The Road With No Return

by Andrzej Sapkowski
 As published in the anthology

“Something Ends, Something Beings”

fan-translation based on the official German translation,

“Der Weg, von dem niemand zurückkehrt”, aus
“Etwas endet, etwas beginnt”,
published in 2012 by dtv

Updated: Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Progress: finished
(based on the ebook)

Translated by
Tina B.
cayastrife@gmail.com

Disclaimer: This body of work is a fan translation and not

meant to infringe copyright or produce profit. It is being
created for the sole purpose of allowing fans to familiarize
themselves with works which have not yet received an
official translation. As soon as the latter is available, this
document will no longer be hosted.

Translator’s notes can be found at the end of the document.

 
 I

The bird with the colorful plumage resting on Visenna’s

shoulder began to cry, batted its wings, rose and glided into
the underbrush. Visenna reined in her horse, listened for a
moment, then carefully continued along the forest path.

The man seemed to be asleep. He sat leaning his back

against a pole set into the middle of the crossroads. When
she came closer, Visenna saw that his eyes were open. Even
before that, she had noticed that he was wounded. The
makeshift bandage covering his left shoulder and upper arm
was soaked in blood which had not yet turned black.

“Greetings, lad”, the wounded man sounded and spit

out a long shaft of grass. “Where are you riding to, if one
may ask?”

Visenna didn’t like the ‘lad’. She threw back her hood.

“One may ask”, she retorted, “but should justify one’s

curiosity.”

“Pardon me, Milady,” the man said and narrowed his

eyes. “You wear man’s clothing. And regarding the curiosity:
it is well justified! This here is an unusual crossroad. An
interesting adventure has befallen me here…”
 “I see”, Visenna interrupted him and regarded the
motionless, unnaturally bent figure lying halfway hidden in a
bush no more than ten steps from the pole.

The man looked in the same direction. Then their

glances met. Visenna acted as if she were brushing back her
hair and touched the diadem that was hidden under the
snakeskin headband.

“Ah yes,” the wounded man said calmly. “There is a

corpse. You have quick eyes. Surely you think me a bandit.
Am I in the right?”

“You are not.” Visenna said without taking her hand off

the diadem.

“Ah…”, the man moaned, “Yes. Well…”

“Your wound is bleeding.”

“Most wounds have that strange property.” The injured

man smiled. He had pretty teeth.

“Covered with a bandage applied with only one hand, it

will bleed for quite a while.”

“Would you perhaps honor me with your help?”

Visenna jumped off her horse, her heels leaving deep

traces in the soft ground.
 “My name is Visenna”, she said. “I do not honor
anyone. I also do not appreciate being addressed in such a
manner. Still I will treat your wound. Can you stand?”

“Yes. Do I have to?”

“No.”

“Visenna”, the man said while stretching slightly to

allow her to remove the bandage more easily. “A pretty
name. Has anyone told you, Visenna, that you have pretty
hair? It’s called copper, isn’t it?”

“No. Strawberry blond.”

“Ah. When you’re done, I will give you a bunch of

lupines that are growing in the ditch over there. And while
you’re operating on me, just to pass the time, I will tell you
what has happened to me. I did, you know, come here the
same way as you. And I see, there at the crossroads, a pole.
Yes, this one. And on this pole there is a board. That hurts.”

“Most wounds have that strange property.” Visenna

tore off the last layer of fabric without even trying to be
especially careful.

“True, I’d forgotten. Where was I… Ah, yes. So I come

closer, see what’s on the board. Horribly clumsy, I once
knew an archer who could piss prettier letters in the snow. I
read… And what’s that supposed to be, Milady? What kind
of stone is that? Oh, damn it. I didn’t expect that.”

Visenna gently ran the hematite over the wound. The

bleeding stopped immediately. She closed her eyes and
gripped the man’s wounded arm with both hands, tightly
pressing the edges together. She let go – the tissue had
grown together, leaving behind nothing more than a jagged,
scarlet line.

The man was silent and watched attentively. Finally, he

carefully raised his arm, stretched it, rubbed the scar, shook
his head. He adjusted the bloody shirt and doublet, stood
up, picked up the belt with the sword, money pouch and
canteen. The belt buckle was shaped like a dragon’s head.

“Well, that’s what you call luck”, he said without taking

his eyes off Visenna. “I met a healer in the middle of the
wilderness, where the Yaruga meets the Ina, where one
usually is more likely to meet a werewolf or, even worse, a
drunk lumberjack. What about payment for my treatment? I
am a little short on money at the moment. Will a bunch of
lupines suffice?”

Visenna ignored the question. She stepped closer to

the pole, raised her head – the board was nailed on at a
man’s eye-level.

“’You, who come from the west’”, she read aloud. “’Go
left and you will return. Go right, and you will return. Go
straight ahead, and you will not return.’ Nonsense.”
 “My thoughts exactly,” the man said while brushing
pine needles off his pant leg. “I know this region. Going
straight, which means east, you get to the Klamat pass,
onto the merchants’ road. Why should one be unable to
return from there? Pretty girls who want to marry? Cheap
booze? An opening as mayor?”

“You digress, Korin.”

The man opened his mouth in surprise. “How do you

know that my name is Korin?”

“You have only just said it yourself. Go on.”

“I have?” The man scrutinized her distrustfully. “Really?

Well, perhaps… Where was I? Ah. So, I read and ask myself
what idiot came up with that inscription. Suddenly, I hear
someone babbling and muttering behind my back. I look
back and see an old hag, gray-haired, crooked, with a cane,
of course. I politely ask her what is wrong. She murmurs:
‘I’m hungry, dear knight, haven’t had a bite since morning.’
I think, so the hag has at least one tooth left. I’m mighty
touched, so from my knapsack I take a piece of bread and
half a smoked brace, which I received from a fisherman on
the Yaruga, and give it to the old woman. She sits down,
chews, croaks, spits out fishbone. I keep looking at that
strange signpost. Suddenly the old woman sounds: ‘You’re a
good man, little knight, saved me, should have a reward.’ I
wanted to let her know where she can stick her reward, but
then the hag says: ‘Come closer, I have something to
whisper in your ear, an important secret, how you can save
many good people from woe, have fame and fortune.”
 Visenna sighed and sat down next to the wounded
man. She liked him, tall, blond, with a narrow face and
pronounced chin. He didn’t stink like most men she had
met. She shooed away the persistent thought that she had
been aimlessly wandering the woods and country roads by
herself for too long.

Korin continued his tale: “Hah, I thought, this is a

classic opportunity. If the hag doesn’t have sclerosis and is
still right in the head, then this may really prove useful for a
poor warrior. I bend down, stretch my neck like a bumbling
idiot. And if my reflexes hadn’t worked, she would have got
me straight in the throat. I jumped back, the blood gushing
from my arm like from a castle fountain, but the hag
brandishes the knife, cries, sputters and spits. I still didn’t
think it was serious. I go in close, to gain the advantage, and
notice that she isn’t an old hag at all. Breasts as firm as
flint…”

Korin squinted at Visenna to see if she had blushed.

Visenna was listening with polite interest.

“Where was I… Ah. I thought I’d push her over and

disarm her, but not a chance. Strong as a lynx. I notice that
her hand, which his holding the knife, is going to slip from
my grip any moment. What should I do? I pushed her away,
drew the sword… She ran into it herself.”

Visenna sat silent, her hand at her forehead, as if she

were absentmindedly adjusting the snakeskin headband.

“Visenna? I say it as it was. I know it was a woman, and

I feel stupid, but I’ll croak if that was a normal woman. Right
after she fell, she transformed. She got younger.”

“An illusion”, Visenna said thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Visenna stood up, walked over to the corpse

lying in the undergrowth of fern.

“Look.” Korin stepped up to her. “A wench like a statue

at the castle’s fountain. But she was bent and wrinkled like
the backside of a hundred-year-old cow. If…”

“Korin”, Visenna interrupted. “Do you have a strong

stomach?”

“Huh? What does my stomach have to do with this? But

if you’re interested – I can’t complain.”

Visenna removed the headband. The jeweled affixed to

the diadem glowed in the milky gleam of light. She
positioned herself in front of the corpse, stretched out her
hands, closed her eyes. Korin watched, his mouth halfway
open. Visenna slightly nodded her head, whispered
something he didn’t understand.

“Grealghane!” she shouted suddenly.

The undergrowth moved violently. Korin jumped back,

drew his sword, froze in a defensive posture. The corpse
began to twitch.

“Grealghane! Speak!”

“Aaaaaaa!” A hoarse, tumescent cry sounded from the

undergrowth. The corpse bent, almost levitated, touching
the ground with its back and head. The cry faded, turned
into a throaty stammer, broken sighs and screams, which
slowly gained tonality but were utterly incomprehensible.
Korin felt a stream of cold sweat on his back, irritating him
like a creeping caterpillar. He balled his fists to suppress the
tingling in his hands and with all his might fought the
overwhelming urge to flew into the depths of the forest.

