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The witcher solemnly promised himself that nothing would surprise him anymore.
During his life, the witcher had met thieves who looked like town councillors, councillors who looked like beggars, harlots who looked like princesses, princesses who looked like calving cows and kings who looked like thieves. But Stregobor always looked as, according to every rule and notion, a wizard should look.
‘Nonsense,’ said the witcher. ‘And what’s more, it doesn’t rhyme. All decent predictions rhyme.
‘Evil is evil, Stregobor,’ said the witcher seriously as he got up. ‘Lesser, greater, middling, it’s all the same. Proportions are negotiated, boundaries blurred. I’m not a pious hermit, I haven’t done only good in my life. But if I’m to choose between one evil and another, then I prefer not to choose at all.
‘You’re probably not very interesting company, then.
‘Unclear tasks,’ said the witcher dryly, ‘can’t be clearly executed.’
Note that I didn’t say “I can buy you”, because I’ve decided not to offend your witcher’s pride. There’s a huge difference, isn’t there?’ ‘The magnitude of this difference has somehow escaped my notice.’
‘That you’ve lifted the curse. It’s you who’s lifted it,’ said the witcher. ‘The moment you said “I’m giving you Pavetta” destiny was fulfilled.’
You protect us not only from the evil lurking in the darkness, but also from that which lies within ourselves.
‘Yes, you’re not wrong, queen. Duny! You will give me that which you already have but do not know. I’ll return to Cintra in six years to see if destiny has been kind to me.’ ‘Pavetta,’ Duny opened his eyes wide. ‘Surely you’re not—’ ‘Pavetta!’ exclaimed Calanthe. ‘Are you . . . are you—?’ The princess lowered her eyes and blushed. Then replied.
‘You remind me, Geralt, of an old fisherman who, towards the end of his life, discovers that fish stink and the breeze from the sea makes your bones ache. Be consistent. Talking and regretting won’t get you anywhere. If I were to find that the demand for poetry had come to an end, I’d hang up my lute and become a gardener. I’d grow roses.’
‘People,’ Geralt turned his head, ‘like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat their wives, starve an old woman, when they kill a trapped fox with an axe or riddle the last existing unicorn with arrows, they like to think that the Bane entering cottages at daybreak is more monstrous than they are. They feel better then. They find it easier to live.’
‘We poets have to know about everything,’ said Dandilion haughtily. ‘Otherwise we’d compromise our work. One has to learn, my dear fellow, learn. The fate of the world depends on agriculture, so it’s good to know about it. Agriculture feeds, clothes, protects from the cold, provides entertainment and supports art.’
‘True,’ Geralt smiled. ‘But Dandilion, I could never resist the temptation of having a look at something that doesn’t exist.’
A heavy smell of sour wine, candles and overripe fruit hung in the air. And something else, that brought to mind a mixture of the scents of lilac and gooseberries.
‘Make use of the opportunity to have a bath yourself. I can not only guess the age and breed of your horse, but also its colour, by the smell.’
Don’t worry, my portals are safe.’ Geralt had once watched as only half a traveller using a safe portal flew through. The other half was never found.
Chireadan also smiled. ‘It’s almost as though you thought a scorpion were prettier than a spider,’ he said, ‘because it’s got such a lovely tail. Be careful, Geralt. You’re not the first to have judged her like that without knowing she’s turned her charm and beauty into weapons.
So only daughters with no chance of finding a husband become sorceresses.
‘What is this, Yennefer?’ ‘A trap.’ ‘For what?’ ‘For you, for the time being.’ The sorceress turned the key in the lock, then turned it over in her hand. The key disappeared. ‘And thus I’m trapped,’ he said coldly. ‘What now? Are you going to assault my virtue?’
