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Before the hit series returns, read a chapter from the book "The Wizard: The Last Wish"

The series "The Wizard" has become a huge hit on Netflix, and recently the book on which it is based was first published in Hebrew.

Garrett Meribia is a sorcerer, a man with mysterious supernatural powers who were forged in arduous training and turned into a brilliant warrior against a host of creatures.

Read a story from the book

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• The Witcher

Walla!

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Wednesday, 03 November 2021, 11:00 Updated: 11:01

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Previously he was a literary figure.

From "The Wizard" (Photo: Netflix)

The Voice of Reason 1

She came to him towards morning.

She entered very carefully, in silent steps, hovering over the room like a ghost, like a demon, and the only sound that accompanied her movement was the sound of her robe slipping over her bare skin.

However, it was precisely that faint, almost muffled rustle that woke the wizard, and perhaps just detached him from the monotonous drowsiness that lay in him, as if hovering in endless depths, hanging between the bottom and the calm sea, amid streaks of algae floating delicately on the waves.

He did not move, did not even tremble. The girl slid closer, slowly tossed her robe over her and hesitantly rested her bent knee on the edge of the bed. He examined her through his lowered eyelids, still without betraying that he was not sleeping. The girl carefully climbed onto the bed and then on it and hugged him between her thighs. She relied on her taut arms and stroked his face with her hair, which smelled of chamomile. She leaned resolutely and as if impatiently and touched the tips of her breasts to his eyelids, cheeks, mouth. He smiled and took her arms in very slow motion, carefully, gently. She stood up, slipping through his fingers, radiant, bright, blurred by her glow in the misty misty light of dawn. He moved, but she pressed firmly on both his hands and forbade him to change his position. She demanded an answer in light but decisive pelvic movements.

He replied. She no longer backed away from his hands, threw her head back, shook her hair. Her skin was surprisingly cold and smooth. The eyes he saw as she brought her face closer to his were large and dark as nymph eyes.

He felt cradled and sank into a sea of ​​chamomile, which had ceased to be his and began to rumble and hiss.

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To the full article

The Wizard

I

later said he came from the north, from the ropes gate. He walked and led with a bridle the horse carrying his load. The evening was already approaching. The ropes and runners' booths were already closed, and the narrow street was left empty of people. It was warm, but a black coat rested on the man's shoulders. He attracted attention.

He stopped in front of the old Narcourt Inn, stood for a moment and listened to the loud noises coming from inside. The inn, as usual at that time, was crowded.

The anonymous did not enter old Narcourt. He pulled his horse and advanced down the street. There was another smaller tavern, called "At the Fox '. It was pretty empty here. The tavern does not enjoy a particularly good reputation.

The innkeeper raised his head over a barrel of pickled cucumbers and examined the guest with his gaze. The stranger, still in his coat, stood frozen in front of the counter and was silent.

"What to pour?"

"Beer," said the anonymous. His voice was not pleasant. The bartender wiped his hand with a cloth apron and poured into a clay cup. The cup was cracked.

The anonymous man was not an adult, but his hair was almost completely white. Under his coat he wore a tattered leather vest, with laces under his neck and shoulders. When he took off his coat, everyone present noticed that he was carrying a sword along the back. This in itself was not strange, for in Wijima almost everyone walked armed, yet no one carried a sword on his back as if it were a bow or a garbage can.

The anonymous man did not turn the tables between the few guests, but continued to stand by the counter and stared intently at the bartender. He sipped from the cup.

"I'll ask for a room for the night."

"No," growled the innkeeper, examining his filthy, filthy boots. "Ask old Narcourt."

"I would have preferred here."

"No," the innkeeper finally recognized the anonymous accent. He was Ribi.

"I will pay," the stranger said quietly, as if in insecurity. So actually started all that miserable story. A large, clumsy, pouty-faced man, who did not take his gloomy look away from the stranger as soon as he entered, got up and went to the counter. His two companions stood behind him, no more than two paces away.

"There's no room, bastard Ribi bastard," hissed the prying face that was already standing right next to the unknown. "We do not need people like you here, in Wijima. This is a city of decent people!"