“Oggg… nnnn… nngammmmm”, the corpse

stammered while it clawed the ground with its fingernails,
blisters of blood welling out of its mouth and bursting on its
lips. “Nam… eeeggg…”

“Speak!”

A muddy stream of light seeped from Visenna’s

outstretched hands; and in it, the dust tumbled and
accumulated. Dry leaves and stalks shot up from the
undergrowth. The corpse chocked, began to smack its lips
and, suddenly, to talk. Quite comprehensibly.

“Crossroads six miles south of the source. At most. S…

sent. The Circle. A lad. Slau…gh…er. Ordered.”

“Who?” Visenna yelled. “Who gave the order? Speak!”

 “Fffff… ggg … genal. All letters, sheets, rings, amu…
lets.”

“Speak!”

“…pass. The Koshchey. Ge…nal. Take letters. Par…

chment. He comes from Maaaaa! Eeeeeee! Naaaaaa!!!”

The stammering voice began to vibrate, to dissolve into

a horrible cry. Korin could take it no longer, he dropped the
sword, closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his ears. So
he stood until he felt a touch on his arm. He shivered
violently, all over, as if someone had hit him in the genitals.

“It is over”, Visenna said and wiped sweat off her

forehead. “I had enquired about your stomach.”

“What a day”, Korin groaned. He picked up the sword,

pushed it into the sheath, taking care not to glance in the
direction of the now motionless corpse. “Visenna?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s get away from here. As far away from this place
as possible.”

 
 II

Together, both of them on Visenna’s horse, they rode

along an overgrown, uneven forest path. She sat in front in
the saddle, Korin on the croup, behind her, his arms
wrapped around her waist. Visenna had long since grown
accustomed to enjoying the amenities that fate offered her
without second thoughts; so she contently leaned back
against the man’s chest. Both remained silent.

After almost an hour it was Korin who first brought

himself to speak. “Visenna.”

“What is it?”

“You’re not just a healer. You’re from the Circle?”

“Yes.”

“Judging by that… demonstration, a mistress?”

“Yes.”

Korin let go of her waist and grabbed the pommel.

Visenna angrily screwed up her eyes. Of course he didn’t
see.
 “Visenna?”

“What is it?”

“Did you understand anything of what the… said?”

“Not much.”

Again they were silent. A colorful bird flying through the

foliage above them screamed loudly.

“Visenna?”

“Korin, do me a favor.”

“Hm?”

“Stop talking. I want to think.”

The forest road led them down into a ravine, to the bed
of a shallow stream which lazily meandered between stones
and black tree trunks. The air smelled strongly of mint and
nettle. Once in a while the horse slipped on the stones,
which were covered in clay and silt. To keep from falling off,
Korin again wrapped his arms around Visenna’s waist. He
shooed away the persistent thought that he had been
aimlessly wandering the woods and country roads by
himself for too long.
 

 
 III

The settlement was a typical roadside village, clinging

to the mountainside, huts of straw and wood, dirty, ducking
between crooked fences. As they rode closer, dogs began to
bark. Visenna’s horse quietly plodded forward in the middle
of the road and paid no heed to the keen mutts stretching
their foaming muzzles for its pasterns.

At first, they saw no one. Then, from behind the fences,

from the paths leading toward the farmsteads, appeared the
residents – they approached slowly, barefoot and with
sinister faces. They carried pitchforks, sticks and flails.
Someone bent down and picked up a stone.

Visenna reined in the horse, raised a hand. Korin saw

that in it, she was holding a small golden knife formed like a
sickle.

“I am a healer”, she said in a voice that was clear and

sonorous, but in no way loud.

The peasants lowered their weapons, began to

murmur, exchanged glances. More and more arrived. Some
of those closest took off their caps.

“What is the name of this settlement?”

“Key”, it sounded from the crowd after a short silence.

 “Who is your alderman?”

“Topin, your ladyship. There, the hut.”

Before they moved off, a woman holding an infant

squeezed through the line of countryfolk. “Mistress…”, she
moaned and carefully touched Visenna’s knee. “My
daughter… She is burning with a fever…”

Visenna jumped from the saddle, touched the child’s

small head, closed her eyes.

“She will be healthy tomorrow. Don’t wrap her up so

tightly.”
 “Thank you, your ladyship… A thousand thanks…”

Topin, the alderman, was already in the yard,

considering what to do with the pitchfork he was holding.
Finally, he used it to free the stairs from the mess left by the
chickens.

“Pardon me”, he said and leaned the fork against the

wall. “Milady. And you, milord. Times are unsafe… Please
step in. Let us entertain you.”

They went inside.

Topin’s wife, trailed by two flaxen-haired girls clinging

to their mother’s apron strings, served scrambled eggs,
bread and sour milk. Afterwards, she vanished into her
chamber. In contrast to Korin, Visenna ate little and was
sullen and quiet. Topin rolled his eyes, scratched himself in
various places and talked.

“Times are unsafe. Unsafe. We are not doing well,

Milady. We raise sheep, whose wool is meant to be sold, but
since there are no merchants, we’re slaughtering the herd.
We slaughter the sheep to have food on the table. Back
then, the merchants traveled around Hornstone and
Greenstone into the Amell, across the pass, where the pits
are. They mine hornstone there. And when the merchants
passed, they also took wool, paid and left other wares. Now
there are no more merchants. There’s not even salt;
whatever we slaughter we have to eat within three days.”
 “The merchants are steering clear of you? Why?” Every
once in a while Visenna thoughtfully touched the headband.

“They just do”, Topin growled. “The road to the Amell is

closed, and that damned koshchey has taken the pass and
doesn’t even let a single soul through. How are the
merchants supposed to come here? To die?”

Korin froze, spoon suspended in midair.

“Koshchey? What is a koshchey?”

“Well, how should I know? The koshchey, they say, is a

man-eater. He’s supposed to sit on the pass.”

“And he’s not letting the caravans through?”

Topin looked around the hut. “Some he does. His own,

they say. He’s letting his own through.”

Visenna frowned. “What do you mean: ‘his own’?”

“Well, his own”, Topin murmured and blanched. “The

people of Amell have it even worse than we do. We can at
least feed on the forest a little. But they are sitting on bare
rock and only get what the koshchey’s people sell for the
hornstone. Which is bad, because they are supposed to
demand a high price for their wares, but what should the
Amell people do? They can’t eat the hornstone after all.”
 “What ‘koshchey’s people’? Humans?”

“Humans and vrans and some others. Thugs is what

they are, Milady. What they take from us, they bring to the
Amell and exchange it for hornstone and greenstone. They
take it from us forcefully. They have often robbed the
villages, raped the girls, murdered them, burnt them. Thugs.
The koshchey’s.”

“How many are they?”

“Who is supposed to count, Milord. The villages defend

themselves, hold together. And what’s it help us if they raid
us at night and set fire? We rather give them what they
demand. Then they say…” Topin blanched even further,
began to tremble violently.

“What do they say, Topin?”

“They say that when the koshchey’s angry, he will

descend from the pass, come to us into the valleys.”

Visenna rose abruptly, her face had changed. Korin felt

a shiver run down his spine.

“Topin”, the sorceress said. “Where is the closest

smithy? My horse lost a shoe on the road.”

“A little ways behind the village, near the forest.

There’s a smithy and a barn.”
 “Good. Go now, and ask if anyone is sick or wounded.”

“Thank you, merciful benefactress.”

“Visenna”, Korin said as soon as the door had closed

behind Topin. The druid turned around and looked at him.

“All of your horse’s shoes are in perfect order.”

Visenna remained silent.

“Hornstone is obviously jasper, greenstone jadeite, for

which the Amell’s mines are famous”, Korin continued. “And
to get to the Amell, you need to travel the Klamat, over the
pass. The road with no return. What did the dead woman at
the crossroads say? Why did she want to kill me?”

Visenna didn’t answer.

“You’re silent? Never mind. It is all becoming clear so

nicely. The wench at the crossroads was waiting for
someone to stop at the stupid sign that forbids you to go
east. That was the first test: if the newcomer can read. Then
the wench verified again: who, if not a good Samaritan from
the Circle of druids, would help a hungry old woman these
days? Everybody else, I bet, would’ve even taken the stick
from her. So the cunning wench investigates further, starts
talking of poor, unhappy people who need help. The
traveler, instead of thanking her with a kick and a curse, as
any average resident of these parts would, listens closely.
Yes, the wench thinks, this is him. The druid who’s here to
clear out the bandits terrorizing the neighborhood. And
since she herself was doubtlessly sent by said bandits, she
draws a knife. Ha! Visenna! Am I not a paragon of
intelligence?”

