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- Анджей Сапковский
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- Ведьмак: Кровь эльфов
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- Стр. 115/356
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That
is
my
fate
,
my
reason
,
my
life
and
my
attitude
to
the
world
.
And
it
is
not
what
I
chose
.
It
was
chosen
for
me
.
"
"
You
're
embittered
,
"
she
stated
,
tugging
nervously
at
a
strand
of
hair
.
"
Or
pretending
to
be
.
You
forget
that
I
know
you
,
so
do
n't
play
the
unfeeling
mutant
,
devoid
of
a
heart
,
of
scruples
and
of
his
own
free
will
,
in
front
of
me
.
And
the
reasons
for
your
bitterness
,
I
can
guess
and
understand
.
Ciri
's
prophecy
,
correct
?
"
"
No
,
not
correct
,
"
he
answered
icily
.
"
I
see
that
you
do
n't
know
me
at
all
.
I
'm
afraid
of
death
,
just
like
everyone
else
,
but
I
grew
used
to
the
idea
of
it
a
very
long
time
ago
--
I
'm
not
under
any
illusions
.
I
'm
not
complaining
about
fate
,
Triss
--
this
is
plain
,
cold
calculation
.
Statistics
.
No
witcher
has
yet
died
of
old
age
,
lying
in
bed
dictating
his
will
.
Not
a
single
one
.
Ciri
did
n't
surprise
or
frighten
me
.
I
know
I
'm
going
to
die
in
some
cave
which
stinks
of
carcases
,
torn
apart
by
a
griffin
,
lamia
or
manticore
.
But
I
do
n't
want
to
die
in
a
war
,
because
they
're
not
my
wars
.
"
"
I
'm
surprised
at
you
,
"
she
replied
sharply
.
"
I
'm
surprised
that
you
're
saying
this
,
surprised
by
your
lack
of
motivation
,
as
you
learnedly
chose
to
describe
your
supercilious
distance
and
indifference
.
You
were
at
Sodden
,
Angren
and
Transriver
.
You
know
what
happened
to
Cintra
,
know
what
befell
Queen
Calanthe
and
many
thousands
of
people
there
.
You
know
the
hell
Ciri
went
through
,
know
why
she
cries
out
at
night
.
And
I
know
,
too
,
because
I
was
also
there
.
I
'm
afraid
of
pain
and
death
too
,
even
more
so
now
than
I
was
then
--
I
have
good
reason
.
As
for
motivation
,
it
seems
to
me
that
back
then
I
had
just
as
little
as
you
.
Why
should
I
,
a
magician
,
care
about
the
fates
of
Sodden
,
Brugge
,
Cintra
or
other
kingdoms
?
The
problems
of
having
more
or
less
competent
rulers
?
The
interests
of
merchants
and
barons
?
I
was
a
magician
.
I
,
too
,
could
have
said
it
was
n't
my
war
,
that
I
could
mix
elixirs
for
the
Nilfgaardians
on
the
ruins
of
the
world
.
But
I
stood
on
that
Hill
next
to
Vilgefortz
,
next
to
Artaud
Terranova
,
next
to
Fercart
,
next
to
Enid
Findabair
and
Philippa
Eilhart
,
next
to
your
Yennefer
.
Next
to
those
who
no
longer
exist
--
Coral
,
Yoël
,
Vanielle
...
There
was
a
moment
when
out
of
sheer
terror
I
forgot
all
my
spells
except
for
one
--
and
thanks
to
that
spell
I
could
have
teleported
myself
from
that
horrific
place
back
home
,
to
my
tiny
little
tower
in
Maribor
.
There
was
a
moment
,
when
I
threw
up
from
fear
,
when
Yennefer
and
Coral
held
me
up
by
the
shoulders
and
hair
--
"
"
Stop
.
Please
,
stop
.
"
"
No
,
Geralt
.
I
wo
n't
.
After
all
,
you
want
to
know
what
happened
there
,
on
the
Hill
.
So
listen
--
there
was
a
din
and
flames
,
there
were
flaming
arrows
and
exploding
balls
of
fire
,
there
were
screams
and
crashes
,
and
I
suddenly
found
myself
on
the
ground
on
a
pile
of
charred
,
smoking
rags
,
and
I
realised
that
the
pile
of
rags
was
Yoël
and
that
thing
next
to
her
,
that
awful
thing
,
that
trunk
with
no
arms
and
no
legs
which
was
screaming
so
horrifically
was
Coral
.
And
I
thought
the
blood
in
which
I
was
lying
was
Coral
's
blood
.
But
it
was
my
own
.
And
then
I
saw
what
they
had
done
to
me
,
and
I
started
to
howl
,
howl
like
a
beaten
dog
,
like
a
battered
child
--
Leave
me
alone
!
Do
n't
worry
,
I
'm
not
going
to
cry
.
I
'm
not
a
little
girl
from
a
tiny
tower
in
Maribor
any
more
.
Damn
it
,
I
'm
Triss
Merigold
,
the
Fourteenth
One
Killed
at
Sodden
.
There
are
fourteen
graves
at
the
foot
of
the
obelisk
on
the
Hill
,
but
only
thirteen
bodies
.
You
're
amazed
such
a
mistake
could
have
been
made
?
Most
of
the
corpses
were
in
hard-to-recognise
pieces
--
no
one
identified
them
.
The
living
were
hard
to
account
for
,
too
.
Of
those
who
had
known
me
well
,
Yennefer
was
the
only
one
to
survive
,
and
Yennefer
was
blind
.
Others
knew
me
fleetingly
and
always
recognised
me
by
my
beautiful
hair
.
And
I
,
damn
it
,
did
n't
have
it
any
more
!
"
Geralt
held
her
closer
.
She
no
longer
tried
to
push
him
away
.
"
They
used
the
highest
magics
on
us
,
"
she
continued
in
a
muted
voice
,
"
spells
,
elixirs
,
amulets
and
artefacts
.
Nothing
was
left
wanting
for
the
wounded
heroes
of
the
Hill
.
We
were
cured
,
patched
up
,
our
former
appearances
returned
to
us
,
our
hair
and
sight
restored
.
You
can
hardly
see
the
marks
.
But
I
will
never
wear
a
plunging
neckline
again
,
Geralt
.
Never
.
"
