The Time of Contempt (The Witcher, #2)

by Andrzej Sapkowski

The Wild Hunt, a spectral army galloping across the firmament, had appeared in Brugge, in the region of Brokilon Forest, the forbidden kingdom of the forest dryads; and the Wild Hunt, as is generally known, always heralds war.

“I know what he did to the Riverdell peasant family.

Donde estaba Ciri 😭

Rience is in the service of a sorcerer and is operating so as not to draw the attention of other sorcerers to himself.”

Geralt, your Urcheon was no prince.

“It may turn out,” said the white-haired man a moment later, “that their comrades or cronies may ask what befell these evil men. Tell them the Wolf bit them. The White Wolf. And add that they should keep glancing over their shoulders. One day they’ll look back and see the Wolf.”

The sand on the road was hot, heated up so much by the sun that it was painful to the touch. The messenger didn’t feel it. He died at once.

😭😭😭

“No use crying over spilt milk,”

He will, thought Ciri suddenly, feeling dizzy. He’ll sail on great white sailing ships… He’ll sail to countries no one has seen before him… Fabio Sachs, explorer. He’ll give his name to a cape, to the very furthest point of an as-yet unnamed continent. When he’s fifty-four, married with a son and three daughters, he’ll die far from his home and his loved ones… of an as-yet unnamed disease…

the thought of monogamy makes me sick.

Believe me, little one, you should only regret inactivity, indecisiveness, hesitation. You shouldn’t regret actions or decisions, even if they occasionally end in sadness and regret.

Yes, we are corpses. But you are death.

Thus do I take you, to have and to hold, for the most wondrous and terrible of times, for the best and the worst of times, by day and by night, in sickness and in health. For I love you with all my heart and swear to love you eternally, until death do us part.

There is only she, Yennefer, at my side, here and now, and only she matters. Here and now. And what she was long ago, where she was long ago and who she was with long ago doesn’t have any, doesn’t have the slightest, importance. Now she’s with me, here, among you all. With me, with no one else. That’s what I’m thinking right now, thinking only about her, thinking endlessly about her, smelling the scent of her perfume and the warmth of her body. And you can all choke on your envy.

“Geralt! It’s the first time you’ve ever said that!”

You say I’ll have to choose? I say you’re wrong. I won’t choose. I’ll respond to events. I’ll adapt to what others choose. That’s what I’ve always done.”

from Falka’s blood will be born an avenger who will destroy the old world and build a new one on its ruins.” “And Cirilla is supposed to be that avenger?” “No. Not Cirilla. Her son.”

“The Witcher’s on a leash? But who’s holding it?” “Think.” “Bitch!” “You said it. The only person who can influence him. Whom he trusts. But I don’t trust her and never have. So I’m going to join the game myself.”

Yes, Tissaia. Vilgefortz, hero of Sodden, sold us out to become the governor and ruler of all the conquered territories of the north.

“I love you, my daughter,”

She couldn’t resist it; she turned around and showed her pursuers her middle finger,

The white-haired fiend was not insane. He was calm and cold. And killed calmly and coldly.

A coward,” he declared with dignity, when he’d stopped coughing and had got his breath back, “dies a hundred times. A brave man dies but once. But Dame Fortune favours the brave and holds cowards in contempt.”

“Farewell, Villis,” she said, placing the point of her sword beneath his sternum and pushing hard. “See you in hell!”

King Vizimir was murdered?

“You say nothing,” said Geralt, “which means that Ciri was right. That Codringher was right. You were all right. Only I, the naive, anachronistic and stupid witcher, was wrong.”

Valley of the Flowers.

Francesca Findabair, known as Enid an Gleanna, once a sorceress and presently the Queen of Aen Seidhe, the Free Elves,

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the Queen of Cintra, the Princess of Brugge and Duchess of Sodden, heiress of Inis Ard Skellig and Inis An Skellig, and suzerain of Attre and Abb Yarra!”

Those traitors probably told themselves that I would not recognise her. But I will know the real Ciri. I would know her at the end of the world and in the darkness of hell.”

I have the power now! I feel the power that’s in this fire! I’ll make rain fall on this accursed desert! I’ll make it gush from the rocks! I’ll make flowers grow here! Grass! Cabbages! I can do anything now! Anything!”

The Rats didn’t accept anyone. The close-knit and loyal group of six created by the time of contempt didn’t want strangers. They despised them. Until the day a pale-haired, taciturn girl, as agile as an acrobat, appeared. A girl about whom the Rats knew nothing.