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Cold steel?' No one answered. 'I'd like to leave with Pavetta immediately,' continued Urcheon,
his bristles stirring as he snapped his jaw shut, 'but I won't deny myself one small pleasure. It
is you, Calanthe, who will lead your daughter here to me and place her white hand in mine.'
Calanthe slowly turned her head in the witcher's direction. Her eyes expressed a command.
Geralt didn't move, sensing that the Force condensing in the air was concentrated on him.
Only on
him. Now he understood. The queen's eyes narrowed, her lips quivered . . .
'What?! What's this?' yelled Crach an Craite, jumping up. 'Her white hand? In his? The
princess with this bristly stinker? With this . . . pig's snout?'
'And I wanted to fight him like a knight!' Rainfarn chimed in. 'This horror, this beast! Loose
the dogs on him! The dogs!'
'Guards!' cried Calanthe.
Everything happened at once. Crach an Craite seized a knife from the table and knocked his
chair over with a crash. Obeying Eist's command Draig Bon-Dhu, without a thought, whacked
the back of his head with his bagpipes, as hard as he could. Crach dropped onto the table
between a sturgeon in grey sauce and the few remaining arched ribs of a roast boar. Rainfarn
leapt towards Urcheon, flashing a dagger drawn from his sleeve. Coodcoodak, springing up,
kicked a stool under his feet which Rainfarn jumped agilely, but a moment's delay was
enough - Urcheon deceived him with a short feint and forced him to his knees with a mighty
blow from his armoured fist. Coodcoodak fell to snatch the dagger from Rainfarn but was
stopped by Prince Windhalm, who clung to his thigh like a bloodhound.
Guards, armed with guisarmes and lances, ran in from the entrance. Calanthe, upright and
threatening, with an authoritative, abrupt gesture indicated Urcheon to them. Pavetta started to
shout, Eist Tuirseach to curse. Everyone jumped up, not quite knowing what to do.
'Kill him!' shouted the queen.
Urcheon, huffing angrily and baring his fangs, turned to face the attacking guards. He was
unarmed but clad in spiked steel, from which the points of the guisarmes bounced with a
clang. But the blows knocked him back, straight onto Rainfarn, who was just getting up and
immobilised him by grabbing his legs. Urcheon let out a roar and, with his iron elbow-guards,
deflected the blades aimed at his head. Rainfarn jabbed him with his dagger but the blade slid
off the breast-plate. The guards, crossing their spear-shafts, pinned him to the sculpted
chimney. Rainfarn, who was
hanging onto his belt, found a chink in the armour and dug the dagger into it. Urcheon curled
up.
'Dunyyyyyyy!' Pavetta shrilled as she jumped onto the chair.
The witcher, sword in hand, sprang onto the table and ran towards the fighting men, knocking
plates, dishes and goblets all over the place. He knew there wasn't much time. Pavetta's cries
were sounding more and more unnatural. Rainfarn was raising his dagger to stab again.
Geralt cut, springing from the table into a crouch. Rainfarn wailed and staggered to the wall.
The witcher spun and, with the centre of his blade, slashed a guard who was trying to dig the
sharp tongue of his lance between Urcheon's apron and breastplate. The guard tumbled to the
ground, losing his helmet. More guards came running in from the entrance.
'This is not befitting!' roared Eist Tuirseach, grabbing a chair. He shattered the unwieldly
piece of furniture against the floor with great force and, with what remained in his hand,
threw himself at those advancing on Urcheon.
Urcheon, caught by two guisarme hooks at the same time, collapsed with a clang, cried out
and huffed as he was dragged along the floor. A third guard raised his lance to stab down and
Geralt cut him in the temple with the point of his sword. Those dragging Urcheon stepped
back quickly, throwing down their guisarmes, while those approaching from the entrance
backed away from the remnants of chair brandished by Eist like the magic sword Balmur in
the hand of the legendary Zatreta Voruta.
Pavetta's cries reached a peak and suddenly broke off. Geralt, sensing what was about to
happen, fell to the floor watching for a greenish flash. He felt an excruciating pain in his ears,
heard a terrible crash and a horrifying wail ripped from numerous throats. And then the
princess's even, monotonous and vibrating cry.
The table, scattering dishes and food all around, was rising and spinning; heavy chairs were
flying around the hall and shattering against the walls; tapestries and hangings were flapping,
raising clouds of dust. Cries and the dry crack of guisarme shafts snapping like sticks came
from the entrance.
The throne, with Calanthe sitting on it, sprang up and flew across the hall like an arrow,
smashing into the wall with a crash and falling apart. The queen slid to the floor like a ragged
puppet. Eist Tuirseach, barely on his feet, threw himself towards her, took her in his arms and
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