‘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 The Witcher noticed that the golden hairnet had been replaced by a rolled up white kerchief.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 possible, Dorregaray,’ she said, ‘especially before Niedamir and the Reavers, who already suspect you plan to interfere in the killing of the dragon. As long as you only talk, they treat you like a harmless maniac. If, however, you try to start anything they’ll break your neck before you manage to let out a sigh.’

The sorcerer smiled contemptuously and condescendingly.

‘And besides,’ Yennefer continued, ‘by expressing those views you damage the solemnity of our profession and vocation.’

‘How so?’

‘You can apply your theory to all sorts of creatures and vermin, Dorregaray. But not to dragons. For dragons are the natural, greatest enemies of man. And I do not refer to the degeneration of the human race, but to its survival. In order to survive, one has to crush one’s enemies, enemies which might prevent that survival.’

‘Dragons aren’t man’s enemies,’ Geralt broke in. The sorceress looked at him and smiled. But only with her lips.