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Contents ( 57)
  2. Sword of Destiny
  3. THE BOUNDS OF REASON
  4. I
  5. II
  6. III
  7. IV
  8. V
  9. VI
  10. VII
  11. VIII
  12. A SHARD OF ICE
  13. I
  14. II
  15. III
  16. IV
  17. V
  18. VI
  19. VII
  20. VIII
  21. IX
  22. ETERNAL FLAME
  23. I
  24. II
  25. III
  26. IV
  27. A LITTLE SACRIFICE
  28. I
  29. II
  30. III
  31. IV
  32. V
  33. VI
  34. VII
  35. VIII
  36. IX
  37. X
  38. THE SWORD OF DESTINY
  39. I
  40. II
  41. III
  42. IV
  43. V
  44. VI
  45. VII
  46. VIII
  47. SOMETHING MORE
  48. I
  49. II
  50. III
  51. IV
  52. V
  53. VI
  54. VII
  55. VIII
  56. IX

The dragonling squealed and flapped its little wings.

‘So you…’

‘That is right,’ the dragon interrupted. ‘Well, it’s the times we live in. For some time, creatures, which you usually call monsters, have been feeling more and more under threat from people. They can no longer cope by themselves. They need a Defender. Some kind of… witcher.’

‘And the destination… The goal at the end of the road?’

‘This is it,’ Villentretenmerth lifted his forearm. The dragon-ling squealed in alarm. ‘I’ve just attained it. Owing to him I shall survive, Geralt of Rivia, I shall prove there are no limits of possibility. One day, you will also find such a purpose, Witcher. Even those who are different can survive. Farewell, Geralt. Farewell, Yennefer.’

The sorceress, grasping the Witcher’s arm more firmly, curtsied again.

Villentretenmerth stood up and looked at her, and his expression was very serious.

‘Forgive me my frankness and forthrightness, Yennefer. It is written all over your faces, I don’t even have to try to read your thoughts. You were made for each other, you and the Witcher. But nothing will come of it. Nothing. I’m sorry.’

‘I know,’ Yennefer blanched slightly. ‘I know, Villentretenmerth. But I would also like to believe there are no limits of possibility. Or at least I would like to believe that they are still very far away.’

Véa walked over, touched Geralt’s shoulder, and quickly uttered a few words. The dragon laughed.

‘Geralt, Véa says she will long remember the tub at the Pensive Dragon. She hopes we’ll meet again some day.’

‘What?’ Yennefer answered, narrowing her eyes.

‘Nothing,’ the Witcher said quickly, ‘Villentretenmerth…’

‘Yes, Geralt of Rivia?’

‘You can assume any form. Any that you wish.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Why then, a man? Why Borch with three black birds on his coat of arms?’

The dragon smiled cheerfully.

‘I don’t know, Geralt, in what circumstances the distant ancestors of our races encountered one another for the first time. But the fact is that for dragons, there is nothing more repugnant than man. Man arouses instinctive, irrational disgust in a dragon. With me it’s different. To me you’re… likeable. Farewell.’

It was not a gradual, blurred transformation, or a hazy, pulsating trembling as with an illusion. It was as sudden as the blink of an eye. Where a second before had stood a curly-haired knight in a tunic decorated with three black birds, now sat a golden dragon, gracefully extending its long, slender neck. Inclining its head, the dragon spread its wings, dazzlingly gold in the sunshine. Yennefer sighed loudly.

Véa, already mounted beside Téa, waved.

‘Véa,’ the Witcher said, ‘you were right.’

‘Hm?’

‘He is the most beautiful.’

A SHARD OF ICE

I

The dead sheep, swollen and bloated, its stiff legs pointing towards the sky, moved. Geralt, crouching by the wall, slowly drew his sword, careful not to let the blade grate against the scabbard. Ten paces from him, a pile of refuse suddenly arched up and heaved. The Witcher straightened and jumped before the wave of stench emanating from the disturbed midden reached him.