Kaer Morhen, the Witchers' Keep. There used to be a beautiful castle here. A long time ago.'

She did not reply, bowing her head low. The witcher's mare, called Roach, snorted quietly, as if she too wanted to reassure the girl.

They immersed themselves in a dark abyss, in a long, unending black tunnel dotted with columns and arcades. Roach stepped

confidently and willingly, ignoring the impenetrable darkness, and her horseshoes rang brightly against the floor.

In front of them, at the end of the tunnel, a straight, vertical line suddenly flared with a red light. Growing taller and wider it became a door beyond which was a faint glow, the flickering brightness of torches stuck in iron mounts on the walls. A black figure stood framed in the door, blurred by the brightness.

'Who comes?' Ciri heard a menacing, metallic voice which sounded like a dog's bark. 'Geralt?'

'Yes, Eskel. It's me.'

'Come in.'

The witcher dismounted, took Ciri from the saddle, stood her on the ground and pressed a bundle into her little hands which she grabbed tightly, only regretting that it was too small for her to hide behind completely.

'Wait here with Eskel,' he said. 'I'll take Roach to the stables.'

'Come into the light, laddie,' growled the man called Eskel. 'Don't lurk in the dark.'

Ciri looked up into his face and barely restrained her frightened scream. He wasn't human. Although he stood on two legs, although he smelled of sweat and smoke, although he wore ordinary human clothes, he was not human. No human can have a face like that, she thought.

'Well, what are you waiting for?' repeated Eskel.

She didn't move. In the darkness she heard the clatter of Roach's horseshoes grow fainter. Something soft and squeaking ran over her foot. She jumped.

'Don't loiter in the dark, or the rats will eat your boots.'

Still clinging to her bundle Ciri moved briskly towards the light. The rats bolted out from beneath her feet with a squeak. Eskel leaned over, took the package from her and pulled back her hood.

'A plague on it,' he muttered. 'A girl. That's all we need.'

She glanced at him, frightened. Eskel was smiling. She saw that he was human after all, that he had an entirely human face, deformed by a long, ugly, semi-circular scar running from the corner of his mouth across the length of his cheek up to the ear.

'Since you're here, welcome to Kaer Morhen,' he said. 'What do they call you?'

'Ciri,' Geralt replied for her, silently emerging from the darkness. Eskel turned around. Suddenly, quickly, wordlessly, the witchers fell into each other's arms and wound their shoulders around each other tight and hard. For one brief moment.

'Wolf, you're alive.'

'I am.'

'All right.' Eskel took a torch from its bracket. 'Come on. I'm closing the inner gates to stop the heat escaping.'

They walked along the corridor. There were rats here, too; they flitted under the walls, squeaked from the dark abyss, from the branching passages, and skittered before the swaying circle of light thrown by the torch. Ciri walked quickly, trying to keep up with the men.

'Who's wintering here, Eskel? Apart from Vesemir?'

'Lambert and Coen.'

They descended a steep and slippery flight of stairs. A gleam was visible below them. Ciri heard voices, detected the smell of smoke.

The hall was enormous, and flooded with light from a huge hearth roaring with flames which were being sucked up into the heart of the chimney. The centre of the hall was taken up by an enormous, heavy table. At least ten people could sit around that table. There were three. Three humans. Three witchers, Ciri corrected herself. She saw nothing but their silhouettes against the fire in the hearth.

'Greetings, Wolf. We've been waiting for you.'

'Greetings, Vesemir. Greetings, lads. It's good to be home again.'

'Who have you brought us?'

Geralt was silent for a moment, then put his hand on Ciri's shoulder and lightly pushed her forward. She walked awkwardly, hesitantly, huddled up and hunched, her head lowered. I'm frightened, she thought. I'm very frightened. When Geralt found me, when he took me with him, I thought the fear wouldn't come back. I thought it had passed… And now, instead of being at home, I'm in this terrible, dark, ruined old castle full of rats and dreadful echoes… I'm standing in front of a red wall of fire again. I see sinister black figures, I see dreadful, menacing, glistening eyes staring at me-

'Who is this child, Wolf? Who is this girl?'

'She's my…' Geralt suddenly stammered. She felt his strong, hard hands on her shoulders. And suddenly the fear disappeared, vanished without a trace. The roaring red fire gave out warmth. Only warmth. The black silhouettes were the silhouettes of friends. Carers. Their glistening eyes expressed curiosity. Concern. And unease…