10 end

 Amasa Tower rose proudly against the pale sky, like a stick stuck in the ground, silhouetted against the whitewashed wall of a piss-infested inn. Ravens and bats circled the building, screeching and calling. An atmosphere of mysticism and dread permeated the air. The air thickened, as if death lurked just around the corner, sharpening its scythe against unwary travelers and careless raven-hunting lechers. Naakin almost burst into tears (at the last moment, however, he remembered that a good witcher shouldn't cry), while Bajdel didn't feel like singing. Only Jane Achonen maintained her composure and impeccable hair.

"Okay, I have a plan," the sorceress said. "We'll knock politely and she'll surely let us in, then we'll attack immediately.

" "I'll attack too," Naakin declared.

"Don't be ridiculous, boy." Do you want to die? Besides, you don't even have anything to fight with.

"Master," the boy turned to 3eggs, "tell her something!

" The witcher smiled at being called master, but agreed with the sorceress. We can't endanger the Surprise Child. Although he's protected by Destiny anyway, it's better to be cautious and not toy with the fate of others.

Naakin just hung his head. The master knows what he's doing.

"Let's go!" Jane Achonen yelled, as if leading a company into battle. Heedless of her soldiers, she trotted to the iron-bound door and kicked it with all her might. Not a sound escaped. Only after a moment could the sorceress's broken curses be heard.

"Okay, knocking won't do, so maybe we should call him, but politely."

"I'll do it," Bajdel offered. "After all, I have, without boasting, the most beautiful and loudest voice... Hey, magician, open up! We come here with good intentions!

" "Ruffians! I'll give you good intentions! Get out, or I'll set a guard on you!" someone screeched from above

. "You're resisting," the sorceress said, "but don't be nervous. We won't achieve anything with fury and violence... Hey, Amas, come down here and show us your beautiful face!

" "Who do I hear? Isn't that our beautiful Jane Achonen? You don't play at the Magical Association anymore? Stacharska has just gone limp and can't satisfy you? Poor woman."

The sorceress had grown accustomed to being treated poorly because of her guild membership. All the magicians condemned the Magical Association for its debauchery and lewdness, but the members of the association suspected the wizards were simply jealous. The other magicians didn't copulate at all, claiming it drained their mana. Furthermore, they looked like 100-year-old, wizened old men (such an appearance added respectability, and it's always said that older meant wiser), while the members of the despised guild were always under the influence of powerful rejuvenation and beautification spells—which is why the women looked like alluring courtesans and the men like barbarian heroes from legend, with the difference that they still had a little something under their belts.

There was another reason why magicians didn't copulate: offspring. You never knew what might be born, perhaps some mutant who couldn't speak a word, but that didn't stop him from summoning demons from the Bottomless Pit. Of course, such a child had never existed, and sometimes even young farmhands could create simple illusions without any training, but it was better not to risk it. Poor things, they didn't know what they were missing.

Jane Achonen felt great pity for the withered Amas, who had never experienced the heat of a woman's body. For such an unfortunate man, one had to be understanding and not too harsh.

"Amas, you son of a bitch, open up immediately, or I'll make mincemeat out of your ass!"

Gentle persuasion, and how it worked. Something clicked, and the door slowly began to open. Only, unfortunately, the mage wasn't alone. A cordon of heavily armed ogres surrounded him, each one as large and stupid as a barn (referring, of course, to the intelligence of the barn itself, without the livestock inside). A great battle was brewing.

"Yes, my dears," said Amas, "we'll have some fun here."

The ogres grabbed large, nail-studded clubs, and the wizard began to look around for someone to cast a spell on. Finally, his gaze fell, for some reason, on little Naakin. They stood for a moment, glaring at each other and making silly faces. Suddenly, their fun was interrupted by a fireball hurtling straight at Amas. The boy clung to his eggs.

"You know, Master, this man is evil, I can feel it! It's a good thing they're about to burn him!"

The ball whistled over the heads of the opponents, reducing them to miserable, ash-colored remains. The stench of burning flesh, burning wood, burning hair, burning skin, and various other burning things filled the air, excluding, of course, the Herb.

"Did we win?" 3jaja asked timidly.

"No, I won!" a melodic voice said proudly, and a beautiful elf in a flowing robe jumped down from a nearby baobab tree. She looked like a magician, though she still had small breasts and unevenly cut bangs.

3jaja had had enough of people suddenly jumping out from around a corner or other. In such situations, his blood could freeze. Or his heart could stop. And here was an elf with smoking fingers behaving as if she didn't know what "good manners" meant. But she could be forgiven for being an elf.

"You're a good sorceress," admitted Jane Achonen.

"I don't need your praise, my dear!

" "Sir, stop it!" Bajdel soothed. "There... there's something moving!"

Indeed, Amas had scoffed at the laws of physics and magic and calmly rose from the dead, or rather from the ground. The fireball hadn't done its job.

"Buahahaha!" the mage cackled, as demonically as he could. "Your tricks won't destroy me, but my Art will destroy you!"

And to confirm his words, he summoned cursed powers, directed them directly at the elf, and laughed again, his evil laugh. The woman's body shattered into tiny pieces. She didn't even have time to cast a protective spell.

"Didn't I tell you? You won't defeat me! I am powerful and invincible!"

