Blood of Elves (The Witcher, #1)

by Andrzej Sapkowski

era of the wolf’s blizzard. The Time of the White Chill and the White Light is nigh, the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt: Tedd Deireádh, the Time of End. The world will die amidst frost and be reborn with the new sun. It will be reborn of the Elder Blood, of Hen Ichaer, of the seed that has been sown. A seed which will not sprout but will burst into flame. Ess’tuath esse! Thus it shall be! Watch for the signs! What signs these shall be, I say unto you: first the earth will flow with the blood of Aen Seidhe, the Blood of Elves… Aen Ithlinnespeath,

well-known travellers’ resting place and meeting ground for wanderers, and was famous for its tolerance and openness. The druids protecting the ancient tree called it the Seat of Friendship and willingly welcomed all comers.

Children of elves, dwarves, halflings, gnomes, half-elves, quarter-elves and toddlers of mysterious provenance neither knew nor recognised racial or social divisions. At least, not yet.

“Songs and ballads”—the musician bowed—“never end, dear lady, because poetry is eternal and immortal, it knows no beginning, it knows no end—”

these princesses, sorceresses, destiny, love and women’s fanciful tales. If you’ll pardon the expression, great poet, it’s all lies, just a poetic invention to make the story prettier and more touching.

Poet Dandelion’s throat is surely dry—and ours too, from all these emotions!”

that we are no more than toys in the hands of the gods, our lands no more than their playground. The ballads about destiny portrayed

Nilfgaardians were to attack us again you would advise that we capitulate? Humbly accept the Nilfgaardian yoke?”

“Life is a priceless gift and should be protected,” the elf replied coldly. “Nothing justifies wide-scale slaughter

that the whole of creation does not revolve around us. Like stupid, fat, lazy minnows in a slimy pond we chose not to accept the existence of pike. We allowed our

dwarf. “I don’t doubt the existence of the gods, but it annoys me when someone drags them into earthly matters and tries to pull the wool over my eyes using the prophecies of some crazy

“Nilfgaard is ruled by Emperor Emhyr var Emreis, a tyrant and autocrat who enforces obedience with whip, noose and axe!” thundered Baron Vilibert. “What are you proposing, sir dwarf? How are we supposed to close ranks? With similar tyranny?

clearly blinded by racism. The Nilfgaardians are human, just like you.” “That’s an outright lie! They’re descended from the Black Seidhe and everyone knows it! Elven blood flows through their veins! The blood of

“No! No you cannot,” interrupted the poet, putting on airs. “Now, if you will graciously forgive me, I am not willing to discuss the subjects of my work, its inspiration or its characters, fictitious or otherwise. To do so would deprive poetry of its poetic veneer and lead to triteness.”

it would no longer be poetry. It would be either rhyming couplets, or foul slander.”

Intolerance and superstition has always been the domain of the more stupid amongst the common folk and, I conjecture, will never be uprooted, for they are as eternal as stupidity itself. There, where mountains tower today, one day there will be seas; there where today seas surge, will one day be deserts. But stupidity will remain stupidity. Nicodemus de Boot, Meditations on Life, Happiness and Prosperity

Mutant. Monster. Freak. Damned by the gods, a creature contrary to nature. No, I do not blame the witchers for not telling you about it, little Ciri. And I shan’t tell you either.

Finally, like all but a few magicians, Triss moved to affairs with other wizards, which proved sporadic and frustrating in their cold, technical and almost ritual course.

want to mutate the child, subject her to the Trial of Grasses and Changes, but they don’t know how to do

Duplicity was a character flaw to be ashamed of. Sincerity did not bring shame.

“Fewer infusions of your mystery-shrouded herbs,”

“The mushrooms whose secrets you guard so carefully,” she explained, “do, indeed, keep the girl wonderfully fit and strengthen her muscles. The herbs guarantee an ideal metabolic rate and hasten her development.

The snow fell and fell. It brightened up only with the arrival of Midinváerne, the Day of the Winter Equinox.

“Devil take it,” said Lambert after a long silence. “I am listening to you half-convinced that someone here has already lost their marbles and will, any moment now, present a threat to the rest of us. Destiny, sources, spells, hocus-pocus… Aren’t you exaggerating, Merigold?

Geralt didn’t find destiny; he found another homeless, orphaned child.

Make-up is an elvish invention. We’ve learned a lot of useful things from the Elder People. And we’ve given bloody little back in return.

At nec—necropolia. On battlegrounds, on fields of battle…” “So it’s only a danger to the dead, is that right?” “No, not only. A ghoul may also attack the living if it’s hungry or falls into a fury.

When you know about something it stops being a nightmare. When you know how to fight something, it stops being so threatening. So how do you fight a ghoul, Ciri?” “With a silver sword. The ghoul is sensitive to silver.” “And to what else?” “Bright light. And fire.”

I have nothing against witchers. Let them hunt vampires. As long as they pay taxes.

you thirst for justice, hire a witcher.

Murder is always murder, regardless of motive or circumstance. Thus those who murder or who prepare to murder are malefactors and criminals, regardless of who they may be: kings, princes, marshals or judges. None who contemplates and commits violence has the right to consider himself better than an ordinary criminal. Because it is in the nature of all violence to lead inevitably to crime. Nicodemus de Boot, Meditations on Life, Happiness and Prosperity

Ervyll and his three strongholds: Nastrog, Rozrog and Bodrog. They cannot be seized just like that—no new technology is going to help them there. Our flank is defended by Ethain of Cidaris’s fleet, and thanks to it we control the shore. And