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The Last Wish

Andrzej Sapkowski
Contents (71)
  2. The Last Wish
  3. THE VOICE OF REASON
  4. I
  5. THE WITCHER
  6. I
  7. II
  8. III
  9. IV
  10. V
  11. VI
  12. VII
  13. VIII
  14. THE VOICE OF REASON
  15. I
  16. II
  17. A GRAIN OF TRUTH
  18. I
  19. II
  20. III
  21. IV
  22. V
  23. THE VOICE OF REASON
  24. I
  25. THE LESSER EVIL
  26. I
  27. II
  28. III
  29. IV
  30. V
  31. VI
  32. THE VOICE OF REASON
  33. I
  34. A QUESTION OF PRICE
  35. I
  36. II
  37. III
  38. THE VOICE OF REASON
  39. I
  40. THE EDGE OF THE WORLD
  41. I
  42. II
  43. III
  44. IV
  45. V
  46. VI
  47. VII
  48. THE VOICE OF REASON
  49. I
  50. THE LAST WISH
  51. I
  52. II
  53. III
  54. IV
  55. V
  56. VI
  57. VII
  58. VIII
  59. IX
  60. X
  61. XI
  62. XII
  63. XIII
  64. XIV
  65. XV
  66. XVI
  67. XVII
  68. THE VOICE OF REASON
  69. I
  70. II

cover

Geralt of Rivia is a witcher. A cunning sorcerer. A merciless assassin.

And a cold-blooded killer.

His sole purpose: to destroy the monsters that plague the world.

But not everything monstrous-looking is evil and not everything fair is good… and in every fairy tale there is a grain of truth.

Andrzej Sapkowski

The Last Wish

The Witcher: 1

ePub r1.1

Watcher 23.06.17

Original title: Ostatnie życzenie

Andrzej Sapkowski, 1993

Translator: Danusia Stok

Cover design: Watcher

Digital editor: Watcher

ePub base r1.2

THE VOICE OF REASON

I

She came to him toward morning.

She entered very carefully, moving silently, floating through the chamber like a phantom; the only sound was that of her mantle brushing her naked skin. Yet this faint sound was enough to wake the witcher—or maybe it only tore him from the half-slumber in which he rocked monotonously, as though traveling through fathomless depths, suspended between the seabed and its calm surface amid gently undulating strands of seaweed.

He did not move, did not stir. The girl flitted closer, threw off her mantle and slowly, hesitantly, rested her knee on the edge of the large bed. He observed her through lowered lashes, still not betraying his wakefulness. The girl carefully climbed onto the bedclothes, and onto him, wrapping her thighs around him. Leaning forward on straining arms, she brushed his face with hair which smelled of chamomile. Determined, and as if impatient, she leaned over and touched his eyelids, cheeks, lips with the tips of her breasts. He smiled, very slowly, delicately, grasping her by the shoulders, and she straightened, escaping his fingers. She was radiant, luminous in the misty brilliance of dawn. He moved, but with pressure from both hands, she forbade him to change position and, with a light but decisive movement of her hips, demanded a response.

He responded. She no longer backed away from his hands; she threw her head back, shook her hair. Her skin was cool and surprisingly smooth. Her eyes, glimpsed when her face came close to his, were huge and dark as the eyes of a water nymph.

Rocked, he sank into a sea of chamomile as it grew agitated and seethed.

THE WITCHER

I

Later, it was said the man came from the north, from Ropers Gate. He came on foot, leading his laden horse by the bridle. It was late afternoon and the ropers’, saddlers’ and tanners’ stalls were already closed, the street empty. It was hot but the man had a black coat thrown over his shoulders. He drew attention to himself.

He stopped in front of the Old Narakort Inn, stood there for a moment, listened to the hubbub of voices. As usual, at this hour, it was full of people.

The stranger did not enter the Old Narakort. He pulled his horse farther down the street to another tavern, a smaller one, called The Fox. Not enjoying the best of reputations, it was almost empty.