GeraltofRiviaisawitcher.Acunningsorcerer.Amercilessassassin.

Andacold-bloodedkiller.

Hissolepurpose:todestroythemonstersthatplaguetheworld.

Butnoteverythingmonstrous-lookingisevilandnoteverythingfair isgood...andineveryfairytalethereisagrainoftruth.

OceanofPDF.com

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AndrzejSapkowski

ThelastwishTheWitcher:1

ePubr1.0Watcher25.03.17

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Originaltitle:OstatnieżyczenieAndrzejSapkowski,1993Translator:DanusiaStokCoverdesign:Watcher

Digitaleditor:WatcherePubbaser1.2

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THEVOICEOFREASON

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IShecametohimtowardmorning.

Sheenteredverycarefully,movingsilently,floatingthroughthechamberlike a phantom; the only soundwas that of hermantle brushing her nakedskin.Yetthisfaintsoundwasenoughtowakethewitcher—ormaybeitonlytorehimfromthehalf-slumberinwhichherockedmonotonously,asthoughtraveling through fathomless depths, suspended between the seabed and itscalmsurfaceamidgentlyundulatingstrandsofseaweed.

Hedidnotmove,didnotstir.Thegirlflittedcloser,threwoffhermantleand slowly, hesitantly, rested her knee on the edge of the large bed. Heobservedherthroughloweredlashes,stillnotbetrayinghiswakefulness.Thegirlcarefullyclimbedontothebedclothes,andontohim,wrappingherthighsaround him. Leaning forward on straining arms, she brushed his face withhairwhichsmelledofchamomile.Determined,andasifimpatient,sheleanedover and touched his eyelids, cheeks, lips with the tips of her breasts. Hesmiled, very slowly, delicately, grasping her by the shoulders, and shestraightened, escaping his fingers. She was radiant, luminous in the mistybrillianceofdawn.Hemoved,butwithpressurefrombothhands,sheforbadehimtochangepositionand,withalightbutdecisivemovementofherhips,demandedaresponse.

Heresponded.Shenolongerbackedawayfromhishands;shethrewherheadback, shookher hair.Her skinwas cool and surprisingly smooth.Hereyes,glimpsedwhenher facecameclose tohis,werehugeanddarkas theeyesofawaternymph.

Rocked,hesankintoaseaofchamomileasitgrewagitatedandseethed.

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THEWITCHER

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ILater,itwassaidthemancamefromthenorth,fromRopersGate.Hecameon foot, leadinghis ladenhorseby thebridle. Itwas lateafternoonand theropers’,saddlers’andtanners’stallswerealreadyclosed,thestreetempty.Itwas hot but theman had a black coat thrown over his shoulders.He drewattentiontohimself.

He stopped in front of theOldNarakort Inn, stood there for amoment,listenedtothehubbubofvoices.Asusual,atthishour,itwasfullofpeople.

Thestrangerdidnotenter theOldNarakort.Hepulledhishorse fartherdownthestreettoanothertavern,asmallerone,calledTheFox.Notenjoyingthebestofreputations,itwasalmostempty.

The innkeeper raised his head above a barrel of pickled cucumbers andmeasuredthemanwithhisgaze.Theoutsider,stillinhiscoat,stoodstifflyinfrontofthecounter,motionlessandsilent.

“Whatwillitbe?”“Beer,”saidthestranger.Hisvoicewasunpleasant.Theinnkeeperwipedhishandsonhiscanvasapronandfilledachipped

earthenwaretankard.Thestrangerwasnotoldbuthishairwasalmostentirelywhite.Beneath

hiscoatheworeawornleatherjerkinlacedupattheneckandshoulders.Ashetookoffhiscoatthosearoundhimnoticedthathecarriedasword—

notsomethingunusualinitself,nearlyeverymaninWyzimcarriedaweapon—butnoone carried a sword strapped tohis back as if itwere a bowor aquiver.

Thestrangerdidnotsitatthetablewiththefewotherguests.Heremainedstandingat thecounter,piercing the innkeeperwithhisgaze.Hedrewfromthetankard.

“I’mlookingforaroomforthenight.”“There’snone,”gruntedtheinnkeeper,lookingattheguest’sboots,dusty

anddirty.“AskattheOldNarakort.”“Iwouldratherstayhere.”“There isnone.”The innkeeper finally recognized the stranger’s accent.

HewasRivian.“I’ll pay.”Theoutsider spokequietly, as if unsure, and thewholenasty

affair began.A pockmarked beanpole of amanwho, from themoment theoutsider had entered had not taken his gloomy eyes from him, got up and

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approached the counter. Two of his companions rose behind him, nomorethantwopacesaway.

“There’s no room to be had, you Rivian vagabond,” rasped thepockmarkedman,standingrightnexttotheoutsider.“Wedon’tneedpeoplelikeyouinWyzim.Thisisadecenttown!”

The outsider took his tankard and moved away. He glanced at theinnkeeper,whoavoidedhiseyes.ItdidnotevenoccurtohimtodefendtheRivian.Afterall,wholikedRivians?

“All Rivians are thieves,” the pockmarked man went on, his breathsmellingofbeer,garlicandanger.“Doyouhearme,youbastard?”

“Hecan’t hear you.His ears are full of shit,” saidoneof themenwithhim,andthesecondmancackled.

“Payandleave!”yelledthepockedman.OnlynowdidtheRivianlookathim.“I’llfinishmybeer.”“We’ll give you a hand,” the pockmarkedman hissed. He knocked the

tankard from the stranger’s hand and simultaneously grabbing him by theshoulder,dughisfingersintotheleatherstrapwhichrandiagonallyacrosstheoutsider’s chest. One of the men behind him raised a fist to strike. Theoutsider curled up on the spot, throwing the pockmarkedman off balance.Theswordhissedinitssheathandglistenedbrieflyinthedimlight.Theplaceseethed. There was a scream, and one of the few remaining customerstumbled toward theexit.Achair fellwithacrashandearthenwaresmackedhollowly against the floor. The innkeeper, his lips trembling, looked at thehorriblyslashedfaceofthepockedman,who,clingingwithhisfingerstotheedgeofthecounter,wasslowlysinkingfromsight.Theothertwowerelyingon the floor, one motionless, the other writhing and convulsing in a dark,spreadingpuddle.Awoman’shysterical screamvibrated in theair,piercingtheearsastheinnkeepershuddered,caughthisbreath,andvomited.

Thestrangerretreatedtowardthewall,tenseandalert.Heheldtheswordinbothhands,sweepingthebladethroughtheair.Noonemoved.Terror,likecoldmud,wasclearontheirfaces,paralyzinglimbsandblockingthroats.

Three guards rushed into the tavern with thuds and clangs. They musthave been close by. They had truncheons woundwith leather straps at theready,butatthesightofthecorpses,drewtheirswords.TheRivianpressedhis back against thewall and,with his left hand, pulled a dagger from hisboot.

“Throw that down!” one of the guards yelled with a trembling voice.

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“Throwthatdown,youthug!You’recomingwithus!”ThesecondguardkickedasidethetablebetweenhimselfandtheRivian.“Gogetthemen,Treska!”heshoutedtothethirdguard,whohadstayed

closertothedoor.“Noneed,”saidthestranger,loweringhissword.“I’llcomebymyself.”“You’llgo,yousonofabitch,ontheendofarope!”yelledthetrembling

guard.“ThrowthatsworddownorI’llsmashyourheadin!”TheRivianstraightened.Hequicklypinnedhisbladeunderhis left arm

andwithhisrighthandraisedtowardtheguards,swiftlydrewacomplicatedsign in the air. The clout-nails which studded his tunic from his wrists toelbowsflashed.

Theguardsdrewback, shielding their faceswith their arms.Oneof thecustomerssprangupwhileanotherdartedtothedoor.Thewomanscreamedagain,wildandearsplitting.

“I’ll come bymyself,” repeated the stranger in his resounding,metallicvoice.“Andthethreeofyouwillgoinfrontofme.Takemetothecastellan.Idon’tknowtheway.”

“Yes, sir,”mumbled the guard, dropping his head.Hemade toward theexit, looking around tentatively. The other two guards followed him outbackward,hastily.Thestrangerfollowedintheirtracks,sheathinghisswordanddagger.Astheypassedthetablestheremainingcustomershidtheirfacesfromthedangerousstranger.

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IIVelerad,castellanofWyzim,scratchedhischin.Hewasneithersuperstitiousnor fainthearted but he did not relish the thought of being alone with thewhite-hairedman.Atlasthemadeuphismind.

“Leave,” he ordered the guards. “And you, sit down. No, not there.Fartheraway,ifyouplease.”

Thestrangersatdown.Henolongercarriedhisswordorblackcoat.“I amVelerad, castellan ofWyzim,” said Velerad, toying with a heavy

macelyingonthetable.“AndI’mlistening.Whatdoyouhavetosaytome,you brigand, before you are thrown into the dungeon? Three killed and anattempted spell-casting; not bad, not bad at all. Men are impaled for suchthings inWyzim.ButI’ma justman,soIwill listen toyou,beforeyouareexecuted.Speak.”

The Rivian unbuttoned his jerkin and pulled out a wad of white goatleather.

“Younail this crossways, in taverns,”he saidquietly. “Iswhat’swrittenheretrue?”

“Ah.”Veleradgrunted, looking at the runes etched into the leather. “Sothat’sit.AndIdidn’tguessatonce.Yes,it’strue.It’ssignedbyFoltest,KingofTemeria,PontarandMahakam,whichmakes it true.Aproclamation isaproclamation,witcher, but law is law—and I take care of law and order inWyzim.Iwillnotallowpeopletobemurdered!Doyouunderstand?”

TheRiviannoddedtoshowheunderstood.Veleradsnortedwithanger.“You carry thewitcher’s emblem?”The stranger reached intohis jerkin

oncemoreandpulledoutaroundmedalliononasilverchain.Itpicturedtheheadofawolf,baringitsfangs.“Anddoyouhaveaname?Anynamewilldo,it’ssimplytomakeconversationeasier.”

“MynameisGeralt.”“Geralt,then.OfRiviaIgather,fromyouraccent?”“OfRivia.”“Right. Do you know what, Geralt? This”—Velerad slapped the

proclamation—“let it go. It’s a serious matter. Many have tried and failedalready. This, my friend, is not the same as roughing up a couple ofscoundrels.”

“I know. This ismy job, Velerad. And that proclamation offers a threethousandorenreward.”

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“Three thousand.” Velerad scowled. “And the princess as a wife, or sorumorsays,althoughgraciousFoltesthasnotproclaimedthat.”

“I’m not interested in the princess,” Geralt said calmly. He was sittingmotionless,hishandsonhisknees.“Justinthethreethousand.”

“What times,”sighed thecastellan.“What foul times!Twentyyearsagowhowouldhavethought,eveninadrunkenstupor,thatsuchaprofessionasawitcherwouldexist?Itinerantkillersofbasilisks;travelingslayersofdragonsandvodniks!Tellme,Geralt,areyouallowedbeerinyourguild?”

“Certainly.”Veleradclappedhishands.“Beer!”hecalled.“Andsitcloser,Geralt.WhatdoIcare?”Thebeer,whenitarrived,wascoldandfrothy.“Foultimes,”Velerodmuttered,drinkingdeepfromhistankard.“Allsorts

of filth has sprung up. Mahakam, in the mountains, is teeming withbogeymen.Inthepastitwasjustwolveshowlinginthewoods,butnowit’skoboldsandsprigganswhereveryouspit,werewolvesorsomeothervermin.Fairiesandrusalkassnatchchildrenfromvillagesbythehundreds.Wehavediseasesneverheardofbefore; itmakesmyhairstandonend.Andnow, totopitall,this!”Hepushedthewadofleatherbackacrossthetable.“It’snotsurprising,Geralt,thatyouwitchers’servicesareindemand.”

“The king’s proclamation, castellan.” Geralt raised his head. “Do youknowthedetails?”

Veleradleanedbackinhischair,lockedhishandsoverhisstomach.“Thedetails?Yes, Iknowthem.Not firsthandperhaps,but fromagood

source.”“That’swhatIwant.”“If you insist, then listen.” Velerad drank some beer and lowered his

voice.“DuringthereignofoldMedell,hisfather,whenourgraciouskingwasstillaprince,Foltestshoweduswhathewascapableof,andhewascapableof a great deal. We hoped he would grow out of it. But shortly after hiscoronation Foltest surpassed himself, jaw-droppingly: he got his own sisterwith child. Adda was younger and they were always together, but nobodysuspectedanythingexcept,perhaps,thequeen…Togettothepoint:suddenlythereisAddawithahugebelly,andFoltesttalkingaboutgettingwedtohissister.ThesituationwasmadeevenmoretensebecauseVizimirofNovigradwanted his daughter, Dalka, to marry Foltest and had already sent out hisenvoys.WehadtorestrainFoltestfrominsultingthem,andluckywedid,orVizimirwouldhavetornourinsidesout.Then,notwithoutAdda’shelp—for

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she influenced her brother—wemanaged to dissuade the boy from a quickwedding.

“Well,thenAddagavebirth.Andnowlisten,becausethisiswhereitallstarts.Onlyafewsawwhatshebore,butonemidwifejumpedfromthetowerwindowtoherdeathandtheother losthersensesandremainsdazedtothisday.SoIgatherthattheroyalbastard—agirl—wasnotcomely,andshediedimmediately.Noonewasinahurrytotietheumbilicalcord.NordidAdda,tohergoodfortune,survivethebirth.

“ButthenFolteststeppedinagain.Wisdomdictatedthattheroyalbastardshouldhavebeenburnedorburiedinthewilderness.Instead,ontheordersofourgraciousking,shewaslaidtorestinasarcophagusinthevaultsbeneaththepalace.”

“It’s too lateforyourwisdomnow.”Geralt raisedhishead.“Oneof theKnowingOnesshouldhavebeensentfor.”

“Youmeanthosecharlatanswithstarsontheirhats?Ofcourse.Abouttenof them came running later, when it became known what lay in thesarcophagus. Andwhat scrambled out of it at night. Though it didn’t startmanifestingstraightaway.Oh,no.Forsevenyearsafterthefuneraltherewaspeace.Thenonenight—itwasafullmoon—therewerescreamsinthepalace,shouting and commotion! I don’t have to tell you, this is your trade andyou’vereadtheproclamation.Theinfanthadgrowninthecoffin—andhow!—growntohaveincredibleteeth!Inaword,shebecameastriga.

“Pityyoudidn’t see the corpses, as I did.Hadyou,you’dhave taken agreatdetourtoavoidWyzim.”

Geraltwassilent.“Then,asIwassaying,”Veleradcontinued,“Foltestsummonedawhole

crowdof sorcerers.They all jabbered at the same time and almost came toblows with those staffs they carry—to beat off the dogs, no doubt, oncethey’ve been set loose on them. And I think they regularly are. I’m sorry,Geralt,ifyouhaveadifferentopinionofwizards.Nodoubtyoudo,inyourprofession, but to me they are swindlers and fools. You witchers inspiregreaterconfidenceinmen.Atleastyouaremorestraightforward.”

Geraltsmiled,butdidn’tcomment.“But,tothepoint.”Thecastellanpeeredintohistankardandpouredmore

beerforhimselfandtheRivian.“Someofthesorcerers’advicedidn’tseemsostupid. One suggested burning the striga together with the palace and thesarcophagus.Anotheradvisedchoppingherheadoff.Therestwerekeenondriving aspen stakes into her body during the day,when the she-devilwas

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asleep in her coffin,worn out by her night’s delights.Unfortunately one, ajesterwithapointedhatandabaldpate,ahunchbackedhermit,argueditwasmagic:thespellcouldbeundoneandthestrigawouldturnintoFoltest’slittledaughter, as pretty as a picture. Someone simply had to stay in the cryptthroughoutthenight,andthatwouldbethat.Afterwhich—canyouimaginesuchafool?—hewenttothepalaceforthenight.Littleofhimwasleftinthemorning,only,Ibelieve,hishatandstick.ButFoltestclungtohisidealikeaburr toadog’s tail.Heforbadeanyattempt tokill thestrigaandbrought incharlatansfromallcornersofWyzimtoreversethespellandturnherintoaprincess.Whatcolorfulcompany!Twistedwomen,cripples,dirtyandlouse-ridden.Itwaspitiful.

“Theywent aheadandcast spells—mainlyover abowl and tankard.OfcoursesomewerequicklyexposedasfraudsbyFoltestorthecouncil.Afewwereevenhungonthepalisades,butnotenoughofthem.Iwouldhavehungthemall. Idon’tsupposeIhavetosaythat thestriga, in themeantime,wasgettingherteethintoallsortsofpeopleeverynowandagainandpayingnoattentiontothefraudstersandtheirspells.OrthatFoltestwasnolongerlivinginthepalace.Noonelivedthereanymore.”

Veleradpaused,dranksomebeer,andthewitcherwaitedinsilence.“And so it’s been for sevenyears,Geralt, because shewasborn around

fourteenyearsago.We’vehadafewotherworries,likewarwithVizimirofNovigrad—fought for real, understandable reasons—over the border posts,not for some princess or marriage alliance. Foltest sporadically hints atmarriage and looks over portraits from neighboring courts, which he thenthrowsdowntheprivy.Andeverynowandthenthismaniaseizesholdofhimagain, and he sends horsemen out to look for new sorcerers.His promisedreward,thethreethousand,hasattractedanynumberofcranks,strayknights,evenashepherdknownthroughoutthewholeregionasacretin,mayherestinpeace.Butthestrigaisstilldoingwell.Everynowandagainshegetsherteeth into someone.You get used to it. And at least those heroes trying toreversethespellhaveause—thebeaststuffsherselfonthespotanddoesn’troam beyond her palace. Foltest has a new palace, of course, quite a fineone.”

“In seven years”—Geralt raised his head—“in seven years, no one hassettledthematter?”

“Well, no.” Velerad’s gaze penetrated the witcher. “Because the mattercan’t be settled.We have to come to terms with it, especially Foltest, ourgraciousandbelovedruler,whowillkeepnailing theseproclamationsupat

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crossroads.Althoughtherearefewervolunteersnow.Therewasonerecently,butheinsistedonthethreethousandinadvance.Soweputhiminasackandthrewhiminthelake.”

“Thereisstillnoshortageoffraudsters,then.”“No, far from it,” the castellan agreed without taking his eyes off the

witcher.“That’swhyyoumustn’tdemandgoldinadvancewhenyougotothepalace.Ifyougo.”

“I’llgo.”“It’suptoyou.Butremembermyadvice.Aswe’retalkingofthereward,

therehasbeenwordrecentlyaboutthesecondpartofit.Imentionedittoyou:theprincessforawife.Idon’tknowwhomadeitup,butif thestrigalookstheway they say then it’s an exceptionally grim joke. Nevertheless there’sbeennolackoffoolsracingtothepalaceforthechanceofjoiningtheroyalfamily. Two apprentice shoemakers, to be precise.Why are shoemakers sofoolish,Geralt?”

“Idon’tknow.Andwitchers,castellan?Havetheytried?”“Therewereafew.Butwhentheyheardthespellwastobeliftedandthe

strigawasn’t to be killed, theymostly shrugged and left. That’s one of thereasonswhymyesteemforwitchershasgrown,Geralt.Andonecamealong,youngerthanyou—Iforgethisname,ifhegaveitatall.Hetried.”

“And?”“Thefangedprincessspreadhisentrailsoveraconsiderabledistance.”Geraltnodded.“Thatwasallofthem?”“Therewasoneother.”Veleradremainedsilentforawhile,andthewitcherdidn’turgehimon.“Yes,” the castellan said finally. “There was one more. At first, when

Foltest threatened himwith the noose if he killed or harmed the striga, helaughedandstartedpackinghisbelongings.Butthen”—Veleradleanedacrossthetable,loweredhisvoicetoalmostawhisper—“thenheundertookthetask.Yousee,Geralt,therearesomewisemeninWyzim,inhighpositions,who’vehad enough of this whole affair. Rumor has it these men persuaded thewitcher, in secret, not to fuss aroundwith spells but to batter the striga todeathand tell theking the spell had failed, thathisdeardaughterhadbeenkilled in self-defense—an accident at work. The king, of course, would befuriousandrefuse topayanoreninreward.But thatwouldbeanendto it.Thewittywitcherrepliedwecouldchasestrigasourselvesfornothing.Well,whatcouldwedo?Wecollectedmoney,bargained…butnothingcameofit.”

Geraltraisedhiseyebrows.

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“Nothing,” repeated Velerad. “The witcher didn’t want to try that firstnight. He trudged around, lay in wait, wandered about the neighborhood.Finally,theysay,hesawthestrigainaction,asshedoesnotclamberfromhercryptjusttostretchherlegs.Hesawherandscarperedthatnight.Withoutaword.”

Geralt’sexpressionchangedalittle,inwhatwasprobablysupposedtobeasmile.

“Those wise men,” he said, “they still have the money, no doubt?Witchersdon’ttakepaymentinadvance.”

“Nodoubttheystilldo,”saidVelerad.“Doestherumorsayhowmuchtheyoffer?”Veleradbaredhisteethinasmile.“Somesayeighthundred—”Geraltshookhishead.“Others,”murmuredthecastellan,“talkofathousand.”“Notmuchwhenyoubearinmindthatrumorlikestoexaggerate.Andthe

kingisofferingthreethousand.”“Don’t forget about the betrothal,” Velerad mocked. “What are you

talkingabout?It’sobviousyouwon’tgetthethreethousand.”“How’sitobvious?”Velerad thumped the table. “Geralt, do not spoil my impression of

witchers! This has been going on formore than seven years! The striga isfinishing off up to fifty people a year, fewer now people are avoiding thepalace. Oh no, my friend, I believe inmagic. I’ve seen a great deal and Ibelieve,toacertainextent,intheabilitiesofwizardsandwitchers.Butallthisnonsense about lifting the spellwasmadeupby a hunchbacked, snotty oldmanwho’dlosthismindonhishermit’sdiet.It’snonsensewhichnoonebutFoltest believes. Adda gave birth to a striga because she slept with herbrother. That is the truth, and no spell will help. Now the striga devourspeople—asstrigasdo—shehastobekilled,andthatisthat.Listen:twoyearsagopeasantsfromsomegodforsakenholenearMahakamwereplaguedbyadragon devouring their sheep.They set out together, battered the dragon todeathwithstanchions,anddidnoteventhinkitworthboastingabout.ButweinWyzimarewaitingforamiracleandboltingourdoorseveryfullmoon,ortyingourcriminals toastake infrontof thepalace,praying thebeaststuffsherselfandreturnstohersarcophagus.”

“Notabadmethod.”Thewitchersmiled.“Aretherefewercriminals?”“Notabitofit.”“Whichwaytothepalace,thenewone?”

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“Iwilltakeyoumyself.Andwhataboutthewisemen’ssuggestion?”“Castellan,”saidGeralt,“whyactinhaste?Afterall,Ireallycouldhave

anaccidentatwork,irrespectiveofmyintentions.Justincase,thewisemenshouldbethinkingabouthowtosavemefromtheking’sangerandgetthosefifteenhundredorens,ofwhichrumorspeaks,ready.”

“Itwastobeathousand.”“No,LordVelerad,”thewitchersaidcategorically.“Thewitcherwhowas

offeredathousandranatthemeresightofthestriga,withoutbargaining.Sotheriskisgreater thanathousand.Whether it isgreater thanoneandahalfremainstobeseen.Ofcourse,Iwillsaygoodbyebeforehand.”

“Geralt?”Veleradscratchedhishead.“Onethousandtwohundred?”“No.Thisisn’taneasytask.Thekingisofferingthree,andsometimesit’s

easiertoliftaspellthantokill.Butoneofmypredecessorswouldhavedoneso,orkilledthestriga, if thisweresimple.Youthinktheylet themselvesbedevouredoutoffearoftheking?”

“Then,witcher”—Veleradnoddedwistfully—“ouragreementstands.Butawordofadvice—saynothingtothekingaboutthedangerofanaccidentatwork.”

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IIIFoltestwasslimandhadapretty—toopretty—face.Hewasunderforty,thewitcherthought.Thekingwassittingonadwarf-armchaircarvedfromblackwood,hislegsstretchedouttowardthehearth,wheretwodogswerewarmingthemselves.Nexttohimonachestsatanolder,powerfullybuiltmanwithabeard.Behind theking stood anotherman, richlydressed andwith a proudlookonhisface.Amagnate.

“Awitcher fromRivia,” said theking after themoment’s silencewhichfellafterVelerad’sintroduction.

“Yes,yourMajesty.”Geraltloweredhishead.“Whatmade your hair so gray?Magic? I can see that you are not old.

Thatwasajoke.Saynothing.You’vehadafairamountofexperience,Idarepresume?”

“Yes,yourMajesty.”“Iwouldlovetohearaboutit.”Geraltbowedevenlower.“YourMajesty,youknowourcodeofpractice

forbidsustospeakofourwork.”“Aconvenientcode,witcher,veryconvenient.Buttellme,haveyouhad

anythingtodowithspriggans?”“Yes.”“Vampires,leshys?”“Thosetoo.”Foltesthesitated.“Strigas?”Geraltraisedhishead,lookingthekingintheeyes.“Yes.”Foltestturnedhiseyesaway.“Velerad!”“Yes,GraciousMajesty?”“Haveyougivenhimthedetails?”“Yes,yourGraciousMajesty.Hesaysthespellcastontheprincesscanbe

reversed.”“Ihaveknownthatforalongtime.How,witcher?Oh,ofcourse,Iforgot.

Your code of practice. All right. I will make one small comment. Severalwitchers have been here already. Velerad, you have told him? Good. So Iknowthatyourspecialityistokill,ratherthantoreversespells.Thisisn’tanoption. Ifonehair falls frommydaughter’shead,yourheadwill beon theblock.Thatisall.Ostrit,LordSegelen,stayandgivehimalltheinformationherequires.Witchersalwaysaskalotofquestions.Feedhimandlethimstay

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inthepalace.Heisnottodriftfromtaverntotavern.”The king rose, whistled to his dogs and made his way to the door,

scatteringthestrawcoveringthechamberfloor.Atthedoorhepaused.“Ifyousucceed,witcher,therewardisyours.MaybeIwilladdsomething

if you do well. Of course, the nonsense spread by common folk aboutmarryingtheprincesscarriesnotawordoftruth.I’msureyoudon’tbelieveIwouldgivemydaughter’shandtoastranger?”

“No,yourMajesty.Idon’t.”“Good.Thatshowsyouhavesomewisdom.”Foltest left, closing thedoorbehindhim.Veleradand themagnate,who

had been standing all thewhile, immediately sat at the table. The castellanfinished theking’shalf-fullcup,peered into the jugandcursed.Ostrit,whotook Foltest’s chair, scowled at the witcher while he stroked the carvedarmrests.Segelin,thebeardedman,noddedatGeralt.

“Dosit,witcher,dosit.Supperwillsoonbeserved.Whatwouldyouliketoknow?CastellanVeleradhasprobablyalreadytoldyoueverything.Iknowhim,hehassoonertoldyoutoomuchthantoolittle.”

“Onlyafewquestions.”“Ask.”“Thecastellansaid that,after thestriga’sappearance, thekingcalledup

manyKnowingOnes.”“That’sright.Butdon’tsaystriga,sayprincess.Itmakesiteasiertoavoid

making a mistake in the king’s presence—and any consequentunpleasantness.”

“Was there anyone well-known among the Knowing Ones? Anyonefamous?”

“Therewere such, thenand later. I don’t remember thenames.Doyou,LordOstrit?”

“I don’t recall,” said the magnate. “But I know some of them enjoyedfameandrecognition.Therewasmuchtalkofit.”

“Weretheyinagreementthatthespellcanbelifted?”“Theywerefarfromanyagreement”—Segelinsmiled—“onanysubject.

Butsuchanopinionwasexpressed. Itwassupposed tobesimple,notevenrequiringmagicalabilities.AsIunderstandit,itwouldsufficeforsomeonetospend the night—from sunset to the third crowing of the cock—by thesarcophagus.”

“Simpleindeed,”snortedVelerad.“Iwouldliketohearadescriptionofthe…theprincess.”

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Velerad leapt up from his chair. “The princess looks like a striga!” heyelled.“LikethemoststrigishstrigaIhaveheardof!HerRoyalHighness,thecursed royalbastard, is four cubits high, shaped like abarrel of beer, has amawwhichstretchesfromeartoearandisfullofdagger-liketeeth,hasredeyesandaredmopofhair!Herpaws,withclawslikeawildcat’s,hangdowntotheground!I’msurprisedwe’veyettosendherlikenesstofriendlycourts!Theprincess,plaguechokeher, isalreadyfourteen.Time to thinkofgivingherhandtoaprinceinmarriage!”

“Holdon,Velerad.”Ostrit frowned,glancingat thedoor.Segelinsmiledfaintly.

“Thedescription,althoughvivid, is reasonablyaccurate,and that’swhatyouwanted,isn’tit,witcher?Veleraddidn’tmentionthattheprincessmoveswith incredible speed and is far stronger for her height and build than onewouldexpect.Andsheisfourteenyearsold,ifthatisofanyimportance.”

“Itis,”saidthewitcher.“Dotheattacksonpeopleonlyoccurduringthefullmoon?”

“Yes,” repliedSegelin,“ifsheattacksbeyond theoldpalace.Within thepalacewallspeoplealwaysdie,irrespectiveofthemoon’sphase.Butsheonlyventuresoutduringthefullmoon,andnotalwaysthen.”

“Hastherebeenevenoneattackduringtheday?”“No.”“Doesshealwaysdevourhervictims?”Veleradspatvehementlyonthestraw.“Comeon,Geralt,it’llbesuppersoon.Pish!Devours,takesabite,leaves

aside,itvaries—accordingtohermood,nodoubt.Sheonlybittheheadfromone, gutted a couple, and a fewmore shepicked clean to thebone, suckedthemdry,youcouldsay.Damnedmother’s—!”

“Careful, Velerad,” snarledOstrit. “Saywhat youwant about the strigabut do not insultAdda in front ofme, as youwould not dare in the king’spresence!”

“Has anyone she’s attacked survived?” the witcher asked, apparentlypayingnospecialattentiontothemagnate’soutburst.

SegelinandOstritlookedateachother.“Yes,”saidthebeardedman.“Attheverybeginning,sevenyearsago,she

threwherselfattwosoldiersstandingguardoverthecrypt.Oneescaped—”“And then,” interrupted Velerad, “there was another, the miller she

attackednearthetown.Youremember…?”

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21

IVThe following day, late in the evening, themillerwas brought to the smallchamberabove theguardhouseallocated to thewitcher.Hewas led inbyasoldierinahoodedcoat.

The conversation did not yield any significant results. The miller wasterrified; he mumbled and stammered, and his scars told the witcher morethan he did. The striga could open her jaws impressively wide and hadextremelysharpteeth,includingverylongupperfangs—fourofthem,twooneach side.Her clawswere sharper than awildcat’s, but less curved.And itwasonlybecauseofthatthemillerhadmanagedtotearhimselfaway.

HavingfinishedhisexaminationGeraltnoddedtothemillerandsoldier,dismissing them. The soldier pushed the peasant through the door andloweredhishood.ItwasFoltesthimself.

“Sit,donotgetup,”saidtheking.“Thisvisitisunofficial.Areyouhappywiththeinterview?Iheardyouwereatthepalacethismorning.”

“Yes,yourMajesty.”“Whenwillyousetaboutyourtask?”“Itisfourdaysuntilthefullmoon.Afterthat.”“Youprefertohavealookatheryourselfbeforehand?”“There isnoneed.Buthavinghadherfill the—theprincesswillbe less

active.”“Striga,masterwitcher,striga.Letusnotplayatdiplomacy.Shewillbea

princessafterward.And that iswhat Ihavecome to talkabout.Answermeunofficially,brieflyandclearly:will itworkornot?Don’thidebehindyourcode.”

Geraltrubbedhisbrow.“Iconfirm,yourMajesty, that thespellmightbereversed.And,unlessI

ammistaken, it can be done by spending the night at the palace.The thirdcrowingofthecock,aslongasitcatchesthestrigaoutsidehersarcophagus,willendthespell.Thatiswhatisusuallydonewithstrigas.”

“Sosimple?”“It is not simple. First you have to survive the night. Then there are

exceptions to the rule, for example, not one night but three.Consecutively.Therearealsocaseswhichare…well…hopeless.”

“Yes,” Foltest bristled. “I keep hearing that from some people.Kill themonsterbecause it’san incurablecase.Masterwitcher, Iamsure theyhave

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alreadyspokentoyou.AmIright?Hacktheman-eatertodeathwithoutanymore fuss, at thebeginning, and tell thekingnothing else couldbedone. Iwon’tpay,buttheywill.Veryconvenient.Andcheap.Becausethekingwillorder the witcher beheaded or hanged and the gold will remain in theirpockets.”

“The king unconditionally orders the witcher to be beheaded?” Geraltgrimaced.

FoltestlookedtheRivianintheeyesforalongwhile.“Thekingdoesnotknow,”hefinallysaid.“But thewitchershouldbear

suchaneventualityinmind.”Geraltwassilentforamoment.“Iintendtodowhatisinmypower,”he

said.“ButifitgoesbadlyIwilldefendmylife.YourMajesty,youmustalsobepreparedforsuchaneventuality.”

Foltestgotup.“Youdonotunderstandme.It’sobviousyou’llkillherifitbecomesnecessary,whetherIlikeitornot.Becauseotherwiseshe’llkillyou,surelyandinevitably.Iwon’tpunishanyonewhokillsherinself-defense.ButIwillnotallowhertobekilledwithouttryingtosaveher.Therehavealreadybeenattemptstosetfiretotheoldpalace.Theyshotatherwitharrows,dugpitsandsettrapsandsnares,untilIhungafewofherattackers.Butthatisnotthepoint.Witcher,listen!”

“I’mlistening.”“After the third crowing of the cock, there will be no striga, if I

understandcorrectly.Whatwilltherebe?”“Ifallgoeswell,afourteen-year-oldgirl.”“Withredeyes?Crocodile’steeth?”“Anormalfourteen-year-old.Exceptthat…”“Well?”“Physically.”“Isee.Andmentally?Everyday,abucketofbloodforbreakfast?Alittle

girl’sthigh?”“No.Mentally…There isnotelling.Onthelevel, I think,ofa three-or

four-year-oldchild.She’llrequirelovingcareforalongwhile.”“That’sobvious.Witcher?”“I’mlistening.”“Canithappentoheragain?Lateron?”Geraltwassilent.“Aha,”saidtheking.“Itcan.Andwhatthen?”“Should she die after a long swoon lasting several days, her bodywill

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havetobeburned.Quickly.”Foltestgrewgloomy.“Idonotthinkitwillcometothat,”addedGeralt.“Justtobesure,Iwill

giveyousomeinstructions,yourMajesty,tolessenthedanger.”“Rightnow?Isitnottoosoon,masterwitcher?Andif—”“Right now,” interrupted the Rivian. “Many things may happen, your

Majesty. It could be that you’ll find a princess in the morning, the spellalreadybroken,andmycorpse.”

“Even so?Despitemy permission to defend yourself?Which, it seems,wasn’tthatimportanttoyou.”

“Thisisaseriousmatter,yourMajesty.Theriskisgreat.Thatiswhyyoumust listen: theprincessshouldalwayswearasapphirearoundherneck,orbetter,aninclusion,onasilverchain.Dayandnight.”

“Whatisaninclusion?”“Asapphirewithapocketofairtrappedwithinthestone.Asidefromthat,

everynowandthenyoushouldburnjuniper,broomandaspeninthefireplaceofherchamber.”

Foltest grew pensive. “I thank you for your advice, witcher. I will payheedif—Andnowlistentomecarefully.Ifyoufindthecaseishopeless,killher.Ifyouundothespellbutthegirlisnot…normal.Ifyouhaveashadowofa doubt as to whether you have been entirely successful, kill her. Do notworry,youhavenothingtofearfromme.I’llshoutatyouinfrontofothers,banishyou from the palace and the town, nothingmore,Of course Iwon’tgiveyou thereward,butmaybeyou’llmanage tonegotiatesomethingfromyouknowwho.”

Theywerebothquietforawhile.“Geralt.”ForthefirsttimeFoltestcalledthewitcherbyhisname.“Yes.”“Howmuchtruthisthereintherumorthatthechildisassheisbecause

Addawasmysister?”“Notmuch.Aspellhastobecast,theydon’tcastthemselves.ButIthink

yourcongresswithyoursisterwas thereasonthespellwascast,and this istheresult.”

“AsIthought.ThatiswhatsomeoftheKnowingOnessaid,althoughnotallofthem.Geralt?Wheredosuchthingscomefrom?Spells,magic?”

“I don’t know, your Majesty. Knowing Ones study the causes of suchphenomena.Foruswitchers theknowledge thatconcentratedwillcancausesuchphenomenaisenough.Thatandtheknowledgetofightthem.”

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“Andkillthem?”“Usually.Besides,thatiswhatwe’reusuallypaidfor.Onlyafewdemand

thereversalofspells,yourMajesty.Asarule,peoplesimplywanttodefendthemselves from danger. If the monster has men on its conscience thenrevengecanalsocomeintoplay.”

The king got up, took a few paces across the chamber, and stopped infrontofthewitcher’sswordhangingonthewall.

“Withthis?”heasked,notlookingatGeralt.“No.Thatisformen.”“SoIheard.Doyouknowwhat,Geralt?I’mgoingtothecryptwithyou.”“Outofthequestion.”Foltest turned,hiseyesglinted. “Doyouknow, sorcerer, that Ihavenot

seenher?Neitheraftershewasborn,norlater.Iwasafraid.Imayneverseeher,amInotright?AtleastIhavetherighttoseemydaughterwhileyou’remurderingher.”

“Irepeat,it’soutofthequestion.Itiscertaindeath.Formeaswellasyou.Ifmyattention,mywillfalters—No,yourMajesty.”

Foltestturnedaway,startedtowardthedoor.ForamomentGeraltthoughthe would leave without a word, without a parting gesture, but the kingstoppedandlookedathim.

“Youinspiretrust,”hesaid,“althoughIknowwhatarogueyouare.Iwastoldwhathappenedat the tavern. I’msureyoukilled those thugssolely forwordtospread,toshockpeople,toshockme.It’sobviousthatyoucouldhavedealtwith themwithoutkilling. I’mafraid I’llneverknowwhetheryouaregoing there to savemy daughter, or to kill her.But I agree to it. I have toagree.Doyouknowwhy?”

Geraltdidnotreply.“BecauseI think,”said theking,“I think thatshe issuffering.AmInot

right?”Thewitcherfixedhispenetratingeyesontheking.Hedidn’tconfirmit,

didn’tnod,didn’tmaketheslightestgesture,butFoltestknew.Heknewtheanswer.

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VGeralt looked out of the palacewindow for the last time.Duskwas fallingrapidly.Beyond the lake thedistant lightsofWyzim twinkled.Therewasawildernessaroundtheoldpalace—astripofno-man’slandwithwhich,overseven years, the town had cut itself off from this dangerous place, leavingnothing but a few ruins, rotten beams and the remains of a gap-toothedpalisadewhichhadobviouslynotbeenworthdismantlingandmoving.Asfarawayaspossible—at theoppositeendof thesettlement—thekinghadbuilthis new residence. The stout tower of his new palace loomed black in thedistance,againstthedarkeningblueofthesky.

Inoneoftheempty,plunderedchambers,thewitcherreturnedtothedustytable atwhichhewaspreparing, calmlyandmeticulously.Heknewhehadplentyoftime.Thestrigawouldnotleavehercryptbeforemidnight.

Onthetableinfrontofhimhehadasmallchestwithmetalfittings.Heopenedit.Inside,packedtightlyincompartmentslinedwithdriedgrass,stoodsmallvialsofdarkglass.Thewitcherremovedthree.

Fromthefloor,hepickedupanoblongpacketthicklywrappedinsheep’sskins and fastened with a leather strap. He unwrapped it and pulled out aswordwithanelaboratehilt,inablack,shinyscabbardcoveredwithrowsofrunicsignsandsymbols.Hedrewtheblade,whichlitupwithapureshineofmirror-likebrightness.Itwaspuresilver.

Geralt whispered an incantation and drank, one after the other, thecontents of two vials, placing his left hand on the blade of the sword aftereachsip.Then,wrappinghimselftightlyinhisblackcoat,hesatdownonthefloor.Therewerenochairsinthechamber,orintherestofthepalace.

Hesatmotionless,hiseyesclosed.Hisbreathing,atfirsteven,suddenlyquickened, became rasping and tense. And then stopped completely. Themixturewhich helped thewitcher gain full control of his bodywas chieflymade up of veratrum, stramonium, hawthorn and spurge. The otheringredientshadnoname inanyhuman language.For anyonewhowasnot,likeGeralt,inuredtoitfromchildhood,itwouldhavebeenlethalpoison.

Thewitcherturnedhisheadabruptly.Inthesilencehishearing,sharpenedbeyondmeasure,easilypickedoutarustleoffootstepsthroughthecourtyardovergrownwithstingingnettles.Itcouldnotbethestriga.Thestepsweretoolight.Geraltthrewhisswordacrosshisback,hidhisbundleinthehearthoftheruinedchimney-placeand,silentasabat,randownstairs.

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Itwasstill lightenoughin thecourtyardfor theapproachingmantoseethe witcher’s face. The man, Ostrit, backed away abruptly; an involuntarygrimaceofterrorandrepulsioncontortedhislips.Thewitchersmiledwryly—heknewwhathelookedlike.Afterdrinkingamixtureofbanewart,monk’shoodandeyebrightthefacetakesonthecolorofchalk,andthepupilsfilltheentireiris.Butthemixtureenablesonetoseeinthedeepestdarkness,andthisiswhatGeraltwanted.

Ostritquicklyregainedcontrol.“Youlookasifyouwerealreadyacorpse,witcher,”hesaid.“Fromfear,

nodoubt.Don’tbeafraid.Ibringyoureprieve.”Thewitcherdidnotreply.“Don’t you hear what I say, you Rivian charlatan? You’re saved. And

rich.”OstritheftedasizeablepurseinhishandandthrewitatGeralt’sfeet.“Athousandorens.Takeit,getonyourhorseandgetoutofhere!”

TheRivianstillsaidnothing.“Don’tgawpatme!”Ostritraisedhisvoice.“Anddon’twastemytime.I

havenointentionofstandinghereuntilmidnight.Don’tyouunderstand?Idonotwishyoutoundothespell.No,youhaven’tguessed.Iamnotinleaguewith Velerad and Segelin. I don’t want you to kill her. You are simply toleave.Everythingistostayasitis.”

Thewitcherdidnotmove.Hedidnotwant themagnate to realizehowfasthismovementsandreactionsnowwere.Itwasquicklygrowingdark.Arelief,aseventhesemi-darknessofduskwastoobrightforhisdilatedpupils.

“And why, sir, is everything to remain as it is?” he asked, trying toenunciateeachwordslowly.

“Now, that”—Ostrit raisedhisheadproudly—“shouldreallybeofdamnlittleconcerntoyou.”

“AndwhatifIalreadyknow?”“Goon.”“ItwillbeeasiertoremoveFoltestfromthethroneifthestrigafrightens

the people even more? If the royal madness completely disgusts bothmagnatesandcommonfolk,amIright?IcameherebywayofRedaniaandNovigrad.ThereismuchtalktherethattherearethoseinWyzimwholooktoKingVizimirastheirsaviorandtruemonarch.ButI,LordOstrit,donotcareaboutpolitics,or the successions to thrones,or revolutions inpalaces. I amheretoaccomplishmytask.Haveyouneverheardofasenseofresponsibilityandplainhonesty?Aboutprofessionalethics?”

“Careful to whom you speak, you vagabond!” Ostrit yelled furiously,

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placinghishandonthehiltofhissword.“Ihavehadenoughofthis.Iamnotaccustomedtoholdsuchdiscussions!Lookatyou—ethics,codesofpractice,morality?!Who are you to talk?A brigandwho’s barely arrived before hestarts murdering men? Who bends double to Foltest and behind his backbargainswithVeleradlikeahiredthug?Andyoudaretoturnyournoseupatme, you serf? Play at being a Knowing One? AMagician? You schemingwitcher!BegonebeforeIruntheflatofmyswordacrossyourgob!”

Thewitcherdidnotstir.Hestoodcalmly.“You’dbetterleave,LordOstrit,”hesaid.“It’sgrowingdark.”Ostrittookastepback,drewhisswordinaflash.“Youaskedforthis,yousorcerer.I’llkillyou.Yourtrickswon’thelpyou.

Icarryaturtle-stone.”Geralt smiled. The reputation of turtle-stonewas asmistaken as it was

popular.But thewitcherwasnotgoing to losehis strengthon spells,muchlessexposehissilverswordtocontactwithOstrit’sblade.Hedivedunderthewhirlingbladeand,withtheheelofhishandandhissilver-studdedcuff,hithiminthetemple.

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VIOstritquicklyregainedconsciousnessandlookedaroundinthetotaldarkness.Henoticed thathewas tiedup.Hedidnot seeGeralt standing rightbesidehim.Butherealizedwherehewasandletoutaprolonged,terrifyinghowl.

“Keepquiet,”saidthewitcher.“Otherwiseyou’ll lureheroutbeforehertime.”

“You damned murderer! Where are you? Untie me immediately, youlouse!You’llhangforthis,yousonofabitch!”

“Quiet.”Ostritpantedheavily.“You’re leaving me here to be devoured by her! Tied up?” he asked,

quieternow,whisperingavileinvective.“No,”saidthewitcher.“I’llletyougo.Butnotnow.”“Youscoundrel,”hissedOstrit.“Todistractthestriga?”“Yes.”Ostritdidn’tsayanything.Hestoppedwrigglingandlayquietly.“Witcher?”“Yes.”“It’s true thatIwantedtooverthrowFoltest. I’mnot theonlyone.ButI

amtheonlyonewhowantedhimdead.Iwantedhimtodieinagony,togomad,torotalive.Doyouknowwhy?”

Geraltremainedsilent.“IlovedAdda.Theking’ssister.Theking’smistress.Theking’strollop.I

lovedher—Witcher,areyouthere?”“Iam.”“Iknowwhatyou’rethinking.Butitwasn’tlikethat.Believeme,Ididn’t

castanyspells.Idon’tknowanythingaboutmagic.OnlyonceinangerdidIsay…Onlyonce.Witcher?Areyoulistening?”

“Iam.”“It’shismother,theoldqueen.Itmustbeher.Shecouldn’twatchhimand

Adda—Itwasn’tme.Ionlyonce,youknow,triedtopersuadethembutAdda—Witcher!Iwasbesotted,andsaid…Witcher?Wasitme?Me?”

“Itdoesn’tmatteranymore.”“Witcher?Isitnearlymidnight?”“It’sclose.”“Letmego.Givememoretime.”

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“No.”Ostritdidnothearthescrapeofthetomblidbeingmovedaside,butthe

witcher did.He leanedover and,with his dagger, cut themagnate’s bonds.Ostritdidnotwait,fortheword.Hejumpedup,numb,hobbledclumsily,andran.Hiseyeshadgrownaccustomedenoughtothedarknessforhimtoseehiswayfromthemainhalltotheexit.

The slabblocking the entrance to the crypt opened and fell to the floorwith a thud. Geralt, prudently behind the staircase balustrade, saw themisshapenfigureofthestrigaspeedingswiftlyandunerringlyinthedirectionofOstrit’sreceedingfootsteps.Nottheslightestsoundissuedfromthestriga.

Aterrible,quivering,frenziedscreamtorethenight,shooktheoldwalls,continuedrisingandfalling,vibrating.Thewitchercouldn’tmakeoutexactlyhowfarawayitwas—hissharpenedhearingdeceivedhim—butheknewthatthestrigahadcaughtupwithOstritquickly.Tooquickly.

Hesteppedinto themiddleof thehall,stoodrightat theentrance to thecrypt.Hethrewdownhiscoat,twitchedhisshoulders,adjustedthepositionofhissword,pulledonhisgauntlets.Hestillhadsometime.Heknewthatthestriga,althoughwellfedafter thelastfullmoon,wouldnotreadilyabandonOstrit’s corpse. The heart and liver were, for her, valuable reserves ofnutritionforthelongperiodsspentinlethargicsleep.

Thewitcherwaited.Byhiscount,therewereaboutthreehoursleftuntildawn.Thecock’scrowcouldonlymisleadhim.Besides,therewereprobablynococksintheneighborhood.

Heheardher.Shewastrudgingslowly,shufflingalongthefloor.Andthenhesawher.

Thedescriptionhadbeenaccurate.Thedisproportionatelylargeheadsetonashortneckwassurroundedbyatangled,curlyhaloofreddishhair.Hereyesshoneinthedarknesslikeananimal’s.Thestrigastoodmotionless,hergazefixedonGeralt.Suddenlysheopenedherjaws—asifproudofherrowsof pointed white teeth—then snapped them shut with a crack like a chestbeingclosed.Andleapt,slashingatthewitcherwithherbloodiedclaws.

Geralt jumped to the side, spun a swift pirouette. The striga rubbedagainst him, also spun around, slicing through the air with her talons. Shedidn’t lose her balance and attacked anew, mid-spin, gnashing her teethfractionsofaninchfromGeralt’schest.TheRivianjumpedaway,changingthedirectionofhisspinwithaflutteringpirouettetoconfusethestriga.Asheleaptawayhedealtahardblowtothesideofherheadwiththesilverspikesstuddingtheknucklesofhisgauntlet.

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Thestrigaroaredhorribly,fillingthepalacewithaboomingecho,felltotheground,frozeandstartedtohowlhollowlyandfuriously.

Thewitcher smiledmaliciously.His first attempt, as he hadhoped, hadgonewell.Silverwasfataltothestriga,asitwasformostmonstersbroughtintoexistence throughmagic.So therewasachance: thebeastwas like theothers,andthatbodedwellforliftingthespell,whilethesilverswordwould,asalastresort,assurehislife.

Thestrigawas innohurrywithhernextattack.Sheapproachedslowly,baring her fangs, dribbling repulsively. Geralt backed away and, carefullyplacing his feet, traced a semi-circle. By slowing and quickening hismovementshedistractedthestriga,makingitdifficultforhertoleap.Ashewalked,thewitcherunwoundalong,strongsilverchain,weightedattheend.

Themomentthestrigatensedandleaptthechainwhistledthroughtheairand,coiling likeasnake, twined itselfaroundthemonster’sshoulders,neckandhead.Thestriga’sjumpbecameatumble,andsheletoutanear-piercingwhistle.Shethrashedaroundonthefloor,howlinghorriblywithfuryorfromthe burning pain inflicted by the despisedmetal.Geraltwas content—if hewantedhecouldkillthestrigawithoutgreatdifficulty.Butthewitcherdidnotdraw his sword. Nothing in the striga’s behavior had given him reason tothinkshemightbean incurablecase.Geraltmoved toa saferdistanceand,without letting the writhing shape on the floor out of his sight, breatheddeeply,focusedhimself.

The chain snapped. The silver links scattered like rain in all directions,ringingagainst the stone.The striga,blindwith fury, tumbled to the attack,roaring.Geraltwaitedcalmlyand,withhisraisedrighthand,tracedtheSignofAardinfrontofhim.

The striga fell backas ifhit byamalletbutkepther feet, extendedhertalons, bared her fangs.Her hair stood on end and fluttered as if shewerewalkingagainstafiercewind.Withdifficulty,oneraspingstepatatime,sheslowlyadvanced.Butshedidadvance.

Geraltgrewuneasy.HedidnotexpectsuchasimpleSigntoparalyzethestrigaentirelybutneitherdidheexpectthebeasttoovercomeitsoeasily.HecouldnotholdtheSignforlong,itwastooexhausting,andthestrigahadnomore than tensteps togo.He lowered theSignsuddenly,andsprungaside.Thestriga, takenbysurprise, flewforward, lostherbalance, fell, slidalongthefloorandtumbleddownthestairsintothecrypt’sentrance,yawninginthefloor.

Herinfernalscreamreverberatedfrombelow.

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TogaintimeGeraltjumpedontothestairsleadingtothegallery.Hehadnotevenclimbedhalfwayupwhen thestriga ranoutof thecrypt, speedingalonglikeanenormousblackspider.Thewitcherwaiteduntilshehadrunupthe stairs afterhim, then leaptover thebalustrade.The striga turnedon thestairs,sprangandflewathiminanamazing ten-meter leap.Shedidnot letherselfbedeceivedbyhispirouettesthistime;twicehertalonslefttheirmarkon the Rivian’s leather tunic. But another desperately hard blow from thesilver spiked gauntlet threw the striga aside, shook her.Geralt, feeling furybuildinginsidehim,swayed,bentbackwardand,withamightykick,knockedthebeastoffherlegs.

Theroarshegavewaslouderthanallthepreviousones.Eventheplastercrumbledfromtheceiling.

Thestrigasprangup,shakingwithuncontrolledangerandlustformurder.Geraltwaited.Hedrewhissword,tracedcircleswithitintheair,andskirtedthestriga,takingcarethatthemovementofhisswordwasnotinrhythmwithhis steps. The striga did not jump. She approached slowly, following thebrightstreakofthebladewithhereyes.

Geralt stopped abruptly, froze with his sword raised. The striga,disconcerted, also stopped. The witcher traced a slow semi-circle with theblade, took a step in the striga’s direction. Then another. Then he leapt,feigningawhirlingmovementwithhisswordaboveherhead.

The striga curled up, retreated in a zigzag. Geralt was close again, thebladeshimmeringinhishand.Hiseyeslitupwithanominousglow,ahoarseroar tore throughhisclenched teeth.Thestrigabackedaway,pushedby thepowerof concentratedhatred, anger andviolencewhichemanated from theattacking man and struck her in waves, penetrating her mind and body.Terrified andpainedby feelingsunknown toher she let out a thin, shakingsqueak,turnedonthespotandranoffinadesperate,crazyescapedownthedarktangleofthepalace’scorridors.

Geraltstoodquiveringinthemiddleofthehall.Alone.Ithadtakenalongtime,hethought,beforethisdanceontheedgeofanabyss,thismad,macabreballetofafight,hadachievedthedesiredeffect,allowedhimtopsychicallybecomeonewithhisopponent,toreachtheunderlayersofconcentratedwillwhichpermeatedthestriga.Theevil,twistedwillfromwhichthestrigawasborn.Thewitchershiveredatthememoryoftakingonthateviltoredirectit,asifinamirror,againstthemonster.Neverbeforehadhecomeacrosssuchaconcentrationofhatredandmurderous frenzy,noteven frombasilisks,whoenjoyedaferociousreputationforit.

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Allthebetter,hethoughtashewalkedtowardthecryptentranceandtheblacknessthatspreadfromitlikeanenormouspuddle.Allthebetter,allthestronger,was the blow received by the striga. Thiswould give him a littlemore time until the beast recovered from the shock. The witcher doubtedwhetherhecouldrepeatsuchaneffort.Theelixirswereweakeninganditwasstillalongtimeuntildawn.Butthestrigacouldnotreturntohercryptbeforefirstlight,orallhistroublewouldcometonothing.

He went down the stairs. The crypt was not large; there was room forthree stone sarcophagi. The slab covering the first was half pushed aside.Geraltpulledthethirdvialfrombeneathhistunic,quicklydrankitscontents,climbed into the tomband stretchedout in it.Ashehadexpected, itwasadoubletomb—formotheranddaughter.

Hehadonlyjustpulledthecoverclosedwhenheheardthestriga’sroaragain.He layonhisbacknext toAdda’smummifiedcorpseand traced theSignofYrdenontheinsideoftheslab.Helaidhisswordonhischest,stoodatinyhourglassfilledwithphosphorescentsandnexttoitandcrossedhisarms.Heno longerheard the striga’s screamsas she searched thepalace.Hehadgradually stopped hearing anything as the true-love and celandine began towork.

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VIIWhen Geralt opened his eyes, the sand had passed through the hourglass,whichmeanthissleephadbeenevenlongerthanhehadintended.Heprickeduphisears,andheardnothing.Hissenseswerenowfunctioningnormally.

He tookholdofhis sword and,murmuring an incantation, ranhishandacrossthelidofthesarcophagus.Hethenmovedtheslabslightly,acoupleofinches.

Silence.Hepushedthelidfurther,sat,holdinghisweaponattheready,andlifted

his head above the tomb. The crypt was dark but the witcher knew thatoutsidedawnwasbreaking.Hestruckalight,litaminiaturelampandliftedit,throwingstrangeshadowsacrossthewallsofthecrypt.

Itwasempty.Hescrambledfromthesarcophagus,aching,numb,cold.Andthenhesaw

her.Shewaslyingonherbacknexttothetomb,nakedandunconscious.Shewasratherugly.Slimwithsmallpointedbreasts,anddirty.Herhair—

flaxen-red—reached almost to herwaist. Standing the lamp on the slab, hekneltbesideherandleanedover.Herlipswerepaleandherfacewasbloodywhere he had hit her cheekbone.Geralt removed his gloves, put his swordaside and,without any fuss, drew up her top lipwith his finger. Her teethwerenormal.Hereachedforherhand,whichwasburiedinhertangledhair.Beforehetookithesawheropeneyes.Toolate.

Sheswipedhimacrosstheneckwithhertalons,cuttinghimdeeply.Bloodsplashedontoher face.Shehowled, strikinghim in theeyeswithherotherhand.Hefellonher,grabbingherbythewrists,nailinghertothefloor.Shegnashedherteeth—whichwerenowtooshort—infrontofhisface.Hebuttedherinthefacewithhisforeheadandpinnedherdownharder.Shehadlostherformer strength; she could only writhe beneath him, howling, spitting outblood—his blood—which was pouring over her mouth. His blood wasdraining away quickly. Therewas no time. Thewitcher cursed and bit herhardontheneck, justbelowtheear.Hedughis teethinandclenchedthemuntil her inhuman howling became a thin, despairing scream and then achokingsob—thecryofahurtfourteen-year-oldgirl.

Helethergowhenshestoppedmoving,gottohisknees,toreapieceofcanvasfromhissleevepocketandpressedittohisneck.Hefeltforhissword,heldthebladetotheunconsciousgirl’sthroat,andleanedoverherhand.The

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nailsweredirty,broken,bloodiedbut…normal.Completelynormal.The witcher got up with difficulty. The sticky-wet grayness of early

morning was flooding in through the crypt’s entrance. He made a movetowardthestairsbutstaggeredandsatdownheavilyonthefloor.Bloodwaspouringthroughthedrenchedcanvasontohishands,runningdownhissleeve.He unfastened his tunic, slit his shirt, tore and ripped rags from it and tiedthemaroundhisneck,knowingthathedidn’thavemuchtime,thathewouldsoonfaint…

Hesucceeded.Andfainted.InWyzim,beyondthelake,acock,rufflinghisfeathersinthecolddamp,

crowedhoarselyforthethirdtime.

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VIIIHesaw thewhitenedwallsandbeamedceilingof thesmallchamberabovethe guardroom.Hemoved his head, grimacingwith pain, andmoaned.Hisneckwasbandaged,thickly,thoroughly,professionally.

“Liestill,witcher,”saidVelerad.“Lie,donotmove.”“My…sword…”“Yes, yes. Of course, what is most important is your witcher’s silver

sword. It’shere,don’tworry.Both the swordandyour little trunk.And thethreethousandorens.Yes,yes,don’tutteraword.ItisIwhoamanoldfoolandyouthewisewitcher.Foltesthasbeenrepeatingitoverandoverforthelasttwodays.”

“Two—”“Oh yes, two. She slit your neck open quite thoroughly.One could see

everythingyouhaveinsidethere.Youlostagreatdealofblood.Fortunatelywehurriedtothepalacestraightafterthethirdcrowingofthecock.NobodysleptinWyzimthatnight.Itwasimpossible;youmadeaterriblenoise.Doesmytalkingtireyou?”

“Theprin…cess?”“The princess is like a princess. Thin. And somewhat dull-witted. She

weepsincessantlyandwetsherbed.ButFoltestsaysthiswillchange.Idon’tthinkit’llchangefortheworse,doyou,Geralt?”

Thewitcherclosedhiseyes.“Good.Itakemyleavenow.Rest.”Veleradgotup.“Geralt?BeforeIgo,

tellme:whydidyoutrytobitehertodeath?Eh?Geralt?”Thewitcherwasasleep.

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THEVOICEOFREASON

37

I“Geralt.”

Heraisedhishead,tornfromsleep.Thesunwasalreadyhighandforcedblinding golden rays through the shutters, penetrating the chamber withtentacles of light. The witcher shaded his eyes with his hand in anunnecessary,instinctivereflexwhichhehadnevermanagedtoshakeoff—allheneededtodo,afterall,wasnarrowhispupilsintoverticalslits.

“It’slate,”saidNenneke,openingtheshutters.“You’vesleptin.Offwithyou,Iola.”

Thegirlsatupsuddenlyandleanedoutofbedtotakehermantlefromthefloor.Geralt felt a trickleofcool salivaonhis shoulder,whereher lipshadbeenamomentago.

“Wait…”hesaidhesitantly.Shelookedathim,quicklyturnedaway.Shehadchanged.Therewasnothingofthewaternymphinheranymore,

nothingoftheluminous,chamomile-scentedapparitionshehadbeenatdawn.Her eyes were blue, not black. And she had freckles—on her nose, herneckline, her shoulders. They weren’t unattractive; they suited hercomplexionandreddishhair.Buthehadn’tseenthematdawn,whenshehadbeen his dream. With shame he realized he felt resentment toward her,resentmentthatshehadn’tremainedadream,andthathewouldneverforgivehimselfforit.

“Wait,”herepeated.“Iola…Iwanted—”“Don’t speak to her, Geralt,” said Nenneke. “She won’t answer you

anyway.Offwithyou,Iola.”Wrapped in hermantle, the girl pattered toward the door, her bare feet

slappingthefloor—troubled,flushed,awkward.Nolongerremindinghim,inanyway,of—

Yennefer.“Nenneke,”hesaid,reachingforhisshirt.“Ihopeyou’renotannoyedthat

—Youwon’tpunishher,willyou?”“Fool,” the priestess snorted. “You’ve forgotten where you are. This is

neitherahermitagenoraconvent.It’sMelitele’stemple.Ourgoddessdoesn’tforbidourpriestessesanything.Almost.”

“Youforbademetotalktoher.”“Ididn’tforbidyou.ButIknowit’spointless.Ioladoesn’tspeak.”“What?”

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“She doesn’t speak. She’s taken a vow. It’s a sort of sacrifice throughwhich… Oh, what’s the point of explaining; you wouldn’t understandanyway.Youwouldn’teventrytounderstand.Iknowyourviewsonreligion.No,don’tgetdressedyet.Iwanttocheckyourneck.”

Shesatontheedgeofthebedandskillfullyunwoundthelinenbandageswrappedthicklyaroundthewitcher’sneck.Hegrimacedinpain.

AssoonashehadarrivedinEllander,Nennekehadremovedthepainfullythick stitches of shoemaker’s twine with which they had stitched him inWyzim,openedthewoundanddresseditagain.Theresultswereclear:hehadarrivedat the templealmostcured, ifperhapsa littlestiff.Nowhewassickagain,andinpain.Buthedidn’tprotest.He’dknownthepriestessforyearsand knew how great was her knowledge of healing, how rich andcomprehensiveherpharmacywas.AcourseoftreatmentatMelitele’stemplecoulddonothingbutgood.

Nennekefeltthewound,washeditandbegantocurse.Healreadyknewthis routine by heart. She had started on the very first day, and had neverfailedtomoanwhenshesawthemarksleftbytheprincessofWyzim’stalons.

“It’s terrible! To let yourself be slashed like this by an ordinary striga.Muscles, tendons—sheonly justmissedyourcarotidartery!GreatMelitele!Geralt,what’shappeningtoyou?Howdidshegetsoclosetoyou?Whatdidyouwantwithher?Tomounther?”

Hedidn’tanswer,andsmiledfaintly.“Don’tgrinlikeanidiot.”Thepriestessroseandtookabagofdressings

from the chest of drawers. Despite her weight and low stature, shemovedswiftly and gracefully. “There’s nothing funny about it. You’re losing yourreflexes,Geralt.”

“You’reexaggerating.”“I’mnotexaggeratingatall.”Nennekespreadagreenishmushsmelling

sharplyofeucalyptusoverthewound.“Youshouldn’thaveallowedyourselfto getwounded, but you did, and very seriously at that. Fatally even.Andevenwithyourexceptionalpowersofregenerationit’llbemonthsbeforeyourneckisfullymobileagain.Iwarnyou,don’ttestyourstrengthbyfightinganagileopponentduringthattime.”

“Thankyouforthewarning.Perhapsyoucouldgivemesomeadvice,too:howamIsupposedtoliveinthemeantime?Rallyafewgirls,buyacartandorganizeatravelinghouseofill-repute?”

Nennekeshrugged,bandaginghisneckwithquick,deftmovements.“AmIsupposedtogiveyouadviceandteachyouhowtolive?AmIyourmother

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orsomething?Right,that’sdone.Youcangetdressed.Breakfast’swaitingforyou in the refectory. Hurry up or you’ll have to make it yourself. I don’tintendtokeepthegirlsinthekitchentomidday.”

“WherewillIfindyoulater?Inthesanctuary?”“No.” Nenneke got up. “Not in the sanctuary. You’re a welcome guest

here,witcher,butdon’thangaroundinthesanctuary.Goforawalk,andI’llfindyoumyself.”

“Fine.”

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IIGeralt strolled—for the fourth time—along thepoplar alleywhich led fromthe gate to the dwellings by the sanctuary and main temple block, whichmerged into the sheer rock. After brief consideration he decided againstreturningtoshelter,andturnedtowardthegardensandoutbuildings.Umpteenpriestesses, clad in grayworking garments,were toiling away,weeding thebeds and feeding the birds in the henhouses. The majority of them wereyoungorveryyoung,virtually children.Somegreetedhimwith anodor asmile in passing. He answered their greetings but didn’t recognize any ofthem.Althoughheoftenvisited the temple—onceoreventwiceayear—heneversawmorethanthreeorfourfacesheknew.Thegirlscameandwent—becoming oracles in other temples, midwives and healers specializing inwomen’sandchildren’sdiseases,wanderingdruids,teachersorgovernesses.Buttherewasneverashortageofpriestesses,arrivingfromallover,eventheremotestregions.Melitele’stempleinEllanderwaswell-knownandenjoyedwell-earnedfame.

ThecultofMelitelewasoneoftheoldestand,initsday,oneofthemostwidespread cults from time immemorial. Practically every pre-human raceandeveryprimordialnomadichumantribehonoredagoddessofharvestandfertility, a guardian of farmers and gardeners, a patroness of love andmarriage.ManyofthesereligionsmergedintothecultofMelitele.