Visenna didn’t answer. She stood facing the window.

Outside she saw – the semi-transparent membranes of air
bladder were no obstacle to her sight – the bird with the
colorful plumage sitting in a small cherry tree.

“Visenna?”

“Yes.”

“What’s a koshchey?”

“Korin”, Visenna said sharply and turned to face him.

“Why are you getting involved in matters which are none of
your concern?”

“Listen” – Korin didn’t care about her tone of voice -, “I

am already, as you say, involved in your matters. As it turns
out, I was to be murdered in your stead.”

“By chance.”

“I thought sorceresses didn’t believe in chance, only in

magical attraction, chain of events and such. Look, we’re
sitting on the same horse. Literally and figuratively. In
short… I offer you my help with the mission, whose purpose
I can very well imagine. A refusal I will take as a sign of
arrogance. They told me that you from the Circle look down
upon ordinary mortals.”

“That’s a lie.”

“All the better.” Korin flashed his teeth. “So let’s not
lose any time. Let’s ride to the smithy.”

 
 IV

Nicholas grabbed the rod more tightly with the pliers

and turned it in the embers. “Step on it, Bung!” he ordered.

The journeyman grabbed the handle of the bellows. His

chubby face shone with sweat. In spite of the door being
wide open, the smithy was unbearably hot. Nicholas lifted
the rod onto the anvil, flattened the end with a few mighty
blows of his hammer.

The wheelwright Radim, sitting on a rough block of

birchwood, was sweating heavily as well. He unbuttoned his
overall and pulled the shirt out of his pants. “It’s easy for
you to say, Nicholas”, he said. “You know all about fighting.
Everybody knows that you haven’t been standing in the
smithy all your life. Back then, they say, you smashed heads
instead of iron.”

“Then be glad to have one like that on your side,” the

smith responded. “I’m telling you again, I will no longer
crawl to them. Or slave away for them. If you’re not coming
with me, then I’ll go alone, or with anyone who has blood
running in their veins, not small beer. We will go into the
woods and finish them off one by one if we catch them. How
many are they? Thirty? Perhaps not even that many. And
how many villages are there on this side? Strong lads? Step
on it, Bung!”

“I am!”
 “More!”

The hammer beat the anvil rhythmically, almost

melodically. Bung pulled the bellows.

Radim snorted into his hand and wiped it on the shaft

of his boot. “Easy for you to say”, he repeated. “And how
many will join us from Key?”

The smith lowered the hammer, remained silent.

“That’s what I thought”, the wheelwright said. “Nobody

will come.”

“Key is a small village. You should have asked in Sill

and Stalk.”

“I did. I told you how it is. Without warriors from

Mayena, the people won’t move a muscle. Some say: Those
bobolaks and vrans, them we can take on one, two, three
with our pitchforks, but what do we do if the koshchey
descends on us? Flee into the woods. And the huts, our
belongings? We can’t carry them on our backs. And we are
powerless against the koshchey itself, you know that.”

“How should I know? Has anybody seen it?” the smith

yelled. “Maybe there is no koshchey? Maybe they just want
to scare you peasants? Has anybody seen it?”
 “Don’t talk, Nicholas.” Radim cocked his head. “You
know that among the merchants’ escort there were
veritable murderers, hung with iron. And did one of them
return from the pass? Not a single one. No, Nicholas. We
must wait, I tell you. If the castellan of Mayena sends help,
then that’s a different story.”

Nicholas put down the hammer and placed the rod in

the oven once more. “Mayena’s military will not come”, he
said morosely. “The lords are squabbling among themselves.
Mayena against Raswan.”

“Why?”

“Who understands the why and what for when the

noble Lords are fighting? If you ask me – because of
boredom, haughtiness!” the smith yelled. “I saw him, that
castellan! Why do we even pay the bastard taxes?”

He tore the rod from the embers so that the sparks flew
and gesticulated wildly. Bung jumped aside. Nicholas
grabbed the hammer, hit once, twice, thrice. “When the
castellan chased my boy off, I sent him to the Circle to ask
for help. To the druids.”

“To the sorcerers?” the wheelwright asked in disbelief.

“Nicholas?”

“To those. But the boy hasn’t come back yet.”

Radim shook his head, stood up and adjusted his pants.

“I don’t know, Nicholas, I don’t know. That’s too much for
me. But still it amounts to the same thing. We must wait.
Finish your work, they will come soon, I must…”

In front of the smithy, a horse neighed.

The smith froze, his hammer raised above the anvil.

The wheelwright’s teeth began to chatter, he blanched.
Nicholas noticed his hands shivering; he involuntarily wiped
them on his leather apron. It didn’t help. He swallowed and
went to the door opening, from which the silhouettes of
riders could be seen. Radim and Bung followed, stayed very
close behind him. As he went out, the smith leaned the rod
against the wall next to the door.

He saw six figures, all on horseback, wearing leather-

studded vests, hauberks, leather helmets with nose
protection made of steel which ran as a straight line of
metal between huge ruby eyes taking up half the face. They
sat on their horses without moving, as if careless. Nicholas,
who let his gaze sweep from one to the other, saw their
weapons: short spears with broad blades. Swords with
strangely forged crossguards. Broadaxes. Serrated glaives.

Two of them stood opposite the entrance. A tall vran on

a gray mold, wearing a cloak, a sun emblem on his helmet.
And the other…

“Mother”, Bung whispered behind the smith’s back.

And started to sob.

The other rider was a human. He wore a dark vran

cloak, but from behind the beak-shaped helmet, pale blue
eyes watched them, no red ones. In those eyes lay such
cold, indifferent violence that Nicholas felt a terrible fear
course through him, chilling his innards, causing nausea, a
tickling in his behind. It was still quiet. The smith heard the
flies humming above the manure pile behind the fence.

The human with the beak-shaped helmet was the first

to speak. “Who of you is the smith?”

The question was senseless, the leather apron and his

posture gave away Nicholas at first glance. The smith
remained silent. From the corner of his eye he noticed the
pale-eyed man making a small gesture to one of the vrans.
The vran leaned forward in the saddle and gave a wide
swing of the glaive he was holding by the middle of its shaft.
Nicholas bent, instinctively ducked and covered his head
and shoulders. The blow, however, was not meant for him.
The wide blade hit Bung in the neck and entered at an
angle, deep, shattering a collarbone and vertebra. The
young man reeled backwards against the wall of the smithy,
tumbled against the door post and dropped to the ground
right at the entrance.

“I asked you a question”, the man with the beak-

shaped helmet reminded them without taking his eyes off
Nicholas. His gloved hand touched the ax fastened to the
saddle. The vrans standing the farthest away lit a fire,
ignited links and passed them on to the others. Calmly,
unhurriedly they surrounded the smithy, held the torches to
the thatched roof.

Radim could bear it no longer. He pressed his face into

his hands, started to sob and ran straight ahead between
two horses. When he was on the level of a tall vran, the
latter jauntily rammed a spear into his stomach. The
wheelwright howled, fell, violently twitched twice and
spread his legs. He moved no more.

“So, what is it, Nicholas, or whatever you are called”,

Pale-eyes said. “You alone remain. And for what? To rally the
people to the send help? And to think we would not learn of
it? You are stupid. In the villages, there are those who
denounce others to get in our good books.”

The thatched roof of the smithy crackled, cracked,

emitted a yellowish smoke, finally flared up, blazed, blew
sparks, exuded a mighty stream of embers.

“We caught your journeyman, he babbled about where

you sent him. We are also waiting for the one who is to
come from Mayena”, the man with the beak-shaped helmet
continued. “Yes, Nicholas. You stuck your dirty nose where it
doesn’t belong. For that you will now have to suffer severe
inconveniences. I think it will pay to put you on the pole. Is
there a decent pole in this area? Or better yet: We hang you
by your feet, in a barn door, and peel off your skin like we
would with an eel.”

“Well, enough talk”, the tall vran with the sun on his
helmet said while throwing his torch through the open door
of the smithy. “Soon the whole village will gather here. Let’s
finish him, get the horses from the stables and ride off. Why
does making others suffer please you humans so? Especially
when doing so needlessly? Go, finish him.”

Pale-eyes didn’t turn to the vran. He bent forward in his

saddle, ushered the horse toward the smith. “Go inside”, he
said. A lust for murder shone in his pale eyes. “Into the
house. I don’t have the time to properly execute you. But I
can at least fry you.”

Nicholas took a step back. On his back he felt the heat

of the burning smithy, inside which ceiling beams were
crashing thunderously to the floor. One more step. He
stumbled over Bung’s body and the rod, which the boy had
thrown over in his fall.

The rod.

