The Time of Contempt

by Andrzej Sapkowski

  Rayla did not answer, only gestured with a head movement toward the pass, the winding road, the last latecomers of the long crowd fleeing to the border. Willis understood. He swore stupidly and jumped to the ground. He stumbled and leaned against his sword.

  ‘Down from the horses!’ she shouted hoarsely at the soldiers. ‘Block the road with anything you can find! What are you looking at? Once our mothers bore us and once we have to die! We are soldiers! We are the back train! We have to stop the hunting dogs, stall…’

  He stopped talking.

  ‘If we delay the pursuit, the people will get to the other side of the mountains, to Temeria,’ finished Rayla and also dismounted. ‘There in front of us are women and children. Why do you look so surprised? It is our work! They paid us for that, did you forget?’

  The soldiers were looking at each other awkwardly. Rayla thought for a moment, that they will start running away, that they would force the tired horses to a last, desperate struggle, that they will ride to the colony – to the salvation of the pass. She was wrong. She guessed them wrong.

  In a narrower place, they rolled over an abandoned cart. They hurriedly built a barricade. A makeshift one. A low one. An insufficient one.

  They did not wait for long.

  Two horses came to the glen. They panted, stumbled, shook dust of their bodies. Only one of them had a rider.

  ‘Blaise!’

  ‘Prepare yourself…’ blurted the mercanary out and fell from his saddle onto the outstretched hands of the defenders. ‘Prepare yourself… shit, they are behind me…’

  The horse croaked, did a few stepped to the side, as if he was dancing, fell to the ground, rolled to the side and weakly nickered.

  ‘Rayla…’ rasped Blaise, looking away from the haunted animal. ‘Give me somthing… A weapon. I lost my sword…’

  The warrior, still watching the pillars of smoke rising to the sky from the fires in the valley, gestured with her head toward the cart. An axe was leaning against it. Blaise took it and hefted it. When he stood up, blood was dripping from his left pant leg.

  ‘What about the others, Blaise?’

  ‘Dead’ whispered the mercanary. ‘All of them. The whole division… Rayla, its not Nilfgaard… Its the elves. Squirells… Scoia’tael are going ahead, ahead of the regular army.’

  One of the soldiers was not ashamed to whimper, another one fell to the ground and hid his face in his palms. Willis swore and tightened the belts of his cuirass.

  ‘On your positions!’ called Rayla. ‘Onto the barricade! They wont get us alive! That I promise!’

  Willis spat, tore off the three colored, black-golden-red cockade of the special forces of king Demawen and threw it away. Rayla smoothed and rubbed her own badge. She smiled crookedly:

  ‘I dont know if it will help you Willis. I really dont know.’

  ‘Rayla, you promised me…’

  ‘I did. And I will fulfill my promise. On your positions lads! Get the crossbows.!’

  They did not wait long.

  After they repelled the first wave, only six of them were left. The battle was short but tough. The conscripts from Vengenberg were fighting like wolves, they matched the battle-hardened soldiers in their ferocity. No one wanted to fall into Scoia’tael hands alive. They chose death in battle. And they died hit by arrows, pierced by pikes, sliced by swords. Blaise died laying down, sliced up by the knifes of two elves, that jumped on him after they pulled him from the barricade. But none of the two elves stood up again. Blaise also had a knife.

  The Scoia’tael did not let them breath. They threw a second attack at them. Willis, hit by a spear for the third time, fell to the ground.

  ‘Rayla! He called weakly, ‘You promised!’

  The mercenary repelled another elf and swiftly turned around.

  ‘Pleasant journey, Willis,. She put her sword against his ribs and pushed. ‘See you again in hell!’

  After a while, she was alone. The Scoia’tael surrounded her on all sides. The warrior, soaked in blood from head to feet. Lifted her sword and twirled, her black ponytail whirling in the air. She stood among the dead, stooping, terrible like a demon. The elves involuntarily took a step back.

  ‘Come!’ she roared a challenge. ‘What are you waiting for? You wont get me alive! I am Rayla!’

