Blood of Elves by Andrzej Sapkowski

around in this for a year, Merigold,” said Lambert angrily. “And everything was fine until…”
    “…until a woman arrived who can’t bear to look at clothes in poor taste which don’t fit? You’re right, Lambert. But a woman has arrived, and the old order’s collapsed; a time of great change has arrived. Come on, Ciri.”
    The girl hesitated, looked at Geralt. Geralt nodded his agreement and smiled. Pleasantly. Just as he had smiled in the past when, when…
    Triss turned her eyes away. His smile was not for her.
    Ciri’s little room was a faithful replica of the witchers’ quarters. It was, like theirs, devoid of almost all fittings and furniture. There was practically nothing there beside a few planks nailed together to form a bed, a stool and a trunk. Witchers decorated the walls and doors of their quarters with the skins of animals they killed when hunting – stags, lynx, wolves and even wolverines. On the door of Ciri’s little room, however, hung the skin of an enormous rat with a hide-ous scaly tail. Triss fought back her desire to tear the stinking abomination down and throw it out of the window.
    The girl, standing by the bed, stared at her expectantly.
    “We’ll try,” said the enchantress, “to make this… sheath fit a little better. I’ve always had a knack for cutting and sewing so I ought to be able to manage this goatskin, too. And you, little witcher-girl, have you ever had a needle in your hand? Have you been taught anything other than making holes with a sword in sacks of straw?”
    “When I was in Transriver, in Kagen, I had to spin,” muttered Ciri unwillingly. “They didn’t give me any sewing because I only spoilt the linen and wasted thread; they had to undo everything. The spinning was terribly boring – yuk!”
    “True,” giggled Triss. “It’s hard to find anything more boring. I hated spinning, too.”
    “And did you have to? I did because… But you’re a wi— magician. You can conjure anything up! That amazing dress… did you conjure it up?”
    “No.” Triss smiled. “Nor did I sew it myself. I’m not that talented.”
    “And my clothes, how are you going to make them? Conjure them up?”
    “There’s no need. A magic needle is enough, one which we shall charm into working more vigorously. And if there’s a need…”
    Triss slowly ran her hand across the torn hole in the sleeve of Ciri’s jacket, murmuring a spell while stimulating an amulet to work. Not a trace remained of the hole. Ciri squealed with joy.
    “That’s magic! I’m going to have a magical jacket! Wow!”
    “Only until I make you an ordinary – but good – one. Right, now take all that off, young lady, and change into something else. These aren’t your only clothes, surely?”
    Ciri shook her head, lifted the lid of the trunk and showed her a faded loose dress, a dark grey tunic, a linen shirt and a woollen blouse resembling a penitent’s sack.
    “This is mine,” she said. “This is what I came in. But I don’t wear it now. It’s woman’s stuff.”
    “I understand.” Triss grimaced mockingly. “Woman’s or not, for the time being you’ll have to change into it. Well, get on with it, get undressed. Let me help you… Damn it! What’s this? Ciri?”
    The girl’s shoulders were covered in massive bruises, suffused with blood. Most of them had already turned yellow; some were fresh.
    “What the hell is this?” the magician repeated angrily. “Who beat you like this?”
    “This?” Ciri looked at her shoulders as if surprised by the number of bruises. “Oh, this… That was the windmill. I was too slow.”
    “What windmill? Bloody hell!”
    “The windmill,” repeated Ciri, raising her huge eyes to look up at the magician. “It’s a sort of… Well… I’m using it to learn to dodge while attacking. It’s got these paws made of sticks and it turns and waves the paws. You have to jump very quickly and dodge. You have to learn a lefrex. If you haven’t got the