The smith bent over fast as lightning, took hold of the

heavy iron and without straightening himself, from down
low, rammed it into Pale-eyes’ chest with all the strength his
hatred gave him. The chisel-shaped tip penetrated the chain
mail. Nicholas didn’t wait for the man to fall off his horse. He
ran across the yard. Behind him yelling, the stamping of
hooves. He reached the woodshed, clutched the stake
leaning against the wall with his fingers and hit
immediately, in mid-spin, blindly. The blow struck the
muzzle of the gray mold with the green covering. The horse
reared, bucked off the vran with the sun on his helmet and
sent him into the dust of the yard. Nicholas ducked, a short
spear shot into the wall of the shed, became stuck,
quivering. A second vran drew his sword and spurred his
horse to evade the whistling stroke of the stake. Three
others galloped closer, yelled, wildly gesticulated with their
weapons. Nicholas groaned, while he defended himself with
the heavy wood. He hit something, another horse, which
neighed and started to dance on its hind legs. The vran
remained in the saddle.
 Over the fence, from the direction of the forest, hurtled
a horse, clashed with the gray mold with the green covering.
The gray balked, tore at the reins, toppled the tall vran who
was trying to get back into the saddle. Nicholas couldn’t
believe his eyes as he saw how the newly arrived rider split
into two – a weakling in a hood who leaned over the horse’s
neck, and a fair-haired man with a sword, who sat in the
back.

The long narrow blade drew two semi-circles, two

thunderbolts. Two vrans were blown from their saddles, they
tumbled to the ground, veiled in clouds of dust. The third,
who had almost made it to the woodshed, turned to the
peculiar pair and took a thrust under the beard, barely
above the steel chest plate. The blade glinted as it stuck out
of the throat for a moment. The fair-haired man slid off his
horse and ran across the yard to get the tall vran off his
horse. The vran drew the blade.

In the middle of the yard, the fifth vran was trying to

regain control over his dancing horse, which balked at the
burning smithy. His broadax raised, he looked around,
hesitated. Finally, he yelled, spurred the horse and rushed
toward the weakling clinging to the horse’s neck. Nicholas
watched as the small one threw back his hood and tore a
band from his forehead, and he realized how deeply he had
erred. The girl shook her strawberry blond shock of hair and
yelled something incomprehensible, while stretching her
hands out towards the vran. A thin thread of light, bright as
quicksilver, sprang from her fingers. The vran was hurled
from the saddle in a high arc and crashed into the sand. His
clothes were smoldering. The horse, hitting the ground with
all four hooves, neighed, threw its head back and forth.
 The tall vran with the sun on his helmet slowly backed
away from the fair-haired man, towards the burning shed,
ducking, both hands – a sword in his right – stretched
forward. The fair-haired one jumped forward, they exchange
a few blows. The vran’s sword flew off to the side, yet he
himself was stuck on the blade that had impaled him. The
fair-haired man stepped back, removed the sword with a
quick jerk. The vran fell onto his knees, toppled over, his
face in the sand.

The rider who had been thrown from his saddle by the
strawberry-blonde’s flashes got up on all fours, groping
around for a weapon. Nicholas had recovered from the
surprise; he took two steps, picked up the stake and let it
crash down onto the neck of the fallen one. Bones cracked.

“That was not necessary”, he heard somebody say

right beside him.

The girl in the man’s clothing had freckles and green

eyes. On her forehead shone a strange jewel.

“That was not necessary”, she repeated.

“My lady…”, the smith began to stammer and held his

rod like a guardsman would his halberd. “They… burned the
smithy. Beat the boy to death. And Radim. Beaten to death,
those murderers. My lady…”

The fair-haired man used his foot to turn over the body
of the tall vran, inspected him, then came closer and
sheathed his sword.
 “Well, Visenna”, he said. “Now I’ve gotten involved
quite a bit. The only thing that makes me uneasy is whether
I took down the right people.”

Visenna raised her eyes. “You’re the smith, Nicholas?”,

she asked.

“Yes. And you, Masters, are from the Circle of Druids?

From Mayena?”

Visenna didn’t answer. She looked toward the edge of

the forest, at the crowd of people hurrying closer.

“Those are our people”, the smith explained. “From

Key.”

 
 “We got three!” boasted the black-bearded leader of
the group from Sill and shook the scythe set straight onto
the shaft. “Three, Nicholas! They pursued the girls into the
fields, and there, we… One of them managed to get away,
reached a horse, that whoreson!”

His people, crowded around the circle of campfires in

the clearing, which studded the sable night sky with spots of
flying embers, yelled, clamored, shook their weapons.
Nicholas raised both his hands, demanded quiet to be able
to hear the ensuing reports.

“Four came riding to us last night”, said the old, bony

sheriff of Stalk. “Whatever. Someone must have spilled that
I’m involved with you, smith. I barely made it onto the
drying loft of the barn, pulled up the ladder, fork in hand,
‘come’, I yell, ‘scoundrels, who wants some’, I yell. They
were about to set fire to the barn, that would have been the
end of me, but our people didn’t stand by and watch, they
all pounced on them. They had horses, managed to cut
through. Some of ours fell, but we pulled one of them from
his saddle.”

“Does he live?” Nicholas inquired. “I told you to catch

one alive.”

“Well.” The thin one waved dismissively. “That we

didn’t manage. The wenches used boiling water, they got to
him first…”

“I’ve always said they’ve got hot wenches in Stalk”, the

smith murmured and scratched the back of his neck. “And
the snitch?”

“Found him”, the bony man said briefly, without getting

lost in detail.

“Good. And now, people, listen. We already know where

they are. At the mountainside, next to the shepherds’ huts,
there are caves in the rock. That’s where the bandits have
holed up, and that’s where we will catch them. We’ll take
hay and brushwood on the carts, smoke them out like
badgers. We’ll block the way with an abates so they don’t
escape. That’s what I’ve consulted about with this knight
here by the name of Korin. And I myself, as you are aware,
do know a little something about fighting as well. During the
war I went against the vrans with General Grosim, before I
settled down in Key.”

From among the crowd warlike cries rang once more,

but were swiftly quieted by words which spoken lowly and
insecurely at first. Then became louder. Finally, silence fell.

Visenna stepped from behind Nicholas’ back and stood

next to the smith. She did not even reach his shoulder. The
crowd began to murmur.

Nicholas again raised both hands. “The time has

come”, he called, “that I no longer want to conceal that I
have asked for help from the Circle of Druids since the
castellan of Mayena would not supply it. I know very well
that some of you eye me curiously because of that.”
 The crowd slowly turned quieter, but was still in motion,
whispering.

“This here is Lady Visenna”, Nicholas said slowly. “From

the Mayena Circle. She answered our call for help. Those
from Key are already acquainted with her, there she healed
people, restored their health with her powers. Yes, men. She
is a slight lady, but her power is immense. It goes beyond
our understanding and scares us, but it serves as help in our
fight.”

Visenna refrained from commenting, she did not say a

word and made no gesture toward the assembled crowd.
But the veiled power of the small, freckled sorceress was
incredible. Korin felt, with surprise, how a strange
enthusiasm filled him, how the fear of what waited at the
pass, the fear of the unknown, shrank, vanished, became
unimportant, as long as the bright jewel on Visenna’s
forehead sparkled.

“So you see”, Nicholas continued, “that there is

something we can do against the koshchey. We will not go
alone, not defenseless. But before that we have to get rid of
those bandits!”

“Nicholas is right!”, the bearded man from Sill called.

“Magic or not, who cares! To the pass, people! To finish the
koshchey’s thugs!”

The crowd yelled its agreement in unison, raised

scythes, pikes, axes and pitchforks reflecting the flames of
the campfires.
 Korin squeezed through the rows of people near him
toward the forest, found a kettle hanging over a fire, a bowl
and a spoon. He scraped the burnt remains of pap with
bacon off the bottom. He sat down, rested the bowl on his
knees, ate slowly and spit out bits of barley. After a while he
felt someone’s presence.

“Sit down, Visenna”, he said with his mouth full.

He kept eating while squinting at her profile, at the

half-hidden cascade of hair that gleamed blood-red in the
fire’s glow. Visenna remained silent, her gaze directed at the
flames.

“Hey, Visenna, why do we sit here like two owls?” Korin

set down the bowl. “I can’t stand that, it makes me sad and
cold. Where did they hide the moonshine? There was a small
barrel here just a minute ago; Devil take it. It’s dark like…”

The druid turned toward him. Her eyes glowed with a

strange, greenish sparkle. Korin fell silent.

“Yes. True”, he said after a while and cleared his throat.

“I’m a bandit. A mercenary. A robber. I got involved because
I like fighting, no matter who. I know the price of jasper,
jadeite and all the other stones there are in the mines of the
Amell. I want loot. Profit. I don’t care how many of these
people will lose their lives tomorrow. What else do you want
to know? I will say it myself, you don’t need to use that
sparkly thing you’re hiding under the snakeskin. I don’t
intend to hide anything. You’re right, I fit neither you nor
your noble mission. That’s it. Good night. I’m going to
sleep.”

