Sword of Destiny (The Witcher, #0.7)

by Andrzej Sapkowski

“Do you know what the name of this town means? Aedd Gynvael?” “No. Is it in the elven speech?” “Yes. It means a shard of ice.” “Somehow, it doesn’t suit this lousy dump.” “Among the elves,” the sorceress whispered pensively, “there is a legend about a Winter Queen who travels the land during snowstorms in a sleigh drawn by white horses. As she rides, she casts hard, sharp, tiny shards of ice around her, and woe betide anyone whose eye or heart is pierced by one of them. That person is then lost. No longer will anything gladden them; they find anything that doesn’t have the whiteness of snow ugly, obnoxious, repugnant. They will not find peace, will abandon everything, and will set off after the Queen, in pursuit of their dream and love. Naturally, they will never find it and will die of longing. Apparently here, in this town, something like that happened in times long gone. It’s a beautiful legend, isn’t it?” “Elves can couch everything in pretty words,” he muttered drowsily, running his lips over her shoulder. “It’s not a legend at all, Yen. It’s a pretty description of the hideous phenomenon that is the Wild Hunt, the curse of several regions. An inexplicable, collective madness, compelling people to join a spectral cavalcade rushing across the sky. I’ve seen it. Indeed, it often occurs during the winter. I was offered rather good money to put an end to that blight, but I didn’t take it. There’s no way of dealing with the Wild Hunt…” “Witcher,” she whispered, kissing his...