Time,whichwasquitepitilesstowardotherreligionsandcults,effectivelyisolating them in forgotten, rarely visited little temples and oratories buriedamong urban buildings, had proved merciful toMelitele. She did not lackeither followers or sponsors. In explaining the popularity of the goddess,learnedmenwhostudiedthisphenomenonusedtoharkbacktothepre-cultsof theGreatMother,MotherNature, and pointed to the linkswith nature’scycle,with the rebirth of life and other grandiloquently namedphenomena.Geralt’s friend, the troubadour Dandilion, who enjoyed a reputation as aspecialist ineverypossiblefield, lookedforsimplerexplanations.Melitele’scult, he deduced, was a typical woman’s cult. Melitele was, after all, thepatroness of fertility and birth; she was the guardian of midwives. And awomaninlaborhastoscream.Apartfromtheusualcries—usuallypromisingnevertogiveherself toanybloodymaneveragaininher life—awomaninlaborhastocalluponsomegodheadforhelp,andMelitelewasperfect.Andsince women gave birth, give birth and will continue to give birth, the

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goddessMelitele,thepoetproved,didnothavetofearforherpopularity.“Geralt.”“Nenneke.Iwaslookingforyou.”“Me?”Thepriestesslookedathimmockingly.“NotIola?”“Iola,too,”headmitted.“Doesthatbotheryou?”“Rightnow,yes.Idon’twantyoutogetinherwayanddistracther.She’s

gottogetherselfreadyandprayifsomething’stocomeofthistrance.”“I’vealreadytoldyou,”hesaidcoldly,“Idon’twantanytrance.Idon’t

thinkatrancewillhelpmeinanyway.”“WhileI”—Nennekewinced—“don’tthinkatrancewillharmyouinany

way.”“Ican’tbehypnotized. Ihave immunity. I’mafraidforIola. Itmightbe

toogreataneffortforamedium.”“Iola isn’t amediumor amentally ill soothsayer.That child enjoys the

goddess’sfavor.Don’tpullsillyfaces,ifyouplease.AsIsaid,yourviewonreligionisknowntome,it’sneverparticularlybotheredmeand,nodoubt,itwon’tbothermeinthefuture.I’mnotafanatic.You’vearighttobelievethatwe’regovernedbyNatureandtheForcehiddenwithinher.Youcanthinkthatthegods, includingmyMelitele, aremerely apersonificationof this powerinventedforsimpletonssotheycanunderstanditbetter,acceptitsexistence.Accordingtoyou,thatpowerisblind.Butforme,Geralt,faithallowsyoutoexpectwhatmygoddesspersonifies fromnature:order, law,goodness.Andhope.”

“Iknow.”“Ifyouknowthat,thenwhyyourreservationsaboutthetrance?Whatare

you afraid of? That I’ll make you bow your head to a statue and singcanticles?Geralt,we’llsimplysit together forawhile—you,meandIola—and see if the girl’s talents will let her see into the vortex of powersurrounding you. Maybe we’ll discover something worth knowing. Andmaybewewon’t discover anything.Maybe the power and fate surroundingyou won’t choose to reveal themselves to us, will remain hidden andincomprehensible.Idon’tknow.Butwhyshouldn’twetry?”

“Becausethere’snopoint.I’mnotsurroundedbyanyvortexorfate.AndifIwere,whythehellwouldIdelveintoit?”

“Geralt,you’resick.”“Injured,youmean.”“Iknowwhat Imean.There’ssomethingnotquite rightwithyou. Ican

sense that. After all, I have known you ever since you were a youngster.

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When I met you, you came up to my waist. And now I feel that you’respinningaroundinsomedamnedwhirlpool,tangledupinaslowlytighteningnoose.Iwant toknowwhat’shappening.ButIcan’tdoitmyself. IhavetocountonIola’sgifts.”

“Youwanttodelvetoodeeply.Whythemetaphysics?I’llconfideinyou,ifyou like. I’ll fillyoureveningswith talesofevermoreastoundingeventsfromthepastfewyears.Getakegofbeersomythroatdoesn’tdryupandwecanstarttoday.ButIfearI’llboreyoubecauseyouwon’tfindanynoosesorvortexesthere.Justawitcher’sordinarytales.”

“I’llwillinglylistentothem.Butatrance,Irepeat,woulddonoharm.”“Don’t you think”—he smiled—“that my lack of faith makes such a

trancepointless?”“No,Idon’t.Anddoyouknowwhy?”“No.”Nennekeleanedoverandlookedhimintheeyeswithastrangesmileon

herpalelips.“BecauseitwouldbethefirstproofI’veeverheardofthatalackoffaith

hasanykindofpoweratall.”

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AGRAINOFTRUTH

44

IAnumberofblackpointsmovingagainstabrightskystreakedwithmistdrewthewitcher’s attention. Birds. Theywheeled in slow, peaceful circles, thensuddenlyswoopedandsoaredupagain,flappingtheirwings.

Thewitcherobservedthebirdsforalongtime,then—bearinginmindtheshapeoftheland,densityofthewood,depthandcourseoftheravinewhichhesuspectedlayinhispath—calculatedthedistanceto them,andhowlonghewould take tocover it.Finallyhe threwasidehis coat and tightened thebeltacrosshischestbytwoholes.Thepommelandhiltoftheswordstrappedacrosshisbackpeekedoverhisshoulder.

“We’ll go a little out of ourway,Roach,” he said. “We’ll take a detourfromthehighway.Idon’tthinkthebirdsarecirclingtherefornothing.”

Themarewalkedon,obedienttoGeralt’svoice.“Maybe it’s just a dead elk,” said Geralt. “But maybe it’s not. Who

knows?”Therewasaravine,ashehadsuspected;thewitcherscannedthecrowns

ofthetreestightlyfillingtherift.Butthesidesofthegullyweregentle,theriverbed dry and clear of blackthorns and rotting tree trunks.He crossed iteasily.Ontheothersidewasacopseofbirches,andbehinditalargeglade,heathandundergrowth,whichthrewtentaclesof tangledbranchesandrootsupward.

The birds, scared away by the appearance of a rider, soared higher,croakingsharplyintheirhoarsevoices.

Geraltsawthefirstcorpseimmediately—thewhiteofthesheepskinjacketand matt-blue of the dress stood out clearly against a yellowing clump ofsedge.Hedidn’tseethesecondcorpsebutitslocationwasbetrayedbythreewolves sitting calmly on their haunches watching the witcher. His maresnorted and the wolves, as if at a command, unhurriedly trotted into thewoods, every now and again turning their triangular heads to watch thenewcomer.Geraltjumpedoffhishorse.

Thewoman in the sheepskin and blue dress had no face or throat, andmostofherleftthighhadgone.Thewitcher,notleaningover,walkedbyher.

Themanlaywithhisfacetotheground.Geraltdidn’tturnthebodyover,seeingthatthewolvesandbirdshadn’tbeenidle.Andtherewasnoneedtoexaminethecorpseindetail—theshouldersandbackofthewoollendoubletwere coveredwith thickblack rivuletsofdriedblood. Itwas clear theman

45

haddied fromablow to theneck,and thewolveshadonly found thebodyafterward.

Onawidebeltnexttoashortcutlassinawoodensheaththemanworealeatherpurse.Thewitchertoreitoffand,itembyitem,threwthecontentsonthegrass:atinderbox,apieceofchalk,sealing-wax,ahandfulofsilvercoins,a folding shaving-knifewith abonehandle, a rabbit’s ear, threekeys and atalismanwith a phallic symbol. Two letters,written on canvas,were dampwith rain and dew, smudged beyond readability. The third, written onparchment, was also ruined by damp, but still legible. It was a credit notemadeoutbythedwarves’bankinMuriveltoamerchantcalledRulleAsper,orAspen.Itwasn’tforalargesum.

Bendingover,Geraltliftedtheman’srighthand.Ashehadexpected,thecopper ring digging into the swollen, blue finger carried the sign of thearmorers’guild:astylizedhelmetwithvisor,twocrossedswordsandtherune“A”engravedbeneaththem.

Thewitcherreturnedtothewoman’scorpse.Ashewasturningthebodyover, somethingprickedhim in the finger—arose,pinned to thedress.Theflowerhadwitheredbutnotlostitscolor:thepetalsweredarkblue,verydarkblue. Itwas the first timeGeralt had seen such a rose.He turned the bodyovercompletely,andwinced.

On thewoman’s bare and bloody neckwere clear bitemarks. And notthoseofawolf.

Thewitchercarefullybackedawaytohishorse.Without takinghiseyesfromtheforestedge,heclimbed into thesaddle.Hecircled theglade twiceand,leaningover,lookedaround,examiningthegroundclosely.

“So,Roach,”he saidquietly, “the case is reasonably clear.The armorerand thewoman arrivedonhorseback from thedirectionof the forest.TheywereontheirwayhomefromMurivel,becausenobodycarriesanuncashedcredit note for long.Why theywere going this way and not following thehighway?Idon’tknow.Buttheywerecrossingtheheath,sidebyside.Andthen—again, I don’t knowwhy—they both dismounted, or fell from, theirhorses.The armorer died instantly.Thewoman ran, then fell anddied, andwhateverattackedher—whichdidn’tleaveanytracks—draggedheralongtheground,withherthroatinitsteeth.Thehorsesranoff.Thishappenedtwoorthreedaysago.”

Themaresnortedrestlessly,reactingtohistoneofvoice.“The thing which killed them,” continued Geralt, watching the forest’s

edge,“wasneitherawerewolfnoraleshy.Neitherwouldhaveleftsomuch

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forthescavengers.IftherewereswampshereI’dsayitwasakikimoraoravypper…buttherearen’tanyswampshere.”

Leaning over, the witcher pulled back the blanket which covered thehorse’s side and uncovered another sword strapped to the saddlebag—onewithashining,ornateguardandblackcorrugatedhilt.

“Well,Roach.We’re taking a roundabout route;we’d better checkwhythis armorer and woman were riding through the forest, not along thehighway. Ifwepassby ignoringsuch incidents,wewon’teverearnenoughforyouroats,willwe?”

The mare obediently moved forward, across the heath, carefullysidesteppinghollows.

“Although it’s not a werewolf, we won’t take any risks,” the witchercontinued,takingabunchofdriedmonksheadfromasaddlebagandhangingitbythebit.Themaresnorted.Geraltunlacedhistunicalittleandpulledoutamedallionengravedwithawolfwithbaredjaws.Themedallion,hangingonasilverchain,bobbedupanddowninrhythmtothehorse’sgait,sparklinginthesun’srayslikemercury.

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IIHenoticedtheredtilesofthetower’sconicalrooffromthesummitofahillashecutacrossabend in thefaint trail.Theslope,coveredwithhazel,drybranches and a thick carpet of yellow leaves, wasn’t safe to descend onhorseback. The witcher retreated, carefully rode down the incline andreturnedtothemainpath.Herodeslowly,stoppedthehorseeverynowandagainand,hangingfromthesaddle,lookedoutfortracks.

The mare tossed her head, neighed wildly, stamped and danced on thepath,kickingupastormofdriedleaves.Geralt,wrappinghisleftarmaroundthe horse’s neck, swept his right hand—the fingers arranged in the Sign ofAxia—overthemount’sheadashewhisperedanincantation.

“Is it as bad as all that?” he murmured, looking around and notwithdrawingtheSign.“Easy,Roach,easy.”

The charmworked quickly but themare, proddedwith his heel,movedforwardreluctantly,losingthenaturalspringyrhythmofhergait.Thewitcherjumpednimblytothegroundandwentonbyfoot,leadingherbythebridle.Hesawawall.

Therewasnogapbetweenthewallandtheforest,nodistinctbreak.Theyoungtreesandjuniperbushestwinedtheirleaveswiththeivyandwildvinesclingingtothestonework.Geralt lookedup.Atthatsamemoment,hefeltapricklealonghisneck,as ifan invisible, softcreaturehad latchedon tohisneck,liftingthehairsthere.

Hewasbeingwatched.He turned around smoothly. Roach snorted; the muscles in her neck

twitched,movedunderherskin.Agirlwasstandingontheslopeofthehillhehadjustclimbeddown,one

armrestingonthetrunkofanalder tree.Her trailingwhitedresscontrastedwiththeglossyblacknessofherdisheveledhair,fallingtohershoulders.Sheseemedtobesmiling,butshewastoofarawaytobesure.

“Greetings,”hesaid,raisinghishandinafriendlygesture.Hetookasteptoward the girl. She turnedher head a little, followinghismovements.Herfacewaspale,hereyesblackandenormous.Thesmile—ifithadbeenasmile—vanished from her face as though wiped away with a cloth. Geralt tookanotherstep,theleavesrustledunderfoot,andthegirlrandowntheslopelikeadeer,flittingbetweenthehazelbushes.Shewasnomorethanawhitestreakasshedisappearedintothedepthsoftheforest.Thelongdressdidn’tappear

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torestricthereaseofmovementintheleast.Roach neighed anxiously, tossing her head. Geralt, still watching the

forest, instinctivelycalmedherwiththeSignagain.Pullingthemarebythebridle, hewalked slowly along thewall,wading throughburdockup to thewaist.

He came to a sturdy gate,with iron fittings and rusty hinges, furnishedwith a great brass knocker.After amoment’s hesitationGeralt reached outand touched the tarnished ring. He immediately jumped back as, at thatmoment, thegateopened, squeaking, clattering, and rakingaside clumpsofgrass, stones and branches. Therewas no one behind it—thewitcher couldonly see a deserted courtyard, neglected and overgrown with nettles. Heentered,leadingRoach.Themare,stillstunnedbytheSign,didn’tresist,butshemovedstifflyandhesitantlyafterhim.

Thecourtyardwassurroundedonthreesidesbyawallandtheremainsofsomewooden scaffolding.On the fourth side stood themansion, its façademottledbyapoxofchippedplaster,dirtydamppatches,andfestoonedwithivy.Theshutters,withtheirpeelingpaint,wereclosed,aswasthedoor.

GeraltthrewRoach’sreinsoverthepillarbythegateandslowlymadehiswaytowardthemansion,followingthegravelpathpastasmallfountainfullof leaves and rubbish. In the center of the fountain, on a fanciful plinth, awhitestonedolphinarched,turningitschippedtailupward.

Nexttothefountaininwhat,averylongtimeago,usedtobeaflowerbed,grewarosebush.Nothingbutthecoloroftheflowersmadethisbushunique—buttheflowerswereexceptional:indigo,withafaintshadeofpurpleonthetipsofsomeof thepetals.Thewitcher touchedone,broughthis facecloserand inhaled. The flowers held the typical scent of roses, only a littlemoreintense.

Thedoorandalltheshuttersofthemansionflewopenatthesameinstantwithabang.Geralt raisedhisheadabruptly.Downthepath,scrunching thegravel,amonsterwasrushingstraightathim.

The witcher’s right hand rose, as fast as lightning, above his rightshoulderwhilehisleftjerkedthebeltacrosshischest,makingtheswordhiltjumpintohispalm.Theblade,leapingfromthescabbardwithahiss,tracedashort,luminoussemi-circleandfroze,thepointaimingatthechargingbeast.

Atthesightofthesword,themonsterstoppedshort,sprayinggravelinalldirections.Thewitcherdidn’tevenflinch.

Thecreaturewashumanoid,anddressedinclotheswhich,thoughtattered,wereofgoodqualityandnotlackinginstylishanduselessornamentation.His

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humanform,however, reachednohigher than thesoiledcollarofhis tunic,for above it loomed a gigantic, hairy, bear-like headwith enormous ears, apair of wild eyes and terrifying jaws full of crooked fangs in which a redtongueflickeredlikeflame.

“Flee,mortalman!”themonsterroared,flappinghispawsbutnotmovingfromthespot.“I’lldevouryou!Tearyoutopieces!”Thewitcherdidn’tmove,didn’t lower his sword. “Are you deaf? Away with you!” The creaturescreamed,thenmadeasoundsomewherebetweenapig’ssquealandastag’sbellowingroar,makingtheshuttersrattleandclatterandshakingrubbleandplasterfromthesills.Neitherwitchernormonstermoved.

“Clearoffwhileyou’restillinonepiece!”roaredthecreature,lesssureofhimself.“Becauseifyoudon’t,then—”

“Thenwhat?”interruptedGeralt.The monster suddenly gasped and tilted his monstrous head. “Look at

him, isn’t he brave?” He spoke calmly, baring his fangs and glowering atGeraltwithbloodshoteyes.“Lower that iron, ifyouplease.Perhapsyou’venotrealizedyou’reinmycourtyard?Ormaybeit’scustomary,whereveryoucomefrom,tothreatenpeoplewithswordsintheirowncourtyards?”

“Itiscustomary,”Geraltagreed,“whenfacedwithpeoplewhogreettheirguestswitharoarandthecrythatthey’regoingtotearyoutopieces.”

“Poxonit!”Themonstergothimselfworkedup.“Andhe’llinsultmeontopofitall,thisstraggler.Aguest,ishe?Pusheshiswayintotheyard,ruinssomeoneelse’sflowers,playsthelordandthinksthathe’llbebroughtbreadandsalt.Bah!”

Thecreature spat,gaspedandshuthis jaws.The lower fangsprotruded,makinghimlooklikeaboar.

“So?”Thewitcher spoke after amoment, lowering his sword. “Arewegoingtocarryonstandinglikethis?”

“Andwhat do you suggest instead?Lying down?” snorted themonster.“Putthatironaway,Isaid.”

The witcher nimbly slipped the weapon into its scabbard and, withoutloweringhisarm,strokedthehiltwhichroseabovehisshoulder.

“I’dpreferyou,”hesaid,“nottomakeanysuddenmoves.Thisswordcanalwaysbedrawnagain,fasterthanyouimagine.”

“Inoticed,”raspedthemonster.“Ifitwasn’tforthat,you’dhavebeenoutof this gate a long time ago,withmybootprint onyour arse.What doyouwanthere?Howdidyougethere?”

“Igotlost,”liedthewitcher.

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“Yougotlost,”repeatedthemonster,twistinghisjawsinamenacinggrin.“Well,unloseyourway.Outofthegate,turnyourlefteartothesunandkeepwalkingandyou’llsoongetbacktothehighway.Well?Whatareyouwaitingfor?”

“Is thereanywater?”askedGeraltcalmly.“Thehorse is thirsty.AndsoamI,ifthatdoesn’tinconvenienceyou.”

The monster shifted from one foot to the other and scratched his ear.“Listenyou,”hesaid.“Areyoureallynotfrightenedofme?”

“ShouldIbe?”Themonster lookedaround, clearedhis throat andyankeduphisbaggy

trousers.“Poxonit,what’stheharmofaguest inthehouse?It’snoteverydayI

meet someonewho doesn’t run away or faint at the sight ofme.All right,then.Ifyou’reawearybuthonestwanderer, I inviteyouin.But ifyou’reabrigandora thief, thenIwarnyou: thishousedoeswhat I tell it to.WithinthesewallsIrule!”

He lifted his hairy paw.All the shutters clattered against thewall oncemoreanddeepinthedolphin’sstonegullet,somethingrumbled.

“Iinviteyouin,”herepeated.Geraltdidn’tmove,scrutinizinghim.“Doyoulivealone?”“What’sthattodowithyou?”saidthemonsterangrily,openinghisjaws,

thencroakedloudly,“Oh,Isee.Nodoubtyou’dliketoknowwhetherI’vegotfortyservantsallasbeautifulasme.Idon’t.Well,pox,areyougoingtomakeuseofmygenerousinvitation?Ifnot,thegate’soverthere.”

Geraltbowedstiffly.“Iacceptyourinvitation,”hesaidformally.“Iwon’tslighttherightofhospitality.”

“My house is your house,” themonster said in return, just as formally,although a little offhandedly. “This way please, dear guest. And leave thehorsehere,bythewell.”

The interiorwas inneedofextensive repair, although itwas reasonablycleanand tidy.The furniturehadbeenmadeby skilled craftsmen, if averylongtimeago.Apungentsmellofdusthunginthedarkrooms.

“Light!”growledthemonster,andthetorchinitsironbracketburstintoflamesandsootysmoke.

“Notbad,”remarkedthewitcher.Themonstercackled.“That’s it? I seeyouwon’tbeamazedbyanyold

trick. I toldyou thishouseobeysmycommands.Thisway,please.Careful,

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thestairsaresteep.Light!”On the stairs, themonster turned. “What’s that around your neck, dear

guest?”“Havealook.”The creature took the medallion in his paw, lifted it up to his eyes,

tighteningthechainaroundGeralt’sneckalittle.“Theanimalhasanunpleasantexpression.Whatisit?”“Myguild’sbadge.”“Ah,youmakemuzzles,nodoubt.Thisway,please.Light!”Thecenterof the largeroom,completelydevoidofwindows,was taken

up by a huge oak table, empty apart from an enormous brass candlestick,slowly turning green and covered with trickles of hardened wax. At themonster’s command, the candles lit and flickered, brightening the interior alittle.

Onewallwashungwithweapons,compositionsofroundshields,crossedpartisans,javelinsandguisarmes,heavysabersandaxes.Halfoftheadjacentwall was taken up by an enormous fireplace, above which hung rows offlaking and peeling portraits. The wall facing the entrance was filled withhunting trophies—elks and stag antlers whose branching racks threw longshadowsacrossthegrinningmountedheadsofwildboar,bearandlynx,overthe ruffled and frayedwings of eagles and hawks. The place of honorwasfilledbyarockdragon’shead,taintedbrown,damagedandleakingstuffing.Geraltexamineditmoreclosely.

“My grandpa killed it,” said themonster, throwing a huge log into thedepthsof the fireplace.“Itwasprobably the lastone in thevicinitywhen itgotitselfkilled.Sit,mydearguest.You’rehungry?”

“Iwon’tdenyit,dearhost.”Themonstersatatthetable,loweredhishead,claspedhishairypawsover

hisstomach,mutteredsomethingwhiletwiddlinghisenormousthumbs,thensuddenlyroared,thumpingthetablewithhispaw.Dishesandplattersrattledlikepewterandsilver,chalicesjingledlikecrystal.Therewasasmellofroastmeat,garlic,marjoramandnutmeg.Geraltdidnotshowanysurprise.

“Yes.”Themonsterrubbedhishands.“This isbetter thanservants, isn’tit?Helpyourself,dearguest.Here is some fowl,here someboarham,hereterrineof…Idon’tknowwhat.Something.Herewehavesomehazelgrouse.Pox, no, it’s partridge. I got the spellsmuddled up. Eat up, eat up. This isproper,realfood,don’tworry.”

“I’mnotworried.”Geralttorethefowlintwo.

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“I forgot,” snorted themonster, “thatyou’renot timid.What shall I callyou?”

“Geralt.Andyourname,dearhost?”“Nivellen.But theycallmeDegenorFangeraroundhere.Andtheyuse

metofrightenchildren.”Themonsterpouredthecontentsofanenormouschalicedownhisthroat,

afterwhichhesankhisfingersintheterrine,tearinghalfofitfromthebowlinonego.

“Frighten children,” repeated Geralt with his mouth full. “Without anyreason,nodoubt?”

“Ofcoursenot.Yourhealth,Geralt!”“Andyours,Nivellen.”“How’s thewine?Haveyounoticed that it’smade fromgrapes andnot

apples?Butifyoudon’tlikeit,I’llconjureupadifferentone.”“Thankyou,it’snotbad.Areyourmagicalpowersinnate?”“No. I’ve had them since growing this. This trap, that is. I don’t know

how ithappenedmyself, but thehousedoeswhatever Iwish.Nothingverybig; Icanconjureup food,drink,clothes,clean linen,hotwater, soap.Anywoman can do that, andwithout usingmagic at that. I can open and closewindowsanddoors.Icanlightafire.Nothingveryremarkable.”

“It’ssomething.Andthis…trap,asyoucallit,haveyouhaditlong?”“Twelveyears.”“Howdidithappen?”“What’sitgottodowithyou?Pouryourselfsomemorewine.”“With pleasure. It’s got nothing to do with me. I’m just asking out of

curiosity.”“An acceptable reason,” the monster said, and laughed loudly. “But I

don’t accept it. It’s got nothing to do with you and that’s that. But just tosatisfyyourcuriosityalittle,I’llshowyouwhatIusedtolooklike.Lookatthoseportraits.Thefirstfromthechimneyismyfather.Thesecond,poxonlyknows.Andthethirdisme.Canyouseeit?”

Beneaththedustandspiderwebs,anondescriptmanwithabloated,sad,spottyfaceandwateryeyeslookeddownfromthepainting.Geralt,whowasnostrangertothewayportraitpainterstendedtoflattertheirclients,nodded.

“Canyouseeit?”repeatedNivellen,baringhisfangs.“Ican.”“Whoareyou?”“Idon’tunderstand.”

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“Youdon’tunderstand?”Themonsterraisedhishead;hiseyesshonelikeacat’s.“Myportraitishungbeyondthecandlelight.Icanseeit,butI’mnothuman.Atleast,notatthemoment.Ahuman,lookingatmyportrait,wouldgetup,gocloserand,nodoubt,have to take thecandlestickwithhim.Youdidn’t do that, so the conclusion is simple.But I’maskingyouplainly: areyouhuman?”

Geraltdidn’t lowerhiseyes.“If that’s thewayyouput it,”heansweredafteramoment’ssilence,“then,notquite.”

“Ah.Surelyitwon’tbetactlessifIask,inthatcase,whatyouare?”“Awitcher.”“Ah,”Nivellenrepeatedafteramoment.“IfIrememberrightly,witchers

earntheirlivinginaninterestingway—theykillmonstersformoney.”“Youremembercorrectly.”Silencefellagain.Candleflamespulsated,flickedupwardinthinwispsof

fire, glimmering in the cut-crystal chalices.Cascades ofwax trickled downthecandlestick.

Nivellensatstill,lightlytwitchinghisenormousears.“Let’sassume,”hesaidfinally,“thatyoudrawyourswordbefore I jumponyou.Let’sassumeyouevenmanagetocutmedown.Withmyweight, thatwon’tstopme;I’lltakeyoudown through sheermomentum.And then it’s teeth that’ll decide.Whatdoyouthink,witcher,whichoneofushasabetterchanceifitcomestobitingeachother’sthroats?”

Geralt, steadying the carafe’s pewter stopper with his thumb, pouredhimself some wine, took a sip and leaned back into his chair. He waswatchingthemonsterwithasmile.Anexceptionallyuglyone.

“Yeeees,”saidNivellenslowly,diggingatthecornerofhisjawswithhisclaw.“Onehastoadmityoucananswerquestionswithoutusingmanywords.It’llbeinterestingtoseehowyoumanagethenextone.Whopaidyoutodealwithme?”

“Noone.I’mherebyaccident.”“You’renotlying,byanychance?”“I’mnotinthehabitoflying.”“Andwhatareyouinthehabitofdoing?I’veheardaboutwitchers—they

abducttinychildrenwhomtheyfeedwithmagicherbs.Theoneswhosurvivebecomewitchersthemselves,sorcererswithinhumanpowers.They’retaughttokill,andallhumanfeelingsandreactionsaretrainedoutofthem.They’returnedintomonstersinordertokillothermonsters.I’vehearditsaidit’shightimesomeonestartedhuntingwitchers,astherearefewerandfewermonsters

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andmoreandmorewitchers.Dohavesomepartridgebeforeit’scompletelycold.”

Nivellen took the partridge from the dish, put it between his jaws andcruncheditlikeapieceoftoast,bonescrackingastheywerecrushedbetweenhisteeth.

“Whydon’tyousayanything?”heaskedindistinctly,swallowing.“Howmuchoftherumorsaboutyouwitchersistrue?”

“Practicallynothing.”“Andwhat’salie?”“Thattherearefewerandfewermonsters.”“True.There’safairnumberofthem.”Nivellenbaredhisfangs.“Oneis

sittinginfrontofyouwonderingifhedidtherightthingbyinvitingyouin.Ididn’tlikeyourguildbadgerightfromthestart,dearguest.”

“Youaren’tamonster,Nivellen,”thewitchersaiddryly.“Pox,that’ssomethingnew.SowhatamI?Cranberrypudding?Aflockof

wild geese flying south on a sadNovembermorning?No?Maybe I’m thevirtue that a miller’s buxom daughter lost in spring?Well, Geralt, tell mewhatIam.Can’tyouseeI’mshakingwithcuriosity?”

“You’renotamonster.Otherwiseyouwouldn’tbeabletotouchthissilvertray.Andinnowaycouldyouholdmymedallion.”

“Ha!”Nivellenroaredsopowerfullythecandleflamesfellhorizontalfora moment. “Today, very clearly, is a day for revealing great and terriblesecrets!NowI’mgoingtobetoldthatIgrewtheseearsbecauseIdidn’tlikemilkyporridgeasachild!”

“No,Nivellen,” saidGeralt calmly. “It happenedbecauseof a spell I’msureyouknowwhocastthatspell.”

“AndwhatifIdo?”“Inmanycasesaspellcanbeuncast.”“You,asawitcher,canuncastspellsinmanycases?”“Ican.Doyouwantmetotry?”“No.Idon’t.”Themonsteropenedhisjawsandpokedouthistongue,two

spanlong,andveryred.“Surprisedyou,hasn’tit?”“Thatithas,”admittedGeralt.Themonstergiggledandloungedinhisarmchair.“Iknewthatwould,”he

said.“Pouryourself somemore,getcomfortableand I’ll tellyou thewholestory.Witcherornot,you’vegotanhonestfaceandIfeelliketalking.Pouryourselfmore.”

“There’snoneleft.”

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“Poxonit!”Themonsterclearedhisthroat,thenthumpedthetablewithhis paw again. A large earthenware demijohn in a wicker basket appearednext to the twoemptycarafes, fromnowhere.Nivellen tore thesealingwaxoffwithhisteeth.

“Asnodoubtyou’venoticed,”hebegan,pouringthewine,“thisisquitearemotearea.It’salongwaytothenearesthumansettlement.It’sbecause,yousee,myfather,andmygrandfather too, inhis time,didn’tmake themselvesparticularly loved by our neighbors or themerchants using the highway. Ifanyonewentastrayhereandmyfatherspottedthemfromthetower,theylost—atbest—their fortune.Anda coupleof thenearer settlementswereburntbecauseFatherdecided the levieswerebeingpaid tardily.Notmanypeoplelikedmyfather.Exceptforme,naturally.Icriedawfullywhenwhatwasleftofmyfatherafterablowfromatwo-handedswordwasbroughthomeonacartoneday.Grandpadidn’ttakepartinrobberyanymorebecause,eversincehe was hit on the head with a morningstar, he had a terrible stutter. Hedribbledandrarelymadeit to theprivyontime.Astheirheir,Ihadtoleadthegang.

“Iwasyoungatthetime,”Nivellencontinued,“arealmilksop,sotheladsinthecrewwoundmearoundtheirlittlefingersinaflash.Iwasasmuchincommandofthemasafatpigletisofapackofwolves.WesoonbegandoingthingswhichFatherwouldneverhaveallowed,hadhebeenalive.I’llspareyouthedetailsandgetstraighttothepoint.OnedaywetookourselvesasfarasGelibol,nearMirt,androbbedatemple.Ayoungpriestesswastheretoo.”

“Whichtemple,Nivellen?”“Poxonlyknows,butitmusthavebeenabadone.Therewereskullsand

bones on the altar, I remember, and a green firewas burning. It stank likenobody’sbusiness.But to thepoint.The ladsoverpoweredthepriestessandstrippedher,thensaidIhadtobecomeaman.Well,Ibecameaman,stupidlittlesnot that Iwas,andwhileIwasachievingmanhood, thepriestessspatintomyfaceandscreamedsomething.”

“What?”“ThatIwasamonsterinhumanskin,thatI’dbeamonsterinamonster’s

skin,somethingaboutlove,blood…Ican’tremember.Shemusthavehadthedagger,alittleone,hiddeninherhair.Shekilledherselfandthen—

“Wefledfromthere,Geralt,I’mtellingyou—wenearlyworeourhorsesout.Itwasabadtemple.”

“Goon.”“Thenitwasasthepriestesshadsaid.Afewdayslater,Iwokeupandas

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the servants sawme, they screamed and took to their heels. I went to themirror…Yousee,Geralt,Ipanicked,hadsomesortofanattack,Irememberit almost through a haze. To put it briefly, corpses fell. Several. I usedwhatever came to hand—and I’d suddenly become very strong. And thehousehelpedasbest itcould:doorsslammed,furnitureflewin theair, firesbrokeout.Whoevercouldgetoutranawayinapanic:myauntandcousin,the lads from the crew. What am I saying? Even the dogs howled andcowered.Mycat,Glutton,ranaway.Evenmyaunt’sparrotkickedthebucketout of fear. I was alone, roaring, howling, going mad, smashing whatevercametohand,mainlymirrors.”

Nivellenpaused,sighedandsniffed.“Whentheattackwasover,”heresumedafterawhile,“itwasalreadytoo

late. Iwasalone. Icouldn’texplain toanyone thatonlymyappearancehadchanged, that although in this horrible shape, Iwas just a stupidyoungster,sobbing over the servants’ bodies in an empty manor. I was afraid they’dcomebackandkillmebeforeIcouldexplain.Butnobodyreturned.”

Themonstergrewsilentforamomentandwipedhisnoseonhissleeve.“I don’t want to go back to those first months, Geralt. It still leaves meshakingwhenIrecallthem.I’llgettothepoint.Foralongtime,averylongtime, I sat in the manor, quiet as a mouse, not stirring from the place. Ifanyoneappeared,whichrarelyhappened,Iwouldn’tgoout.I’dtellthehousetoslamtheshuttersacoupleof times,orI’droar throughthegargoyle,andthatwasusuallyenoughforthewould-beguesttoleaveinahurry.Sothat’showitwas,untilonedayI lookedoutof thewindowonepaledawnand—whatdidIsee?Sometrespasserstealingarosefrommyaunt’sbush.Anditisn’t just any old rosebush: these are blue roses from Nazair. It wasGrandfatherwhobroughttheseedlings.Iflewintoafuryandjumpedoutside.

“Thefattrespasser,whenhegothisvoiceback—he’dlostitwhenhesawme—squealed that he only wanted a few flowers for his daughter, that Ishouldsparehim,sparehis lifeandhishealth. Iwas just ready tokickhimoutofthemaingatewhenIrememberedsomething.StoriesLenka,mynanny—theoldbag—usedtotellme.Poxonit,Ithought,ifprettygirlsturnfrogsintoprinces,ortheotherwayround,thenmaybe…Maybethere’sagrainoftruthinthesestories,achance…Ileaptfouryards,roaredsoloudwildvinetumbled from thewall, and I yelled, ‘Your daughter or your life!’Nothingbetter came tomind.Themerchant, forhewasamerchant,began toweep,thenconfessedthathisdaughterwasonlyeight.Areyoulaughing?”

“No.”

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“Ididn’tknowwhethertolaughorcryovermyshittyfate.Ifeltsorryfortheoldtrader.Icouldn’twatchhimshakelikethat.Iinvitedhiminside,madehimwelcomeand,whenhewas leaving, Ipouredgoldandprecious stonesintohisbag.Therewas still a fair fortune in thecellar fromFather’sday. Ihadn’tquiteknownwhat todowith it,soIcouldallowmyself thisgesture.Themerchantbeamedandthankedmesoprofuselythatheslobberedalloverhimself.Hemusthaveboasted abouthis adventure somewherebecausenottwoweeks had gone bywhen anothermerchant appeared.He had a prettylargebagreadywithhim.Andadaughter.Alsoprettylarge.”

Nivellenextendedhislegsunderthetableandstretcheduntilthearmchaircreaked.

“Icametoanunderstandingwiththemerchantinnotime,”hecontinued.“He’dleaveherwithmeforayear.Ihadtohelphimloadthesackontohismule;hewouldn’thavemanagedbyhimself.”

“Andthegirl?”“Shehadfitsatthesightofmeforawhile.ShereallythoughtI’deather.

But after amonthwewere eating at the same table, chatting andgoing forlong walks. She was kind, and remarkably smart, and I’d get tongue-tiedwhen I talked to her.You see,Geralt, I was always shywith girls, alwaysmadealaughingstockofmyself,evenwithwenchesfromthecowshedwithdunguptotheirknees,girlstheladsfromthecrewturnedoverthiswayandthatatwill.Eventheymadefunofme.Tosaynothingofhavingamawlikethis.Icouldn’tevenmakemyselfsayanythingaboutwhyIhadpaidsodearlyforayearofher life.Theyeardraggedlikethestenchfollowingmaraudingtroopsuntil,atlast,themerchantarrivedandtookheraway.

“I locked myself in the house, resigned, and didn’t react for severalmonths toanyof theguestswho turnedupwithdaughters.Butafterayearspentwithcompany,Irealizedhowharditwastolivewithoutanyonetotalkto.”Themonstermadeanoisewhichwassupposedtobeasighbutcameoutmorelikeahiccup.

“Thenextone,”hesaidafterawhile,“wascalledFenne.Shewassmall,brightandchirpy,arealgold-crest.Shewasn’tfrightenedofmeatall.Once,ontheanniversaryofmyfirsthaircut,mycomingofage,we’dbothdrunktoomuchmeadand…ha,ha.Straightafter, I jumpedoutofbedandran to themirror. Imust admit Iwas disappointed, and despondent. The trapwas thesameasiteverwas, ifwithaslightlymorestupidexpression.Andtheysaythewisdomofagesistobefoundinfairytales.It’snotworthashit,wisdomlikethat,Geralt.

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“Well,Fennequicklytriedtomakemeforgetmyworries.Shewasajollygirl, I tell you. Do you know what she thought up? We’d both frightenunwanted guests. Imagine: a guest like that enters the courtyard, looksaround, and then, with a roar, I charge at him on all fours with Fenne,completelynaked,sittingonmybackandblowingmygrandfather’shuntinghorn!”

Nivellenshookwithlaughter,thewhiteofhisfangsflashing.“Fenne,”hecontinued,“stayedwithmeforayear,thenreturnedtoherfamilywithahugedowry.Shewaspreparingtomarryatavernowner,awidower.”

“Carryon,Nivellen.Thisisinteresting.”“You think so?” said the monster, scratching himself between the ears

witharaspingsound.“Allright.Thenextone,Primula,wasthedaughterofanimpoverishedknight.Theknight,whenhegothere,hadaskinnyhorse,arustycuirassandincredibledebts.Hewasashideousascowdung,Itellyou,Geralt, and spread a similar smell. Primula, I’d wagermy right hand, wasconceivedwhilehewasatwar,asshewasquitepretty.Ididn’tfrightenhereither,whichisn’tsurprising,really,ascomparedtoherparentImighthaveappearedquitecomely.Shehad,asitturnedout,quiteatemperamentandI,havinggainedsomeself-confidence, seized themomentby thehorns.AftertwoweeksPrimulaandIalreadyhadaverycloserelationship.She liked topullmebytheearsandshout,‘Bitemetodeath,youanimal!’and‘Tearmeapart,youbeast!’ andotherequally idiotic things. I ran to themirror in thebreaks, but just imagine, Geralt, I looked at myself with growing anxiety.LessandlessdidIlongtoreturntomyformershape.Yousee,Geralt,IusedtobeaweaklingandnowI’dbecomeastrappingfellow.I’dkeepgettingill,I’dcough,mynosewouldrun,butnowIdon’tcatchanything.Andmyteeth?Youwouldn’t believe how rottenmy teeth had been!And now? I can bitethroughthelegofachair.Doyouwantmetobiteachairleg?”

“No,Idon’t.”“Maybethat’sgood.”Themonsteropenedhismouthwide.“Myshowing-

off used to amuse the girls and there aren’t many whole chairs left in thehouse.”Nivellenyawned,hisenormoustonguerollingupintoatube.

“This talking has made me tired, Geralt. Briefly: there were two afterPrimula, Ilka and Venimira. Everything happened in the same way, to thepoint of boredom. First, a mixture of fear and reserve, then a thread ofsympathy thy reinforced by small but precious gifts, then ‘Biteme, eatmeup,’ Daddy’s return, a tender farewell and an increasingly discernibledepletion of the treasury. I decided to take longer breaks to be alone. Of-

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course,I’dlongagostoppedbelievingthatavirgin’skisswouldtransformthewayIlooked.AndI’dcometotermswithit.And,what’smore,I’dcometothe conclusion that thingswere fine as theywere and that therewasn’t anyneedforchanges.”

“Really?Nochanges,Nivellen?”“It’s true. I have a horse’s health,which camewith theway I look, for

one.Secondly,mybeingdifferentworksongirls likeanaphrodisiac.Don’tlaugh!I’mcertainthatasahuman,I’dhavetogiveamightygoodchasetoget at a girl like, for example, Venimira, who was an extremely beautifulmaid.Idon’tsupposeshe’dhaveglancedtwiceat thefellowintheportrait.Andthirdly:safety.Fatherhadenemies,andacoupleofthemhadsurvived.Peoplewhomthecrew,undermypitifulleadership,hadsenttotheirgraves,had relatives.There’sgold in thecellar. If itwasn’t for the fear inspiredbyme,somebodywouldcomeandgetit,ifonlypeasantswithpitchforks.”

“Youseemquitesure,”Geralt remarked,playingwithanemptychalice,“that you haven’t offended anyone in your present shape. No father, nodaughter.Norelativeordaughter’sbetrothed—”

“Leaveoff,Geralt.”Nivellenwasindignant.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?Thefatherscouldn’tcontain themselvesfor joy. I toldyou, Iwas incrediblygenerous.Andthedaughters?Youdidn’tseethemwhentheygothereintheirdresses of sackcloth, their little hands raw from washing, their shouldersstoopedfromcarryingbuckets.Evenafter twoweekswithme,Primulastillhad marks on her back and thighs from the strap her knightly father hadbeatenherwith.Theywalkedaroundlikeprincesseshere,carriednothingbuta fan and didn’t even knowwhere the kitchenwas. I dressed them up andcoveredthemwithtrinkets.Attheclickofafinger,I’dconjureuphotwaterin the tin bath Father had plundered formymother atAssengard.Can youimagine?Atinbath!There’shardlyaregent,whatamIsaying,hardlyalordwho’s got a tin bath at home.Thiswas a house froma fairy tale for them,Geralt.Andasfarasbedisconcerned,well…Poxonit,virtueisrarertodaythanarockdragon.Ididn’tforceanyofthem,Geralt.”

“Butyoususpectedsomeonehadpaidmetokillyou.Whowouldhave?”“Ascoundrelwhowanted thecontentsofmycellarbutdidn’thaveany

more daughters,” Nivellen said emphatically. “Human greed knows nolimits.”

“Andnobodyelse?”“Andnobodyelse.”They both remained silent, gazing at the nervous flicker of the candle

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flames.“Nivellen,”saidthewitchersuddenly,“areyoualonenow?”“Witcher,” answered the monster after a moment’s hesitation, “I think

that, inprinciple,Iought toinsultyou, takeyoubytheneckandthrowyoudown the stairs.Doyouknowwhy?Becauseyou treatme like a dimwit. Inoticed how you’ve been cocking your ears and glancing at the door. YouknowperfectlywellthatIdon’tlivealone.AmIright?”

“Youare.I’msorry.”“Poxonyourapologies.Haveyouseenher?”“Yes.Intheforest,bythegate.Isshewhymerchantsanddaughtershave

beenleavinghereempty-handedforsometime?”“Soyouknowaboutthattoo?Yes,she’sthereason.”“DoyoumindifIaskwhether—”“Yes,Idomind.”Silenceagain.“Ohwell,it’suptoyou,”thewitcherfinallysaid,gettingup.“Thanksfor

yourhospitality,dearhost.TimeIwasonmyway.”“Quiteright.”Nivellenalsogotup.“Forcertainreasons,Ican’tofferyou

a room in themanor for the night, and I don’t encourage you to spend thenight in these woods. Ever since the area’s been deserted, it’s been bad atnighthere.Yououghttogetbacktothehighwaybeforedusk.”

“I’llbearthatinmind,Nivellen.Areyousureyoudon’tneedmyhelp?”The monster looked at him askance. “You think you could help me?

You’dbeabletoliftthisfromme?”“Iwasn’tonlythinkingaboutthatsortofhelp.”“You didn’t answer my question. Although… you probably did. You

wouldn’tbeableto.”Geraltlookedhimstraightintheeyes.“Youhadsomebadluck,”hesaid.

“OfallthetemplesinGelibolandtheNimnarValley,youpickedtheChurchofCoramAghTera,theLionheadedSpider.InordertoliftthecursethrownbythepriestessofCoramAghTera,youneedknowledgeandpowerswhichIdon’tpossess.”

“Andwhodoes?”“Soyouareinterestedafterall?Yousaidthingswerefineastheyare.”“Astheyare,yes.Butnotastheymightbe.I’mafraidthat—”“Whatareyouafraidof?”Themonsterstoppedatthedoortotheroomandturned.“I’vehadenough

ofyourquestions,witcher,whichyoukeepaskinginsteadofansweringmine.

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Obviously, you’ve got to be asked in the rightway. Listen. For some timenowI’vehadhideousdreams.Maybe theword ‘monstrous’wouldbemoreaccurate.AmIrighttobeafraid?Briefly,please.”

“Haveyoueverhadmuddyfeetafterwakingfromsuchadream?Coniferneedlesinyoursheets?”

“No.”“Andhave—”“No.Briefly,please.”“You’rerightlyafraid.”“Cananythingbedoneaboutit?Briefly,please.”“No.”“Finally.Let’sgo.I’llseeyouout.”Inthecourtyard,asGeraltwasadjustingthesaddlebags,Nivellenstroked

the mare’s nostrils and patted her neck. Roach, pleased with the caress,loweredherhead.

“Animals likeme,”boasted themonster. “And I like them, too.Mycat,Glutton,ranawayatthebeginningbutshecamebacklater.Foralongtime,she was the only living creature who keptme company inmymisfortune.Vereena,too—”Hebrokeoffwithagrimace.

Geraltsmiled.“Doesshelikecatstoo?”“Birds.” Nivellen bared his teeth. “I gave myself away, pox on it. But

what’s the harm. She isn’t another merchant’s daughter, Geralt, or anotherattempt to find a grain of truth in old folk tales. It’s serious.We love eachother.Ifyoulaugh,I’llsockyouone.”

Geralt didn’t laugh. “You know your Vereena,” he said, “is probably arusalka?”

“Isuspectedasmuch.Slim.Dark.Sherarelyspeaks,andinalanguageIdon’t know.Shedoesn’t eat human food.Shedisappears into the forest fordaysonend,thencomesback.Isthattypical?”

“Moreorless.”ThewitchertightenedRoach’sgirth-strap.“Nodoubtyouthinkshewouldn’treturnifyouweretobecomehuman?”

“I’msureofit.Youknowhowfrightenedrusalkasareofpeople.Hardlyanybody’sseenarusalkafromupclose.ButVereenaandI…Poxonit!Takecare,Geralt.”

“Takecare,Nivellen.”Thewitcherproddedthemareinthesidewithhisheelandmadetowardthegate.Themonstershuffledalongathisside.

“Geralt?”“Yes.”

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“I’mnotasstupidasyouthink.Youcameherefollowingthetracksofoneofthemerchantswho’dbeenherelately.Hassomethinghappenedtooneofthem?”

“Yes.”“The last was here three days ago. With his daughter, not one of the

prettiest, by the way. I commanded the house to close all its doors andshutters and give no sign of life. Theywandered around the courtyard andleft.Thegirlpickedarosefrommyaunt’srosebushandpinnedittoherdress.Lookfor themsomewhereelse.Butbecareful; this isahorriblearea.I toldyouthattheforestisn’tthesafestofplacesatnight.Uglythingsareheardandseen.”

“Thanks,Nivellen.I’llrememberaboutyou.Whoknows,maybeI’llfindsomeonewho—”

“Maybe yes. And maybe no. It’s my problem, Geralt, my life and mypunishment.I’velearnedtoputupwithit.I’vegotusedtoit.Ifitgetsworse,I’ll get used to that too. And if it gets far worse, don’t look for anybody.Comehereyourselfandputanendtoit.Asawitcher.Takecare,Geralt.”

Nivellen turned andmarched briskly toward themanor. He didn’t lookroundagain.

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IIITheareawasdeserted,wildandominouslyinhospitable.Geraltdidn’treturntothehighwaybeforedusk;hedidn’twanttotakearoundaboutroute,sohetookashortcutthroughtheforest.Hespentthenightonthebaresummitofahigh hill, his sword on his knees, beside a tiny campfire intowhich, everynowand then,he threwwispsofmonkshood. In themiddleof thenighthenoticedtheglowofafirefarawayinthevalley;heheardmadhowlingandsingingandasoundwhichcouldonlyhavebeenthescreamingofatorturedwoman.Whendawnhadbarelybroken,hemadehiswaytheretofindnothingbutatrampledgladeandcharredbonesinstill-warmashes.Somethingsittingin thecrownofanenormousoakshriekedandhissed. It couldhavebeenaharpy,oranordinarywildcat.Thewitcherdidn’tstoptocheck.

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IVAbout midday, while Roach was drinking at a spring, the mare neighedpiercingly and backed away, baring her yellow teeth and chewing her bit.GeraltcalmedherwiththeSign.Thenhenoticedaregularringformedbythecapsofreddishmushroomspeeringfromthemoss.

“You’re becoming a real hysteric, Roach,” he said. “This is just anordinarydevil’sring.What’sthefuss?”

Themaresnorted, turningherhead towardhim.Thewitcher rubbedhisforehead,frownedandgrewthoughtful.Thenheleaptintothesaddle,turnedthehorsearoundandstartedback,followinghisowntracks.

“Animals likeme,” hemuttered. “Sorry,Roach. It turns out you’ve gotmorebrainsthanme!”

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VThemareflattenedherearsagainstherskullandsnorted, throwingupearthwithherhooves;shedidn’twanttogo.Geraltdidn’tcalmherwiththeSign;hejumpedfromthesaddleandthrewthereinsoverthehorse’shead.Henolongerhadhisoldsword in its lizard-skinsheathonhisback; itsplacewasfilledwith a shining, beautifulweaponwith a cruciform and slender,well-weightedhilt,endinginasphericalpommelmadeofwhitemetal.

Thistimethegatedidn’topenforhim.Itwasalreadyopen,justashehadleftit.

He heard singing. He didn’t understand the words; he couldn’t evenidentifythelanguage.Hedidn’tneedto—thewitcherfeltandunderstoodtheverynature,theessence,ofthisquiet,piercingsongwhichflowedthroughtheveinsinawaveofnauseous,overpoweringmenace.

Thesingingbrokeoffabruptly,andthenhesawher.She was clinging to the back of the dolphin in the dried-up fountain,

embracing the moss-overgrown stone with her tiny hands, so pale theyseemed transparent. Beneath her storm of tangled black hair shone huge,wide-openeyesthecolorofanthracite.

Geraltslowlydrewcloser,hisstepsoftandspringy,tracingasemi-circlefrom thewall and blue rosebush. The creature glued to the dolphin’s backfollowed him with her eyes, turning her petite face with an expression oflonging,andfullofcharm.Hecouldstillhearhersong,eventhoughherthin,palelipswereheldtightandnottheslightestsoundemergedfromthem.

Thewitcher halted at a distance of ten paces.His sword, slowly drawnfromitsblackenameledsheath,glistenedandglowedabovehishead.

“It’ssilver,”hesaid.“Thisbladeissilver.”The pale little face did not flinch; the anthracite eyes did not change

expression.“You’resolikearusalka,”thewitchercontinuedcalmly,“thatyoucould

deceive anyone. All the more as you’re a rare bird, black-haired one. Buthorsesarenevermistaken.Theyrecognizecreatureslikeyouinstinctivelyandperfectly.What are you? I think you’re a moola, or an alpor. An ordinaryvampirecouldn’tcomeoutinthesun.”

Thecornersofthepalelipsquiveredandturnedupalittle.“Nivellenattractedyouwiththatshapeofhis,didn’the?Youevokedhis

dreams.Icanguesswhatsortofdreamstheywere,andIpityhim.”

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Thecreaturedidn’tmove.“Youlikebirds,”continuedthewitcher.“Butthatdoesn’tstopyoubiting

the necks of people of both sexes, does it? You and Nivellen, indeed! Abeautiful couple you’dmake, amonster and a vampire, rulers of a ‘ forestcastle.You’d dominate thewhole area in a flash.You, eternally thirsty forblood,andhe,yourguardian,amurdereratyourservice,ablindtool.Butfirsthehadtobecomeatruemonster,notahumanbeinginamonster’smask.”

Thehugeblackeyesnarrowed.“Whereishe,black-hairedone?Youweresinging,soyou’vedrunksome

blood.You’vetakentheultimatemeasure,whichmeansyouhaven’tmanagedtoenslavehismind.AmIright?”

The black-tressed head nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, and thecornersofthemouthturnedupevenmore.Thetinylittlefacetookonaneerieexpression.

“Nodoubtyouconsideryourselftheladyofthismanornow?”Anod,thistimeclearer.“Areyouamoola?”Aslowshakeofthehead.Thehisswhichreverberatedthroughhisbones

could only have come from the pale, ghastly, smiling lips, although thewitcherdidn’tseethemmove.

“Alpor?”Denial.Thewitcherbackedawayandclaspedthehiltofhisswordtighter.“That

meansyou’re—”Thecornersofthelipsstartedtoturnuphigherandhigher;thelipsflew

open…“Abruxa!”thewitchershouted,throwinghimselftowardthefountain.From behind the pale lips glistened white, spiky fangs. The vampire

jumpedup,archedherbacklikealeopardandscreamed.Thewaveofsoundhitthewitcherlikeabatteringram,deprivinghimof

breath, crushing his ribs, piercing his ears and brain with thorns of pain.Flyingbackward,hejustmanagedtocrosshiswristsintheSignofHeliotrop.Thespellcushionedsomeofhisimpactwiththewallbutevenso,theworldgrewdarkandtheremainderofhisbreathburstfromhislungsinagroan.

Onthedolphin’sback,inthestonecircleofthedried-upfountainwhereadaintygirlinawhitedresshadsatjustamomentago,anenormousblackbatflatteneditsglossybody,openingitslong,narrowjawswide,revealingrowsof needle-like white teeth. The membranous wings spread and flapped

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silently, and the creature charged at thewitcher like an arrow fired from acrossbow.

Geralt,withthemetallictasteofbloodinhismouth,shoutedaspellandthrewhishand,fingersspreadintheSignofQuen,outinfrontofhim.Thebat,hissing,turnedabruptly,thenchuckledandveeredupintotheairbeforediving down vertically, straight at the nape of the witcher’s neck. Geraltjumped aside, slashed, andmissed.Thebat, smoothly, gracefully drew in awing, circled around him and attacked anew, opening its eyeless, toothedsnoutwide.Geraltwaited,swordheldwithbothhands,alwayspointedinthecreature’s direction. At the last moment, he jumped—not to the side butforward,dealingaswingingcutwhichmadetheairhowl.

Hemissed. It was so unexpected that he lost his rhythm and dodged afractionofasecond too late.Hefelt thebeast’s talons tearhischeek,andadamp velvety wing slapped against his neck. He curled up on the spot,transferred the weight of his body to his right leg and slashed backwardsharply,missingtheamazinglyagilecreatureagain.

Thebatbeatitswings,soaredupandglidedtowardthefountain.Asthecrooked claws scraped against the stone casing, the monstrous, slobberingsnoutwas already blurring,morphing, disappearing, although the pale littlelipswhichweretakingitsplacecouldn’tquitehidethemurderousfangs.

Thebruxahowledpiercingly,modulatinghervoice intoamacabre tune,glaredatthewitcherwitheyesfullofhatred,andscreamedagain.

ThesoundwavewassopowerfulitbrokethroughtheSign.BlackandredcirclesspuninGeralt’seyes;histemplesandthecrownofhisheadthrobbed.Through the pain drilling in his ears, he began to hear voices wailing andmoaning,thesoundoffluteandoboe,therustleofagale.Theskinonhisfacegrewnumbandcold.Hefelltoonekneeandshookhishead.

Theblackbatfloatedtowardhimsilently,openingitstoothyjaws.Geralt,still stunned by the scream, reacted instinctively. He jumped up and, in aflash,matching the tempo of hismovements to the speed of themonster’sflight,tookthreestepsforward,dodged,turnedasemi-circleandthen,quickas a thought, delivered a two-handed blow. The blade met with noresistance…almostnoresistance.Heheardascream,but this time itwasascreamofpain,causedbythetouchofsilver.

The wailing bruxa was morphing on the dolphin’s back. On her whitedress,slightlyaboveherleftbreast,aredstainwasvisiblebeneathaslashnolonger than a little finger. The witcher ground his teeth—the cut, whichshouldhavesunderedthebeastintwo,hadbeennothingbutascratch.

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“Shout,vampire,”hegrowled,wipingthebloodfromhischeek.“Screamyourgutsout.Loseyourstrength.AndthenI’llslashyourpretty littleheadoff!”

You.Youwillbethefirsttogrowweak,Sorcerer.Iwillkillyou.The bruxa’s lips didn’t move, but the witcher heard the words clearly;

theyresoundedinhismind,echoingandreverberatingasifunderwater.“Weshallsee,”hemutteredthroughhisteethashewalked,bentover,in

thedirectionofthefountain.Iwillkillyou.I’llkillyou.I’llkillyou.“Weshallsee.”“Vereena!”Nivellen,hisheadhanginglowandbothhandsclingingtothe

doorframe, stumbled from the mansion. He staggered toward the fountain,wavinghispawsunsteadily.Bloodstainedthecuffofhistunic.

“Vereena!”heroaredagain.The bruxa jerked her head in his direction.Geralt, raising his sword to

strike, jumped toward her, but the vampire’s reaction was much faster. Asharpscreamandanothersoundwaveknockedthewitcherfromhisfeet.Hetumbledontohisbackandscrapedagainstthegravelofthepath.Thebruxaarched and tensed to jump, her fangs flashing like daggers. Nivellen,spreadinghispawslikeabear,triedtograbherbutshescreamedstraightintohis face, throwinghimbackagainst thewooden scaffoldingunder thewall,whichbrokewithasharpcrashandburiedhimbeneathastackoftimber.

Geraltwasalreadyonhis feet, running, tracingasemi-circlearound thecourtyard, trying to draw the bruxa’s attention away from Nivellen. Thevampire, fluttering her white dress, scurried straight at him, light as abutterfly,barelytouchingtheground.Shewasnolongerscreaming,nolongertryingtomorph.Thewitcherknewshewastired,andthatshewasstilllethal.BehindGeralt’sback,Nivellenwasclatteringunderthescaffolding,roaring.

Geralt leapt to the left, executing a short moulinet with his sword toconfusethebruxaglidingtowardhim—whiteandblack,windblown,terrible.He’d underestimated her. She screamed. He didn’t make the Sign in time,flewbackwarduntilhethumpedagainstthewall.Thepaininhisspineshotallthewaytothetipsofhisfingers,paralyzedhisshoulders,cuthimdownatthelegs.Hefelltohisknees.Thebruxa,wailingmelodiously,jumpedtowardhim.

“Vereena!”roaredNivellen.She turned—andNivellen forced thesharpbrokenendofa three-meter-

longpolebetweenherbreasts.Shedidn’tshout.Sheonlysighed.

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Thewitchershook,hearingthissigh.Theystoodthere:Nivellen,onwidespreadlegs,waswieldingthepolein

bothhands,oneendfirmlysecuredunderhisarm.Thebruxa, likeawhitebutterflyonapin,hungon theotherendof the

stake,clutching itwithbothhands.Thevampireexhaledexcruciatinglyandsuddenlypressedherselfhardagainstthestake.

Geraltwatchedaredstainbloomonherback,onthewhitedressthroughwhichthebrokentipemergedinageyserofblood:hideous,almostobscene.Nivellenscreamed,tookonestepback,thenanother,retreatingfromher,buthedidn’tletgoofthepoleanddraggedthebruxabehindhim.Onemorestepandheleanedbackagainstthemansion.Theendofthepolescrapedagainstthewall.

Slowly, as if a caress, the bruxamoved her tiny hands along the stake,stretchedherarmsouttotheirfulllength,graspedthepolehardandpulledonitagain.Overameterofbloodiedwoodalreadyprotrudedfromherback.Hereyeswerewideopen,herheadflungback.Hersighsbecamemorefrequentandrhythmic,turningintoarucklingwheeze.

Geraltstoodbut,fascinatedbythescene,stillcouldn’tmakehimselfact.Heheardwordsresoundingdullywithinhisskull,asifechoingaroundacold,dampdungeon.

Mine.Ornobody’s.Iloveyou.Loveyou.Another terrible, vibrating sigh, choking in blood. The bruxa moved

furtheralongthepoleandstretchedoutherarms.Nivellenroareddesperatelyand, without letting go of the stake, tried to push the vampire as far fromhimselfaspossible—but invain.Shepulledherselfcloserandgrabbedhimby the head. He wailed horrifically and tossed his hairy head. The bruxamovedalongthepoleagainandtiltedherheadtowardNivellen’sthroat.Thefangsflashedablindingwhite.

Geralt jumped.Everymovehemade,everystep,waspartofhisnature:hard-learned, automatic and lethally sure. Three quick steps, and the third,likeahundredsuchstepsbefore,finishedonthe left legwithastrong,firmstamp.Atwistofhistorsoandasharp,forcefulcut.Hesawhereyes.Nothingcouldchangenow.Heheardthevoice.Nothing.Heyelled,todrownthewordwhichshewasrepeating.Nothingcouldchange.Hecut.

Hestruckdecisively,likehundredsoftimesbefore,withthecenteroftheblade,andimmediately,followingtherhythmofthemovement,tookafourthstep and half a turn. The blade, freed by the half-turn, floated after him,shining,drawingafanofreddropletsinitswake.Thestreamingraven-black

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hairfloatedintheair,floated,floated,floated…Theheadfellontothegravel.Therearefewerandfewermonsters?AndI?WhatamI?Who’sshouting?Thebirds?Thewomaninasheepskinjacketandbluedress?TherosesfromNazair?Howquiet!Howempty.Whatemptiness.Withinme.Nivellen, curled up in a bundle, sheltering his head in his arms and

shakingwithtwitchesandshivers,waslyinginthenettlesbythemanorwall.“Getup,”saidthewitcher.Theyoung,handsome,well-builtmanwithapalecomplexionlyingbythe

wallraisedhisheadandlookedaround.Hiseyeswerevague.Herubbedthemwithhisknuckles.He lookedathishands, felthis face.Hemoanedquietlyand,puttinghisfingerinhismouth,ranitalonghisgumsforalongtime.Hegrasped his face again andmoaned as he touched the four bloody, swollenstreaksonhischeek.Heburstoutsobbing,thenlaughed.

“Geralt!Howcome?Howdidthis—Geralt!”“Getup,Nivellen.Getupandcomealong.I’vegotsomemedicineinmy

saddlebags.Webothneedit.”“I’venolongergot…Ihaven’t,haveI?Geralt?Why?”Thewitcherhelpedhimgetup, tryingnot to lookat the tinyhands—so

paleastobetransparent—clenchedaroundthepolestuckbetweenthesmallbreastswhichwerenowplasteredwithawetredfabric.

Nivellenmoanedagain.“Vereena—”“Don’tlook.Let’sgo.”They crossed the courtyard, holding each other up, and passed the blue

rosebush.Nivellen kept touching his face with his free hand. “Incredible, Geralt.

Aftersomanyyears?How’sitpossible?”“There’s a grain of truth in every fairy tale,” said the witcher quietly.

“Love and blood. They both possess amighty power.Wizards and learnedmen have been racking their brains over this for years, but they haven’tarrivedatanythingexceptthat—”

“Thatwhat,Geralt?”“Ithastobetruelove.”

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72

THEVOICEOFREASON

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I“I’mFalwick,CountofMoën.AndthisknightisTailles,fromDorndal.”

Geralt bowed cursorily, looking at the knights. Both wore armor andcrimsoncloakswiththeemblemoftheWhiteRoseontheirleftshoulder.Hewassomewhatsurprisedas,sofarasheknew,therewasnoCommanderyofthatOrderintheneighborhood.

Nenneke,toallappearancessmilinglightheartedlyandatease,noticedhissurprise.

“These nobly born gentlemen,” she said casually, settling herself morecomfortably in her throne-like armchair, “are in the service of DukeHereward,whogovernstheselandsmostmercifully.”

“Prince.”Tailles, theyoungerof theknights,correctedheremphatically,fixinghishostilepaleblueeyesonthepriestess.“PrinceHereward.”

“Let’snotwastetimewithdetailsandtitles.”Nennekesmiledmockingly.“Inmyday,onlythosewithroyalbloodwereaddressedasprinces,butnow,itseems, titles don’tmean somuch. Let’s get back to our introductions, andwhytheKnightsoftheWhiteRosearevisitingmyhumbletemple.Youknow,Geralt, that the Chapter is requesting investitures for the Order fromHereward, which is why so many Knights of the Rose have entered hisservice. And a number of locals, like Tailles here, have taken vows andassumedtheredcloakwhichbecomeshimsowell.”

“Myhonor.”Thewitcherbowedoncemore,justascursorilyasbefore.“I doubt it,” the priestess remarked coldly. “They haven’t come here to

honoryou.Quitetheopposite.They’vearriveddemandingthatyouleaveassoonaspossible.Inshort,they’reheretochaseyouout.Youconsiderthatanhonor?Idon’t.Iconsideritaninsult.”

“The noble knights have troubled themselves for no reason.” Geraltshrugged.“Idon’tintendtosettlehere.I’mleavingofmyownaccordwithoutanyadditionalincentives,andsoonatthat.”

“Immediately,”growledTailles.“Withnotamoment’sdelay.Theprinceorders—”

“In this temple, I give the orders,” interrupted Nenneke in a cold,authoritativevoice.“Iusuallytrytoensuremyordersdon’tconflicttoomuchwith Hereward’s politics, as far as those politics are logical andunderstandable.Inthiscasetheyareirrational,soIwon’ttreatthemanymoreseriouslythantheydeserve.Geralt,witcherofRivia,ismyguest.Hisstayisa

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pleasuretome.Sohewillstayinmytempleforaslongashewishes.”“Youhavetheaudacitytocontradicttheprince,woman?”Taillesshouted,

thenthrewhiscloakbackoverhisshouldertorevealhisgrooved,brass-edgedbreastplateinallitssplendor.“Youdaretoquestionourruler’sauthority?”

“Quiet,”Nenneke snapped, and narrowed her eyes. “Lower your voice.Haveacarewhoyouspeaktolikethat.”

“Iknowwho I’m talking to!”Theknight advanceda step.Falwick, theolderknight,grabbedhimfirmlybytheelbowandsqueezeduntilthearmor-platedgauntletgrated.Taillesyankedfuriously.“Andmywordsexpress theprince’swill,thelordofthisestate!Wehavegotsoldiersintheyard,woman—”

Nennekereachedintothepurseatherbeltandtookoutasmallporcelainjar.“Ireallydon’tknow,”shesaidcalmly,“whatwillhappenifIsmashthiscontainer at your feet, Tailles.Maybe your lungs will burst.Maybe you’llgrowfur.Ormaybeboth,whoknows?OnlymercifulMelitele.”

“Don’tdarethreatenmewithyourspells,priestess!Oursoldiers—”“If any one of your soldiers touches one ofMelitele’s priestesses, they

will hang, before dusk, from the acacias along the road to town.And theyknowthatverywell.Asdoyou,Tailles,sostopactinglikeafool.Ideliveredyou,youshittybrat,andIpityyourmother,butdon’ttemptfate.Anddon’tforcemetoteachyoumanners!”