Despite his words he did not get up. He only took a

stick and thrust at the burning logs.

“Korin”, Visenna said quietly.

“Yes?”

“Don’t leave.”

Korin lowered his head. From a chunk of birchwood in

the fire erupted blue geysers of flame. He looked at her but
could not bear the intensity of those eerily sparkling eyes.
He turned his head toward the fire.

“Don’t ask too much of yourself”, Visenna said and

wrapped herself in her cloak. “It is common for the
unnatural to spark fear. And loathing.”

“Visenna…”

“Don’t interrupt me. Yes, Korin, the people need our

help, they are thankful, oftentimes even honestly so, but
they despise us, fear us, don’t look us in the eyes, spit
behind our backs. The more intelligent, like you, are less
honest. You are no exception, Korin. I have heard from many
that they are unworthy of sitting at a fire with me. But it so
happens that it is we who need the help of… normal folk. Or
their company.”
 Korin kept silent.

“I know”, Visenna continued, “that it would be easier

for you if I had a gray beard reaching my belt and a hooked
nose. Then the revulsion against my person would not cause
such confusion in your mind. Yes, Korin, revulsion. This
sparkly thing that I wear on my forehead is a chalcedony. To
it, I owe a large portion of my magical abilities. You are right,
with the help of the chalcedony I am easily able to read the
more concrete thoughts. Yours are exceedingly plain. Do not
ask me to perceive that as pleasing. I am a sorceress, a
witch, but also a woman. I came because I wanted to sleep
with you.”

“Visenna…”

“No. I no longer want to. Not now.”

They sat quietly. The colorful bird, sitting on a branch in

the dark depth of the forest, felt fear. There were owls in the
woods.

“You overdid it a little”, Korin finally sounded “with the

revulsion. But I do admit that you cause in me some kind
of… unrest. You shouldn’t have allowed me to watch that
scene at the crossroads. The corpse, you know?”

“Korin”, the sorceress said calmly. “When you thrust

your sword into the vran’s throat at the smithy, I almost
vomited into the horse’s mane. But let us let our specialties
rest. We should end the conversation that leads to nothing.”
 “We should end it.”

The sorceress drew her cloak more tightly around

herself. Korin threw a few pine cones into the fire.

“Korin?”

“Yes?”

“I wish you were no longer indifferent of how many lose

their lives tomorrow. Humans and… and others. I count on
your help.”

“I will help you.”

“That is not all. There is still the issue of the pass. I

need to open the road across the Klamat.”

With the glowing end of a twig Korin pointed at the

other campfires and the people who slept or talked quietly.
“With our glorious army, that should be no problem.”

“Our army will vanish home once I stop clouding their

heads with magic.” Visenna smiled sadly. “But I will not
cloud them. I do not want any of them to die for an
unfamiliar cause. And the koshchey is not their business,
but that of the Circle. I need to go to the pass alone.”
 “No. You’re not going alone”, Korin said. “We’ll go
together. I, Visenna, have known from early childhood when
to flee and when it’s still too early. I’ve perfected that
knowledge in years of practice, and that’s why I’m currently
considered brave. I don’t intend to do your opinion of me
any harm. You don’t need to cloud me with magic. First, let’s
see what that koshchey looks like. By the way, what do you
think is this koshchey?”

Visenna lowered her head. “I’m afraid”, she whispered,

“it is death.”

VI

The others did not let themselves be caught off-guard

in the caves. They waited in the saddle, motionless, erect,
their eyes directed at the rows of armed peasants coming
from the forest. The wind tearing at their mantles made
them look like haggard birds of prey with ruffled up
plumage, threatening, inspiring awe and fear.
 “Eighteen”, Korin counted standing in the stirrups. “All
mounted. Six near horses. One cart. Nicholas!”

The smith rapidly changed his company’s formation.

Those with pikes and spears kneeled at the edge of the
brush, the ends of their weapons rammed into the ground.
The archers took position behind the trees. The rest
retreated into the thicket.

One of the riders came toward them. He stopped his

horse, raise his hand above his head, called something.

“A feint”, Nicholas murmured. “I know them, those

whoresons.”

“Let’s make sure”, Korin said and jumped from the

saddle. “Come.”

Slowly, the two of them walked up to the mounted one.

After a while Korin noticed Visenna following them.

The rider was a bobolak.

“I will be brief”, he called without dismounting. His

small, sparkling eyes glinted, halfway hidden by the fur that
covered his face. “I am the current leader of the group that
you see over there. Nine bobolaks, five humans, three
vrans, one elf. The rest is dead. There was a difference of
opinion. Our former leader, whose plans led us here, lies in
that cave over there, bound. Do with him as you please. We
want to ride off.”
 “That really was brief”, Nicholas snorted. “You want to
ride off. And we want to tear out your guts. What do you
say?”

The bobolak flashed his pointed teeth, stretched his

small form in the saddle. “Do you believe we fear you
enough to be willing to make concessions? You, a band of
cowards in bast shoes? Please, if you insist, we will ride over
your paunches. That is our trade, peasant. I know that we’re
taking a risk. Even if some of us fall, the others will make it
through. That’s life.”

“The cart won’t make it through”, Korin said forcefully.

“That’s life.”

“We are prepared for that.”

“What’s on the cart?”

The bobolak spit over his right shoulder. “A twentieth of

what has remained in the cave. And just to be clear: if you
ask us to leave the cart behind, we won’t agree. If we’re
supposed to get out of this thing without a profit, then at
least not without a fight. So, what is it? If we are to fight,
then I’d rather do it now, in the morning, before the dear
sun begins to burn.”

“You’re brave”, said Nicholas.

“So are all of my family.”

 “We will let you go if you lower your weapons.”

The bobolak spit again, this time over his left shoulder,
for a change.

“Not a chance”, he growled curtly.

Korin laughed. “That’s what’s bothering you. Without

your weapons, you’re garbage!”

“And what are you without weapons?” the small one

asked without emotion. “A prince? I see what you are. Do
you think I’m blind?”

“With weapons you could be back tomorrow”, Nicholas

said. “Let’s say, to get what’s left in the cave. To make more
profit.”

The bobolak bared his teeth. “That was an option. But

we dropped it after a short discussion.”

“Rightly so”, Visenna said suddenly, stepped from

behind Korin’s back and stood closely in front of the
mounted one. “It was right of you to drop it, Kehl.”

Korin felt as if the wind had suddenly grown stronger, it

began howling between the rocks and grasses, assaulted it
with cold.
 Visenna continued in an unfamiliar, metallic voice.
“Each of you who tires to return here will die. I see it and I
am saying it in advance. Ride from here immediately. Now.
Each who tries to return will die.”

The bobolak leaned forward and looked at the

sorceress across the neck of his horse. He wasn’t young –
his fur war almost ashen, streaked white.

“It is you? I thought so. I’m glad that… But enough of

that. I told you I don’t intend to return here. We joined
Fregenal to make a profit. That’s over. Now the Circle is
breathing down our neck, and all the villages in the area,
but Fregenal is babbling about world domination. We’ve had
enough of him and that creature at the pass.”

He tore at the reins, turned his horse. “Why am I saying

that? We are leaving. Farewell.”

Nobody answered. The bobolak hesitated, looked

toward the edge of the forest, then let his gaze glide along
the row of his motionless riders. Again he leaned forward in
the saddle and looked Visenna in the eyes. “I was against
the attack on you”, he said. “Now I see that I was right. If I
tell you that the koshchey’s death, you will nevertheless go
to the pass, won’t you?”

“True.”

Kehl straightened his back, called something to his

horse, galloped to his people. Immediately, the mounted
ones formed a convoy around the cart, moved off toward
the road. Nicholas was already with his men, talking to
them, calming the bearded man from Sill and others, who
were demanding blood and revenge. Korin and Visenna
silently regarded the company passing them. They rode
slowly, looked straight ahead, showed calm and cold
disdain. Only Kehl raised his hand in a parting gesture when
he passed them, all the while watching Visenna with a
strange expression. Then he abruptly spurred his horse,
trotted past the head of the convoy, vanished between the
trees.

VII

They found the first corpse right at the entrance to the

caves, crushed, shoved between sacks of oat and a pile of
brushwood. The path branched off, at the fork they saw the
next two dead – one nearly headless from a blow with a
mace or the back of an ax, the other covered in clotted
blood from many wounds. All of them humans.

Visenna removed the headband from her forehead. A

light radiated from the diadem, brighter than the fire of the
torches, and lit the dark interior of the cave. The passage
led into a bigger grotto. Korin emitted a soft whistle. Against
the walls leaned crates, sacks and barrels, stacks of
harnesses, balls of wool, weapons, equipment. A few crates
were shattered and empty. Others were full. In passing,
Korin saw a dull green pile of jasper, dark broken pieces of
jadeite, agates, opals, chrysoprases and other jewels he
didn’t know. On the stone floor, here and there glittering
with golden, silver and copper coins, lay scattered bundles
of fur – marmot, lynx, fox, wolverine.