The anonymous man took his cup and turned aside. He looked at the innkeeper, but it eluded him. He also did not intend to defend the interest rate. After all, who likes guests from Rivia?

"All quarrels are thieves," continued the prankster, who stank of beer, because of anger. "Do you hear what I'm saying, one bastard?"

"He can't hear. He has wax in his ears," said one of the other two. His friend giggled.

"Pay and get out!" Growled the pimple-bearer.Only now did the anonymous look at him.

"I'll finish the beer."

"We'll help you," the prankster hissed. He pushed the cup away from the ribeye's hand and at the same time grabbed the stranger's shoulder and stuck his fingers in the strip of skin that slanted across his chest. One of his friends swung his fist in the air and prepared to strike. The stranger crouched down and took the pimple out of balance. The sword whistled in the bandana and gleamed for a moment in the light of the lanterns. The commotion broke out. A shout was heard. One of the remaining guests fled to the exit. A chair shattered on the floor, Trah, and the pottery landed in a muffled noise on the floor. The bartender watched with trembling lips in the terribly cleft face of the prankster, who still had time to hold his fingers on the edge of the counter before sinking down and disappearing from his sight, as if he had drowned. The other two lay on the floor. One did not move, the other fluttered in an ever-expanding dark puddle. A hysterical, thin, deafening woman screamed in the air. The innkeeper shuddered, panting heavily, vomiting.

The unknown retreated to the wall. Tense and tense. He held the sword with both hands and moved the tip of the blade. No one moved. The horror stuck to my face like cold mud, paralyzed my limbs, stuck in my throat.

Three guards broke into the tavern with a loud bang. They must have been nearby. They held drawn batons, bound with leather straps, but at the sight of the corpses hurried to grasp their swords. Ribi clung with his back to the wall and pulled a dagger out of his boot with his left hand.

"Drop it!" Screamed one of the guards in a trembling voice. "Drop him, killer! You're coming with us!" Another guard kicked at a table that blocked his way to flank the rival from the side.

"Run to get people, Traska!" He shouted to the third, who was standing closer to the door.

"No need," said the anonymous man, throwing his sword. "I'll come myself."

"You will come, seed dog like you, but tied with a rope!" The guard screamed, trembling. "Drop the sword or I'll break your head!"

The interest straightened.

He hurried to tuck the blade under his left arm.

He carried the right one up, towards the guards, and quickly drew a complex sign in the air.

The nails densely embedded in his leather cloak, down to his elbows, gleamed.

The guards retreated for a moment and covered their faces in their arms.

One of the guests jumped up.

Another slipped to the door.

The woman screamed again, screaming wildly and horribly.

"I'll go myself," the anonymous man repeated in a resounding metallic voice.

"And the three of you will go before me. Lead me to the city commissioner. I do not know the way."

"Yes, sir," the guard murmured, lowering his head.

He moved towards the exit and looked around apprehensively.

The other two hurried after him, walking backwards.

The anonymous followed them.

He returned his sword to the bandana and the dagger to his boot.

As they passed the tables, the guests stared at the wings of their vests.

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Cover of the book "The Wizard: The Last Wish", by Andrzej Spekowski (Photo: Yedioth Books)

II

Velard, the commissioner of the city of Vizima, scratched under his chin and pondered. He did not believe in superstitions and was not soft-hearted, but he still did not like the idea of ​​staying alone with the white man. Finally decided.

"Get out," he ordered the guards. "And you sit back. No, not here. There, farther, if you will."

The unknown sat down. He no longer carried the sword or his black coat.

"All ear," said Valard, playing with the heavy wand laid on the table. "Me and Lard, the city commissioner of Vizima. What do you have to tell me, esteemed highwayman, before you are thrown into the dungeon? Three killed, an attempt to cast a spell ... Not bad, not bad at all. We at Vizima are impaled for such things. But being a man of justice, I will listen to you first. Speak. "

Haribi unbuttoned his vest and pulled out a white goatskin scroll.

"You hang it at intersections, in taverns," he said quietly. "That's the truth, what's written here?"

