Sword of Destiny by Andrzej Sapkowski Read Free Book Online Page B

royal matters, Witcher. And don’t consort with Dorregaray.’
    ‘I am not accustomed to consorting with sorcerers. Why such an inference?’
    ‘Dorregaray,’ Gyllenstiern said, ‘surpasses even witchers with his whims. He does not stop at categorising monsters into good and bad. He considers them all good.’
    ‘That’s overstating the case somewhat.’
    ‘Clearly. But he defends his views with astonishing obstinacy. I truly would not be surprised if something befell him. And the fact he joined us keeping such curious company—’
    ‘I am not Dorregaray’s companion. And neither is he mine.’
    ‘Don’t interrupt. The company is strange. A witcher crawling with scruples like a fox’s pelt with fleas. A sorcerer spouting druidic humbug about equilibrium in nature. The silent knight Borch Three Jackdaws and his escort from Zerrikania, where–as is generally known–sacrifices are made before the image of a dragon. And suddenly they all join in the hunt. Strange, isn’t it?’
    ‘If you insist, then yes it is.’
    ‘Know then,’ the chancellor said, ‘that the most mysterious problems find–as experience proves–the simplest solutions. Don’t compel me, Witcher, to use them.’
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    ‘Oh, but you do. Thank you for the conversation, Geralt.’
    Geralt stopped. Gyllenstiern urged his horse on and joined the king, catching up with the caravan. Eyck of Denesle rode alongside wearing a quilted kaftan of light-coloured leather marked with the impressions of a breastplate, pulling a packhorse laden with a suit of armour, a uniformly silver shield and a powerful lance. Geralt greeted him by raising his hand, but the knight errant turned his head to the side, tightening his thin lips, and spurred his horse on.
    ‘He isn’t keen on you,’ Dorregaray said, riding over. ‘Eh, Geralt?’
    ‘Clearly.’
    ‘Competition, isn’t it? The two of you have similar occupations. Except that Eyck is an idealist, and you are a professional. A minor difference, particularly for the ones you kill.’
    ‘Don’t compare me to Eyck, Dorregaray. The devil knows who you wrong with that comparison, him or me, but don’t compare us.’
    ‘As you wish. To me, frankly speaking, you are equally loathsome.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Don’t mention it,’ the sorcerer patted the neck of his horse, which had been scared by all the yelling from Yarpen and his dwarves. ‘To me, Witcher, calling killing a vocation is loathsome, low and nonsensical. Our world is in equilibrium. The annihilation, the killing, of any creatures that inhabit this world upsets that equilibrium. And a lack of equilibrium brings closer extinction; extinction and the end of the world as we know it.’
    ‘A druidic theory,’ Geralt pronounced. ‘I know it. An old hierophant expounded it to me once, back in Rivia. Two days after our conversation he was torn apart by wererats. It was impossible to prove any upset in equilibrium.’
    ‘The world, I repeat,’ Dorregaray glanced at him indifferently, ‘is in equilibrium. Natural equilibrium. Every species has its own natural enemies, every one is the natural enemy of other species. That also includes humans. The extermination of the natural enemies of humans, which you dedicate yourself to, and which one can begin to observe, threatens the degeneration of the race.’
    ‘Do you know what, sorcerer?’ Geralt said, annoyed. ‘One day, take yourself to a mother whose child has been devoured by a basilisk, and tell her she ought to be glad, because thanks to that the human race has escaped degeneration. See what she says to you.’
    ‘A good argument, Witcher,’ Yennefer said, riding up to them on her large, black horse. ‘And you, Dorregaray, be careful what you say.’
    ‘I’m not accustomed to concealing my views.’
    Yennefer rode between them. The Witcher noticed that the golden hairnet had been replaced by a rolled up white kerchief.
    ‘Start concealing them as quickly as