At long last Velko got to the first barbican of Moroygrad, the witches’ fortress. Yes, fortress they called it, yet it was a whole city, a city whose size nobody knew, apparently. It could spread across tens of kilometers, even hundreds, for that matter. No one had gone in and back out to tell. Fortress, a fortified city, a fortified country--it was a complete mystery.
Velko stared dully at the gate.
"Why wouldn’t those retards just go along the walls on the outside and see how far they reach? " he told his dog. "Is it that difficult? I know these are of some primeval civilization, and a ton of stuff’s unknown to them, but still."
The dog did not answer.
"Are you listening to me?" Velko looked down toward his fat, one-eyed dachshund.
The animal was gnawing at its crotch intently. It disregarded him for a moment, then raised its eyes up slothfully--one honey-colored, the other pink--to state, "I’m busy," and resumed its gnawing. The rear’s tiny, blac