Without stopping for even a moment, Visenna hurried

into a more remote, small and dark cavern. Korin followed
her.

“Here I am”, sounded a dark, indistinct shape lying on a

stack of rags and furs covering the floor.

They walked closer. The bound man was squat, bald,

obese. A large bruise covered half his face.

Visenna touched the diadem, for a moment the

chalcedony flared up more brightly.

“That is unnecessary”, the bound man said. “I know

you. I forget what you are called. I know what’s on your
forehead. That is unnecessary, I say. They assaulted me in
my sleep, took my ring, destroyed my staff. I am
powerless.”

“Fregenal”, Visenna said. “You’ve changed.”

 “Visenna”, the fat one murmured. “I remember. I
thought it would be a man, that’s what I sent Manissa. My
Manissa could have handled a man.”

“She couldn’t”, Korin blustered while looking around.

“Still, one has to give the dead her due. She really made an
effort.”

“Too bad.”

Visenna looked around the cave, walked into a corner

with sure step, turned a stone over the with tip of her boot,
removed a small clay pouch wrapped in leather from the
hollow below it. With her golden sickle she cut a strap,
pulled out a sheaf of parchment.

Fregenal watched with hostility. “Well, well”, he said,

his voice quivering with hatred. “What a talent. It deserves
praise. We can find hidden things. What else can we do?
Divine from an oxen’s gut? Cure a heifer’s flatulence?”

Visenna looked at sheet after sheet without paying any

attention to him.

“Interesting”, she said after a while. “Eleven years ago,

when you were expelled from the Circle, certain pages
vanished from forbidden books. It’s pleasing that they have
been found, enriched with commentary, no less. To think
you had the audacity to use the double cross of Alzur – now,
now. I don’t think you forgot about the fate that befell Alzur.
Some of his creatures supposedly still roam the world,
among them his last, the vij who killed him and destroyed
half of Maribor before fleeing into the woods of the river
country.” She folded a few pages of parchment, slid them
into a pocket in the puffy sleeve of her jacket. She unrolled
the next pages.

“Aha”, she said and frowned. “The formula of tree root,

slightly altered. And here, the triangle within a triangle, a
method with which one can affect a sequence of mutations
and cause enormous gain in body mass. And what, Fregenal,
served as your creature of origin? Looks like a common
spider. Fregenal, something is missing. I hope you know
what I am talking about?”

“I’m glad you’ve noticed.” He wizard grinned. “A

common spider, you say? Once that common spider
descends from the pass, the world will turn mute with
horror. For a moment. And then it will scream.”

“Yes, yes. Where are the missing spells?”

“Nowhere. I didn’t want them to fall into the wrong

hands. Especially not yours. I know that the whole Circle
dreams of the power those spells can give, but no chance.
You will never be capable of creating anything even half as
terrible as a koshchey.”

“You seem to have been hit in the head, Fregenal”,

Visenna said calmly. “Due to that, it seems, you have not
yet regained your intellectual capabilities. Who talks of
creation? Your creature needs to be destroyed, eradicated.
Through the simple inversion of a binding spell, the mirror
effect. The binding spell, of course, was tuned to the staff,
so it needs to be retuned to my chalcedony.”
 “Too much of ‘needs to be”, the fat man growled. “You
can sit here until Judgment Day and ‘need to’, my clever
miss. Where did you get the silly idea that I would give you
the binding spell? You will get nothing from me, neither alive
nor dead. I have a block. Don’t ogle me like that, or that
stone will burn through your forehead. Hurry, unbind me,
my limbs have already fallen asleep.”

“If you want, I can give you a few kicks.” Korin smiled.
“That should get your circulation going. You don’t seem to
grasp your situation, you bald swine. Any moment, the
peasants are going to be here, the ones you’ve threatened,
and they’ll quarter you with their horses. Have you ever
seen how that’s done? The arms tear off first.”

Fregenal flexed his neck, his eyes bulging and tried to

spit on Korin’s boots. But that was quite difficult from the
position he was in, so he merely spat on his own chin.

“That’s”, he snorted, “that’s what I think of your

threats! You will do nothing! You presume a great deal,
vagrant! You’ve gotten in far over your head! Ask her why
she’s here! Visenna! Enlighten him, he seems to take you
for a noble liberator of the oppressed, a fighter for the good
of the common people! But this is about money, you cretin!
A lot of money!”

Visenna remained quiet. Fregenal straightened, the

binds screaming, turned over onto his side by bending his
legs at the knees.
 “Is it not true”, he yelled, “that the Circle sent you to
reopen the golden faucet which has run dry? For the Circle
draws profit from the mining for jasper and jadeite, it
imposes taxes on the merchants and caravans as payment
for protective amulets which, as has been shown, do
nothing against my koshchey!”

Visenna didn’t answer. She didn’t look at the bound

man. Her gaze rested on Korin.

“Aha!” the sorcerer yelled. “You don’t even deny it!

That means all the world. Back then, only the Elders knew of
it, and greenhorns like you were made believe that the
Circle’s only goal was to fight evil. That does not surprise
me: the world is changing, the people are beginning to
understand that they can live without magic and magicians.
Before you know it, you will be out of work, will have to live
off what you have stolen until then. Nothing matters to you,
only profit. That is why you will unbind me this moment. You
will not kill me or have me killed, for that would mean
further losses for the Circle. And the Circle would not forgive
you for that, that much is obvious.”

“It is not”, Visenna said coldly, arms crossed in front of

her chest. “You see, Fregenal, greenhorns like me don’t pay
too much attention to material wealth. What do I care if the
Circle makes a profit or has losses, or if it even stops to
exist. I can very well live on curing a heifer’s flatulence. Or
impotence in old geezers like you. But that is unimportant.
What is important is that you want to live and therefore wag
your tongue. Everybody wants to live. That is why you will
now give me the binding spell. Immediately. Then you will
help me find the koshchey, and destroy it. And if not… Well,
then I suppose I will take a walk in the woods. Afterwards I
can tell the Circle that I did not notice the angry peasants.”
 The sorcerer ground his teeth. “You’ve always been
cynical. Even back then in Mayena. Especially in your
relationships with men. You were fourteen, but there was a
lot of talk of your…”

“Stop, Fregenal”, the druid interrupted. “What you are

saying does not impress me in the least. Not him, either. He
is not my lover. Say that you agree. And be done with the
blabbering. You do agree, after all!”

Fregenal screwed up his eyes, averted his gaze. “Of

course”, he croaked. “Do you take me for a fool? Everybody
wants to live.”

VIII

Fregenal stopped, wiped his sweaty forehead with the

back of his hand. “Behind those rocks begins a ravine. The
old maps mark it as Duran-Orit, the gorge of mice. That’s
the gate to the Klamat. We need to leave the horses here.
On horseback there’d be no chance to get close to it
unnoticed.”

“Nicholas”, Visenna said while dismounting. “Wait until

the evening, no longer. If I don’t return, do not enter the
pass, under no circumstances. Return home. Do you
understand, Nicholas?”

The smith nodded. There were only four villagers still

with him. The rest of the company had melted away on the
road like snow in May.

“I understand, Milady”, he murmured and squinted at

Fregenal. “Still I’m surprised that you trust this bastard. I
think the peasants were right. Should have torn off his head.
Just look at those pig eyes, Milady, that traitorous mug.”

Visenna didn’t answer. Shielding her eyes with her

hand, she looked toward the mountain, at the entrance of
the ravine.

“Take the lead, Fregenal”, Korin ordered and tightened

his belt.

They set off.

After half an hour of marching they saw the first cart,

pushed over, shattered. Then another – with a broken wheel.
Skeletons of horses. The skeleton of a human. Another. A
third. A fourth. A pile. A pile of broken, crunched bones.
 “You whoreson”, Korin said quietly, his eyes on a skull
in whose eye sockets were growing the stalks of large
nettles. “Those are merchants, right? I don’t know what’s
keeping me from…”

“We have an agreement”, Fregenal interrupted him

hastily. “An agreement. I told you everything, Visenna. I’m
helping you. I’m leading you. We have an agreement!”

Korin spat. Visenna looked at him, pale, then turned

toward the sorcerer.

“We have an agreement”, she confirmed. “You will help

us find and destroy it, then you will take off. Your death will
not bring back those who lie here.”

“Destroy, destroy… Visenna, I’m warning you again,

and I repeat: stun it, paralyze it, you know the spells. But
don’t destroy it. It is worth a fortune. You can always…”

“Stop, Fregenal. We have already talked about this.

