Blood of Elves (The Witcher, #1)

by Andrzej Sapkowski

“Ready. Start those damn logs swinging.”

Over the last two years Ciri had almost forgotten her origins and had almost entirely lost her royal manners and airs, but her glare, when she wanted, was very much like that of her grandmother. So much so that Queen Calanthe would no doubt have been very proud of her granddaughter.

“You should know, Ciri,” said Yarpen, “that my grandmother knew her medicine like nobody’s business. Unfortunately, she believed that the source of most disease is idleness, and idleness is best cured through the application of a stick. As far as my siblings and I were concerned, she chiefly used this cure preventively.

“Do you understand what this neutrality is, which stirs you so? To be neutral does not mean to be indifferent or insensitive. You don’t have to kill your feelings. It’s enough to kill hatred within yourself. Do you understand?”

Dear friend… The witcher swore quietly, looking at the sharp, angular, even runes drawn with energetic sweeps of the pen, faultlessly reflecting the author’s mood. He felt once again the desire to try to bite his own backside in fury. When he was writing to the enchantress a month ago he had spent two nights in a row contemplating how best to begin. Finally, he had decided on “Dear friend.” Now he had his just deserts. Dear friend, your unexpected letter—which I received not quite three years after we last saw each other—has given me much joy. My joy is all the greater as various rumours have been circulating about your sudden and violent death. It is a good thing that you have decided to disclaim them by writing to me; it is a good thing, too, that you are doing so so soon. From your letter it appears that you have lived a peaceful, wonderfully boring life, devoid of all sensation. These days such a life is a real privilege, dear friend, and I am happy that you have managed to achieve it. I was touched by the sudden concern which you deigned to show as to my health, dear friend. I hasten with the news that, yes, I now feel well; the period of indisposition is behind me, I have dealt with the difficulties, the description of which I shall not bore you with. It worries and troubles me very much that the unexpected present you received from Fate brings you worries. Your supposition that this requires professional help is absolutely correct. Although your description of the d...

I know you’re almost forty, look almost thirty, think you’re just over twenty and act as though you’re barely ten.

This is Philippa Eilhart from the Council of Wizards, at present in King Vizimir’s service and pride of the Tretogor court. It’s a shame we’ve only got one chair in here.” “It’s quite enough.” The enchantress made herself comfortable in the high-backed chair vacated by Dandelion,

If this ain’t me

We will be finished, suffocating in our own stuffy parochial corner because—understand this—Nilfgaard is cutting off our route to the South and we have to develop, we have to be expansive, otherwise there won’t be enough room here for our grandchildren!”

You have made a mistake. You mistook the stars reflected in the surface of the lake at night for the heavens.

“You mean to say,” Terranova screwed up his face, “we will dance to the tune they play?” “Yes, Artaud.” Vilgefortz looked at him and his eyes flashed. “You will dance to the tune they play. Or you will take leave of the dance-floor. Because the orchestra’s podium is too high for you to climb up there and tell the musicians to play some other tune. Realise that at last. If you think another solution is possible, you are making a mistake. You mistake the stars reflected in the surface of the lake at night for the heavens.”

“And we have to do all the work for her! Both in the kitchen and in the garden! Look at her little hands, Iola! Like a princess!” “That’s the way it is!” squeaked Ciri. “Some have brains, so they get a book! Others are feather-brained, so they get a broom!”

Are your hands made of wood?” “My hand’s trained to hold a sword! That’s why!” “Nonsense. Geralt has been brandishing his sword for his whole life and his fingers are agile and… mm-mm… very gentle.

“If you have any choice at all,” the enchantress twisted her lips in a smile, “but don’t have much experience, you first appraise the bed.” Ciri’s emerald eyes turned the shape and size of saucers. “How’s that… The bed?” “Precisely that. Those who don’t have a bed at all, you eliminate on the spot. From those who remain, you eliminate the owners of any dirty or slovenly beds. And when only those who have clean and tidy beds remain, you choose the one you find most attractive. Unfortunately, the method is not a hundred per cent foolproof. You can make a terrible mistake.”

“Cats like sleeping and resting on intersections. There are many stories about magical animals but really, apart from the dragon, the cat is the only creature which can absorb the force. No one knows why a cat absorbs it and what it does with it… What’s the matter?”