“All right, all right,” thewitcher butted in, growing bored. “It looks asthough I’mbecoming the cause of a serious conflict and I don’t seewhy Ishould.SirFalwick,youlookmorelevelheadedthanyourcompanionwho,Isee,isbesidehimselfwithyouthfulenthusiasm.Listen,Falwick,Iassureyouthat Iwill leave ina fewdays. Ialsoassureyou that Ihaveno intention toworkhere,toundertakeanycommissionsororders.I’mnothereasawitcher,butonpersonalbusiness.”

CountFalwickmet his eyes andGeralt realized hismistake.Therewaspure, unwavering hatred in theWhiteRose knight’s eyes. Thewitcherwassure that itwasnotDukeHerewardwhowaschasinghimout,butFalwickandhislike.

TheknightturnedtoNenneke,bowedwithrespectandbegantospeak.Hespokecalmlyandpolitely.Hespokelogically.ButGeraltknewFalwickwaslyingthroughhisteeth.

“VenerableNenneke,Iaskyourforgiveness,butPrinceHerewardwillnottoleratethepresenceofthiswitcheronhislands.Itisofnoimportanceifheishunting monsters or claims to be here on personal business—the prince

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knows thatwitchersdonotundertakepersonalbusiness.But theydoattracttroublelikeamagnetfilings.Thewizardsarerebellingandwritingpetitions,thedruidsarethreatening—”

“Idon’tseewhyGeraltshouldbeartheconsequencesoftheunrulinessoflocal wizards and druids,” interrupted the priestess. “Since when hasHerewardbeeninterestedineither’sopinion?”

“Enoughofthisdiscussion.”Falwickstiffened.“HaveInotmademyselfsufficiently clear, venerable Nenneke? I will make it so clear as can’t beclearer: neither the prince nor the Chapter of the Order will tolerate thepresenceofthiswitcher,Geralt,theButcherofBlaviken,inEllanderforonemoreday.”

“This isn’t Ellander!” The priestess sprang from her chair. “This is thetempleofMelitele!And I,Nenneke, thehighpriestessofMelitele,willnottolerateyourpresenceontemplegroundsaminutelonger,sirs!”

“Sir Falwick,” thewitcher said quietly, “listen to the voice of reason. Idon’twantanytrouble,nordoIbelievethatyouparticularlycarefor it. I’llleavethisneighborhoodwithinthreedays.No,Nenneke,don’tsayanything,please.It’stimeformetobeonmyway.Threedays.Idon’taskformore.”

“Andyou’rerightnot toask.”ThepriestessspokebeforeFalwickcouldreact. “Did you hear, boys? The witcher will remain here for three daysbecause that’s his fancy. And I, priestess of Great Melitele, will for thosethree days be his host, for that ismy fancy.Tell that toHereward.No, notHereward.Tellthattohiswife,thenobleErmellia,addingthatifshewantstocontinue receiving an uninterrupted supply of aphrodisiacs from mypharmacy, she’d better calm her duke down. Let her curb his humors andwhims,whichlookevermorelikesymptomsofidiocy.”

“Enough!” Tailles shouted so shrilly his voice broke into a falsetto. “Idon’tintendtostandbyandlistenassomecharlataninsultsmylordandhiswife!Iwillnotletsuchaninsultpassunnoticed!ItistheOrderoftheWhiteRosewhichwill rule here, now; it’s the end of your nests of darkness andsuperstitions.AndI,aKnightoftheWhiteRose—”

“Shut up, you brat,” interrupted Geralt, smiling nastily. “Halt youruncontrolled little tongue. You speak to a lady who deserves respect,especiallyfromaKnightof theWhiteRose.Admittedly, tobecomeone it’senough,lately,topayathousandNovigradcrownsintotheChapter’streasury,so the Order’s full of sons of moneylenders and tailors—but surely somemannershavesurvived?ButmaybeI’mmistaken?”

Taillesgrewpaleandreachedtohisside.

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“SirFalwick,”saidGeralt,notceasing tosmile.“Ifhedrawshissword,I’lltakeitfromhimandbeatthesnotty-nosedlittlebrat’sarsewiththeflatofhisblade.AndthenI’llbatterthedoordownwithhim.”

Tailles,hishandsshaking,pulledanirongauntletfromhisbeltand,withacrash,threwittothegroundatthewitcher’sfeet.

“I’ll wash away the insult to the Order with your blood, mutant!” heyelled.“Onbeatenground!Gointotheyard!”

“You’vedroppedsomething, son,”Nennekesaidcalmly.“Sopick itup;wedon’t leave rubbish here.This is a temple. Falwick, take that fool fromhereorthiswillendingrief.Youknowwhatyou’retotellHereward.AndI’llwriteapersonallettertohim;youdon’tlookliketrustworthymessengerstome.Getoutofhere.Youcanfindyourwayout,Ihope?”

Falwick, restraining the enraged Tailles with an iron grip, bowed, hisarmorclattering.Thenhelookedthewitcherintheeyes.Thewitcherdidn’tsmile.Falwickthrewhiscrimsoncloakoverhisshoulders.

“Thiswasn’tourlastvisit,venerableNenneke,”hesaid.“We’llbeback.”“That’s just what I’m afraid of,” replied the priestess coldly. “The

displeasure’smine.”

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THELESSEREVIL

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IAsusual,catsandchildrennoticedhimfirst.Astripedtomcatsleepingonasun-warmedstackofwood,shuddered,raisedhisroundhead,pulledbackhisears, hissed and bolted off into the nettles. Three-year-old Dragomir,fishermanTrigla’sson,whowassittingonthehut’sthresholddoinghisbesttomakedirtieranalreadydirtyshirt,startedtoscreamashefixedhistearfuleyesonthepassingrider.

The witcher rode slowly, without trying to overtake the hay-cartobstructing the road.A ladendonkey trottedbehindhim,stretching itsneckandconstantlypullingthecordtiedtothewitcher’spommeltight.Inadditiontotheusualbags,thelong-earedanimalwasluggingalargeshape,wrappedinasaddlecloth,on itsback.Thegray-whiteflanksof theasswerecoveredwithblackstreaksofdriedblood.

Thecartfinallyturneddownasidestreetleadingtoagranaryandharborfromwhichaseabreezeblew,carryingthestinkoftarandox’surine.Geraltpickeduphispace.Hedidn’t react to themuffledcryof thewomansellingvegetableswhowasstaringatthebony,talonedpawstickingoutbeneaththehorseblanket,bobbingupanddownintimewiththedonkey’strot.Hedidn’tlookroundatthecrowdgatheringbehindhimandripplingwithexcitement.

Therewere,asusual,manycartsinfrontofthealderman’shouse.Geraltjumpedfromthesaddle,adjustedtheswordonhisbackandthrewthereinsover the wooden barrier. The crowd following him formed a semi-circlearoundthedonkey.

Evenoutside,thealderman’sshoutswereaudible.“It’s forbidden, I tellyou!Forbidden,goddammit!Can’tyouunderstand

whatIsay,youscoundrel?”Geraltentered.Infrontofthealderman,small,podgyandredwithrage,

stoodavillagerholdingastrugglinggoosebytheneck.“What—Byall thegods! Is thatyou,Geralt?Domyeyesdeceiveme?”

Andturningtothepeasantagain:“Takeitaway,youboor!Areyoudeaf?”“They said,”mumbled the villager, squinting at the goose, “that a wee

somethingmustbegiventohislordship,otherways—”“Whosaid?”yelledthealderman.“Who?ThatIsupposedlytakebribes?I

won’tallowit,Isay!Awaywithyou!Greetings,Geralt.”“Greetings,Caldemeyn.”Thealdermansqueezedthewitcher’shand,slappedhimontheshoulder.

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“Youhaven’tbeenhereforagoodtwoyears,Geralt.Eh?Youcanneverstayinoneplaceforlong,canyou?Whereareyoucomingfrom?Ah,dog’sarse,what’s thedifferencewhere?Hey,somebodybringussomebeer!Sitdown,Geralt,sitdown.It’smayhemherebecausewe’vethemarkettomorrow.Howarethingswithyou,tellme!”

“Later.Comeoutsidefirst.”The crowd outside had grown twofold but the empty space around the

donkeyhadn’tgrownanysmaller.Geralt threwthehorseblanketaside.Thecrowdgaspedandpulledback.Caldemeyn’smouthfellopen.

“Byallthegods,Geralt!Whatisit?”“Akikimora.Isthereanyrewardforit?”Caldemeynshiftedfromfoottofoot,lookingatthespideryshapewithits

dryblackskin,thatglassyeyewithitsverticalpupil,theneedle-likefangsinthebloodyjaws.

“Where—Fromwhere—?”“On the dyke, not some four miles from town. On the swamps.

Caldemeyn,peoplemusthavedisappearedthere.Children.”“Well, yes, true enough. But nobody—Who could have guessed—Hey,

folks,gohome,getbacktowork!Thisisn’tashow!Coveritup,Geralt.Fliesaregathering.”

Backinside,thealdermangrabbedalargejugofbeerwithoutawordanddrankittothelastdropinonedraught.Hesigheddeeplyandsniffed.

“There’snoreward,”hesaidgloomily.“Noonesuspectedthattherewassomething like that lurking in the saltmarshes. It’s true that several peoplehave disappeared in those parts, but…Hardly anyone loitered on that dyke.Andwhywereyouthere?Whyweren’tyoutakingthemainroad?”

“It’shardformetomakealivingonmainroads,Caldemeyn.”“Iforgot.”Thealdermansuppressedabelch,puffingouthischeeks.“And

thisusedtobesuchapeacefulneighborhood.Evenimpsonlyrarelypissedinthewomen’smilk.And here, right next to us, some sort of felispectre. It’sonlyfittingthatIthankyou.Becauseasforpayingyou,Ican’t.Ihaven’tthefunds.”

“That’sashame.Icoulddowithasmallsumtogetthroughthewinter.”Thewitchertookasipfromhisjug,wipedawaythefroth.“I’mmakingmywaytoYspaden,butIdon’tknowifI’llgettherebeforethesnowsblocktheway.ImightgetstuckinoneofthelittletownsontheLutonskiroad.”

“DoyouplantostaylonginBlaviken?”“No.I’venotimetowaste.Winter’scoming.”

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“Whereareyougoingtostay?Withmeperhaps?There’sanemptyroomin the attic.Whyget fleecedby the innkeepers, those thieves.We’ll have achatandyoucantellmewhat’shappeninginthebig,wideworld.”

“Willingly. But what will Libushe have to say about it? It was quiteobviouslasttimethatshe’snotverykeenonme.”

“Women don’t have a say inmy house. But, just between us, don’t dowhatyoudidduringsupperlasttimeinfrontofheragain.”

“YoumeanwhenIthrewmyforkatthatrat?”“No.Imeanwhenyouhitit,eveninthedark.”“Ithoughtitwouldbeamusing.”“Itwas.But don’t do it in front of Libushe.And listen, this…what’s it

called…kiki—”“Kikimora.”“Doyouneeditforanything?”“WhatwouldIwantitfor?Youcanhavethemthrowitinthecesspoolif

there’snorewardforit.”“That’s not a bad idea. Hey, Karelka, Borg, Carry-pebble! Any of you

there?”Atownguardenteredwithahalberdonhisshoulder, thebladecatching

thedoorframewithacrash.“Carrypebble,”saidCaldemeyn.“Getsomebodytohelpyouandtakethe

donkey with that muck wrapped up in the horse blanket, lead it past thepigstiesandchuckthekikimorainthecesspool.Understood?”

“Atyourcommand.But…Alderman,sir—”“What?”“Maybebeforewedrownthathideousthing—”“Well?”“WecouldshowittoMasterIrion.Itmightbeusefultohim.”Caldemeynslappedhisforeheadwithhisopenpalm.“You’renot stupid,Carrypebble.Listen,Geralt,maybeour localwizard

willspareyousomethingforthatcarcass.Thefishermenbringhimtheoddestoffish—octopedes,clabatersorherrongs—manyhavemadesomemoneyonthem.Comeon,let’sgotothetower.”

“You’vegotyourselvesawizard?Ishehereforgoodoronlypassing?”“For good. Master Irion. He’s been living in Blaviken for a year. A

powerfulmagus,Geralt,you’llseethatfromhisveryappearance.”“I doubt whether a powerful magus will pay for a kikimora,” Geralt

grimaced.“As faras Iknow, it’snotneeded foranyelixirs.Your Irionwill

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onlyinsultme,nodoubt.Wewitchersandwizardsdon’tloveeachother.”“I’veneverheardofMasterIrioninsultinganyone.Ican’tswearthathe’ll

payyoubut there’snoharm in trying.Theremightbemorekikimoras likethaton themarshesandwhat then?Let thewizard lookat themonster andcastsomesortofspellonthemarshlandsorsomething,justincase.”

Thewitcherthoughtforamoment.“Verywell,Caldemeyn.Whattheheck,we’llriskameetingwithMaster

Irion.Shallwego?”“We’re off.Carrypebble, chase the kids away and bring the floppyears.

Where’smyhat?”

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IIThetower,builtfromsmoothlyhewnblocksofgraniteandcrownedbytooth-likebattlements,was impressive,dominatingthebrokentilesofhomesteadsanddipping-roofedthatchedcottages.

“He’srenovatedit, Isee,”remarkedGeralt.“Withspells,ordidhehaveyouworkingatit?”

“Spells,chiefly.”“What’shelike,thisIrion?”“Decent.Hehelpspeople.Buthe’sarecluse,doesn’tsaymuch.Herarely

leavesthetower.”On the door, which was adorned with a rosace inlaid with pale wood,

hungahugeknockerintheshapeofaflatbulging-eyedfish-headholdingabrass ring in its toothed jaws. Caldemeyn, obviously well-versed with theworkingsofitsmechanics,approached,clearedhisthroatandrecited:

“AldermanCaldemeyngreetsyouwithacaseforMasterIrion.Withhimgreetsyou,WitcherGeralt,withrespecttothesamecase.”

Foralongmomentnothinghappened;thenfinallythefish-headmoveditstoothedmandiblesandbelchedacloudofsteam.

“MasterIrionisnotreceiving.Leave,mygoodpeople.”Caldemeyn waddled on the spot and looked at Geralt. The witcher

shrugged.Carrypebblepickedhisnosewithseriousconcentration.“Master Irion is not receiving,” the knocker repeatedmetallically. “Go,

mygood—”“I’m not a good person,” Geralt broke in loudly. “I’m a witcher. That

thingonthedonkeyisakikimora,andIkilleditnotfarfromtown.Itistheduty of every residentwizard to look after the safety of the neighborhood.MasterIriondoesnothavetohonormewithconversation,doesnothavetoreceiveme,ifthatishiswill.Butlethimexaminethekikimoraanddrawhisownconclusions.Carrypebble,unstrapthekikimoraandthrowitdownbythedoor.”

“Geralt,”thealdermansaidquietly.“You’regoingtoleavebutI’mgoingtohaveto—”

“Let’sgo,Caldemeyn.Carrypebble,takethatfingeroutofyournoseanddoasIsaid.”

“Onemoment,”theknockersaidinanentirelydifferenttone.“Geralt,isthatreallyyou?”

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Thewitchersworequietly.“I’mlosingpatience.Yes,it’sreallyme.Sowhat?”“Come up to the door,” said the knocker, puffing out a small cloud of

steam.“Alone.I’llletyouin.”“Whataboutthekikimora?”“To hell with it. I want to talk to you, Geralt. Just you. Forgive me,

Alderman.”“What’s it to me, Master Irion?” Caldemeyn waved the matter aside.

“Takecare,Geralt.We’llseeeachotherlater.Carrypebble!Intothecesspoolwiththemonster!”

“Asyoucommand.”Thewitcher approached the inlaid door,which opened a little bit—just

enoughforhimtosqueezethrough—andthenslammedshut,leavinghimincompletedarkness.

“Hey!”heshouted,nothidinghisanger.“Justamoment,”answeredastrangelyfamiliarvoice.The feelingwas so unexpected that thewitcher staggered and stretched

outhishand,lookingforsupport.Hedidn’tfindany.The orchardwas blossomingwithwhite and pink, and smelled of rain.

The skywas split by themany-colored arc of a rainbow,which bound thecrownsofthetreestothedistant,bluechainofmountains.Thehousenestledin theorchard, tinyandmodest,wasdrowning inhollyhocks.Geralt lookeddownanddiscoveredthathewasuptohiskneesinthyme.

“Well,comeon,Geralt,”saidthevoice.“I’minfrontofthehouse.”Heenteredtheorchard,walkingthroughthetrees.Henoticedamovement

tohis left and looked round.A fair-hairedgirl, entirelynaked,waswalkingalongarowofshrubscarryingabasketfullofapples.Thewitchersolemnlypromisedhimselfthatnothingwouldsurprisehimanymore.

“Atlast.Greetings,witcher.”“Stregobor!”Geraltwassurprised.During his life, the witcher had met thieves who looked like town

councilors, councilors who looked like beggars, harlots who looked likeprincesses, princesseswho looked like calving cows and kingswho lookedlike thieves. But Stregobor always looked as, according to every rule andnotion,awizardshouldlook.Hewastall, thinandstooping,withenormousbushygrayeyebrowsandalong,crookednose.Totopitoff,heworeablack,trailingrobewith improbablywidesleeves,andwieldeda longstaffcappedwithacrystalknob.NoneofthewizardsGeraltknewlookedlikeStregobor.

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MostsurprisingofallwasthatStregoborwas,indeed,awizard.They sat in wicker chairs at a white marble-topped table on a porch

surrounded by hollyhocks. The naked blonde with the apple basketapproached,smiled,turnedand,swayingherhips,returnedtotheorchard.

“Isthatanillusion,too?”askedGeralt,watchingthesway.“Itis.Likeeverythinghere.Butitis,myfriend,afirst-classillusion.The

flowers smell,youcaneat theapples, thebeecan stingyou,andshe”—thewizardindicatedtheblonde—“youcan—”

“Maybelater.”“Quiteright.Whatareyoudoinghere,Geralt?Areyoustilltoilingaway,

killing the last representatives of dying species formoney?Howmuch didyougetforthekikimora?Nothing,Iguess,oryouwouldn’thavecomehere.And to think that therearepeoplewhodon’tbelieve indestiny.Unlessyouknewaboutme.Didyou?”

“No,Ididn’t.It’sthelastplaceIcouldhaveexpectedyou.Ifmymemoryservesmecorrectly,youusedtoliveinasimilartowerinKovir.”

“Agreatdealhaschangedsincethen.”“Suchasyourname.Apparently,you’reMasterIrionnow.”“That’s thenameof themanwhocreated this tower.Hediedabout two

hundredyearsago,and I thought it right tohonorhim insomewaysince Ioccupiedhisabode. I’mlivinghere.Mostof the inhabitants liveoff theseaand,asyouknow,myspeciality,apartfromillusions,isweather.SometimesI’ll calm a storm, sometimes conjure one up, sometimes drive schools ofwhiting and cod closer to the shoreswith thewesterlywind. I can survive.Thatis,”headded,miserably,“Icould.”

“Howcome‘Icould’?Whythechangeofname?”“Destinyhasmanyfaces.Mineisbeautifulontheoutsideandhideouson

theinside.Shehasstretchedherbloodytalonstowardme—”“You’venotchangedabit,Stregobor.”Geraltgrimaced.“You’re talking

nonsense while making wise and meaningful faces. Can’t you speaknormally?”

“Ican,”sighedthewizard.“Icanif thatmakesyouhappy.Imadeitallthe way here, hiding and running from a monstrous being that wants tomurderme.My escape proved in vain—it foundme. In all probability, it’sgoingtotrytokillmetomorrow,oratthelatest,thedayafter.”

“Aha,”saidthewitcherdispassionately.“NowIunderstand.”“Myfacingdeathdoesn’timpressyoumuch,doesit?”“Stregobor,”saidGeralt,“that’sthewayoftheworld.Oneseesallsortsof

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thingswhenonetravels.Twopeasantskilleachotheroverafieldwhich,thefollowingday,willbetrampledflatbytwocountsandtheirretinuestryingtokill each other off. Men hang from trees at the roadside; brigands slashmerchants’throats.Ateverystepintownyoutripovercorpsesinthegutters.Inpalaces they stab eachotherwithdaggers, and somebody falls under thetableatabanqueteveryminute,bluefrompoisoning.I’musedtoit.Sowhyshouldadeaththreatimpressme,andonedirectedatyouatthat?”

“One directed at me at that,” Stregobor repeated with a sneer. “And Iconsideredyouafriend.Countedonyourhelp.”

“Ourlastmeeting,”saidGeralt,“wasinthecourtofKingIdiofKovir.I’dcome tobepaid forkilling theamphisboenawhichhadbeen terrorizing theneighborhood.You and your compatriotZavist viedwith each other to callme a charlatan, a thoughtless murdering machine and a scavenger.Consequently,notonlydidn’tIdipaymeapenny,hegavemetwelvehourstoleaveKovirand,sincehishourglasswasbroken,Ibarelymadeit.Andnowyousayyou’recountingonmyhelp.Yousayamonster’safteryou.Whatareyouafraidof,Stregobor?Ifitcatchesupwithyou,tellityoulikemonsters,thatyouprotectthemandmakesurenowitcherscavengerevertroublestheirpeace. Indeed, if the monster disembowels and devours you, it’ll proveterriblyungrateful.”

Thewizard turnedhisheadawaysilently.Geralt laughed.“Don’tgetallpuffed up like a frog,magician. Tellmewhat’s threatening you.We’ll seewhatcanbedone.”

“HaveyouheardoftheCurseoftheBlackSun?”“Butofcourse.ExceptthatitwascalledtheManiaofMadEltibaldafter

thewizardwhostarted the larkandcauseddozensofgirls fromgood,evennoble,familiestobemurderedorimprisonedintowers.Theyweresupposedtohavebeenpossessedbydemons,cursed,contaminatedby theBlackSun,because that’swhat, in your pompous jargon, you called themost ordinaryeclipseintheworld.”

“Eltibaldwasn’tmadatall.HedecipheredthewritingonDaukmenhirs,on tombstones in theWozgor necropolises, and examined the legends andtraditionsofweretots.Allofthemspokeoftheeclipseinnouncertainterms.TheBlackSunwastoannouncetheimminentreturnofLilit,stillhonoredintheEastunder thenameofNiya, and the exterminationof thehuman race.Lilit’spathwas tobepreparedby ‘sixtywomenwearinggoldcrowns,whowouldfilltherivervalleyswithblood.’”

“Nonsense,” said the witcher. “And what’s more, it doesn’t rhyme. All

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decentpredictionsrhyme.EveryoneknowswhatEltibaldandtheCouncilofWizardshadinmindatthetime.Youtookadvantageofamadman’sravingsto strengthen your own authority. To break up alliances, ruin marriageallegiances, stir up dynasties. In a word: to tangle the strings of crownedpuppetsevenmore.Andhereyouarelecturingmeaboutpredictions,whichanyoldstorytelleratthemarketplacewouldbeashamedof.”

“YoucanhaveyourreservationsaboutEltibald’stheories,abouthowthepredictionswereinterpreted.Butyoucan’tchallengethefactthattherehavebeenhorrendousmutationsamonggirlsbornjustaftertheeclipse.”

“Andwhynot?I’veheardquitetheopposite.”“Iwaspresentwhentheydidanautopsyononeofthem,”saidthewizard.

“Geralt,whatwefoundinsidetheskullandmarrowcouldnotbedescribed.Somesortofredsponge.Theinternalorganswereallmixedup,someweremissing completely. Everything was covered in moving cilia, bluish-pinkshreds. The heart was six-chambered, with two chambers practicallyatrophied.Whatdoyousaytothat?”

“I’ve seen people with eagles’ talons instead of hands, people with awolf’s fangs.Peoplewith additional joints, additionalorgansandadditionalsenses.Allofwhichweretheeffectsofyourmessingaboutwithmagic.”

“You’ve seen all sorts of mutations, you say.” Themagician raised hishead.“Andhowmanyof themhaveyouslaughtered formoney, inkeepingwithyourwitcher’scalling?Well?Becauseonecanhaveawolf’sfangsandgono further thanbaring themat the trollops in taverns,oronecanhaveawolf’s nature, too, and attack children.And that’s just how itwaswith thegirls who were born after the eclipse. Their outright insane tendency tocruelty, aggression, sudden bursts of anger and an unbridled temperamentwerenoted.”

“You can say that about any woman,” sneered Geralt. “What are youdriveling on about?You’re askingme howmanymutants I’ve killed.Whyaren’t you interested in how many I’ve extricated from spells, freed fromcurses? I,awitcherdespisedbyyou.Andwhathaveyoudone,youmightymagicians?”

“A higher magic was used. Ours and that of the priests, in varioustemples.Allattemptsendedinthegirls’deaths.”

“Thatspeaksbadlyofyou,notthegirls.Andsowe’venowgotthefirstcorpses.Itakeittheonlyautopsiesweredoneonthem?”

“No.Don’tlookatmelikethat;youknowverywellthatthereweremorecorpses,too.Itwasinitiallydecidedtoeliminateallofthem.Wegotridofa

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few…autopsies were done on all of them. One of them was evenvivisectioned.”

“And you sons of bitches have the nerve to criticize witchers? Oh,Stregobor, the daywill comewhen peoplewill learn, and get the better ofyou.”

“Idon’tthinkadaylikethatwillcomesoon,”saidthewizardcaustically.“Don’t forget thatwewereacting in thepeople’sdefense.Themutantgirlswouldhavedrownedentirecountriesinblood.”

“Sosayyoumagicians, turningyournosesup, sohighandmightywithyouraurasofinfallibility.Whilewe’reonthesubject,surelyyou’renotgoingtotellmethatinyourhuntfortheseso-calledmutantsyouhaven’toncemadeamistake?”

“All right,” saidStregoboraftera longsilence.“I’llbehonest, althoughfor my own sake I shouldn’t. We did make a mistake—more than one.Picking them out was extremely difficult. And that’s why we stopped…gettingridofthem,andstartedisolatingtheminstead.”

“Yourfamoustowers,”snortedthewitcher.“Our towers. But that was another mistake. We underestimated them.

Manyescaped.Thensomemadfashiontofreeimprisonedbeautiestookholdofprinces,especailytheyoungerones,whodidn’thavemuchtodoandstilllesstolose.Mostofthem,fortunately,twistedtheirnecks—”

“AsfarasIknow,thoseimprisonedinthetowersdiedquickly.It’sbeensaidyoumusthavehelpedthemsomewhat.”

“That’s a lie.But it is true that they quickly fell into apathy, refused toeat…Whatisinterestingisthatshortlybeforetheydied,theyshowedsignsofthegiftofclairvoyance.Furtherproofofmutation.”

“Yourproofsarebecomingeverlessconvincing.Doyouhaveanymore?”“Ido.Silvena,theladyofNarok,whomwenevermanagedtogetcloseto

becauseshegainedpowersoquickly.TerriblethingsarehappeninginNaroknow.Fialka,Evermir’sdaughter,escapedher towerusingahomemaderopeandisnowterrorizingNorthVelhad.BernikaofTalgarwasfreedbyanidiotprince.Nowhe’ssittinginadungeon,blinded,andthemostcommonfeatureoftheTalgarlandscapeisasetofgallows.Thereareotherexamples,too.”

“Of course there are,” said thewitcher. “InYamurlak, for instance, oldman Abrad reigns. He’s got scrofula, not a single tooth in his head, wasprobablyborn somehundredyears before this eclipse, and can’t fall asleepunlesssomeone’sbeingtorturedtodeathinhispresence.He’swipedoutallhisrelativesandemptiedhalfofthecountryincrazy—howdidyouputit?—

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attacksofanger.Therearealsotracesofarampanttemperament.Apparentlyhe was nicknamed Abrad Jack-up-the-Skirt in his youth. Oh, Stregobor, itwouldbegreatifthecrueltyofrulerscouldbeexplainedawaybymutationsorcurses.”

“Listen,Geralt—”“No. You won’t win me over with your reasons nor convince me that

Eltibad wasn’t a murdering madman, so let’s get back to the monsterthreatening you.You’d better understand that, after the introduction you’vegivenme,Idon’tlikethestory.ButI’llhearyouout.”

“Withoutinterruptingwithspitefulcomments?”“ThatIcan’tpromise.”“Oh well”—Stregobor slipped his hands into the sleeves of his robe

—“then it’ll only take longer. Well, the story begins in Creyden, a smallprincipality in thenorth.ThewifeofFredefalk, thePrinceofCreyden,wasAridea, a wise, educated woman. She had many exceptional adepts of themagicalartsinherfamilyand—throughinheritance,nodoubt—shecameintopossession of a rare and powerful artifact. One of Nehalenia’s Mirrors.They’rechieflyusedbyprophetsandoraclesbecausetheypredictthefutureaccurately,albeitintricately.ArideaquiteoftenturnedtotheMirror—”

“With the usual question, I take it,” interrupted Geralt. “ ‘Who is thefairest of them all?’ I know; all Nehalenia’s Mirrors are either polite orbroken.”

“You’rewrong.Arideawasmoreinterestedinhercountry’sfate.AndtheMirroransweredherquestionsbypredictingahorribledeathforherandforagreatnumberofothersbythehand,orfault,ofFredefalk’sdaughterfromhisfirstmarriage.ArideaensuredthisnewsreachedtheCouncil,andtheCouncilsentme toCreyden. I don’t have to add that Fredefalk’s firstborn daughterwasbornshortlyaftertheeclipse.Iwasquitediscreetforalittlewhile.Shemanaged to torture a canary and two puppies during that time, and alsogougedoutaservant’seyewiththehandleofacomb.Icarriedoutafewtestsusingcurses,andmostof themconfirmedthat thelittleonewasamutant.IwenttoArideawiththenewsbecauseFredefalk’sdaughtermeanttheworldtohim.Aridea,asIsaid,wasn’tstupid—”

“Of course,” Geralt interrupted again, “and no doubt she wasn’t head-over-heels in lovewithher stepdaughter.Shepreferredher ownchildren toinherit the throne. I can guess what followed. How come nobody throttledher?Andyou,too,whiletheywereatit.”

Stregoborsighed, raisedhiseyes toheaven,where therainbowwasstill

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shimmeringcolorfullyandpicturesquely.“Iwantedtoisolateher,butArideadecidedotherwise.Shesentthelittle

oneoutintotheforestwithahiredthug,atrapper.Wefoundhimlaterintheundergrowth…withoutany trousers,so itwasn’thard to recreate the turnofevents. She had dug a brooch-pin into his brain, through his ear, no doubtwhilehisattentionwasonentirelydifferentmatters.”

“IfyouthinkIfeelsorryforhim,”mutteredGeralt,“thenyou’rewrong.”“We organized a manhunt,” continued Stregobor, “but all traces of the

little one had disappeared. I had to leave Creyden in a hurry becauseFredefalk was beginning to suspect something. Then, four years later IreceivednewsfromAridea.She’dtrackeddownthelittleone,whowaslivinginMahakamwith seven gnomes whom she’dmanaged to convince it wasmoreprofitabletorobmerchantsontheroadsthantopollutetheirlungswithdust from themines.ShewasknownasShrikebecauseshe liked to impalethe people she caught on a sharp pole while they were still alive. SeveraltimesArideahiredassassins,butnoneofthemreturned.Well,thenitbecamehardtofindanyonetotry—Shrikehadalreadybecomequitefamous.She’dlearnedtouseaswordsowelltherewashardlyamanwhocoulddefyher.Iwassummoned,andarrived inCreydensecretly,only to learn thatsomeonehad poisoned Aridea. It was generally believed that it was the work ofFredefalk, who had found himself a younger, more robust mistress—but IthinkitwasRenfri.”

“Renfri?”“That’s what she was called. I said she’d poisoned Aridea. Shortly

afterward,PrinceFredefalkdied inastrangehuntingaccident,andAridea’seldest sondisappearedwithoutaword.Thatmusthavebeen the littleone’sdoing, too. I say ‘little’but shewas seventeenby then.And shewasprettywell-developed.

“Meanwhile,”thewizardpickedupafteramoment’sbreak,“sheandhergnomeshadbecometheterrorofthewholeofMahakam.Until,oneday,theyarguedaboutsomething.Idon’tknowwhat—sharingout theloot,orwhoseturnitwastospendthenightwithher—anyway,theyslaughteredeachotherwithknives.OnlyShrikesurvived.Onlyher.AndIwasintheneighborhoodatthetime.Wemetface-to-face:sherecognizedmeinaflashandknewthepartI’dplayedinCreyden.Itellyou,Geralt,Ihadbarelymanagedtoutteracurse—andmyhandswereshakinglikeanything—whenthatwildcatflewatmewithasword.Iturnedherintoaneatslabofmountaincrystal,sixellsbynine.Whenshefellintoalethargy,Ithrewtheslabintothegnomes’mineand

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broughtthetunnelsdownonit.”“Shabbywork,”commentedGeralt.“Thatspellcouldhavebeenreversed.

Couldn’tyouhaveburnthertocinders?Youknowsomanynicespells,afterall.”

“No.It’snotmyspeciality.Butyou’reright.Ididmakeahashofit.Someidiotprincefoundher,spentafortuneonacounter-curse, reversed thespellandtriumphantlytookherhometosomeout-of-the-waykingdomintheeast.His father, an old brigand, proved to have more sense. He gave his son ahiding,andquestionedShrikeaboutthetreasureswhichsheandthegnomeshadseizedandwhichshe’dhidden.Hismistakewastoallowhiseldersontoassisthimwhenhehadherstretchedout,naked,ontheexecutioner’sbench.Somehow,thefollowingday,thatsameeldestson—nowanorphanbereftofsiblings—was ruling the kingdom, and Shrike had taken over the office offirstfavorite.”

“Meaningshecan’tbeugly.”“That’samatteroftaste.Shewasn’tafavoriteforlong.Upuntilthefirst

coupd’étatatthepalace,togiveitagrandname—itwasmorelikeabarn.Itsoonbecameclearthatshehadn’tforgottenaboutme.ShetriedtoassassinatemethreetimesinKovir.Idecidednottoriskafourthattemptandtowaitherout inPontar.Again, she foundme.This timeIescaped toAngren,butshefoundmetheretoo.Idon’tknowhowshedoesit.Icovermytraceswell.Itmustbeafeatureofhermutation.”

“What stopped you from casting another spell to turn her into crystal?Scruples?”

“No.Idon’thaveanyofthose.Shehadbecomeresistanttomagic.”“That’simpossible.”“It’snot.It’senoughtohavetherightartifactoraura.Orthiscouldalso

beassociatedwithhermutation,whichisprogressing.IescapedfromAngrenandhidhere,inArcsea,inBlaviken.I’velivedinpeaceforayear,butshe’strackedmedownagain.”

“Howdoyouknow?Isshealreadyintown?”“Yes.Isawherinthecrystalball.”Thewizardraisedhiswand.“She’snot

alone. She’s leading a gang, which shows that she’s brewing somethingserious.Geralt,Idon’thaveanywhereelsetorun.Idon’tknowwhereIcouldhide. The fact that you’ve arrived here exactly at this time can’t be acoincidence.It’sfate.”

Thewitcherraisedhiseyebrows.“What’sonyourmind?”“Surelyit’sobvious.You’regoingtokillher.”

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“I’mnotahiredthug,Stregobor.”“You’renotathug,agreed.”“I kill monsters for money. Beasts which endanger people. Horrors

conjuredupbyspellsandsorceriescastbythelikesofyou.Notpeople.”“She’s not human. She’s exactly amonster: amutant, a cursedmutant.

You brought a kikimora here. Shrike’s worse than a kikimora. A kikimorakillsbecauseit’shungry,butShrikedoesitforpleasure.KillherandI’llpayyouwhateversumyouask.Withinreason,ofcourse.”

“I’ve already told you. I consider the story about mutations and Lilit’scurse tobenonsense.Thegirlhasher reasons for settlingher accountwithyou, and I’m not going to getmixed up in it. Turn to the alderman, to thetownguards.You’rethetownwizard;you’reprotectedbymunicipallaw.”

“I spit on the law, the alderman and his help!” exploded Stregobor. “Idon’t need defense. I need you to kill her!Nobody’s going to get into thistower—I’m completely safe here. But what’s that tome? I don’t intend tospendtherestofmydayshere,andShrike’snotgoingtogiveupwhileI’malive.AmItosithere,inthistower,andwaitfordeath?”

“Theydid.Doyouknowwhat,magician?Youshouldhaveleftthathuntforthegirls toother,morepowerful,wizards.Youshouldhaveforeseentheconsequences.”

“Please,Geralt.”“No,Stregobor.”The sorcererwas silent. The unreal sun in its unreal sky hadn’tmoved

toward thezenithbut thewitcherknewitwasalreadydusk inBlaviken.Hefelthungry.

“Geralt,”saidStregobor,“whenwewerelisteningtoEltibald,manyofushaddoubts.Butwedecidedtoacceptthelesserevil.NowIaskyoutomakeasimilarchoice.”

“Evilisevil,Stregobor,”saidthewitcherseriouslyashegotup.“Lesser,greater, middling, it’s all the same. Proportions are negotiated, boundariesblurred. I’mnotapioushermit. Ihaven’tdoneonlygood inmy life.But ifI’mtochoosebetweenoneevilandanother,thenIprefernottochooseatall.Timeformetogo.We’llseeeachothertomorrow.”

“Maybe,”saidthewizard.“Ifyougethereintime.”

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IIITheGoldenCourt, the country town’s elegant inn,was crowded andnoisy.Theguests, localsandvisitors,weremostlyengagedinactivities typical fortheir nation or profession. Seriousmerchants arguedwith dwarves over theprice of goods and credit interest. Less serious merchants pinched thebacksides of the girls carrying beer, cabbage and beans. Local nitwitspretended tobewell-informed.Harlotswere trying toplease thosewhohadmoneywhilediscouragingthosewhohadnone.Cartersandfishermendrankas if there were no tomorrow. Some seamen were singing a song whichcelebrated the ocean waves, the courage of captains and the graces ofmermaids,thelattergraphicallyandinconsiderabledetail.

“Exert yourmemory, friend,”Caldemeyn said to the innkeeper, leaningacrossthecounterinordertobeheardoverthedin.“Sixmenandawench,alldressed in black leather studdedwith silver in theNovigradian style. I sawthemattheturnpike.AretheystayinghereoratTheTunaFish?”

Theinnkeeperwrinkledhisbulgingforeheadandwipedatankardonhisstripedapron.

“Here,Alderman,”hefinallysaid.“Theysaythey’vecomeforthemarketbuttheyallcarryswords,eventhewoman.Dressed,asyousaid,inblack.”

“Well.” The alderman nodded. “Where are they now? I don’t see themhere.”

“Inthelesseralcove.Theypaidingold.”“I’llgoinalone,”saidGeralt.“There’snopointinmakingthisanofficial

affairinfrontofthemall,atleastforthetimebeing.I’llbringherhere.”“Maybethat’sbest.Butbecareful,Idon’twantanytrouble.”“I’llbecareful.”The seamen’s song, judgingby thegrowing intensityofobscenewords,

wasreachingitsgrandfinale.Geraltdrewasidethecurtain—stiffandstickywithdirt—whichhidtheentrancetothealcove.

Sixmenwereseatedatthetable.Shrikewasn’twiththem.“What’d’you want?” yelled the man who noticed him first. He was

balding and his face was disfigured by a scar which ran across his lefteyebrow,thebridgeofhisnoseandhisrightcheek.

“IwanttoseeShrike.”Two identical figures stood up—identical motionless faces and fair,

disheveled,shoulder-lengthhair,identicaltight-fittingblackoutfitsglistening

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withsilverornaments.Andwithidenticalmovements,thetwinstookidenticalswordsfromthebench.

“Keepcalm,Vyr.Sitdown,Nimir,”saidthemanwiththescar,leaninghiselbows on the table. “Who d’you say you want to see, brother? Who’sShrike?”

“YouknowverywellwhoImean.”“Who’s this, then?”askedahalf-nakedathlete,sweaty,girdedcrosswise

with belts, and wearing spiked pads on his forearms. “D’you know him,Nohorn?”

“No,”saidthemanwiththescar.“It’ssomealbino,”giggledaslim,dark-hairedmansittingnexttoNohorn.

Delicatefeatures,enormousblackeyesandpointedearsbetrayedhimtobeahalf-blood elf. “Albino, mutant, freak of nature. And this sort of thing isallowedtoenterpubsamongdecentpeople.”

“I’ve seen him somewhere before,” said a stocky, weather-beaten manwithaplait,measuringGeraltwithanevillookinhisnarrowedeyes.

“Doesn’t matter where you’ve seen him, Tavik,” said Nohorn. “Listenhere.Civrilinsultedyouterriblyamomentago.Aren’tyougoingtochallengehim?It’ssuchaboringevening.”

“No,”saidthewitchercalmly.“And me, if I pour this fish soup over your head, are you going to

challengeme?”cackledthemansittingnakedtothewaist.“Keepcalm,Fifteen,”saidNohorn.“Hesaidno, thatmeansno.For the

timebeing.Well,brother,saywhatyouhavetosayandclearout.You’vegotone chance to clear out on your own.Youdon’t take it, the attendantswillcarryyouout.”

“Idon’thaveanythingtosaytoyou.IwanttoseeShrike.Renfri.”“Doyouhearthat,boys?”Nohornlookedaroundathiscompanions.“He

wantstoseeRenfri.AndmayIknowwhy?”“No.”Nohorn raised his head and looked at the twins as they took a step

forward,thesilverclaspsontheirhighbootsjangling.“Iknow,”themanwiththeplaitsaidsuddenly.“IknowwhereI’veseen

himnow!”“What’sthatyou’remumbling,Tavik?”“Infrontof thealderman’shouse.Hebroughtsomesortofdragon in to

trade, a cross between a spider and a crocodile. Peoplewere saying he’s awitcher.”

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“Andwhat’sawitcher?”Fifteenasked.“Eh?Civril?”“Ahiredmagician,”saidthehalf-elf.“Aconjurerforafistfulofsilver.I

toldyou,afreakofnature.Aninsulttohumananddivinelaws.Theyoughttobeburned,thelikesofhim.”

“Wedon’tlikemagicians,”screechedTavik,nottakinghisnarrowedeyesoffGeralt.“Itseemstome,Civril,thatwe’regoingtohavemoreworkinthishole than we thought. There’s more than one of them here and everyoneknowstheysticktogether.”

“Birds of a feather.” The half-breed smiled maliciously. “To think thelikesofyouwalktheearth.Whospawnsyoufreaks?”

“Abitmore tolerance, ifyouplease,” saidGeraltcalmly,“as I seeyourmothermusthavewanderedoffthroughtheforestaloneoftenenoughtogiveyougoodreasontowonderwhereyoucomefromyourself.”

“Possibly,”answered thehalf-elf, thesmilenot leavinghis face.“ButatleastIknewmymother.Youwitcherscan’tsaythatmuchaboutyourselves.”

Geralt grew a little pale and tightened his lips. Nohorn, noticing it,laughedoutloud.

“Well,brother,youcan’tletaninsultlikethatgoby.Thatthingthatyouhaveonyourbacklookslikeasword.So?AreyougoingoutsidewithCivril?Theevening’ssoboring.”

Thewitcherdidn’treact.“Shittycoward,”snortedTavik.“What did he say about Civril’s mother?” Nohorn continued

monotonously, restinghis chinonhis claspedhands. “Somethingextremelynasty,asIunderstoodit.Thatshewasaneasylay,orsomething.Hey,Fifteen,is it right to listen to some straggler insulting a companion’s mother? Amother,yousonofabitch,issacred!”

Fifteen got upwillingly, undid his sword and threw it on the table.Hestuck his chest out, adjusted the pads spiked with silver studs on hisshoulders,spatandtookastepforward.

“Ifyou’vegotanydoubts,”saidNohorn,“thenFifteenischallengingyoutoafistfight.Itoldyouthey’dcarryyououtofhere.Makeroom.”

Fifteenmovedcloserandraisedhisfists.Geraltputhishandonthehiltofhissword.

“Careful,”hesaid.“Onemorestepandyou’llbelookingforyourhandonthefloor.”

NohornandTavikleaptup,grabbingtheirswords.Thesilenttwinsdrewtheirs with identical movements. Fifteen stepped back. Only Civril didn’t

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move.“What’sgoingonhere,dammit?Can’tIleaveyoualoneforaminute?”Geraltturnedroundveryslowlyandlookedintoeyesthecolorofthesea.Shewasalmostastallashim.Sheworeherstraw-coloredhairunevenly

cut,justbelowtheears.Shestoodwithonehandonthedoor,wearingatight,velvet jacket clasped with a decorated belt. Her skirt was uneven,asymmetrical—reachingdown toher calf on the left side and, on the right,revealingastrongthighaboveabootmadeofelk’sleather.Onherleftside,shecarriedasword;onherright,adaggerwithahugerubysetinitspommel.

“Lostyourvoices?”“He’sawitcher,”mumbledNohorn.“Sowhat?”“Hewantedtotalktoyou.”“Sowhat?”“He’sasorcerer!”Fifteenroared.“Wedon’tlikesorcerers,”snarledTavik.“Take it easy, boys,” said the girl. “He wants to talk to me; that’s no

crime.Youcarryonhavingagoodtime.Andnotrouble.Tomorrow’smarketday. Surely you don’t want your pranks to disrupt the market, such animportanteventinthelifeofthispleasanttown?”

A quiet, nasty giggle reverberated in the silencewhich fell. Civril, stillsprawledoutcarelesslyonthebench,waslaughing.

“Comeon,Renfri,”chuckledthehalf-blood.“Important…event!”“Shutup,Civril.Immediately.”Civrilstoppedlaughing.Immediately.Geraltwasn’tsurprised.Therewas

somethingverystrangeinRenfri’svoice—somethingassociatedwiththeredreflection of fire on blades, the wailing of people being murdered, thewhinnying of horses and the smell of blood. Others must also have hadsimilarassociations—evenTavik’sweather-beatenfacegrewpale.

“Well, white-hair,” Renfri broke the silence. “Let’s go into the largerroom.Let’sjointhealdermanyoucamewith.Hewantstotalktometoo,nodoubt.”

Atthesightof them,Caldemeyn,whowaswaitingat thecounter,brokeoffhisquietconversationwiththeinnkeeper,straightenedhimselfandfoldedhisarmsacrosshischest.

“Listen, young lady,” he said severely, not wasting time with banalniceties,“IknowfromthiswitcherofRiviaherewhatbringsyoutoBlaviken.Apparentlyyoubearagrudgeagainstourwizard.”

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“Maybe.Whatofit?”askedRenfriquietly,inanequallybrusquetone.“Onlythattherearetribunalstodealwithgrudgeslikethat.Hewhowants

to revenge a grudge using steel—here inArcsea—is considered a commonbandit.Andalso,thateitheryougetoutofBlavikenearlyinthemorningwithyourblackcompanions,orIthrowyouintoprison,pre—Howdoyousayit,Geralt?”

“Preventively.”“Exactly.Understood,younglady?”Renfri reached into the purse on her belt and pulled out a parchment

whichhadbeenfoldedseveraltimes.“Readthis,Alderman.Ifyou’reliterate.Anddon’tcallme‘younglady.’”Caldemeyntooktheparchment,spentalongtimereadingit,then,without

aword,gaveittoGeralt.“ ‘Tomy regents, vassals and freemen subjects,’ ” thewitcher read out

loud. “ ‘To all and sundry. I proclaim thatRenfri, thePrincess ofCreyden,remains inourserviceandiswellseenbyus;whosoeverdaresmaltreetherwillincurourwrath.Audoen,King—’Maltreatisnotspelledlikethat.Butthesealappearsauthentic.”

“Becauseitisauthentic,”saidRenfri,snatchingtheparchmentfromhim.“ItwasaffixedbyAudoen,yourmercifullord.That’swhyIdon’tadviseyoutomaltreat me. Irrespective of how you spell it, the consequences for youwouldbe lamentable.Youarenot,honorableAlderman,going toputme inprison. Or call me ‘young lady.’ I haven’t infringed any law. For the timebeing.”

“Ifyouinfringebyevenaninch”—Caldemeynlookedasifhewantedtospit—“I’llthrowyouinthedungeontogetherwiththispieceofpaper.Iswearonallthegods,younglady.Comeon,Geralt.”

“With you, witcher.” Renfri touched Geralt’s shoulder. “I’d still like aword.”

“Don’t be late for supper,” the alderman threw over his shoulder, “orLibushewillbefurious.”

“Iwon’t.”Geraltleanedagainstthecounter.Fiddlingwiththewolf’sheadmedallion

hangingaroundhisneck,helookedintothegirl’sblue-greeneyes.“I’veheardaboutyou,”shesaid.“You’reGeralt,thewhite-hairedwitcher

fromRivia.IsStregoboryourfriend?”“No.”“Thatmakesthingseasier.”

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“Notmuch.Don’texpectmetolookonpeacefully.”Renfri’seyesnarrowed.“Stregobor dies tomorrow,” she said quietly, brushing the unevenly cut

hairoffherforehead.“Itwouldbethelesserevilifhediedalone.”“Ifhedid,yes.Butinfact,beforeStregobordies,severalotherpeoplewill

dietoo.Idon’tseeanyotherpossibility.”“Several,witcher,isputtingitmildly.”“Youneedmorethanwordstofrightenme,Shrike.”“Don’tcallmeShrike.Idon’tlikeit.Thepointis,Iseeotherpossibilities.

Itwouldbeworthtalkingitover…butLibusheiswaiting.Isshepretty, thisLibushe?”

“Isthatallyouhadtosaytome?”“No.Butyoushouldgo.Libushe’swaiting.”

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IVThere was someone in his little attic room. Geralt knew it before he evenreached the door, sensing it through the barely perceptible vibration of hismedallion.Heblewouttheoillampwhichhadlithispathupthestairs,pulledthedaggerfromhisboot,slippeditintothebackofhisbeltandpressedthedoorhandle.Theroomwasdark.Butnotforawitcher.

He was deliberately slow in crossing the threshold; he closed the doorbehindhimcarefully.Thenext secondhedivedat theperson sittingonhisbed, crushed them into the linen, forced his forearm under their chin andreachedforhisdagger.Hedidn’tpullitout.Somethingwasn’tright.

“Notabad start,” she said inamuffledvoice, lyingmotionlessbeneathhim.“Iexpectedsomethinglikethis,butIdidn’tthinkwe’dbothbeinbedsoquickly.Takeyourhandfrommythroatplease.”

“It’syou.”“It’sme.Nowtherearetwopossibilities.Thefirst:yougetoffmeandwe

talk.Thesecond:westay in thisposition, inwhichcaseI’d like to takemybootsoffatleast.”

Thewitcherreleasedthegirl,whosighed,satupandadjustedherhairandskirt.

“Lightthecandle,”shesaid.“Ican’tseeinthedark,unlikeyou,andIliketoseewhoI’mtalkingto.”

Sheapproachedthetable—tall,slim,agile—andsatdown,stretchingoutherlonglegsintheirhighboots.Shewasn’tcarryinganyvisibleweapons.

“Haveyougotanythingtodrinkhere?”“No.”“Then it’s a good thing I brought something,” she laughed, placing a

travelingwineskinandtwoleathertumblersonthetable.“It’snearlymidnight,”saidGeraltcoldly.“Shallwecometothepoint?”“Inaminute.Here,haveadrink.Here’stoyou,Geralt.”“Likewise,Shrike.”“Myname’sRenfri,dammit.”Sheraisedherhead.“Iwillpermityouto

omitmyroyaltitle,butstopcallingmeShrike!”“Bequietoryou’llwakethewholehouse.AmIfinallygoingtolearnwhy

youcreptinherethroughthewindow?”“You’re slow-witted,witcher. Iwant to saveBlaviken from slaughter. I

crawledovertherooftopslikeashe-catinMarchinordertotalktoyouabout

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it.Appreciateit.”“Ido,”saidGeralt.“ExceptthatIdon’tknowwhattalkcanachieve.The

situation’sclear.Stregoborisinhistower,andyou’dhavetolaysiegetoitinordertogettohim.Ifyoudothat,yourletterofsafeconductwon’thelpyou.Audoenwon’tdefendyouifyouopenlybreakthelaw.Thealderman,guards,thewholeofBlavikenwillstandagainstyou.”

“ThewholeofBlavikenwouldregretstandinguptome.”Renfrismiled,revealing a predator’swhite teeth. “Did you take a look atmy boys?Theyknowtheirtrade,Iassureyou.Canyouimaginewhatwouldhappeninafightbetween them and those dimwit guards who keep tripping over their ownhalberds?”

“DoyouimagineIwouldstandbyandwatchafightlikethat?I’mstayingat the alderman’s, as you can see. If the need arises, I should stand at hisside.”

“I have no doubt”—Renfri grew serious—“that you will. But you’llprobably be alone, as the rest will cower in the cellars. No warrior in theworld could match seven swordsmen. So, white-hair, let’s stop threateningeachother.AsIsaid:slaughterandbloodshedcanbeavoided.Therearetwopeoplewhocanpreventit.”

“I’mallears.”“One,”saidRenfri,“isStregoborhimself.Heleaveshistowervoluntarily,

Itakehimtoadesertedspot,andBlavikensinksbackintoblissfulapathyandforgetsthewholeaffair.”

“Stregobormayseemcrazy,buthe’snotthatcrazy.”“Whoknows,witcher,whoknows.Someargumentscan’tbedenied,like

theTridamultimatum.Iplantopresentittothesorcerer.”“Whatisit,thisultimatum?”“That’smysweetsecret.”“Asyouwish.ButIdoubtit’llbeeffective.Stregobor’steethchatterwhen

he speaks of you. An ultimatumwhich would persuade him to voluntarilysurrenderhimselfintoyourbeautifulhandswouldhavetobeprettygood.Sowho’stheotherperson?Letmeguess.”

“Iwonderhowsharpyouare,white-hair.”“It’syou,Renfri.You’llrevealatrulyprincely—whatamIsaying,royal

magnanimityandrenounceyourrevenge.HaveIguessed?”Renfri threw back her head and laughed, covering her mouth with her

hand.Thenshegrewsilentandfixedhershiningeyesonthewitcher.“Geralt,”shesaid,“Iusedtobeaprincess.IhadeverythingIcoulddream

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of.Servantsatmybeckandcall,dresses,shoes.Cambricknickers.Jewelsandtrinkets,ponies,goldfishinapond.Dolls,andadoll’shousebiggerthanthisroom. That was my life until Stregobor and that whore Aridea ordered ahuntsman to butcher me in the forest and bring back my heart and liver.Lovely,don’tyouthink?”

“No.I’mpleasedyouevadedthehuntsman,Renfri.”“LikeshitIdid.Hetookpityonmeandletmego.Afterthesonofabitch

rapedmeandrobbedme.”Geralt, fiddlingwith hismedallion, looked her straight in the eyes. She

didn’tlowerhers.“Thatwastheendoftheprincess,”shecontinued.“Thedressgrewtorn,

thecambricgrewgrubby.Andthentherewasdirt,hunger,stench,stinkandabuse.Sellingmyself toanyoldbumforabowlofsoupora roofovermyhead.Doyouknowwhatmyhairwaslike?Silk.Anditreachedagoodfootbelowmyhips.Ihaditcutrighttothescalpwithsheep-shearswhenIcaughtlice.It’snevergrownbackproperly.”

She was silent for a moment, idly brushing the uneven strands of hairfromherforehead.

“Istoleratherthanstarvetodeath.Ikilledtoavoidbeingkilledmyself.Iwaslockedinprisonswhichstankofurine,neverknowingiftheywouldhangme in themorning, or just flogme and releaseme.And through it all,mystepmotherandyoursorcererwerehardonmyheels,withtheirpoisonsandassassinsandspells.Andyouwantmetorevealmymagnanimity?Toforgivehimroyally?I’lltearhisheadoff,royally,first.”

“ArideaandStregobortriedtopoisonyou?”“Withanappleseasonedwithnightshade.Iwassavedbyagnome,andan

emeticIthoughtwouldturnmyinsidesout.ButIsurvived.”“Wasthatoneofthesevengnomes?”Renfri,pouringwine,frozeholding

thewineskinoverthetumbler.“Ah,” she said. “You do know a lot about me. Yes? Do you have

somethingagainstgnomes?Orhumanoids?Theywerebettertomethanmostpeople,notthatit’syourbusiness.

“StregoborandArideahuntedmelikeawildanimalaslongastheycould.UntilIbecamethehunter.Arideadiedinherownbed.ShewasluckyIdidn’tgettoherearlier—Ihadaspecialplanforher,andnowI’vegotoneforthesorcerer.Doyouthinkhedeservestodie?”

“I’mnojudge.I’mawitcher.”“Youare.Isaidthatthereweretwopeoplewhocouldpreventbloodshed

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inBlaviken.Thesecondisyou.Thesorcererwillletyouintothetower.Youcouldkillhim.”

“Renfri,”saidGeraltcalmly,“didyoufallfromtheroofontoyourheadonthewaytomyroom?”

“Areyouawitcheroraren’tyou,dammit?Theysayyoukilledakikimoraandbroughtithereonadonkeytogetapriceforit.Stregoborisworsethanthe kikimora. It’s just a mindless beast which kills because that’s how thegods made it. Stregobor is a brute, a true monster. Bring him to me on adonkeyandIwon’tbegrudgeyouanysumyoucaretomention.”

“I’mnotahiredthug,Shrike.”“You’renot,”sheagreedwithasmile.Sheleanedbackonthestooland

crossedher legson the tablewithout the slightest effort to coverher thighswithherskirt.“You’reawitcher,adefenderofpeoplefromevil.Andevilisthe steel and firewhichwill cause devastation here ifwe fight each other.Don’tyouthinkI’mproposinga lesserevil,abettersolution?Evenfor thatsonofabitchStregobor.Youcankillhimmercifully,withone thrust.He’lldiewithoutknowingit.AndIguaranteehimquitethereverse.”

Geraltremainedsilent.Renfristretched,raisingherarms.“Iunderstandyourhesitation,”shesaid.“ButIneedananswernow.”“DoyouknowwhyStregoborandtheking’swifewantedtokillyou?”Renfristraightenedabruptlyandtookherlegsoffthetable.“It’s obvious,” she snarled. “I am heir to the throne. Aridea’s children

werebornoutofwedlockanddon’thaveanyrightto—”“No.”Renfriloweredherhead,butonlyforamoment.Hereyesflashed.“Fine.

I’m supposed to be cursed. Contaminated in my mother’s womb. I’msupposedtobe…”

“Yes?”“Amonster.”“Andareyou?”Forafleetingmomentshelookedhelpless,shattered.Andverysad.“I don’t know, Geralt,” she whispered, and then her features hardened

again.“BecausehowamItoknow,dammit?WhenIcutmyfinger,Ibleed.Ibleedeverymonth,too.IgetbellyachewhenIovereat,andahangoverwhenIgetdrunk.WhenI’mhappyIsingandIswearwhenI’msad.WhenIhatesomeoneIkillthemandwhen—Butenoughofthis!Youranswer,witcher.”

“Myanswerisno.”

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“YourememberwhatIsaid?”sheaskedafteramoment’ssilence.“Thereareoffersyoucan’trefuse,theconsequencesaresoterrible,andthisisoneofthem.Thinkitover.”

“Ihavethoughtcarefully.Andmysuggestionwasasserious.”Renfriwas silent for some time, fiddlingwith a string of pearlswound

three times around her shapely neck before falling teasingly between herbreasts,theircurvesjustvisiblethroughtheslitofherjacket.

“Geralt,”shesaid,“didStregoboraskyoutokillme?”“Yes.Hebelieveditwasthelesserevil.”“CanIbelieveyourefusedhim,asyouhaveme?”“Youcan.”“Why?”“BecauseIdon’tbelieveinalesserevil.”Renfrismiledfaintly,anuglygrimaceintheyellowcandlelight.“Youdon’tbelieve in it,yousay.Wellyou’reright, inaway.OnlyEvil

andGreaterEvilexistandbeyondthem,intheshadows,lurksTrueEvil.TrueEvil,Geralt,issomethingyoucanbarelyimagine,evenifyoubelievenothingcanstillsurpriseyou.AndsometimesTrueEvilseizesyoubythethroatanddemandsthatyouchoosebetweenitandanother,slightlylesser,Evil.”

“What’syourgoalhere,Renfri?”“Nothing.I’vehadabittodrinkandI’mphilosophising.I’mlookingfor

general truths. And I’ve found one: lesser evils exist, but we can’t choosethem.OnlyTrueEvil can force us to such a choice.Whetherwe like it ornot.”

“MaybeI’venothadenoughtodrink.”Thewitchersmiledsourly.“Andin the meantime midnight’s passed, the way it does. Let’s speak plainly.You’renotgoing tokillStregobor inBlavikenbecause I’mnotgoing to letyou.I’mnotgoingtoletitcometoaslaughterhere.So,forthesecondtime,renounceyourrevenge.Provetohim,toeveryone,thatyou’renotaninhumanand bloodthirsty monster. Prove he has done you great harm through hismistake.”

For a moment Renfri watched the witcher’s medallion spinning as hetwistedthechain.

“And if I tell you, witcher, that I can neither forgive Stregobor norrenouncemyrevenge thenIadmit thathe is right, is that it? I’dbeprovingthatIamamonstercursedbythegods?Youknow,whenIwasstillnewtothislife,afreemantookmein.Hetookafancytome,eventhoughIfoundhimrepellent.Soeverytimehewantedtofuckme,hehadtobeatmesohard

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Icouldbarelymove,eventhefollowingday.OnemorningIrosewhileitwasstilldarkandslashedhisthroatwithascythe.Iwasn’tyetasskilledasIamnow,andaknifeseemedtoosmall.AndasIlistenedtohimgurgleandchoke,watched him kicking and flailing, I felt themarks left by his feet and fistsfade, and I felt, oh, so great, so great that…I left him,whistling, sprightly,feelingsojoyful,sohappy.Andit’s thesameeachtime.If itwasn’t,who’dwastetimeonrevenge?”

“Renfri,”saidGeralt.“Whateveryourmotives,you’renotgoingtoleaveherejoyfulandhappy.Butyou’ll leaveherealive,earlytomorrowmorning,asthealdermanordered.You’renotgoingtokillStregoborinBlaviken.”

Renfri’seyesglistenedinthecandlelight,reflectingtheflame;thepearlsglowed in the slit of her jacket; the wolf medallion spinning round on itschainsparkled.

“Ipityyou,”shesaidslowly,gazingatthemedallion.“Youclaimalesserevildoesn’texist.You’re standingona flagstone runningwithblood,aloneand so very lonely because you can’t choose, but you had to. And you’llneverknow,you’llneverbesure,ifyouwereright…Andyourrewardwillbeastoning,andabadword.Ipityyou…”

“Andyou?”askedthewitcherquietly,almostinawhisper.“Ican’tchoose,either.”“Whatareyou?”“IamwhatIam.”“Whereareyou?”“I’m…cold…”“Renfri!”Geraltsqueezedthemedalliontightlyinhishand.Shetossedherheadasifwakingup,andblinkedseveraltimes,surprised.

Foraverybriefmomentshelookedfrightened.“You’vewon,” she said sharply. “Youwin,witcher.Tomorrowmorning

I’llleaveBlavikenandneverreturntothisrottentown.Never.Nowpassmethewineskin.”

Herusualderisive smile returnedas sheputherempty tumblerbackonthetable.“Geralt?”

“I’mhere.”“Thatbloodyroofissteep.I’dprefertoleaveatdawnthanfallandhurt

myself in thedark. I’maprincess andmybody’sdelicate. I can feel a peaunderamattress—aslongasit’snotwell-stuffedwithstraw,obviously.Howaboutit?”

“Renfri”—Geralt smiled despite himself—“is that really befitting of a

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princess?”“Whatdoyouknowaboutprincesses,dammit?I’velivedasoneandthe

joyofitisbeingabletodowhatyoulike.DoIhavetotellyoustraightoutwhatIwant?”

Geralt,stillsmiling,didn’treply.“Ican’tbelieveyoudon’tfindmeattractive.”Renfrigrimaced.“Areyou

afraid you’ll meet the freeman’s sticky fate? Eh, white-hair, I haven’t gotanythingsharponme.Havealookforyourself.”

Sheputherlegsonhisknees.“Pullmybootsoff.Ahighbootisthebestplacetohideaknife.”

Barefoot, she got up, tore at the buckle of her belt. “I’m not hidinganythinghere,either.Orhere,asyoucansee.Putthatbloodycandleout.”

Outside,inthedarkness,acatyawled.“Renfri?”“What?”“Isthiscambric?”“Ofcourseitis,dammit.AmIaprincessornot?”

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V“Daddy,”Marilkanaggedmonotonously,“whenarewegoingtothemarket?Tothemarket,Daddy!”

“Quiet, Marilka,” grunted Caldemeyn, wiping his plate with his bread.“Sowhatwereyousaying,Geralt?They’releaving?”

“Yes.”“Inever thought itwouldend sopeacefully.Theyhadmeby the throat

withthatletterfromAudoen.Iputonabravefacebut,totellyouthetruth,Icouldn’tdoathingtothem.”

“Eveniftheyopenlybrokethelaw?Startedafight?”“Even if theydid.Audoen’savery touchyking.Hesendspeople to the

scaffold on a whim. I’ve got a wife, a daughter, and I’m happy with myoffice.Idon’thavetoworrywherethebaconwillcomefromtomorrow.It’sgoodnewsthatthey’releaving.Buthow,andwhy,didithappen?”

“Daddy,Iwanttogotothemarket!”“Libushe! Take Marilka away! Geralt, I asked Centurion, the Golden

Court’s innkeeper, about that Novigradian company. They’re quite a gang.Someofthemwererecognized.”

“Yes?”“TheonewiththegashacrosshisfaceisNohorn,Abergard’soldadjutant

fromtheso-calledFreeAngrenCompany—you’llhaveheardof them.Thathulk they callFifteenwasoneof theirs too and I don’t thinkhis nicknamecomes from fifteen good deeds. The half-elf is Civril, a brigand andprofessionalmurderer.Apparently,hehadsomethingtodowiththemassacreatTridam.”

“Where?”“Tridam.Didn’tyouhearofit?Everyonewastalkingaboutitthree…Yes,

three years ago. The Baron of Tridam was holding some brigands in thedungeons.Theircomrades—oneofwhomwasthathalf-bloodCivril—seizeda river ferry full of pilgrims during the Feast of Nis. They demanded thebaron set those others free. The baron refused, so they began murderingpilgrims, one after another. By the time the baron released his prisonersthey’d thrown a dozen pilgrims overboard to drift with the current—andfollowingthedeathsthebaronwasindangerofexile,orevenofexecution.Some blamed him for waiting so long to give in, and others claimed he’dcommitted a great evil in releasing themen, in setting a pre—precedent or

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something.Thegangshouldhavebeenshotfromthebanks,togetherwiththehostages, or attackedon the boats; he shouldn’t havegiven an inch.At thetribunal thebaronarguedhe’dhadnochoice,he’dchosen the lesserevil tosavemorethantwenty-fivepeople—womenandchildren—ontheferry.”

“TheTridamultimatum,”whisperedthewitcher.“Renfri—”“What?”“Caldemeyn,themarketplace.”“What?”“She’s deceived us. They’re not leaving.They’ll force Stregobor out of

histowerastheyforcedtheBaronofTridam’shand.Orthey’llforcemeto…They’regoingtostartmurderingpeopleatthemarket;it’sarealtrap!”

