Анджей Сапковский - Lesser Evil

"I'm all ears."

"One," said Renfri. "Is Stregobor himself. He will leave his tower of his own will, and I will take him to some wilderness, and Blaviken will be allowed to plunge in blessed bucolic idleness again and will soon forget the whole affair."

"Stregobor may make the impression of a deranged, yet not to such an extent."

"Who knows, hexer, who knows. There are arguments which cannot be opposed or resisted, there are also offers which cannot be reject. Among these there's for instance the Tridamian ultimatum. I will offer the witch Tridamian ultimatum.

"What is such an ultimatum?"

"My sweet secret."

"Let it be. Yet I doubt if it's going to be effective. Stregobor's teeth chatter, when talking about you. An ultimatum, which would convince him to surrender of his own accord into your beautiful hands would have to be a mighty one, indeed. Let us then proceed to the other person who can prevent carnage in Blaviken. I shall try to guess who this person is."

"Your sagacity makes me wonder, chalkhaired."

"It's you, Renfri. You yourself. You will display ducal — what am I saying — regal magnanimity indeed and you will renounce vengeance. Have I guessed right?"

Renfri tossed her head back and laughed loudly, timely covering her mouth with her hand. Then she became serious again and, fixed her gleaming yes at the hexer."

"Geralt," she said. "I was a duchess, but in Creyden. I had all I dreamt about, and I didn't even need to ask. Servants at every request, dresses, shoes. Batiste panties. Jewels and other trinkets, a sorrel pony, goldfish in a pond. Dolls and a house for them, larger than this room of yours here. And it went on till the day when that Stregobor of yours and that whore Aridea made her Master of the Hunt take me to the forest, cut my throat and bring the heart and liver to them. Lovely, wasn't it?"

"No. Rather disgusting. I am happy you managed with the Master of the Hunt, Renfri."

"Shit, I didn't. He pitied me and let me go. But before that he raped me, the bastard, and stole my earrings and a golden coronet.

Geralt looked her straight in the eye, playing with the medallion.

She didn't look down.

"And that was the end of the little duchess," she continued. "The dress was torn, the whiteness of batiste was lost never to return. Then came the dirt, the hunger, the stench, the cudgels, and the kicks.

Agreeing to being bonked by any nitwit for a bowl of soup or a place to sleep. Do you know what hair I had? Like silk. And they reached well over an ell beyond my bum. When I contracted lice, it was cut with scissors for sheep-shearing, close at the very skin. They have never grew back that much."

She went silent for a while, and removed the uneven locks from her forehead.

I used to steal, just not to perish of hunger," she continued. "I used to kill, so that I weren't killed myself. I spent my time in dungeons reeking of urine, not knowing if I were to be hanged the next day, or only whipped and exiled. And all that time my step-mother and that witch of ours were close on my heels, paying assassins, and attempting to poison.

They cast spells. To show magnanimity? To forgive him royally? I will tear his head off royally, but maybe both the legs first — we shall see."

"Aridea and Stregobor tried to poison you?"

"True. With an apple, laced with banewort essence. A gnome saved me.

He gave me an emetic, after which I thought I would turn my insides out like a stocking. But I survived."

"He was one of the seven gnomes, wasn't he?"

Renfri, who was busily pouring, froze with the wineskin over the cup.

"A-ha," she said "You know quite a lot about me. And what? Got something against gnomes? Or other humanoids? If I am to be precise, they were better for me than most people. But you shouldn't care about that.

I've told you: Stregobor and Aridea chased me like a wild beast as long as they were able to do so. Then they stopped being able, and I myself turned into the hunter. Aridea kicked the bucket in her own bed, she was lucky that I hadn't reached her earlier, I had prepared a special programme for her. And now I've got one for the witch. Geralt, has he deserved death according to you? Tell me."

"I am not a judge. I am a hexer."

"That is right. I said that there are two people who can prevent bloodshed in Blaviken. You are the other. The witch will let you into the tower, and then you kill him."

"Renfri," said Geralt calmly. "Didn't you, by any chance, coming to my room slip off the roof head down?"

"Are you a hexer, or not, dammit? They say you killed a kikimore, and brought it here on a donkey for pricing. Stregobor is worse than a kikimore, which is a mindless beast: it kills for so it was designed by the gods. Stregobor is a savage, a maniac, a monster. Bring him to me on a donkey, and I will not spare gold."

"I am not a mercenary rogue, Shrike."

"You aren't," she agreed with a smile. She leaned against the back of her chair and crossed her legs up on the table, making not a least effort to cover her thighs with the skirt. "You are a hexer, the defender of people, whom you defend from Evil. And in this case the Evil is the fire and iron which shall start playing havoc here, when we stand eye to eye against each other. Don't you think that what I have to offer is the lesser evil, the best solution? Even for that bastard Stregobor. You can kill him with mercy — just one unexpected thrust. He will die not knowing he is dying. And I won't vouchsafe that to him. Just the contrary."

Geralt remained silent. Renfri stretched, raising her hands.

"I understand your hesitation," she said. "But I must know the answer this instant."

"Do you know why Stregobor and the Duchess wanted to kill you, then in Creyden, and later?"

Renfri suddenly straightened up and took her legs off the table.

"It's quite obvious," she burst. "They wanted to get rid of the first-born daughter of Fredefalk, as I was heir apparent to the throne.

The children of Aridea were of a morganatic wedlock and had no rights to…"

"Renfri, this is not what I meant."

The girl dropped her head but only for a moment Her eyes flashed.

"Well then. I am supposed to be accursed. Corrupted in my mother's womb. I am to be…"

"Finish it."

"A monster."

"And are you?"

For a moment, though a very short one, she looked defenceless and broken down. And very sad too.

"I don't know, Geralt," she whispered. Then her features went hard again. "For how, the hell, should I know? If I hurt my finger I bleed. I also bleed every month. When I pig out, I have a stomach-ache, and if I get drunk — a headache. Jolly I sing; sad I swear. If I hate one I kill him, and if… Well, sod it, it's enough… Your answer, hexer."

"My answer is 'No.'"

"Do you remember what I said?" she asked after a moment's silence.

"There are offers one cannot reject, for the results may be terrible. I am warning you in earnest: mine was one of these.

"I have made up my mind. And treat me seriously, as I am also giving you a serious warning."

Renfri remained silent for some time, fidgeting with a string of pearls running three times around her shapely neck, and teasingly dropping between the two shapely spheres visible in the low cut neckline of her doublet.

"Geralt," she said "Has Stregobor asked you to kill me?"

"Yes. He considered it to be lesser evil."

"Can I take it for granted that you refused then, just like you refused a moment ago?"

"You can."

"Why?"

"Because I don't believe in lesser evil."

After Renfri smiled delicately, her lips was contorted by a grimace looking nastily in the yellowish glow of the candle.

"You don't believe, you say. You see, you are right, but only to a certain extent. There is Evil and the Greater Evil, and behind both of them, in the shade, there is the Very Great Evil. Very Great Evil, Geralt, is one which you cannot even imagine, even though you thought that nothing can surprise you. And you see, Geralt, sometimes it goes so that this Very Great Evil clutches you by the throat and says: "Choose, fella, either me or that one, slightly lesser".