'You're exaggerating, Merigold.'

'Lambert.' Geralt released his medallion and rested his hands on the table. 'First, stop calling Triss "Merigold". She has asked you a number of times not to. Second, Triss is not exaggerating. I saw Ciri's mother, Princess Pavetta, in action with my own eyes. I tell you, it was really something. I don't know if she was a Source or not, but no one suspected she had any power at all until, save by a hair's breadth, she almost reduced the royal castle of Cintra to ashes.'

'We should assume, therefore,' said Eskel, lighting the candles in yet another candle-stick, 'that Ciri could, indeed, be genetically burdened.'

'Not only could,' said Vesemir, 'she is so burdened. On the one hand Lambert is right. Ciri is not capable of forming Signs. On the other… We have all seen…'

He fell silent and looked at Ciri who, with a joyful squeal, acknowledged that she had the upper hand in the game. Triss spied a small smile on Coen's face and was sure he had allowed her to win.

'Precisely,' she sneered. 'You have all seen. What have you seen? Under what circumstances did you see it? Don't you think, boys, that the time has come for more truthful confessions? Hell, I repeat, I will keep your secret. You have my word.'

Lambert glanced at Geralt; Geralt nodded in assent. The younger witcher stood and took a large rectangular crystal carafe and a smaller phial from a high shelf. He poured the contents of the

phial into the carafe, shook it several times and poured the transparent liquid into the chalices on the table.

'Have a drink with us, Triss.'

'Is the truth so terrible,' she mocked, 'that we can't talk about it soberly? Do I have to get drunk in order to hear it?'

'Don't be such a know-all. Take a sip. You will find it easier to understand.'

'What is it?'

'White Seagull.'

What?'

'A mild remedy,' Eskel smiled, 'for pleasant dreams.'

'Damn it! A witcher hallucinogenic? That's why your eyes shine like that in the evenings!'

'White Seagull is very gentle. It's Black Seagull that is hallucinogenic'

'If there's magic in this liquid I'm not allowed to take it!'

'Exclusively natural ingredients,' Geralt reassured her but he looked, she noticed, disconcerted. He was clearly afraid she would question them about the elixir's ingredients. 'And diluted with a great deal of water. We would not offer you anything that could harm you.'

The sparkling liquid, with its strange taste, struck her throat with its chill and then dispersed warmth throughout her body. The magician ran her tongue over her gums and palate. She was unable to recognise any of the ingredients.

'You gave Ciri some of this… Seagull to drink,' she surmised. And then-'

'It was an accident,' Geralt interrupted quickly. 'That first evening, just after we arrived… she was thirsty, and the Seagull stood on the table. Before we had time to react, she had drunk it all in one go. And fallen into a trance.'

We had such a fright,' Vesemir admitted, and sighed. 'Oh, that we did, child. More than we could take.'

'She started speaking with another voice,' the magician stated calmly, looking at the witchers' eyes gleaming in the candlelight. 'She started talking about events and matters of which she could

have no knowledge. She started… to prophesy. Right? What did she say?'

'Rubbish,' said Lambert dryly. 'Senseless drivel.'

'Then I have no doubt' – she looked straight at him – 'that you understood each other perfectly well. Drivel is your speciality -and I am further convinced of it every time you open your mouth. Do me a great favour and don't open it for a while, all right?'

'This once,' said Eskel gravely, rubbing the scar across his cheek, 'Lambert is right, Triss. After drinking Seagull Ciri really was incomprehensible. That first time it was gibberish. Only after-'

He broke off. Triss shook her head.

'It was only the second time that she started talking sense,' she guessed. 'So there was a second time, too. Also after she drank a drug because of your carelessness?'

'Triss.' Geralt raised his head. 'This is not the time for your childish spitefulness. It doesn't amuse us. It worries and upsets us. Yes, there was a second time, too, and a third. Ciri fell, quite by accident, during an exercise. She lost consciousness. When she regained it, she had fallen into another trance. And once again she spoke nonsense. Again it was not her voice. And again it was incomprehensible. But I have heard similar voices before, heard a similar way of speaking. It's how those poor, sick, demented women known as oracles speak. You see what I'm thinking?'

'Clearly. That was the second time, get to the third.'

Geralt wiped his brow, suddenly beaded with sweat, on his forearm. 'Ciri often wakes up at night,' he continued. 'Shouting. She has been through a lot. She does not want to talk about it but it is clear that she saw things no child should see in Cintra and Angren. I even fear that… that someone harmed her. It comes back to her in dreams. Usually she is easy to reassure and she falls asleep without any problem… But once, after waking… she was in a trance again. She again spoke with someone else's, unpleasant, menacing voice. She spoke clearly and made sense. She prophesied. Foresaw the future. And what she foretold…'

'What? What, Geralt?'

'Death,' Vesemir said gently. 'Death, child.'

Triss glanced at Ciri, who was shrilly accusing Coen of cheating. Coen put his arms around her and burst out laughing. The magician suddenly realised that she had never, up until now, heard any of the witchers laugh.

'For whom?' she asked briefly, still gazing at Coen.

'Him,' said Vesemir.

'And me,' Geralt added. And smiled.

'When she woke up-'

'She remembered nothing. And we didn't ask her any questions.'

'Quite so. As to the prophecy… Was it specific? Detailed?'

'No.' Geralt looked her straight in the eyes. 'Confused. Don't ask about it, Triss. We are not worried by the contents of Ciri's prophecies and ravings but about what happens to her. We're not afraid for ourselves but-'

'Careful,' warned Vesemir. 'Don't talk about it in front of her.'

Coen approached the table carrying the girl piggy-back.

'Wish everybody goodnight, Ciri,' he said. 'Say goodnight to those night owls. We're going to sleep. It's nearly midnight. In a minute it'll be the end of Midinvaerne. As of tomorrow, every day brings spring closer!'

'I'm thirsty.' Ciri slipped off his back and reached for Eskel's chalice. Eskel deftly moved the vessel beyond her reach and grabbed a jug of water. Triss stood quickly.

'Here you are.' She gave her half-full chalice to the girl while meaningfully squeezing Geralt's arm and looking Vesemir in the eye. 'Drink.'

'Triss,' whispered Eskel, watching Ciri drink greedily, 'what are you doing? It's-'

'Not a word, please.'

They did not have to wait long for it to take effect. Ciri suddenly grew rigid, cried out, and smiled a broad, happy smile. She squeezed her eyelids shut and stretched out her arms. She laughed, spun a pirouette and danced on tiptoes. Lambert moved the stool away in a flash, leaving Coen standing between the dancing girl and the hearth.

Triss jumped up and tore an amulet from her pouch – a sapphire

set in silver on a thin chain. She squeezed it tightly in her hand.

'Child…' groaned Vesemir. 'What are you doing?'

'I know what I'm doing,' she said sharply. 'Ciri has fallen into a trance and I am going to contact her psychically. I am going to enter her. I told you, she is something like a magical transmitter -I've got to know what she is transmitting, how, and from where she is drawing the aura, how she is transforming it. It's Midinvaerne, a favourable night for such an undertaking…'

'I don't like it.' Geralt frowned. 'I don't like it at all.'