  ‘Gláeddyv vort, beanna,’ said calmly a handsome blonde elf with a face of cherub and big skyblue eyes of a child, that appeared behind the backs of the hesitating Scoia’tael. His snowwhite horse snorted, tossed his noble head and energetically raked the blood soaked gravel of the road.

  ‘Gláeddyv vort, beanna,’ said the rider again. ‘Throw away that sword, woman.’

  The warrior laughed furiously. She wiped her face with her glove and that way smeared sweat with dust and blood into a terrible war paint.

  ‘My sword was too expensive for me to throw him around, elf!’ she shouted her answer. ‘If you want to take it, you will have to break my fingers! I am White Rayla! So come!’

  She did not wait long.

  * * *

  ‘No one came to help Aedirn?’ asked the witcher after a long moment of silence. ‘It had political bonds after all. Agreements of help… contracts…’

  ‘Redania,’ Dandelion cleared his throat ‘fell into inner turmoil after the assassination of the king. Did you even know that Vizimir was murdered?’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘The head of the state is, by title the queen Hedwig, but the land is in chaos. And terror. They are hunting Scoia’tael and Nilfgaardian spies. Djikstra advised the whole kingdom, the execution places were red with blood. Oh and Djikstra still cant walk. They carry him in a litter!

  ‘I expected that. Did he pursue you?’

  ‘No. He could have but did not. Ach, that is not important. In any case, the inner political situation did not allow Redania to send the army to help Aedirn.’

  And Temeria? Why did Foltest of Temeria not help Demavend?’

  ‘As soon as the invasion in Dol Angra started?’ said Dandelion silently. ‘Emhyr var Emreis sent a message to Vizima…’

  * * *

  ‘Curse them!’ growled Bronibor, looking at the closed doors. ‘What are they negotiating so long? Why did Foltest even agree to give an audience to that Nilfgaardian dog? He should have cut his head off and sent it back to Emhyr. In a bag!’

  ‘By the gods, duke, ‘ gasped High Priest Willemer. ‘But it is a messenger, an untouchable person. You cannot…’

  ‘I cant? I will tell you what I cant! I cant idly stand here and look, as our enemy ravages the land of our ally! Lyria already fell and Aedirn is in danger! Demavend wont stop Nilfgaard alone! We must immediately send an expedition to Aedirn and help Demavend by attacking the other side of the Yaruga! There are not many soldiers there now, most of them were called to the north! And we are negotiating here! We are talking instead of fighting! And we have a Nilfgaardian bastard as a guest!’

  ‘Silence duke!’ Prince Hereward of Ellander coldly tamed the old soldier. ‘This is high politics. You have to look further than the horses head and the end of the tilted pike. We have to hear the messenger. Emperor Emhyr surely did not send him without a reason.’

  ‘That is clear, there is a reason.’ Bronibor cut him off. ‘Emhyr is crushing Aedirn right now. He knows, that if we strike now, and with us Redania and Kaedwen we will beat him and push him even out of Dol Angra somehwere to Ebbing. He knows, that if we attack Cintra, we will strike him in his unguarded stomach, we will force him to a war on two fronts. He fears that! He tries to scare us so we dont cross his plans. That is the true reason why his messenger came!’

  ‘It is wise, to hear out any message,’ said the prince. ‘and then decide, what will be best for our country. Demavend provoked Nilfgaard and now is paying for his hasty step. As for me, Im not in a hurry to go die for Vengenberg. What is going on in Aedirn, is none of our business.’

  ‘Our business? What is that, for fucks sake, bullshit? The Nilfgaardian
s are in Lyria and Aedirn, on the right side of the Yaruga! That, that only Mahakam divides us from them is not our business? Only a complete idiot could say that….’

  ‘Enough arguing’ Willemer cut them both off. ‘Not a word more, the king comes.’

  The doors of the negotiating room opened. The members of the Royal Council rattled as they were pushing their chairs, then stood up. Many places were empty. The Crown Governor and most of the commanders were with their armies, waiting in the Pontar Valley, Mahakaman Foothills, on the shores of the Yaruga. The places of the sorcerers were also empty. Sorcerers… Yes, thought priest Willemer, here in the royal court in Vizima, the places of the sorcerers will be empty for a very long time. Who knows, if not forever.

