Page 13 - The Witcher Story

was peace. Then one night – it was a full moon – there were screams in the
palace, shouting and commotion! I don’t have to tell you, this is your trade
and you’ve read the proclamation. The infant had grown in the coffin – and
how! – grown to have incredible teeth! In a word, she became a striga.
‘Pity you didn’t see the corpses, as I did. Had you, you’d have taken
a great detour to avoid Wyzim.’
Geralt was silent.
‘Then, as I was saying,’ Velerad continued, ‘Foltest summoned a whole
crowd of sorcerers. They all jabbered at the same time and almost came
to blows with those staffs they carry – to beat off the dogs, no doubt, once
they’ve been set loose on them. And I think they regularly are. I’m sorry,
Geralt, if you have a different opinion of wizards. No doubt you do, in your
profession, but to me they are swindlers and fools. You witchers inspire
greater confidence in men. At least you are more straightforward.’
Geralt smiled, but didn’t comment.
‘But, to the point.’ The castellan peered into his tankard and poured more
beer for himself and the Rivian. ‘Some of the sorcerers’ advice didn’t seem
so stupid. One suggested burning the striga together with the palace and the
sarcophagus. Another advised chopping her head off. The rest were keen
on driving aspen stakes into her body during the day, when the she-devil
was asleep in her coffin, worn out by her night’s delights. Unfortunately
one, a jester with a pointed hat and a bald pate, a hunch-backed hermit,
argued it was magic: the spell could be undone and the striga would turn
into Foltest’s little daughter, as pretty as a picture. Someone simply had
to stay in the crypt throughout the night, and that would be that. After
which – can you imagine such a fool? – he went to the palace for the night.
Little of him was left in the morning, only, I believe, his hat and stick. But
Foltest clung to his idea like a burr to a dog’s tail. He forbade any attempt
to kill the striga and brought in charlatans from all corners of Wyzim to
reverse the spell and turn her into a princess. What colourful company!
Twisted women, cripples, dirty and louse- ridden. It was pitiful.

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