"Ah," Walard murmured as he looked at the runic letters engraved on the leather scroll. "So that's the point. I did not immediately understand either. Well, truth is. Pure truth. Signed: His Majesty Poltest, King and ruler of Tamaria, Punter and Mahakam. Therefore - truth. Order is order, but law is law. And here, in Wise. Yama, I'm in charge of the law and order! I will not allow people to be murdered! Do you understand? "

Ribby nodded as he understood. Walard snorted angrily.

"Do you have a magic symbol?"

The unknown again reached for the cloak opening and pulled out a round pendant on a silver chain. A wolf's head with exposed fangs was embossed in the pendant.

"Do you have a name? No matter what, I do not ask out of curiosity, but only to make it easier to converse."

"My name is Gerald."

"Let there be garlet. Are you quarreling, if I conclude correctly from the accent?"

"Meribia."

"Well, you know what, Garlett? That," Walard patted the order with an open hand, "that you should leave alone. It's an important matter. Many have already tried. It, my friend, is not the same as slapping some thugs."

"I know. This is my field, Your Honor.

"Three thousand," exclaimed Wallard, "the princess' hand. That's how the people chatter, even though the gracious fullest did not write it."

"I'm not interested in a princess," Garrett said calmly. He sat motionless with his hands on his knees. "It is written: Three thousand."

"Times like this," the commissioner sighed. "What filthy times! Twenty years ago, who would have imagined, even in a guillotine, that there would be such professions? M-as-chefs! Custom-made basilisk killers! Wandering dragons of dragons and drowning spirits!

"certainly."

Walard clapped his hands.

"beer!" Read. "And you, Garlett, sit closer. What do I care?" The beer was cold and covered in foam.

"Dirty times have come," he continued, dropping his monologue and sipping from the cup. "All kinds of mudflats have multiplied. In the meadows, in the mountains, you can already really hear the buzzing of the bobbleheads. "Hundreds of cases have been recorded. Diseases that no one has heard of before, speculation is rife. And if that's not enough, then so is it!" He pushed the leather scroll along the table. "What a wonder, Gerald, that there is such a demand for your services."

"This royal order, Your Honor," Garrett raised his head. "Do you know the details?"

Walard leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his stomach.

"Details, you say? Familiar.Although not first-hand, but from reliable sources. "

"That's exactly what I meant."

"If you insist. Listen," Walard finished drinking the beer and lowered his voice. "Even when he was regent, during the reign of his father Medel the Elder, Fultest showed us our most gracious what he is capable of, and he was capable of much. We expected that with age it would pass him by. Even about himself, until we all dropped our jaws. In short: he gave birth to a child with his sister from birth, Oda. With such a belly, and Fultest starts talking about a wedding. With his sister. Do you understand, Garlett? He would run out and insult the apostles.Which influenced her brother, managed to dissuade the snout from the idea of ​​a flash wedding. Then Edda gave birth to a baby, just in time. And now listen carefully, because this is where the story begins. The thing she gave birth to, not many saw it, but one midwife jumped to her death from the tower window, and another's mind went mad at her. She has not been strong since then to this day. From all this I conclude that the bastard did not turn out well, to say the least. It was a baby. And she died, in my opinion, even before anyone had time to cut her umbilical cord. Edda, fortunately, did not survive the birth. And then Fultest again made a complete fool of himself. The bastard had to be burned or did not know what, maybe bury it somewhere in the wilderness, but by no means bury it in a sarcophagus in the basements of the palace. "She has not been strong since then to this day. From all this I conclude that the bastard did not turn out well, to say the least. It was a baby. And she died, in my opinion, even before anyone had time to cut her umbilical cord. Edda, fortunately, did not survive the birth. And then Fultest again made a complete fool of himself. The bastard had to be burned or did not know what, maybe bury it somewhere in the wilderness, but by no means bury it in a sarcophagus in the basements of the palace. "She has not been strong since then to this day. From all this I conclude that the bastard did not turn out well, to say the least. It was a baby. And she died, in my opinion, even before anyone had time to cut her umbilical cord. Edda, fortunately, did not survive the birth. And then Fultest again made a complete fool of himself. The bastard had to be burned or did not know what, maybe bury it somewhere in the wilderness, but by no means bury it in a sarcophagus in the basements of the palace. "

"It's too late to tread on it now," Garrett raised his head. "In any case, one of the scientists had to be summoned."