  King Foltest strode quickly through the room, stopped at the throne, but did not sit down, only bowed down slightly and leaned his clenching fists on the table. He was very pale.

  ‘Vengenberg is besieged,’ said the Temerian ruler silenty ‘and will be conquered in the next hours. Nilfgaard is marching to the north. The cut off regiments will resist, but they cannot change the outcome of the war. Aedirn is lost. Demavend fled to Redania. The fate of Queen Meve is unknown.’

  The council was silent.

  ‘Our eastern borders, that is the delta of the Pontar Valley, will be reached by Nilfgaard in a few days.’ Talked silently Foltest. ‘The last Aedirnian fortress, Hagge will not hold for long. And Hagge, is our eastern border. And to our southern border… a very bad thing happened. King Ervyll of Verden paid tribute to Emporer Emhyr. He opened the fortresses on the lower Yaruga, those that should have watched our flanks. On Nastrog, Rozrog and Bodrog are currently Nilfgaardian crews.’

  The council was silent.

  ‘Thanks to that, Ervyll kept his royal title, his feudal lord is Emhyr though. Formally, Vergen remains a kingdom, it is not a de facto Nilfgaardian province. You understand, I hope, what that means? The situation has changed radically. The fortresses if Verden control the delta of the Yaruga and they are in the hands of the Nilfgaardians. Because of that, it is out of question for us to cross to river. We cannot even weaken the army there by sending help to Aedirn. It is not possible. The responsibility for my land and men burdens me.’

  The council was silent.

  ‘Emperor Emhyr var Emreis, Imperator of Nilfgaard,’ continued the king, ‘sent me a proposal… of an agreement. I accepted. I will tell you its contents. And you, once you have heard me out, will understand… You will accept that… You will say…’

  The council was silent.

  ‘You will say,’ fininished Foltest hesitantly ‘that I bring you peace.’

  * * *

  ‘So Foltest lowered his tail and crawled away,’ growled the witcher and broke another stick in his fingers. ‘He made an agreement with Nilfgaard. He left Aedirn to its fate…’

  ‘Yes’ confirmed the poet. ‘He only sent the army to the Pontar Valley and occupied the fortress Hagge. The Nilfgaardians did not enter the Mahakaman Valleys, did not cross the Yaruga in Sodden, did not strike on Brugge, even though they have it, after Ervylls surrender, in their pliers. That was the cost of Temeria‘s neutrality.’

  ‘Ciris was right,’ whispered the witcher ‘Neutrality… neutrality is vile.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. And what of Kaedwen, Dandelion? Why didnt Henselt help Demavend and Meve? After all, they also had an agreement, they were allies. And if Henselt pisses on official seals and signs on documents like Foltest, on the royal word, he is not completely dumb? He didnt get that after the fall of Aedirn and suspension of Temeria, Kaedwen is next in line? The next who stands in the way of Nilfgaard? He should have helped Demavend if only because of pure foresight. Faith and truth did not remain in the world, but has common sense disappeared too? What, you can only find disdain and hatred?’

  Dandelion looked away. The green lamps were close now, they were surrounding them in a tight circle. He had not noticed it before. Now he understood, that all dryads were listening to him.

  ‘You are silent,’ said Geralt. ‘That means that Ciri was right. Codringher was right. Everyone was right. Only I, the naive, anachronistic, stupid witcher was not right.’

  * * *

  Centurion Digod, known under the nickname ‘Halfpot’, pushed the tent sheet and entered with angry snorts and growls. The corporals stood up and reluctantly took up a military posture. Before the centurions eyes could adapt to the dimness in the tent, Ziwyk quickly threw fur on a barrel of vodka between them. It was not because, Digod was a a zealous objector of drinking in the camp and on duty, but more to hide the content of the barrel from their superior. The centurioun did not have his nickname for nothing – he was known to drink half a pot of alcohol on more than one occasion, without slowing down. A military pot, he could flip over and drink like a bowl of soup, and only rarely did something spill in his ears.

  ‘So, what is the situation sir centurion?’ asked Bode, the archer corporal. ‘what did the commanders agree on? What are the orders? Will we cross the borders?’