“Byallthegods—Whereareyougoing?Sitdown!”Marilka, terrifiedby theshouting,huddled,keening, in thecornerof the

kitchen.“I told you!” Libushe shouted, pointing to the witcher. “I said he only

bringstrouble!”“Silence,woman!Geralt?Sitdown!”“Wehavetostopthem.Rightnow,beforepeoplegotothemarket.And

calltheguards.Asthegangleavestheinn,seizethemandholdthem.”“Bereasonable.Wecan’t.Wecan’ttouchahairoftheirheadsifthey’ve

done nothing wrong. They’ll defend themselves and there’ll be bloodshed.They’reprofessionals;they’llslaughtermypeople,andit’llbemyheadforitifwordgetstoAudoen.I’llgathertheguards,gotothemarketandkeepaneyeonthemthere—”

“Thatwon’t achieveanything,Caldemeyn. If thecrowd’salready in thesquare,youcan’tpreventpanicandslaughter.Renfrihastobestoppedrightnow,whilethemarketplaceisempty.”

“It’sillegal.Ican’tpermitit.It’sonlyarumorthehalf-elfwasatTridam.Youcouldbewrong,andAudoenwouldflaymealive.”

“Wehavetotakethelesserevil!”“Geralt,Iforbidit!AsAlderman,Iforbidit!Leaveyoursword!Stop!”Marilkawasscreaming,herhandspressedoverhermouth.

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VIShadinghiseyeswithhishand,Civrilwatchedthesunemergefrombehindthetrees.Themarketplacewascomingtolife.Wagonsandcartsrumbledpastandthefirstvendorswerealreadyfillingtheirstalls.Ahammerwasbanging,acockcrowingandseagullsscreechedloudlyoverhead.

“Lookslikealovelyday,”Fifteensaidpensively.Civrillookedathimaskancebutdidn’tsayanything.“Thehorsesallright,Tavik?”askedNohorn,pullingonhisgloves.“Saddled and ready. But, there’s still not many of them in the

marketplace.”“There’llbemore.”“Weshouldeat.”“Later.”“Deadright.You’llhavetimelater.Andanappetite.”“Look,”saidFifteensuddenly.The witcher was approaching from the main street, walking between

stalls,comingstraighttowardthem.“Renfri was right,” Civril said. “Give me the crossbow, Nohorn.” He

hunched over and, holding the strap down with his foot, pulled the stringback.Heplaced theboltcarefully in thegrooveas thewitchercontinued toapproach.Civrilraisedthecrossbow.

“Notonestepcloser,witcher!”Geraltstoppedaboutfortypacesfromthegroup.“Where’sRenfri?”The half-blood’s pretty face contorted. “At the tower. She’smaking the

sorcereranofferhecan’t refuse.But sheknewyouwouldcome.She leftamessageforyou.”

“Speak.”“I am what I am. Choose. Either me, or a lesser.’ You’re supposed to

knowwhatitmeans.”Thewitchernodded, raisedhishandabovehis right shoulder, anddrew

hissword.Thebladetracedaglisteningarcabovehishead.Walkingslowly,hemadehiswaytowardthegroup.

Civrillaughednastily,ominously.“Renfrisaidthiswouldhappen,witcher,andleftussomethingspecialto

giveyou.Rightbetweentheeyes.”

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The witcher kept walking, and the half-elf raised the crossbow to hischeek.Itgrewveryquiet.

The bowstring hummed, the witcher’s sword flashed and the bolt flewupwardwithametallicwhine,spinningintheairuntilitclatteredagainsttheroofandrumbledintothegutter.

“Hedeflectedit…”groanedFifteen.“Deflecteditinflight—”“Asone,”orderedCivril.Bladeshissedastheyweredrawnfromsheaths,

thegrouppressedshouldertoshoulder,bristlingwithblades.Thewitchercameonfaster;hisfluidwalkbecamearun—notstraightat

thegroupquiveringwithswords,butcirclingitinatighteningspiral.AsGeraltcircledthegroup,Tavik’snervefailed.Herushedthewitcher,

thetwinsfollowinghim.“Don’tdisperse!”Civril roared,shakinghisheadand losingsightof the

witcher.He swore and jumped aside, seeing the group fall apart, scatteringaroundthemarketstalls.

Tavikwentfirst.HewaschasingthewitcherwhenhesawGeraltrunningin the opposite direction, toward him. He skidded, trying to stop, but thewitchershotpastbeforehecouldraisehissword.Tavikfeltahardblowjustabovehiship,felltohiskneesand,whenhesawhiship,startedscreaming.

The twins simultaneously attacked the black, blurred shape rushingtoward them, mistimed their attack and collided with each other as Geraltslashed Vyr across the chest and Nimir in the temple, leaving one twin tostagger,headdown,intoavegetablestall,andtheothertospininplaceandfalllimplyintothegutter.

Themarketplaceboiledwithvendorsrunningaway,stallsclatteringtotheground and screams rising in the dusty air. Tavik tried to stumble to histremblinglegsandfellpainfullytotheground.

“From the left, Fifteen!” Nohorn roared, running in a semi-circle toapproachthewitcherfrombehind.

Fifteen spun. But not quickly enough. He bore a thrust through thestomach,preparedtostrikeandwasstruckagainin theneck, justbelowhisear.He tookfourunsteadystepsandcollapsed intoafishcart,whichrolledaway beneath him. Sliding over the slippery cargo, Fifteen fell onto theflagstones,silverwithscales.

Civril andNohorn struck simultaneously fromboth sides, the elfwith ahigh sweeping cut, Nohorn from a kneeling position, low and flat. Thewitchercaughtboth,twometallicclangsmergingintoone.Civrilleaptasideandtripped,catchinghimselfagainstastallasNohornwardedoffablowso

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powerful it threw him backward to his knees. Leaping up, he parried tooslowly,takingagashinthefaceparalleltohisoldscar.

Civrilbouncedoff thestall, jumpingoverNohornashe fell,missed thewitcherandjumpedaway.Thethrustwassosharp,soprecise,hedidn’tfeelit;hislegsonlygavewaywhenhetriedtoattackagain.Theswordfellfromhis hand, the tendons severed above the elbow.Civril fell to his knees andshookhishead, tryingandfailing to rise.Hisheaddropped,andamong theshattered stalls andmarketwares, the scattered fish andcabbages,hisbodystilledinthecenterofagrowingredpuddle.

Renfrienteredthemarketplace.She approached slowly with a soft, feline step, avoiding the carts and

stalls.Thecrowdinthestreetsandbythehouses,whichhadbeenhumminglike a hornet’s nest, grew silent. Geralt stood motionless, his sword in hisloweredhand.Renfricametowithintenpacesandstopped,closeenoughtoseethat,underherjacket,sheworeashortcoatofchainmail,barelycoveringherhips.

“You’vemadeyourchoice,”shesaidslowly.“Areyousureit’stherightone?”

“Thiswon’tbeanotherTridam,”Geraltsaidwithaneffort.“Itwouldn’t have been. Stregobor laughed inmy face.He said I could

butcher Blaviken and the neighboring villages and he wouldn’t leave histower.Andhewon’tletanyonein,notevenyou.Whyareyoulookingatmelike that?Yes, Ideceivedyou. I’lldeceiveanyone if Ihave to;whyshouldyoubespecial?”

“Getoutofhere,Renfri.”Shelaughed.“No,Geralt.”Shedrewhersword,quicklyandnimbly.“Renfri.”“No.Youmadeachoice.Now it’smy turn.”Withone sharpmove, she

tore the skirt from her hips and spun it in the air, wrapping the materialaroundherforearm.Geraltretreatedandraisedhishand,arranginghisfingersintheSign.

Renfrilaughedhoarsely.“Itdoesn’taffectme.Onlytheswordwill.”“Renfri,”herepeated.“Go.Ifwecrossblades,I—Iwon’tbeable—”“Iknow,” she said.“But I, I can’tdoanythingelse. I justcan’t.Weare

whatweare,youandI.”Shemovedtowardhimwitha light,swayingstep,herswordglinting in

herrighthand,herskirtdraggingalongthegroundfromherleft.Sheleapt,theskirtflutteredintheairand,veiledinitstracks,thesword

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flashed in a short, sparing cut. Geralt jumped away; the cloth didn’t evenbrush him, and Renfri’s blade slid over his diagonal parry. He attackedinstinctively,spinningtheirblades,tryingtoknockherweaponaside.Itwasamistake.Shedeflectedhisbladeandslashed,aimingforhisface.Hebarelyparried and pirouetted away, dodging her dancing blade and jumping asideagain.She fellonhim, threw the skirt intohiseyesandslashed flatly fromshortrange,spinning.Spinningwithher,heavoidedtheblow.Sheknewthetrickandturnedwithhim,theirbodiessoclosehecouldfeelthetouchofherbreathassherantheedgeacrosshischest.Hefeltatwingeofpain,ignoredit.Heturnedagain, in theoppositedirection,deflected thebladeflying towardhistemple,madeaswiftfeintandattacked.RenfrisprangawayasiftostrikefromaboveasGeraltlungedandswiftlyslashedherexposedthighandgroinfrombelowwiththeverytipofhissword.

Shedidn’tcryout.Fallingtoherside,shedroppedherswordandclutchedher thigh. Blood poured through her fingers in a bright stream over herdecoratedbelt,elk-leatherboots,andontothedirtyflagstones.Theclamoroftheswayingcrowd,crammedinthestreets,grewastheysawblood.

Geraltputuphissword.“Don’tgo…”shemoaned,curlingupinaball.Hedidn’treply.“I’m…cold…”He said nothing. Renfri moaned again, curling up tighter as her blood

flowedintothecracksbetweenthestones.“Geralt…Holdme…”Thewitcherremainedsilent.Sheturnedherhead,restinghercheekontheflagstonesandwasstill.A

fine dagger, hidden beneath her body until now, slipped from her numbfingers.

After a long moment, the witcher raised his head, hearing Stregobor’sstaff tapping against the flagstones. The wizard was approaching quickly,avoidingthecorpses.

“What slaughter,”hepanted.“I saw it,Geralt. I saw itall inmycrystalball…”

He came closer, bent over. In his trailing black robe, supported by hisstaff,helookedold.

“It’sincredible.”Heshookhishead.“Shrike’sdead.”Geraltdidn’treply.“Well,Geralt.”Thewizardstraightenedhimself.“Fetchacartandwe’ll

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takehertothetowerforanautopsy.”He looked at the witcher and, not getting any answer, leaned over the

body.Someonethewitcherdidn’tknowfoundthehiltofhisswordanddrewit.

“Touch a singlehair of her head,” said theperson thewitcher didn’t know,“touchherheadandyourswillgoflyingtotheflagstones.”

“Haveyougonemad?You’rewounded,inshock!Anautopsy’stheonlywaywecanconfirm—”

“Don’ttouchher!”Stregobor,seeingtheraisedblade,jumpedasideandwavedhisstaff.“All

right!” he shouted. “As youwish! But you’ll never know!You’ll never besure!Never,doyouhear,witcher?”

“Begone.”“Asyouwish.”Thewizard turnedaway,his staffhitting the flagstones.

“I’mreturningtoKovir.I’mnotstayinginthisholeanotherday.Comewithmeratherthanrothere.Thesepeopledon’tknowanything,they’veonlyseenyoukilling.Andyoukillnastily,Geralt.Well,areyoucoming?”

Geralt didn’t reply; he wasn’t looking at him. He put his sword away.Stregobor shruggedandwalkedaway,his staff tapping rhythmicallyagainsttheground.

Astonecameflyingfromthecrowdandclatteredagainsttheflagstones.Asecond followed, whizzing past just above Geralt’s shoulder. The witcher,holding himself straight, raised both hands and made a swift gesture withthem.Thecrowdheaved; thestonescame flyingmore thicklybut theSign,protectinghimbehindaninvisibleovalshield,pushedthemaside.

“Enough!”yelledCaldemeyn.“Bloodyhell,enoughofthat!”Thecrowdroared likeasurgeofbreakersbut thestonesstoppedflying.

Thewitcherstood,motionless.Thealdermanapproachedhim.“Is this,” he said,with a broad gesture indicating themotionless bodies

strewn across the square, “how your lesser evil looks? Is this what youbelievednecessary?”

“Yes,”repliedGeraltslowly,withaneffort.“Isyourwoundserious?”“No.”“Inthatcase,getoutofhere.”“Yes,” said the witcher. He stood a moment longer, avoiding the

alderman’seyes.Thenheturnedawayslowly,veryslowly.

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“Geralt.”Thewitcherlookedround.“Don’tcomeback,”saidCaldemeyn.“Nevercomeback.”

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THEVOICEOFREASON

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I“Let’stalk,Iola.

“I need this conversation. They say silence is golden. Maybe it is,althoughI’mnotsureit’sworththatmuch.Ithasitspricecertainly;youhavetopayforit.

“It’seasierforyou.Yesitis,don’tdenyit.You’resilentthroughchoice;you’vemadeitasacrificetoyourgoddess.Idon’tbelieveinMelitele,don’tbelieve in theexistenceofothergodseither,but I respectyourchoice,yoursacrifice. Your belief. Because your faith and sacrifice, the price you’repayingforyoursilence,willmakeyouabetter,agreaterbeing.Or,atleast,itcould.Butmyfaithlessnesscandonothing.It’spowerless.

“YouaskwhatIbelievein,inthatcase.“Ibelieveinthesword.“Asyoucansee,Icarrytwo.Everywitcherdoes.It’ssaid,spitefully,the

silveroneisformonstersandtheironforhumans.Butthat’swrong.Astherearemonsterswhichcanbestruckdownonlywithasilverblade,sotherearethoseforwhomironislethal.And,Iola,notjustanyiron,itmustcomefromameteorite.What isameteorite,youask?It’sa fallingstar.Youmusthaveseen them—short, luminous streaks in the night. You’ve probably made awishonone.Perhapsitwasonemorereasonforyoutobelieveinthegods.Forme,ameteoriteisnothingmorethanabitofmetal,primedbythesunanditsfall,metaltomakeswords.

“Yes, of course you can takemy sword. Feel how light it—No! Don’ttouchtheedge;you’llcutyourself.It’ssharperthanarazor.Ithastobe.

“Itrainineverysparemoment.Idon’tdarelosemyskill.I’vecomehere—thisfurthestcornerofthetemplegarden—tolimberup,toridmymusclesofthathideous,loathsomenumbnesswhichhascomeoverme,thiscoldnessflowing throughme.Andyou foundmehere. Funny, for a fewdays Iwastryingtofindyou.Iwanted—

“Ineedtotalk,Iola.Let’ssitdownforamoment.“Youdon’tknowmeatall,doyou?“I’mcalledGeralt.Geraltof—No.OnlyGeralt.Geraltofnowhere.I’ma

witcher.“MyhomeisKaerMorhen,Witcher’sSettlement.It’s…Itwasafortress.

Notmuchremainsofit.“KaerMorhen… That’s where the likes of me were produced. It’s not

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doneanymore;noonelivesinKaerMorhennow.NoonebutVesemir.Who’sVesemir?Myfather.Whyareyousosurprised?What’ssostrangeabout it?Everyone’sgotafather,andmineisVesemir.Andsowhatifhe’snotmyrealfather? I didn’t knowhim,ormymother. I don’t evenknow if they’re stillalive,andIdon’tmuchcare.

“Yes, KaerMorhen. I underwent the usual mutation there, through theTrialofGrasses,andthenhormones,herbs,viralinfections.Andthenthroughthemall again.Andagain, to thebitter end.Apparently, I took thechangesunusuallywell;Iwasonlyillbriefly.Iwasconsideredtobeanexceptionallyresilientbrat…andwaschosenformorecomplicatedexperimentsasaresult.Theywereworse.Muchworse.But,asyousee,Isurvived.Theonlyonetoliveoutofallthosechosenforfurthertrials.Myhair’sbeenwhiteeversince.Totallossofpigmentation.Asideeffect,astheysay.Atrifle.

“Then they taught me various things until the day when I left KaerMorhenandtooktotheroad.I’dearnedmymedallion,theSignoftheWolf’sSchool. I had two swords: silver and iron, andmy conviction, enthusiasm,incentiveand…faith.FaiththatIwasneededinaworldfullofmonstersandbeasts,toprotecttheinnocent.AsIleftKaerMorhen,Idreamedofmeetingmy first monster. I couldn’t wait to stand eye to eye with him. And themomentarrived.

“My first monster, Iola, was bald and had exceptionally rotten teeth. Icame across him on the highway where, with some fellow monsters,deserters, he’d stopped a peasant’s cart and pulled out a little girl, maybethirteenyearsold.Hiscompanionsheldherfatherwhilethebaldmantoreoffherdress,yellingitwastimeforhertomeetarealman.Irodeupandsaidthetimehad come for him, too—I thought Iwas verywitty.Thebaldmonsterreleasedthegirlandthrewhimselfatmewithanaxe.Hewasslowbuttough.Ihithimtwice—notcleancuts,butspectacular,andonlythendidhefall.Hisgangranawaywhentheysawwhatawitcher’sswordcoulddotoaman….

“AmIboringyou,Iola?“Ineedthis.Ireallydoneedit.“Wherewas I?My first noble deed.You see, they’d toldme again and

again inKaerMorhen not to get involved in such incidents, not to play atbeingknighterrantorupholdthelaw.Nottoshowoff,buttoworkformoney.AndIjoinedthisfightlikeanidiot,notfiftymilesfromthemountains.Anddoyouknowwhy?Iwantedthegirl,sobbingwithgratitude,tokisshersavioronthehands,andherfathertothankmeonhisknees.Inrealityherfatherfledwithhisattackers,andthegirl,drenchedin thebaldman’sblood, threwup,

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becamehystericalandfaintedinfearwhenIapproachedher.Sincethen,I’veonlyveryrarelyinterferedinsuchmatters.

“Ididmyjob.Iquicklylearnedhow.I’drideuptovillageenclosuresortownpicketsandwait.If theyspat,cursedandthrewstones,Irodeaway.Ifsomeonecameouttogivemeacommission,I’dcarryitout.

“Ivisitedtownsandfortresses.Ilookedforproclamationsnailedtopostsatthecrossroads.Ilookedforthewords‘Witcherurgentlyneeded.’Andthenthere’dbeasacredsite,adungeon,necropolisorruins,forestravineorgrottohiddeninthemountains,fullofbonesandstinkingcarcasses.Somecreaturewhichlivedtokill,outofhunger,forpleasure,orinvokedbysomesickwill.A manticore, wyvern, fogler, aeschna, ilyocoris, chimera, leshy, vampire,ghoul, graveir, werewolf, giant scorpion, striga, black annis, kikimora,vypper…somanyI’vekilled.There’dbeadanceinthedarkandaslashofthesword,andfearanddistasteintheeyesofmyemployerafterward.

“Mistakes?Ofcourse I’vemade them.But Ikeep tomyprinciples.No,notthecode.AlthoughIhaveattimeshiddenbehindacode.Peoplelikethat.Thosewhofollowacodeareoftenrespectedandheldinhighesteem.Butnoone’s ever compiled a witcher’s code. I inventedmine. Just like that. Andkeeptoit.Always—

“Notalways.“Therehavebeen situationswhere it seemed therewasn’t any room for

doubt.WhenIshouldsaytomyself,‘WhatdoIcare?It’snothingtodowithme.I’mawitcher.’WhenIshould listento thevoiceofreason.Tolistentomyinstinct,evenifit’sfear,ifnottowhatmyexperiencedictates.

“Ishouldhavelistenedtothevoiceofreasonthattime…“Ididn’t.“I thought Iwas choosing the lesser evil. I chose the lesser evil.Lesser

evil!I’mGeralt!Witcher…I’mtheButcherofBlaviken—“Don’ttouchme!Itmight…Youmightsee…andIdon’twantyouto.I

don’twanttoknow.Iknowmyfatewhirlsaboutmelikewaterinaweir.It’shardonmyheels,followingmytracks,butIneverlookback.

“Aloop?Yes,that’swhatNennekesensed.Whattemptedme,Iwonder,inCintra?HowcouldIhavetakensucharisksofoolishly—?

“No,no,no.Ineverlookback.I’llneverreturntoCintra.I’llavoiditliketheplague.I’llnevergobackthere.

“Heh, ifmycalculationsarecorrect, thatchildwouldhavebeenborn inMay,sometimearoundthefeastofBelleteyn.Ifthat’strue,it’saninterestingcoincidence.BecauseYenneferwasalsobornonBelleteyn’s…

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“Enoughofthis,weshouldgo.It’salreadydusk.“Thankyoufortalkingtome.Thankyou,Iola.“No,nothing’swrong.I’mfine.“Quitefine.”

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AQUESTIONOFPRICE

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IThewitcherhadaknifeathisthroat.

Hewaswallowinginawoodentub,brimfulofsoapsuds,hisheadthrownbackagainstitsslipperyrim.Thebittertasteofsoaplingeredinhismouthastheknife,bluntasadoorknob,scrapedhisAdam’sapplepainfullyandmovedtowardhischinwithagratingsound.

The barber,with the expression of an artistwho is conscious that he iscreating amasterpiece, scraped oncemore for form’s sake, thenwiped thewitcher’sfacewithapieceoflinensoakedintinctureofangelica.

Geralt stood up, allowed a servant to pour a bucket ofwater over him,shookhimselfandclimbedfromthetub,leavingwetfootmarksonthebrickfloor.

“Yourtowel,sir.”Theservantglancedcuriouslyathismedallion.“Thanks.”“Clothes,”saidHaxo.“Shirt,underpants,trousersandtunic.Andboots.”“You’vethoughtofeverything.Butcan’tIgoinmyownshoes?”“No.Beer?”“Withpleasure.”Hedressedslowly.Thetouchofsomeoneelse’scoarse,unpleasantclothes

againsthisswollenskinspoiledhisrelaxedmood.“Castellan?”“Yes,Geralt?”“Youdon’tknowwhatthisisallabout,doyou?Whytheyneedmehere?”“It’snotmybusiness,”saidHaxo,squintingattheservants.“Myjobisto

getyoudressed—”“Dressedup,youmean.”“—get you dressed and take you to the banquet, to the queen. Put the

tunicon,sir.Andhidethemedallionbeneathit.”“Mydaggerwashere.”“It isn’t anymore. It’s in a safe place, like your swords and your

possessions.Nobodycarriesarmswhereyou’regoing.”Thewitchershrugged,pullingonthetightpurpletunic.“Andwhat’sthis?”heasked,indicatingtheembroideryonthefrontofhis

outfit.“Ohyes,”saidHaxo.“Ialmostforgot.Duringthebanquet,youwillbethe

HonorableRavixofFourhorn.Asguestofhonor,youwillsitatthequeen’s

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righthand, such isherwish,and that,on the tunic, isyourcoatofarms.Abearpassant sable,damselvestedazure ridinghim,herhair looseandarmsraised.Youshouldrememberit—oneoftheguestsmighthaveathingaboutheraldry.Itoftenhappens.”

“Of course I’ll remember it,” said Geralt seriously. “And Fourhorn,where’sthat?”

“Farenough.Ready?Canwego?”“Wecan.Justtellme,Haxo,what’sthisbanquetinaidof?”“PrincessPavetta is turning fifteenand,as is thecustom,contenders for

herhandhaveturnedupintheirdozens.QueenCalanthewantshertomarrysomeone fromSkellige; an alliancewith the islanderswouldmean a lot tous.”

“Whythem?”“Thosethey’realliedwitharen’tattackedasoftenasothers.”“Agoodreason.”“And not the sole one. InCintrawomen can’t rule.KingRoegner died

some time ago and the queen doesn’t want another husband: our LadyCalantheiswiseandjust,butakingisaking.Whoevermarriestheprincesswillsiton the throne,andwewanta tough,decent fellow.Theyhave tobefoundontheislands.They’reahardnation.Let’sgo.”

Geralt stopped halfway down the gallery surrounding the small innercourtyardandlookedaround.

“Castellan,”hesaidunderhisbreath,“we’realone.Quickly,tellmewhythequeenneedsawitcher.Youofallpeoplemustknowsomething.”

“For the same reasons as everyone else,”Haxo grunted. “Cintra is justlikeanyothercountry.We’vegotwerewolvesandbasilisksandamanticorecouldbefound,too,ifyoulookedhardenough.Soawitchermightalsocomeinuseful.”

“Don’t twist my words, Castellan. I’m asking why the queen needs awitcherindisguiseasabearpassant,withhairlooseatthat,atthebanquet.”

Haxoalsolookedaround,andevenleanedoverthegallerybalustrade.“Something bad’s happening, Geralt,” he muttered. “In the castle.

Something’sfrighteningpeople.”“What?”“What usually frightens people? A monster. They say it’s small,

hunchbacked, bristling like aUrcheon. It creeps around the castle at night,rattleschains.Moansandgroansinthechambers.”

“Haveyouseenit?”

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“No,”Haxospat,“andIdon’twantto.”“You’re talking nonsense, Castellan,” grimaced the witcher. “It doesn’t

makesense.We’regoingtoanengagementfeast.WhatamIsupposedtodothere? Wait for a hunchback to jump out and groan? Without a weapon?Dresseduplikeajester?Haxo?”

“Thinkwhatyoulike,”grumbledthecastellan.“Theytoldmenottotellyou anything, but you asked. So I told you. And you tell me I’m talkingnonsense.Howcharming.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, Castellan. I was simplysurprised…”

“Stopbeingsurprised.”Haxoturnedaway,stillsulking.“Yourjobisn’ttobesurprised.AndIstronglyadviseyou,witcher,thatifthequeenordersyouto strip naked, paint your arse blue and hang yourself upside down in theentrance hall like a chandelier, you do it without surprise or hesitation.Otherwiseyoumightmeetwitha fair, amountofunpleasantness.Haveyougotthat?”

“I’vegot it.Let’sgo,Haxo.Whateverhappens, thatbath’sgivenmeanappetite.”

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IIApartfromthecurt,ceremoniousgreetingswithwhichshewelcomedhimas“LordofFourhorn,”QueenCalanthedidn’texchangeasinglewordwiththewitcher.Thebanquetwasabouttobeginandtheguests,loudlyannounedbytheherald,weregathering.

The table was huge, rectangular, and could seat more than forty men.Calanthesatattheheadofthetableonathronewithahighbackrest.Geraltsatonher rightand,onher left, agray-hairedbardcalledDrogodar,withalute.Twomorechairsat theheadofthetable,onthequeen’sleft,remainedempty.

ToGeralt’s right, along the table, satHaxo and a voivodewhose namehe’dforgotten.BeyondthemwereguestsfromtheDuchyofAttre—thesullenandsilentknightRainfarnandhischarge,thechubbytwelve-year-oldPrinceWindhalm,oneof thepretenders to theprincess’shand.FurtherdownwerethecolorfulandmotleyknightsfromCintra,andlocalvassals.

“BaronEylembertofTigg!”announcedtheherald.“Coodcoodak!” murmured Calanthe, nudging Drogodar. “This will be

fun.”A thin and whiskered, richly attired knight bowed low, but his lively,

happyeyesandcheerfulsmirkbeliedhissubservience.“Greetings, Coodcoodak,” said the queen ceremoniously.Obviously the

baronwasbetterknownbyhisnicknamethanbyhis familyname.“Wearehappytoseeyou.”

“AndIamhappytobe invited,”declaredCoodcoodak,andsighed.“Ohwell,I’llcastaneyeontheprincess,ifyoupermit,myqueen.It’shardtolivealone,ma’am.”

“Aye, Coodcoodak.” Calanthe smiled faintly, wrapping a lock of hairaroundherfinger.“Butyou’realreadymarried,aswewellknow.”

“Aaahh.”Thebaronwasmiffed.“Youknowyourself,ma’am,howweakanddelicatemywife is,andsmallpox is rife in theneighborhood. IbetmybeltandswordagainstapairofoldslippersthatinayearI’llalreadybeoutofmourning.”

“Poorman,Coodcoodak.But lucky, too.”Calanthe’s smile grewwider.“Luckyyourwifeisn’tstronger.Ihearthatlastharvest,whenshecaughtyouin the haystack with a strumpet, she chased you for almost a mile with apitchforkbutcouldn’tcatchyou.Youhavetofeedherbetter,cuddlehermore

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andtakecarethatherbackdoesn’tgetcoldduringthenight.Then,inayear,you’llseehowmuchbettersheis.”

Coodcoodakpretendedtogrowdoleful.“Itakeyourpoint.ButcanIstayforthefeast?”

“We’dbedelighted,Baron.”“ThelegationfromSkellige!”shoutedtheherald,becomingincreasingly

hoarse.Theislanders—fourofthem,inshinyleatherdoubletstrimmedwithseal

fur and belted with checkered woolen sashes—strode in with a sprightly,hollowstep.Theywereledbyasinewywarriorwithadarkfaceandaquilinenoseand,athisside,abroad-shoulderedyouthwithamopofredhair.Theyallbowedbeforethequeen.

“Itisagreathonor,”saidCalanthe,alittleflushed,“towelcomesuchanexcellentknightasEistTuirseachofSkelligetomycastleagain.Ifitweren’tfor yourwell-known disdain formarriage, I’d be delighted to think you’reheretocourtmyPavetta.Haslonelinessgotthebetterofyouafterall,sir?”

“Often enough, beautiful Calanthe,” replied the dark-faced islander,raisinghisglisteningeyestothequeen.“Butmylifeistoodangerousformetocontemplatealastingunion.Ifitweren’tforthat…Pavettaisstillayounggirl,anunopenedbud,butIcansee…”

“Seewhat?”“Theappledoesnotfallfarfromthetree.”EistTuirseachsmiled,flashing

hiswhiteteeth.“Sufficeittolookatyou,myqueen,toknowhowbeautifultheprincesswillbewhenshereachestheageatwhichawomancanpleaseawarrior.Inthemeantime,itisyoungmenwhooughttocourther.SuchasourKingBran’snephewhere,CrachanCraite,whotraveledhereforexactlythatpurpose.”

Crach,bowinghisredhead,kneltononekneebeforethequeen.“Whoelsehaveyoubrought,Eist?”A thickset, robustmanwith a bushybeard, and a strapping fellowwith

bagpipesonhisback,kneltbyCrachanCraite.“ThisisthegallantdruidMousesack,who,likeme,isagoodfriendand

advisor to King Bran. And this is Draig Bon-Dhu, our famous skald. AndthirtyseamenfromSkelligearewaitinginthecourtyard,burningwithhopetocatchaglimpseofthebeautifulCalantheofCintra.”

“Sitdown,nobleguests.Tuirseach,sir,sithere.”Eisttookthevacantseatatthenarrowerendofthetable,onlyseparated

fromthequeenbyDrogodarandanemptychair.Theremainingislanderssat

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together on the left, betweenMarshalVissegerd and the three sonsofLordStrept,Tinglant,FodcatandWieldhill.

“That’smore or less everyone.” The queen leaned over to themarshal.“Let’sbegin,Vissegerd.”

Themarshalclappedhishands.Theservants,carryingplattersand jugs,movedtowardthetableinalongline,greetedbyajoyfulmurmurfromtheguests.

Calanthebarelyate, reluctantlypickingat themorsels servedherwithasilver fork.Drogodar, havingbolted his food, kept strumminghis lute.Therestoftheguests,ontheotherhand,laidwastetotheroastpiglets,birds,fishand mollusks on offer—with the red-haired Crach an Craite in the lead.Rainfarn of Attre reprimanded the young Prince Windhalm severely, evenslappinghis handwhenhe reached for a jug of cider.Coodcoodak stoppedpicking bones for amoment and entertained his neighbors by imitating thewhistleofamudturtle.Theatmospheregrewmerrierbytheminute.Thefirsttoastswerebeingraised,andalreadybecominglessandlesscoherent.

Calanthe adjusted the narrow golden circlet on her curled ash-gray hairandturnedtoGeralt,whowasbusycrackingopenahugeredlobster.

“It’s loud enough that we can exchange a fewwords discreetly. Let usstartwithcourtesies:I’mpleasedtomeetyou.”

“Thepleasure’smutual,yourMajesty.”“Afterthecourtesiescomehardfacts.I’vegotajobforyou.”“So I gathered. I’m rarely invited to feasts for the pleasure of my

company.”“You’reprobablynotveryinterestingcompany,then.Whatelsehaveyou

gathered?”“I’lltellyouwhenyou’veoutlinedmytask,yourMajesty.”“Geralt,” said Calanthe, her fingers tapping an emerald necklace, the

smallest stoneofwhichwas the sizeof abumblebee, “what sortof taskdoyouexpect,asawitcher?What?Diggingawell?Repairingaholeintheroof?WeavingatapestryofallthepositionsKingVridankandthebeautifulCerrotried on their wedding night? Surely you know what your profession’sabout?”

“Yes,Ido.I’lltellyouwhatI’vegathered,yourMajesty.”“I’mcurious.”“Igatheredthat.Andthat,likemanyothers,you’vemistakenmytradefor

analtogetherdifferentprofession.”“Oh?” Calanthe, casually leaning toward the lute-strumming Drogodar,

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gavetheimpressionofbeingpensiveandabsent.“Who,Geralt,makesupthisignoranthordewithwhomyouequateme?Andforwhatprofessiondothosefoolsmistakeyourtrade?”

“YourMajesty,”saidGeraltcalmly,“while Iwas riding toCintra, Imetvillagers,merchants, peddlers, dwarves, tinkers andwoodcutters. They toldmeaboutablackanniswhohasitshideoutsomewhereinthesewoods,alittlehouse on a chicken-claw tripod. Theymentioned a chimera nestling in themountains.Aeschnesandcentipedeanomorphs.Apparentlyamanticorecouldalso be found if you look hard enough. So many tasks a witcher couldperformwithout having to dress up in someone else’s feathers and coat ofarms.”

“Youdidn’tanswermyquestion.”“Your Majesty, I don’t doubt that a marriage alliance with Skellige is

necessaryforCintra.It’spossible,too,thattheschemerswhowanttopreventitdeservealesson—usingmeanswhichdon’tinvolveyou.It’sconvenientifthislessonweretobegivenbyanunknownlordfromFourhorn,whowouldthen disappear from the scene. And now I’ll answer your question. Youmistakemytradeforthatofahiredkiller.Thoseothers,ofwhomtherearesomany,arerulers. It’snot thefirst timeI’vebeencalled toacourtwhere theproblemsdemandthequicksolutionsofasword.ButI’veneverkilledpeopleformoney, regardless ofwhether it’s for a goodor bad cause.And I neverwill.”

Theatmosphereatthetablewasgrowingmoreandmorelivelyasthebeerdiminished.Thered-hairedCrachanCraitefoundappreciativelistenerstohistaleofthebattleatThwyth.Havingsketchedamaponthetablewiththehelpof meat bones dipped in sauce, hemarked out the strategic plan, shoutingloudly. Coodcoodak, proving how apt his nicknamewas, suddenly cackledlike a very real sitting hen, creating general mirth among the guests, andconsternationamong the servantswhowereconvinced that abird,mockingtheir vigilance, had somehowmanaged tomake itsway from the courtyardintothehall.

“Thusfatehaspunishedmewithtooshrewdawitcher.”Calanthesmiled,buthereyeswerenarrowedandangry.“Awitcherwho,withoutashadowofrespector, at thevery least,of commoncourtesy, exposesmy intriguesandinfamous plans. But hasn’t fascination with my beauty and charmingpersonalitycloudedyour judgment?Don’t everdo that again,Geralt.Don’tspeaktothoseinpowerlikethat.Fewofthemwouldforgetyourwords,andyou know kings—they have all sorts of things at their disposal: daggers,

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poisons, dungeons, red-hot pokers. There are hundreds, thousands, ofwayskingscanavengetheirwoundedpride.Andyouwouldn’tbelievehoweasyitis,Geralt, towoundsomerulers’pride.Rarelywillanyof themtakewordssuchas‘No,’‘Iwon’t,’and‘Never’calmly.Butthat’snothing.Interruptoneofthemormakeinappropriatecomments,andyou’llcondemnyourselftothewheel.”

Thequeenclaspedhernarrowwhitehandstogetherandlightlyrestedherchinonthem.Geraltdidn’tinterrupt,nordidhecomment.

“Kings,” continuedCalanthe, “divide people into two categories—thosetheyorder around, and those theybuy—because theyadhere to theoldandbanal truth that everyone can be bought. Everyone. It’s only a question ofprice.Don’tyouagree?Ah, Idon’tneed toask.You’reawitcher,afterall;youdoyourjobandtakethemoney.Asfarasyou’reconcerned,theideaofbeingboughthaslostitsscornfulundertone.Thequestionofyourprice,too,isclear,relatedasitistothedifficultyofthetaskandhowwellyouexecuteit.Andyourfame,Geralt.Oldmenatfairsandmarketssingoftheexploitsofthewhite-hairedwitcher fromRivia. If evenhalf of it is true, then Iwageryourservicesarenotcheap.Soitwouldbeawasteofmoneytoengageyouinsuch simple, tritematters as palace intrigue ormurder. Those can be dealtwithbyother,cheaperhands.”

“BRAAAK! Ghaaa-braaak!” roared Coodcoodak suddenly, to loudapplause.Geralt didn’t knowwhich animal hewas imitating, but he didn’twant to meet anything like it. He turned his head and caught the queen’svenomouslygreenglance.Drogodar,hisloweredheadandfaceconcealedbyMscurtainofgrayhair,quietlystrummedhislute.

“Ah, Geralt,” said Calanthe, with a gesture forbidding a servant fromrefillinghergoblet.“Ispeakandyouremainsilent.We’reata feast.Weallwant to enjoy ourselves. Amuse me. I’m starting to miss your pertinentremarksandperceptivecomments.I’dalsobepleasedtohearacomplimentor two, homage or assurance of your obedience. In whichever order youchoose.”

“Oh well, your Majesty,” said the witcher, “I’m not a very interestingdinnercompanion.I’mamazedtobesingledoutforthehonorofoccupyingthis place. Indeed, someone far more appropriate should have been seatedhere.Anyone youwished. Itwould have sufficed for you to give them theorder,ortobuythem.It’sonlyaquestionofprice.”

“Go on, go on.”Calanthe tilted her head back and closed her eyes, thesemblanceofapleasantsmileonherlips.

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“So I’m honored and proud to be sitting byQueenCalanthe of Cintra,whose beauty is surpassed only by her wisdom. I also regard it as a greathonorthat thequeenhasheardofmeandthat,onthebasisofwhatshehasheard, does not wish to use me for trivial matters. Last winter PrinceHrobarik,notbeingsogracious,triedtohiremetofindabeautywho,sickofhis vulgar advances, had fled the ball, losing a slipper. It was difficult toconvincehimthatheneededahuntsman,andnotawitcher.”

Thequeenwaslisteningwithanenigmaticsmile.“Other rulers, too, unequal to you in wisdom, didn’t refrain from

proposingtrivialtasks.Itwasusuallyaquestionofthemurderofastepson,stepfather,stepmother,uncle,aunt—it’shardtomentionthemall.Theywerealloftheopinionthatitwassimplyaquestionofprice.”

Thequeen’ssmilecouldhavemeantanything.“AndsoI repeat”—Geraltbowedhisheada little—“that Ican’tcontain

mypridetobesittingnexttoyou,ma’am.Andpridemeansaverygreatdealto us witchers. You wouldn’t believe how much. A lord once offended awitcher’spridebyproposingajobthatwasn’tinkeepingwitheitherhonororthewitcher’scode.What’smore,hedidn’tacceptapoliterefusalandwishedto prevent thewitcher from leaving his castle. Afterward, everyone agreedthiswasn’toneofhisbestideas.”

“Geralt,” said Calanthe, after a moment’s silence, “you were wrong.You’reaveryinterestingdinnercompanion.”

Coodcoodak, shaking beer froth from his whiskers and the front of hisjacket,cranedhisneckandgavethepenetratinghowlofashe-wolf inheat.Thedogsinthecourtyard,andtheentireneighborhood,echoedthehowl.

OneofthebrothersfromStreptdippedhisfingerinhisbeerandtouchedupthethicklinearoundtheformationdrawnbyCrachanCraite.

“Error and incompetence!”he shouted. “They shouldn’thavedone that!Here, toward thewing, that’s where they should have directed the cavalry,strucktheflanks!”

“Ha!” roared Crach an Craite, whacking the table with a bone andsplattering his neighbors’ faces and tunicswith sauce. “And soweaken thecenter?Akeyposition?Ludicrous!”

“Only someone who’s blind or sick in the head would miss theopportunitytomaneuverinasituationlikethat!”

“That’sit!Quiteright!”shoutedWindhalmofAttre.“Who’saskingyou,youlittlesnot?”“Snotyourself!”

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“ShutyourgoborI’llwallopyou—”“Sit on your arse and keep quiet, Crach,” called Eist Tuirseach,

interrupting his conversation with Vissegerd. “Enough of these arguments.Drogodar, sir!Don’twaste your talent! Indeed, your beautiful though quiettunesshouldbelistenedtowithgreaterconcentrationandgravity.DraigBon-Dhu, stop scoffing and guzzling!You’re not going to impress anyone herelike that. Pump up your bagpipes and delight our ears with decent martialmusic.Withyourpermission,nobleCalanthe!”

“Ohmotherofmine,”whisperedthequeentoGeralt,raisinghereyestothevaultforamomentinsilentresignation.Butshenoddedherpermission,smilingopenlyandkindly.

“DraigBon-Dhu,”saidEist,“playusthesongofthebattleofHochebuz.Itwon’tleaveusinanydoubtastothetacticalmaneuversofcommanders—or as to who acquired immortal fame there! To the health of the heroicCalantheofCintra!”

“The health!And glory!” the guests roared, emptying their goblets andclaycups.

DraigBon-Dhu’s bagpipes gave out an ominous drone and burst into aterrible,drawn-out,modulatedwail.Thegueststookupthesong,beatingoutarhythmonthetablewithwhatevercametohand.Coodcoodakwasstaringavidlyatthegoat-leathersack,captivatedbytheideaofadoptingitsdreadfultonesinhisownrepertoire.

“Hochebuz,”saidCalante,lookingatGeralt,“myfirstbattle.AlthoughIfearrousingtheindignationandcontemptofsuchaproudwitcher,Iconfessthatwewerefightingformoney.Ourenemywasburningvillageswhichpaidus levies and we, greedy for our tributes, challenged them on the field. Atrivialreason,atrivialbattle,atrivialthreethousandcorpsespeckedtopiecesby thecrows.And look—insteadofbeingashamedI’mproudasapeacockthatsongsaresungaboutme.Evenwhensungtosuchawfulmusic.”

Again she summoned her parody of a smile full of happiness andkindness, and answered the toast raised to her by lifting her own, empty,goblet.Geraltremainedsilent.

“Let’s go on.” Calanthe accepted a pheasant leg offered to her byDrogodarandpickedatitgracefully.“AsIsaid,you’vearousedmyinterest.I’vebeentoldthatwitchersareaninterestingcaste,butIdidn’treallybelieveit.NowIdo.Whenhit,yougiveanotewhichshowsyou’refashionedofpuresteel, unlike thesemenmolded from bird shit.Which doesn’t, in anyway,change the fact thatyou’rehere toexecutea task.Andyou’lldo itwithout

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beingsoclever.”Geralt didn’t smile disrespectfully or nastily, although he very much

wantedto.Heheldhissilence.“I thought,”murmured thequeen,appearing togiveher fullattention to

thepheasant’sthigh,“thatyou’dsaysomething.Orsmile.No?Allthebetter.CanIconsiderournegotiationsconcluded?”

“Uncleartasks,”saidthewitcherdryly,“can’tbeclearlyexecuted.”“What’sunclear?Youdid,afterall,guesscorrectly.Ihaveplansregarding

amarriagealliancewithSkellige.Theseplansarethreatened,andIneedyoutoeliminatethethreat.Buthereyourshrewdnessends.ThesuppositionthatImistake your trade for that of a hired thug has piquedme greatly. Accept,Geralt, that I belong to that select group of rulerswho know exactlywhatwitchers do, and how they ought to be employed. On the other hand, ifsomeone kills as efficiently as you do, even though not for money, heshouldn’tbesurprised ifpeoplecredithimwithbeingaprofessional in thatfield.Yourfamerunsaheadofyou,Geralt;it’slouderthanDraigBon-Dhu’saccursedbagpipes,andthereareequallyfewpleasantnotesinit.”

Thebagpipeplayer,althoughhecouldn’thearthequeen’swords,finishedhis concert. The guests rewarded him with an uproarious ovation anddedicated themselves with renewed zeal to the remains of the banquet,recallingbattlesandmaking rude jokesaboutwomenfolk.Coodcoodakwasmakingaseriesofloudnoises,buttherewasnowaytotellifthesewereyetanotheranimalimitation,oranattempttorelievehisoverloadedstomach.

EistTuirseachleanedfaracrossthetable.“YourMajesty,”hesaid,“therearegood reasons, I amsure, foryourdedication to the lord fromFourhorn,butit’shightimewesawPrincessPavetta.Whatarewewaitingfor?SurelynotforCrachanCraitetogetdrunk?Andeventhatmomentisalmosthere.”

“You’rerightasusual,Eist.”Calanthesmiledwarmly.Geraltwasamazedbyherarsenalofsmiles.“Indeed,IdohaveimportantmatterstodiscusswiththeHonorableRavix. I’lldedicate some time toyou too,butyouknowmyprinciple:dutythenpleasure.Haxo!”

She raised her hand and beckoned the castellan. Haxo rose without aword,bowed,andquicklyranupstairs,disappearingintothedarkgallery.Thequeenturnedtothewitcher.

“You heard?We’ve been debating for too long. If Pavetta has stoppedpreening in front of the lookingglass, she’ll be here presently. SoprickupyourearsbecauseIwon’trepeatthis.Iwanttoachievetheendswhich,toacertaindegree,youhaveguessed.Therecanbenoothersolution.Asforyou,

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youhaveachoice.Youcanbeforcedtoactbymycommand—Idon’twishtodwell on the consequences of disobedience, although obedience will begenerouslyrewarded—oryoucanrendermeapaidservice.NotethatIdidn’tsay“Icanbuyyou,’becauseI’vedecidednottooffendyourwitcher’spride.There’sahugedifference,isn’tthere?”

“Themagnitudeofthisdifferencehassomehowescapedmynotice.”‘Thenpaygreaterattention.Thedifference,mydearwitcher, is thatone

who is bought is paid according to the buyer’s whim, whereas one whorendersaservicesetshisownprice.Isthatclear?”

“Toacertainextent.Let’ssay,then,thatIchoosetoserve.SurelyIshouldknowwhatthatentails?”

“No.Only a commandhas tobe specific andexplicit.Apaid service isdifferent. I’m interested in the results, nothingmore.Howyouachieve it isyourbusiness.”

Geralt, raising his head, met Mousesack’s penetrating black gaze. Thedruid of Skellige,without taking his eyes from thewitcher,was crumblingbreadinhishandsanddroppingitasiflostinthought.Geraltlookeddown.Thereontheoaktable,crumbs,grainsofbuckwheatandfragmentsoflobstershellweremovinglikeants.Theywereformingruneswhichjoinedup—foramoment—intoaword.Aquestion.

Mousesack waited without taking his eyes off him. Geralt, almostimperceptibly,nodded.Thedruidloweredhiseyelidsand,withastonyface,swipedthecrumbsoffthetable.

“Honorablegentlemen!”calledtheherald.“PavettaofCintra!”Theguestsgrewsilent,turningtothestairs.Precededby thecastellanandafair-hairedpage inascarletdoublet, the

princess descended slowly, her head lowered. The color of her hair wasidentical tohermother’s—ash-gray—but shewore itbraided into two thickplaitswhichreachedbelowherwaist.Pavettawasadornedonlywithatiaraornamentedwith a delicatelyworked jewel and a belt of tiny golden linkswhichgirdedherlongsilvery-bluedressatthehips.

Escorted by the page, herald, castellan and Vissegerd, the princessoccupiedtheemptychairbetweenDrogodarandEistTuirseach.Theknightlyislanderimmediatelyfilledhergobletandentertainedherwithconversation.Geralt didn’t notice her answer with more than a word. Her eyes werepermanently lowered, hidden behind her long lashes even during the noisytoasts raised to her around the table. There was no doubt her beauty hadimpressedtheguests—CrachanCraitestoppedshoutingandstaredatPavetta

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in silence, even forgetting his tankard of beer.WindhalmofAttrewas alsodevouringtheprincesswithhiseyes,flushingshadesofredasthoughonlyafew grains in the hourglass separated them from their wedding night.CoodcoodakandthebrothersfromStreptwerestudyingthegirl’spetiteface,too,withsuspiciousconcentration.

“Aha,” said Calanthe quietly, clearly pleased. “And what do you say,Geralt?Thegirlhastakenafterhermother.It’sevenashametowasteheronthat red-haired lout, Crach. The only hope is that the pupmight grow intosomeonewithEistTuirseach’s class. It’s the sameblood, after all.Areyoulistening, Geralt? Cintra has to form an alliance with Skellige because theinterestof the statedemands it.Mydaughterhas tomarry the rightperson.Thosearetheresultsyoumustensureme.”

“Ihavetoensurethat?Isn’tyourwillalonesufficientforittohappen?”“Eventsmighttakesuchaturnthatitwon’tbesufficient.”“Whatcanbestrongerthanyourwill?”“Destiny.”“Aha.SoI,apoorwitcher,amtofacedownadestinywhichisstronger

thantheroyalwill.Awitcherfightingdestiny!Whatirony!”“Yes,Geralt?Whatirony?”“Nevermind.YourMajesty,itseemstheserviceyoudemandborderson

theimpossible.”“If it bordered on the possible,” Calanthe drawled, “I wouldmanage it

myself. I wouldn’t need the famous Geralt of Rivia. Stop being so clever.Everythingcanbedealtwith—it’sonlyaquestionofprice.Bloodyhell,theremust be a figure on your witchers’ pricelist for work that borders on theimpossible.Icanguessone,anditisn’tlow.YouensurememyoutcomeandIwillgiveyouwhatyouask.”

“Whatdidyousay?”“I’llgiveyouwhateveryouaskfor.AndIdon’tlikebeingtoldtorepeat

myself. Iwonder,witcher,doyoualways try todissuadeyouremployersasstronglyasyouareme?Timeisslippingaway.Answer,yesorno?”

“Yes.”“That’sbetter.That’sbetter,Geralt.Youranswersaremuchclosertothe

ideal.They’rebecomingmorelikethoseIexpectwhenIaskaquestion.So.Discreetlystretchyourlefthandoutandfeelbehindmythrone.”

Geralt slipped his hand under the yellow-blue drapery. Almostimmediately he felt a sword secured to the leather-upholstered backrest. Aswordwell-knowntohim.

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“YourMajesty,”he saidquietly, “not to repeatwhat I said earlier aboutkillingpeople,youdorealizethataswordalonewillnotdefeatdestiny?”

“Ido.”Calanthe turnedherheadaway.“Awitcher isalsonecessary.Asyousee,Itookcareofthat.”

“YourMaje—”“Notanotherword,Geralt.We’vebeenconspiringfor too long.They’re

lookingatus,andEistisgettingangry.Talktothecastellan.Havesomethingtoeat.Drink,butnottoomuch.Iwantyoutohaveasteadyhand.”

Heobeyed.ThequeenjoinedaconversationbetweenEist,VissegerdandMousesack,withPavetta’ssilentanddreamyparticipation.Drogodarhadputaway his lute and was making up for his lost eating time. Haxo wasn’ttalkative. The voivode with the hard-to-remember name, who must haveheard somethingabout theaffairs andproblemsofFourhorn,politelyaskedwhetherthemareswerefoalingwell.Geraltansweredyes,muchbetterthanthestallions.Hewasn’tsureifthejokehadbeenwelltaken,butthevoivodedidn’taskanymorequestions.

Mousesack’seyesconstantlysoughtthewitcher’s,butthecrumbsonthetabledidn’tmoveagain.

Crach an Craite was becoming more and more friendly with the twobrothers fromStrept. The third, the youngest brother,was paralytic, havingtriedtomatchthedrinkingspeedimposedbyDraigBon-Dhu.Theskaldhademergedfromitunscathed.

The younger and less important lords gathered at the end of the table,tipsy, started singing a well-known song—out of tune—about a little goatwithhornsandavengefuloldwomanwithnosenseofhumor.

Acurly-hairedservantandacaptainof theguardswearing thegoldandblueofCintra ranup toVissegerd.Themarshal, frowning, listened to theirreport,rose,andleaneddownfrombehindthethronetomurmursomethingtothe queen. Calanthe glanced at Geralt and answered with a single word.Vissegerdleanedoverevenfurtherandwhisperedsomethingmore;thequeenlookedathimsharplyand,withoutaword,slappedherarmrestwithanopenpalm. The marshal bowed and passed the command to the captain of theguards. Geralt didn’t hear it but he did notice that Mousesack wriggleduneasilyandglancedatPavetta—theprincesswassittingmotionless,herheadlowered.

Heavy footsteps, each accompanied by the clang of metal striking thefloor,couldbeheardover thehumat the table.Everyoneraised theirheadsandturned.

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The approaching figure was clad in armor of iron sheets and leathertreatedwithwax.Hisconvex,angular,blackandbluebreastplateoverlappedasegmentedapronandshortthighpads.Thearmor-platedbrassardsbristledwithsharp,steelspikesandthevisor,withitsdenselygratedscreenextendingout in the shape of a dog’smuzzle,was coveredwith spikes like a conkercasing.

Clatteringandgrinding,thestrangeguestapproachedthetableandstoodmotionlessinfrontofthethrone.

“Noblequeen,honorablegentlemen,”saidthenewcomer,bowingstiffly.“Please forgiveme for disruptingyour ceremonious feast. I amUrcheonofErlenwald.”

“Greetings, Urcheon of Erlenwald,” said Calanthe slowly. “Please takeyourplaceatthetable.InCintrawewelcomeeveryguest.”

“Thankyou,yourMajesty.”UrcheonofErlenwaldbowedonceagainandtouchedhischestwithafistcladinanirongauntlet.“ButIhaven’tcometoCintra as a guest but on amatter of great importance and urgency. If yourMajesty permits, Iwill presentmy case immediately,withoutwasting yourtime.”

“UrcheonofErlenwald,”saidthequeensharply,“apraiseworthyconcernaboutourtimedoesnotjustifylackofrespect.Andsuchisyourspeakingtousfrombehindanirontrellis.Removeyourhelmet,andwe’llendurethetimewastedwhileyoudo.”

“My face, yourMajesty,must remain hidden for the time being. “Withyourpermission.”

An angry ripple, punctuated here and there with the odd curse, ranthrough the gathered crowd.Mousesack, lowering his head,moved his lipssilently.Thewitcherfeltthespellelectrifytheairforasecond,feltitstirhismedallion. Calanthe was looking at Urcheon, narrowing her eyes anddrummingherfingersonherarmrest.

“Granted,” she said finally. “I choose to believe your motive issufficientlyimportant.So—whatbringsyouhere,Urcheon-without-a-face?”

“Thankyou,”saidthenewcomer.“ButI’munabletosuffertheaccusationoflackingrespect,soIexplainthatitisamatterofaknight’svows.Iamnotallowedtorevealmyfacebeforemidnightstrikes.”

Calanthe, raising her hand perfunctorily, accepted his explanation.Urcheonadvanced,hisspikedarmorclanging.

“Fifteenyears ago,”heannounced loudly, “yourhusbandKingRoegnerlost his way while hunting in Erlenwald. Wandering around the pathless

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tracts,hefellfromhishorseintoaravineandsprainedhisleg.Helayatthebottomofthegullyandcalledforhelpbuttheonlyanswerhegotwasthehissofvipers and thehowlingof approachingwerewolves.Hewouldhavediedwithoutthehelphereceived.”

“Iknowwhathappened,”thequeenaffirmed.“Ifyouknowit,too,thenIguessyouaretheonewhohelpedhim.”

“Yes.Itisonlybecauseofmehereturnedtoyouinonepiece,andwell.”“Iamgratefultoyou,then,UrcheonofErlenwald.Thatgratitudeisnone

thelesserfor thefact thatRoegner,gentlemanofmyheartandbed,has leftthisworld.Tellme,iftheimplicationthatyouraidwasnotdisinteresteddoesnotoffendanotherofyourknightlyvows,howIcanexpressmygratitude.”

“Youwellknowmyaidwasnotdisinterested.Youknow,too,thatIhavecometocollectthepromisedrewardforsavingtheking’slife.”

“Oh yes?” Calanthe smiled but green sparks lit up her eyes. “So youfoundamanatthebottomofaravine,defenseless,wounded,atthemercyofvipersandmonsters.Andonlywhenhepromisedyouarewarddidyouhelp?Andifhedidn’twanttoorcouldn’tpromiseyousomething,you’dhavelefthimthere,and,tothisday,Iwouldn’tknowwherehisboneslay?Hownoble.No doubt your actionswere guided by a particularly chivalrous vow at thetime.”

Themurmuraroundthehallgrewlouder.“And todayyoucome foryour reward,Urcheon?”continued thequeen,

smiling even more ominously. “After fifteen years? No doubt you arecounting the interestaccruedover thisperiod?This isn’t thedwarves’bank,Urcheon. You say Roegner promised you a reward? Ah, well, it will bedifficulttogethimtopayyou.Itwouldbesimplertosendyoutohim,intothe other world, to reach an agreement over who owes what. I loved myhusbandtoodearly,Urcheon,toforgetthatIcouldhavelosthimthen,fifteenyearsago,ifhehadn’tchosentobargainwithyou.Thethoughtofitarousesrather-ill feeling toward you.Masked newcomer, do you know that here inCintra, inmycastle and inmypower, youare just ashelpless andclose todeath as Roegner was then, at the bottom of the ravine? What will youpropose,whatprice,whatrewardwillyouoffer, if Ipromiseyouwill leaveherealive?”

The medallion on Geralt’s neck twitched. The witcher caughtMousesack’s clearly uneasy gaze.He shook his head a little and raised hiseyebrows questioningly. The druid also shook his head and, with a barelyperceptiblemoveofhiscurlybeard,indicatedUrcheon.Geraltwasn’tsure.

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“Yourwords,yourMajesty,” calledUrcheon, “are calculated to frightenme, to kindle the anger of the honorable gentlemen gathered here, and thecontempt of your pretty daughter, Pavetta. But above all, your words areuntrue.Andyouknowit!”

“You accuse me of lying like a dog.” An ugly grimace crept acrossCalanthe’slips.

“Youknowverywell,yourMajesty,”thenewcomercontinuedadamantly,“whathappenedtheninErlenwald.YouknowRoegner,oncesaved,vowedofhisownwilltogivemewhateverIaskedfor.Icalluponeveryonetowitnessmy words! When the king, rescued from his misadventure, reached hisretinue,heaskedmewhatIdemandedandIanswered.Iaskedhimtopromisemewhateverhehadleftathomewithoutknowingorexpectingit.Thekingsworeitwouldbeso,andonhisreturntothecastlehefoundyou,Calanthe,inlabor.Yes,yourMajesty,Iwaitedforfifteenyearsandtheinterestonmyrewardhasgrown.TodayIlookatthebeautifulPavettaandseethatthewaithasbeenworthit!Gentlemenandknights!SomeofyouhavecometoCintratoask for theprincess’shand.Youhavecome invain.From thedayofherbirth, by the power of the royal oath, the beautifulPavetta has belonged tome!”

Anuproarburst forthamong theguests.Someshouted, someoneswore,someone else thumped his fist on the table and knocked the dishes over.WieldhillofStreptpulledaknifeoutof the roast lambandwaved itabout.CrachanCraite,bentover,wasclearlytryingtobreakaplankfromthetabletrestle.

“That’sunheardof!”yelledVissegerd.“Whatproofdoyouhave?Proof?”“Thequeen’sface,”exclaimedUrcheon,extendinghishand,“isthebest

proof!”Pavetta satmotionless, not raising her head. The airwas growing thick

withsomethingverystrange.Thewitcher’smedallionwastearingatitschainunder the tunic. He saw the queen summon a page and whisper a shortcommand.Geraltcouldn’thearit,buthewaspuzzledbythesurpriseontheboy’s face and the fact that the commandhad tobe repeated.Thepage rantowardtheexit.

TheuproaratthetablecontinuedasEistTuirseachturnedtothequeen.“Calanthe,”hesaidcalmly,“iswhathesaystrue?”“And if it is,” the queenmuttered throughher teeth, bitingher lips and

pickingatthegreensashonhershoulder,“sowhat?”“Ifwhathesaysis true”—Eistfrowned—“thenthepromisewillhaveto

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bekept.”“Isthatso?”“Or am I to understand,” the islander asked grimly, “that you treat all

promisesthislightly,includingthosewhichhaveetchedthemselvessodeeplyinmymemory?”

Geralt,whohadneverexpectedtoseeCalantheblushdeeply,withtearsinhereyesandtremblinglips,wassurprised.

“Eist,”whisperedthequeen,“thisisdifferent—”“Isit,really?”“Oh,yousonofabitch!”CrachanCraiteyelledunexpectedly, jumping

up.“ThelastfoolwhosaidI’dactedinvainwaspinchedapartbycrabsatthebottom of Allenker bay! I didn’t sail here from Skellig to return empty-handed!Asuitorhasturnedup,somesonofa trollop!Someonebringmeaswordandgivethatidiotsomeiron!We’llsoonseewho—”

“Maybeyoucouldjustshutup,Crach?”Eistsnappedscathingly,restingboth fists on the table. “Draig Bon-Dhu! I render you responsible for hisfuturebehavior!”

“Andareyougoing tosilenceme, too,Tuirseach?”shoutedRainfarnofAttre,standingup.“Whoisgoingtostopmefromwashingtheinsultthrownatmyprinceawaywithblood?Andhisson,Windhalm,theonlymanworthyof Pavetta’s hand and bed! Bring the swords! I’ll show that Urcheon, orwhateverhe’scalled,howweofAttretakerevengeforsuchabuse!Iwonderwhetheranybodyoranythingcanholdmeback?”

“Yes. Regard for goodmanners,” said Eist Tuirseach calmly. “It is notpropertostartafighthereorchallengeanyonewithoutpermissionfromtheladyofthehouse.Whatisthis?IsthethroneroomofCintraaninnwhereyoucan punch each other’s heads and stab each otherwith knives as the fancytakesyou?”

Everybodystartedtoshoutagain,tocurseandswearandwavetheirarmsabout. But the uproar suddenly stopped, as if cut by a knife, at the short,furiousroarofanenragedbison.

“Yes,” said Coodcoodak, clearing his throat and rising from his chair.“Eisthasitwrong.Thisdoesn’tevenlooklikeaninnanymore.It’smorelikeazoo,soabisonshouldbeathomehere.HonorableCalanthe,allowme tooffermyopinion.”

“Agreatmanypeople,Isee,”saidCalantheinadrawlingvoice,“haveanopinion on this problem and are offering it even without my permission.Strange that you aren’t interested inmine?And inmyopinion, this bloody

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castlewillsoonercollapseonmyheadthanIgivemyPavettatothiscrank.Ihaven’ttheleastintention—”

“Roegner’soath—”Urcheonbegan,butthequeensilencedhim,banginghergoldengobletonthetable.

“Roegner’soathmeansaboutasmuchtomeaslastyear’ssnows!Andasfor you,Urcheon, I haven’t decidedwhether to allowCrach orRainfarn tomeet you outside, or to simply hang you. You’re greatly influencing mydecisionwithyourinterruption!”

Geralt, still disturbed by the way his medallion was quivering, lookedaround the hall. Suddenly he saw Pavetta’s eyes, emerald green like hermother’s.Theprincesswasnolongerhidingthembeneathherlonglashes—she swept them from Mousesack to the witcher, ignoring the others.Mousesack,bentover,waswrigglingandmutteringsomething.

Coodcoodak,stillstanding,clearedhisthroatmeaningfully.“Speak.”Thequeennodded.“Butbebrief.”“As you command, your Majesty. Noble Calanthe and you, knights!

Indeed, Urcheon of Erlenwald made a strange request of King Roegner, astrangerewardtodemandwhenthekingofferedhimhiswish.Butletusnotpretendwe’veneverheardofsuchrequests,oftheLawofSurprise,asoldashumanity itself.Of the price amanwho saves another can demand, of thegrantingofaseeminglyimpossiblewish.‘Youwillgivemethefirstthingthatcomes to greet you.’ Itmight be a dog, you’ll say, a halberdier at the gate,even amother-in-law impatient to holler at her son-in-lawwhen he returnshome.Or:‘You’llgivemewhatyoufindathomeyetdon’texpect.’Afteralongjourney,honorablegentlemen,andanunexpectedreturn,thiscouldbealover in thewife’s bed. But sometimes it’s a child.A childmarked out bydestiny.”

“Briefly,Coodcoodak.”Calanthefrowned.“Asyoucommand.Sirs!Haveyounotheardofchildrenmarkedoutby

destiny?Wasnotthelegendaryhero,ZatretVoruta,giventothedwarvesasachildbecausehewasthefirstpersonhisfathermetonhisreturn?AndMadDei,whodemandedatravelergivehimwhatheleftathomewithoutknowingit?ThatsurprisewasthefamousSupree,wholaterliberatedMadDei”fromthe cursewhichweighed him down. Remember Zivelena,who became theQueen of Metinna with the help of the gnome Rumplestelt, and in returnpromised him her firstborn? Zivelena didn’t keep her promise whenRumplesteltcameforhisrewardand,byusingspells,sheforcedhimtorunaway.Notlongafter that,bothsheandthechilddiedof theplague.Youdo

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notdicewithDestinywithimpunity!”“Don’t threaten me, Coodcoodak.” Calanthe grimaced. “Midnight is

close, the time for ghosts.Can you remember anymore legends fromyourundoubtedlydifficultchildhood?Ifnot,thensitdown.”

“IaskyourGrace”—thebaronturneduphislongwhiskers—“toallowmeto remain standing. I’d like to remind everybody of another legend. It’s anold,forgottenlegend—we’veallprobablyhearditinourdifficultchildhoods.Inthislegend,thekingskepttheirpromises.Andwe,poorvassals,areonlyboundtokingsbytheroyalword:treaties,alliances,ourprivilegesandfiefsallrelyonit.Andnow?Arewetodoubtall this?Doubttheinviolabilityoftheking’sword?Waituntilitisworthasmuchasyesteryear’ssnow?Ifthisishow things are to be, then a difficult old age awaits us after our difficultchildhoods!”

“Whosesideareyouon,Coodcoodak?”holleredRainfarnofAttre.“Silence!Lethimspeak!”“Thiscackler,fullofhotair,insultsherMajesty!”“TheBaronofTiggisright!”“Silence,”Calanthesaidsuddenly,gettingup.“Lethimfinish.”“Ithankyougraciously.”Coodcoodakbowed.“ButIhavejustfinished.”Silencefell,strangeafterthecommotionhiswordshadcaused.Calanthe

wasstillstanding.Geraltdidn’tthinkanyoneelsehadnoticedherhandshakeasshewipedherbrow.

“My lords,” she said finally, “you deserve an explanation. Yes, this…Urcheon…speaksthetruth.Roegnerdidsweartogivehimthatwhichhedidnotexpect. It looksas ifour lamentedkingwasanoafas farasawoman’saffairsareconcerned,andcouldn’tbetrustedtocounttonine.Heconfessedthe truth on his deathbed, because he knew what I’d do to him if he’dadmitted it earlier. He knewwhat amother, whose child is disposed of sorecklessly,iscapableof.”