Lead us.”

They walked on, careful to avoid the skeletons.

“Visenna”, Fregenal panted after a while. “Are you

aware of the risk? This is no joke. You know the mirror effect
can go this way or the other. If the inversion doesn’t work,
we’re done for. I’ve seen what it’s capable of.”
 Visenna stopped. “No excuses”, she said. “Who do you
take me for? The inversion will work if…”

“If you didn’t scam us”, Korin added, his voice toneless
with anger. “And if you did… You say you saw what your
monster is capable of. But do you know what I am capable
of? I know a blow that leaves a man with nothing but an ear,
a cheek and half his jaw. One can survive, but never again,
let’s say, play the flute.”

“Visenna, calm down that murderer”, Fregenal

stuttered, having blanched significantly. “Explain to him that
I could not lie to you, that you would have noticed…”

“Don’t talk so much, Fregenal. Lead us.”

A little further down the path they spied the next cart.
And the next skeletons. Carelessly scattered, tangled
ribcages glistening white in the grass, shins sticking from
the debris, skulls grinning eerily. Korin was silent, his sweaty
hand tightly gripping the sword’s handle.

“Watch out”, Fregenal panted. “We’re close. Walk

silently.”

“At what distance does it react? Fregenal, I’m talking to

you.”

“I’ll give you a sign.”

 They continued, glanced over the walls of the ravine,
which where steep, covered in creeping, crippled shrubbery,
streaked with gaps and rock failures.

“Visenna? Do you sense it yet?”

“Yes. But indistinctly. How far is it, Fregenal?”

“I will give you a sign. It’s too bad I can’t help you.
Without my staff and ring I can do nothing. I’m powerless.
Except for…”

“Except for what?”

“This!”

With a speed of which one would not have considered

him capable, the obese man grabbed an edged boulder and
struck it against the back of Visenna’s head. Without a sigh
the druid tumbled to the ground, face forward. Korin swung
his sword, but the magician was incredibly agile. He dropped
onto all fours to evade the blade, rolled up to his feet and
smashed the rock he had not dropped against his knee.
Korin howled, fell; the pain momentarily took his breath
away, and then a wave of nausea worked its way up from
his gut to his throat. Fregenal jumped up like a cat, prepared
for another blow.

The colorful bird dropped like a bullet, brushed across

the wizard’s face. Fregenal jumped back, threw up his hands
and dropped the stone. Korin, leaning on his elbow, hit with
the sword, but missed the obese man by a hair’s breadth;
the latter turned around and ran toward the pass, screamed
and laughed. Korin tried to get up and catch up with him,
but the attempt made his vision go black. He fell back down
and sent a torrent of disgusting curses after the sorcerer.

Fregenal looked back from a safe distance, stopped.

“You wayward witch!” he yelled. “You red-headed piece of
filth! You wanted to outsmart Fregenal? Graciously give me
my life? You thought I would watch calmly while you killed
it?”

Korin, still on the ground, rubbed his knee to calm the

pulsating pain. Visenna lay motionless.

“It comes!” Fregenal screamed. “Look! Rejoice in this

view, for any moment my koshchey will blow the eyes from
your skulls! It comes already!”

Korin looked around. From behind a scattering of rocks,

a good one hundred steps away, towered the clunky, bent
joints of a spider’s legs. Moments later, a body, six meters
in diameter, pushed itself rumbling over the rocky pile, flat
as a plate, rust colored, rough, covered in prickly growths.
Three pairs of legs stepped forward measuredly, carried the
plate-shaped body through the debris. The fourth, frontal
pair of limbs, disproportionally long, were armed with
mighty pincers, which carried rows of pointy spikes and
horns.

This is a dream, Korin thought. A nightmare. Wake up.

Scream and wake up. Scream. Scream. Scream.
 He forgot about the painful knee and ran over to
Visenna, pulled at her slack shoulder. The druid’s hair was
drenched in blood which already ran down her neck.

“Visenna…”, he pressed through a throat constricted

with fear. “Visenna…”

Fregenal erupted with crazy laughter, which

reverberated off the walls of the ravine. The laughter
downed out the steps of Nicholas, who was hurrying over,
ax in hand. Fregenal only noticed him when it was already
too late. The ax struck his back, a little above the hip, and
entered up to the shaft. The wizard fell to the ground with a
cry of pain, so that the ax was torn from the smith’s hand.
Nicholas set his foot on his back, removed the ax, struck
again. Fregenal’s head tumbled across the debris and came
to a halt, its forehead resting against one of the skulls which
lay under the wheels of the shattered cart.

Limping, stumbling over stones, Korin pulled Visenna

after himself; she was limp and soft. Nicholas jumped
toward them, grabbed the girl, effortlessly threw her over
his shoulder and started running. Even without the burden
Korin was not able to follow. He looked back over his
shoulder. The koshchey was coming closer, crunching its
joints; the extended pincers ran through the shaggy grass,
stirred rocks.

“Nicholas!” Korin yelled desperately.

The smith looked back, set Visenna down, ran over to

Korin, supported him, together they ran. The koshchey
gained speed, raised its spiky pincers.
 “We won’t make it”, Nicholas panted after throwing a
glance back. “We won’t get away form it…”

They reached Visenna lying prone.

“She’s bleeding to death”, Nicholas groaned.

Korin gathered himself. He tore the pouch from

Visenna’s belt, shook out its contents and grabbed, without
paying any attention to the other items, the russet mineral
covered in runes, brushed away the strawberry blond,
blood-soaked hair, pressed the hematite against the wound.
The blood immediately stopped flowing.

“Korin!” Nicholas yelled.

The koshchey was close. It stretched out its front legs,

the jagged pincers opened. Nicholas saw the eyes rotating
on stalks and the crunching, sickle-shaped jaw below them.
Creeping forward, the koshchey hissed rhythmically: “Tsss,
tsss, tsss…”

“Korin!”

Korin didn’t react, whispered something without taking

the hematite off the wound. Nicholas jumped at him,
grabbed his arm, dragged him from Visenna, took the druid
in his arms. They ran. The koshchey, not stopping the
hissing for even a moment, raised the pincers, scraped his
chitinous belly across the rock and hurried after them.
Nicholas realized that they didn’t stand a chance.

From the pass, a rider in a leather vest dashed toward

them at breakneck speed, broadsword raised high above the
head in the chainmail helmet. In the hairy face, small eyes
sparkled, pointed teeth flashed.

With a battle cry, Kehl lunged at the koshchey. But

before he had even reached the monster, the terrible
pincers closed, grabbed the horse with spiky pliers. The
bobolak fell from the saddle, tumbled to the ground.

Without any visible effort, the koshchey raised the

horse with its pincers and stabbed it with the pointy thorn
protruding from the front of its body. The sickle-shaped jaws
snapped shut, the blood of the horse splattered onto the
stones, steaming guts exploded from the slashed stomach
onto the ground.

Nicholas jumped, picked up the bobolak, but the latter

pushed him back, tore up his sword, screamed lough
enough to drown out the horse’s dying cries and swooped
down on the koshchey. With apelike agility, he slipped under
the bony, thickened joints of one of the front limbs and
stabbed at a stalk-mounted eye with all his might. The
koshchey hissed, dropped the horse, threw its pincers to the
side, hitting Kehl with the pointy spikes, tore him off the
ground, hurtled him off to the side. Kehl crashed onto the
stones, dropped the sword. The koshchey made a semi-turn,
extended its pincers and grabbed him. The bobolak’s small
figure was suspended in mid-air.
 Nicholas screamed angrily, reached the monster in two
long steps, struck out and hit the chitin shell with his ax.
Korin let go of Visenna and without thinking twice joined
from the other side, used both hands to stab his sword into
a gap between the shell and a leg. He braced his chest
against the handle and rammed it in up to the crossguard.
Nicholas groaned and hit again, the shell ruptured, a
stinking green liquid bubbled up. The koshchey hissed
again, let go of the bobolak, raised its pincers. Korin braced
himself against the ground, tugged at the sword – in vain.

“Nicholas!” he yelled. “Back!”

Both turned to flee, smartly in different directions. The

koshchey hesitated, scraped its belly across the rock and
hurried toward Visenna, who tried to get onto all fours, her
head lolling forward. A little above her hovered the colorful
bird, batted its wings and screamed, screamed, screamed…

The koshchey was close.

Both, Nicholas and Korin, jumped for her at the same

time, stood in the monster’s way.

“Visenna!”

“Milady!”

Without stopping, the koshchey spread its pincers.

 “Out of the way!” Visenna yelled from her knees and
raised her hands. “Korin! Out of the way!”

Both scrambled off, to the walls of the ravine.

