She was short and slightly built. It didn’t deceive the Witcher. He was aware, because he had experienced it, that in life—as at a post station—even very hideous things could be delivered in quite unspectacular packages.

“This is a post station!” the postmaster yelled from behind the counter. “Under royal protection!”

“Did you hear that?” Geralt asked calmly. “A post station. Get you gone.”

“You, O grey scallywag, are still feeble with your reckoning,” Fryga hissed. “Do you need help counting again? There’s one of you and three of us. Meaning there are more of us.”

“There are three of you.” He swept his gaze over them. “And one of me. But there aren’t more of you at all. It’s something of a mathematical paradox and an exception to the rule.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning get the fuck out of here. While you’re still capable.”

He spotted a gleam in her eye and knew at once that she was one of those few who could strike in quite a different place than where they’re looking. Fryga must only recently have begun perfecting that trick, for Geralt effortlessly dodged her treacherous blow. He outmanoeuvred her with a short half-twist, kicked her left leg out from under her and threw her onto the counter. She slammed against the wood with a loud thud.

Ligenza and Trent must have previously seen Fryga in action, because her failure left them simply dumbfounded. They froze open-mouthed. For long enough to allow the Witcher to seize a broom he had spied earlier in the corner. First, Trent was hit in the face with the birch twigs, then across the head with the handle. And after that Geralt put the broom in front of his legs, kicked him behind the knees and tripped him up.

Ligenza calmed down, drew his sword and leaped forward, slashing powerfully with a reverse blow. Geralt evaded it with a half-turn, spun right around, stuck out his elbow, and Ligenza—his momentum carrying him forward—jabbed his windpipe onto Geralt’s elbow. He wheezed and fell to his knees. Before he fell, Geralt plucked the sword from his fingers and threw it vertically upwards. The sword plunged into a rafter and remained there.

Fryga attacked low and Geralt barely had time to dodge. He knocked her sword hand, caught her by the arm, spun her around, tripped her with the broom handle and slammed her onto the counter again.