Theknightsandmagnatesremainedsilent.Urcheonstoodmotionless,likeaspiked,ironstatue.

“And Coodcoodak,” continued Calanthe, “well, Coodcoodak hasremindedmethatIamnotamotherbutaqueen.Verywell,then.Asqueen,Ishall convenea council tomorrow.Cintra isnot a tyranny.Thecouncilwilldecidewhetheradeadking’soathistodecidethefateofthesuccessortothethrone.ItwilldecidewhetherPavettaandthethroneofCintraaretobegivento a stranger, or to act according to the kingdom’s interest.” Calanthe wassilentforamoment,lookingaskanceatGeralt.“Andasforthenobleknights

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whohavecometoCintrainthehopeoftheprincess’shand…Itonlyremainsforme to expressmy deep regret at the cruel disrespect and dishonor theyhaveexperiencedhere,attheridiculepouredonthem.Iamnottoblame.”

Amid thehumofvoiceswhich rumbled through theguests, thewitchermanagedtopickoutEistTuirseach’swhisper.

“Onallthegodsofthesea,”sighedtheislander.“Thisisn’tbefitting.Thisisopenincitementtobloodshed.Calanthe,you’resimplysettingthemagainsteachother—”

“Bequiet,Eist,”hissedthequeenfuriously,“becauseI’llgetangry.”Mousesack’s black eyes flashed as—with a glance—the druid indicated

RainfarnofAttrewho,withagloomy,grimacingface,waspreparingtostand.Geraltreactedimmediately,standingupfirstandbangingthechairnoisily.

“Maybe it will prove unnecessary to convene the council,” he said inringingtones.

Everyone grew silent, watching him with astonishment. Geralt feltPavetta’s emerald eyes on him, he felt Urcheon’s gaze fall on him frombehindthelatticeofhisblackvisor,andhefelttheForcesurginglikeaflood-waveandsolidifyingintheair.Hesawhow,undertheinfluenceofthisForce,thesmokefromthetorchesandoil lampswastakingonfantasticforms.HeknewthatMousesacksawittoo.Healsoknewthatnobodyelsesawit.

“I said,”he repeatedcalmly,“thatconvening thecouncilmaynotprovenecessary.YouunderstandwhatIhaveinmind,UrcheonofErlenwald?”

Thespikedknighttooktwogratingstepsforward.“Ido,”hesaid,hiswordshollowbeneathhishelmet.“Itwouldtakeafool

not tounderstand. Iheardwhat themercifulandnoble ladyCalanthesaidamomentago.Shehas foundanexcellentwayofgetting ridofme. I acceptyourchallenge,knightunknowntome!”

“Idon’trecallchallengingyou,”saidGeralt.“Idon’tintendtoduelyou,UrcheonofErlenwald.”

“Geralt!” called Calanthe, twisting her lips and forgetting to call thewitcherRavix,“don’toverdoit!Don’tputmypatiencetothetest!”

“Ormine,”addedRainfarnominously.CrachanCraitegrowled,andEistTuirseach meaningfully showed him a clenched fist. Crach growled evenlouder.

“Everyone heard,” spoke Geralt, “Baron Tigg tell us about the famousheroestakenfromtheirparentsonthestrengthofthesameoaththatUrcheonreceivedfromKingRoegner.Butwhyshouldanyonewantsuchanoath?Youknow the answer,UrcheonofErlenwald. It creates apowerful, indissoluble

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tieofdestinybetweenthepersondemandingtheoathanditsobject,thechild-surprise.Suchachild,markedbyblindfate,canbedestinedforextraordinarythings. It can play an incredibly important role in the life of the person towhom fate has tied it. That is why,Urcheon, you demanded the prize youclaimtoday.Youdon’twantthethroneofCintra.Youwanttheprincess.”

“It is exactly as you say, knight unknown tome.”Urcheon laughedoutloud.“ThatisexactlywhatIclaim!Givemetheonewhoismydestiny!”

“That,”saidGeralt,“willhavetobeproved.”“You dare doubt it? After the queen confirmed the truth ofmywords?

Afterwhatyou’vejustsaid?”“Yes.Becauseyoudidn’t telluseverything.Roegnerknewthepowerof

the Law of Surprise and the gravity of the oath he took. And he took itbecause he knew law and customhave a powerwhich protects such oaths,ensuring they are only fulfilledwhen the force of destiny confirms them. Ideclare,Urcheon,thatyouhavenorighttotheprincessasyet.Youwillwinheronlywhen—”

“Whenwhat?”“Whentheprincessherselfagreestoleavewithyou.ThisiswhattheLaw

ofSurprise states. It is thechild’s,not theparent’s,consentwhichconfirmstheoath,whichprovesthat thechildwasbornunder theshadowofdestiny.That’swhyyoureturnedafterfifteenyears,Urcheon,andthat’stheconditionKingRoegnerstipulatedinhisoath.”

“Whoareyou?”“IamGeraltofRivia.”“Whoareyou,GeraltofRivia,toclaimtobeanoracleinmattersoflaws

andcustoms?”“Heknowsthislawbetterthananyoneelse,”Mouse-sacksaidinahoarse

voice,“becauseitappliedtohimonce.Hewastakenfromhishomebecausehewaswhathisfatherhadn’texpectedtofindonhisreturn.Becausehewasdestinedforotherthings.Andbythepowerofdestinyhebecamewhatheis.”

“Andwhatishe?”“Awitcher.”In the silence that reigned, the guardhouse bell struck, announcing

midnight in a dull tone. Everyone shuddered and raised their heads.MousesackwatchedGeraltwith surprise.But itwasUrcheonwho flinchedmostnoticeablyandmoveduneasily.Hishands,cladintheirarmorgauntlets,felltohissideslifelessly,andthespikedhelmetswayedunsteadily.

Thestrange,unknownForcesuddenlygrewthicker,fillingthehalllikea

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graymist.“It’s true,”saidCalanthe.“Geralt,presenthere, isawitcher.Histradeis

worthy of respect and esteem.He has sacrificed himself to protect us frommonstersandnightmaresborninthenight,thosesentbypowersominousandharmfultoman.Hekillsthehorrorsandmonstersthatawaitusintheforestsand ravines. And those which have the audacity to enter our dwellings.”Urcheonwassilent.“Andso,”continuedthequeen,raisingherringedhand,“letthelawbefulfilled,lettheoathwhichyou,UrcheonofErlenwald,insistshould be satisfied, be satisfied.Midnight has struck. Your vow no longerbindsyou.Liftyourvisor.Beforemydaughterexpressesherwill,beforeshedecidesherdestiny,letherseeyourface.Weallwishtoseeyourface.”

Urcheon of Erlenwald slowly raised his armored hand, pulled at thehelmet’sfastenings,grabbeditbytheironhornandthrewitagainstthefloorwith a crash. Someone shouted, someone swore, someone sucked in theirbreathwithawhistle.On thequeen’s faceappearedawicked,verywicked,smile.Acruelsmileoftriumph.

Abovethewide,semi-circularbreastplate,twobulbous,black,buttoneyeslooked out. Eyes set to either side of a blunt, elongatedmuzzle covered inreddish bristles and full of sharp white fangs. Urcheon’s head and neckbristledwithabrushofshort,gray,twitchingprickles.

“ThisishowIlook,”spokethecreature,“whichyouwellknew,Calanthe.Roegner, in telling you of his oath, wouldn’t have omitted describing me.UrcheonofErlenwaldtowhom—despitemyappearance—Roegnersworehisoath.Youpreparedwellformyarrival,queen.Yourownvassalshavepointedout your haughty and contemptuous refusal to keepRoegner’sword.Whenyour attempt to set the other suitors onme didn’t succeed, you still had akillerwitcherinreserve,readyatyourrighthand.Andfinally,common,lowdeceit.Youwanted tohumiliateme,Calanthe.Know that it isyourselfyouhavehumiliated!”

“Enough.” Calanthe stood up and rested her clenched fist on her hip.“Let’sputanendtothis.Pavetta!Youseewho,orratherwhat,isstandinginfront of you, claiming you for himself. In accordance with the Law ofSurprise andeternal custom, thedecision isyours.Answer.Oneword fromyou is enough. Yes, and you become the property, the conquest, of thismonster.No,andyouwillneverhavetoseehimagain.”

The Force pulsating in the hall was squeezing Geralt’s temples like anironvice,buzzinginhisears,makingthehaironhisneckstandonend.Thewitcher lookedatMousesack’swhiteningknuckles, clenchedat the edgeof

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the table. At the trickle of sweat running down the queen’s cheek. At thebreadcrumbsonthetable,movinglikeinsects,formingrunes,dispersingandagaingatheringintooneword:CAREFUL!

“Pavetta!”Calantherepeated.“Answer.Doyouchoosetoleavewiththiscreature?”

Pavettaraisedherhead.“Yes.”TheForcefillingthehallechoedher,rumblinghollowlyinthearchesof

thevault.Noone,absolutelynoone,madetheslightestsound.Calantheveryslowlycollapsedintoherthrone.Herfacewascompletely

expressionless.“Everyoneheard,”Urcheon’scalmvoiceresoundedinthesilence.“You,

too,Calanthe.Asdidyou,witcher,cunning,hiredthug.Myrightshavebeenestablished. Truth and destiny have triumphed over lies and deviousness.Whatdoyouhaveleft,noblequeen,disguisedwitcher?Coldsteel?”Nooneanswered. “I’d like to leavewithPavetta immediately,” continuedUrcheon,hisbristlesstirringashesnappedhisjawshut,“butIwon’tdenymyselfonesmallpleasure. It isyou,Calanthe,whowill leadyourdaughterhere tomeandplaceherwhitehandinmine.”

Calanthe slowly turned her head in the witcher’s direction. Her eyesexpressedacommand.Geraltdidn’tmove,sensingthattheForcecondensingin the airwas concentratedonhim.Onlyonhim.Nowheunderstood.Thequeen’seyesnarrowed,herlipsquivered…

“What?!What’s this?” yelled Crach an Craite, jumping up. “Herwhitehand?Inhis?Theprincesswiththisbristlystinker?Withthis…pig’ssnout?”

“And I wanted to fight him like a knight!” Rainfarn chimed in. “Thishorror,thisbeast!Loosethedogsonhim!Thedogs!”

“Guards!”criedCalanthe.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,DraigBon-Dhu,without a thought,whacked the back of his headwith hisbagpipes, as hard as he could. Crach dropped onto the table between asturgeon in gray sauce and the few remaining arched ribs of a roast boar.Rainfarn leapt toward Urcheon, flashing a dagger drawn from his sleeve.Coodcoodak, springing up, kicked a stool under his feet which Rainfarnjumped agilely, but amoment’s delaywas enough—Urcheon deceived himwitha short feintand forcedhim tohiskneeswithamightyblowfromhisarmored fist. Coodcoodak fell to snatch the dagger from Rainfarn but wasstoppedbyPrinceWindhalm,whoclungtohisthighlikeabloodhound.

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Guards, armed with guisarmes and lances, ran in from the entrance.Calanthe, upright and threatening, with an authoritative, abrupt gestureindicatedUrcheonto them.Pavettastarted toshout,EistTuirseachtocurse.Everyonejumpedup,notquiteknowingwhattodo.

“Killhim!”shoutedthequeen.Urcheon,huffingangrilyandbaringhisfangs,turnedtofacetheattacking

guards.Hewasunarmedbutcladinspikedsteel,fromwhichthepointsoftheguisarmesbouncedwith a clang.But theblowsknockedhimback, straightontoRainfarn,whowasjustgettingupandimmobilizedhimbygrabbinghislegs. Urcheon let out a roar and, with his iron elbow-guards, deflected thebladesaimedathishead.Rainfarnjabbedhimwithhisdaggerbutthebladeslidoffthebreastplate.Theguards,crossingtheirspear-shafts,pinnedhimtothesculptedchimney.Rainfarn,whowashangingontohisbelt,foundachinkinthearmoranddugthedaggerintoit.Urcheoncurledup.

“Dunyyyyyyy!”Pavettashrilledasshejumpedontothechair.The witcher, sword in hand, sprang onto the table and ran toward the

fightingmen,knockingplates,dishesandgobletsallovertheplace.Heknewthere wasn’t much time. Pavetta’s cries were sounding more and moreunnatural.Rainfarnwasraisinghisdaggertostabagain.

Geralt cut, springing from the table into a crouch. Rainfarnwailed andstaggered to the wall. The witcher spun and, with the center of his blade,slashedaguardwhowastryingtodigthesharptongueofhislancebetweenUrcheon’sapronandbreastplate.Theguardtumbledtotheground,losinghishelmet.Moreguardscamerunninginfromtheentrance.

“This is not befitting!” roared Eist Tuirseach, grabbing a chair. Heshattered the unwieldly piece of furniture against the floorwith great forceand, with what remained his hand, threw himself at those advancing onUrcheon.

Urcheon,caughtbytwoguisarmehooksatthesametime,collapsedwithaclang,criedoutandhuffedashewasdraggedalongthefloor.AthirdguardraisedhislancetostabdownandGeraltcuthiminthetemplewiththepointofhissword.ThosedraggingUrcheonsteppedbackquickly,throwingdowntheirguisarmes,whilethoseapproachingfromtheentrancebackedawayfromtheremnantsofchairbrandishedbyEistlikethemagicswordBalmurinthehandofthelegendaryZatretaVoruta.

Pavetta’s cries reached a peak and suddenly broke off. Geralt, sensingwhatwasabouttohappen,felltothefloorwatchingforagreenishflash.Hefelt an excruciating pain in his ears, heard a terrible crash and a horrifying

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wailrippedfromnumerousthroats.Andthentheprincess’seven,monotonousandvibratingcry.

Thetable,scatteringdishesandfoodallaround,wasrisingandspinning;heavy chairs were flying around the hall and shattering against the walls;tapestries andhangingswere flapping, raising cloudsof dust.Cries and thedrycrackofguisarmeshaftssnappinglikestickscamefromtheentrance.

Thethrone,withCalanthesittingonit,sprangupandflewacrossthehalllikeanarrow,smashingintothewallwithacrashandfallingapart.Thequeenslidtothefloorlikearaggedpuppet.EistTuirseach,barelyonhisfeet,threwhimself toward her, took her in his arms and sheltered her from the hailpeltingagainstthewallsandfloorwithhisbody.

Geralt,graspingthemedallioninhishand,slitheredasquicklyashecouldtowardMousesack,miraculously still on his knees,whowas lifting a shorthawthornwandwith a rat’s skull affixed to the tip.On thewall behind thedruid,atapestrydepictingthesiegeandfireofFortressOrtagarwasburningwithveryrealflames.

Pavetta wailed. Turning round and round, she lashed everything andeverybody with her cries as if with a whip. Anyone who tried to standtumbledtothegroundorwasflattenedagainstthewall.Anenormoussilversauceboat in the shapeof amany-oaredvesselwith anupturnedbowcamewhistling through the air in front of Geralt’s eyes and knocked down thevoivodewith thehard-to-remembername just as hewas trying to dodge it.Plaster rained down silently as the table rotated beneath the ceiling, withCrachanCraiteflattenedonitandthrowingdownvilecurses.

Geralt crawled toMousesack and they hid behind the heap formed byFodcatofStrept,abarrelofbeer,Drogodar,achairandDrogodar’slute.

“It’spure,primordialForce!”thedruidyelledovertheracketandclatter.“She’sgotnocontroloverit!”

“Iknow!”Geraltyelledback.Aroastpheasantwithafewstripedfeathersstillstuckinitsrump,fellfromnowhereandthumpedhimintheback.

“Shehastoberestrained!Thewallsarestartingtocrack!”“Icansee!”“Ready?”“Yes!”“One!Two!Now!”They both hit her simultaneously, Geralt with the Sign of Aard and

Mousesackwith a terrible, three-staged cursepowerful enough tomake thefloormelt.The chair onwhich the princesswas standing disintegrated into

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splinters. Pavetta barely noticed—she hung in the air within a transparentgreensphere.Withoutceasingtoshout,sheturnedherheadtowardthemandherpetitefaceshrunkintoasinistergrimace.

“Byallthedemons—!”roaredMousesack.“Careful!”shoutedthewitcher,curlingup.“Blockher,Mousesack!Block

herorit’stheendofus!”The table thudded heavily to the ground, shattering its trestle and

everything beneath it. Crach an Craite, who was lying on the table, wasthrownintotheair.Aheavyrainofplatesandremnantsoffoodfell;crystalcarafes exploded as they hit the ground. The cornice broke away from thewall,rumblinglikethunder,makingthefloorsofthecastlequake.

“Everything’s letting go!” Mousesack shouted, aiming his wand at theprincess.“ThewholeForceisgoingtofallonus!”

Geralt,with ablowofhis sword, deflected ahugedouble-pronged forkwhichwasflyingstraightatthedruid.

“Blockit,Mousesack!”Emeraldeyessenttwoflashesofgreenlightningatthem.Theycoiledinto

blinding, whirling funnels from the centers of which the Force—like abattering ramwhich exploded the skull, put out the eyes and paralyzed thebreath—descended on them. Together with the Force, glass, majolica,platters, candlesticks, bones, nibbled loaves of bread, planks, slats andsmolderingfirewoodfromthehearthpouredoverthem.Cryingwildlylikeagreatcapercaillie,CastellanHaxoflewovertheirheads.TheenormousheadofaboiledcarpsplatteredagainstGeralt’schest,onthebearpassantsableanddamselofFourhorn.

ThroughMousesack’s wall-shattering curses, through his own shoutingandthewailingofthewounded,thedin,clatterandracket,throughPavetta’swailing,thewitchersuddenlyheardthemostterriblesound.

Coodcoodak,onhisknees,wasstranglingDraigBon-Dhu’sbagpipeswithhishands,while,withhisheadthrownback,heshoutedover themonstroussounds emerging from the bag, wailed and roared, cackled and croaked,bawled and squawked in a cacophony of sounds made by all known,unknown,domestic,wildandmythicalanimals.

Pavetta fell silent, horrified, and looked at the baron with her mouthagape.TheForceeasedoffabruptly.

“Now!”yelledMousesack,wavinghiswand.“Now,witcher!”They hit her. The greenish sphere surrounding the princess burst under

theirblow likea soapbubbleand thevacuum instantly sucked in theForce

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ragingthroughtheroom.Pavettafloppedheavilytothegroundandstartedtoweep.

Afterthepandemonium,amoment’ssilencerangintheirears;then,withdifficulty, laboriously, voices started to break through the rubble anddestruction,throughthebrokenfurnitureandtheinertbodies.

“Cuachoparse,ghoulybadraighmalancuach,”spatCrachanCraite,sprayingbloodfromhisbittenlip.

“Control yourself, Crach,” said Mousesack with effort, shakingbuckwheatfromhisfront.“Therearewomenpresent.”

“Calanthe.Mybeloved.MyCalanthe!”EistTuirseachsaidinthepausesbetweenkisses.

Thequeenopenedhereyesbutdidn’ttrytofreeherselffromhisembrace.“Eist.Peoplearewatching,”shesaid.“Letthemwatch.”“Would somebody care to explain what that was?” asked Marshal

Vissegerd,crawlingfrombeneathafallentapestry.“No,”saidthewitcher.“Adoctor!”WindhalmofAttre,leaningoverRainfarn,shoutedshrilly.“Water!”Wieldhill, one of the brothers from Strept, called, stifling the

smolderingtapestrywithhisjacket.“Water,quickly!”“Andbeer!”Coodcoodakcroaked.A few knights, still able to stand, were trying to lift Pavetta, but she

pushedtheirhandsaside,gotuponherownand,unsteadily,walkedtowardthe hearth. There, with his back resting against the wall, sat Urcheon,awkwardlytryingtoremovehisblood-smearedarmor.

“The youth of today,” snorted Mousesack, looking in their direction.“Theystartearly!They’veonlygotonethingontheirminds.”

“What’sthat?”“Didn’t you know, witcher, that a virgin, that is one who’s untouched,

wouldn’tbeabletousetheForce?”“Tohellwithhervirginity,”mutteredGeralt.“Wheredidshegetsucha

giftanyway?NeitherCalanthenorRoegner—”“She inherited it,missingageneration, andnomistake,” said thedruid.

“Her grandmother, Adalia, could raise a drawbridge with a twitch of hereyebrows.Hey,Geralt,lookatthat!Shestillhasn’thadenough!”

Calanthe, supported by Eist Tuirseach’s arm, indicated the woundedUrcheon to the guards. Geralt and Mousesack approached quickly butunnecessarily. The guards recoiled from the semi-reclining figure and,

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whisperingandmuttering,backedaway.Urcheon’smonstroussnoutsoftened,blurredandwasbeginningtoloseits

contours.Thespikesandbristlesrippledandbecameblack,shiny,wavyhairandabeardwhichborderedapale,angular,masculineface,dominatedbyaprominentnose.

“What…”stammeredEistTuirseach.“Who’sthat?Urcheon?”“Duny,”saidPavettasoftly.Calantheturnedawaywithpursedlips.“Cursed?”murmuredEist.“Buthow—”“Midnight has struck,” said the witcher. “Just thisminute. The bell we

heardbeforewasearly.Thebell-ringer’smistake.AmIright,Calanthe?”“Right, right,” groaned the man called Duny, answering instead of the

queen, who had no intention of replying anyway. “But maybe instead ofstanding there talking, someone could help me with this armor and call adoctor.ThatmadmanRainfarnstabbedmeundertheribs.”

“Whatdoweneedadoctorfor?”saidMousesack,takingouthiswand.“Enough.”Calanthestraightenedandraisedherheadproudly.“Enoughof

this.Whenall this isover, Iwant toseeyou inmychamber.Allofyou,asyoustand.Eist,Pavetta,Mousesack,Geraltandyou…Duny.Mousesack?”

“Yes,yourMajesty.”“Thatwandofyours…I’vebruisedmybackbone.Andthereabouts.”“Atyourcommand,yourMajesty.”

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III“…acurse,”continuedDuny,rubbinghistemple.“Sincebirth.Ineverfoundareasonforit,orwhodidittome.Frommidnighttodawn,anordinaryman,fromdawn…yousawwhat.Akerspaark,myfather,wantedtohideit.PeoplearesuperstitiousinMaecht;spellsandcursesintheroyalfamilycouldprovefatalforthedynasty.Oneofmyfather’sknightstookmeawayfromcourtandbroughtmeup.Thetwoofuswanderedaroundtheworld—theknighterrantandhissquire,andlater,whenhedied,I journeyedalone.Ican’trememberwhotoldmethatachild-surprisecouldfreemefromthecurse.Notlongafterthat,ImetRoegner.Therestyouknow.”

“Therestweknow,orcanguess.”Calanthenodded.“Especiallythatyoudidn’t wait the fifteen years agreed upon with Roegner but turned mydaughter’sheadbeforethat.Pavetta!Sincewhen?”

Theprincessloweredherheadandraisedafinger.“There.You little sorceress.Right undermynose!Letme just find out

wholethimintothecastleatnight!Letmeattheladies-in-waitingyouwentgatheringprimroseswith.Primroses,dammit!Well,whatamItodowithyounow?”

“Calanthe—”beganEist.“Hold on, Tuirseach. I haven’t finished yet. Duny, thematter’s become

verycomplicated.You’vebeenwithPavettaforayearnow,andwhat?Andnothing.Soyounegotiatedtheoathfromthewrongfather.Destinyhasmadeafoolofyou.Whatirony,asGeraltofRivia,presenthere,iswonttosay.”

“Tohellwithdestiny,oaths and irony.”Dunygrimaced. “I lovePavettaand she lovesme; that’s all that counts.You can’t stand in theway of ourhappiness.”

“I can, Duny, I can, and how.” Calanthe smiled one of her unfailingsmiles.“You’reluckyIdon’twantto.Ihaveacertaindebttowardyou,Duny.I’dmadeupmymind…Ioughttoaskyourforgiveness,butIhatedoingthat.SoI’mgivingyouPavettaandwe’llbequits.Pavetta?Youhaven’tchangedyourmind,haveyou?”

Theprincessshookherheadeagerly.“Thankyou,yourMajesty.Thankyou.”Dunysmiled.“You’reawiseand

generousqueen.”“OfcourseIam.Andbeautiful.”“Andbeautiful.”

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“You can both stay in Cintra if you wish. The people here are lesssuperstitious than the inhabitants of Maecht and adjust to things quicker.Besides, even asUrcheon youwere quite pleasant.But you can’t count onhavingthethronejustyet.IintendtoreignalittlelongerbesidethenewkingofCintra.ThenobleEistTuirseachofSkelligehasmademeaveryinterestingproposition.”

“Calanthe—”“Yes, Eist, I accept. I’ve never before listened to a confession of love

whilelyingontheflooramidstfragmentsofmyownthronebut…Howdidyouputit,Duny?ThisisallthatcountsandIdon’tadviseanyonetostandinthewayofmyhappiness.Andyou,whatareyoustaringat?I’mnotasoldasyouthink.”

“Today’syouth,”mutteredMousesack.“Theappledoesn’tfallfar—”“Whatareyoumuttering,sorcerer?”“Nothing,ma’am.”“Good. While we’re at it, I’ve got a proposition for you, Mousesack.

Pavetta’sgoingtoneedateacher.Sheoughttolearnhowtousehergift.Ilikethis castle, and I’d prefer it to remain standing. It might fall apart at mytalenteddaughter’snextattackofhysteria.Howaboutit,Druid?”

“I’mhonored.”“I think”—the queen turned her head toward the window—it’s dawn.

Timeto—”ShesuddenlyturnedtowherePavettaandDunywerewhisperingtoeach

other,holdinghands,theirforeheadsallbuttouching.“Duny!”“Yes,yourMajesty?”“Doyouhear?It’sdawn!It’salreadylight.Andyou…”GeraltglancedatMousesackandbothstartedlaughing.“Andwhyareyousohappy,sorcerers?Can’tyousee—?”“Wecan,wecan,”Geraltassuredher.“Wewerewaitinguntilyousawforyourself,”snortedMousesack.“Iwas

wonderingwhenyou’dcatchon.”“Towhat?”“That you’ve lifted the curse. It’s youwho’s lifted it,” said thewitcher.

“Themomentyousaid‘I’mgivingyouPavetta,’destinywasfulfilled.”“Exactly,”confirmedthedruid.“Oh gods,” said Duny slowly. “So, finally. Damn, I thought I’d be

happier, that some sort of trumpets would play or… Force of habit. Your

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Majesty!Thankyou.Pavetta,doyouhear?”“Mhm,”saidtheprincesswithoutraisinghereyes.“Andso,” sighedCalanthe, lookingatGeraltwith tiredeyes,“all’swell

that ends well. Don’t you agree, witcher? The curse has been lifted, twoweddingsareontheirway,it’lltakeaboutamonthtorepairthethrone-room,there are fourdead, countlesswoundedandRain-farnofAttre ishalf-dead.Let’s celebrate. Do you know, witcher, that there was a moment when Iwantedtohaveyou—”

“Iknow.”“ButnowIhavetodoyoujustice.Idemandedaresultandgotone.Cintra

isalliedtoSkellige.Mydaughter’smarryingtherightman.ForamomentIthoughtallthiswouldhavebeenfulfilledaccordingtodestinyanyway,evenifIhadn’thadyoubroughtinforthefeastandsatyounexttome.ButIwaswrong. Rainfarn’s dagger could have changed destiny. And Rainfarn wasstopped by a sword held by a witcher. You’ve done an honest job, Geralt.Nowit’saquestionofprice.Tellmewhatyouwant.”

“Holdon,”saidDuny,fingeringhisbandagedside.“Aquestionofprice,yousay.ItisIwhoamindebt;it’suptome—”

“Don’tinterrupt.”Calanthenarrowedhereyes.“Yourmother-in-lawhatesbeing interrupted.Remember that.Andyou shouldknow thatyou’renot inany debt. It so happens that you were the subject of my agreement withGeralt.Isaidwe’requitsandIdon’tseethesenseofmyhavingtoendlesslyapologizetoyouforit.Buttheagreementstillbindsme.Well,Geralt.Yourprice.”

“Verywell,”saidthewitcher.“Iaskforyourgreensash,Calanthe.MayitalwaysremindmeofthecoloroftheeyesofthemostbeautifulqueenIhaveeverknown.”

Calanthelaughed,andunfastenedheremeraldnecklace.“This trinket,” she said, “has stones of the right hue. Keep it, and the

memory.”“MayIspeak?”askedDunymodestly.“Butofcourse,son-in-law,pleasedo,pleasedo.”“IstillsayIaminyourdebt,witcher.ItismylifethatRainfarn’sdagger

endangered.Iwouldhavebeenbeatentodeathbytheguardswithoutyou.Ifthere’s talk of a price, then I should be the one to pay. I assure you I canaffordit.Whatdoyouask,Geralt?”

“Duny,”saidGeraltslowly,“awitcherwhoisaskedsuchaquestionhastoasktohaveitrepeated.”

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“Irepeat, therefore.Because,yousee,Iaminyourdebtforstillanotherreason.When I foundoutwhoyouwere, there in thehall, I hatedyouandthought very badly of you. I took you for a blind, bloodthirsty tool, forsomeonewhokillscoldlyandwithoutquestion,whowipeshisbladecleanofblood and counts the cash. But I’ve become convinced that the witcher’sprofessionisworthyofrespect.Youprotectusnotonlyfromtheevillurkingin thedarkness,butalsofromthatwhich lieswithinourselves. It’sashametherearesofewofyou.”

Calanthesmiled.Forthefirsttimethatnight,Geraltwasinclinedtobelieveitwasgenuine.“Myson-in-lawhasspokenwell.Ihavetoaddtwowordstowhathesaid.

Preciselytwo.Forgive,Geralt.”“AndI,”saidDuny,“askagain.Whatdoyouaskfor?”“Duny,” said Geralt seriously, “Calanthe, Pavetta. And you, righteous

knight Tuirseach, future king of Cintra. In order to become a witcher, youhave to be born in the shadow of destiny, and very few are born like that.That’swhytherearesofewofus.We’regrowingold,dying,withoutanyonetopassourknowledge,ourgifts,onto.Welacksuccessors.AndthisworldisfullofEvilwhichwaitsforthedaynoneofusareleft.”

“Geralt,”whisperedCalanthe.“Yes,you’renotwrong,queen.Duny!Youwillgiveme thatwhichyou

alreadyhavebutdonotknow.I’llreturntoCintrainsixyearstoseeifdestinyhasbeenkindtome.”

“Pavetta.”Dunyopenedhiseyeswide.“Surelyyou’renot—”“Pavetta!”exclaimedCalanthe.“Areyou…areyou—?”Theprincessloweredhereyesandblushed.Thenreplied.

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THEVOICEOFREASON

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I“Geralt!Hey!Areyouthere?”

Heraisedhisheadfromthecoarse,yellowedpagesofTheHistoryoftheWorldbyRoderickdeNovembre,aninterestingifcontroversialworkwhichhehadbeenstudyingsincethepreviousday.

“Yes,Iam.What’shappened,Nenneke?Doyouneedme?”“You’vegotaguest.”“Again?Who’sitthistime?DukeHerewardhimself?”“No. It’sDandilion this time,your fellow.That idler,parasiteandgood-

for-nothing, that priest of art, the bright-shining star of the ballad and lovepoem.As usual, he’s radiantwith fame, puffed up like a pig’s bladder andstinkingofbeer.Doyouwanttoseehim?”

“Ofcourse.He’smyfriend,afterall.”Nenneke, peeved, shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t understand that

friendship.He’syourabsoluteopposite.”“Oppositesattract.”“Obviously. There, he’s coming.” She indicated with her head. “Your

famouspoet.”“He really is a famouspoet,Nenneke.Surelyyou’renotgoing toclaim

you’veneverheardhisballads.”“I’veheardthem.”Thepriestesswinced.“Yes,indeed.Well,Idon’tknow

much about it, but maybe the ability to jump from touching lyricism toobscenities so easily is a talent.Nevermind. Forgiveme, but Iwon’t keepyoucompany.I’mnotinthemoodforeitherhispoetryorhisvulgarjokes.”

Apealoflaughterandthestrummingofaluteresoundedinthecorridorandthere,onthethresholdofthelibrary,stoodDandilioninalilacjerkinwithlacecuffs,hishataskew.ThetroubadourbowedexaggeratedlyatthesightofNenneke,theheronfeatherpinnedtohishatsweepingthefloor.

“Mydeepestrespects,venerablemother,”hewhinedstupidly.“PraisebetheGreatMeliteleandherpriestesses,thespringsofvirtueandwisdom—”

“Stoptalkingbullshit,”snortedNenneke.“Anddon’tcallmemother.Theveryideathatyoucouldbemysonfillsmewithhorror.”

Sheturnedonherheelandleft,hertrailingroberustling.Dandilion,apingher,sketchedaparodybow.

“Shehasn’tchangedabit,”hesaidcheerfully.“Shestillcan’ttakeajoke.She’s furious because I chatted a bit to the gatekeeper when I got here, a

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prettyblondewithlonglashesandavirgin’splaitreachingdowntohercutelittlebottom,whichitwouldbeasinnottopinch.SoIdidandNenneke,whohadjustarrived…Ah,whatthedeuce.Greetings,Geralt.”

“Greetings,Dandilion.HowdidyouknowIwashere?”The poet straightened himself and yanked his trousers up. “I was in

Wyzim,” he said. “I heard about the striga, and that you were wounded. Iguessed where you would come to recuperate. I see you’re well now, areyou?”

“Youseecorrectly,buttryexplainingthattoNenneke.Sit,let’stalk.”Dandilion sat andpeeped into thebook lyingon the lectern. “History?”

He smiled. “Roderick de Novembre? I’ve read him, I have. History wassecondonmylistoffavoritesubjectswhenIwasstudyingattheAcademyinOxenfurt.”

“Whatwasfirst?”“Geography,” said the poet seriously. “The atlaswas bigger and it was

easiertohideademijohnofvodkabehindit.”Geralt laughed dryly, got up, removed Lunin and Tyrss’s The Arcane

Mysteries ofMagic andAlchemy from the shelf and pulled a round-belliedvesselwrappedinstrawfrombehindthebulkyvolumeandinto thelightofday.

“Oho.”Thebardvisiblycheeredup.“Wisdomandinspiration,Isee,arestilltobefoundinlibraries.Oooh!Ilikethis!Plum,isn’tit?Yes,thisistruealchemy. This is a philosopher’s stone well worth studying. Your health,brother.Ooooh,it’sstrongastheplague!”

“What brings you here?”Geralt took the demijohn over from the poet,tookasipandstartedtocough,fingeringhisbandagedneck.“Whereareyougoing?”

“Nowhere. That is, I could go where you’re going. I could keep youcompany.Doyouintendstayingherelong?”

“Notlong.ThelocaldukeletitbeknownI’mnotwelcome.”“Hereward?”Dandilionknewallthekings,princes,lordsandfeudallords

from Jaruga to theDragonMountains. “Don’t you give a damn. Hewon’tdarefallfoulofNenneke,orMelitele.Thepeoplewouldsetfiretohiscastle.”

“Idon’twantanytrouble.AndI’vebeensittingherefortoolonganyway.I’m going south, Dandilion. Far south. I won’t find any work here.Civilization.Whatthehelldotheyneedawitcherherefor?WhenIaskafteremployment,theylookatmeasifI’mafreak.”

“Whatareyoutalkingabout?Whatcivilization?IcrossedBuinaaweek

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ago andheard all sorts of stories as I rode through the country.Apparentlythere are water sprites here, myriapodans, chimera, flying drakes, everypossiblefilth.Youshouldbeuptoyourearsinwork.”

“Stories,well, I’ve heard them too.Half of them are eithermade up orexaggerated.No,Dandilion.Theworld is changing.Something’s coming toanend.”

Thepoettookalongpullatthedemijohn,narrowedhiseyesandsighedheavily. “Are you crying over your sad fate as a witcher again? Andphilosophizing on top of that? I perceive the disastrous effects ofinappropriate literature,becausethefact that theworldischangingoccurredevento thatoldfartRoderickdeNovembre.Thechangeabilityof theworldis,asithappens,theonlythesisinthistreatiseyoucanagreewith.Butit’snotsoinnovativeyouhavetoplymewithitandputonthefaceofagreatthinker—whichdoesn’tsuityouintheleast.”

Insteadofanswering,Geralttookasipfromthedemijohn.“Yes,yes,”sighedDandilionanew.“Theworldischanging,thesunsets,

andthevodkaiscomingtoanend.Whatelse,inyouropinion,iscomingtoanend?Youmentionedsomethingaboutendings,philosopher.”

“I’llgiveyouacoupleofexamples,”saidGeraltafteramoment’ssilence,“allfromtwomonthsthissideoftheBuina.OnedayIrideupandwhatdoIsee?Abridge.Andunderthatbridgesitsatrollanddemandseverypasserbypayshim.Thosewhorefusehavealeginjured,sometimesboth.SoIgotothealderman:‘Howmuchwillyougivemefor that troll?’He’samazed.‘Whatareyoutalkingabout?’heasks.‘Whowillrepairthebridgeifthetroll’snotthere?Herepairsitregularlywiththesweatofhisbrow,solidwork,firstrate.It’scheapertopayhistoll.’SoIrideon,andwhatdoIsee?Aforktail.Notverybig,aboutfouryardsnose-tiptotail-tip.It’sflying,carryingasheepinits talons. I go to the village. ‘Howmuch,’ I ask, ‘will you payme for theforktail?’Thepeasantsfallontheirknees.‘No!’theyshout.‘It’sourbaron’syoungestdaughter’sfavoritedragon.Ifascalefallsfromitsback, thebaronwill burn our hamlet, and skin us.’ I ride on, and I’m getting hungrier andhungrier.Iaskaroundforwork.Certainlyit’sthere,butwhatwork?Tocatcha rusalka for oneman, a nymph for another, a dryad for a third…They’vegone completely mad—the villages are teeming with girls but they wanthumanoids.Anotherasksmetokillamecopteranandbringhimabonefromitshandbecause,crushedandpouredintoasoup,itcuresimpotence—”

“That’s rubbish,” interrupted Dandilion. “I’ve tried it. It doesn’tstrengthen anything and itmakes the soup taste of old socks.But if people

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believeitandareinclinedtopay—”“I’mnotgoingtokillmecopterans.Noranyotherharmlesscreatures.”“Thenyou’llgohungry.Unlessyouchangeyourlineofwork.”“Towhat?”“Whatever. Become a priest. You wouldn’t be bad at it with all your

scruples,yourmorality,yourknowledgeofpeopleandofeverything.Thefactthat you don’t believe in any gods shouldn’t be a problem—I don’t knowmanypriestswhodo.Becomeapriestandstopfeelingsorryforyourself.”

“I’mnotfeelingsorryformyself.I’mstatingthefacts.”Dandilioncrossedhislegsandexaminedhiswornsolewithinterest.“You

remind me, Geralt, of an old fisherman who, toward the end of his life,discoversthatfishstinkandthebreezefromtheseamakesyourbonesache.Be consistent. Talking and regrettingwon’t get you anywhere. If Iwere tofindthatthedemandforpoetryhadcometoanend,I’dhangupmyluteandbecomeagardener.I’dgrowroses.”

“Nonsense.You’renotcapableofgivingitup.”“Well,” agreed the poet, still staring at his sole, “maybe not. But our

professions differ somewhat. The demand for poetry and the sound of lutestringswillneverdecline.It’sworsewithyourtrade.Youwitchers,afterall,deprive yourselves of work, slowly but surely. The better and the moreconscientiouslyyouwork,thelessworkthereisforyou.Afterall,yourgoalis a world without monsters, a world which is peaceful and safe. Aworldwherewitchersareunnecessary.Aparadox,isn’tit?”

“True.”“Inthepast,whenunicornsstillexisted,therewasquitealargegroupof

girlswho tookcareof theirvirtue inorder tobeable tohunt them.Doyouremember?Andtheratcatcherswithpipes?Everybodywasfightingovertheirservices.Buttheywerefinishedoffbyalchemistsandtheireffectivepoisonsand then domesticated ferrets andweasels.The little animalswere cheaper,niceranddidn’tguzzlesomuchbeer.Noticetheanalogy?”

“Ido.”“Souseotherpeople’s experiences.Theunicornvirgins,when they lost

their jobs, immediatelypoppedtheircherry.Some,eagertomakeupfortheyearsofsacrifice,becamefamousfarandwidefortheir techniqueandzeal.Theratcatchers…Well,you’dbetternotcopythem,becausethey,toaman,tooktodrinkandwenttothedogs.Well,nowitlooksasifthetime’scomeforwitchers.You’re readingRoderickdeNovembre?As faras I remember,therearementionsofwitchersthere,ofthefirstoneswhostartedworksome

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threehundredyearsago.Inthedayswhenthepeasantsusedtogotoreaptheharvestinarmedbands,whenvillagesweresurroundedbyatriplestockade,whenmerchantcaravanslookedlikethemarchofregulartroops,andloadedcatapults stood on the ramparts of the few towns night and day.Because itwasus,humanbeings,whowere the intrudershere.This landwasruledbydragons,manticores, griffins and amphisboenas, vampires andwerewolves,striga, kikimoras, chimera and flyingdrakes.And this landhad to be takenfrom them bit by bit, every valley, every mountain pass, every forest andevery meadow. And we didn’t manage that without the invaluable help ofwitchers. But those times have gone, Geralt, irrevocably gone. The baronwon’t allow a fork-tail to be killed because it’s the last draconid for athousandmilesandnolongergivesrisetofearbutrathertocompassionandnostalgia for times passed. The troll under the bridge gets onwith people.He’snotamonsterusedtofrightenchildren.He’sarelicandalocalattraction—andausefuloneatthat.Andchimera,manticoresandamphisboenas?Theydwellinvirginforestsandinaccessiblemountains—”

“So Iwas right.Something iscoming toanend.Whetheryou like itornot,something’scomingtoanend.”

“Idon’t likeyoumouthingbanalplatitudes. Idon’t likeyourexpressionwhenyoudoit.What’shappeningtoyou?Idon’trecognizeyou,Geralt.Ah,plagueon it, let’s go south as soon as possible, to thosewild countries.Assoonasyou’vecutdownacoupleofmonsters,yourblueswilldisappear.Andthere’ssupposed tobea fairnumberofmonstersdownthere.Theysay thatwhen an oldwoman’s tired of life, she goes alone andweaponless into thewoods to collect brushwood.The consequences are guaranteed.You shouldgoandsettlethereforgood.”

“MaybeIshould.ButIwon’t.”“Why?It’seasierforawitchertomakemoneythere.”“Easiertomakemoney.”Geralttookasipfromthedemijohn.“Butharder

tospendit.Andontopofthat,theyeatpearlbarleyandmillet,thebeertasteslikepiss,thegirlsdon’twashandthemosquitoesbite.”

Dandilionchuckled loudlyand restedhisheadagainst thebookshelf,ontheleather-boundvolumes.

“Milletandmosquitoes!Thatremindsmeofourfirstexpeditiontogethertotheedgeoftheworld,”hesaid.“Doyouremember?WemetatthefêteinGuletandyoupersuadedme—”

“You persuaded me! You had to flee from Gulet as fast as your horsecould carry you because the girl you’d knocked up under the musicians’

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podiumhad four sturdybrothers.Theywere looking foryouallover town,threateningtogeldyouandcoveryouinpitchandsawdust.That’swhyyouhungontomethen.”

“Andyoualmostjumpedoutofyourpantswithjoytohaveacompanion.Untilthen,youonlyhadyourhorseforcompany.Butyou’reright;itwasasyousay.Ididhavetodisappearforawhile,andtheValleyofFlowersseemedjust right formy purpose. It was, after all, supposed to be the edge of theinhabited world, the last outpost of civilization, the furthest point on theborderoftwoworlds…Remember?”

“Iremember.”

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THEEDGEOFTHEWORLD

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IDandilion came down the steps of the inn carefully, carrying two tankardsdrippingwithfroth.Cursingunderhisbreath,hesqueezedthroughagroupofcuriouschildrenandcrossedtheyardatadiagonal,avoidingthecowpats.

A number of villagers had already gathered round the table in thecourtyard where the witcher was talking to the alderman. The poet set thetankards down and found a seat. He realized straight away that theconversationhadn’tadvancedajotduringhisshortabsence.

“I’mawitcher,sir,”Geraltrepeatedfortheumpteenthtime,wipingbeerfrothfromhislips.“Idon’tsellanything.Idon’tgoaroundenlistingmenforthearmyandIdon’tknowhowtotreatglanders.I’mawitcher.”

“It’s a profession,” explained Dandilion yet again. “A witcher, do youunderstand?Hekillsstrigasandspecters.Heexterminatesallsortsofvermin.Professionally,formoney.Doyougetit,alderman?”

“Aha!”Thealderman’sbrow,deeplyfurrowedinthought,grewsmoother.“Awitcher!Youshouldhavesaidsorightaway!”

“Exactly,” agreedGeralt. “Sonow I’ll askyou: is there anywork tobefoundaroundhereforme?”

“Aaaa.”Thealdermanquitevisiblystartedtothinkagain.“Work?Maybethose… Well… werethings? You’re asking are there any werethingshereabouts?”

The witcher smiled and nodded, rubbing an itching eyelid with hisknuckles.

“Thatthereare,”thealdermanconcludedafterafairwhile.“Onlylookyeyonder, see ye thosemountains?There’s elves live there; that there is theirkingdom.Theirpalaces,hearye,areallofpuregold.Ohaye,sir!Elves,Itellye.‘Tisawful.Hewhoyondergoes,neverreturns.”

“Ithoughtso,”saidGeraltcoldly.“WhichispreciselywhyIdon’tintendgoingthere.”

Dandilionchuckledimpudently.Thealdermanponderedalongwhile,justasGeralthadexpected.“Aha,”hesaidatlast.“Well,aye.Buttherebeotherwerethingsheretoo.

Fromthelandofelvestheycome, tobesure.Oh,sir, therebemany,many.‘Tishard tocount themall.But theworst, thatbe theBane,amI right,mygoodmen?”

The“goodmen”cametolifeandbesiegedthetablefromallsides.

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“Bane!” said one. “Aye, aye, ‘tis true what the alderman says. A palevirgin,shewalksthecottagesatdaybreak,andthechildren,theydie!”

“Andimps,”addedanother,asoldierfromthewatchtower.“Theytangleupthehorses’manesinthestables!”

“Andbats!Therebebatshere!”“Andmyriapodans!Youcomeupallinspotsbecauseofthem!”Thenext fewminutespassed ina recitalof themonsterswhichplagued

the local peasantswith their dishonorable doings, or their simple existence.Geralt andDandilion learned ofmisguids andmamunes, which prevent anhonestpeasantfromfindinghiswayhomeinadrunkenstupor,oftheflyingdrakewhichdrinksmilkfromcows,oftheheadonspider’slegswhichrunsaround in theforest,ofhoboldswhichwear redhatsandaboutadangerouspikewhich tears linen fromwomen’s hands as theywash it—and just youwaitandit’llbeatthewomenthemselves.Theyweren’tsparedhearingthatoldNantheHagfliesonabroomatnightandperformsabortionsintheday,thatthemillertamperswiththeflourbymixingitwithpowderedacornsandthatacertainDudabelievedtheroyalstewardtobeathiefandscoundrel.

Geraltlistenedtoallthiscalmly,noddingwithfeignedinterest,andaskeda fewquestions about the roads and layoutof the land, afterwhichhe roseandnoddedtoDandilion.

“Well,takecare,mygoodpeople,”hesaid.“I’llbebacksoon;thenwe’llseewhatcanbedone.”

Theyrodeawayinsilencealongsidethecottagesandfences,accompaniedbyyappingdogsandscreamingchildren.

“Geralt,”saidDandilion,standinginthestirrupstopickafineapplefroma branchwhich stretched over the orchard fence, “all theway you’ve beencomplainingabout itbeingharderandharder to findwork.Yet fromwhat Ijust heard, it looks as if you could work here without break until winter.You’dmake a penny or two, and I’d have some beautiful subjects for myballads.Soexplainwhywe’reridingon.”

“Iwouldn’tmakeapenny,Dandilion.”“Why?”“Becausetherewasn’tawordoftruthinwhattheysaid.”“Ibegyourpardon?”“Noneofthecreaturestheymentionedexist.”“You’re joking!”Dandilion spatoutapipand threw theapplecoreat a

patchedmongrel.“No, it’s impossible. Iwaswatching themcarefully,andIknowpeople.Theyweren’tlying.”

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“No,”thewitcheragreed.“Theyweren’tlying.Theyfirmlybelieveditall.Whichdoesn’tchangethefacts.”

Thepoetwassilentforawhile.“None of thosemonsters…None? It can’t be. Something ofwhat they

listedmustbehere.Atleastone!Admitit.”“Allright.Iadmitit.Onedoesexistforsure.”“Ha!What?”“Abat.”They rode out beyond the last fences, on to a highway between beds

yellowwithoilseedandcornfieldsrollinginthewind.Loadedcartstraveledpast them in the opposite direction. The bard pulled his leg over thesaddlebow,restedhisluteonhiskneeandstrummednostalgictunes,wavingfromtimetotimeatthegiggling,scantilycladgirlswanderingalongthesidesoftheroadcarryingrakesontheirrobustshoulders.

“Geralt,”hesaidsuddenly,“butmonstersdoexist.Maybenotasmanyasbefore,maybe they don’t lurk behind every tree in the forest, but they arethere. They exist. So howdo you account for people inventing ones, then?What’s more, believing in what they invent? Eh, famous witcher? Haven’tyouwonderedwhy?”

“Ihave,famouspoet.AndIknowwhy.”“I’mcurious.”“People”—Geralt turned his head—“like to invent monsters and

monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they getblind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat theirwives, starve an oldwoman,when theykillatrappedfoxwithanaxeorriddlethelastexistingunicornwitharrows,they like to think that the Bane entering cottages at daybreak is moremonstrousthantheyare.Theyfeelbetterthen.Theyfinditeasiertolive.”

“I’ll remember that,” saidDandilion,afteramoment’s silence.“I’ll findsomerhymesandcomposeaballadaboutit.”

“Do.Butdon’texpectagreatapplause.”Theyrodeslowlybutlostthelastcottagesofthehamletfromsight.Soon

theyhadclimbedtherowofforestedhills.“Ha.”Dandilionhaltedhishorseandlookedaround.“Look,Geralt.Isn’t

itbeautifulhere?Idyllic,damnit.Afeastfortheeyes!”Thelandslopedgentlydowntoamosaicofflat,evenfieldspickedoutin

variouslycoloredcrops.Inthemiddle,roundandregularlikealeafofclover,sparkled the deep waters of three lakes surrounded by dark strips of alderthickets. The horizon was traced by a misty blue line of mountains rising

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abovetheblack,shapelessstretchofforest.“We’reridingon,Dandilion.”Theroadledstraighttowardthelakesalongsidedykesandpondshidden

by alder trees and filled with quacking mallards, garganeys, herons andgrebes.Therichnessofbirdlifewassurprisingalongsidethesignsofhumanactivity—the dykeswerewellmaintained and coveredwith fascines,whilethesluicegateshadbeenreinforcedwithstonesandbeams.Theoutletboxes,whichwere not in the least rotten, trickledmerrilywithwater.Canoes andjettieswerevisibleinthereedsbythelakesandbarsofsetnetsandfish-potswerepokingoutofthedeepwaters.

Dandilionsuddenlylookedaround.“Someone’sfollowingus,”hesaid,excited.“Inacart!”“Incredible,”scoffedthewitcherwithoutlookingaround.“Inacart?And

Ithoughtthatthelocalsrodeonbats.”“Doyouknowwhat?”growledthetroubadour.“Thecloserwegettothe

edgeoftheworld,thesharperyourwit.Idreadtothinkwhatitwillcometo!”Theyweren’tridingfastandtheemptycart,drawnbytwopiebaldhorses,

quicklycaughtupwiththem.“Woooooaaaaahhhh!”Thedriverbroughtthehorsestoahaltjustbehind

them.Hewaswearing a sheepskin over his bare skin and his hair reacheddowntohisbrows.“Thegodsbepraised,noblesirs!”

“We,too,”repliedDandilion,familiarwiththecustom,“praisethem.”“Ifwewantto,”murmuredthewitcher.“IcallmyselfNettly,”announcedthecarter.“Iwaswatchingyespeakto

thealdermanatUpperPosada.Iknowyetaebeawitcher.”Geraltletgoofthereinsandlethismaresnortattheroadsidenettles.“Ididhear,”Nettlycontinued,“thealdermanprattleyestories.Imarked

your expression and ‘twas nae strange tome. In a long time now I’ve naeheardsuchbalderdashandlies.”

Dandilionlaughed.Geraltwaslookingatthepeasantattentively,silently.Nettlyclearedhis throat.“Careyenaetobehiredforreal,properwork,

sir?”heasked.“There’dbesomethingIhaveforye.”“Andwhatisthat?”Nettlydidn’tlowerhiseyes.“Itbenaegoodtospeakofbusinessonthe

road. Let us drive on to my home, to Lower Posada. There we’ll speak.Anyways,‘tisthatwayyebeheading.”

“Whyareyousosure?”

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“As‘cosyehavenaeotherwayhere,andyerhorses’nosesbeturnedinthatdirection,nottheirbutts.”

Dandilionlaughedagain.“Whatdoyousaytothat,Geralt?”“Nothing,”saidthewitcher.“It’snogoodtotalkontheroad.Onourway,

then,honorableNettly.”“Tieye thehorses to the frame,andsityerselvesdown in thecart,” the

peasantproposed.“Itbemorecomfortableforye.Whyrackyerarsesonthesaddle?”

“Tootrue.”Theyclimbedontothecart.Thewitcherstretchedoutcomfortablyonthe

straw.Dandilion,evidentlyafraidofgettinghiselegantgreenjerkindirty,satontheplank.Nettlycluckedhistongueatthehorsesandthevehicleclatteredalongthebeam-reinforceddyke.

They crossed a bridge over a canal overgrown with water lilies andduckweed,andpassedastripofcutmeadows.Cultivatedfieldsstretchedasfarastheeyecouldsee.

“It’shardtobelievethatthisshouldbetheedgeoftheworld,theedgeofcivilization,”saidDandilion.“Justlook,Geralt.Ryelikegold,andamountedpeasantcouldhideinthatcorn.Orthatoilseed,look,howenormous.”

“Youknowaboutagriculture?”“We poets have to know about everything,” said Dandilion haughtily.

“Otherwisewe’d compromise ourwork. One has to learn,my dear fellow,learn. The fate of the world depends on agriculture, so it’s good to knowabout it. Agriculture feeds, clothes, protects from the cold, providesentertainmentandsupportsart.”

“You’veexaggeratedabitwiththeentertainmentandart.”“Andbooze,what’sthatmadeof?”“Igetit.”“Notverymuch,youdon’t.Learn.Lookatthosepurpleflowers.They’re

lupins.”“They’s be vetch, to be true,” interrupted Nettly. “Have ye nae seen

lupins,orwhat?Butyehavehitexactwithone thing, sir.Everythingseedsmightilyhere,andgrowsastomaketheheartsing.Thatbewhy‘tiscalledtheValleyofFlowers.Thatbewhyourforefatherssettledhere,firstriddingthelandoftheelves.”

“The Valley of Flowers, that’s Dol Blathanna.” Dandilion nudged thewitcher, who was stretched out on the straw, with his elbow. “You payingattention?Theelveshavegonebuttheirnameremains.Lackofimagination.

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Andhowdoyougetonwiththeelveshere,dearhost?You’vegottheminthemountainsacrossthepath,afterall.”

“Wenaemixwitheachother.Eachtohisown.”“Thebestsolution,”saidthepoet.“Isn’tthatright,Geralt?”Thewitcherdidn’treply.

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II“Thankyouforthespread.”Geraltlickedthebonespooncleananddroppeditintotheemptybowl.“Ahundredthanks,dearhost.Andnow,ifyoupermit,we’llgetdowntobusiness.”

“Well,thatwecan,”agreedNettly.“Whatsayye,Dhun?”Dhun,theelderofLowerPosada,ahugemanwithagloomyexpression,

noddedtothegirlswhoswiftlyremovedthedishesfromthetableandlefttheroom,totheobviousregretofDandilionwhohadbeengrinningatthemeversincethefeastbegan,andmakingthemgiggleathisgrossjokes.

“I’m listening,” said Geralt, looking at the window from where therappingofanaxeandthesoundofasawdrifted.Somesortofwoodworkwasgoingonintheyardandthesharp,resinoussmellwaspenetratingtheroom.“TellmehowIcanbeofusetoyou.”

NettlyglancedatDhun.The elder of the village nodded and cleared his throat. “Well, it be like

this,”hesaid.“Therebethisfieldhereabouts—”GeraltkickedDandilion—whowaspreparingtomakeaspitefulcomment

—underthetable.“—afield,”continuedDhun.“BeI right,Nettly?A long time, that field

there, it lay fallow, butwe set it to the plough and now, ‘tis on itwe sowhemp,hopsandflax.Itbeagrandpieceoffield,Itellye.Stretchesrightuptotheforest—”

“Andwhat?”Thepoetcouldn’thelphimself.“What’sonthatfieldthere?”“Well.”Dhunraisedhisheadandscratchedhimselfbehindtheear.“Well,

therebeadeovelprowlsthere.”“What?”snortedDandilion.“Awhat?”“Itellye:adeovel.”“Whatdeovel?”“Whatcanhebe?Adeovelandthatbeit.”“Devilsdon’texist!”“Don’t interrupt, Dandilion,” said Geralt in a calm voice. “And go on,

honorableDhun.”“Itellye:it’sadeovel.”“Iheardyou.”Geraltcouldbeincrediblypatientwhenhechose.“Tellme,

whatdoeshe look like,wheredidhecome from,howdoeshebotheryou?Onethingatatime,ifyouplease.”

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“Well”—Dhun raised his gnarled hand and started to count with greatdifficulty, folding his fingers over, one at a time—“one thing at a time.Forsooth,yebeawiseman.Well,itbelikethis.Helooks,sir,likeadeovel,for all the world like a deovel.Where did he come from?Well, nowhere.Crash,bang,wallopandtherewehavehim:adeovel.Andbotherus,forsoothhedoesnaebotherusoverly.Therebetimesheevenhelps.”

“Helps?” cackled Dandilion, trying to remove a fly from his beer. “Adevil?”

“Don’t interrupt,Dandilion.Carryon,Dhun,sir.Howdoeshehelpyou,this,asyousay—”

“Deovel,” repeated the freeman with emphasis. “Well, this be how hehelps:hefertilizestheland,heturnsthesoil,hegetsridofthemoles,scaresbirds away, watches over the turnips and beetroots. Oh, and he eats thecaterpillarshedoes, theyasdohatch in thecabbages.But thecabbages,heeats them too, forsooth. Nothing but guzzle, be what he does. Just like adeovel.”

Dandilioncackledagain,thenflickedabeer-drenchedflyatacatsleepingbythehearth.Thecatopenedoneeyeandglancedatthebardreproachfully.

“Nevertheless,” thewitcher said calmly, “you’re ready topayme togetridofhim,amIright?Inotherwords,youdon’twanthiminthevicinity?”

“And who”—Dhun looked at him gloomily—“would care to have adeovelonhisbirthrightsoil?Thisbeourlandsinceforever,bestoweduponusby the king and it has nought to do with the deovel.We spit on his help.We’vegothandsourselves,havewenot?Andhe,sir, isnayadeovelbutamaliciousbeastandhasgotsomuch,forgivetheword,shiteinhisheadasbehard to bear. There be no knowingwhatwill come into his head.Once hefouledthewell,thenchasedalass,frighteningandthreateningtofuckher.Hesteals,sir,ourbelongingsandvictuals.Hedestroysandbreaksthings,makesa nuisance of himself, churns the dykes, digs ditches like somemuskrat orbeaver—thewater fromonepond trickledoutcompletelyand thecarp in itdied.Hesmokedapipeinthehaystackhedid,theson-of-a-whore,andallthehayitwentupinsmoke—”

“Isee,”interruptedGeralt.“Sohedoesbotheryou.”“Nay.”Dhunshookhishead.“Hedoesnaebotherus.Hebesimplyupto

mischief,that’swhathebe.”Dandilionturnedtothewindow,mufflinghislaughter.Thewitcherkeptsilent.“Oh,whatbe there to talkabout,” saidNettlywhohadbeensilentuntil

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then.“Yebeawitcher,nae?Sodoyesomethingaboutthisdeovel.ItbeworkyebelookingforinUpperPosada.Iheardsomyself.Soyehavework.We’llpayyewhatneedsbe.Buttakenote:wedon’twantyekillingthedeovel.Noway.”

The witcher raised his head and smiled nastily. “Interesting,” he said.“Unusual,I’dsay.”

“What?”Dhunfrowned.“Anunusualcondition.Whyallthismercy?”“He should nae be killed.” Dhun frowned evenmore. “Because in this

Valley—”“Heshouldnaeandthatbeit,”interruptedNettly.“Onlycatchhim,sir,or

drivehimoffyono’ertheseventhmountain.Andyewillnaebeharddonebywhenyebepaid.”

Thewitcherstayedsilent,stillsmiling.“Sealit,willye,thedeal?”askedDhun.“First,I’dlikealookathim,thisdevilofyours.”Thefreemenglancedateachother.“Itbeyerright,”saidNettly,thenstoodup.“Andyerwill.Thedeovelhe

doprowlthewholeneighborhoodatnightbutatdayhedwellssomewhereinthehemp.Oramongtheoldwillowsonthemarshland.Yecantakealookathim there.Wewon’t hasten ye.Ye bewanting rest, then rest as long as yewill. Ye will nae go wanting in comfort and food as befits the custom ofhospitality.Takecare.”

“Geralt.”Dandilionjoltedupfromhisstoolandlookedoutintotheyardat thefreemenwalkingawayfromthecottage.“Ican’tunderstandanythinganymore.Adayhasn’tgonebysinceourchataboutimaginedmonstersandyou suddenly get yourself hired hunting devils. And everybody—exceptignorant freemen obviously—knows that devils are an invention; they’remythicalcreatures.What’sthisunexpectedzealofyourssupposedtomean?KnowingyoualittleasIdo,Itakeityouhaven’tabasedyourselfsoastogetusbed,boardandlodging,haveyou?”

“Indeed.” Geralt grimaced. “It does look as if you know me a little,singer.”

“Inthatcase,Idon’tunderstand.”“Whatistheretounderstand?”“There’snosuchthingsasdevils!”yelledthepoet,shakingthecatfrom

sleep once and for all. “No such thing! To the devil with it, devils don’texist!”

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“True.”Geraltsmiled.“But,Dandilion,Icouldneverresistthetemptationofhavingalookatsomethingthatdoesn’texist.”

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III“One thing is certain,” muttered the witcher, sweeping his eyes over thetangledjungleofhempspreadingbeforethem.“Thisdevilisnotstupid.”

“Howdidyoudeduce that?”Dandilionwascurious.“Fromthefact thathe’s sitting in an impenetrable thicket?Anyoldhare has enoughbrains forthat.”

“It’saquestionofthespecialqualitiesofhemp.Afieldofthissizeemitsastrongauraagainstmagic.Mostspellswillbeuselesshere.Andthere,look,doyouseethosepoles?Thosearehops—theirpollenhasthesameeffect.It’snotmerechance.Therascalsensestheauraandknowshe’ssafehere.”

Dandilioncoughedandadjustedhisbreeches.“I’mcurious.”Hescratchedhisforeheadbeneathhishat.“Howareyougoingtogoaboutit,Geralt?I’veneverseenyouwork.Itakeityouknowathingortwoaboutcatchingdevils—I’m trying to recall some ballads. There was one about a devil and awoman.Rude,butamusing.Thewoman,yousee—”

“Spareme,Dandilion.”“Asyouwish.Ionlywantedtobehelpful, that’sall.Andyoushouldn’t

scornancientsongs.There’swisdominthem,accumulatedovergenerations.There’saballadaboutafarmhandcalledSlow,who—”

“Stopwittering.Wehavetoearnourboardandlodging.”“Whatdoyouwanttodo?”“Rummagearoundabitinthehemp.”“That’soriginal,”snortedthetroubadour.“Thoughnottoorefined.”“Andyou,howwouldyougoaboutit?”“Intelligently.” Dandilion sniffed. “Craftily. With a hounding, for

example.I’dchasethedeviloutofthethicket,chasehimonhorseback,intheopenfield,andlassohim.Whatdoyouthinkofthat?”

“Interesting. Who knows, maybe it could be done, if you took part—becauseatleasttwoofusareneededforanenterpriselikethat.Butwe’renotgoinghuntingyet.Iwanttofindoutwhatthisthingis,thisdevil.That’swhyI’mgoingtorummageaboutinthehemp.”

“Hey!” The bard had only just noticed. “You haven’t brought yoursword!”

“Whatfor?Iknowsomeballadsaboutdevils,too.NeitherthewomannorSlowthefarmhandusedasword.”

“Hmm…”Dandilionlookedaround.“Dowehavetosqueezethroughthe

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verymiddleofthisthicket?”“Youdon’thaveto.Youcangobacktothevillageandwaitforme.”“Oh,no,”protestedthepoet.“Andmissachancelikethis?Iwanttoseea

deviltoo,seeifhe’sasterribleastheyclaim.Iwasaskingifwehavetoforceourwaythroughthehempwhenthere’sapath.”

“Quiteright.”Geraltshadedhiseyeswithhishand.“Thereisapath.Solet’suseit.”

“Andwhatifit’sthedevil’spath?”“Allthebetter.Wewon’thavetowalktoofar.”“Doyouknow,Geralt,”babbledthebard,followingthewitcheralongthe

narrow,unevenpathamongthehemp.“Ialwaysthoughtthedevilwasjustametaphor inventedforcursing:‘go to thedevil’, ‘to thedevilwith it’, ‘maythedevil.’Lowlanderssay:‘Thedevilsarebringingusguests,’whiledwarveshave‘Duvvelhoael’whentheygetsomethingwrong,andcallpoor-bloodedlivestockdevvelsheyss.AndintheOldLanguage,there’sasaying,‘Ad’yaeblaeparse,’whichmeans—”

“Iknowwhatitmeans.You’rebabbling,Dandilion.”Dandilion stopped talking, took off the hat decorated with a heron’s

feather,fannedhimselfwithitandwipedhissweatybrow.Thehumid,stiflingheat, intensifiedby thesmellofgrassandweeds inblossom,dominated thethicket.Thepathcurveda littleand, justbeyondthebend,endedinasmallclearingwhichhadbeenstampedintheweeds.

“Look,Dandilion.”In thevery centerof the clearing lay a large, flat stone, andon it stood

several clay bowls. An almost burnt-out tallow candle was set among thebowls. Geralt saw some grains of corn and broad beans among theunrecognizablepipsandseedsstuckintheflakesofmeltedfat.

“AsIsuspected,”hemuttered.“They’rebringinghimofferings.”“That’s just it,” said the poet, indicating the candle. “And they burn a

tallowcandleforthedevil.Butthey’refeedinghimseeds,Isee,asifhewereafinch.Plague,whatabloodypigsty.Everythinghereisallstickywithhoneyandbirchtar.What—“Thebard’snextwordsweredrownedbyaloud,sinisterbleating. Something rustled and stamped in the hemp; then the strangestcreatureGeralthadeverseenemergedfromthethicket.