"Are you talking about these charlatans with the stars on the hat? Order maybe ten of them, of course, but only after it became clear what was lying in the sarcophagus and what was crawling out of it at night - and it didn't start crawling right away. Oh, no. For seven years after the burial it was quiet. One night, a full moon night, suddenly a scream was heard in the palace. Shouts, commotion! But there is no point in treading on the matter, you are aware of that. You too have read the order. One, Striga. Too bad you did not see the bodies like me. I'm sure you would make a big turn to overtake Vijima. "

Garrett was silent.

"Anyway," Walard went on, "as I said, Poltest summoned a whole bunch of wizards. "Dogs all the time. I apologize in advance, Garlett, if your opinion of wizards is different from mine. In your profession it certainly is, but to me they are free eaters and fools. You wizards inspire more trust among people. You are at least, how to say, matter-of-fact."

Garrett smiled and did not respond.

"Well, but if we return to our subject ..." The commissioner glanced at his cup and poured another beer for himself and Ribi. "Some of the magicians' advice turned out to be downright stupid. One suggested burning the streak with both the palace and the sarcophagus. Another advised her head to be skewered. Exhausted from the pleasures of the night. This weak mind did indeed make the night in the royal palace. Just imagine, Gerald! It's not hard to guess that until morning not much was left of it, probably only the bonnet and staff. But Fultest clung to this idea like a dog's tail. , And instead brought to WiseA sea of ​​charlatans from all over the country will try to undo the spell and turn Stryga into a princess again. And what a bunch that was! All sorts of crazy aunts, lame of sorts, filthy, introverted, pitiful. They started with their magic, mostly with bowls and cups. Of course, Poltest or the council quickly exposed the shame of several of them. Some were even impaled on stilts, but these were too few, too few. I would hang them all. Needless to say, the sting has meanwhile continued to bite at casual people and has not addressed their scammers and curses at all. Poltest also no longer lived in the palace. Nobody lives there anymore. "I would hang them all. Needless to say, the sting has meanwhile continued to bite at casual people and has not addressed their scammers and curses at all. Poltest also no longer lived in the palace. Nobody lives there anymore. "I would hang them all. Needless to say, the sting has meanwhile continued to bite at casual people and has not addressed their scammers and curses at all. Poltest also no longer lived in the palace. Nobody lives there anymore. "

Walard stopped and finished the beer.

The sorcerer was silent.

"And all this, Garlett, has been going on for seven years, because it was born about fourteen years ago. In the meantime, we also had other worries, because we fought Wizimir from Novgorod, but this is for solid and understandable reasons - a dispute over boundaries, not about girls or about In a framed article, a framed article tells you that Poltest is already beginning to take an interest in marriage and examines portraits sent to him from neighboring royal courts; he used to throw them in the toilet. Thousands, followed by several eccentrics, stray knights, and even one little shepherd, known throughout the area as a fool, to rest in peace on his bed. "At least one benefit: the monster devours enough on the spot and does not go on hunting trips outside the palace. And Poltest has a new and beautiful palace to praise."

"Seven years," Garrett raised his head. "For seven years no one took care of the matter?"

"Indeed," Walard glared at the magician. "Because the matter is irreparable, and there is no choice but to come to terms with it. I am talking about Poltest, our gracious and beloved ruler, who continues to hang these orders at crossroads. But lately there have been fewer and fewer volunteers for the mission. "But he asked for the gold in advance. So we stuffed it in a sack and threw it into the lake."

"Scammers are not lacking."

"No, not missing. There are even many of them," confirmed the commissioner, who did not look away from the sorcerer. "So when you go to the palace, do not demand the gold in advance. If you go there at all."

"I will go."

. "So it's the most disgusting kind of joke. In any case, there was no shortage of fools rushing to the palace as soon as they learned that a golden opportunity had arisen to enter the ranks of the royal family. Two shoemakers' fringes, to be exact. Why are shoemakers so stupid, Garlett?"