“Henenaa fireaaoth kerelanth!” the sorceress yelled

sonorously and extended her arms toward the koshchey.
Nicholas noticed something invisible moving from her
toward the creature. The grass was depressed, small stones
hurtled to the side as if under weight of a huge sphere,
which rolled in at increasing speed. From Visenna’s palms
shot a blinding, jagged streak of light, hit the koshchey,
spread across the shell like a net of tongues of fire. The air
tore with a deafening boom. The koshchey exploded, burst
in a green fountain of bodily fluids, a cloud of chitin, legs,
guts; it all gushed upwards, rained down, pattered onto the
rocks, rustled the undergrowth. Nicholas dropped onto one
knee, raised his hands above his head.

It was silent. Where the monster had been only

moments before, a black, smoking, round crater expanded,
splattered with green fluid, covered in repulsive shreds hard
to recognize.

Korin wiped the green spots off his face and helped

Visenna up. Visenna shivered.

Nicholas leaned over Kehl. The bobolak’s eyes were

open. The thick vest of horse leather was torn to shreds;
underneath was visible what little remained of shoulder and
flank. The smith wanted to say something, but was not able
to. Korin joined him, supporting Visenna. The bobolak turned
his head toward them. Korin regarded his shoulder and
swallowed with effort.

“It’s you, prince”, Kehl said softly, but calmly. “You were
right… I’m nothing without my weapons. And without my
arm? Shitty, huh?”

The bobolak’s calm was more disconcerting to Korin

than the sight of crushed bones jutting from the horrible
wounds. To think the creature was even alive; it was
unimaginable.

“Visenna”, Korin whispered and looked at the sorceress

pleadingly.

“There is nothing I can do, Korin”, Visenna said, her

voice breaking. “His metabolism is completely different from
that of a human… Nicholas… Don’t touch him…”

“You came back, bobolak”, Nicholas whispered. “Why?”

“Because my metabolism is completely different… from

that of a human”, Kehl said, his voice laced with pride, and
much effort. A rivulet of blood flowed from his mouth and
tainted the ashen fur. He turned his head, looked Visenna in
the eyes.

“Well, red-headed witch! Your prophecy was right, but

you will need to fulfill it yourself.”

“No!” Visenna moaned.

 “Yes”, Kehl said. “You must. Help me. It’s time.”

“Visenna”, Korin sighed, horrified. “Don’t tell me you

want to…”

“Go away!” the druid screamed and stifled a sob. “Go

away, both of you!”

Nicholas averted his gaze and pulled Korin by the arm.

Korin followed him. He only saw Visenna kneeling at the
bobolak’s side, softly stroking his forehead, touching his
temples. Kehl twitched, began to shiver, tense and froze,
motionless.

Visenna cried.

IX

 
 The colorful bird on Visenna’s shoulder cocked its
slender head, fixed the sorceress with round, lifeless eyes.
The horse trotted along the broken country road, the sky
was cobalt blue and clear.

“Tuuit tuiit trk”, said the colorful bird.

“Possibly”, Visenna agreed. “But it is not about that.

You do not understand. I do not blame anyone. It saddens
me that I learned about the whole affair from Fregenal, not
from you. It does. But I have known you for years, I know
you’re not very talkative. I think if I had asked you directly,
you would have answered.”

“Trk, tuuuit?”

“Of course. For a while. But you know how it is with us.
One big secret, everything is secret. It all comes down to
criteria. I don’t refuse to be paid for a healing if somebody
offers the money and I know he can afford it. I know that the
price for certain services can be quite high. And for good
reason, everything is becoming more and more expensive,
you have to take care of yourself. It is not about that.”

“Twwiiit.” The bird stepped from one tiny foot onto the
other. “Korriiin.”

“You’re a clever one.” Visenna smiled sourly, stretched

her head toward the bird so it could softly touch her cheek
with its beak. “That is what worries me. I saw how he looked
at me. Not just a witch, he thought surely, but also a
swindler, greedy and calculating.”

“Tuwiit trk trk trk tuuuiiit?”

Visenna turned her head. “Well, it is not that bad”, she

murmured and blinked. “I am, as you know, no little girl, I
don’t lose my head that easily. Though I have to admit… For
too long I have wandered aimlessly, alone… But that is none
of your business. Hold your beak.”

The bird was silent, ruffled its plumage. They came

ever closer to the forest; the road vanished in the thicket
under the portal of treetops.

“Listen”, Visenna sounded after a while. “What do you

think, what could the future look like? Is it really possible
that humans will no longer have need of us? For the
simplest things, matters of healing? There is some progress,
let us look at, for example, herbalism, but can you imagine
that one day, it can cure the whooping cough? Childbed
fever? Lockjaw?”

“Twiik twiiit.”

“That is also an answer, I suppose. Theoretically it is

even possible for the horse to join our conversation at any
moment. To say something clever. And what about cancer?
Will they handle cancer? Without magic?”

“Trrk!”
 “I think so, too.”

They entered the forest which smelled like cold and

humidity. They crossed a shallow stream. Visenna rode onto
a small rise, then back down into heather which reached her
stirrups. She found the path again, which was sandy,
overgrown. She knew this path, had followed it merely three
days ago. Only in the opposite direction.

“It seems to me”, she continued. “that a small change

would do us good. We atrophy, cling too tightly and
uncritically to tradition. If I return…”

“Twiit”, the colorful bird interrupted.

“What?”

“Twiit.”

“What are you trying to say? Why not?”

“Trrrrk.”

“What inscription? And what pole?”

The bird flitted from her shoulder, flew off, disappeared

in the foliage.
 Korin sat there, resting his back against a pole at the
crossroad, and watched her with a bold smile. Visenna
jumped from the saddle, walked closer. She felt herself smile
against her will, more than that she surmised that her smile
might not looked especially clever.

“Visenna”, Korin called. “Admit it, are you possibly

clouding my mind with magic? Because I feel quite some joy
at this meeting, amdownright unnatural joy. Unbidden,
knock on wood. It has to be magic.”

“You were waiting for me.”

“You are incredibly clever. You see, I woke up in the

morning and noticed that you had ridden off. How nice of
you, I thought, not waking me for such a stupid,
meaningless farewell. Works just as well without it. Who
greets and says goodbye these days, after all? It’s nothing
but a prejudice, a habit, right? I turned around and slept
some more. It was only after breakfast that I remembered
something unusually important I need to tell you. So I
mounted my horse and took the shortcut.”

“And what do you need to tell me?” Visenna inquired

while coming closer and looking in his blue eyes which she
had seen in her dream the night before.

Korin showed his teeth in a broad smile. “It’s a delicate

matter”, he said. “It can’t be summarized in a few words. I
don’t know if I can make it until dusk.”

“Start, at least.”
 “That’s the catch. I don’t know how.”

“Sir Korin is at a loss for words.” Visenna shook her

head, still smiling. “An unprecedented event. So let’s say:
Start at the beginning.”

“Not a bad thought”, Korin retorted in mock

seriousness. “You know, Visenna, for too long I’ve been…”

“…aimlessly wandering the woods and country roads

by myself”, the sorceress finished and snaked her arms
around his neck.

The colorful bird, high up on a branch, batted its tiny

wings, spread them, threw back its head.

“Trrrk twiit twiiit”, it said.

Visenna broke away from Korin’s lips and looked at the

bird, winking. “You were right”, she responded. “This really
is a road with no return. Fly, tell them…”

She hesitated, dismissed it.

“Tell them nothing.”

 
 

Translator’s notes

There are a few points of this translation that I would

like to remark on.

The source of this document is the official German

translation of “Droga, z której się nie wraca”, called “Der
Weg, von dem niemand zurückkehrt” (‘The Road With No
Return’) published in the anthology ‘Coś się kończy, coś się
zaczyna’, respectively “Etwas endet, etwas beginnt”
(‘Something Ends, Something Begins’).

The German edition, as is most likely true for the Polish

original as well, is prefaced by an introduction written by
Sapkowski himself. While I consider it important, I decided to
prioritize the actual story and its translation. I will, of course,
add the preface once I have finished the story.

Names (of places, people, etc.) are often a problem in

translations, Sapkowski’s novels are no exceptions here. In
the official German version, all names derived from actual
nouns (e.g. ‘Dandelion’ in English, ‘Jaskier’ in Polish,
‘Rittersporn’ in German) have been translated. Hence, I
have decided to keep with that tradition and ‘anglicize’
when possible and appropriate. The following table lists all
the names found in the story in both the Polish and German
versions as well as the English translation I am using.
Although I hope it won’t be the case, some translations
might change; more will certainly be added throughout the
translation process, though.

(The names for beasts were taken from the official

Wiki)

English
Polish German
(proposed
(original, official) (official)
translation)
Klucz (loc.) Schlüssel Key
Mikula (Name) Niklas Nicholas
Czop (Name) Zapf Bung (?)
Porog (loc.) Schwelle Sill
Kaczan (loc.) Strunk Stalk