Thecreaturewasabouthalfarodtallwithbulgingeyesandagoat’shornsandbeard.Themouth,asoft,busyslit,alsobroughtachewinggoattomind.Itsnetherregionswerecoveredwithlong,thick,dark-redhairrightdowntotheclefthooves.Thedevilhadalongtailendinginabrush-liketasselwhich

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waggedenergetically.“Uk!Uk!”barkedthemonster,stampinghishooves.“Whatdoyouwant

here?Leave!LeaveorI’llramyoudown.Uk!Uk!”“Hasanyoneeverkickedyourarse, littlegoat?”Dandilioncouldn’tstop

himself.“Uk! Uk! Beeeeee!” bleated the goathorn in agreement, or denial, or

simplybleatingforthesakeofit.“Shutup,Dandilion,”growledthewitcher.“Notaword.”“Blebleblebeeeee!”Thecreaturegurgledfuriously,hislipspartingwideto

exposeyellowhorse-liketeeth.“Uk!Uk!Bleubeeeeubleuuuuubleeeeeeee!”“Mostcertainly”—noddedDandilion—“youcantakethebarrel-organand

bellwhenyougohome—”“Stop it, damnyou,”hissedGeralt. “Keepyour stupid jokes toyourself

—”“Jokes!” roared the goathorn loudly and leapt up. “Jokes? New jokers

havecome,have they?They’vebrought ironballs,have they? I’llgiveyouironballs,youscoundrels,you.Uk!Uk!Uk!Youwanttojoke,doyou?Herearesomejokesforyou!Hereareyourballs!”

Thecreaturesprangupandgaveasuddenswipewithhishand.Dandilionhowled and sat downhard on the path, clasping his forehead.The creaturebleatedandaimedagain.SomethingwhizzedpastGeralt’sear.

“Hereareyourballs!Brrreee!”An iron ball, an inch in diameter, thwacked thewitcher in the shoulder

andthenexthitDandilionintheknee.Thepoetcursedfoullyandscrambledaway,Geraltrunningafterhimasballswhizzedabovehishead.

“Uk!Uk!” screamed the goathorn, leaping up and down. “I’ll give youballs!Youshittyjokers!”

Anotherballwhizzedthroughtheair.Dandilioncursedevenmorefoullyashegrabbedthebackofhishead.Geraltthrewhimselftooneside,amongthehemp,butdidn’tavoidtheballthathithimintheshoulder.Thegoathorn’saimwastrueandheappearedtohaveanendlesssupplyofballs.Thewitcher,stumbling through the thicket, heard yet another triumphant bleat from thevictoriousgoathorn,followedbythewhistleofaflyingball,acurseandthepatterofDandilion’sfeetscurryingawayalongthepath.

Andthensilencefell.

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IV“Well,well,Geralt.”Dandilionheldahorseshoehe’dcooled inabucket tohisforehead.“That’snotwhatIexpected.Ahornedfreakwithagoateelikeashaggybillygoat,andhechasedyouawaylikesomeupstart.AndIgotitinthehead.Lookatthatbump!”

“That’sthesixthtimeyou’veshownittome.Andit’snomoreinterestingnowthanitwasthefirsttime.”

“Howcharming.AndIthoughtI’dbesafewithyou!”“Ididn’taskyoutotraipseaftermeinthehemp,andIdidaskyoutokeep

that foul tongueofyoursquiet.Youdidn’t listen, sonowyoucansuffer. Insilence,please,becausethey’rejustcoming.”

NettlyandDhunwalkedintothedayroom.Behindthemhobbledagray-hairedoldwoman,twistedasapretzel,ledbyafair-hairedandpainfullythinteenagegirl.

“Honorable Dhun, honorable Nettly,” the witcher began withoutintroduction.“Iaskedyou,beforeIleft,whetheryouyourselveshadalreadytriedtodosomethingwiththatdevilofyours.Youtoldmeyouhadn’t*doneanything.I’vegroundstothinkotherwise.Iawaityourexplanation.”

The villagers murmured among themselves, after which Dhun coughedintohisfistandtookastepforward.“Yeberight,sir.Askingforgiveness.Welied—it be guilt devours us.Wewanted to outwit the deovel ourselves, forhimtogoaway—”

“Bywhatmeans?”“Here in thisValley,” saidDhun slowly, “there bemonsters in thepast.

Flying dragons, earth myriapodans, were-brawls, ghosts, gigantous spidersandvariousvipers.Andallthetimeswebesearchinginourgreatbookeforawaytodealwithallthatvermin.”

“Whatgreatbook?”“Showthebooke,oldwoman.Booke, Isay.Thegreatbooke!I’llbeon

theboilinaminute!Deafasadoorknob,shebe!Lille,telltheoldwomantoshowthebooke!”

Thegirltorethehugebookfromthetalonedfingersoftheoldwomanandhandedittothewitcher.

“Inthisheregreatbooke,”continuedDhun,“whichbeinourfamilyclanfortimeimmemorial,bewaystodealwitheverymonster,spellandwonderintheworldthathasbeen,is,orwillbe.”

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Geraltturnedtheheavy,thick,greasy,dust-encrustedvolumeinhishands.Thegirlwasstillstandinginfrontofhim,wringingheraproninherhands.Shewasolderthanhehadinitiallythought—herdelicatefigurehaddeceivedhim,sodifferentfromtherobustbuildoftheothergirlsinthevillage.

He lay the bookdownon the table and turned its heavywooden cover.“Takealookatthis,Dandilion.”

“The first Runes,” the bard worked out, peering over his shoulder, thehorseshoestillpressedtohisforehead.“Thewritingusedbeforethemodernalphabet.Stillbasedonelfinrunesanddwarves’ideograms.Afunnysentenceconstruction, but that’s how they spoke then. Interesting etchings andilluminations.It’snotoftenyougettoseesomethinglikethis,Geralt,andifyoudo, it’s in librariesbelonging to templesandnotvillagesat theedgeoftheworld.Byallthegods,wheredidyougetthatfrom,dearpeasants?Surelyyou’renotgoingtotrytoconvincemethatyoucanreadthis?Woman?CanyoureadtheFirstRunes?Canyoureadanyrunes?”

“Whaaaat?”Thefair-hairedgirlmovedclosertothewomanandwhisperedsomething

intoherear.“Read?” The crony revealed her toothless gums in a smile. “Me? No,

sweetheart.‘TisaskillI’vene’ermastered.”“Explaintome,”saidGeraltcoldly,turningtoDhunandNettly,“howdo

youusethebookifyoucan’treadrunes?”“Alwaystheoldestwomanknowswhatstandswritteninthebooke,”said

Dhungloomily.“Andwhatsheknows,sheteachessomeyoungone,when‘tistime for her to turn to earth.Heed ye, yerselves, how ‘tis time for our oldwoman.SoouroldwomanhastakenLilleinandshebeteachingher.Butfornow,‘tistheoldwomanknowsbest.”

“Theoldwitchandtheyoungwitch,”mutteredDandilion.“The old woman knows the whole book by heart?” Geralt asked with

disbelief.“Isthatright,Grandma?”“Naethewhole,ohnae,”answeredthewoman,againthroughLille,“only

whatstandswrittenbythepicture.”“Ah.”Geralt opened the book at random. The picture on the torn page

depictedadappledpigwithhornsintheshapeofalyre.“Wellthen—what’swrittenhere?”

Theoldwomansmackedherlips,tookacarefullookattheetching,thenshuthereyes.

“ThehornedaurochsorTaurus,”sherecited,“erroneouslycalledbisonby

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ignoramuses.Ithathhornsanduseththemtoram—”“Enough. Very good, indeed.” Thewitcher turned several sticky pages.

“Andhere?”“Cloud sprites and wind sprites be varied. Some rain pour, some wind

roar,andothershurltheirthunder.Harveststoprotectfromthem,takestthouaknifeofiron,new,ofamouse’sdroppingsahalfounce,ofagrayheron’sfat—”

“Good,welldone.Hmm…Andhere?What’sthis?”The etching showed a disheveled monstrosity with enormous eyes and

even larger teeth, riding a horse. In its right hand, the monstrous beingwieldedasubstantialsword,initsleft,abagofmoney.

“A witchman,” mumbled the woman. “Called by some a witcher. Tosummon him is most dangerous, albeit one must; for when against themonster and the vermin there be no aid, the witchman can contrive. Butcarefulonemustbe—”

“Enough,”mutteredGeralt.“Enough,Grandma.Thankyou.”“No, no,” protestedDandilionwith amalicious smile. “Howdoes it go

on?Whatagreatlyinterestingbook!Goon,Granny,goon.”“Eeee…Butcarefulonemustbetotouchnotthewitchman,forthusthe

mange can one acquire.And lasses do from him hide away, for lustful thewitchmanisaboveallmeasure—”

“Quite correct, spot on,” laughed the poet, and Lille, so it seemed toGeralt,smiledalmostimperceptibly.

“—though the witchman greatly covetous and greedy for gold be,”mumbled the oldwoman, half-closing her eyes, “giveth ye not such a onemore than: for a drowner, one silver penny or three halves; for a werecat,silverpenniestwo;foraplumard,silverpennies—”

“Thosewerethedays,”mutteredthewitcher.“Thankyou,Grandma.Andnow show us where it speaks of the devil and what the book says aboutdevils.Thistime‘tisgratefulI’dbetohearethmore,fortolearnthewaysandmeanesyedidusetodealwithhimmostcuriousamI.”

“Careful,Geralt,” chuckledDandilion. “You’re starting to fall into theirjargon.It’saninfectiousmannerism.”

Thewoman,controllinghershakinghandswithdifficulty,turnedseveralpages. Thewitcher and the poet leaned over the table. The etching did, ineffect,showtheball-thrower:horned,hairy,tailedandsmilingmaliciously.

“Thedeovel,”recitedthewoman.“Alsocalled‘willower’or‘sylvan.’Forlivestockanddomesticfowl,atiresomeandgreatpestishe.Beityourwillto

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chasehimfromyourhamlet,takestthou—”“Well,well,”murmuredDandilion.“—takest thou of nuts, one fistful,” continued the woman, running her

fingeralongtheparchment.“Next, takest thouof ironballsasecondfistful.Ofhoneyanutricle,ofbirchtarasecond.Ofgraysoapafirkin;ofsoftcheeseanother. There where the deovel dwelleth, goest thou when ‘tis night.Commenceththentoeatthenuts.Anon,thedeovelwhohathgreatgreed,willhastenandaskiftheyaretastyindeed.Givesttohimthentheballsofiron—”

“Damnyou,”murmuredDandilion.“Poxtake—”“Quiet,”saidGeralt.“Well,Grandma.Goon.”“…havingbrokenhis teethhewillbeattentiveas thoueatest thehoney.

Of saidhoneywillhehimselfdesire.Givesthimofbirch tar, thenyourselfeateth soft cheese. Soon, hearest thou, will the deovel grumbleth andtumbleth,butmakestof it asnaught.Yet if thedeoveldesireth soft cheese,givesthimsoap.Forsoapthedeovelwithstandethnot—”

“Yougottothesoap?”interruptedGeraltwithastonyexpression,turningtowardDhunandNettly.

“Innoway,”groanedNettly.“Ifonlywehadgottotheballs.Buthegaveuswhatforwhenhebitaball—”

“Andwho told you to give him somany?”Dandilionwas enraged. “Itstandswritteninthebook,onefistfultotake.Yetyegavethofballsasackful!Yefurnishedhimwithammunitionfortwoyears,thefoolsyebe!”

“Careful.”Thewitcher smiled. “You’re starting to fall into their jargon.It’sinfectious.”

“Thankyou.”Geralt suddenly raised his head and looked into the eyes of the girl

standing by the woman. Lille didn’t lower her eyes. They were pale andwildlyblue.“Whyareyoubringingthedevilofferingsintheformofgrain?”heaskedsharply.“Afterall,it’sobviousthathe’satypicalherbivore.”

Lilledidn’tanswer.“I asked you a question, girl. Don’t be frightened, you won’t get the

mangebytalkingtome.”“Don’t ask her anything, sir,” said Nettly, with obvious unease in his

voice.“Lille…She…Shebestrange.Shewon’tansweryou;don’tforceher.”GeraltkeptlookingintoLille’seyes,andLillestillmethisgaze.Hefelta

shiverrundownhisbackandcreepalonghisshoulders.“Why didn’t you attack the devil with stancheons and pitchforks.” He

raisedhisvoice.“Whydidn’tyousetatrapforhim?Ifyou’dwantedto,his

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goat’sheadwouldalreadybespikedonapole to frightencrowsaway.Youwarnedmenottokillhim.Why?Youforbadeit,didn’tyou,Lille?”

Dhungotupfromthebench.Hisheadalmosttouchedthebeams.“Leave,lass,”hegrowled.“Taketheoldwomanandleave.”“Whoisshe,honorableDhun?”thewitcherdemandedasthedoorclosed

behindLille and thewoman. “Who is that girl?Why does she enjoymorerespectfromyouthanthatbloodybook?”

“It be nae yer business.” Dhun looked at him, and there was nofriendliness in his eyes. “Persecute wise women in your own town, burnstakesinyerownland.Therehasbeennoneofithere,norwilltherebe.”

“Youdidn’tunderstandme,”saidthewitchercoldly.“BecauseIdidnaetry,”growledDhun.“Pnoticed,”Geraltsaidthroughhisteeth,makingnoefforttobecordial.

“Butbesograciousastounderstandsomething,honorableDhun.Wehavenoagreement. I haven’t committed myself to you in any way. You have noreason to believe that you’ve bought yourself a witcher who, for a silverpennyorthreehalves,willdowhatyoucan’tdoyourselves.Ordon’twanttodo.Oraren’tallowedto.No,honorableDhun.Youhavenotboughtyourselfawitcher yet, and I don’t think you’ll succeed in doing so. Not with yourreluctancetounderstand.”

Dhunremainedsilent,measuringGeraltwithagloomystare.Nettly cleared his throat and wriggled on the bench, shuffling his rag

sandalsonthedirtfloor,thensuddenlystraightenedup.“Witcher,sir,”hesaid.“Donaebeenraged.Wewilltellye,whatandhow.

Dhun?”Theelderofthevillagenoddedandsatdown.“Asweberidinghere,”beganNettly,“yedidnoticehoweverythinghere

grows,thegreatharvestswehave?Therebenaemanyplacesyeseeallgrowlikethis,iftherebeanysuch.Seedlingsandseedsbesoimportanttousthat‘tiswiththemwepayourleviesandwesellthemandusethemtobarter—”

“What’sthatgottodowiththedevil?”“Thedeovelwaswonttomakeanuisanceofhimselfandplaysillytricks,

andthenhebestartingtostealagreatdealofgrain.Atthebeginning,webebringinghima little to the stone in thehemp, thinkinghis fill he’deat andleaveus inpeace.Naughtof it.Withavengeancehewentonstealing.Andwhen we started to hide our supplies in shops and sheds, well locked andbolted, ‘tis furioushegrew,sir,heroared,bleated. ‘Uk!Uk!’hecalled,andwhenhegoes‘Uk!Uk!’ye’ddobesttorunforyerlife.Hethreatenedto—”

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“—screw,”Dandilionthrewinwitharibaldsmile.“Thattoo,”agreedNettly.“Oh,andhementionedafire.Talklongaswe

may, he could nae steal so ‘tis levies he demanded. He ordered grain andothergoodsbebroughthimbythesackful.Riledwewerethenandintendingtobeathistailedarse.But—”Thefreemanclearedhisthroatandloweredhishead.

“Yeneednaebeataboutthebush,”saidDhunsuddenly.“Wejudgedthewitcherwrong.Tellhimeverything,Nettly.”

“Theoldwoman forbadeus tobeat thedevil,” saidNettlyquickly,“butweknow‘tisLille,because thewoman…Thewomanonly sayswhatLilletellherto.Andwe…Yeknowyerself,sir.Welisten.”

“I’venoticed.”Geralt twistedhis lips in a smile. “Thewomancanonlywaggleherchinandmumbleatextwhichshedoesn’tunderstandherself.Andyou stare at the girl, with gaping mouths, as if she were the statue of agoddess.Youavoidhereyesbuttrytoguessherwishes.Andherwishesareyourcommand.WhoisthisLilleofyours?”

“Butyehaveguessedthat,sir.Aprophetess.AWiseOne.Butsaynaughtof this to anyone.We ask ye. Ifwordwere to get to the steward, or, godsforbid,totheviceroy—”

“Don’tworry,”saidGeraltseriously.“IknowwhatthatmeansandIwon’tbetrayyou.”

The strange women and girls, called prophetesses or Wise Ones, whocould be found in villages, didn’t enjoy the favor of those noblemen whocollected levies and profited from farming. Farmers always consultedprophetesses on everything and believed them, blindly and boundlessly.Decisionsbasedontheiradvicewereoftencompletelycontrarytothepoliticsof lords and overlords. Geralt had heard of incomprehensible decrees—theslaughterofentirepedigreeherds,thecessationofsowingorharvesting,andeven the migration of entire villages. Local lords therefore opposed thesuperstition,oftenbrutally,andfreemenveryquicklylearnedtohidetheWiseOnes. But they didn’t stop listening to their advice. Because experienceprovedtheWiseOneswerealwaysrightinthelongrun.

“Lilledidnotpermitustokillthedeovel,”continuedNettly.“Shetoldustodowhatthebookesays.Asyewellknow,itdidnaeworkout.Therehasalreadybeen troublewith the steward. Ifwegive lessgrain in levy thanbenormal, ‘tis bawl he will, shout and fulminate. Thus we have nay evensqueakedtohimof thedeovel, thereasonbeingthestewardberuthlessandknowscruellylittleaboutjokes.Andthenyehappenedalong.WeaskedLille

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ifwecould…hireye—”“And?”“She said, through thewoman, that she need first of all to look at ye.”

“Andshedid.”“Thatshedid.Andacceptedyeshehas,thatweknow.Wecantellwhat

Lilleacceptsandwhatshedoesnae.”“Sheneversaidawordtome.”“Shene’erhasspokenwordtoanyone—savetheoldwoman.But ifshe

hadnotacceptedye,shewouldnayhaveenteredtheroomforallintheworld—”

“Hmm…”Geraltreflected.“That’sinteresting.Aprophetesswho,insteadofprophesying,doesn’tsayaword.Howdidshecometobeamongyou?”

“Wenaeknow,witcher,sir,”mutteredDhun.“Butasfortheoldwoman,so theolder folkremember, itbe like this.Theoldwomanaforeher tookaclose-tongued girl under her wing too, one as which came from no oneknows.And thatgirl shebeouroldwoman.Mygrandfatherwould say theoldwomanberebornthatway.Like themoonsheberebornin theskyandevernewshebe.Donaelaugh—”

“I’mnotlaughing.”Geraltshookhishead.“I’veseentoomuchtolaughatthingslikethat.NordoIintendtopokemynoseintoyouraffairs,honorableDhun.Myquestions aim to establish the bondbetweenLille and the devil.You’veprobablyrealizedyourselves thatoneexists.So ifyou’reanxious tobeongoodtermswithyourprophetess,thenIcangiveyouonlyonewaytodealwiththedevil:youmustgettolikehim.”

“Knowye,sir,”saidNettly,“itbenaeonlyamatterof thedeovel.Lilledoesnaeletusharmanything.Anycreature.”

“Of course,” Dandilion butted in, “country prophetesses grow from thesametreeasdruids.Andadruidwillgosofarastowishthegadflysuckinghisbloodtoenjoyitsmeal.”

“Yehits iton thehead.”Nettly faintlysmiled.“Yehits thenail rightonthehead.‘Twasthesamewithusandthewildboarsthatdugupourvegetablebeds.Lookoutthewindow:bedsasprettyasapicture.Wehavefoundaway,Lilledoesnaeevenknow.Whattheeyesdonaysee,theheartwillnaemiss.Understand?”

“Iunderstand,”mutteredGeralt.“Andhow.Butwecan’tmoveforward.LilleornoLille,yourdevilisasylvan.Anexceptionallyrarebutintelligentcreature.Iwon’tkillhim;mycodedoesn’tallowit.”

“Ifhebeintelligent,”saidDhun,“gospeakreasontohim.”

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“Just so,”Nettly joined in. “If the deovel has brains, thatwillmean hestealsgrainaccording toreason.Soye,witcher, findoutwhathewants.Hedoesnaeeatthatgrain,afterall—notsomuch,atleast.Sowhatdoeshewantgrain for?To spite us?What does hewant? Find out and chase him off insomewitcherway.Willyedothat?”

“I’lltry,”decidedGeralt.“But…”“Butwhat?”“Yourbook,myfriends,isoutofdate.DoyouseewhatI’mgettingat?”“Well,forsooth,”gruntedDhun,“notreally.”“I’llexplain.HonorableDhun,honorableNettly,ifyou’recountingonmy

help costing you a silver penny or three halves, then you are bloody wellmistaken.”

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V“Hey!”

Arustle,anangryUk!Uk!andthesnappingofstakes,reachedthemfromthethicket.

“Hey!”repeatedthewitcher,prudentlyremaininghidden.“Showyourself,willower.”

“Willoweryourself.”“Sowhatisit?Devil?”“Devilyourself.”The sylvanpokedhisheadout from thehemp,baring

histeeth.“Whatdoyouwant?”“Totalk.”“Areyoumakingfunofmeorwhat?DoyouthinkIdon’tknowwhoyou

are?Thepeasantshiredyoutothrowmeoutofhere,eh?”“That’sright,”admittedGeraltindifferently.“Andthat’spreciselywhatI

wantedtochattoyouabout.Whatifweweretocometoanunderstanding?”“That’swhereithurts,”bleatedthesylvan.“You’dliketogetofflightly,

wouldn’t you?Withoutmaking an effort, eh? Pull the other one! Life,mygoodman,meanscompetition.Thebestmanwins. Ifyouwant towinwithme,proveyou’rethebest.Insteadofcomingtoanunderstanding,we’llhavecompetitions.Thewinnerdictatestheconditions.Iproposearacefromheretotheoldwillowonthedyke.”

“Idon’tknowwherethedykeis,ortheoldwillow.”“Iwouldn’tsuggest theraceifyouknew.I likecompetitionsbutIdon’t

likelosing.”“I’venoticed.No,wewon’traceeachother.It’sveryhottoday.”“Pity.Somaybewe’llpitourselvesagainsteachotherinadifferentway?”

The sylvan bared his yellow teeth and picked up a large stone from theground. “Doyouknow thegame ‘Whoshouts loudest?’ I shout first.Closeyoureyes.”

“Ihaveadifferentproposition.”“I’mallears.”“Youleaveherewithoutanycompetitions,racesorshouting.Ofyourown

accord,withoutbeingforced.”“You can shove such a proposition a d’yeabl aep arse.” The devil

demonstratedhisknowledgeoftheOldLanguage.“Iwon’tleavehere.Ilikeithere.”

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“Butyou’vemadetoomuchofanuisanceofyourselfhere.Yourprankshavegonetoofar.”

“Duvvelsheysstoyouwithmypranks.”Thesylvan,asitturnedout,alsoknewthedwarves’tongue.“Andyourpropositionisalsoworthasmuchasaduvvelsheyss. I’m not going anywhere unless you beat me at some game.Shall I give you a chance?We’ll play at riddles if you don’t like physicalgames. I’llgiveyoua riddle inaminuteand ifyouguess it,youwinandIleave.Ifyoudon’t,Istayandyouleave.Rackyourbrainsbecausetheriddleisn’teasy.”

Before Geralt could protest, the sylvan bleated, stamped his hooves,whippedthegroundwithhistailandrecited:

Itgrowsinsoftclay,notfarfromthestream,Littlepinkleaves,podssmallandfull,Itgrowsinsoftclay,notfarfromthestream,Onalongstalk,itsflowerismoist,Buttoacat,pleaseshowitnot,’Cosifyoudo,he’lleatthelot.

“Well,whatisit?Guess.”“Ihaven’t thefaintest idea,” thewitchersaid,noteven trying to think it

over.“Sweetpea,perhaps?”“Wrong.Youlose.”“And what is the correct answer? What has… hmm… moist pods?”

“Cabbage.”“Listen,”growledGeralt.“You’restartingtogetonmynerves.”“Iwarnedyou,”chuckledthesylvan,“thattheriddlewasn’teasy.Tough.I

won,Istay.Andyouleave.Iwishyou,sir,acoldfarewell.”“Just a moment.” The witcher surreptitiously slipped a hand into his

pocket.“Andmyriddle?Ihavetherighttoarevengematch,haven’tI?”“No!”protestedthedevil.“Imightnotguessit,afterall.Doyoutakeme

forafool?”“No.” Geralt shook his head. “I take you for a spiteful, arrogant dope.

We’regoingtoplayquiteanewgameshortly,onewhichyoudon’tknow.”“Ha!Afterall!Whatgame?”“Thegameiscalled,”saidthewitcherslowly,“don’tdountootherswhat

youwouldnothavethemdotoyou.’Youdon’thavetocloseyoureyes.”

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Geralt stooped in a lightning throw; the one-inch iron ball whizzedsharply through theairand thwacked thesylvanstraightbetween thehorns.Thecreaturecollapsedontohisbackas ifhitbya thunderbolt.Geraltdivedbetween the poles and grabbed him by one shaggy leg. The sylvan bleatedandkicked.Thewitchershelteredhisheadwithhisarm,but to littleeffect.Thesylvan,despitehismeanposture,kickedwiththestrengthofanenragedmule. The witcher tried and failed to catch a kicking hoof. The sylvanflapped, thrashed his hands on the ground and kicked him again in theforehead.Thewitcher cursed, feeling the sylvan’s leg slip fromhis fingers.Both, having parted, rolled in opposite directions, kicked the poles with acrashandtangledthemselvesupinthecreepinghemp.

The sylvan was the first to jump up, and, lowering his horned head,charged.ButGeraltwasalreadyonhisfeetandeffortlesslydodgedtheattack,grabbed the creature by a horn, tugged hard, threw him to the ground andcrushed him with his knees. The sylvan bleated and spat straight into thewitcher’s eyes like a camel suffering from excess saliva. The witcherinstinctively stepped back without releasing the devil’s horns. The sylvan,tryingtotosshishead,kickedwithbothhoovesatonceand—strangely—hitthemarkwithboth.Geraltsworenastily,butdidn’treleasehisgrip.Hepulledthesylvanup,pinnedhimtothecreakingpolesandkickedhiminashaggykneewithallhismight; thenhe leanedoverandspat right intohisear.Thesylvanhowledandsnappedhisbluntteeth.

“Don’tdountoothers…”pantedthewitcher,“…whatyouwouldnothavethem do to you. Shall we play on?” The sylvan gurgled, howled and spatfiercely,butGeraltheldhimfirmlybythehornsandpressedhisheaddownhard,makingthespittlehitthesylvan’sownhooves,whichtoreattheground,sendingupcloudsofdustandweeds.

The next few minutes passed in an intense skirmish and exchange ofinsults and kicks. If Geralt was pleased about anything, it was only thatnobodycouldseehim—foritwasatrulyridiculoussight.

The force of the next kick tore the combatants apart and threw them inopposite directions, into the hemp thicket. The sylvan got up before thewitcherandrushedtoescape,limpingsheavily.Geralt,pantingandwipinghisbrow,rushedinpursuit.Theyforcedtheirwaythroughthehempandranintothehops.Thewitcherheardthepoundingofagallopinghorse,thesoundhe’dbeenwaitingfor.

“Here,Dandilion!Here!”heyelled.“Inthehops!”Hesawthemountbreastrightinfrontofhimandwasknockedover.He

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bouncedoff the horse as though itwere a rock and tumbledonto his back.Theworlddarkened.Hemanagedtorolltotheside,behindthehoppoles,toavoid the hooves. He sprung up nimbly but another rider rode into him,knockinghimdownagain.Thensuddenly,someonethrewthemselvesathimandpinnedhimtotheground.

Thentherewasaflash,andapiercingpaininthebackofhishead.Anddarkness.

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VITherewassandonhis lips.Whenhe tried tospit itout,he realizedhewaslyingfacedownontheground.Andhewastiedup.Heraisedhishead,alittleandheardvoices.

Hewaslyingontheforestfloor,byapinetree.Sometwentypacesawaystood unsaddled horses. Theywere obscured behind the feathery fronds offerns,butoneofthosehorseswas,withoutadoubt,Dandilion’schestnut.

“Threesacksofcorn,”heheard.“Good,Torque.Verygood.You’vedonewell.”

“That’snotall,” said thebleatingvoice,whichcouldonlybe thesylvandevil.“Lookatthis,Galarr.Itlookslikebeansbutit’scompletelywhite.Andthesizeofit!Andthis,thisiscalledoilseed.Theymakeoilfromit.”

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again.No, itwasn’t adream.ThedevilandGalarr,whoeverhewas,wereusingtheOldLanguage,the language of elves. But the words corn, beans, andoilseed were in thecommontongue.

“Andthis?What’sthis?”askedGalarr.“Flaxseed.Flax,youknow?Youmakeshirtsfromflax.It’smuchcheaper

thansilk,andmorehardwearing.It’squiteacomplicatedprocessasfarasIknowbutI’llfindouttheinsandouts.”

“As long as it takes root, this flax of yours; as long as it doesn’t go towasteliketheturnip,”grumbledGalarr,inthesamestrangeVolapuk.“Trytogetsomenewturnipseedlings,Torque.”

“Haveno fear,” bleated the sylvan. “There’s noproblemwith that here.Everythinggrowslikehell.I’llgetyousome,don’tworry.”

“Andonemorething,”saidGalarr.“Finallyfindoutwhatthatthree-fieldsystemoftheirsisallabout.”

Thewitchercarefullyraisedhisheadandtriedtoturnaround.“Geralt…”Heheardawhisper.“Areyouawake?”“Dandilion…” he whispered back. “Where are we…? What’s

happening?”Dandiliononlygruntedquietly.Geralthadhadenough.Hecursed,tensed

himselfandturnedontohisside.Inthemiddleofthegladestoodthesylvandevilwith—ashenowknew—

thesweetnameofTorque.Hewasbusyloadingsacks,bagsandpacksontothehorses.Hewasbeinghelpedbyaslim,tallmanwhocouldonlybeGalarr.

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Thelatter,hearingthewitchermove,turnedaround.Hishairwasblackwithadistincthintofdarkblue.Hehadsharpfeatures,big,brighteyesandpointedears.

Galarrwasanelf.Anelffromthemountains.Apure-bloodedAenSeidhe,arepresentativeoftheOldPeople.

Galarrwasn’talone.Sixmoresatattheedgeoftheglade.Onewasbusyemptying Dandilion’s packs; another strummed the troubadour’s lute. Theremainder, gathered around anuntied sack,weregreedilydevouring turnipsandrawcarrots.

“Vanadain,Toruviel,”saidGalarr, indicating theprisonerswithanodofhishead.“Vedrai!Enn’le!”

Torque jumped up and bleated. “No, Galarr! No! Filavandrel hasforbiddenit!Haveyouforgotten?”

“No,Ihaven’tforgotten.”Galarrthrewtwotiedsacksacrossthehorse’sback.“Butwehavetocheckiftheyhaven’tloosenedtheknots.”

“Whatdoyouwantfromus?”thetroubadourmoanedasoneoftheelvesknockedhim to thegroundwithhiskneeandchecked theknots. “Whyareyouholdingusprisoners?Whatdoyouwant?I’mDandilion,apoe—”

Geraltheardthesoundofablow.Heturnedaround,twistedhishead.TheelfstandingoverDandilionhadblackeyesandravenhair,whichfell

luxuriantly over her shoulders, except for two thin plaits braided at hertemples.Shewaswearingashortleathercamisoleoveralooseshirtofgreensatin, and tight woollen leggings tucked into riding boots. Her hips werewrapped around with a colored shawl which reached halfway down herthighs.

“Queglosse?”sheasked,lookingatthewitcherandplayingwiththehiltofthelongdaggerinherbelt.“Quel’enpavienn,ell’ea?”

“Nell’ea,”hecontested.“T’enpavienn,AenSeidhe.”“Didyouhear?”Theelfturnedtohercompanion,thetallSeidhewho,not

bothering to checkGeralt’s knots,was strumming away atDandilion’s lutewithanexpressionofindifferenceonhislongface.“Didyouhear,Vanadain?Theape-mancantalk!Hecanevenbeimpertinent!”

Seidheshrugged,makingthefeathersdecoratinghisjacketrustle.“Allthemorereasontogaghim,Toruviel.”

The elf leaned over Geralt. She had long lashes, an unnaturally palecomplexionandparched,crackedlips.Sheworeanecklaceofcarvedgoldenbirchpiecesonathong,wrappedaroundherneckseveraltimes.

“Well, say something else, ape-man,” she hissed. “We’ll seewhat your

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throat,sousedtobarking,iscapableof.”“What’s this?Doyouneedanexcusetohitaboundman?”Thewitcher

turnedoveronhisbackwithaneffortandspatoutthesand.“Hitmewithoutanyexcuses.I’veseenhowyoulikeit.Letoffsomesteam.”

Theelfstraightened.“I’vealreadyletoffsomesteamonyou,whileyourhandswere free,” she said. “I rodeyoudownand swipedyouon thehead.AndI’llalsofinishyouoffwhenthetimecomes.”

Hedidn’tanswer.“I’d much rather stab you from close up, looking you in the eyes,”

continuedtheelf.“Butyoustinkmosthideously,human,soI’llshootyou.”“Asyouwish.”Thewitchershrugged,asfarastheknotslethim.“Doas

youlike,nobleAenSeidhe.Youshouldn’tmissatied-up,motionlesstarget.”Theelfstoodoverhim,legsspread,andleaneddown,flashingherteeth.“No,Ishouldn’t,”shehissed.“IhitwhateverIwant.Butyoucanbesure

youwon’tdie fromthefirstarrow.Or thesecond. I’ll try tomakesureyoucanfeelyourselfdying.”

“Don’t come so close.” He grimaced, pretending to be repulsed. “Youstinkmosthideously,AenSeidhe.”

Theelfjumpedback,rockedonhernarrowhipsandforcefullykickedhimin the thigh.Geraltdrewhis legs inandcurledup,knowingwhereshewasaiming next. He succeeded, and got her boot in the hip, so hard his teethrattled.

Thetallelfstandingnext toherechoedeachkickwithasharpchordonthelute.

“Leavehim,Toruviel!”bleatedthesylvan.“Haveyougonemad?Galarr,tellhertostop!”

“Thaesse!” shrieked Toruviel, and kicked the witcher again. The tallSeidhe tore so violently at the strings that one snapped with a protractedwhine.

“Enough of that! Enough, for gods’ sake!” Dandilion yelled fretfully,wrigglingandtumblingintheropes.“Whyareyoubullyinghim,youstupidwhore?Leaveusalone!Andyouleavemylutealone,allright?”

Toruviel turned to him with an angry grimace on her cracked lips.“Musician!”shegrowled.“Ahuman,yetamusician!Alutenist!”

Without a word, she pulled the instrument from the tall elf’s hand,forcefullysmashedtheluteagainstthepineandthrewtheremains,tangledinthestrings,onDandilion’schest.

“Playonacow’shorn,yousavage,notalute.”

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Thepoetturnedaswhiteasdeath;hislipsquivered.Geralt,feelingcoldfuryrisingupsomewherewithinhim,drewToruviel’seyeswithhisown.

“Whatareyoustaringat?”hissedtheelf,leaningover.“Filthyape-man!Doyouwantmetogougeoutthoseinsecteyesofyours?”

Hernecklacehungdownjustabovehim.Thewitchertensed,lunged,andcaught thenecklace inhis teeth, tuggingpowerfully, curlinghis legs inandturningonhisside.

Toruviellostherbalanceandfellontopofhim.Geralt wriggled in the ropes like a fish, crushed the elf beneath him,

tossedhis headbackwith such force that thevertebrae inhis neck crackedand, with all his might, butted her in the face with his forehead. Toruvielhowledandstruggled.

Theypulledhimoffherbrutallyand,tuggingathisclothesandhair,liftedhim.Oneof themstruckhim;he felt rings cut the skinoverhis cheekboneandtheforestdancedandswaminfrontofhiseyes.HesawToruviellurchtoher knees, blood pouring from her nose and mouth. The elf wrenched thedagger from its sheath but gave a sob, hunched over, grasped her face anddroppedherheadbetweenherknees.

The tall elf in the jacket adornedwith colorful feathers took thedaggerfromherhandandapproachedthewitcher.Hesmiledasheraisedtheblade.Geraltsawhimthrougharedhaze;bloodfromhisforehead,whichhe’dcutagainstToruviel’steeth,pouredintohiseyesockets.

“No!”bleatedTorque, runningup to the elf andhangingon tohis arm.“Don’tkillhim!No!”

“Voe’rle, Vanadain,” a sonorous voice suddenly commanded. “Quessaen?Caelm,evellienn!Galarr!”

Geraltturnedhisheadasfarasthefistclutchinghishairpermitted.The horse which had just reached the glade was as white as snow, its

manelong,softandsilkyasawoman’shair.Thehairoftheridersittinginthesumptuous saddle was identical in color, pulled back at the forehead by abandanastuddedwithsapphires.

Torque, bleating now and then, ran up to the horse, caught hold of thestirrupandshoweredthewhite-hairedelfwithatorrentofwords.TheSeidheinterrupted him with an authoritative gesture and jumped down from hissaddle.HeapproachedToruviel,whowasbeingsupportedbytwoelves,andcarefully removed thebloodiedhandkerchief fromher face.Toruvielgaveaheartrendinggroan.TheSeidheshookhisheadandapproached thewitcher.His burning black eyes, shining like stars in his pale face, had dark rings

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beneaththem,asifhehadnotsleptforseveralnightsinarow.“You stink even when bound,” he said quietly in unaccented common

tongue.“Likeabasilisk.I’lldrawmyconclusionsfromthat.”“Toruvielstartedit,”bleatedthedevil.“Shekickedhimwhenhewastied

up,asifshe’dlosthermind—”Withagesture,theelforderedhimtobequiet.Athiscommand,theother

Seidhe dragged thewitcher andDandilion under the pine tree and fastenedthem to the trunkwith belts. Then they all knelt by the prostrate Toruviel,shelteringher.AfteramomentGeraltheardheryellandfightintheirarms.

“Ididn’twantthis,”saidthesylvan,stillstandingnexttothem.“Ididn’t,human. Ididn’tknow they’darrive justwhenwe—When they stunnedyouandtiedyourcompanionup,Iaskedthemtoleaveyouthere,inthehops.But—”

“Theycouldn’tleaveanywitnesses,”mutteredthewitcher.“Surely theywon’t kill us,will they?” groanedDandilion. “Surely they

won’t…”Torquesaidnothing,wigglinghissoftnose.“Bloody hell.” The poet groaned. “They’re going to kill us?What’s all

thisabout,Geralt?Whatdidwewitness?”“OursylvanfriendisonaspecialmissionintheValleyofFlowers.AmI

right,Torque?Attheelves’requesthe’sstealingseeds,seedlings,knowledgeaboutfarming…Whatelse,devil?”

“WhateverIcan,”bleatedTorque.“Everythingtheyneed.Andshowmesomething theydon’tneed.They’re starving in themountains, especially inwinter.Andtheyknownothingaboutfarming.Andbeforethey’velearnedtodomesticategameorpoultry,andtocultivatewhattheycanintheirplotsofland…Theyhaven’tgotthetime,human.”

“Idon’tcareashitabouttheirtime.WhathaveIdonetothem?”groanedDandilion.“WhatwronghaveIdonethem?”

“Thinkcarefully,”saidthewhite-hairedelf,approachingwithoutasound,“andmaybeyoucananswerthequestionyourself.”

“He’s simply taking revenge for all the wrong that man has done theelves.”Thewitchersmiledwryly.“It’sallthesametohimwhohetakeshisrevenge on. Don’t be deluded by his noble bearing and elaborate speech,Dandilion.He’snodifferent than theblack-eyeswhoknockedusdown.Hehastounloadhispowerlesshatredonsomebody.”

TheelfpickedupDandilion’sshatteredlute.Foramoment,helookedattheruinedinstrumentinsilence,andfinallythrewitintothebushes.

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“If I wanted to give vent to hatred or a desire for revenge,” he said,playingwithapairofsoftwhiteleathergloves,“I’dstormthevalleyatnight,burn down the village and kill the villagers. Childishly simple. They don’tevenputoutaguard.Theydon’tseeorhearuswhentheycometotheforest.Cantherebeanythingsimpler,anythingeasier,thanaswift,silentarrowfrombehinda tree?Butwe’renothuntingyou. It isyou,manwithstrangeeyes,whoishuntingourfriend,thesylvanTorque.”

“Eeeeee, that’s exaggerating,” bleated the devil. “What hunt?We werehavingabitoffun—”

“Itisyouhumanswhohateanythingthatdiffersfromyou,beitonlybythe shape of its ears,” the elf went on calmly, paying no attention to thesylvan. “That’swhy you took our land from us, drove us from our homes,forcedusintothesavagemountains.YoutookourDolBlathanna,theValleyof Flowers. I am Filavandrel aen Fidhail of Silver Towers, of the FeleaornfamilyfromWhiteShips.Now,exiledandhoundedtotheedgeoftheworld,IamFilavandreloftheEdgeoftheWorld.”

“Theworld is huge,”muttered thewitcher. “Wecan find room.There’senoughspace.”

“Theworldishuge,”repeatedtheelf.“That’strue,human.Butyouhavechangedthisworld.Atfirst,youusedforcetochangeit.Youtreateditasyoutreat anything that falls into your hands. Now it looks as if the world hasstartedtofitinwithyou.It’sgivenwaytoyou.It’sgivenin.”

Geraltdidn’treply.“Torque spoke the truth,” continued Filavandrel. “Yes, we are starving.

Yes,wearethreatenedwithannihilation.Thesunshinesdifferently,theairisdifferent,waterisnotasitusedtobe.Thethingsweusedtoeat,madeuseof,are dying, diminishing, deteriorating.We never cultivated the land. Unlikeyouhumans,wenevertoreatitwithhoesandploughs.Toyou,theearthpaysabloodytribute.Itbestowedgiftsonus.Youteartheearth’streasuresfromitbyforce.Forus,theearthgavebirthandblossomedbecauseitlovedus.Well,nolovelastsforever.Butwestillwanttosurvive.”

“Insteadofstealinggrain,youcanbuyit.Asmuchasyouneed.Youstillhaveagreatmanythingsthathumansconsidervaluable.Youcantrade.”

Filavandrelsmiledcontemptuously.“Withyou?Never.”Geraltfrowned,breakingupthedriedbloodonhischeek.“Thedevilwith

you, then,andyourarroganceandcontempt.By refusing tocohabit,you’recondemning yourselves to annihilation. To cohabit, to come to anunderstanding,that’syouronlychance.”

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Filavandrelleanedforward,hiseyesblazing.“Cohabit on your terms?” he asked in a changed, yet still calm, voice.

“Acknowledging your sovereignty? Losing our identity? Cohabit as what?Slaves? Pariahs? Cohabit with you from beyond the walls you’ve built tofenceyourselvesawayintowns?Cohabitwithyourwomenandhangforit?Orlookonatwhathalf-bloodchildrenmustlivewith?Whyareyouavoidingmyeyes, strangehuman?Howdoyou findcohabitingwithneighbors fromwhom,afterall,youdodiffersomewhat?”

“I manage.” The witcher looked him straight in the eyes. “I managebecauseIhaveto.BecauseI’venootherwayout.BecauseI’veovercomethevanity and pride of being different. I’ve understood that they are a pitifuldefenseagainstbeingdifferent.Because I’veunderstood that thesunshinesdifferentlywhen something changes, but I’mnot the axis of those changes.Thesunshinesdifferently,butitwillcontinuetoshine,andjumpingatitwithahoeisn’tgoingtodoanything.We’vegot toacceptfacts,elf.That’swhatwe’vegottolearn.”

“That’swhatyouwant,isn’tit?”Withhiswrist,Filavandrelwipedawaythesweatabovehiswhitebrows.“Isthatwhatyouwanttoimposeonothers?The conviction that your timehas come, your human era and age, and thatwhatyou’redoingtootherracesisasnaturalastherisingandthesettingofthesun?Thateverybodyhastocometotermswithit,toacceptit?Andyouaccusemeofvanity?Andwhataretheviewsyou’reproclaiming?Whydon’tyouhumansfinallyrealizethatyourdominationoftheworldisasnaturalandrepellant as lice multiplying in a sheepskin coat? You could propose wecohabit with lice and get the same reaction—and I’d listen to the lice asattentivelyifthey,inreturnforouracknowledgmentoftheirsupremacy,weretoagreetoallowcommonuseofthecoat.”

“So don’twaste time discussing itwith such an unpleasant insect, elf,”saidthewitcher,barelyabletocontrolhisvoice.“I’msurprisedyouwanttoarouseafeelingofguiltandrepentanceinsuchalouseasme.You’repitiful,Filavandrel. You’re embittered, hungry for revenge and conscious of yourownpowerlessness.Goon,thrusttheswordintome.Revengeyourselfonthewholehumanrace.You’ll seewhat relief that’llbringyou.Firstkickme intheballsortheteeth,likeToruviel.”

Filavandrelturnedhishead.“Toruvielissick,”hesaid.“I know that disease and its symptoms.” Geralt spat over his shoulder.

“ThetreatmentIgaveheroughttohelp.”

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“This conversation is senseless.” Filavandrel stepped away. “I’m sorrywe’vegottokillyou.Revengehasnothingtodowithit;it’spurelypractical.Torquehastocarryonwithhistaskandnoonecansuspectwhohe’sdoingitfor.Wecan’taffordtogotowarwithyou,andwewon’tbetakeninbytradeandexchange.We’renotsonaivethatwedon’tknowyourmerchantsarejustoutpostsofyourwayoflife.Weknowwhatfollowsthem.Andwhatsortofcohabitationtheybring.”

“Elf,”Dandilion,whohad remained silent until now, said quietly, “I’vegotfriends.Peoplewho’llpayransomforus.Intheformofprovisions,ifyoulike,oranyform.Thinkaboutit.Afterall,thosestolenseedsaren’tgoingtosaveyou—”

“Nothingwillsavethemanymore,”Geraltinterruptedhim.“Don’tgrovel,Dandilion,don’tbeghim.It’spointlessandpitiful.”

“For someone who has lived such a short time”—Filavandrel forced asmile—“youshowanastoundingdisdainfordeath,human.”

“Yourmothergivesbirthtoyouonlyonceandonlyoncedoyoudie,”thewitchersaidcalmly.“Anappropriatephilosophyforalouse,don’tyouagree?Andyourlongevity?Ipityyou,Filavandrel.”

Theelfraisedhiseyebrows.“Why?”“You’re pathetic, with your little stolen sacks of seeds on pack horses,

with your handful of grain, that tiny crumb thanks to which you plan tosurvive. And with that mission of yours which is supposed to turn yourthoughts from imminent annihilation. Because you know this is the end.Nothingwillsproutoryieldcropsontheplateau;nothingwillsaveyounow.Butyoulivelong,andyouwillliveverylonginarrogantisolation,fewerandfewer of you, growingweaker andweaker,more andmore bitter.And youknowwhat’llhappenthen,Filavandrel.Youknowthatdesperateyoungmenwiththeeyesofhundred-year-oldmenandwithered,barrenandsickgirlslikeToruvielwill lead thosewhocanstillholda swordandbow in theirhands,downintothevalleys.You’llcomedownintotheblossomingvalleystomeetdeath, wanting to die honorably, in battle, and not in sickbeds of misery,whereanemia,tuberculosisandscurvywillsendyou.Then,long-livingAenSeidhe,you’ll rememberme.You’ll remember that Ipitiedyou.Andyou’llunderstandthatIwasright.”

“Timewill tellwhowasright,”said theelfquietly.“Andherein lies theadvantageof longevity. I’vegot a chanceof findingout, ifonlybecauseofthat stolen handful of grain. Youwon’t have a chance like that. You’ll die

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shortly.”“Sparehim,atleast.”GeraltindicatedDandilionwithhishead.“No,not

outofloftymercy.Outofcommonsense.Nobody’sgoingtoaskafterme,buttheyaregoingtotakerevengeforhim.”

“Youjudgemycommonsensepoorly,”theelfsaidaftersomehesitation.“Ifhesurvivesthankstoyou,he’llundoubtedlyfeelobligedtoavengeyou.”

“Youcanbesureofthat!”Dandilionburstout,paleasdeath.“Youcanbesure,yousonofabitch.Killmetoo,becauseIpromiseotherwiseI’llsettheworldagainstyou.You’llseewhat licefromafurcoatcando!We’ll finishyouoffevenifwehavetolevelthosemountainsofyourstotheground!Youcanbesureofthat!”

“Howstupidyouare,Dandilion,”sighedthewitcher.“Yourmothergivesbirthtoyouonlyonceandonlyoncedoyoudie,”said

the poet haughtily, the effect somewhat spoiled by his teeth rattling likecastanets.

“Thatsettlesit.”Filavandreltookhisglovesfromhisbeltandpulledthemon.“It’stimetoendthis.”

At his command, the elves positioned themselves opposite Geralt andDandilionwithbows.Theydiditquickly;they’dobviouslybeenwaitingforthisalongtime.Oneofthem,thewitchernoticed,wasstillchewingaturnip.Toruviel,hermouthandnosebandagedwithclothandbirchbark,stoodnexttothearchers.Withoutabow.

“ShallIbindyoureyes?”askedFilavandrel.“Goaway.”Thewitcherturnedhishead.“Go—”“Ad’yeableaeparse,”Dandilionfinishedforhim,histeethchattering.“Oh, no!” the sylvan suddenly bleated, running up and sheltering the

condemnedmenwithhisbody.“Haveyoulostyourmind?Filavandrel!Thisisnotwhatweagreed!Not this!Youweresupposed to take themup to themountains,holdthemsomewhereinsomecave,untilwe’dfinished—”

“Torque,”saidtheelf,“Ican’t.Ican’triskit.DidyouseewhathedidtoToruvielwhiletiedup?Ican’triskit.”

“Idon’tcarewhatyoucanorcan’t!Whatdoyouimagine?YouthinkI’lllet you murder them? Here, on my land? Right next to my hamlet? Youaccursed idiots!Getoutofherewithyourbowsor I’ll ramyoudown.Uk!Uk!”

“Torque.”Filavandrelrestedhishandsonhisbelt.“Thisisnecessary.”“Duvvelsheyss,notnecessary!”“Moveaside,Torque.”

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Thesylvanshookhisears,bleatedevenlouder,staredandbenthiselbowinanabusivegesturepopularamongdwarves.

“You’renotgoing tomurder anybodyhere!Getonyourhorses andoutintothemountains,beyondthepasses!Otherwiseyou’llhavetokillmetoo!”

“Be reasonable,” said the white-haired elf slowly. “If we let them live,people are going to learnwhat you’re doing. They’ll catch you and tortureyou.Youknowwhatthey’relike,afterall.”

“Ido,”bleated the sylvanstill shelteringGeralt andDandilion.“It turnsout Iknow thembetter than Iknowyou!And,verily, I don’tknowwho tosidewith.Iregretallyingmyselfwithyou,Filavandrel!”

“Youwantedto,”saidtheelfcoldly,givingasignaltothearchers.“Youwantedto,Torque.L’sparellean!Evellienn!”

The elves drew arrows from their quivers. “Go away, Torque,” saidGeralt, gritting his teeth. “It’s senseless. Get aside.” The sylvan, withoutbudgingfromthespot,showedhimthedwarves’gesture.

“Icanhear…music…”Dandilionsuddenlysobbed.“Ithappens,” said thewitcher, lookingat thearrowheads.“Don’tworry.

There’snoshameinfear.”Filavandrel’sfacechanged,screwedupinastrangegrimace.Thewhite-

hairedSeidhe suddenly turned round andgave a shout to the archers.Theyloweredtheirweapons.

Lilleenteredtheglade.Shewasnolongeraskinnypeasantgirlinasackclothdress.Throughthe

grassescoveringthegladewalked—no,notwalked—floatedaqueen,radiant,golden-haired,fiery-eyed,ravishing.TheQueenoftheFields,decoratedwithgarlandsofflowers,earsofcorn,bunchesofherbs.

At her left-hand side, a young stag pattered on stiff legs, at her rightrustledanenormoushedgehog.

“DanaMeadbh,” saidFilavandrelwithveneration.And thenbowedandknelt.

Theremainingelvesalsoknelt;slowly,reluctantly,theyfelltotheirkneesoneaftertheotherandbowedtheirheadslowinveneration.Toruvielwasthelasttokneel.

“Hael,DanaMeadbh,”repeatedFilavandrel.Lilledidn’tanswer.Shestoppedseveralpacesshortoftheelfandswept

her blue eyes over Dandilion and Geralt. Torque, while bowing, startedcuttingthroughtheknots.NoneoftheSeidhemoved.

Lille stood in frontofFilavandrel.Shedidn’t sayanything,didn’tmake

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theslightestsound,butthewitchersawthechangesontheelf’sface,sensedthe aura surrounding them andwas in no doubt theywere communicating.Thedevilsuddenlypulledathissleeve.

“Your friend,” he bleated quietly, “has decided to faint. Right on time.Whatshallwedo?”

“Slaphimacrossthefaceacoupleoftimes.”“Withpleasure.”Filavandrel got up from his knees. At his command, the elves fell to

saddlingthehorsesasquickaslightning.“Comewithus,DanaMeadbh,”saidthewhite-hairedelf.“Weneedyou.

Don’t abandon us, Eternal One. Don’t deprive us of your love. We’ll diewithoutit.”

Lille slowly shook her head and indicated east, the direction of themountains. The elf bowed, crumpling the ornate reins of his white-manedmountinhishands.

Dandilion walked up, pale and dumbfounded, supported by the sylvan.Lille looked at him and smiled. She looked into the witcher’s eyes. Shelookedlong.Shedidn’tsayaword.Wordsweren’tnecessary.

Most of the elves were already in their saddles when Filavandrel andToruvielapproached.Geraltlookedintotheelf’sblackeyes,visibleabovethebandages.

“Toruviel…”hesaid.Anddidn’tfinish.The elf nodded. From her saddlebow, she took a lute, a marvelous

instrument of light, tastefully inlaid wood with a slender, engraved neck.Without a word, she handed the lute to Dandilion. The poet accepted theinstrumentandsmiled.Alsowithoutaword,buthiseyessaidagreatdeal.

“Farewell, strange human,” Filavandrel said quietly to Geralt. “You’reright.Wordsaren’tnecessary.Theywon’tchangeanything.”

Geraltremainedsilent.“After some consideration,” added the Seidhe, “I’ve come to the

conclusion that youwere right.When you pitied us. So goodbye.Goodbyeuntil we meet again, on the day when we descend into the valleys to diehonorably.We’lllookoutforyouthen,ToruvielandI.Don’tletusdown.”

Foralongtime,theylookedateachotherinsilence.Andthenthewitcheransweredbrieflyandsimply:

“I’lltry.”

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VII“By the gods, Geralt.” Dandilion stopped playing, hugged the lute andtouched it with his cheek. “This wood sings on its own! These strings arealive!Whatwonderful tonality!Bloodyhell, a coupleof kicks and abit offearisaprettylowpricetopayforsuchasuperblute.I’dhaveletmyselfbekickedfromdawntoduskifI’dknownwhatIwasgoingtoget.Geralt?Areyoulisteningtomeatall?”

“It’sdifficultnottohearyoutwo.”Geraltraisedhisheadfromthebookandglancedat thesylvan,whowasstill stubbornlysqueakingonapeculiarset of pipes made from reeds of various lengths. “I hear you; the wholeneighborhoodhearsyou.”

“Duvvelsheyss,notneighborhood.”Torqueputhispipesaside.“Adesert,that’swhatitis.Awilderness.Ashit-hole.Eh,Imissmyhemp!”

“Hemisseshishemp,”laughedDandilion,carefullyturningthedelicatelyengravedlutepegs.“Youshouldhavesat inthethicketquietasadormouseinsteadofscaringgirls,destroyingdykesandsullyingthewell.Ithinkyou’regoingtobemorecarefulnowandgiveupyourtricks,eh,Torque?”

“Iliketricks,”declaredthesylvan,baringhisteeth.“AndIcan’timaginelifewithoutthem.Buthaveityourway.Ipromisetobemorecarefulonnewterritory.I’llbemorerestrained.”

The night was cloudy and windy. The gale beat down the reeds andrustledinthebranchesofthebushessurroundingtheircamp.Dandilionthrewsomedry twigs into the fire.Torquewriggledaroundonhismakeshiftbed,swipingmosquitoesawaywithhistail.Afishleaptinthelakewithasplash.

“I’lldescribeourwholeexpeditiontotheedgeoftheworldinaballad,”declaredDandilion.“AndI’lldescribeyouinit,too,Torque.”

“Don’t think you’ll get awaywith it,” growled the sylvan. “I’llwrite aballadtoo,then,anddescribeyou,butinsuchawayasyouwon’tbeabletoshowyourfaceindecentcompanyfortwelveyears.Sowatchout!

Geralt?”“What?”“Have you read anything interesting in that book which you so

disgracefullywheedledoutofthosefreemen?”“Ihave.”“Soreadittous,beforethefireburnsout.”“Yes,yes”—DandilionstrummedthemelodiousstringsofToruviel’slute

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—“readussomething,Geralt.”Thewitcherleanedonhiselbow,edgingthevolumeclosertothefire.“‘Glimpsedshemaybe,’”hebegan,“‘duringthetimeofsumor,from

thedaysofMaiandJuyntothedaysofOctober,butmostoftthishapsontheFesteoftheScythe,whichancientswouldcallLammas.Sherevealethherselfas theFairhairedLadie, in flowersall,andall that livethfollowethherpathandclingethtoher,asone,plantorbeast.HencehernameisLyfia.Ancientscall her Danamebi and venerate her greatly. Even the Bearded, albeit inmountainsnotonfieldstheydwell,respectandcallherBloemenmagde.’”

“Danamebi,”mutteredDandilion.“DanaMeadbh,theLadyoftheFields.”“ ‘Whence Lyfia treads the earth blossometh and bringeth forth, and

abundantly doth each creature breed, such is her might. All nations to heroffersacrificeofharvest invainhope their fieldnotanother’swillbyLyfiavisitedbe.BecauseitisalsosaidthattherecomethadayatendwhenLyfiawillcometosettleamongthattribewhichaboveallotherswillrise,butthesebemerewomenfolktales.Because,forsooth,thewisedosaythatLyfialovethbut One land and that which groweth on it and liveth alike, with nodifference,beitthesmallestofcommonappletreesorthemostwretchedofinsects,andallnationsarenomoretoherthanthatthinnestoftreesbecause,forsooth,theytoowillbegoneandnew,differenttribeswillfollow.ButLyfiaeternalis,wasandevershallbeuntiltheendoftime.’”

“Until the end of time!” sang the troubadour and strummed his lute.Torquejoinedinwithahightrillonhisreedpipes.“Hail,LadyoftheFields!Fortheharvest,fortheflowersinDolBlathanna,butalsoforthehideoftheundersigned,whichyousavedfrombeingriddledwitharrows.Doyouknowwhat?I’mgoingtotellyousomething.”Hestoppedplaying,huggedthelutelike a child and grew sad. “I don’t think I’ll mention the elves and thedifficultiesthey’vegottostrugglewith,intheballad.There’dbenoshortageof scum wanting to go into the mountains… Why hasten the—” Thetroubadourgrewsilent.

“Go on, finish,” said Torque bitterly. “You wanted to say: hasten whatcan’tbeavoided.Theinevitable.”

“Let’s not talk about it,” interruptedGeralt. “Why talk about it?Wordsaren’tnecessary.FollowLille’sexample.”

“Shespoketotheelftelepathically,”mutteredthebard.“Isensedit.I’mright,aren’tI,Geralt?Afterall,youcansensecommunicationlikethat.Didyouunderstandwhat…whatshewasgettingacrosstotheelf?”

“Someofit.”

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“Whatwasshetalkingabout?”“Hope.Thatthingsrenewthemselves,andwon’tstopdoingso.”“Isthatall?”“Thatwasenough.”“Hmm…Geralt?Lille lives in the village, among peopleDo you think

that—”“—thatshe’llstaywiththem?Here,inDolBlathanna?Maybe.If…”“Ifwhat?”“Ifpeopleproveworthyofit.Iftheedgeoftheworldremainstheedgeof

theworld.Ifwerespecttheboundaries.Butenoughofthistalk,boys.Timetosleep.”

“True. It’s nearlymidnight; the fire’s burning out. I’ll sit up for a littlewhileyet. I’vealwaysfound iteasiest to invent rhymesbesideadyingfire.AndIneedatitleformyballad.Anicetitle.”

“MaybeTheEdgeoftheWorld?”“Banal,” snorted the poet. “Even if it really is the edge, it’s got to be

describeddifferently.Metaphorically.Itakeityouknowwhatametaphoris,Geralt?Hmm…Letmethink…‘Where…’Bloodyhell.‘Where—’”

“Goodnight,”saidthedevil.

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THEVOICEOFREASON

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IThewitcherunlacedhisshirtandpeeledthewetlinenfromhisneck.Itwasverywarminthecave,hot,even,theairhungheavyandmoist,thehumiditycondensingindropletsonthemoss-coveredbouldersandbasaltblocksofthewalls.

Plantswere everywhere. They grew out of beds hewn into the bedrockand filled with peat, in enormous chests, troughs and flowerpots. Theyclimbeduprocks,upwoodentrellisesandstakes.Geraltexaminedthemwithinterest, recognizing some rare specimens—those which made up theingredients of a witcher’s medicines and elixirs, magical philters and asorcerer’s decoctions, and others, even rarer,whose qualities he could onlyguess at. Some he didn’t know at all, or hadn’t even heard of. He sawstretches of star-leafedmelilote, compact balls of puffheads pouring out ofhuge flowerpots, shootsof arenaria strewnwithberries as red asblood.Herecognized themeaty, thickly veined leaves of fastaim, the crimson-goldenovals of measure-me-nots and the dark arrows of sawcuts. He noticedpinnatedpondbloodmosshuddledagainststoneblocks,theglisteningtubersofraven’seyeandthetiger-stripedpetalsofthemouse-tailorchid.

Intheshadypartofthegrottobulgedcapsofthese-wantmushroom,grayasstonesinafield.Notfarfromthemgrewreachcluster,anantidotetoeveryknown toxin and venom. The modest yellow-gray brushes peering fromchests deeply sunken into the ground revealed scarix, a rootwith powerfulanduniversalmedicinalqualities.

Thecenterof thecavewas takenupbyaqueousplants.Geralt sawvatsfullofhornwortandturtleduckweed,andtankscoveredinacompactskinofliverwort,fodderfortheparasiticgiantoyster.Glassreservoirsfullofgnarledrhizomes of the hallucinogenic bitip, slender, dark-green cryptocorines andclusters of nematodes. Muddy, silted troughs were breeding grounds forinnumerablephycomycetes,algae,moldsandswamplichen.

Nenneke, rolling up the sleeves of her priestess’s robe, took a pair ofscissorsandalittlebonerakefromherbasketandgottowork.Geraltsatonabenchbetweenshaftsoflightfallingthroughhugecrystalblocksinthecave’svault.

Thepriestessmutteredandhummedunderherbreath,deftlyplungingherhands into the thicket of leaves and shoots, snippingwith her scissors andfillingthebasketwithbunchesofweeds.Sheadjustedthestakesandframes

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supportingtheplantsand,nowandagain,turnedthesoilwithhersmallrake.Sometimes, muttering angrily, she pulled out dried or rotted stalks, threwtheminto thehumuscontainersasfoodformushroomsandothersquamousandsnake-like twistedplantswhich thewitcherdidn’t recognize.Hewasn’tevensure theywereplantsatall—it seemed tohim theglistening rhizomesmovedalittle,stretchingtheirhair-likeoffshootstowardthepriestess’shands.

Itwaswarm.Verywarm.“Geralt?”“Yes?”Hefoughtoffanoverwhelmingsleepiness.Nenneke,playingwith

her scissors, was looking at him from behind the huge pinnated leaves ofsand-spurryflybush.

“Don’tleaveyet.Stay.Afewmoredays.”“No,Nenneke.It’stimeformetobeonmyway.”“Whythehurry?Youdon’thavetoworryaboutHere-ward.Andletthat

vagabondDandiliongoandbreakhisneckonhisown.Stay,Geralt.”“No,Nenneke.”Thepriestess snippedwith scissors. “Areyou in suchhaste to leave the

templebecauseyou’reafraidthatshe’llfindyouhere?”“Yes,”headmittedreluctantly.“You’veguessed.”“Itwasn’t exactlydifficult,” shemuttered. “Butdon’tworry.Yennefer’s

alreadybeenhere.Twomonthsago.Shewon’tbebackinahurry,becausewequarreled.No,notbecauseofyou.Shedidn’taskaboutyou.”

“Shedidn’task?”“That’swhereithurts,”thepriestesslaughed.“You’reegocentric,likeall

men. There’s nothing worse than a lack of interest, is there? Thanindifference?No, but don’t lose heart. I knowYennefer only toowell. Shedidn’taskanything,butshedidlookaroundattentively,lookingforsignsofyou.Andshe’smightyfuriousatyou,thatIdidfeel.”

“Whatdidyouquarrelabout?”“Nothingthatwouldinterestyou.”“Iknowanyway.”“Idon’tthinkso,”saidNennekecalmly,adjustingthestakes.“Youknow

herverysuperficially.As,incidentally,sheknowsyou.It’squitetypicaloftherelationshipwhichbindsyou,ordidbindyou.Bothpartiesaren’tcapableofanything other than a strongly emotional evaluation of the consequences,whileignoringthecauses.”

“She came looking for a cure,” he remarked coldly. “That’s what youquarreledabout,admitit.”

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“Iwon’tadmitanything.”Thewitchergotupandstoodinfulllightunderoneofthecrystalsheetsin

thegrotto’svault.“Come here a minute, Nenneke. Take a look at this.” He unknotted a

secret pocket in his belt, dug out a tiny bundle, aminiature pursemade ofgoat-leather,andpouredthecontentsintohispalm.

“Twodiamonds,aruby,threeprettynephrites,andaninterestingagate.”Nenneke was knowledgeable about everything. “How much did they costyou?”

“TwoandahalfthousandTemeriaorens.PaymentfortheWyzimstriga.”“For a torn neck.”The priestess grimaced. “Oh,well, it’s a question of

price.Butyoudidwelltoturncashintothesetrinkets.TheorenisweakandthecostofstonesinWyzimisn’thigh;it’stooneartothedwarves’minesinMahakam. If you sell those in Novigrad, you’ll get at least five hundredNovigradcrowns,andthecrown,atpresent,standsatsixandahalforensandisgoingup.”

“I’dlikeyoutotakethem.”“Forsafekeeping?”“No.Keepthenephritesforthetempleas,shallwesay,myofferingtothe

goddessMelitele.Andtheremainingstones…areforher.ForYennefer.Givethemtoherwhenshecomestovisityouagain,whichwillnodoubtbesoon.”

