Free The Sword of Destiny by Andrzej Sapkowski Page A

a filthy look. Boholt spat, Jaskier looked away grimacing with disgust. Yarpen Zigrin smiled unpleasantly, hands on hips.
    "What are you waiting for?" Kozojed asked. "It is high time we got down to work. We must establish what the decoy will be composed of so that the reptile passes away immediately; we need something horribly noxious, toxic or rotten."
    "Ah!" said the dwarf, still smiling. "What is toxic, filthy and evil-smelling all at once? You mean you don't know, Kozojed? It seems that it's you, you little shit."
    "What?"
    "Get out of my sight, boot-buggerer, so I don't have to look at you anymore."
    "Lord Dorregaray," said Boholt, going up to the magician, "Make yourself useful. Do you remember any legends or tales on the subject? What do you know about golden dragons? "
    The magician smiled, standing up again in a dignified fashion.
    "What do I know about golden dragons, you ask? Not much, but enough."
    "Speak."
    "Listen carefully, very carefully: right here in front of us sits a golden dragon. A living legend, perhaps the last and only creature of its type to have survived your murderous folly. Legends should not be killed. I will not allow you to touch this dragon. It that understood? You can put away your equipment and pack up your saddlebags and go home."
    Geralt was sure that a fight was going to erupt. He was wrong.
    Gyllenstiern broke the silence:
    "Honourable magician, be careful what you say and to whom you say it. King Niedamir can order you, Dorregaray, to pack up your saddlebags and go to hell; note that to suggest the same of him is improper. Is that clear?"
    "No," the magician replied proudly. "It isn't, because I am and remain Master Dorregaray. I will not obey the orders of an insignificant king governing a kingdom only visible from the top of a hill and in command an abject, filthy, stinking fortress. Did you know, my Lord
    Gyllenstiern, that with one wave of my hand I can transform you into cowpat, and your vulgar king into something much worse? Is that clear?"
    Gyllenstiern had no time to reply. Boholt approached Dorregaray: he grabbed him by the arm and turned him around. Nischuka and Ripper, silent and grim-faced, stood right behind Boholt.
    "Listen well, sir magician," said the huge Reaver quietly. "Listen to me before you wave your hand: I could take the time to tell you, your grace, what I think of your protestations and legends, not to mention your stupid chattering. But I don't feel like it. Content yourself with following answer:"
    Boholt cleared his throat, sank a finger into his nostril and snorted onto the magician's shoes.
    Dorregaray turned pale, but did not move. He had noticed, as had all the others, the morning star that Nischuka held loosely in his hand. He knew, as did all the others, that the necessary time to cast a spell was undoubtedly longer than that which Nischuka needed to shatter his head into a thousand pieces.
    "Okay," said Boholt. "Now kindly step aside, your grace. And if the desire to open your mouth returns, I recommend that you stop up your trap at once with a tuft of grass. Because if I hear your babblings once more, I promise you that you'll regret it." Boholt turned his back on him, rubbing his hands. "Nischuka, Ripper, get to work or the reptile is going to end up eluding us."
    "It doesn't seem intent on escape," said Jaskier looking around. "Look at it".
    The golden dragon sat on the hillock, yawned, moved its head and wings and struck the earth with its tail.
    "King Niedamir and ye knights!" a voice like the sounding of a brass clarion suddenly roared. "I am the dragon Villentretenmerth! I see that the landslide that I created, and was rather proud of, did not deter you. So here you are. As you know, there are only three exits to this valley. To the East towards Holopole and to the West towards Caingorn. You can leave by these two roads, but you will not pass by the ravine located to the north, because I, Villentretenmerth, forbid it. If anybody does not intend