"I do not know. And sorcerers, Honorable City Commissioner? Tried?"

"There were a few, and more how. In most cases, when they heard that the sting should be re-enchanted, and not killed, they shrugged and went on their way. So I developed a respect for sorcerers, Garlett. But then one came, younger than you. I do not remember what his first name was, assuming Who even provided one. He tried. "

"and...?"

"The princess tore his internal organs with her jaws and spat them around for a considerable distance. "

Garrett bowed his head.

"Was he the last?"

"There was another one."

Walard was silent for a moment. The sorcerer did not accelerate him.

"Yes," the commissioner finally said. "There was another one. Fultest first threatened to send him to the gallows if he killed the streak and even just mutilated it, and he burst out laughing and started packing. But then ..."

Wallard's voice was almost whispered again, and he leaned against the table.

"Then he took on the task. You see, Garlett, there are some intelligent people here in Wijima, some of them even in high-ranking roles, who are fed up with the whole thing. But he would kill the sting and tell the king that the spell had failed, that his little daughter had fallen down the stairs ... in short, that it was a work accident. "That we can pursue the streak for free ourselves. Well, what could have been done ... We made a fundraiser, we bargained ... only in the end nothing came of it."

Garrett raised his eyebrows.

"Nothing," Valard repeated. "The sorcerer did not want to go immediately, on the first night. He crawled, ambushed, scanned the surroundings. In the end, it is said, he saw the streak, apparently in action, for the monster would not crawl outside the crypt just to stretch its legs. Well, he saw her and walked away. Bo at night.Without parting. "

Garrett pursed his lips slightly, apparently to an expression that was supposed to be a smile.

"These wise people," he asked. "The money must still be in their hands, no? Wizards do not take payment in advance."

"Indeed," said Velard. "He's in their hands, that much is clear."

"The rumor has not clarified how much money is involved?"

Walard bared his teeth. "Some say eight hundred ..."

Garrett shook his head.

"Others," murmured the commissioner, "are talking about a thousand."

"Not much, considering that rumors tend to inflate everything. After all, the king gives three thousand."

"Not to mention the engagements," Velard joked. "It's a shame to even waste time on it. Obviously you won't get those three thousand."

"And where do you conclude that this is clear?"

Walard pounded his palm on the table.

"Garlet, do not ruin my positive opinion of sorcerers! It has been going on for seven years! The streak kills up to fifty people every year, now less, because everyone keeps their distance from the palace. No, my friend, I believe in magic, I have seen quite a bit and I believe - until A certain limit, of course, in the skills of the mystics and sorcerers. And no witchcraft will help. Stryga preys on people, as Stryga does, and it must be killed, honestly and matter-of-factly. .

"Not a bad method," the sorcerer smiled. "And crime rates have gone down?"

"Not even that."

"To the palace, the new palace, how do you get there?"

"I will accompany you personally. And what about the suggestion made by the wise men?"

"Honorable City Commissioner," Garrett said. "What is haste? A work accident may indeed occur regardless of my intentions. Then the wise men will have to think how to save me from the wrath of the king's nose and recruit the same fifteen hundred pines of which the rumor speaks."

"Speaking of a thousand."

"No, Mr. Velard," said the sorcerer emphatically. "Whoever you offered him a thousand just saw the sting and has already run away. He did not even bargain. That means the risk is greater than a thousand. Is he also greater than a thousand and five hundred? It will become clear later. Of course I will come to say goodbye before then."

Walard scratched his head.

"Garlet? A thousand and two hundred?"

"No, Your Excellency the City Commissioner. This is not an easy job. The King gives three thousand, and I must tell you that sometimes it is easier to cancel a spell than to kill. After all, if it were that simple, one of my predecessors would have killed the streak. Prey only because they were afraid of the king? "

"All right, my friend."

Walard lowered his head gloomily.

"The contract is valid. Just no tweet to the king about the possibility of a work accident. This is my preparation advice to you."

"The Wizard: The Last Wish" / Andrzej Spekowski.

From Polish: Eli Halpern.

Yedioth Books, Hemed Books.

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