dragon. A militiaman tried to intervene. His head rolled from his shoulders. Another one tried to stab Vea with a pitchfork, but the Zerricanian, holding her sword with both hands, disembowelled him from his perineum up to his sternum. The others took to their heels.
"To the wagons," shouted Kozojed. "To the wagons, my friends! We shall crush them with the wagons."
"Geralt!" Yennefer shouted suddenly. Stretching her trussed up legs, she managed to move them under the wagon, very close to the witcher's hands which were tied behind his back. "The Sign of Igni! Burn my bonds! Can you feel the rope? Burn it, damn it!"
"Without looking?" Geralt protested. "I'll burn you, Yen!"
"Form the sign! I can take it!"
Geralt obeyed. He felt a tingling in his fingers, forming the Sign of Igni just above the sorceress' ankles. Yennefer turned her head to bite the neck of her tunic, stifling a moan. The young dragon nestled his wings against her, chirping.
"Yen!"
"Burn the rope!" she wailed.
The bonds finally gave way as the foul smell of charred meat became intolerable. Dorregaray issued a strange sound before fainting, sagging in his bonds against the wheel of the wagon.
The sorceress, face twisted with pain, sat back and extended a freed leg. She cried out in a voice full of rage and suffering. The medallion Geralt wore at his neck trembled as though it were alive. Yennefer shifted her hips and gestured with her leg towards the wagons of the Holopole militia and called out a spell. The air vibrated and filled with the smell of ozone.
"Oh! By the Gods!" Jaskier moaned with awe. "What a ballad it will be, Yennefer!"
The spell cast by her pretty leg did not quite succeed. The first wagon and everyone inside it took on a shade of buttercup yellow which the warriors Holopole, blinded by the heat of battle, did not even notice. The spell was more effective on the second wagon: all its crew were instantly transformed into huge pimply frogs which fled, croaking comically, in all directions. The wagon, deprived of a driver, turned over and smashed onto the ground. Dragging the torn off tongue behind them, the horses disappeared into the distance, neighing hysterically.
Yennefer bit her lip, raising her leg once more. The buttercup yellow wagon, accompanied by a rousing music coming from somewhere above, was reduced to a cloud of smoke of the same colour; all of the crew, dazed, crashed to the grass, forming a picturesque heap.
The wheels of the third wagon became square: the horses reared up, the wagon collapsed in on itself and the Holopole militiamen were ejected. Out of pure spite, Yennefer moved her leg again, and with an additional charm, transformed all of them at random into turtles, geese, millipedes, pink flamingos or suckling pigs. The Zerricanians expertly and methodically dispatched the others.
The dragon, finally tearing the net to pieces, jumped up, flapping its wings. It roared and flew like an arrow in pursuit of Kozojed, who had succeeded in escaping the massacre. The shoemaker ran like a gazelle, but the dragon was faster. Geralt, seeing its open maw and flashing teeth as sharp as daggers, turned away. He heard a bloodcurdling scream then a terrible crunch. Jaskier stifled a cry. Yennefer, pale as a sheet, doubled over and turned around to vomit under the wagon.
The silence which followed was broken only by the croaking, squawking and shrieking of the survivors of the Holopole militia.
Vea stood over Yennefer, legs wide apart, wearing a nasty smile. The Zerricanian drew her sword. Yennefer, pale, raised her leg.
"No," interrupted Borch, alias Three Jackdaws, sat on a stone. He held in his arms the young dragon, calm and happy.
"We will not kill Lady Yennefer," the dragon Villentretenmerth continued. "There's no point now. Besides, we are now grateful to Lady Yennefer for her invaluable help. Release them, Vea."
"Did you know, Geralt?" Jaskier murmured, rubbing his numb hands. "Did you know? There's an ancient
"To the wagons," shouted Kozojed. "To the wagons, my friends! We shall crush them with the wagons."
"Geralt!" Yennefer shouted suddenly. Stretching her trussed up legs, she managed to move them under the wagon, very close to the witcher's hands which were tied behind his back. "The Sign of Igni! Burn my bonds! Can you feel the rope? Burn it, damn it!"
"Without looking?" Geralt protested. "I'll burn you, Yen!"
"Form the sign! I can take it!"
Geralt obeyed. He felt a tingling in his fingers, forming the Sign of Igni just above the sorceress' ankles. Yennefer turned her head to bite the neck of her tunic, stifling a moan. The young dragon nestled his wings against her, chirping.
"Yen!"
"Burn the rope!" she wailed.
The bonds finally gave way as the foul smell of charred meat became intolerable. Dorregaray issued a strange sound before fainting, sagging in his bonds against the wheel of the wagon.
The sorceress, face twisted with pain, sat back and extended a freed leg. She cried out in a voice full of rage and suffering. The medallion Geralt wore at his neck trembled as though it were alive. Yennefer shifted her hips and gestured with her leg towards the wagons of the Holopole militia and called out a spell. The air vibrated and filled with the smell of ozone.
"Oh! By the Gods!" Jaskier moaned with awe. "What a ballad it will be, Yennefer!"
The spell cast by her pretty leg did not quite succeed. The first wagon and everyone inside it took on a shade of buttercup yellow which the warriors Holopole, blinded by the heat of battle, did not even notice. The spell was more effective on the second wagon: all its crew were instantly transformed into huge pimply frogs which fled, croaking comically, in all directions. The wagon, deprived of a driver, turned over and smashed onto the ground. Dragging the torn off tongue behind them, the horses disappeared into the distance, neighing hysterically.
Yennefer bit her lip, raising her leg once more. The buttercup yellow wagon, accompanied by a rousing music coming from somewhere above, was reduced to a cloud of smoke of the same colour; all of the crew, dazed, crashed to the grass, forming a picturesque heap.
The wheels of the third wagon became square: the horses reared up, the wagon collapsed in on itself and the Holopole militiamen were ejected. Out of pure spite, Yennefer moved her leg again, and with an additional charm, transformed all of them at random into turtles, geese, millipedes, pink flamingos or suckling pigs. The Zerricanians expertly and methodically dispatched the others.
The dragon, finally tearing the net to pieces, jumped up, flapping its wings. It roared and flew like an arrow in pursuit of Kozojed, who had succeeded in escaping the massacre. The shoemaker ran like a gazelle, but the dragon was faster. Geralt, seeing its open maw and flashing teeth as sharp as daggers, turned away. He heard a bloodcurdling scream then a terrible crunch. Jaskier stifled a cry. Yennefer, pale as a sheet, doubled over and turned around to vomit under the wagon.
The silence which followed was broken only by the croaking, squawking and shrieking of the survivors of the Holopole militia.
Vea stood over Yennefer, legs wide apart, wearing a nasty smile. The Zerricanian drew her sword. Yennefer, pale, raised her leg.
"No," interrupted Borch, alias Three Jackdaws, sat on a stone. He held in his arms the young dragon, calm and happy.
"We will not kill Lady Yennefer," the dragon Villentretenmerth continued. "There's no point now. Besides, we are now grateful to Lady Yennefer for her invaluable help. Release them, Vea."
"Did you know, Geralt?" Jaskier murmured, rubbing his numb hands. "Did you know? There's an ancient
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