‘Where did I…’ he said, coughing. He sat up. ‘Where did I get to? Ah, the sorcerers… Geralt? Where are you?’

‘Here,’ said the Witcher, barely visible in the gloom. ‘Go on, please. You were just going to tell me about Yennefer.’

‘Listen,’ said the poet, knowing perfectly well he’d had absolutely no intention of even mentioning the person in question. ‘I really know nothing…’

‘Don’t lie. I know you.’

‘If you know me so well,’ said the troubadour, beginning to bristle, ‘why the bloody hell are you making me speak? Since you know me through and through, you ought to know why I’m keeping my counsel, why I’m not repeating the gossip I’ve heard! You also ought to be able to guess what the gossip is and why I want to spare you it!’

‘Que suecc’s?’ said one of the dryads sleeping nearby, on being woken by his raised voice.

‘I beg your pardon,’ said the Witcher softly.

Almost all of the green lanterns of Brokilon were out; only a few of them still glimmered gently.

‘Geralt,’ said Dandelion, interrupting the silence. ‘You’ve always maintained that you don’t get involved, that nothing matters to you… She may have believed that. She believed that when she began this game with Vilgefortz—’

‘Enough,’ said Geralt. ‘Not another word. When I hear the word “game” I feel like killing someone. Oh, give me that razor. I want to have that shave at last.’

‘Now? It’s still dark…’

‘It’s never too dark for me. I’m a freak.’

After the Witcher had snatched the pouch of toiletries from him and headed off towards the stream, Dandelion realised he had shaken off all drowsiness. The sky was already lightening with the promise of dawn. He got up and walked into the forest, carefully stepping over the dryads, who were sleeping cuddled together.

‘Are you one of those who had a hand in this?’

He turned around suddenly. The dryad leaning against a pine tree had hair the colour of silver, visible even in the half-light of the dawn.

‘A most deplorable sight,’ she said, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Someone who has lost everything. You know, minstrel, it is interesting. Once, I thought it was impossible to lose everything, that something always remains. Always. Even in times of contempt, when naivety is capable of backfiring in the cruellest way, one cannot lose everything. But he… he lost several pints of blood, the ability to walk properly, the partial use of his left hand, his witcher’s sword, the woman he loves, the daughter he had gained by a miracle, his faith… Well, I thought, he must have been left with something. But I was wrong. He has nothing now. Not even a razor.’

Dandelion remained silent. The dryad did not move.

‘I asked if you had a hand in this,’ she began a moment later. ‘But I think there was no need. It’s obvious you had a hand in it. It’s obvious you are his friend. And if someone has friends, and he loses everything in spite of that, it’s obvious the friends are to blame. For what they did, or for what they didn’t do.’