The Last Wish Read Free Page A

night. Without a word.'
    Geralt's expression changed a little, in what was probably supposed to be a smile.
    'Those wise men,' he said, 'they still have the money, no doubt? Witchers don't take payment in advance.'
    'No doubt they still do,' said Velerad.
    'Does the rumour say how much they offer?'
    Velerad bared his teeth in a smile. 'Some say eight hundred—'
    Geralt shook his head.
    'Others,' murmured the castellan, 'talk of a thousand.'
    'Not much when you bear in mind that rumour likes to exaggerate. And the king is offering three thousand.'
    'Don't forget about the betrothal,' Velerad mocked. 'What are you talking about? It's obvious you won't get the three thousand.'
    'How's it obvious?'
    Velerad thumped the table. 'Geralt, do not spoil my impression of witchers! This has been going on for more than seven years! The striga is finishing off up to fifty people a year, fewer now people are avoiding the palace. Oh no, my friend, I believe in magic. I've seen a great deal and I believe, to a certain extent, in the abilities of wizards and witchers. But all this nonsense about lifting the spell was made up by a hunch-backed, snotty old man who'd lost his mind on his hermit's diet. It's nonsense which no one but Foltest believes. Adda gave birth to a striga because she slept with her brother. That is the truth, and no spell will help. Now the striga devours people - as strigas do - she has to be killed, and that is that. Listen: two years ago peasants from some God-forsaken hole near Mahakam were plagued by a dragon devouring their sheep. They set out together, battered the dragon to death with stanchions, and did not even think it worth boasting about. But we in Wyzim are waiting for a miracle and bolting our doors every full moon, or tying our criminals to a stake in front of the palace, praying the beast stuffs herself and returns to her sarcophagus.'
    'Not a bad method,' the witcher smiled. 'Are there fewer criminals?'
    'Not a bit of it.'
    'Which way to the palace, the new one?'
    'I will take you myself. And what about the wise men's suggestion?'
    'Castellan,' said Geralt, 'why act in haste? After all, I really could have an accident at work, irrespective of my intentions. Just in case, the wise men should be thinking about how to save me from the king's anger and get those fifteen hundred orens, of which rumour speaks, ready.'
    'It was to be a thousand.'
    'No, Lord Velerad,' the witcher said categorically. 'The witcher who was offered a thousand ran at the mere sight of the striga, without bargaining. So the risk is greater than a thousand.
    Whether it is greater than one and a half remains to be seen. Of course, I will say goodbye beforehand.'
    'Geralt?' Velerad scratched his head. 'One thousand two hundred?'
    'No. This isn't an easy task. The king is offering three, and sometimes it's easier to lift a spell than to kill. But one of my predecessors would have done so, or killed the striga, if this were simple. You think they let themselves be devoured out of fear of the king?'
    'Then, witcher,' Velerad nodded wistfully, 'our agreement stands. But a word of advice - say nothing to the king about the danger of an accident at work.'
III
    Foltest was slim and had a pretty - too pretty - face. He was under forty, the witcher thought.
    The king was sitting on a dwarf-armchair carved from black wood, his legs stretched out toward the hearth, where two dogs were warming themselves. Next to him on a chest sat an older, powerfully-built man with a beard. Behind the king stood another man, richly dressed and with a proud look on his face. A magnate.
    'A witcher from Rivia,' said the king after the moment's silence which fell after Velerad's introduction.
    'Yes, your Majesty.' Geralt lowered his head.
    'What made your hair so grey? Magic? I can see that you are not old. That was a joke. Say nothing. You've had a fair amount of experience, I dare presume?'
    'Yes, your Majesty.'
    'I would love to hear about it.'
    Geralt bowed even