[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
He was being watched.
He turned around smoothly. Roach snorted; the muscles in her neck twitched, moved under
her skin.
A girl was standing on the slope of the hill he had just climbed down, one arm resting on the
trunk of an alder tree. Her trailing white dress contrasted with the glossy blackness of her
dishevelled hair, falling to her shoulders. She seemed to be smiling, but she was too far away
to be sure.
'Greetings,' he said, raising his hand in a friendly gesture. He took a step towards the girl. She
turned her head a little, following his movements. Her face was pale, her eyes black and
enormous. The smile - if it had been a smile - vanished from her face as though wiped away
with a cloth. Geralt took another stepf, the leaves rustled underfoot, and the girl ran down the
slope like a deer, flitting between the hazel bushes. She was no more than a white streak as
she disappeared into the depths of the forest. The long dress didn't appear to restrict her ease
of movement in the least.
Roach neighed anxiously, tossing her head. Geralt, still watching the forest, instinctively
calmed her with the Sign again. Pulling the mare by the bridle he walked slowly along the
wall, wading through burdock up to the waist.
He came to a sturdy gate, with iron fittings and rusty hinges, furnished with a great brass
knocker. After a moment's hesitation Geralt reached out and touched the tarnished ring. He
immediately jumped back as, at that moment, the gate opened, squeaking, clattering, and
raking aside clumps of grass, stones and branches. There was no one behind it - the witcher
could only see a deserted courtyard, neglected and overgrown with nettles. He entered,
leading Roach. The mare, still stunned by the Sign, didn't resist, but she moved stiffly and
hesitantly after him.
The courtyard was surrounded on three sides by a wall and the remains of some wooden
scaffolding. On the fourth side stood the mansion, its facade mottled by a pox of chipped
plaster, dirty damp patches, and festooned with ivy. The shutters, with their peeling paint,
were closed, as was the door.
Geralt threw Roach's reins over the pillar by the gate and slowly made his way towards the
mansion, following the gravel path past a small fountain full of leaves and rubbish. In the
centre of the
fountain, on a fanciful plinth, a white stone dolphin arched, turning its chipped tail upwards.
Next to the fountain in what, a very long time ago, used to be a flowerbed, grew a rosebush.
Nothing but the colour of the flowers made this bush unique - but the flowers were
exceptional: indigo, with a faint shade of purple on the tips of some of the petals. The witcher
touched one, brought his face closer and inhaled. The flowers held the typical scent of roses,
only a little more intense.
The door and all the shutters of the mansion flew open at the same instant with a bang. Geralt
raised his head abruptly. Down the path, scrunching the gravel, a monster was rushing straight
at him.
The witcher's right hand rose, as fast as lightning, above his right shoulder while his left
jerked the belt across his chest making the sword hilt jump into his palm. The blade, leaping
from the scabbard with a hiss, traced a short, luminous semi-circle and froze, the point aiming
at the charging beast.
At the sight of the sword the monster stopped short, spraying gravel in all directions. The
witcher didn't even flinch.
The creature was humanoid, and dressed in clothes which, though tattered, were of good
quality and not lacking in stylish and useless ornamentation. His human form, however,
reached no higher than the soiled collar of his tunic, for above it loomed a gigantic, hairy,
bear-like head with enormous ears, a pair of wild eyes and terrifying jaws full of crooked
fangs in which a red tongue flickered like flame.
'Flee, mortal man!' the monster roared, flapping his paws but not moving from the spot. Til
devour you! Tear you to pieces!' The witcher didn't move, didn't lower his sword. 'Are you
deaf? Away with you!' The creature screamed, then made a sound somewhere between a pig's
squeal and a stag's bellowing roar, making the shutters rattle and clatter and shaking rubble
and plaster from the sills. Neither witcher nor monster moved. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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He was being watched.
He turned around smoothly. Roach snorted; the muscles in her neck twitched, moved under
her skin.
A girl was standing on the slope of the hill he had just climbed down, one arm resting on the
trunk of an alder tree. Her trailing white dress contrasted with the glossy blackness of her
dishevelled hair, falling to her shoulders. She seemed to be smiling, but she was too far away
to be sure.
'Greetings,' he said, raising his hand in a friendly gesture. He took a step towards the girl. She
turned her head a little, following his movements. Her face was pale, her eyes black and
enormous. The smile - if it had been a smile - vanished from her face as though wiped away
with a cloth. Geralt took another stepf, the leaves rustled underfoot, and the girl ran down the
slope like a deer, flitting between the hazel bushes. She was no more than a white streak as
she disappeared into the depths of the forest. The long dress didn't appear to restrict her ease
of movement in the least.
Roach neighed anxiously, tossing her head. Geralt, still watching the forest, instinctively
calmed her with the Sign again. Pulling the mare by the bridle he walked slowly along the
wall, wading through burdock up to the waist.
He came to a sturdy gate, with iron fittings and rusty hinges, furnished with a great brass
knocker. After a moment's hesitation Geralt reached out and touched the tarnished ring. He
immediately jumped back as, at that moment, the gate opened, squeaking, clattering, and
raking aside clumps of grass, stones and branches. There was no one behind it - the witcher
could only see a deserted courtyard, neglected and overgrown with nettles. He entered,
leading Roach. The mare, still stunned by the Sign, didn't resist, but she moved stiffly and
hesitantly after him.
The courtyard was surrounded on three sides by a wall and the remains of some wooden
scaffolding. On the fourth side stood the mansion, its facade mottled by a pox of chipped
plaster, dirty damp patches, and festooned with ivy. The shutters, with their peeling paint,
were closed, as was the door.
Geralt threw Roach's reins over the pillar by the gate and slowly made his way towards the
mansion, following the gravel path past a small fountain full of leaves and rubbish. In the
centre of the
fountain, on a fanciful plinth, a white stone dolphin arched, turning its chipped tail upwards.
Next to the fountain in what, a very long time ago, used to be a flowerbed, grew a rosebush.
Nothing but the colour of the flowers made this bush unique - but the flowers were
exceptional: indigo, with a faint shade of purple on the tips of some of the petals. The witcher
touched one, brought his face closer and inhaled. The flowers held the typical scent of roses,
only a little more intense.
The door and all the shutters of the mansion flew open at the same instant with a bang. Geralt
raised his head abruptly. Down the path, scrunching the gravel, a monster was rushing straight
at him.
The witcher's right hand rose, as fast as lightning, above his right shoulder while his left
jerked the belt across his chest making the sword hilt jump into his palm. The blade, leaping
from the scabbard with a hiss, traced a short, luminous semi-circle and froze, the point aiming
at the charging beast.
At the sight of the sword the monster stopped short, spraying gravel in all directions. The
witcher didn't even flinch.
The creature was humanoid, and dressed in clothes which, though tattered, were of good
quality and not lacking in stylish and useless ornamentation. His human form, however,
reached no higher than the soiled collar of his tunic, for above it loomed a gigantic, hairy,
bear-like head with enormous ears, a pair of wild eyes and terrifying jaws full of crooked
fangs in which a red tongue flickered like flame.
'Flee, mortal man!' the monster roared, flapping his paws but not moving from the spot. Til
devour you! Tear you to pieces!' The witcher didn't move, didn't lower his sword. 'Are you
deaf? Away with you!' The creature screamed, then made a sound somewhere between a pig's
squeal and a stag's bellowing roar, making the shutters rattle and clatter and shaking rubble
and plaster from the sills. Neither witcher nor monster moved. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]