Andrzej Sapkowski - Season of Storms

It lived only to kill.

It was lying on the sun-warmed sand.

It could sense the vibrations being transmitted through its hair-like feelers and bristles. Though the vibrations were still far off, the idr could feel them distinctly and precisely; it was thus able to determine not only its quarrys direction and speed of movement, but also its weight. As with most similar predators, the weight of the prey was of cardinal importance. Stalking, attacking and giving chase meant a loss of energy that had to be compensated by the calorific value of its food. Most predators similar to the idr would quit their attack if their prey was too small. But not the idr. The idr didnt exist to eat and sustain the species. It hadnt been created for that.

It lived to kill.

Moving its limbs cautiously, it exited the hollow, crawled over a rotten tree trunk, covered the clearing in three bounds, plunged into the fern-covered undergrowth and melted into the thicket. It moved swiftly and noiselessly, now running, now leaping like a huge grasshopper.

It sank into the thicket and pressed the segmented carapace of its abdomen to the ground. The vibrations in the ground became more and more distinct. The impulses from the idrs feelers and bristles formed themselves into an image. Into a plan. The idr now knew where to approach its victim from, where to cross its path, how to force it to flee, how to swoop on it from behind with a great leap, from what height to strike and lacerate with its razor-sharp mandibles. Within it the vibrations and impulses were already arousing the joy it would experience when its victim started struggling under its weight, arousing the euphoria that the taste of hot blood would induce in it. The ecstasy it would feel when the air was rent by a scream of pain. It trembled slightly, opening and closing its pincers and pedipalps.

The vibrations in the ground were very distinct and had also diversified. The idr now knew there was more than one victimprobably three, or perhaps four. Two of them were shaking the ground in a normal way; the vibrations of the third suggested a small mass and weight. The fourth, meanwhileprovided there really was a fourthwas causing irregular, weak and hesitant vibrations. The idr stopped moving, tensed and extended its antennae above the grass, examining the movements of the air.

The vibrations in the ground finally signalled what the idr had been waiting for. Its quarry had separated. One of them, the smallest, had fallen behind. And the fourththe vague onehad disappeared. It had been a fake signal, a false echo. The idr ignored it.

The smallest target moved even further away from the others. The trembling in the ground was more intense. And closer. The idr braced its rear limbs, pushed off and leaped.

The little girl gave an ear-splitting scream. Rather than running away, she had frozen to the spot. And was screaming unremittingly.

The Witcher darted towards her, drawing his sword mid-leap. And realised at once that something was wrong. That hed been tricked.

The man pulling a handcart loaded with faggots screamed and shot six feet up into the air in front of Geralts eyes, blood spraying copiously from him. He fell, only to immediately fly up again, this time in two pieces, each spurting blood. Hed stopped screaming. Now the woman was screaming piercingly and, like her daughter, was petrified and paralysed by fear.

Although he didnt believe he would, the Witcher managed to save her. He leaped and pushed hard, throwing the blood-spattered woman from the path into the forest, among the ferns. And realised at once that this time, too, it had been a trick. A ruse. For the flat, grey, many-limbed and incredibly quick shape was now moving away from the handcart and its first victim. It was gliding towards the next one. Towards the still shrieking little girl. Geralt sped after the idr.

Had she remained where she was, he would have been too late. But the girl demonstrated presence of mind and bolted frantically. The grey monster, however, would easily have caught up with her, killed her and turned back to dispatch the woman, too. Thats what would have happened had it not been for the Witcher.

He caught up with the monster and jumped, pinning down one of its rear limbs with his heel. If he hadnt jumped aside immediately he would have lost a legthe grey creature twisted around with extraordinary agility, and its curved pincers snapped shut, missing him by a hairs breadth. Before the Witcher could regain his balance the monster sprang from the ground and attacked. Geralt defended himself instinctively with a broad and rather haphazard swing of his sword that pushed the monster away. He hadnt wounded it, but now he had the upper hand.

He sprang up and fell on the monster, slashing backhand, cleaving the carapace of the flat cephalothorax. Before the dazed creature came to its senses, a second blow hacked off its left mandible. The monster attacked, brandishing its limbs and trying to gore him with its remaining mandible like an aurochs. The Witcher hacked that one off too. He slashed one of the idrs pedipalps with a swift reverse cut. Then hacked at the cephalothorax again.

It finally dawned on the idr that it was in danger. That it must flee. Flee far from there, take cover, find a hiding place. It only lived to kill. In order to kill it must regenerate. It must flee Flee

The Witcher didnt let it. He caught up with it, stepped on the rear segment of the thorax and cut from above with a fierce blow. This time, the carapace gave way, and viscous, greenish fluid gushed and poured from the wound. The monster flailed around, its limbs thrashing the ground chaotically.

Geralt cut again with his sword, this time completely severing the flat head from the body.

He was breathing heavily.

It thundered in the distance. The growing wind and darkening sky heralded an approaching storm.

Right from their very first encounter, Albert Smulka, the newly appointed district reeve, reminded Geralt of a swedehe was stout, unwashed, thick-skinned and generally pretty dull. In other words, he didnt differ much from all the other district clerks Geralt had dealt with.

Would seem to be true, said the reeve. Nought like a witcher for dealing with troubles. Jonas, my predecessor, couldnt speak highly enough of you, he continued a moment later, not waiting for any reaction from Geralt. To think, I considered him a liar. I mean that I didnt completely lend credence to him. I know how things can grow into fairy tales. Particularly among the common folk, with them theres always either a miracle or a marvel, or some witcher with superhuman powers. And here we are, turns out its the honest truth. Uncounted people have died in that forest beyond the little river. And because its a shortcut to the town the fools went that way to their own doom. Heedless of warnings. These days its better not to loiter in badlands or wander through forests. Monsters and man-eaters everywhere. A dreadful thing has just happened in the Tukaj Hills of Temeriaa sylvan ghoul killed fifteen people in a charcoal-burners settlement. Its called Rogovizna. You must have heard. Havent you? But its the truth, cross my heart and hope to die. Its said even the wizardry have started an investigation in that there Rogovizna. Well, enough of stories. Were safe here in Ansegis now. Thanks to you.