Nennekelookedhimstraightintheeyes.“Iwouldn’tdothis if Iwereyou.You’llmakeherevenmorefurious, if

that’s possible, believe me. Leave everything as it is, because you’re nolongerinapositiontomendanythingormakeanythingbetter.Runningawayfromher,youbehaved…well, let’ssay,inamannernotparticularlyworthyof amatureman. By trying to wipe away your guilt with precious stones,you’llbehavelikeavery,veryover-matureman.Ireallydon’tknowwhatsortofmanIcanstandless.”

“Shewastoopossessive,”hemuttered,turningawayhisface.“Icouldn’tstandit.Shetreatedmelike—”

“Stop it,” she said sharply. “Don’t cry on my shoulder. I’m not yourmother, and I won’t be your confidante either. I don’t give a shit how shetreatedyouandIcareevenlesshowyoutreatedher.AndIdon’tintendtobeago-betweenorgivethesestupidjewelstoher.Ifyouwanttobeafool,doitwithoutusingmeasanintermediary.”

“Youmisunderstand. I’mnot thinkingofappeasingorbribingher.But Idoowehersomething,andthetreatmentshewantstoundergoisapparently

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verycostly.Iwanttohelpher,that’sall.”“You’remoreofan idiot thanI thought.”Nennekepickedup thebasket

fromtheground.“Acostlytreatment?Help?Geralt,thesejewelsofyoursare,toher,knickknacksnotworthspittingon.DoyouknowhowmuchYennefercanearnforgettingridofanunwantedpregnancyforagreatlady?”

“Idohappentoknow.Andthatsheearnsevenmoreforcuringinfertility.It’sa shameshecan’thelpherself in that respect.That’swhyshe’s seekinghelpfromothers—likeyou.”

“Noonecanhelpher;it’simpossible.She’sasorceress.Likemostfemalemagicians,herovariesareatrophiedandit’sirreversible.She’llneverbeabletohavechildren.”

“Not all sorceresses are handicapped in this respect. I know somethingaboutthat,andyoudo,too.”

Nennekeclosedhereyes.“Yes,Ido.”“Somethingcan’tbearuleifthereareexceptionstoit.Andpleasedon’t

give me any banal untruths about exceptions proving the rule. Tell mesomethingaboutexceptionsassuch.”

“Only one thing,” she said coldly, “can be said about exceptions. Theyexist. Nothing more. But Yennefer… Well, unfortunately, she isn’t anexception.Atleastnotasregardsthehandicapwe’retalkingabout.Inotherrespectsit’shardtofindagreaterexceptionthanher.”

“Sorcerers”—Geraltwasn’tputoffbyNenneke’scoldness,orherallusion—“have raised the dead. I know of proven cases.And it seems tome thatraisingthedeadisharderthanreversingtheatrophyofanyorgans.”

“You’re mistaken. Because I don’t know of one single, proven, fullysuccessfulcaseofreversingatrophyorregeneratingendocrineglands.Geralt,that’senough.Thisisbeginningtosoundlikeaconsultation.Youdon’tknowanythingaboutthesethings.Ido.AndifItellyouthatYenneferhaspaidforcertaingiftsbylosingothers,thenthat’showitis.”

“Ifit’ssoclear,thenIdon’tunderstandwhyshekeepsontryingto—”“Youunderstandverylittle,”interruptedthepriestess.“Bloodylittle.Stop

worryingaboutYennefer’scomplaintsandthinkaboutyourown.Yourbodywasalsosubjected tochangeswhichare irreversible.Shesurprisesyou,butwhataboutyou?Itoughttobecleartoyoutoo,thatyou’renevergoingtobehuman,butyoustillkeeptryingtobeone.Makinghumanmistakes.Mistakesawitchershouldn’tbemaking.”

Heleanedagainstthewallofthecaveandwipedthesweatfromhisbrow.“You’re not answering,” stated Nenneke, smiling faintly. “I’m not

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surprised.It’snoteasytospeakwiththevoiceofreason.You’resick,Geralt.You’renotfullyfit.Youreacttoelixirsbadly.You’vegotarapidpulserate,thedilationofyoureyesisslow,yourreactionsaredelayed.Youcan’tgetthesimplestSigns right.Andyouwant tohit the trail?Youhave tobe treated.Youneedtherapy.Andbeforethat,atrance.”

“Is thatwhy you sent Iola tome?As part of the therapy?Tomake thetranceeasier?”

“You’reafool!”“Butnottosuchanextent.”Nenneke turned away and slippedher hands among themeaty stalks of

creeperswhichthewitcherdidn’trecognize.“Well,haveityourway,”shesaideasily.“Yes,Isenthertoyou.Aspart

of the therapy. And let me tell you, it worked. Your reactions were muchbetter the following day. Youwere calmer. And Iola needed some therapy,too.Don’tbeangry.”

“I’mnotangrybecauseofthetherapy,orbecauseofIola.”“Butatthevoiceofreasonyou’rehearing?”Hedidn’tanswer.“A trance is necessary,” repeatedNenneke, glancing around at her cave

garden.“Iola’sready.She’smadebothphysicalandpsychiccontactwithyou.Ifyouwanttoleave,let’sdoittonight.”

“No.Idon’twantto.Look,Nenneke,Iolamightstarttoprophesyduringthetrance.Topredict,readthefuture.”

“That’sjustit.”“Exactly.AndIdon’twanttoknowthefuture.HowcouldIdowhatI’m

doingifIknewit?Besides,Iknowitanyway.”“Areyousure?”Hedidn’tanswer.“Oh,well,allright,”shesighed.“Let’s

go.Oh,and,Geralt? Idon’tmean toprybut tellme…Howdidyoumeet?YouandYennefer?Howdiditallstart?”

The witcher smiled. “It started with me and Dandilion not havinganythingforbreakfastanddecidingtocatchsomefish.”

“AmItounderstandthatinsteadoffishyoucaughtYennefer?”“I’lltellyouwhathappened.Butmaybeaftersupper.I’mhungry.”“Let’sgo,then.I’vegoteverythingIneed.”Thewitchermadeamovetowardtheexitandoncemorelookedaround

thecavehothouse.“Nenneke?”“Aha?”

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“Halfof theplantsyou’vegotheredon’tgrowanywhere else anymore.AmIright?”

“Yes.Morethanhalf.”“Howcome?”“If I said it was through the goddess Melitele’s grace, I daresay that

wouldn’tbeenoughforyou,wouldit?”“Idaresayitwouldn’t.”“That’swhatIthought.”Nennekesmiled.“Yousee,Geralt,thisbrightsun

ofoursisstillshining,butnotquitethewayitusedto.Readthegreatbooksifyou like.But ifyoudon’twant towaste timeon it,maybeyou’llbehappywith the explanation that the crystal roof acts like a filter. It eliminates thelethalrayswhichareincreasinglyfoundinsunlight.That’swhyplantswhichyoucan’tseegrowingwildanywhereintheworldgrowhere.”

“Iunderstand.”Thewitchernodded.“Andus,Nenneke?Whataboutus?Thesunshinesonus,too.Shouldn’tweshelterunderarooflikethat?”

“Inprinciple,yes,”sighedthepriestess.“But…”“Butwhat?”“It’stoolate.”

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THELASTWISH

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IThe catfish stuck its barbelled head above the surface, tugged with force,splashed,stirredthewaterandflasheditswhitebelly.

“Careful,Dandilion!”shoutedthewitcher,digginghisheelsintothewetsand.“Holdhim,damnit!”

“Iamholdinghim…”groanedthepoet.“Heavens,whatamonster!It’saleviathan,notafish!There’llbesomegoodeatingonthat,deargods!”

“Loosenit.Loosenitorthelinewillsnap!”Thecatfishclungtothebedandthrewitselfagainstthecurrenttowardthe

bend in the river. The line hissed as Dandilion’s and Geralt’s glovessmoldered.

“Pull,Geralt,pull!Don’tloosenitorit’llgettangledupintheroots!”“Thelinewillsnap!”“No,itwon’t.Pull!”Theyhunchedupandpulled.Thelinecutthewaterwithahiss,vibrated

and scattered droplets which glistened like mercury in the rising sun. Thecatfishsuddenlysurfaced,set thewaterseething justbelowthesurface,andthetensionofthelineeased.Theyquicklystartedtogatheruptheslack.

“We’llsmokeit,”pantedDandilion.“We’lltakeittothevillageandgetitsmoked.Andwe’llusetheheadforsoup!”

“Careful!”Feeling theshallowsunder itsbelly, thecatfish threwhalfof its twelve-

foot-longbodyoutofthewater,tosseditshead,whackeditsflattailandtookasharpdiveintothedepths.Theirglovessmolderedanew.

“Pull,pull!Tothebank,thesonofabitch!”“Thelineiscreaking!Loosenit,Dandilion!”“It’llhold,don’tworry!We’llcookthehead…forsoup…”Thecatfish,draggedneartothebankagain,surgedandstrainedfuriously

againstthemasiftoletthemknowhewasn’tthateasytogetintothepot.Thesprayflewsixfeetintotheair.

“We’ll sell the skin…” Dandilion, red with effort, pulled the line withbothhands.“Andthebarbels…We’llusethebarbelstomake—”

Nobody ever found out what the poet was going to make from thecatfish’s barbels. The line snappedwith a crack and both fishermen, losingtheirbalance,fellontothewetsand.

“Bloodyhell!”Dandilionyelledso loud that theecho resounded though

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theosiers.“Somuchgrubescaped!Ihopeyoudie,youson-of-a-catfish.”“I toldyou.”Geralt shookhiswet trousers. “I toldyounot touse force

whenyoupull.Youscrewedup,myfriend.Youmakeasgoodafishermanasagoat’sarsemakesatrumpet.”

“That’s not true.”The troubadourwasoutraged. “It’smydoing that themonstertookthebaitinthefirstplace.”

“Ohreally?Youdidn’tliftafingertohelpmesettheline.Youplayedtheluteandholleredsothewholeneighborhoodcouldhearyou,nothingmore.”

“You’rewrong.”Dandilion bared his teeth. “When you fell asleep, yousee,Itookthegrubsoffthehookandattachedadeadcrow,whichI’dfoundinthebushes.Iwantedtoseeyourfaceinthemorningwhenyoupulledthecrowout.Andthecatfishtookthecrow.Yourgrubswouldhavecaughtshit-all.”

“Theywould have, theywould have.” Thewitcher spat into the water,winding the line on to a little wooden rake. “But it snapped because youtugged like an idiot.Wind up the rest of the lines instead of gabbling.Thesun’salreadyup;it’stimetogo.I’mgoingtopackup.”

“Geralt!”“What?”“There’s something on the other line, too… No, dammit, it only got

caught.Hell,it’sholdinglikeastone.Ican’tdoit!Ah,that’sit…Ha,ha,lookwhat I’mbringing in. Itmustbe thewreckofabargefromKingDezmod’stime!Whatgreatstuff!Look,Geralt!”

Dandilion was clearly exaggerating; the clump of rotted ropes, net andalgaepulledoutofthewaterwasimpressivebutitwasfarfrombeingthesizeofabargedatingfromthedaysofthelegendaryking.Thebardscatteredthejumbleover thebankandbegantodigaroundin itwith the tipofhisshoe.Thealgaewasalivewithleeches,scudsandlittlecrabs.

“Ha!LookwhatI’vefound!”Geralt approached, curious. The find was a chipped stoneware jar,

something like a two-handled amphora, tangled up in netting, black withrotten algae, colonies of caddis-larvae and snails, dripping with stinkingslime.

“Ha!”Dandilionexclaimedagain,proudly.“Doyouknowwhatthisis?”“It’sanoldpot.”“You’re wrong,” declared the troubadour, scraping away shells and

hardened, shiny clay. “This is a charmed jar. There’s a djinn insidewho’llfulfillmythreewishes.”

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Thewitchersnorted.“Youcanlaugh.”Dandilionfinishedhisscraping,bentoverandrinsedthe

amphora.“Butthere’sasealonthespigotandawizard’smarkontheseal.”“Whatmark?Let’ssee.”“Oh,sure.”Thepoethidthejarbehindhisback.“Andwhatmoredoyou

want?I’mtheonewhofounditandIneedallthewishes.”“Don’ttouchthatseal!Leaveitalone!”“Letgo,Itellyou!It’smine!”“Dandilion,becareful!”“Sure!”“Don’ttouchit!Oh,bloodyhell!”Thejarfelltothesandduringtheirscuffle,andluminousredsmokeburst

forth.The witcher jumped back and rushed toward the camp for his sword.

Dandilion,foldinghisarmsacrosshischest,didn’tmove.The smoke pulsated and collected in an irregular sphere level with

Dandilion’seyes.Thesphere formeda six-foot-widedistortedheadwithnonose,enormouseyesandasortofbeak.

“Djinn!” saidDandilion, stamping his foot. “I freed thee and as of thisday,Iamthylord.Mywishes—”

Theheadsnappeditsbeak,whichwasn’treallyabeakbutsomethingintheshapeofdrooping,deformedandever-changinglips.

“Run!”yelledthewitcher.“Run,Dandilion!”“My wishes,” continued the poet, “are as follows. Firstly, may Valdo

Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, die of apoplexy as soon as possible.Secondly, there’sacount’sdaughter inCaelfcalledVirginiawhorefusesalladvances.Mayshesuccumbtomine.Thirdly—”

NooneeverfoundoutDandilion’sthirdwish.Two monstrous paws emerged from the horrible head and grabbed the

bardbythethroat.Dandilionscreeched.Geraltreachedtheheadinthreeleaps,swipedhissilverswordandslashed

it through themiddle.The air howled, thehead exhaled smoke and rapidlydoubled in diameter. Themonstrous jaw, now alsomuch larger, flew open,snappedandwhistled; thepawspulled the strugglingDandilionaroundandcrushedhimtotheground.

Thewitcher crossedhis fingers in theSignofAard and threwasmuchenergyashecouldmusteratthehead.Theenergymaterializedinablindingbeam, sliced through the glow surrounding the head and hit its mark. The

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boomwasso loudthat itstabbedGeralt’sears,and theairsucked inby theimplosionmadethewillowsrustle.Theroarofthemonsterwasdeafeningasitgrewevenlarger,butitreleasedthepoet,soaredup,circledand,wavingitspaws,flewawayoverthewater.

ThewitcherrushedtopullDandilion—whowaslyingmotionless—away.Atthatmoment,hisfingerstouchedaroundobjectburiedinthesand.

Itwasabrasssealdecoratedwiththesignofabrokencrossandanine-pointedstar.

Thehead,suspendedabovetheriver,hadbecomethesizeofahaystack,while theopen, roaring jaws looked like thegatesofanaverage-sizedbarn.Stretchingoutitspaws,themonsterattacked.

Geralt,nothavingtheleastideaofwhattodo,squeezedthesealinhisfistand, extendinghishand toward theassailant, screamedout thewordsof anexorcism a priestess had once taught him. He had never used thosewordsuntilnowbecause,inprinciple,hedidn’tbelieveinsuperstitions.

Theeffectsurpassedhisexpectations.Thesealhissedandgrewhot,burninghishand.Thegiganticheadfrozein

theair,suspended,motionlessabovetheriver.Ithunglikethatforamomentthen,at last, itbegantohowl,roar,anddispersedintoapulsatingbundleofsmoke, into a huge,whirling cloud. The cloudwhined shrilly andwhiskedupstreamwith incredible speed, leaving a trail of churned-up water on thesurface. In amatterof seconds, it haddisappeared into thedistance;only adwindlinghowllingeredacrossthewater.

Thewitcherrushedtothepoet,coweringonthesand.“Dandilion?Are you dead?Dandilion, damn it!What’s thematterwith

you?”The poet jerked his head, shook his hands and opened his mouth to

scream.Geraltgrimacedandnarrowedhiseyes—Dandilionhada trained—loud—tenorvoiceand,whenfrightened,couldreachextraordinaryregisters.Butwhatemergedfromthebard’sthroatwasabarelyaudible,hoarsecroak.

“Dandilion!What’sthematterwithyou?Answerme!”“Hhhh…eeee…kheeeee…theeeewhhhhorrrrrrre…”“Areyouinpain?What’sthematter?Dandilion!”“Hhhh…Whhhooo…”“Don’tsayanything.Ifeverything’sallright,nod.”Dandilion grimaced and, with great difficulty, nodded and then

immediately turned on his side, curled up and—choking and coughing—vomitedblood.

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Geraltcursed.

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II“Byallthegods!”Theguardsteppedbackandloweredthelantern.“What’sthematterwithhim?”

“Let us through, my good man,” said the witcher quietly, supportingDandilion,whowashuddledup in thesaddle.“We’re ingreathaste,asyousee.”

“I do.” The guard swallowed, looking at the poet’s pale face and chincoveredinblack,driedblood.“Wounded?Itlooksterrible,sir.”

“I’minhaste,”repeatedGeralt.“We’vebeentravelingsincedawn.Letusthrough,please.”

“Wecan’t,”said theotherguard.“You’reonlyallowedthroughbetweensunriseandsunset.Nonemaypassatnight.That’stheorder.There’snowaythroughforanyoneunlessthey’vegotaletterofsafe-conductfromthekingorthemayor.Orthey’renobilitywithacoatofarms.”

Dandilion croaked, huddled up even more, resting his forehead on thehorse’smane, shuddered, shookand retcheddryly.Another streamofbloodtrickleddownthebranched,driedpatternonhismount’sneck.

“My good men,” Geralt said as calmly as he could, “you can see foryourselveshowbadlyhefares.Ihavetofindsomeonewhocantreathim.Letusthrough.Please.”

“Don’task.”Theguardleanedonhishalberd.“Ordersareorders.I’llgoto the pillory if I let you through.They’ll chaseme from service, and thenhowwillIfeedmychildren?No,sir,Ican’t.Takeyourfrienddownfromthehorseandputhimintheroominthebarbican.We’lldresshimandhe’lllastoutuntildawn,ifthat’shisfate.It’snotlongnow.”

“A dressing’s not enough.” The witcher ground his teeth. “We need ahealer,apriest,agifteddoctor—”

“Youwouldn’tbewakingupanyonelikethatatnightanyway,”saidthesecondguard.“Themostwecando is see thatyoudon’thave tocampoutunder thegateuntil dawn. It’swarm in there and there’s somewhere toputyourfriend;he’llfarebettertherethaninthesaddle.Comeon,letushelpyoulowerhimfromthehorse.”

It was warm, stuffy and cozy in the room within the barbican. A firecrackledmerrilyinthehearth,andbehinditacricketchirpedfiercely.

Threemensatattheheavysquaretablelaidwithjugsandplates.“Forgive us for disturbing you, squires…” said the guard, holding

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Dandilionup. “I trustyouwon’tmind…Thisonehere is aknight,hmm…Andtheotheroneiswounded,soIthought—”

“Youthoughtwell.”Oneofthementurnedhisslender,sharp,expressivefacetowardthemandgotup.“Herelayhimdownonthepallet.”

Themanwasanelf,liketheotheronesittingatthetable.Both,judgingby their clothes,whichwerea typicalmixtureofhumanandelven fashion,were elveswho had settled and integrated. The thirdman,who looked theeldest,washuman,aknight, judgingby thewayhewasdressedandbyhissalt-and-pepperhair,cuttofitbeneathahelmet.

“I’m Chireadan,” the taller of the elves, with an expressive face,introduced himself.Aswas usualwith representatives of theOldPeople, itwasdifficulttoguesshisage;hecouldhavebeentwentyoronehundredandtwenty.“ThisismycousinErrdil.AndthisnoblemanistheknightVratimir.”

“A nobleman,” muttered Geralt, but a closer look at the coat of armsembroideredonhis tunicshatteredhishopes:ashielddividedpercrossandbearinggoldenlilieswascutdiagonallybyasilverbar.Vratimirwasnotonlyillegitimate but came from a mixed, human-nonhuman union. As a result,althoughhewasentitledtouseacoatofarms,hecouldn’tconsiderhimselfatrue nobleman, and the privilege of crossing the city gate after dusk mostcertainlywasn’textendedtohim.

“Unfortunately”—thewitcher’sscrutinydidnotescapetheelf’sattention—“we,too,havetoremainhereuntildawn.Thelawknowsnoexceptions,atleastnotforthelikesofus.Weinviteyoutojoinourcompany,sirknight.”

“Geralt, of Rivia” the witcher introduced himself. “A witcher, not aknight.”

“What’sthematterwithhim?”ChireadanindicatedDandilion,whomtheguardshadlaidonapallet inthemeantime.“It lookslikepoisoning.If it ispoisoning,thenIcanhelp.I’vegotsomegoodmedicinewithme.”

Geralt sat down, then quickly gave a guarded account of events at theriver.Theelveslookedateachother,andtheknightspatthroughhisteethandfrowned.

“Extraordinary,”Chireadanremarked.“Whatcouldithavebeen?”“Adjinninabottle,”mutteredVratimir.“Likeafairytale—”“Notquite.”Geralt indicatedDandilion,curleduponthepallet.“Idon’t

knowofanyfairytalethatendslikethis.”“Thatpoorfellow’sinjuries,”saidChireadan,“areevidentlyofamagical

nature. I fear thatmymedicinewill not be ofmuch use.But I can at leastlessenhissuffering.Haveyoualreadygivenhimaremedy,Geralt?”

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“Apainkillingelixir.”“Comeandhelpme.Youcanholdhisheadup.”Dandiliongreedilydrankthemedicine,dilutedwithwine,chokedonhis

lastsip,wheezedandcoveredtheleatherpillowwithspittle.“I know him,” Errdil said. “He’s Dandilion, the troubadour and poet. I

sawhimsingingatthecourtofKingEthaininCidarisonce.”“Atroubadour,”repeatedChireadan,lookingatGeralt.“That’sbad.Very

bad.Themusclesof his neck and throat are attacked.Changes inhis vocalcordsarestartingtotakeplace.Thespell’sactionhastobehaltedassoonaspossibleotherwise…Thismightbeirreversible.”

“Thatmeans…Doesthatmeanhewon’tbeabletotalk?”“Talk,yes.Maybe.Notsing.”Geraltsatdownatthetablewithoutsayingawordandrestedhisforehead

onhisclenchedfists.“A wizard,” said Vratimir. “A magical remedy or a curative spell is

needed.Youhavetotakehimtosomeothertown,witcher.”“What?”Geraltraisedhishead.“Andhere,inRinde?Isn’tthereawizard

here?”“MagiciansarehardtocomebyinthewholeofRedania,”saidtheknight.

“Isn’tthattrue?EversinceKingHeribertplacedanexorbitanttaxonspells,magicianshaveboycotted thecapitaland those townswhichare rigorous inexecutingtheking’sedicts.AndthecouncilorsofRindearefamousfortheirzealinthisrespect.Chireadan,Errdil,amIright?”

“Youare,”confirmedErrdil.“But…Chireadan,mayI?”“Youhaveto,”saidChireadan, lookingat thewitcher.“There’snopoint

inmakingasecretofit;everyoneknowsanyway.There’sasorceressstayinginthetownrightnow,Geralt.”

“Incognito,nodoubt?”“Notvery.”Theelfsmiled.“Thesorceressinquestionissomethingofan

individualist. She’s ignoring both the boycott imposed on Rinde by theCouncilofWizards,andthedispositionofthelocalcouncilors,andisdoingrathersplendidlyoutofit:theboycottmeansthere’stremendousdemandformagicalserviceshereand,ofcourse,thesorceressisn’tpayinganylevies.”

“Andthetowncouncilputsupwithit?”“Thesorceressisstayingwithamerchant,atradebrokerfromNovigrad,

who is also thehonoraryambassador.Nobodycan touchher there.Shehasasylum.”

“It’s more like house arrest than asylum,” corrected Errdil. “She’s just

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aboutimprisonedthere.Butshehasnoshortageofclients.Richclients.Sheostentatiously makes light of the councilors, holds balls and extravagantparties—”

“Whilethecouncilorsarefurious,turnwhoevertheycanagainstherandtarnishherreputationasbesttheycan,”Chireadancutin.“Theyspreadfoulrumorsaboutherandhope,nodoubt,thattheNovigradhierarchywillforbidthemerchanttograntherasylum.”

“Idon’tlikemeddlinginthingslikethat,”mutteredGeralt,“butI’vegotnochoice.What’sthemerchant-ambassador’sname?”

“BeauBerrant.”ThewitcherthoughtthatChireadangrimacedashepronouncedthename.“Ohwell,itreallyisyouronlyhope.Orrather,theonlyhopeforthatpoor

fellowmoaningonthebed.Butwhetherthesorceresswillwanttohelpyou…Idon’tknow.”

“Be careful when you go there,” said Errdil. “The mayor’s spies arewatchingthehouse.Youknowwhattodoiftheystopyou.Moneyopensalldoors.”

“I’llgoassoonastheyopenthegates.What’sthesorceresscalled?”Geralt thoughthedetectedaslightflushonChireadan’sexpressiveface.

Butitcouldhavebeentheglowfromthefireinthehearth.“YenneferofVergerberg.”

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III“My lord’s asleep,” repeated the doorman, lookingdown atGeralt.Hewastallerbyaheadandnearlytwiceasbroadintheshoulders.“Areyoudeaf,youvagabond?Thelord’sasleep,Isaid.”

“Thenlethimsleep,”agreedthewitcher.“I’venotgotbusinesswithyourlordbutwiththeladywhoisstayinghere.”

“Business,yousay.”Thedoorman,asitturnedout,wassurprisinglywittyfor someone of such stature and appearance. “Then go, you loiterer, to thewhorehousetosatisfyyourneed.Scram.”

Geralt unfastened the purse on his belt and, holding it by the straps,weigheditinhispalm.

“Youwon’tbribeme,”theCerberussaidproudly.“Idon’tintendto.”Theporterwastoohugetohavethereflexeswhichwouldlethimdodge

orshieldhimselffromaquickblowgivenbyanordinaryman.Hedidn’tevenhavetimetoblinkbeforethewitcher’sblowlanded.Theheavypursestruckhim in the temple with a metallic crash. He collapsed against the door,grabbingtheframewithbothhands.Geralttorehimawayfromitwithakickintheknee,shovedhimwithhisshoulderandfetchedhimanotherblowwiththepurse.Thedoorman’seyesgrewhazyanddiverged inacomical squint,and his legs folded under him like two penknives. Thewitcher, seeing thestrapping fellowmoving, although almost unconscious, walloped him withforceforthethirdtime,rightonthecrownofhishead.

“Money,”hemuttered,“opensalldoors.”Itwasdark in thevestibule.A loud snoring came from thedoor on the

left.Thewitcherpeepedincarefully.Afatwoman,hernightdresshitchedupaboveherhips,wasasleeponatumbledpallet,snoringandsnortingthroughhernose.Itwasn’tthemostbeautifulsight.Geraltdraggedtheporterintothelittleroomandclosedthedoor.

Ontherightwasanotherdoor,half-opened,andbehinditstonestepsleddown.Thewitcherwasabouttopassthemwhenanindistinctcurse,aclatterandthedrycrashofavesselcrackingreachedhimfrombelow.

The room was a big kitchen, full of utensils, smelling of herbs andresinouswood.On the stone floor, among fragments of a clay jug, knelt acompletelynakedmanwithhisheadhanginglow.

“Apple juice, bloody hell,” hemumbled, shaking his head like a sheep

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whichhadrammedawallbyamistake.“Apple…juice.Where…Where’retheservants?”

“Ibegyourpardon?”thewitcheraskedpolitely.Theman raisedhishead and swallowed.His eyeswerevague andvery

bloodshot.“She wants juice from apples,” he stated, then got up with evident

difficulty, sat down on a chest covered with a sheepskin coat, and leanedagainstthestove.“Ihaveto…takeitupstairsbecause—”

“DoIhavethepleasureofspeakingtothemerchantBeauBerrant?”“Quieter.”Themangrimacedpainfully.“Don’tyell.Listen,inthatbarrel

there…Juice.Apple.Pour it intosomething…andhelpmegetupstairs,allright?”

Geralt shrugged, then nodded sympathetically. He generally avoidedoverdoingthealcoholbutthestateinwhichthemerchantfoundhimselfwasnot entirely unknown to him. He found a jug and a tin mug among thecrockeryanddrewsomejuicefromthebarrel.Heheardsnoringandturned.BeauBerrantwasfastasleep,hisheadhangingonhischest.

Foramoment,thewitcherconsideredpouringjuiceoverhimtowakehimup, but he changed his mind. He left the kitchen, carrying the jug. Thecorridor ended in a heavy inlaid door.He entered carefully, opening it justenoughtoslipinside.Itwasdark,sohedilatedhispupils.Andwrinkledhisnose.

A heavy smell of sourwine, candles and overripe fruit hung in the air.Andsomethingelse,thatbroughttomindamixtureofthescentsoflilacandgooseberries.

He looked around. The table in the middle of the chamber bore abattlefield of jugs, carafes, goblets, silver plates, dishes and ivory-handledcutlery. A creased tablecloth, which had been pushed aside, was soaked inwine,coveredinpurplestainsandstiffwithwaxwhichhadtrickleddownthecandlesticks.Orangepeelglowedlikeflowersamongplumandpeachstones,pearcoresandgrapestalks.Agoblethadfallenoverandsmashed.Theotherwasinonepiece,halffull,withaturkeybonestickingoutofit.Nexttothegobletstoodablack,high-heeledslipper.Itwasmadeofbasiliskskin.Therewasn’tamoreexpensiverawmaterialwhichcouldbeusedinthemakingofshoes.

Theotherslipperlayunderachairontopofacarelesslydiscardedblackdresswithwhitefrillsandanembroideredflowerypattern.

ForamomentGeraltstoodundecided,strugglingwithembarrassmentand

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thedesiretoturnonhisheelandleave.Butthatwouldhavemeanthistusslewith theCerberusbelowhadbeenunnecessary.And thewitcherdidn’t likedoinganythingunnecessarily.Henoticedwindingstairs in thecornerof thechamber.

On the steps, he found four withered white roses and a napkin stainedwith wine and crimson lipstick. The scent of lilac and gooseberries grewstronger.Thestairs led toabedroom, the floorofwhichwascovered inanenormous, shaggy animal skin. Awhite shirt with lace cuffs, and umpteenwhiteroses,layontheskin.Andablackstocking.

The other stocking hung from one of the four engraved posts whichsupported the domed canopy over the bed. The engravings on the postsdepictednymphsandfawnsinvariouspositions.Someofthepositionswereinteresting.Othersfunny.Manyrepeatedthemselves.

Geralt cleared his throat loudly, looking at the abundant black locksvisiblefromundertheeiderdown.Theeiderdownmovedandmoaned.Geraltclearedhisthroatevenlouder.

“Beau?” the abundance of black locks asked indistinctly. “Have youbroughtthejuice?”

“Yes.”A pale triangular face, violet eyes and narrow, slightly contorted lips

appearedbeneaththeblacktresses.“Ooooh…”Thelipsbecameevenmorecontorted.“Ooooh…I’mdyingof

thirst…”“Hereyouare.”The woman sat up, scrambling out of the bedclothes. She had pretty

shoulders, a shapelyneck and, around it, a blackvelvet chokerwith a star-shaped jewel sparkling with diamonds. Apart from the choker, she hadnothingon.

“Thankyou.”Shetookthemugfromhishand,drankgreedily,thenraisedherarmsandtouchedhertemples.Theeiderdownslippeddownevenfurther.Geraltavertedhiseyes—politely,butunwillingly.

“Whoareyou?”asked theblack-hairedwoman,narrowinghereyesandcoveringherselfwiththeeiderdown.“Whatareyoudoinghere?Andwhere,dammit,isBerrant?”

“WhichquestionshallIanswerfirst?”Heimmediatelyregrettedhissarcasm.Thewomanraisedherhandanda

goldenstreakshotoutfromherfingers.Geraltreactedinstinctively,crossingbothhandsintheSignofHeliotrope,andcaughtthespelljustinfrontofhis

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face,butthedischargewassostrongthatitthrewhimbackagainstthewall.Hesanktothefloor.

“No need!” he shouted, seeing thewoman raise her hand again. “LadyYennefer!Icomeinpeace,withnoevilintentions!”

A stamping came from the stairs and servants loomed in the bedroomdoorway.

“LadyYennefer!”“Leave,”thesorceressorderedcalmly.“Idon’tneedyou.You’repaidto

keep an eye on the house. But since this individual has, nevertheless,managedtogetin,I’lltakecareofhimmyself.PassthatontoBerrant.Andprepareabathforme.”

The witcher got up with difficulty. Yennefer observed him in silence,narrowinghereyes.

“You parried my spell,” she finally said. “You’re not a sorcerer; that’sobvious. But you reacted exceptionally fast. Tellmewho you are, strangerwhohascomeinpeace.AndIadviseyoutospeakquickly.”

“I’mGeraltofRivia.Awitcher.”Yenneferleanedoutofthebed,graspingafaun—engravedonthepole—

byapieceofanatomywelladaptedtobeinggrasped.WithouttakinghereyesoffGeralt, shepickedacoatwitha furcollarupoff the floorandwrappedherselfup in it tightlybeforegettingup.Shepouredherselfanothermugofjuicewithouthurrying,drank it inonego,coughedandcamecloser.Geraltdiscreetlyrubbedhislowerbackwhich,amomentago,hadcollidedpainfullywiththewall.

“Geralt of Rivia,” repeated the sorceress, looking at him from behindblacklashes.“Howdidyougetinhere?Andforwhatreason?Youdidn’thurtBerrant,Ihope?”

“No.Ididn’t.LadyYennefer,Ineedyourhelp.”“Awitcher,”shemuttered,comingupevencloserandwrappingthecoat

aroundhermoretightly.“NotonlyisitthefirstoneI’veseenupclosebutit’snoneotherthanthefamousWhiteWolf.I’veheardaboutyou.”

“Icanimagine.”“I don’t know what you can imagine.” She yawned, then came even

closer. “May I?” She touched his cheek and looked him in the eyes. Heclenched his jaw. “Do your pupils automatically adapt to light or can younarrowanddilatethemaccordingtoyourwill?”

“Yennefer,”hesaidcalmly,“IrodenonstopalldayfromRinde.Iwaitedallnight for thegates toopen. Igaveyourdoorman,whodidn’twant to let

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me in, ablow to thehead. Idisturbedyour sleepandpeace,discourteouslyandimportunately.Allbecausemyfriendneedshelpwhichonlyyoucangivehim.Giveittohim,please,andthen,ifyoulike,wecantalkaboutmutationsandaberrations.”

She took a stepback and contortedher lips unpleasantly. “What sort ofhelpdoyoumean?”

“Theregenerationoforgansinjuredthroughmagic.Thethroat,larynxandvocalcords.Aninjurycausedbyascarletmist.Orsomethingverymuchlikeit.”

“Very much like it,” she repeated. “To put it in a nutshell, it wasn’t ascarletmistwhichhasinjuredyourfriend.Sowhatwasit?Speakout.Beingtornfrommysleepatdawn,Ihaveneitherthestrengthnorthedesiretoprobeyourbrain.”

“Hmm…It’sbestIstartfromthebeginning.”“Oh,no,”sheinterruptedhim.“Ifit’sallthatcomplicated,thenwait.An

aftertaste in my mouth, disheveled hair, sticky eyes and other morninginconveniencesstronglyaffectmyperceptivefaculties.Godownstairstothebath-chamber in the cellar. I’ll be there in aminute and thenyou’ll tellmeeverything.”

“Yennefer,Idon’twanttobepersistentbuttimeispressing.Myfriend—”“Geralt,” she interrupted sharply, “I climbed out of bed for you and I

didn’t intend to do that before the chime of midday. I’m prepared to dowithout breakfast. Do you know why? Because you brought me the applejuice. You were in a hurry, your head was troubled with your friend’ssuffering, you forced your way in here, and yet you thought of a thirstywoman.Youwonmeover,somyhelpisnotoutofthequestion.ButIwon’tdoanythingwithouthotwaterandsoap.Go.Please.”

“Verywell.”“Geralt.”“Yes.”Hestoppedonthethreshold.“Makeuseoftheopportunitytohaveabathyourself.Icannotonlyguess

theageandbreedofyourhorse,butalsoitscolor,bythesmell.”

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IVSheenteredthebath-chamberjustasGeralt,sittingnakedonatinystool,waspouringwateroverhimselffromabucket.Heclearedhisthroatandmodestlyturnedhisbacktoher.

“Don’tbeembarrassed,”shesaid, throwinganarmfulofclothingonthehook.“Idon’tfaintatthesightofanakedman.TrissMerigold,afriend,saysifyou’veseenone,you’veseenthemall.”

Hegotup,wrappingatowelroundhiships.“Beautifulscar.”Shesmiled,lookingathischest.“Whatwasit?Didyou

fallunderthebladeinasawmill?”Hedidn’tanswer.Thesorceresscontinuedtoobservehim,tiltingherhead

coquettishly.“The firstwitcher I can lookat fromcloseup, andcompletelynakedat

that.Aha!”She leanedover, listening.“Icanhearyourheartbeat. It’sveryslow.Canyoucontrolhowmuchadrenalinyousecrete?Oh,forgivememyprofessionalcuriosity.Apparently,you’re touchyabout thequalitiesofyourownbody.You’rewonttodescribethesequalitiesusingwordswhichIgreatlydislike, lapsing into pompous sarcasm with it, something I dislike evenmore.”

Hedidn’tanswer.“Well,enoughofthat.Mybathisgettingcold.”Yennefermovedasifshe

wantedtodiscardhercoat,thenhesitated.“I’lltakemybathwhileyoutalk,tosave time.But Idon’twant toembarrassyouand,besides,wehardlyknoweachother.Sothen,takingdecencyintoaccount—”

“I’llturnaround,”heproposedhesitantly.“No.IhavetoseetheeyesofthepersonI’mtalkingto.I’vegotabetter

idea.”Heheardan incantationbeingrecited, felthismedallionquiverandsaw

theblackcoatsoftlysliptothefloor.Thenheheardthewatersplashing.“NowIcan’tseeyoureyes,Yennefer,”hesaid.“Andthat’sapity.”Theinvisiblesorceresssnortedandsplashedinthetub.“Goon.”Geralt finished struggling with his trousers, pulling them on under his

towel,andsatonthebench.Bucklinguphisboots,herelatedtheadventurebytheriver,cuttingoutmostoftheskirmishwiththecatfish.Yenneferdidn’tseemthetypetobeinterestedinfishing.

Whenhegottothepartwherethecloud-creatureescapedfromthejar,the

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hugesoapyspongefroze.“Well,well,”heheard,“that’sinteresting.Adjinninabottle.”“Nodjinn,”hecontested.“Itwassomevariantofscarletmist.Somenew,

unknowntype—”“Thenewandunknown typedeserves tobe called something,” said the

invisibleYennefer. “The name djinn is noworse than any other. Continue,please.”

Heobeyed.The soap in the tub foamed relentlessly ashe continuedhistale, and the water overflowed. Something caught his eye. Looking morecarefullyhediscernedoutlinesandshapesrevealedbythesoapcoveringtheinvisibleYennefer.Theyfascinatedhimtotheextentthathewasstruckdumb.

“Go on!” a voice coming from nothingness, from above the outlineswhichsoabsorbedhim,urged.“Whathappenednext?”

“That’sall,”hesaid.“Ichasedhimaway,thatdjinn,asyoucallhim—”“How?”The ladle roseandpouredwater.Thesoapvanished,asdid the

shapes.Geraltsighed.“Withanincantation,”hesaid.“Anexorcism.”“Whichone?”Theladlepouredwateroncemore.Thewitcherstartedto

observe the ladle’s action more diligently because the water, albeit briefly,alsorevealedthisandthat.Herepeatedtheincantation,substitutingthevowel“e”with an intake of breath, according to the safety rule.He thought he’dimpressthesorceressbyknowingtherulesohewassurprisedwhenheheardlaughtercomingfromthetub.

“What’ssofunny?”“That exorcism of yours…” The towel flew off its peg and suddenly

begantowipetherestoftheoutlines.“TrissisgoingtokillherselflaughingwhenItellher.Whotaughtyouthat,witcher?Thatincantation?”

“ApriestessfromHuldra’ssanctuary.It’sasecretlanguageofthetemple—”

“Secret to some.” The towel slapped against the brim of the tub,watersprayedontothefloorandwetfootprintsmarkedthesorceress’ssteps.“Thatwasn’tanincantation,Geralt.NorwouldIadviseyoutorepeatthosewordsinothertemples.”

“What was it, if not an incantation?” he asked, watching two blackstockingsoutlineshapelylegs,oneaftertheother.

“A witty saying.” Frilly knickers clung to nothing in an unusuallyinterestingmanner.“Ifratherindecent.”

Awhiteshirtwithanenormousflower-shapedruffleflutteredupwardand

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outlined Yennefer’s body. She didn’t, the witcher noticed, bother with thewhalebonenonsenseusuallywornbywomen.Shedidn’thaveto.

“Whatsaying?”heasked.“Nevermind.”The cork sprang from a rectangular crystal bottle standing on the stool.

Thebath-chamberstartedtosmelloflilacandgooseberries.Thecorktracedseveralcirclesandjumpedbackintoplace.Thesorceressfastenedthecuffsofhershirt,pulledonadressandmaterialized.

“Fastenmeup.”Sheturnedherbacktohimwhilecombingherhairwithatortoiseshellcomb.Henoticedthat thecombhadalong,sharpprongwhichcould,ifneedbe,easilytaketheplaceofadagger.

Hetookadeliberatelylongtimefasteningherdress,onehookatatime,enjoying thescentofherhair,whichfellhalfwaydownherback inablackcascade.

“Going back to the bottle creature,” said Yennefer, putting diamondearrings in her ears, “it’s obvious that itwasn’t your funny incantation thatdrove him away.The hypothesis that he dischargedhis fury on your friendandleftseemsclosertothetruth.”

“Probably,”Geraltagreed,gloomily.“Idon’tthinkheflewofftoCidaristodoawaywithValdoMarx.”

“Who’sValdoMarx?”“Atroubadourwhoconsidersmycompanion,alsoapoetandmusician,a

talentlesswastrelwhopanderstothetasteofthemasses.”Thesorceressturnedroundwithastrangeglimmerinhereyes.“Couldit

bethatyourfriendmanagedtoexpressawish?”“Two.Bothstupid.Whydoyouask?Thisfulfillingofwishesbygeniesis

nonsense,afterall,djinns,spiritsofthelamp—”“Clearly nonsense,” repeatedYenneferwith a smile. “Of course. It’s an

invention,afairytaledevoidofanysense,likeallthelegendsinwhichgoodspiritsandfortunetellersfulfillwishes.Storieslikethataremadeupbypoorsimpletons, who can’t even dream of fulfilling their wishes and desiresthemselves.I’mpleasedyou’renotoneofthem,GeraltofRivia.Itmakesyoucloserinspirit tome.IfIwantsomething,Idon’tdreamofit—Iact.AndIalwaysgetwhatIwant.”

“Idon’tdoubtit.Areyouready?”“I am.” The sorceress finished fastening the straps of her slippers and

stoodup.Eveninhighheels,shewasn’timpressivelytall.Sheshookherhairwhich,hefound,hadretaineditspicturesque,disheveledandcurlingdisarray

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despitethefuriouscombing.“I’vegotaquestion,Geralt.Thesealwhichclosedthebottle…Hasyour

friendstillgotit?”Thewitcherreflected.Hehadtheseal,notDandilion.Butexperiencehad

taughthimthatsorcerersshouldn’tbetoldtoomuch.“Hmm… I think so.”He deceived her as to the reason for his delay in

replying.“Yes,heprobablydoes.Why?Isthesealimportant?”“That’s a strange question,” she said sharply, “for a witcher and a

specialist in supernatural monstrosities. Someone who ought to know thatsuch a seal is important enough not to touch. And not to let their friendtouch.”

Heclenchedhisjaw.Theblowwaswellaimed.“Oh,well.”Yenneferchangedhertonetoamuchgentlerone.“Noone’s

infallibleandnowitcher’sinfallible,aswesee.Everyonecanmakeamistake.Well,wecangetitonourway.Where’syourcomrade?”

“Here,inRinde.AtErrdil’s.Theelf’s.”Shelookedathimcarefully.“AtErrdil’s?”sherepeated,contortingherlipsinasmile.“Iknowwhere

thatis.AndIgatherhiscousinChireadanistheretoo?”“That’sright.Butwhat—?”“Nothing,”sheinterrupted,raisedherarmsandclosedhereyes.Themedallionaroundthewitcher’sneckpulsed,tuggedatthechain.On the damp bath-chamber wall shone the luminous outline of a door

which framed a swirling phosphorescent milky nothingness. The witchercursed.Hedidn’tlikemagicalportals,ortravelingbythem.

“Dowehaveto…”Heclearedhisthroat.“It’snotfar—”“Ican’twalkthestreetsofthistown,”shecuthimshort.“They’renottoo

crazy about me here. They might insult me and throw stones—or dosomethingworse.Severalpeopleareeffectively ruiningmyreputationhere,thinkingtheycangetawaywithit.Don’tworry,myportalsaresafe.”

Geralthadoncewatchedasonlyhalf a travelerusinga safeportal flewthrough. The other half was never found. He knew of several cases wherepeoplehadenteredaportalandneverbeenseenagain.

Thesorceressadjustedherhairagainandpinnedapearl-embossedpursetoherbelt.Thepurselookedtoosmalltoholdanythingotherthanahandfulofcoppersandalipstick,butGeraltknewitwasnoordinarypurse.

“Holdme.Tighter.I’mnotmadeofchina.Onourway!”The medallion vibrated, something flashed and Geralt suddenly found

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himselfinblacknothingness,inpenetratingcold.Hecouldn’tsee,hearorfeelanything.Coldwasallthathissensescouldregister.

Hewantedtocurse,butdidn’thavetime.

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V“It’sanhoursinceshewentin.”Chireadanturnedoverthehourglassstandingon the table. “I’m starting to getworried.WasDandilion’s throat really sobad?Don’tyouthinkweoughttogoandhavealook?”

“Shemade it quite clear that shedidn’twant us to.”Geralt finishedhismugofherbtea,grimacingdreadfully.Hevaluedandlikedthesettledelvesfor their intelligence, calm reserve and sense of humor, but he couldn’tunderstandorsharetheirtasteinfoodordrink.“Idon’tintendtodisturbher,Chireadan. Magic requires time. It can take all day and night, as long asDandiliongetsbetter.”

“Ohwell,you’reright.”Asoundofhammeringcamefromtheroomnextdoor.Errdil,asitturned

out, lived in a deserted innwhichhe hadbought intending to renovate andthenopenwithhiswife,aquiet,taciturnelf.Vratimir,whohadtakentotheircompanyafteranightspentwiththeelvesintheguardroom,volunteeredtohelpwiththerepairs.Hegotdowntorenovatingthewoodpaneling,workingalongsidethemarriedcouple,assoonastheconfusioncreatedbythewitcherandYenneferleapingthroughthewallintheflashofaportalhadsubsided.

“Ididn’tthinkyou’dfinditsoeasy,ifI’mtobehonest,”Chireadanwenton. “Yennefer isn’t themost spontaneous of peoplewhen it comes to help.Others’troublesdon’tparticularlybotherher,anddon’tdisturbhersleep.Inaword,I’veneverheardofherhelpinganyoneiftherewasn’tsomethinginitforher.Iwonderwhat’sinitforhertohelpyouandDandilion.”

“Aren’tyouexaggerating?”Thewitchersmiled.“Ididn’thavesuchabadimpression of her. She likes to demonstrate her superiority, it’s true, butcomparedwithotherwizards,withthatwholearrogantbunch,she’swalkingcharmandkindlinesspersonified.”

Chireadanalsosmiled.“It’salmostasthoughyouthoughtascorpionwereprettierthanaspider,”hesaid,“becauseit’sgotsuchalovelytail.Becareful,Geralt.You’renotthefirsttohavejudgedherlikethatwithoutknowingshe’sturnedher charmandbeauty intoweapons.Weapons sheuses skilfully andwithout scruple. Which, of course, doesn’t change the fact that she’s afascinatingandgood-lookingwoman.Youwouldn’tdisagree,wouldyou?”

Geralt glanced keenly at the elf. For a second time, he thought he sawtracesofablushonhisface.ItsurprisedhimnolessthanChireadan’swords.Pure-blooded elveswere notwont to admire humanwomen, even the very

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beautiful ones, and Yennefer, although attractive in her own way, couldn’tpassasagreatbeauty.

Each to their own taste but, in actual fact, not many would describesorceresses as good-looking. Indeed, all of them came from social circleswhere the only fate for daughters would be marriage. Who would havethought of condemning their daughter to years of tedious studies and thetortures of somatic mutations if she could be given away in marriage andadvantageously allied? Who wished to have a sorceress in their family?Despitetherespectenjoyedbymagicians,asorceress’sfamilydidnotbenefitfromherintheleastbecausebythetimethegirlhadcompletedhereducation,nothing tied her to her family anymore—only brotherhood counted, to theexclusionofallelse.Soonlydaughterswithnochanceoffindingahusbandbecomesorceresses.

Unlike priestesses and druidesses, who only unwillingly took ugly orcrippled girls, sorcerers took anyone who showed evidence of apredisposition. If the child passed the first years of training,magic enteredintotheequation—straighteningandeveningoutlegs,repairingboneswhichhad badly knitted, patching harelips, removing scars, birthmarks and poxscars.Theyoung sorceresswouldbecomeattractivebecause theprestigeofher profession demanded it. The result was pseudo-pretty women with theangryandcoldeyesofuglygirls.Girlswhocouldn’tforgettheiruglinesshadbeencoveredbythemaskofmagiconlyfortheprestigeoftheirprofession.

No,Geraltcouldn’tunderstandChireadan.Hiseyes,theeyesofawitcher,registeredtoomanydetails.

“No,Chireadan,” he answered. “Iwouldn’t disagree.Thankyou for thewarning. But this only concerns Dandilion. He suffered at my side, in mypresence. Ididn’tmanage to savehimand I couldn’thelphim. I’d sit onascorpionwithmybarebacksideifIknewitwouldhelphim.”

“That’s precisely what you’ve got to beware of most.” The elf smiledenigmatically.“BecauseYenneferknowsitandshelikestomakethemostofsuchknowledge.Don’ttrusther,Geralt.She’sdangerous.”

Hedidn’tanswer.Upstairs, thedoor squeaked.Yennefer stoodat the stairs, leaningon the

gallerybalustrade.“Witcher,couldyoucomehere?”“Ofcourse.”Thesorceress leanedherbackagainst thedoorofoneof the fewrooms

withfurniture,wheretheyhadputthesufferingtroubadour.

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Thewitcher approached, watchful and silent. He saw her left shoulder,slightlyhigherthanherright.Hernose,slightlytoolong.Herlips,atouchtoonarrow.Herchin,recedingalittletoomuch.Herbrowsalittletooirregular.Hereyes…

Hesawtoomanydetails.Quiteunnecessarily.“How’sDandilion?”“Doyoudoubtmycapabilities?”Hecontinuedwatching.Shehadthefigureofatwenty-year-old,although

hepreferrednottoguessatherrealage.Shemovedwithnatural,unaffectedgrace.No,therewasnowayofguessingwhatshehadbeenlikebefore,whathadbeenimproved.Hestoppedthinkingaboutit;therewasn’tanysense.

“Your talented friend will be well,” she said. “He’ll recover his vocaltalents.”

“Youhavemygratitude,Yennefer.”Shesmiled.“You’llhaveanopportunitytoproveit.”“CanIlookinonhim?”Sheremainedsilentforamoment,watchinghimwithastrangesmileand

drummingherfingersonthedoorframe.“Ofcourse.Goin.”The medallion on the witcher’s neck started to quiver, sharply and

rhythmically.Aglassspherethesizeofasmallwatermelon,aflamewithamilkylight,

layinthecenterofthefloor.Thespheremarkedtheheartofapreciselytracednine-pointed star whose arms reached the corners and walls of the smallchamber. A red pentagram was inscribed within the star. The tips of thepentagramweremarkedbyblackcandlesstandinginweirdlyshapedholders.Black candles had also been lit at the head of the bed where Dandilion,coveredwithsheepskins,rested.Thepoetwasbreathingpeacefully;hedidn’twheezeorraspanymoreandtherictusofpainhaddisappearedfromhisface,tobereplacedbyanidioticsmileofhappiness.

“He’sasleep,”saidYennefer.“Anddreaming.”Geraltexaminedthepatternstracedonthefloor.Themagichiddenwithin

themwaspalpable,butheknewitwasadormantmagic.Itbroughttomindthepurrofasleepinglion,withoutsuggestinghowtheroarmightsound.

“Whatisthis,Yennefer?”“Atrap.”“Forwhat?”“Foryou, for the timebeing.”The sorceress turned thekey in the lock,

thenturneditoverinherhand.Thekeydisappeared.

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“And thus I’m trapped,” he said coldly. “What now?Are you going toassaultmyvirtue?”

“Don’t flatteryourself.”Yennefersaton theedgeof thebed.Dandilion,stillsmilinglikeamoron,groanedquietly.Itwas,withoutadoubt,agroanofbliss.

“What’sthisallabout,Yennefer?Ifit’sagame,Idon’tknowtherules.”“Itoldyou,”shebegan,“thatIalwaysgetwhatIwant.Asithappens,I

desire something that Dandilion has. I’ll get it from him and we can partways.Don’tworry,hewon’tcometoanyharm—”

“Thethingsyou’vesetonthefloor,”heinterrupted,“areusedtosummondemons. Someone always comes to harm where demons are summoned. Iwon’tallowit.”

“—not a hair of his head will be harmed,” continued the sorceress,without paying any attention to his words. “His voice will be even morebeautifulandhe’llbeverypleased,evenhappy.We’llallbehappy.Andwe’llpartwithnoillfeelingsorresentment.”

“Oh, Virginia,” moaned Dandilion without opening his eyes. “Yourbreastsaresobeautiful,moredelicatethanaswan’sdown…Virginia…”

“Hashelosthismind?Isheraving?”“He’sdreaming.”Yennefersmiled.“Hisdreamwishisbeingsatisfiedin

hissleep.Iprobedhismindtotheverydepths.Therewasn’tmuchthere.Afewobscenities,severaldreamsandmassesofpoetry.Butbethatasitmay.Thesealwhichplugged thebottlewith thedjinn,Geralt, Iknowhedoesn’thaveit.Youdo.Pleasegiveittome.”

“Whatdoyouneedthesealfor?”“HowshouldIansweryourquestion?”Thesorceresssmiledcoquettishly.

“Let’strythis: it’snoneofyourdamnedbusiness,witcher.Doesthatsatisfyyou?”

“No.” His smile was equally nasty. “It doesn’t. But don’t reproachyourself for it,Yennefer. I’mnoteasilysatisfied.Only thosewhoareaboveaveragehavemanagedsofar.”

“Pity.Soyou’llremainunsatisfied.It’syourloss.Theseal,please.Don’tpull that face; itdoesn’t suiteitheryourgood looksoryourcomplexion. Incaseyouhadn’tnoticed,letmetellyouthatyouarenowbeginningtorepaythegratitudeyouoweme.Thesealisthefirstinstallmentforthepricetobepaidforthesinger’svoice.”

“Iseeyou’vedividedthepriceintoseveralinstallments,”hesaidcoldly.“Fine.Imighthaveexpectedthat.Butletitbeafairtrade,Yennefer.Ibought

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yourhelp.AndI’llpay.”Shecontortedherlipsinasmile,buthervioleteyesremainedwideopen

andcold.“Youshouldn’thaveanydoubtsastothat,witcher.”“Me,”herepeated.“NotDandilion.I’mtakinghimtoasafeplace.When

I’vedone that, I’ll comeback andpayyour second installment, and all theothers.Becauseastothefirst…”

Hereached intoa secretpocketofhisbeltandpulledout thebrass sealwiththesignofastarandbrokencross.

“Here,takeit.Notasaninstallment.Acceptitfromawitcherasproofofhis gratitude for having treated him more kindly, albeit in a calculatedmanner, than themajority of your brethren would have done. Accept it asevidenceofgoodwill,whichought toconvinceyou that,havingseen tomyfriend’s safety, I’ll return to repayyou. I didn’t see the scorpionamidst theflowers,Yennefer.I’mpreparedtopayformyinattention.”

“A pretty speech.” The sorceress folded her arms. “Touching andpompous.Pityit’sinvain.IneedDandilion,sohe’sstayinghere.”

“He’salreadybeenclosetothecreatureyouintendtodrawhere.”Geraltindicated the patterns on the floor. “When you’ve finished your handiworkandbroughtthedjinnhere,Dandilionismostcertainlygoingtosufferdespiteall your promises,maybe evenmore than before. Because it’s the creaturefromthebottlethatyouwant,isn’tit?Doyouintendtomasterit,forceittoserve you? You don’t have to answer. I know it’s none of my damnedbusiness. Dowhat youwant, draw ten demons in if you like. But withoutDandilion. If you put him at risk, this will no longer be an honest trade,Yennefer,andyoudon’thave theright todemandpaymentfor that. Iwon’tallow—”Hebrokeoff.

“Iwonderedwhenyou’dfeelit,”giggledthesorceress.Geralttensedhismusclesand,clenchinghisjawuntilithurt,strainedhis

entirewill. It didn’t help.Hewasparalyzed, like a stone statue, like apostwhichhadbeendugintotheground.Hecouldn’tevenwiggleatoe.

“Iknewyoucoulddeflectaspellthrownstraightatyou,”saidYennefer.“Ialsoknewthatbeforeyoutriedanything,you’dtrytoimpressmewithyoureloquence.Youwere talkingwhile thespellhangingoveryouwasworkingand slowly breaking you. Now you can only talk. But you don’t have toimpress me anymore. I know you’re eloquent. Any further efforts in thatdirectionwillonlyspoiltheeffect.”

“Chireadan—”hesaidwithaneffort,stillfightingthemagicalparalysis.

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“Chireadanwill realize thatyou’reup tosomething.He’llsoonwork itout,suspect something anyminutenow,becausehedoesn’t trust you,Yennefer.Hehasn’ttrustedyoufromthestart—”

Thesorceresssweptherhandinabroadgesture.Thewallsofthechamberbecameblurred and tookon auniformdull gray appearance and color.Thedoor disappeared, the windows disappeared, even the dusty curtains andpicturesonthewall,splatteredwithflies,vanished.

“WhatifChireadandoesfigureitout?”Shegrimacedmaliciously.“Ishegoingtorunforhelp?Nobodywillget throughmybarrier.ButChireadan’snotgoingtorunanywhere.Hewon’tdoanythingagainstme.Anything.He’sundermyspell.No,it’snotaquestionofblacksorcery.Ididn’tdoanythinginthatway. It’s a simplequestionof body chemistry.He’s fallen in lovewithme,theblockhead.Didn’tyouknow?Canyouimagine,heevenintendedtochallengeBeautoaduel.Ajealouself.Thatrarelyhappens.Geralt, it’snotfornothingthatIchosethishouse.”

“BeauBerrant,Chireadan,Errdil,Dandilion.You really are heading foryourgoalasstraightasyoucan.Butme,Yennefer,you’renotgoing touseme.”

“OhIam,Iam.”Thesorceressgotupfromthebedandapproachedhim,carefullyavoidingthesignsandsymbolsmarkedoutonthefloor.“Afterall,Ididsaythatyouowemesomethingforcuringthepoet.It’samatterofatrifle,asmallfavor.AfterwhatI’vedone,whatIintendtodohereinamoment,I’mleavingRindeandI’vestillgotunpaidaccounts in this town.I’vepromisedseveralpeopleheresomething,andIalwayskeepmypromises.SinceIwon’thavetimetodosomyself,you’llkeepthosepromisesforme.”

Hewrestledwithallhismight.Invain.“Don’t struggle,my littlewitcher.”Shesmiledspitefully.“It’spointless.

You’vegotastrongwillandquiteabitofresistancetomagicbutyoucan’tcontendwithmeandmyspell.Anddon’tactoutafarceforme;don’ttrytocharmmewithyourhardand insolentmasculinity.Youare theonlyone tothink you’re insolent and hard. You’d do anything forme in order to saveyourfriend,evenwithoutspellsatthat.You’dpayanyprice.You’dlickmyboots. Andmaybe something else, too, if I unexpectedly wished to amusemyself.”

He remained silent.Yenneferwas standing in front of him, smiling andfiddlingwiththeobsidianstarsparklingwithdiamondspinnedtohervelvetribbon.

“Ialreadyknewwhatyouwerelike,”shecontinued,“afterexchanginga

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fewwordswithyouinBeau’sbedroom.AndIknewwhatformofpaymentI’d demand from you. My accounts in Rinde could be settled by anyone,includingChireadan. But you’re the onewho’s going to do it because youhavetopayme.Foryourinsolence,forthecoldwayyoulookatme,fortheeyes which fish for every detail, for your stony face and sarcastic tone ofvoice. For thinking that you could stand face-to-face with Yennefer ofVergerberg and believe her to be full of self-admiration and arrogance, acalculatingwitch,whilestaringathersoapytits.Payup,GeraltofRivia!”

Shegrabbedhishairwithbothhandsandkissedhimviolentlyonthelips,sinking her teeth into them like a vampire. The medallion on his neckquiveredanditfelttoGeraltasifthechainwasshrinkingandstranglinghim.Something blazed in his headwhile a terrible humming filled his ears. Hestoppedseeingthesorceress’svioleteyesandfellintodarkness.

Hewaskneeling.Yenneferwastalkingtohiminagentle,softvoice.“Youremember?”“Yes,mylady.”Itwashisownvoice.“Sogoandcarryoutmyinstructions.”“Atyourcommand,mylady.”“Youmaykissmyhand.”“Thankyou,mylady.”Hefelthimselfapproachheronhisknees.Ten thousandbeesbuzzed in

hishead.Herhandsmeltoflilacandgooseberries.Lilacandgooseberries…Lilacandgooseberries…Aflash.Darkness.

Abalustrade,stairs.Chireadan’sface.“Geralt!What’sthematterwithyou?Geralt,whereareyougoing?”“Ihaveto…”Hisownvoice.“Ihavetogo—”“Oh,gods!Lookathiseyes!”Vratimir’s face, contorted with horror. Errdil’s face. And Chireadan’s

voice.“No!Errdil!Don’ttouchhim!Don’ttrytostophim!Outofhisway—get

outofhisway!”Thescentoflilacandgooseberries.Lilacandgooseberries…Adoor.Theexplosionofsunlight.It’shot.Humid.Thescentoflilacand

gooseberries.There’sgoingtobeastorm,hethought.Andthatwashislastthought.

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VIDarkness.Thescent…

Scent?No,smell.Stenchofurine,rottenstrawandwetrags.Thestinkofasmolderingtorchstuckintoanirongripsetinawallofunevenstoneblocks.Ashadow thrownby the lightof the torch, a shadowon thedirt floor—theshadowofagrille.

Thewitchercursed.“Atlast.”Hefeltsomeonelifthimup,resthisbackagainstthedampwall.

“Iwasbeginningtoworry,youdidn’tregainconsciousnessforsolong.”“Chireadan?Where—dammit,myhead’ssplitting—wherearewe?”“Wheredoyouthink?”Geraltwipedhisfaceandlookedaround.Threeroguesweresittingbythe

oppositewall.Hecouldn’tseethemclearly;theyweresittingasfarfromthetorch light aspossible, innear completedarkness.Somethingwhich lookedlikeaheapofragscrouchedunderthegrillewhichseparatedthemfromthelitcorridor. Itwas, in fact,a thinoldmanwithanose likeastork’sbeak.Thelengthofhismattedstringyhairand thestateofhisclothesshowed thathehadn’tarrivedyesterday.

“They’vethrownusinthedungeon,”hesaidgloomily.“I’mgladyou’veregainedyourabilitytodrawlogicalconclusions,”said

theelf.“Bloodyhell…AndDandilion?Howlonghavewebeenhere?Howmuch

timehasgonebysince—?”“I don’t know. Iwas unconscious, just like you,when Iwas thrown in

here.” Chireadan raked up the straw to sit more comfortably. “Is itimportant?”

“And how, dammit!Yennefer—AndDandilion—Dandilion’s there,withher,andshe’splanning—Hey,you!Howlonghavewebeeninhere?”

Theotherprisonerswhisperedamongthemselves.Nonereplied.“Haveyougonedeaf?”Geraltspat,stillunabletogetridofthemetallic

tasteinhismouth.“I’maskingyou,whattimeofdayisit?Ornight?Surelyyouknowwhattimetheyfeedyou?”

Theymutteredagain,clearedtheirthroats.“Sirs,”saidoneofthematlast.“Leave us in peace and don’t talk to us. We be decent thieves, not somepoliticals.Wedidn’ttrytoattacktheauthorities.Wewasonlystealing.”

“Thatbeit,”saidanother.“You’veyourcorner,we’veours.Andleteach

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lookafterhisown.”Chireadansnorted.Thewitcherspat.“That’s theway it goes,”mumbled thehairyoldmanwith a longnose.

“Everyoneintheclinkguardshisowncornerandholdswithhisown.”“Andyou,oldman,”askedtheelfsneeringly,“areyouwiththemorwith

us?Whichcampdoyoucountyourselfin?”“None,”heansweredproudly,“becauseI’minnocent.”Geralt spat again. “Chireadan?” he asked, rubbing his temple. “This

attemptontheauthorities…Isittrue?”“Absolutely.Youdon’tremember?”“Iwalkedoutintothestreet…Peoplewerelookingatme…Then…Then

therewasashop—”“A pawnbroker’s.” The elf lowered his voice. “You went into the

pawnbroker’s.Assoonasyouwalkedin,youpunchedtheownerintheteeth.Hard.Veryhard.”

Thewitchergroundhisteethandcursed.“The pawnbroker fell,” Chireadan continued quietly. “And you kicked

himseveraltimesindelicateplaces.Theassistantrantohelphismasterandyouthrewhimoutofthewindow,intothestreet.”

“Ifear,”mutteredGeralt,“thatwasn’ttheendofit.”“Your fears are well founded. You left the pawnbroker’s and marched

downthecenterofthestreet,jostlingpassersbyandshoutingsomenonsenseaboutalady’shonor.Therewasquiteacrowdfollowingyou,Errdil,VratimirandIamongthem.ThenyoustoppedinfrontofLaurelnosetheapothecary’shouse, went in, and were back in the street a moment later, draggingLaurelnosebytheleg.Andyoumadesomethingofaspeechtothecrowd.”

“Whatsortofaspeech?”“Toputitsimply,youstatedthataself-respectingmanshouldn’tevercall

aprofessionalharlotawhorebecauseit’sbaseandrepugnant,whileusingthewordwhore to describe a woman one has never knocked off or paid anymoney for doing so, is childish and punishable. The punishment, youannounced,wouldbedealtthereandthen,anditwouldbefittingforaspoiltchild.You thrust the apothecary’sheadbetweenhis knees, pulleddownhispantsandthrashedhisarsewithabelt.”

“Goon,Chireadan.Goon.Don’tspareme.”“You beat Laurelnose on the backside and the apothecary howled and

sobbed, called to gods andmen alike for help, begged formercy—he evenpromisedtobebetterinthefuture,butyouclearlydidn’tbelievehim.Then

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severalarmedbandits,whoinRindegobythenameofguards,camerunningup.”

