The Last Wish (The Witcher, #0.5)

by Andrzej Sapkowski

The mixture which helped the witcher gain full control of his body was chiefly made up of veratrum, stramonium, hawthorn and spurge.

I’ll fill your evenings with tales of ever more astounding events from the past few years. Get a keg of beer so my throat doesn’t dry up and we can start today.

“Because it would be the first proof I’ve ever heard of that a lack of faith has any kind of power at all.”

But if I’m to choose between one evil and another, then I prefer not to choose at all.

A mother, you son of a bitch, is sacred!”

He saw stretches of star-leafed melilote, compact balls of puffheads pouring out of huge flowerpots, shoots of arenaria strewn with berries as red as blood. He recognized the meaty, thickly veined leaves of fastaim, the crimson-golden ovals of measure-me-nots and the dark arrows of sawcuts. He noticed pinnated pondblood moss huddled against stone blocks, the glistening tubers of raven’s eye and the tiger-striped petals of the mousetail orchid. In the shady part of the grotto bulged caps of the sewant mushroom, gray as stones in a field. Not far from them grew reachcluster, an antidote to every known toxin and venom.

“Spell?” The priest proudly raised his head. “I’m not a godless sorcerer! I don’t cast spells! My power comes from faith and prayer!” “Can you or can’t you?” “I can.” “Then get on with it, because time’s pressing on.”