Page 10 - The Witcher Story

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Velerad, castellan of Wyzim, scratched his chin. He was neither super-
stitious nor faint-hearted but he did not relish the thought of being alone
with the white-haired man. At last he made up his mind.
‘Leave,’ he ordered the guards. ‘And you, sit down. No, not there. Further
away, if you please.’
The stranger sat down. He no longer carried his sword or black coat.
‘I am Velerad, castellan of Wyzim,’ said Velerad, toying with a heavy
mace lying on the table. ‘And I’m listening. What do you have to say to me,
you brigand, before you are thrown into the dungeon? Three killed and an
attempted spell-casting; not bad, not bad at all. Men are impaled for such
things in Wyzim. But I’m a just man, so I will listen to you, before you are
executed. Speak.’
The Rivian unbuttoned his jerkin and pulled out a wad of white goat
leather.
‘You nail this crossways, in taverns,’ he said quietly. ‘Is what’s written
here true?’
‘Ah. ’Velerad grunted, looking at the runes etched into the leather.
‘So that’s it. And I didn’t guess at once. Yes, it’s true. It’s signed by Folt-
est, King of Temeria, Pontar and Mahakam, which.makes it true. A proc-
lamation is a proclamation, witcher, but law is law – and I take care of
law and order in Wyzim. I will not allow people to be murdered! Do you
understand?’
The Rivian nodded to show he understood. Velerad snorted with anger.
‘You carry the witcher’s emblem?’ The stranger reached into his jerkin
once more and pulled out a round medallion on a silver chain. It pictured
the head of a wolf, baring its fangs. ‘And do you have a name? Any name
will do, it’s simply to make con- versation easier.’
‘My name is Geralt.’
‘Geralt, then. Of Rivia I gather, from your accent?’ ‘Of Rivia.’

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