Sword of Destiny Read Online Free PDF Page B

procession. I need elbow room when I’m fighting.’
    ‘Come off it, Gar,’ Boholt said, ‘the more the merrier. What, never hunted a dragon before? There’s always a swarm of people behind a dragon, a noisy rabble, a veritable bordello on wheels. But when the reptile shows up, guess who’s left standing in the field. Us, that’s who.’
    Boholt was silent for a moment, took a long draw from a large, wicker-bound demijohn, blew his nose loudly and coughed.
    ‘Another thing,’ he continued. ‘In practice it’s often only after the dragon’s been killed that the merrymaking and bloodletting begins and the heads start rolling. It’s only when the treasure’s being shared out that the hunters go for each others’ throats. Right, Geralt? Oi? Am I right? Witcher, I’m talking to you.’
    ‘I’m aware of cases like that,’ Geralt concurred dryly.
    ‘Aware, you say. No doubt from hearsay, because I can’t say I’ve ever heard of you stalking a dragon. Never in all my born days have I heard of a witcher hunting dragons. Which makes it all the stranger you’re here.’
    ‘True,’ drawled Kennet, also known as Beanpole, the youngest Reaver. ‘That’s strange. And we—’
    ‘Wait, Beanpole, I’m talking,’ Boholt cut in, ‘and besides, I don’t plan to talk for too long. Anyway, the Witcher knows what I’m on about. I know him and he knows me, and up to now we haven’t got in each other’s way and we probably never will. See, lads, if I wanted to disrupt the Witcher’s work or snatch the loot from under his nose, the Witcher would waste no time slashing me with that witcher razor of his, and he’d be within his rights. Agreed?’
    No one seconded or challenged this. There was nothing to suggest that Boholt cared either way.
    ‘Aye,’ he continued, ‘the more the merrier, as I said. And the Witcher may prove useful to the company. It’s wild and deserted round here, and should a frightener, or ilyocoris, or a striga, jump out at us, there might be trouble. But if Geralt’s standing by there won’t be any trouble, because that’s his speciality. But dragons aren’t his speciality. Right?’
    Once more no one seconded or challenged this.
    ‘Lord Three Jackdaws is with Geralt,’ continued Boholt, handing the demijohn to Yarpen, ‘and that’s enough of a guarantee for me. So who’s bothering you, Gar, Beanpole? Can’t be Dandelion, can it?’
    ‘Dandelion,’ Yarpen Zigrin said, passing the demijohn to the bard, ‘always tags along whenever something interesting’s happening and everybody knows he doesn’t interfere, doesn’t help and won’t slow the march down. Bit like a burr on a dog’s tail. Right, boys?’
    The ‘boys’–stocky, bearded dwarves–cackled, shaking their beards. Dandelion pushed his bonnet back and drank from the demijohn.
    ‘Oooh, bloody hell,’ he groaned, gasping for air. ‘It takes your voice away. What was it distilled from, scorpions?’
    ‘There’s one thing irking me, Geralt,’ Beanpole said, taking the demijohn from the minstrel, ‘and that’s you bringing that sorcerer along. We can hardly move for sorcerers.’
    ‘That’s true,’ the dwarf butted in. ‘Beanpole’s right. We need that Dorregaray like a pig needs a saddle. For some time now we’ve had our very own witch, the noble Yennefer. Ugh.’ He spat her name.
    ‘Yes indeed,’ Boholt said, scratching himself on his bull neck, from which a moment earlier he had unfastened a leather collar, bristling with steel studs. ‘There are too many sorcerers here, gentlemen. Two too many, to be precise. And they’re a sight too thick with our Niedamir. Just look, we’re under the stars around a fire, and they, gentlemen, are in the warm, plotting in the royal tent, the cunning foxes. Niedamir, the witch, the wizard and Gyllenstiern. And Yennefer’s the worst. And do you want to know what they’re plotting? How to cheat us, that’s what.’
    ‘And stuffing themselves with venison,’