‘Are the warriors versed in the Common Speech?’ Geralt asked quietly, sneaking a sideways glance at them.

‘Poorly. And they are not garrulous. For which they deserve credit. How do you find the soup, Geralt?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Let us drink.’

‘Mmm.’

‘Geralt,’ Three Jackdaws began, putting aside his spoon and hiccoughing in a dignified manner, ‘I wish to return, for a moment, to the conversation we had on the road. I understand that you, a witcher, wander from one end of the world to the other, and should you come across a monster along the way, you kill it. And you earn money doing that. Does that describe the witcher’s trade?’

‘More or less.’

‘And does it ever happen that someone specifically summons you somewhere? On a special commission, let’s say. Then what? You go and carry it out?’

‘That depends on who asks me and why.’

‘And for how much?’

‘That too,’ the Witcher shrugged. ‘Prices are going up, and one has to live, as a sorceress acquaintance of mine used to say.’

‘Quite a selective approach; very practical, I’d say. But at the root of it lies some idea, Geralt. The conflict between the forces of Order and the forces of Chaos, as a sorcerer acquaintance of mine used to say. I imagine that you carry out your mission, defending people from Evil, always and everywhere. Without distinction. You stand on a clearly defined side of the palisade.’

‘The forces of Order, the forces of Chaos. Awfully high-flown words, Borch. You desperately want to position me on one side of the palisade in a conflict, which is generally thought to be perennial, began long before us and will endure long after we’ve gone. On which side does the farrier, shoeing horses, stand? Or our innkeeper, hurrying here with a cauldron of lamb? What, in your opinion, defines the border between Chaos and Order?’

‘A very simple thing,’ said Three Jackdaws, and looked him straight in the eye. ‘That which represents Chaos is menace, is the aggressive side. While Order is the side being threatened, in need of protection. In need of a defender. But let us drink. And make a start on the lamb.’

‘Rightly said.’

The Zerrikanians, watching their figures, were taking a break from eating, time they spent drinking more quickly. Véa, leaning over on her companion’s shoulder, whispered something again, brushing the table top with her plait. Téa, the shorter of the two, laughed loudly, cheerfully narrowing her tattooed eyelids.

‘Yes,’ Borch said, picking a bone clean. ‘Let us continue our talk, if you will. I understand you aren’t keen on being placed on either side. You do your job.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘But you cannot escape the conflict between Chaos and Order. Although it was your comparison, you are not a farrier. I’ve seen you work. You go down into a dungeon among some ruins and come out with a slaughtered basilisk. There is, comrade, a difference between shoeing horses and killing basilisks. You said that if the payment is fair, you’ll hurry to the end of the world and dispatch the monster you’re asked to. Let’s say a fierce dragon is wreaking havoc on a—’