Jane Achonen gritted her teeth with determination. She knew her opponent was no small matter, but with a bit of luck, she should be able to defeat him. The magician formed a dark green cone from the power in the air and threw it at Amas. The wizard jumped unnaturally high, and instead of slicing his stomach, the cone slit itself open on the tower wall.

"Keep trying, this is quite a workout for me!"

You're overconfident, thought 3jaja. And it's always the case that those most certain of victory suffer a crushing defeat. That's why the witcher felt no fear. His heart was filled with a courage and bravery he had never known before. Now he had someone to fight for; he had to survive so that young Naakin could become a witcher and, like him, plunge his sword into the wrinkled bodies of wicked sorcerers. So he leaped bravely, Geralt ready to taste blood, and struck Amas like a stone striking an unsuspecting window. The mage didn't even flinch. He accepted the blow humbly, as if knowing his death was inevitable... He simply knew that the sword's blade would do him no harm, for he wore a robe that placed its wielder under the constant influence of Protection from Swords.

"You are truly ridiculous!" the mage declared. He glanced at the strange group: a black-haired sorceress who couldn't break through his protective barrier, for he drew his power from Evil. The green-haired mutant stroked his sword and whispered soothing words to it. A freckled man in garish clothing tried to hide behind a baobab tree. A ragged kid... a ragged kid... he was gone. He probably crapped his pants from fear and went off somewhere to cry.

Poor old Amas. It was a good thing he didn't see the expression on the boy's face as he coldly stalked him from behind, silent as a fart in front of his fiancée. Then came the blow. Just one. After that, the lousy mage's eyes closed forever.

Bajdel, 3jaja, and above all, Jane Achonen couldn't shake their astonishment. They stood motionless, staring at the boy and wondering how he'd done it. Had he cast an ancient spell on him that even the gods couldn't resist? Did he have an incredibly magical dagger, the kind some call a "+10"? Or perhaps Amas had killed himself because he'd grown tired of fighting? There were many speculations, each more incredible than the next. And Naakin had no intention of speaking; he simply stood there with a mischievous grin, waiting for the applause.

"Yeah, you did a great job," Bajdel admitted, "but how did you manage to kill him?

" "I found his weak spot. All I had to do was stick a stick in there and that was it.

" "I mean, what was his weak spot?"

"And we have to turn him around, because you can't see it... oh, now...

" "Oh, Holy Wednesday!" the poet groaned, "that must have hurt! Sticking a stick in that place... I'm starting to feel sorry for him!

" "I've heard that sometimes they put... all sorts of things there," said 3jaja

. "Well, yes... but I wouldn't want someone to kill me by sticking a stick in my ear! But why are we standing there so sad? After all, our quest, so to speak in dwarven terms, is over. Aren't you happy?

" "Wait, we still have to explain who we killed... honey, please tell me," he asked tenderly.

"It was Amas," Jane Achonen revealed. "The evil magician. I've known him since my youth." Even then, he was showing sadistic tendencies! He wanted to kill his fellow professionals, and not just us, the Magical Association. He'd always been interested in vermin... it was easy to deduce who sent Fonklice.

"I'm hungry," the witcher blurted out, "adventures and saving the world work up an appetite. Let's go into the tower; there's definitely some food there, but I don't; at least these are cool artifacts."

The tower, like every tower, contained a lot of stone, cool air, a pinch of cockroaches, a bit of dirt, and things that evoked unsettling feelings. There was no food. Almost.

"Fish! I found a fish!" Bajdel rejoiced.

"Is it very stale?" Jane Achonen asked

, "Fresh, still moving! It's swimming in that glass, look! But baby, no one's going to eat.

" "Without fish and fish, fish," he spouted folk wisdom, pulling the animal out of the glass.

Then what everyone expected happened. The fish began to scream inhumanly (or rather humanly, because if someone is screaming, there's a greater likelihood that they're human). The witcher looked at it menacingly and asked what was wrong.

"Please don't kill me!" the would-be victim squealed. "I'll grant you three wishes!"

"Oh, shut up, you slobbering amphibian! I can't stand my dinner talking.

" The fish remained obediently silent. Meanwhile, Bajdel had found a strange device in the corner, a long, smooth stick with a clump of thin willow twigs at the end. "Bimbus 3000" was engraved on the device. The poet had no idea what it could be used for. For flying? Or maybe as fuel for the stove? He showed the strange thing to Jane Achonen and Naakin.

"Look at that funny stick. I'd like to know what it's for.

" "Oh my!" Naakin shook himself.

"Did something happen to you?

" "No, a strange voice and the image of a fish came into my head. Ridiculous. It said it was a broom and belonged to some little sweeper who swept the floor with it. Mice liked to live inside.

Suddenly, 3jaja had an epiphany. So the fish was telling the truth after all! Two wishes had been granted, a third remained. What could he possibly desire? He had a lover, a purpose in life, a few copper coins from Turnip's purse, and success with women. What didn't he have?

What didn't he have?

Then, as if in a flash, the image of a piebald mare with wise eyes came to mind. Psotka... His beloved friend, abandoned to the mercy of guards and the butcher! He already knew what wish he would soon make.

"I want..." he whispered timidly. "I want Psotka..."

A look of relief crossed his face. Soon they would be together, and everything would end well. In a moment, he would stroke the piebald fur, hear the familiar neighing and clatter of hooves... Life is beautiful. Psotka would return, Psotunia! All he had to do was make a wish.

"You know what? I want poop!" said Bajdel.