“And”—Geraltnodded—“that’swhenImadeahitattheauthorities?”“Notatall.Youmadeahitatthemmuchearlier.Boththepawnbrokerand

Laurelnose are on the town council. Both had called for Yennefer to bethrownoutoftown.Notonlydidtheyvoteforitatthecouncilbuttheybad-mouthedherintavernsandspreadvulgargossip.”

“Iguessed that.Carryon.Youstoppedwhen theguardsappeared.Theythrewmeinhere?”

“Theywantedto.Oh,Geralt,whatasightitwas.Whatyoudidtothem,it’shard todescribe.Theyhadswords,whips,clubs,hatchets,andyouonlyhadanashcanewithapommel,whichyou’dsnatchedfromsomedandy.Andwhen theywere all lying on the ground, youwalked on.Most of us knewwhereyouweregoing.”

“I’dbehappytoknowtoo.”“Youwere going to the temple.Because the priestKrepp,who’s also a

member of the council, dedicated a lot of time toYennefer in his sermons.You promised him a lesson in respect for the fair sex.When you spoke ofhim,youomittedhistitleandthrewinotherdescriptions,tothedelightofthechildrentrailingafteryou.”

“Aha,” muttered Geralt. “So blasphemy came into it, too. What else?Desecrationofthetemple?”

“No. You didn’t manage to get in there. An entire unit of municipalguards,armed—itseemedtome—withabsolutelyeverythingtheycouldlaytheirhandsoninthearmoryapartfromacatapult,waswaitinginfrontofthetemple.Itlookedasiftheyweregoingtoslaughteryou,butyoudidn’treachthem.Yousuddenlygraspedyourheadwithbothhandsandfainted.”

“Youdon’thavetofinish.So,Chireadan,howwereyouimprisoned?”“Severalguardsrantoattackyouwhenyoufell.Igotintoadisputewith

them.Igotablowovertheheadwithamaceandcametohere,inthishole.Nodoubtthey’llaccusemeoftakingpartinananti-humanconspiracy.”

“Since we’re talking about accusations”—the witcher ground his teethagain—“what’sinstoreforus,doyouthink?”

“If Neville, the mayor, gets back from the capital on time,” mutteredChireadan,“whoknows…he’safriend.Butifhedoesn’t,thensentencewillbe passed by the councilors, including Laurelnose and the pawnbroker, ofcourse.Andthatmeans—”

The elfmade a brief gesture across his neck.Despite the darkness, the

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gestureleft littledoubtas toChireadan’smeaning.Thewitcherdidn’treply.The thievesmumbled toeachotherand the tinyoldman, lockedup forhisinnocence,seemedtobeasleep.

“Great,”saidGeraltfinally,andcursedvilely.“NotonlywillIhang,butI’ll do sowith the knowledge that I’m the cause of your death,Chireadan.AndDandilion’s, too, no doubt.No, don’t interrupt. I know it’sYennefer’sprank,butI’mtheguiltyone.It’smyfoolishness.Shedeceivedme,tookthepissoutofme,asthedwarvessay.”

“Hmm…” muttered the elf. “Nothing to add, nothing to take away. Iwarnedyouagainsther.Dammit,Iwarnedyou,andIturnedouttobejustasbig an—pardon the word—idiot. You’re worried that I’m here because ofyou,butit’squitetheopposite.You’relockedupbecauseofme.Icouldhavestopped you in the street, overpowered you, not allowed—But I didn’t.Because I was afraid that when the spell she’d cast on you had dispelled,you’dgobackand…harmher.Forgiveme.”

“Iforgiveyou,becauseyou’venoideahowstrongthatspellwas.Mydearelf,IcanbreakanordinaryspellwithinafewminutesandIdon’tfaintwhiledoing it. You wouldn’t have managed to break Yennefer’s spell and youwouldhavehaddifficultyoverpoweringme.Remembertheguards.”

“Iwasn’tthinkingaboutyou.Irepeat:Iwasthinkingabouther.”“Chireadan?”“Yes?”“Doyou…Doyou—”“Idon’tlikegrandwords,”interruptedtheelf,smilingsadly.“I’mgreatly,

shallwesay,fascinatedbyher.Nodoubtyou’resurprisedthatanyonecouldbefascinatedbyher?”

Geralt closed his eyes to recall an image which, without using grandwords,fascinatedhiminexplicably.

“No,Chireadan,”hesaid.“I’mnotsurprised.”Heavystepssoundedin thecorridor,andaclangofmetal.Thedungeon

was filledwith the shadowsof fourguards.Akeygrated.The innocentoldmanleaptawayfromthebarslikealynxandhidamongthecriminals.

“So soon?” the elf, surprised, half-whispered. “I thought it would takelongertobuildthescaffold…”

Oneoftheguards,atall,strappingfellow,baldasaknee,hismugcoveredwithbristleslikeaboar,pointedatthewitcher.

“Thatone,”hesaidbriefly.Two others grabbedGeralt, hauled him up and pressed him against the

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wall.Thethievessqueezedintotheircorner;thelong-nosedgranddadburiedhimselfinthestraw.Chireadanwantedtojumpup,buthefelltothedirtfloor,retreatingfromtheshortswordpointedathischest.

The bald guard stood in front of thewitcher, pulled his sleeves up andrubbedhisfist.

“CouncilorLaurelnose,”he said, “toldme to ask if you’re enjoyingourlittle dungeon. Perhaps there’s something you need? Perhaps the chill isgettingtoyou?Eh?”

Geraltdidnotanswer.Norcouldhekickthebaldman,astheguardswhorestrainedhimwerestandingonhisfeetintheirheavyboots.

Thebaldmantookashortswingandpunchedthewitcherinthestomach.Itdidn’thelptotensehismusclesindefense.Geralt,catchinghisbreathwithan effort, looked at the buckle of his ownbelt for awhile; then the guards“hauledhimupagain.

“Istherenothingyouneed?”theguardcontinued,stinkingofonionsandrottingteeth.“Thecouncilorwillbepleasedthatyouhavenocomplaints.”

Another blow, in the same place. The witcher choked and would havepuked,buthehadnothingtothrowup.

Thebaldguardturnedsideways.Hewaschanginghands.Wham!Geraltlookedatthebuckleofhisbeltagain.Althoughitseemed

strange,therewasnoholeaboveitthroughwhichthewallcouldbeseen.“Well?”Theguardbackedawayalittle,nodoubtplanningtotakeawider

swing.“Don’tyouhaveanywishes?Mr.Laurelnoseaskedwhetheryouhaveany.Butwhyaren’tyousayinganything?Tongue-tied?I’llgetitstraightforyou!”

Wham!Geraltdidn’tfaint this timeeither.Andhehadtofaintbecausehecared

forhisinternalorgans.Inordertofaint,hehadtoforcetheguardto—Theguardspat,baredhisteethandrubbedhisfistagain.“Well?Nowishesatall?”“Justone…”moaned thewitcher, raisinghisheadwithdifficulty. “That

youburst,youson-of-a-whore.”The bald guard ground his teeth, stepped back and took a swing—this

time, according to Geralt’s plan, aiming for his head. But the blow nevercame. The guard suddenly gobbled like a turkey, grew red, grabbed hisstomachwithbothhands,howled,roaredwithpain…

Andburst.

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VIIAndwhatamItodowithyou?”

Ablindinglybright ribbonof lightningcut thedarkened skyoutside thewindow,followedbyasharp,drawn-outcrashofthunder.ThedownpourwasgettingharderasthestormcloudpassedoverRinde.

GeraltandChireadan,seatedonabenchunderahugetapestrydepictingtheProphetLebioduspasturinghissheep,remainedsilent,modestlyhangingtheirheads.MayorNevillewaspacingthechamber,snortingandpantingwithanger.

“You bloody, shitty sorcerers!” he yelled suddenly, standing still. “Areyou persecuting my town, or what? Aren’t there any other towns in theworld?”

Theelfandwitcherremainedsilent.“Todosomethinglike—”themayorchoked.“Toturnthewarder…Like

atomato!Topulp!Toredpulp!It’sinhuman!”“Inhuman and godless,” repeated the priest, also present. “So inhuman

that even a fool could guess who’s behind it. Yes, mayor. We both knowChireadan and the man here, who calls himself a witcher, wouldn’t haveenoughForcetodothis.It isall theworkofYennefer, thatwitchcursedbythegods!”Therewasaclapof thunderoutside,as ifconfirmingthepriest’swords. “It’s her and no one else,” continued Krepp. “There’s no questionaboutit.Who,ifnotYennefer,wouldwantrevengeuponLaurelnose?”

“Hehehe,”chuckledthemayorsuddenly.“That’sthethingI’mleastangryabout.Laurelnosehasbeenschemingagainstme;he’sbeenaftermyoffice.Andnowthepeoplearen’tgoingtorespecthim.Whentheyrememberhowhegotitinthearse—”

“That’s all it needs, Mr. Neville, you to applaud the crime.” Kreppfrowned. “Let me remind you that had I not thrown an exorcism at thewitcher,hewouldhaveraisedhishandtostrikemeandthetemple’smajesty—”

“Andthat’sbecauseyouspokevilelyabouther inyoursermons,Krepp.EvenBerrantcomplainedaboutyou.Butwhat’strueistrue.Doyouhearthat,youscoundrels?”ThemayorturnedtoGeraltandChireadanagain.“Nothingjustifieswhatyou’vedone!Idon’tintendtotoleratesuchthingshere!That’senough,nowgetonwithit,tellmeeverything,tellmewhatyouhaveforyourdefense,becauseifyoudon’t,IswearbyalltherelicsthatI’llleadyousucha

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danceasyouwon’tforgettoyourdyingday!Tellmeeverything,rightnow,asyouwouldinaconfessional!”

Chireadan sigheddeeply and lookedmeaningfully andpleadingly at thewitcher.

Geraltalsosighed,thenclearedhisthroat.Andherecountedeverything.Well,almosteverything.

“So that’s it,” said the priest after amoment’s silence. “A fine kettle offish.Ageniereleasedfromcaptivity.Andanenchantresswhohashersightsonthegenie.Notabadarrangement.Thiscouldendbadly,verybadly.”

“What’sagenie?”askedNeville.“AndwhatdoesthisYenneferwant?”“Enchanters,” explained Krepp, “draw their power from the forces of

nature, or to put it more accurately, from the so-called Four Elements orPrinciples, commonly called the natural forces. Air,Water, Fire and Earth.EachoftheseelementshasitsownDimensionwhichiscalledaPlaneinthejargonusedbyenchanters.There’saWaterPlane,FirePlaneandsoon.TheseDimensions, which are beyond our reach, are inhabited bywhat are calledgenies—”

“That’swhatthey’recalledinlegends,”interruptedthewitcher.“BecauseasfarasIknow—”

“Don’t interrupt,” Krepp cut him short. “The fact that you don’t knowmuchwasevidentinyourtale,witcher.Sobequietandlistentowhatthosewiserthanyouhavetosay.Goingbacktothegenies,therearefoursorts,justastherearefourPlanes.Djinnsareaircreatures;maridesareassociatedwiththeprincipleofwater;afreetareFiregeniesandd’ao,thegeniesofEarth—”

“You’verunawaywithyourself,Krepp,”Nevillebuttedin.“Thisisn’tatemple school; don’t lecture us.Briefly,what doesYenneferwantwith thisgenie?”

“A genie like this, mayor, is a living reservoir of magical energy. Asorcererwhohasagenieat theirbeckandcallcandirect thatenergy in theformofspells.Theydon’thavetodrawtheForcefromNature;thegeniedoesit for them. The power of such an enchanter is enormous, close toomnipotence—”

“Somehow I’ve never heard of a wizard who can do everything,”contradictedNeville.“Onthecontrary, thepowerofmostof themisclearlyexaggerated.Theycan’tdothis,theycan’t—”

“TheenchanterStammelford,”interruptedthepriest,oncemoretakingonthetoneandpoiseofanacademiclecturer,“oncemovedamountainbecauseit obstructed the view fromhis tower.Nobodyhasmanaged to do the like,

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beforeorsince.BecauseStammelford,sotheysay,hadtheservicesofad’ao,anEarthgenie.Therearerecordsofdeedsaccomplishedbyothermagicianson a similar scale.Enormouswaves and catastrophic rains are certainly theworkofmarides.Fierycolumns,firesandexplosionstheworkofafreets—”

“Whirlwinds, hurricanes, flights above the earth,” muttered Geralt,“GeoffreyMonck.”

“Exactly. I seeyoudoknowsomethingafterall.”Kreppglancedathimmorekindly.“Wordhas itoldMonckhadawayof forcingadjinn toservehim.Therewererumorsthathehadmorethanone.Hewassaidtokeeptheminbottles andmakeuseof themwhenneed arose.Threewishes fromeachgenie,thenit’sfreeandescapesintoitsowndimension.”

“The one at the river didn’t fulfill anything,” said Geralt emphatically.“HeimmediatelythrewhimselfatDandilion’sthroat.”

“Genies”—Kreppturneduphisnose—“arespitefulanddeceitfulbeings.They don’t like being packed into bottles and ordered tomovemountains.Theydoeverythingtheypossiblycantomakeitimpossibleforyoutoexpressyourwishesandthentheyfulfilltheminawaywhichishardtocontrolandforesee, sometimes literally, so you have to be careful what you say. Tosubjugateagenie,youneedawillofiron,nervesofsteel,astrongForceandconsiderableabilities.Fromwhatyousay,itlookslikeyourabilities,witcher,weretoomodest.”

“Toomodest to subjugate thecad,”agreedGeralt. “But Ididchasehimaway;heboltedsofasttheairhowled.Andthat’salsosomething.Yennefer,it’strue,ridiculedmyexorcism—”

“Whatwastheexorcism?Repeatit.”Geraltrepeatedit,wordforword.“What?!”Thepriestfirstturnedpale,thenredandfinallyblue.“Howdare

you!Areyoumakingfunofme?”“Forgiveme,” stutteredGeralt. “Tobehonest, I don’t know…what the

wordsmean.”“Sodon’trepeatwhatyoudon’tknow!I’venoideawhereyoucouldhave

heardsuchfilth!”“Enough of that.” The mayor waved it all aside. “We’re wasting time.

Right.Wenowknowwhat the sorceresswants the genie for.But you said,Krepp,thatit’sbad.What’sbad?Lethercatchhimandgotohell,whatdoIcare?Ithink—”

No one ever found out what Neville was thinking, even if it wasn’t aboast. A luminous rectangle appeared on the wall next to the tapestry of

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ProphetLebiodus,somethingflashedandDandilion landed in themiddleofthetownhall.

“Innocent!”yelledthepoetinaclear,melodioustenor,sittingonthefloorand looking around, his eyes vague. “Innocent! The witcher is innocent! Iwishyoutobelieveit!”

“Dandilion!”Geraltshouted,holdingKreppback,whowasclearlygettingready to perform an exorcism or a curse. “Where have you… here…Dandilion!”

“Geralt!”Thebardjumpedup.“Dandilion!”“Who’sthis?”Nevillegrowled.“Dammit,ifyoudon’tputanendtoyour

spells,there’snoguaranteewhatI’lldo.I’vesaidthatspellsareforbiddeninRinde!Firstyouhavetoputinawrittenapplication,thenpayataxandstampduty…Eh?Isn’titthatsinger,thewitch’shostage?”

“Dandilion,”repeatedGeralt,holdingthepoetbytheshoulders.“Howdidyougethere?”

“Idon’tknow,”admittedthebardwithafoolish,worriedexpression.“Tobe honest, I’m rather unaware of what happened to me. I don’t remembermuchandmaytheplaguetakemeifIknowwhatofthatisrealandwhat’sanightmare.But Idorememberquiteapretty,black-hairedfemalewithfieryeyes—”

“What are you telling me about black-haired women for?” Nevilleinterruptedangrily.“Gettothepoint,squire,tothepoint.Youyelledthatthewitcheris innocent.HowamItounderstandthat?ThatLaurelnosethrashedhis own arsewith his hands?Because if thewitcher’s innocent, it couldn’thavebeenotherwise.Unlessitwasamasshallucination.”

“Idon’tknowanythingaboutanyarsesorhallucinations,”saidDandilionproudly. “Or anything about laurel noses: I repeat, that the last thing Irememberwasanelegantwomandressedintastefullycoordinatedblackandwhite.Shethrewmeintoashinyhole,amagicportalforsure.Butfirstshegavemeaclearandpreciseerrand.AssoonasI’darrived,Iwasimmediatelyto say, I quote: ‘Mywish is for you tobelieve thewitcher is not guilty forwhatoccurred.That,andnoother,ismywish.’Wordforword.Indeed,Itriedto askwhat all thiswas,what it was all about, andwhy. The black-hairedwoman didn’t let me get a word in edgeways. She scolded me mostinelegantly,graspedmebytheneckandthrewmeintotheportal.That’sall.Andnow…”Dandilionpulledhimselfup,brushedhisdoublet, adjustedhiscollarandfancy—ifdirty—ruffles.“…perhaps,gentlemen,you’dliketotell

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methenameofthebesttavernintownandwhereitcanbefound.”“Therearenobadtavernsinmytown,”saidNevilleslowly.“Butbefore

youseethemforyourself,you’ll inspectthebestdungeoninthistownverythoroughly.Youandyourcompanions.Letmeremindyouthatyou’restillnotfree, you scoundrels! Look at them! One tells incredible stories while theotherleapsoutofthewallandshoutsaboutinnocence.Iwish,heyells,youtobelieveme.Hehastheaudacitytowish—”

“My gods!” The priest suddenly grasped his bald crown. “Now Iunderstand!Thewish!Thelastwish!”

“What’shappenedtoyou,Krepp?”Themayorfrowned.“Areyouill?”“Thelastwish!”repeatedthepriest.“Shemadethebardexpressthelast,

the thirdwish.AndYennefersetamagical trapand,nodoubt,captured thegeniebeforehemanagedtoescapeintohisowndimension!Mr.Neville,wemust—”

Itthunderedoutside.Sostronglythatthewallsshook.“Dammit,”mutteredthemayor,goinguptothewindow.“Thatwasclose.

As long as it doesn’t hit a house.All I need now is a fire—Oh gods! Justlook!Justlookatthis!Krepp!Whatisit?”

Allofthem,toaman,rushedtothewindow.“Mother ofmine!” yelledDandilion, grabbing his throat. “It’s him! It’s

thatsonofabitchwhostrangledme!”“Thedjinn!”shoutedKrepp.“TheAirgenie!”“AboveErrdil’stavern!”shoutedChireadan,“abovehisroof!”“She’scaughthim!”Thepriestleanedoutsofarhealmostfell.“Canyou

seethemagicallight?Thesorceresshascaughtthegenie!”Geraltwatchedinsilence.Once, years ago, when a little snot-faced brat following his studies in

KaerMorhen,theWitchers’Settlement,heandafriend,Eskel,hadcapturedahugeforestbumblebeeandtiedittoajugwithathread.Theywereinfitsoflaughterwatchingtheanticsofthetiedbumblebee,untilVesemir,theirtutor,caughtthematitandtannedtheirhideswithaleatherstrap.

Thedjinn,circlingabovetheroofofErrdil’stavern,behavedexactlylikethat bumblebee. He flew up and fell, he sprang up and dived, he buzzedfuriously in a circle.Because thedjinn, exactly like thebumblebee inKaerMorhen,wastieddown.Twistedthreadsofblindinglybrightlightofvariouscolorsweretightlywrappedaroundhimandendedattheroof.Butthedjinnhad more options than the bumblebee, which couldn’t knock downsurrounding roofs, rip thatches to shreds, destroy chimneys, and shatter

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towersandgarrets.Thedjinncould.Anddid.“It’sdestroyingthetown,”wailedNeville.“Thatmonster’sdestroyingmy

town!”“Hehehe,” laughed the priest. “She’s found hermatch, it seems! It’s an

exceptionallystrongdjinn!Ireallydon’tknowwho’scaughtwhom,thewitchhimor he thewitch!Ha, it’ll endwith thedjinngrindingher todust.Verygood!Justicewillbedone!”

“Ishiton justice!”yelled themayor,notcaring if therewereanyvotersunder thewindow. “Lookwhat’s happening there,Krepp! Panic, ruin!Youdidn’ttellmethat,youbaldidiot!Youplayedthewiseguy,gabbledon,butnot aword aboutwhat’smost important!Why didn’t you tellme that thatdemon… Witcher! Do something! Do you hear, innocent sorcerer? Dosomethingaboutthatdemon!Iforgiveyouallyouroffences,but—”

“There’s nothing can be done here, Mr. Neville,” snorted Krepp. “Youdidn’t listen towhat Iwassaying, that’sall.Younever listen tome.This, Irepeat, is an exceptionally strong djinn. If it wasn’t for that, the sorceresswouldhaveholdofhimalready.Herspellissoongoingtoweaken,andthenthedjinnisgoingtocrushherandescape.Andwe’llhavesomepeace.”

“Andinthemeantime,thetownwillgotoruins?”“We’vegottowait,”repeatedthepriest,“butnotidly.Giveouttheorders,

mayor.Tell thepeople to evacuate the surroundinghouses andget ready toextinguishfires.What’shappeningtherenowisnothingcomparedtothehellthat’sgoingtobreakloosewhenthegeniehasfinishedwiththewitch.”

Geraltraisedhishead,caughtChireadan’seyeandlookedaway.“Mr.Krepp,”hesuddenlydecided,“Ineedyourhelp.It’sabouttheportal

throughwhichDandilionappearedhere.Theportalstilllinksthetownhallto—”

“There’snotevena traceof theportalanymore,” thepriest saidColdly,pointingtothewall.“Can’tyousee?”

“Aportalleavesatrace,evenwheninvisible.Aspellcanstabilizesuchatrace.I’llfollowit.”

“Youmustbemad.Evenifapassagelikethatdoesn’ttearyoutopieces,whatdoyouexpecttogainbyit?Doyouwanttofindyourselfinthemiddleofacyclone?”

“Iaskedifyoucancastaspellwhichcouldstabilizethetrace.”“Spell?”Thepriestproudlyraisedhishead.“I’mnotagodlesssorcerer!I

don’tcastspells!Mypowercomesfromfaithandprayer!”“Canyouorcan’tyou?”

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“Ican.”“Thengetonwithit,becausetime’spressingon.”“Geralt,” said Dandilion, “you’ve gone stark raving mad! Keep away

fromthatbloodystrangler!”“Silence,please,”saidKrepp,“andgravity.I’mpraying.”“To hell with your prayers!” Neville hollered. “I’m off to gather the

people.We’vegottodosomethingandnotstandheregabbling!Gods,whataday!Whatabloodyday!”

ThewitcherfeltChireadantouchhisshoulder.Heturned.Theelflookedhimintheeyes,thenloweredhisown.

“You’regoingtherebecauseyouhaveto,aren’tyou?”Geralt hesitated. He thought he smelled the scent of lilac and

gooseberries.“Ithinkso,”hesaidreluctantly.“Idohaveto.I’msorry,Chireadan—”“Don’tapologize.Iknowwhatyoufeel.”“Idoubtit.BecauseIdon’tknowmyself.”Theelfsmiled.Thesmilehadlittletodowithjoy.“That’sjustit,Geralt.

Preciselyit.”Krepp pulled himself upright and took a deep breath. “Ready,” he said,

pointingwithprideatthebarelyvisibleoutlineonthewall.“Buttheportalisunsteadyandwon’tstaythereforlong.Andthere’snowaytobesureitwon’tbreak.Beforeyoustepthrough,sir,examineyourconscience.Icangiveyouablessing,butinordertoforgiveyouyoursins—”

“—there’s no time,”Geralt finished the sentence for him. “I know,Mr.Krepp.There’sneverenoughtimeforit.Leavethechamber,allofyou.Iftheportalexplodes,it’llburstyoureardrums.”

“I’ll stay,” saidKrepp,when the door had closed behindDandilion andthe elf. He waved his hands in the air, creating a pulsating aura aroundhimself. “I’ll spread some protection, just in case. And if the portal doesburst… I’ll try and pull you out,witcher.What are eardrums tome? Theygrowback.”

Geraltlookedathimmorekindly.Thepriestsmiled.“You’reabraveman,”hesaid.“Youwanttosaveher,

don’t you? But bravery isn’t going to be of much use to you. Djinns arevengefulbeings.Thesorceressislost.Andifyougothere,you’llbelost,too.Examineyourconscience.”

“Ihave.”Geraltstoodinfrontofthefaintlyglowingportal.“Mr.Krepp,sir?”

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“Yes.”“Thatexorcismwhichmadeyousoangry…Whatdothewordsmean?”“Indeed,whatamomentforquipsandjokes—”“Please,Mr.Krepp,sir.”“Oh,well,” said the priest, hiding behind themayor’s heavy oak table.

“It’s your last wish, so I’ll tell you. It means… Hmm… Hmm…essentially…getoutofhereandgofuckyourself!”

Geraltenteredthenothingness,wherecoldstifledthelaughterwhichwasshakinghim.

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VIIITheportal, roaringandwhirling like ahurricane, spathimoutwith a forcethat bruised his lungs. The witcher collapsed on the floor, panting andcatchinghisbreathwithdifficulty.

The floor shook.At first he thought hewas trembling after his journeythroughthesplittinghelloftheportal,butherapidlyrealizedhismistake.Thewholehousewasvibrating,tremblingandcreaking.

Helookedaround.HewasnotinthesmallroomwherehehadlastseenYenneferandDandilionbutinthelargecommunalhallofErrdil’srenovatedtavern.

He saw her. She was kneeling between tables, bent over the magicalsphere.Thespherewasaflamewithastrong,milkylight,sobright,enoughtoshineredthroughherfingers.Thelightfromthesphereilluminatedascene,flickeringandswaying,butclear.Geraltsawthesmallroomwithastarandpentagramtracedonthefloor,blazingwithwhiteheat.Hesawmany-colored,creaking, fiery lines shooting from thepentagramanddisappearingupovertherooftowardthefuriousroarofthecaptureddjinn.

Yennefersawhim,jumpedupandraisedherhand.“No!”heshouted,“don’tdothis!Iwanttohelpyou!”“Help?”Shesnorted.“You?”“Me.”“InspiteofwhatIdidtoyou?”“Inspiteofit.”“Interesting.Butnotimportant.Idon’tneedyourhelp.Getoutofhere.”“No.”“Get out of here!” she yelled, grimacing ominously. “It’s getting

dangerous! Thewhole thing’s getting out of control; do you understand? Ican’tmaster him. I don’t get it, but the scoundrel isn’tweakening at all! Icaughthimoncehe’dfulfilledthetroubadour’sthirdwishandIshouldhavehiminthespherebynow.Buthe’snotgettinganyweaker!Dammit,itlooksas if he’s getting stronger!But I’m still going to get the better of him. I’llbreak—”

“Youwon’tbreakhim,Yennefer.He’llkillyou.”“It’snotsoeasytokillme—”Shebrokeoff.Thewholeroofofthetavernsuddenlyflaredup.Thevision

projected by the sphere dissolved in the brightness. A huge fiery rectangle

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appeared on the ceiling. The sorceress cursed as she lifted her hands, andsparksgushedfromherfingers.

“Run,Geralt!”“What’shappening,Yennefer?”“He’slocatedme…”Shegroaned,flushingredwitheffort.“Hewantsto

getatme.He’screatinghisownportaltogetin.Hecan’tbreakloosebuthe’llgetinbytheportal.Ican’t—Ican’tstophim!”

“Yennefer—”“Don’tdistractme!I’vegottoconcentrate…Geralt,you’vegottogetout

of here. I’ll openmyportal, away for you to escape.Be careful; it’ll be arandomportal. I haven’t got time or strength for any other… I don’t knowwhereyou’llendup…butyou’llbesafe…Getready—”

A huge portal on the ceiling suddenly flared blindingly, expanded andgrewdeformed.Outofthenothingnessappearedtheshapelessmouthalreadyknowntothewitcher,snappingitsdroopinglipsandhowlingloudlyenoughto pierce his ears. Yennefer jumped, waved her arms and shouted anincantation.Anetoflightshotfromherpalmandfellonthedjinn.Itgavearoar and sprouted long paws which shot toward the sorceress’s throat likeattackingcobras.Yenneferdidn’tbackaway.

Geraltthrewhimselftowardher,pushedherasideandshelteredher.Thedjinn,tangledinthemagicallight,sprangfromtheportallikeacorkfromabottleandthrewhimselfatthem,openinghisjaws.Thewitcherclenchedhisteeth and hit himwith the Signwithout any apparent effect. But the geniedidn’t attack. He hung in the air just below the ceiling, swelled to animpressivesize,goggledatGeraltwithhispaleeyesandroared.Therewassomething in that roar, something like a command, an order. He didn’tunderstandwhatitwas.

“This way!” shouted Yennefer, indicating the portal which she hadconjuredupohthewallbythestairs.Incomparisontotheonecreatedbythegenie, the sorceress’s portal looked feeble, extremely inferior. “This way,Geralt!Runforit!”

“Onlywithyou!”Yennefer,sweepingtheairwithherhands,wasshoutingincantationsand

themany-coloredfettersshoweredsparksandcreaked.Thedjinnwhirledlikethe bumble-bee, pulling the bonds tight, then loosening them. Slowly butsurelyhewasdrawingclosertothesorceress.Yenneferdidnotbackaway.

Thewitcher leapt toher,deftly trippedherup,grabbedherby thewaistwithonehand anddug theother intoher hair at thenape.Yennefer cursed

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nastily‘’andthumpedhimintheneckwithherelbow.Hedidn’tletgoofher.Thepenetratingsmellofozone,createdbythecurses,didn’tkillthesmelloflilacandgooseberries.Geraltstilledthesorceress’skickinglegsandjumped,raisingherstraightuptotheopalescentlyflickeringnothingnessofthelesserportal.

Theportalwhichledintotheunknown.Theyflewoutinatightembrace,fellontoamarblefloorandslidacross

it, knocking over an enormous candlestick and a table from which crystalgoblets,plattersoffruitandahugebowlofcrushedice,seaweedandoystersshowered down with a crash. Screams and squeals came from around theroom.

Theywerelyingintheverycenterofaballroom,brightwithcandelabra.Richlycladgentlemenandladies,sparklingwithjewels,hadstoppeddancingand were watching them in stunned silence. The musicians in the galleryfinishedtheirpieceinacacophonywhichgratedontheears.

“Youmoron!”Yenneferyelled,tryingtoscratchouthiseyes.“Youbloodyidiot!Youstoppedme!Inearlyhadhim!”

“Youhadshit-all!”heshoutedback,furious.“Isavedyourlife,youstupidwitch!”

Shehissedlikeafuriouscat;herpalmsshoweredsparks.Geralt, turninghis face away, caughtherbybothwrists and they rolled

amongtheoysters,seaweedandcrushedice.“Do you have an invitation?”A portlymanwith the golden chain of a

chamberlainonhischestwaslookingatthemwithahaughtyexpression.“Screwyourself!”screamedYennefer,stilltryingtoscratchGeralt’seyes

out.“It’s a scandal,” the chamberlain said emphatically. “Verily, you’re

exaggeratingwiththisteleportation.I’mgoingtocomplaintotheCouncilofWizards.I’lldemand—”

No one ever heard what the chamberlain would demand. Yenneferwrenched herself free, slapped the witcher in the ear with her open palm,kicked him forcefully in the shin and jumped into the fading portal in thewall.

Geraltthrewhimselfafterher,catchingherhairandbeltwithapracticedmove.

Yennefer,alsohavinggainedpractice,landedhimablowwithherelbow.Thesuddenmovesplitherdressatthearmpit,revealingashapelybreast.

Anoysterflewfromhertorndress.

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Theybothfellintothenothingnessoftheportal.Geraltcouldstillhearthechamberlain’svoice.

“Music! Play on! Nothing has happened. Please take no notice of thatpitifulincident!”

Thewitcherwasconvincedthatwitheverysuccessivejourneythroughtheportal, theriskofmisfortunewasmultiplyingandhewasn’tmistaken.Theyhit the target, Errdil’s tavern, but they materialized just under the ceiling.Theyfell,shattering thestairbalustradeand,withadeafeningcrash, landedonthetable.Thetablehadtherightnottowithstandtheblow,anditdidn’t.

Yennefer found herself under the table. He was sure she had lostconsciousness.Hewasmistaken.

Shepunchedhim in theeyeand firedavolleyof insults straightathimwhichwoulddocredittoadwarvenundertaker—andtheywererenownedfortheirfoul language.Thecurseswereaccompaniedbyfurious,chaoticblowsdealtblindly,randomly.

Geraltgrabbedherbythehandsand,toavoidbeinghitbyherforehead,thrust his face into the sorceress’s cleavage which smelled of lilac,gooseberriesandoysters.

“Letmego!”shescreamed,kickinglikeapony.“Youidiot!Letgo!Thefettersaregoingtobreakanymomentnow.I’vegottostrengthenthemorthedjinnwillescape!”

He didn’t answer, although he wanted to. He grasped her even moretightly,tryingtopinherdowntothefloor.Yennefersworehorribly,struggled,andwithallherstrength,kickedhimin thecrotchwithherknee.Beforehecouldcatchhisbreath,shebrokefreeandscreamedanincantation.Hefeltaterrible force drag him from the ground and hurl him across the hall until,with a violence that near-stunned him, he slammed against a carved two-dooredchestofdrawersandshattereditcompletely.

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IX“What’shappeningthere?!”Dandilion,clingingtothewall,strainedhisneck,trying to see through the downpour. “Tell me what’s happening there,dammit!”

“They’re fighting!” yelled an urchin, springing away from the tavernwindowasifhe’dburnedhimself.Histatteredfriendsalsoescaped,slappingthemudwiththeirbareheels.“Thesorcererandthewitcharefighting!”

“Fighting?” Neville was surprised. “They’re fighting, and that shittydemonisruiningmytown!Look,he’sknockedanotherchimneydown.Anddamagedthebrick-kiln!Hey,yougetoverthere,quick!Gods,we’reluckyit’srainingorthere’dbeafirelikenobody’sbusiness!”

“Thiswon’tlastmuchlonger,”Kreppsaidgloomily.“Themagicallightisweakening, the bonds will break at any moment. Mr. Neville! Order thepeopletomoveback!Allhell’sgoingtobreaklooseoverthereatanyminute!There’llbeonlysplintersleftofthathouse!Mr.Errdil,whatareyoulaughingat?It’syourhouse.Whatmakesyousoamused?”

“Ihadthatwreckinsuredforamassivesum!”“Doesthepolicycovermagicalandsupernaturalevents?”“Ofcourse.”“That’swise,Mr.Elf.Verywise.Congratulations.Hey,youpeople,getto

someshelter!Don’tgetanycloser,ifyouvalueyourlives!”AdeafeningcrashcamefromwithinErrdil’shouse,andlightningflashed.

Thesmallcrowdretreated,hidingbehindthepillars.“WhydidGeraltgothere?”groanedDandilion.“Whatthehellfor?Why

did he insist on saving that witch? Why, dammit? Chireadan, do youunderstand?”

Theelfsmiledsadly.“Yes,Ido,Dandilion,”hesaid.“Ido.”

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XGeralt leapt away from another blazing orange shaft which shot from thesorceress’sfingers.Shewasclearlytired,theshaftswereweakandslow,andheavoidedthemwithnogreatdifficulty.

“Yennefer!”heshouted.“Calmdown!Willyoulisten?!Youwon’tbeable—”

Hedidn’t finish.Thinredboltsof lightningspurtedfromthesorceress’shands, reaching him inmany places andwrapping him up thoroughly. Hisclotheshissedandstartedtosmolder.

“I won’t be able to?” she said through her teeth, standing over him.“You’llsoonseewhatI’mcapableof.Itwillsufficeforyoutoliethereforawhileandnotgetinmyway.”

“Getthisoffme!”heroared,strugglingintheblazingspider’sweb.“I’mburning,dammit!”

“Lie thereanddon’tmove,”sheadvised,pantingheavily.“Itonlyburnswhenyoumove…Ican’tspareyouanymoretime,witcher.Wehadaromp,butenough’senough.I’vegottotakecareofthedjinn;he’sreadytorunaway—”

“Run away?” Geralt screamed. “It’s you who should run away! Thatdjinn…Yennefer,listentomecarefully.I’vegottotellyouthetruth.”

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XIThedjinngaveatugatthefetters,tracedacircle,tightenedthelinesholdingit,andsweptthelittletoweroffBeauBerrant’shouse.

“What a roar he’s got!” Dandilion frowned, instinctively clasping histhroat.“Whataterribleroar!Itlooksasifhe’sbloodyfurious!”

“That’sbecauseheis,”saidKrepp.Chireadanglancedathim.“What?”“He’sfurious,”repeatedKrepp.“AndI’mnotsurprised.I’dbefurioustoo

if I had to fulfill, to the letter, the first wish accidentally expressed by thewitcher—”

“How’sthat?”shoutedDandilion.“Geralt?Wish?”“He’stheonewhoheldthesealwhichimprisonedthedjinn.Thedjinn’s

fulfilling hiswishes. That’swhy thewitch can’tmaster it. But thewitchermustn’ttellher,evenifhe’scaughtontoitbynow.Heshouldn’ttellher.”

“Dammit,” muttered Chireadan. “I’m beginning to understand. Thewarderinthedungeonburst…”

“Thatwasthewitcher’ssecondwish.He’sstillgotoneleft.Thelastone.But,godshelpus,heshouldn’trevealthattoYennefer!”

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XIIShe stood motionless, leaning over him, paying no attention to the djinnstruggling at its bonds above the tavern roof.Thebuilding shook, limeandsplinterspouredfromtheceiling, furniturecreptalong thefloor,shudderingspasmodically.

“Sothat’showitis,”shehissed.“Congratulations.Youdeceivedme.NotDandilion,butyou.That’swhythedjinn’sfightingsohard!ButIhaven’tlostyet,Geralt.Youunderestimateme,andyouunderestimatemypower.I’vestillgotthedjinnandyouinmyhand.You’vestillgotonelastwish,haven’tyou?Somakeit.You’llfreethedjinnandthenI’llbottleit.”

“Youhaven’tgotenoughstrengthleft,Yennefer.”“Youunderestimatemystrength.Thewish,Geralt!”“No,Yennefer.Ican’t…Thedjinnmightfulfillit,butitwon’tspareyou.

It’llkillyouwhenit’sfree.It’lltakeitsrevengeonyou…Youwon’tmanageto catch it and you won’t manage to defend yourself against it. You’reweakened;youcanbarelystand.You’lldie,Yennefer.”

“That’smyrisk!”sheshouted,enraged.“What’sittoyouwhathappenstome?Thinkratherwhatthedjinncangiveyou!You’vestillgotonewish!Youcan ask what you like! Make use of it! Use it, witcher! You can haveanything!Anything!”

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XIII“Are theybothgoing todie?”wailedDandilion.“Howcome?Krepp,why?Afterall, thewitcher—Why,byallperfidiousandunexpectedplagues, isn’theescaping?Why?What’skeepinghim?Whydoesn’the leave thatbloodywitchtoherfateandrunaway?It’ssenseless!”

“Absolutelysenseless,”repeatedChireadanbitterly.“Absolutely.”“It’ssuicide.Andplainidiocy!”“It’s his job, after all,” interrupted Neville. “The witcher’s saving my

town.May thegodsbemywitness—ifhedefeats thewitchandchases thedemonaway,I’llrewardhimhandsomely…”

Dandilionsnatchedthehatdecoratedwithaheron’sfeatherfromhishead,spat into it, threw it in the mud and trampled on it, spitting out words invariouslanguagesashedid.

“Buthe’s…”hegroanedsuddenly,“stillgotonewishinreserve!Hecouldsavebothherandhimself!Mr.Krepp!”

“It’snot that simple,” thepriestpondered.“But if…Ifheexpressed therightwish… If he somehow tied his fate to the fate…No, I don’t think itwouldoccurtohim.Andit’sprobablybetterthatitdoesn’t.”

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XIV“The wish, Geralt! Hurry up! What do you desire? Immortality? Riches?Fame? Power? Might? Privileges? Hurry, we haven’t any time!” He wassilent.“Humanity,”shesaidsuddenly,smilingnastily.“I’veguessed,haven’tI?That’swhatyouwant;that’swhatyoudreamof!Ofrelease,ofthefreedomtobewhoyouwant,notwhoyouhavetobe.Thedjinnwillfulfillthatwish,Geralt.Justsayit.”

Hestayedsilent.Shestoodoverhimintheflickeringradianceofthewizard’ssphere,inthe

glowofmagic,amidsttheflashesofraysrestrainingthedjinn,streaminghairandeyesblazingviolet,erect,slender,dark,terrible…

Andbeautiful.Allofasuddensheleanedoverandlookedhimintheeyes.Hecaughtthe

scentoflilacandgooseberries.“You’re not saying anything,” she hissed. “So what is it you desire,

witcher?Whatisyourmosthiddendream?Isit thatyoudon’tknoworyoucan’tdecide?Lookforitwithinyourself,lookdeeplyandcarefullybecause,IswearbytheForce,youwon’tgetanotherchancelikethis!”

Buthesuddenlyknewthetruth.Heknewit.Heknewwhatsheusedtobe.What she remembered,what she couldn’t forget,what she livedwith.Whoshereallywasbeforeshehadbecomeasorceress.

Hercold,penetrating,angryandwiseeyeswerethoseofahunchback.Hewashorrified.No, not of the truth.Hewashorrified that shewould

readhisthoughts,findoutwhathehadguessed.Thatshewouldneverforgivehimforit.Hedeadenedthatthoughtwithinhimself,killedit,threwitfromhismemoryforever,withouttrace,feeling,ashedidso,enormousrelief.Feelingthat—

The ceiling cracked open. The djinn, entangled in the net of the nowfading rays, tumbled right on top of them, roaring, and in that roar weretriumphandmurderlust.Yenneferleapttomeethim.Lightbeamedfromherhands.Veryfeeblelight.

Thedjinnopenedhismouthandstretchedhispawstowardher.Thewitchersuddenlyunderstoodwhatitwashewanted.Andhemadehiswish.

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XVThehouseexploded.Bricks,beamsandplanksflewupinacloudofsmokeandsparks.Thedjinnspurtedfromthedust-storm,ashugeasabarn.Roaringand choking with triumphant laughter, the Air genie, free now, not tied toanyone’s will, traced three circles above the town, tore the spire from thetownhall,soaredintotheskyandvanished.

“It’s escaped! It’s escaped!” calledKrepp. “Thewitcher’s had hisway!Thegeniehasflownaway!Itwon’tbeathreattoanyoneanymore!”

“Ah,”saidErrdilwithgenuinerapture,“whatawonderfulruin!”“Dammit, dammit!” hollered Dandilion, huddled behind the wall. “It’s

shatteredtheentirehouse!Nobodycouldsurvivethat!Nobody,Itellyou!”“Thewitcher,GeraltofRivia,hassacrificedhimselfforthetown,”mayor

Neville said ceremoniously. “Wewon’t forget him.We’ll revere him.We’llthinkofastatue…”

Dandilion shook a piece of wicker matting bound with clay from hisshoulder,brushedhisjerkinfreeoflumpsofrain-dampenedplaster,lookedatthe mayor and, in a few well-chosen words, expressed his opinion aboutsacrifice,reverence,memoryandallthestatuesintheworld.

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XVIGeraltlookedaround.Waterwasslowlydrippingfromtheholeintheceiling.There were heaps of rubble and stacks of timber all around. By a strangecoincidence,theplacewheretheylaywascompletelyclear.Notoneplankorone brick had fallen on them. Itwas as if theywere being protected by aninvisibleshield.

Yennefer,slightlyflushed,kneltbyhim,restingherhandsonherknees.“Witcher.”Sheclearedherthroat.“Areyoudead?”“No.”Geraltwipedthedustfromhisfaceandhissed.Slowly,Yennefertouchedhiswristanddelicatelyranherfingersalonghis

palm.“Iburntyou—”“It’snothing.Afewblisters—”“I’msorry.Youknow,thedjinn’sescaped.Forgood.”“Doyouregretit?”“Notmuch.”“Good.Helpmeup,please.”“Wait,” shewhispered. “Thatwishof yours… Iheardwhat youwished

for.Iwasastounded,simplyastounded.I’dhaveexpectedanythingbutto…Whatmadeyoudoit,Geralt?Why…Whyme?”

“Don’tyouknow?”Sheleanedoverhim,touchedhim.Hefeltherhair,smellingoflilacand

gooseberries,brushhisfaceandhesuddenlyknewthathe’dneverforgetthatscent,thatsofttouch,knewthathe’dneverbeabletocompareittoanyotherscentortouch.Yenneferkissedhimandheunderstoodthathe’dneverdesireanylipsotherthanhers,sosoftandmoist,sweetwithlipstick.Heknewthat,fromthatmoment,onlyshewouldexist,herneck,shouldersandbreastsfreedfromherblackdress,herdelicate,coolskin,whichcouldn’tbecomparedtoany other he had ever touched. He gazed into her violet eyes, the mostbeautifuleyesintheworld,eyeswhichhefearedwouldbecome…

Everything.Heknew.“Your wish,” she whispered, her lips very near his ear. “I don’t know

whethersuchawishcaneverbefulfilled.Idon’tknowwhetherthere’ssuchaForce inNature that could fulfill such a wish. But if there is, then you’vecondemnedyourself.Condemnedyourselftome.”

Heinterruptedherwithakiss,anembrace,atouch,caressesandthenwitheverything,hiswholebeing,hiseverythought,hisonlythought,everything,

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everything, everything. They broke the silencewith sighs and the rustle ofclothing strewnon the floor.Theybroke the silenceverygently, lazily, andtheywereconsiderateandvery thorough.Theywerecaringand tenderand,althoughneitherquiteknewwhatcaringandtendernesswere,theysucceededbecause theyverymuchwanted to.And theywere innohurrywhatsoever.The whole world had ceased to exist for a brief moment, but to them, itseemedlikeawholeeternity.

Andthentheworldstartedtoexistagain;butitexistedverydifferently.“Geralt?”“Mmm?”“Whatnow?”“Idon’tknow.”“Nor do I. Because, you see, I… I don’t know whether it was worth

condemningyourselftome.Idon’tknowhow—Wait,whatareyoudoing…?Iwantedtotellyou—”

“Yennefer…Yen.”“Yen,”sherepeated,giving in tohimcompletely.“Nobody’severcalled

methat.Sayitagain.”“Yen.”“Geralt.”

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XVIIIthadstoppedraining.ArainbowappearedoverRindeandcuttheskywithabroken,coloredarc. It lookedas if itgrewstraight fromthe tavern’s ruinedroof.

“By all the gods,”mutteredDandilion, “what silence…They’re dead, Itellyou.Eitherthey’vekilledeachotherormydjinn’sfinishedthemoff.”

“Weshouldgoandsee,”saidVratimir,wipinghisbrowwithhiscrumpledhat.“Theymightbewounded.ShouldIcalladoctor?”

“Anundertaker,more like it,” saidKrepp. “I know thatwitch, and thatwitcher’sgot thedevil inhiseyes too.There’sno twowaysabout it;we’vegottostartdiggingtwopitsinthecemetery.I’dadvisestickinganaspenstakeintothatYenneferbeforeburyingher.”

“Whatsilence,”repeatedDandilion.“Beamswereflyingallovertheplaceamomentagoandnowit’sasquietasagrave.”

Theyapproachedthetavernruinsverycautiouslyandslowly.“Let thecarpenterget thecoffinsready,”saidKrepp.“Tell thecarpenter

—”“Quiet,”interruptedErrdil.“Iheardsomething.Whatwasit,Chireadan?”Theelfbrushedthehairoffhispointedearandtiltedhishead.“I’mnotsure…Let’sgetcloser.”“Yennefer’salive,”saidDandilionsuddenly,straininghismusicalear.“I

heardhermoan.There,shemoanedagain!”“Uhuh,”confirmedErrdil.“Iheard it, too.Shemoaned.Shemustreally

besuffering.Chireadan,whereareyougoing?Careful!”The elf backed away from the shatteredwindow throughwhich he had

carefullypeeped.“Let’sgetoutofhere,”hesaidquietly.“Let’snotdisturbthem.”“They’rebothalive?Chireadan?Whataretheydoing?”“Let’sgetoutofhere,”repeatedtheelf.“Let’sleavethemaloneforabit.

Letthemstaythere,Yennefer,Geraltandhislastwish.Let’swaitinatavern;they’lljoinusbeforelong.Bothofthem.”

“Whataretheydoing?”Dandilionwascurious.“Tellme,dammit!”Theelfsmiled.Very,verysadly.“Idon’tlikegrandwords,”hesaid.“And

it’simpossibletogiveitanamewithoutusinggrandwords.”

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THEVOICEOFREASON

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IFalwick, in full armor, without a helmet and with the crimson coat of theOrderflungoverhisshoulder,stoodintheglade.Nexttohim,withhisarmsacrosshischest,wasastocky,beardeddwarfinanovercoatlinedwithfoxfurover, achain-mail shirtof iron rings.Tailles,wearingnoarmorbuta short,quilteddoublet,pacedslowly,brandishinghisunsheathedswordfromtimetotime.

The witcher looked about, restraining his horse. All around glinted thecuirassesandflathelmetsofsoldiersarmedwithlances.

“Bloodyhell,”mutteredGeralt.“Imighthaveexpectedthis.”Dandilion turned his horse and quietly cursed at the sight of the lances

cuttingofftheirretreat.“What’sthisabout,Geralt?”“Nothing.Keepyourmouthshutanddon’tbuttin.I’lltrytoliemyway

outofitsomehow.”“What’sitabout,Iaskyou?Moretrouble?”“Shutup.”“Itwasastupidideaafterall,torideintotown,”groanedthetroubadour,

glancingtowardthenearbytowersofthetemplevisibleabovetheforest.“WeshouldhavestayedatNenneke’sandnotstirredbeyondthewalls—”

“Shutup.It’llallbecomeclear,you’llsee.”“Doesn’tlooklikeit.”Dandilion was right. It didn’t. Tailles, brandishing his naked sword,

continuedpacingwithoutlookingintheirdirection.Thesoldiers, leaningontheirspears,werewatchinggloomilyandindifferently,withtheexpressionofprofessionalsforwhomkillingdoesnotprovokemuchinterest.

Theydismounted.Falwickandthedwarfslowlyapproached.“You’ve insulted Tailles, a man of good birth, witcher,” said the count

withoutpreambleorthecustomarycourtesies.“AndTailles,asyounodoubtremember, threw down the gauntlet. It was not fit to press you within thegrounds of the temple, so we waited until you emerged from behind thepriestess’sskirt.Taillesiswaiting.Youmustfight.”

“Must?”“Must.”“But do you not think, Falwick”—Geralt smiled disapprovingly—“that

Tailles, amanofgoodbirth,doesme toomuchhonor? Ineverattained the

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honorofbeingknighted,andit’sbestnottomentionthecircumstancesofmybirth. I fear I’m not sufficiently worthy of… How does one say it,Dandilion?”

“Unfittogivesatisfactionandjoustinthelists,”recitedthepoet,pouting.“Thecodeofchivalryproclaims—”

“The Chapter of the Order is governed by its own code,” interruptedFalwick. “If it were you who challenged a Knight of the Order, he couldeither refuse or grant you satisfaction, according to hiswill.But this is thereverse: it is theknightwhochallengesyouandbythisheraisesyoutohisownlevel—but,ofcourse,onlyforthetimeittakestoavengetheinsult.Youcan’t refuse. The refusal of accepting the dignity would render youunworthy.”

“Howlogical,”saidDandilionwithanapelikeexpression.“Iseeyou’vestudiedthephilosophers,sirKnight.”

“Don’t butt in.”Geralt raised his head and looked into Falwick’s eyes.“Goon,sir. I’d like toknowwhere this is leading.Whatwouldhappen if Iturnedouttobe…unworthy?”

“Whatwould happen?”Falwick gave amalicious smile. “I’d order youhungfromabranch,youratcatcher.”

“Holdon,”thedwarfsaidhoarsely.“Takeiteasy,sir.Andnoinvective,allright?”

“Don’t you teach me manners, Cranmer,” hissed the knight. “Andremember, the prince has given you orders which you’re to execute to theletter.”

“It’s you who shouldn’t be teaching me, Count.” The dwarf rested hishandonthedouble-headedaxethrustintohisbelt.“Iknowhowtocarryoutorders, and I candowithoutyouradvice.Allowme,Geralt sir. I’mDennisCranmer,captainofPrinceHereward’sguards.”

Thewitcherbowed stiffly, looking into thedwarf’s eyes, light gray andsteel-likebeneaththebushyflaxeneyebrows.

“StandyourgroundwithTailles,sir,”DennisCranmercontinuedcalmly.“It’llbebetterthatway.It’snotafighttothedeath,onlyuntiloneofyouisrenderedhelpless.Sofightinthefieldandlethimrenderyouhelpless.”

“Ibegyourpardon?”“SirTailles is theprince’s favorite,”saidFalwick, smilingspitefully.“If

you touch him with your saber during the fight, you mutant, you will bepunished.CaptainCranmerwillarrestyouandtakeyoutofacehisHighness.Tobepunished.Thosearehisorders.”

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The dwarf didn’t even glance at the knight; his cold, steel eyes did notleaveGeralt.

Thewitchersmiledfaintlybutquitenastily.“IfIunderstandcorrectly,”hesaid,“I’mtofighttheduelbecause,ifIrefuse,I’llbehanged.IfIfight,I’mtoallowmyopponent to injuremebecause if Iwoundhim, I’ll be put to therack.What charmingalternatives.Maybe I should saveyou thebother? I’llthumpmy head against the pine tree and rendermyself helpless.Will thatgrantyousatisfaction?”

“Don’t sneer,” hissed Falwick. “Don’t make your situation any worse.You’veinsultedtheOrder,youvagabond,andyouhavetobepunishedforit;doyouunderstand?AndyoungTaillesneedsthefameofdefeatingawitcher,sotheChapterwantstogiveit tohim.Otherwiseyou’dbehangingalready.Youallowyourselftobedefeatedandyousaveyourmiserablelife.Wedon’tcareaboutyourcorpse;wewantTaillestonickyourskin.Andyourmutantskinhealsquickly.So,goahead.Decide.You’vegotnochoice.”

“That’swhat you think, is it, sir?”Geralt smiled evenmore nastily andlookedaroundatthesoldiersappraisingly.“ButIthinkIdo.”

“Yes,that’strue,”admittedDennisCranmer.“Youdo.Butthenthere’llbebloodshed,greatbloodshed.LikeatBlaviken.Isthatwhatyouwant?Doyouwanttoburdenyourconsciencewithbloodanddeath?Becausethealternativeyou’rethinkingof,Geralt,isbloodanddeath.”

“Your argument is charming, Captain, fascinating even,” mockedDandilion. “You’re trying to bait a man ambushed in the forest withhumanitarianism, calling on his nobler feelings. You’re asking him, as Iunderstand,todeignnottospillthebloodofthebrigandswhoattackedhim.He’s to take pity on the thugs because the thugs are poor, have gotwives,childrenand,whoknows,maybeevenmothers.Butdon’tyouthink,CaptainCranmer,thatyourworryingispremature?BecauseIlookatyourlancersandseethattheirkneesareshakingattheverythoughtoffightingwithGeraltofRivia, thewitcherwhodealtwithastrigaalone,withhisbarehands.Therewon’tbeanybloodshedhere;nobodywillbeharmedhere—asidefromthosewhomightbreaktheirlegsrunningaway.”

“I,” said the dwarf calmly and pugnaciously, “have nothing to reproachmykneeswith.I’veneverrunawayfromanyoneandI’mnotabouttochangemyways. I’mnotmarried,don’tknowanythingaboutanychildrenand I’dprefer not to bring my mother, a woman with whom I’m not very wellacquainted, into this.But Iwillcarryout theorders I’vebeengiven.To theletter, as always.Without calling on any feelings, I ask Geralt of Rivia to

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make a decision. I will accept whatever he decides and will behaveaccordingly.”

Theylookedeachotherintheeyes,thedwarfandthewitcher.“Verywell,”Geraltsaidfinally.“Let’sdealwithit.It’sapitytowastethe

day.”“Youagree,then.”Falwickraisedhisheadandhiseyesglistened.“You’ll

fightaduelwiththehighbornTaillesofDorndal?”“Yes.”“Good.Prepareyourself.”“I’mready.”Geraltpulledonhisgauntlets.“Let’snotwastetime.There’ll

behellifNennekefindsoutaboutthis.Solet’ssortitoutquickly.Dandilion,keepcalm.It’sgotnothingtodowithyou.AmIright,Cranmer,sir?”

“Absolutely,”thedwarfstatedfirmlyandlookedatFalwick.“Absolutely,sir.Whateverhappens,itonlyconcernsyou.”

Thewitchertooktheswordfromhisback.“No,” said Falwick, drawing his. “You’re not going to fight with that

razorofyours.Takemysword.”Geraltshrugged.Hetookthecount’sbladeandswipedittotryitout.“Heavy,”hesaidcoldly.“Wecouldjustaseasilyusespades.”“Tailleshasthesame.Equalchances.”“You’reveryfunny,Falwick.”Thesoldierssurroundedtheglade,formingaloosecircle.Taillesandthe

witcherstoodfacingeachother.“Tallies?Whatdoyousaytoanapology?”Theyoungknightscreweduphislips,foldedhisleftarmbehindhisback

andfrozeinafencingposition.“No?”Geralt smiled. “You don’twant to listen to the voice of reason?

Pity.”Tailles squatted down, leapt and attackedwithoutwarning. Thewitcher

didn’t evenmake an effort to parry and avoided the flat pointwith a swifthalf-turn. The knight swiped broadly. The blade cut through the air oncemore.Geraltdodgedbeneathitinanagilepirouette,jumpedsoftlyasideand,with a short, light feint, threw Tailles off his rhythm. Tailles cursed, cutbroadly from the right, lost his balance for amoment and tried to regain itwhile,instinctively,clumsily,holdinghisswordhightodefendhimself.Thewitcherstruckwiththespeedandforceofalightningbolt,extendinghisarmto its full length and slashing straight ahead. The heavy sword thunderedagainstTailles’blade,deflectingitsohardithittheknightintheface.Tailles

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howled,felltohiskneesandtouchedthegrasswithhisforehead.Falwickranuptohim.Geraltdughisswordintothegroundandturnedaround.“Hey,guards!”yelledFalwick,gettingup.“Takehim!”“Standstill!Toyourplaces!”growledDennisCranmer,touchinghisaxe.

Thesoldiersfroze.“No,Count,”thedwarfsaidslowly.“Ialwaysexecuteorderstotheletter.

ThewitcherdidnottouchTailles.Thekidhithimselfwithhisowniron.Hishardluck.”

“Hisfaceisdestroyed!He’sdisfiguredforlife!”“Skin heals.” Dennis Cranmer fixed his steel eyes on the witcher and

bared his teeth. “And the scar? For a knight, a scar is a commendablereminder,areasonforfameandglory,whichtheChaptersodesiredforhim.Aknightwithoutascar isaprick,notaknight.Askhim,Count,andyou’llseethathe’spleased.”

Tailles was writhing on the ground, spitting blood, whimpering andwailing;hedidn’tlookpleasedintheleast.

“Cranmer!”roaredFalwick,tearinghisswordfromtheground,“you’llbesorryforthis,Iswear!”

The dwarf turned around, slowly pulled the axe from his belt, coughedandspatintohispalm.“Oh,Count,sir,”herasped.“Don’tperjureyourself.Ican’t standperjurers andPrinceHerewardhasgivenme the right topunishthem.I’llturnadeafeartoyourstupidwords.Butdon’trepeatthem,ifyouplease.”

“Witcher.”Falwick,puffingwithrage,turnedtoGeralt.“GetyourselfoutofEllander.Immediately.Withoutamoment’sdelay!”

“Irarelyagreewithhim,”mutteredDennis,approachingthewitcherandreturninghissword,“butinthiscasehe’sright.I’drideoutprettyquick.”

“We’ll do as you advise.” Geralt slung the belt across his back. “Butbeforethat,Ihavewordsforthecount.Falwick!”

TheKnightoftheWhiteRoseblinkednervouslyandwipedhispalmsonhiscoat.

“Let’s just goback toyourChapter’s code for aminute,” continued thewitcher,tryingnottosmile.“Onethingreallyinterestsme.IfI,letussay,feltdisgustedandinsultedbyyourattitudeinthiswholeaffair,ifIchallengedyouto the sword right now, what would you do? Would you consider mesufficientlyworthy tocrossbladeswith?Orwouldyou refuse,even thoughyouknewthatbydoingsoIwouldtakeyoutobeunworthyeventobespat

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on, punched in the face and kicked in the arse under the eyes of the footsoldiers?CountFalwick,besograciousastosatisfymycuriosity.”

Falwickgrewpale,tookastepback,lookedaround.Thesoldiersavoidedhis eyes. Dennis Cranmer grimaced, stuck his tongue out and sent a jet ofsalivaafairdistance.

“Eventhoughyou’renotsayinganything,”continuedGeralt,“Icanhearthe voice of reason in your silence, Falwick, sir. You’ve satisfied mycuriosity;nowI’llsatisfyyours.IftheOrderbothersMotherNennekeorthepriestesses inanyway,orunduly intrudesuponCaptainCranmer, thenmayyouknow,Count,thatI’llfindyouand,notcaringaboutanycode,willbleedyoulikeapig.”

Theknightgrewevenpaler.“Don’tforgetmypromise,Count.Comeon,Dandilion.It’stimeforusto

leave.Takecare,Dennis.”“Goodluck,Geralt.”Thedwarfgaveabroadsmile.“Takecare.I’mvery

pleasedtohavemetyou,andhopewe’llmeetagain.”“Thefeeling’smutual,Dennis.”Theyrodeawaywithostensibleslowness,notlookingback.Theybegan

tocanteronlyoncetheywerehiddenbytheforest.“Geralt,” the poet said suddenly, “surelywewon’t head straight south?

We’llhave tomakeadetour toavoidEllanderandHereward’s lands,won’twe?Ordoyouintendtocontinuewiththisshow?”

“No,Dandilion, I don’t.We’ll go through the forests and then join theTraders’ Trail. Remember, not a word in Nenneke’s presence about thisquarrel.Notaword.”

“Weareridingoutwithoutanydelay,Ihope?”“Immediately.”

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IIGeralt leaned over, checked the repaired hoop of his stirrup and fitted thestirrup leather, still stiff, smelling of new skins and hard to buckle. Headjusted thesaddle-girth, the travelbags, thehorseblanketrolledupbehindthesaddleandthesilverswordstrappedtoit.Nennekewasmotionlessnexttohim,herarmsfolded.

Dandilionapproached,leadinghisbaygelding.“Thankyou for thehospitality,VenerableOne,”he said seriously. “And

don’tbeangrywithmeanymore.Iknowthat,deepdown,youlikeme.”“Indeed,” agreed Nenneke without smiling. “I do, you dolt, although I

don’tknowwhymyself.Takecare.”“Solong,Nenneke.”“Solong,Geralt.Lookafteryourself.”Thewitcher’ssmilewassurly.“Iprefertolookafterothers.Itturnsoutbetterinthelongrun.”Fromthetemple,frombetweencolumnsentwinedwithivy,Iolaemerged

inthecompanyoftwoyoungerpupils.Shewascarryingthewitcher’ssmallchest.Sheavoidedhiseyesawkwardlyandhertroubledsmilecombinedwiththeblushonherfreckled,chubbyfacemadeacharmingpicture.Thepupilsaccompanying her didn’t hide their meaningful glances and barely stoppedthemselvesfromgiggling.

“For Great Melitele’s sake,” sighed Nenneke, “an entire partingprocession.Take thechest,Geralt. I’ve replenishedyourelixirs.You’vegoteverything thatwas in short supply.And thatmedicine, you know the one.Takeitregularlyfortwoweeks.Don’tforget.It’simportant.”

“Iwon’t.Thanks,Iola.”Thegirlloweredherheadandhandedhimthechest.Shesowantedtosay

something.Shehadno ideawhatought tobe said,whatwordsought tobeused. She didn’t knowwhat she’d say, even if she could. She didn’t know.Andyetshesomuchwantedto.

Theirhandstouched.Blood. Blood. Blood. Bones like broken white sticks. Tendons like

whitish cords exploding frombeneath cracking skin cut by enormous pawsbristlingwith thorns, and sharp teeth.The hideous soundof torn flesh, andshouting—shamelessandhorrifyinginitsshamelessness.Theshamelessnessoftheend.Ofdeath.Bloodandshouting.Shouting.Blood.Shouting—

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“Iola!”Nenneke, with extraordinary speed considering her girth, rushed to the

girl lyingon theground, shakenby convulsions, andheldher downbyhershoulders andhair.Oneof thepupils stood as if paralyzed, theother,moreclearheaded,kneltonIola’slegs.Iolaarchedherback,openedhermouthinasoundless,mutecry.

“Iola!”Nennekeshouted.“Iola!Speak!Speak,child!Speak!”The girl stiffened even more, clenched her jaws, and a thin trickle of

blood ran down her cheek. Nenneke, growing red with the effort, shoutedsomethingwhich thewitcherdidn’tunderstand,buthismedallion tuggedathisnecksohardthathewasforcedtobendunderthepressureofitsinvisibleweight.

Iolastilled.Dandilion, pale as a sheet, sigheddeeply.Nenneke raisedherself to her

kneesandstoodwithaneffort.“Takeheraway,” shesaid to thepupils.Thereweremoreof themnow;

they’dgathered,graveandsilent.“Takeher,”repeated thepriestess,“carefully.Anddon’t leaveheralone.

I’llbethereinaminute.”SheturnedtoGeralt.Thewitcherwasstandingmotionless,fiddlingwith

thereinsinhissweatyhands.“Geralt…Iola—”“Don’tsayanything,Nenneke.”“Isawit,too…foramoment.Geralt,don’tgo.”“I’vegotto.”“Didyousee…didyouseethat?”“Yes.Andnotforthefirsttime.”“And?”“There’snopointinlookingoveryourshoulder.”“Don’tgo,please.”“I’vegotto.SeetoIola.Solong,Nenneke.”The priestess slowly shook her head, sniffed and, in an abrupt move,

wipedatearawaywithherwrist.“Farewell,”shewhispered,notlookinghimintheeye.

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TableofContents

TheLastWish 3TheVoiceOfReason1 5I 6

1.TheWitcher 7I 8II 11III 18IV 22V 26VI 29VII 34VIII 36

TheVoiceOfReason2 37I 38II 41

2.AGrainOfTruth 44I 45II 48III 64IV 65V 66

TheVoiceOfReason3 73I 74

3.TheLesserEvil 78I 79II 83III 93IV 99V 106VI 108

TheVoiceOfReason4 114I 115

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4.AQuestionOfPrice 119I 120II 123III 149

TheVoiceOfReason5 153I 154

5.TheEdgeOfTheWorld 160I 161II 167III 171IV 175V 183VI 187VII 199

TheVoiceOfReason6 202I 203

6.TheLastWish 209I 210II 215III 219IV 224V 229VI 237VII 243VIII 251IX 255X 256XI 257XII 258XIII 259XIV 260XV 262XVI 263XVII 265

TheVoiceOfReason7 267

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I 268II 274

CleanCovers 276

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