  ‘A moment’ snorted Halfpot. ‘That is hic, hell! I will tell you everything, But first give me something to drink, my throat is dry. And dont try to tell me you dont have anything, I can smell the booze a mile away. I even know exactly where it is. There, under that fur.’

  Zywik, muttering curse words, took the barrel out of hiding. The corporals leaned forward like one, their tin mugs clattered against each other.

  ‘Aaaach’ the centurion rubbed his eyes moustache ‘Uuuuch, filthy crap. Pour me more Zywik.’

  ‘Now talk’ said the Bode impatienlty. ‘What are the orders? Are we marching against the Nilfgaardians or will be stand here like pricks before a closed Harlotry?’

  ‘Are you missing battle?’ said Halfpot, said down heavily and leaned against a saddle. ‘Are you in such a hurry to get to Aedirn? You are dragged there arent you? Hungry wolves showing their teeth, eh?’

  ‘Of course’ answered the small Staler, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Both of them were crooked like a zerrikanian sabre, the legs of a old cavalry man. ‘Of course sircenturion. We are on duty for the fifth night now, we sleep in our boots. That is why we want to know, what awaits us. Are we going to battle or back to the castle?’

  ‘We are crossing the borders,’ said Halfpot finally. ‘Tommorow at dawn. Five banners, the Grey at the front. And now pay attention, as I am telling you what orders did the great magrave Masfeld of Ard Caraigh, that came right from the king, tell the commanders and centurions. Remember everything, because I will not repeat anything. And they are orders that are unheard of.

  The whole tent grew silent.

  ‘Nilfgaard moved out of Dol Angra,’ began the centurion. They marched through Lyria, in four days they reached Aldesberg and crushed Demavends army. In barely six days of siege they captured Vengenberg by betrayal. Now they are marching north and pushing the remains of Aedirnian military to the Pontar Valley and to Dol Blathanna. They are nearing Kaedwen. That is why we have the orders to cross the border and march south, towards the Valley of Flowers. In three days, the Dun Banner must stand on the river Dyfne. In three days, so we will march really quickly But not a step further than Dyfne. I repeat, not a single step! Shortly afterwards, the Nilfgaardians will appear on the other side. With them, and now pay attention, we cannot fight them. Under any circumstances do you understand? Only if they will try to cross the river will we go to the shore and show our flags so that they know its us, the Kaedweni army.’

  It seemed that there could not be a bigger silence in the tent,

  ‘How is that?’ said Bode after a while. ‘Not fight Nilfgaardians? We are going to war arent we? How is it, sir centurion?’

  ‘The order was: we are not going to war, but…’ Halfpot scratched his neck. ‘But we are carrying brotherly help. We are crossing the borders to protect the people of Upper Aedirn… Aw hell what am I saying?… Not Aedirn but the Lower Marks. That was what the great margrave Masnfeld sai
d. He explained us, that Demawwend was crushed, because he ruled stupidly and lead shitty politics. And just as with him, its the end of Aedirn. Only our king helped Demavend, borrowed him lots of money – and such riches cant be just ignored. It is time to get our money back with interest. We also cant let out brothers and countrymen from the Lower Marks get under the control of Nilfgaard. We have to free them, so that the Lower Marks, the ancient territory of Kaedwen, once under our rule, now returns to our rule. Up to the river Dyfne. Our beloved king Henselt agreed on that border with Emhyr of Nilfgaard. An agreement is an agreement, but the Grey Banner must stand on the shores of the river. Understood?’

  No one asnwered. Halfpot frowned and waved his hand:

  ‘You didnt undestand shit, as I see. You dont have to worry about it, because even I didnt understand much more than you. Most importantly our beloved king, dukes and nobility understands. We are the army, we have to get to Dyfne in three days, occupy the shore and stay alert! And thats it! Pour me more Ziwyk.’

  ‘Sir centurion,’ stuttered Ziwyk. ‘What if… What if some Aedirnian soldiers intercept us? What if they resist? After all we are marching armed through their land. What will we do?’

  ‘And what if our brothers and countrymen, added carefully Staler, ‘they that we have to free, begin to shoot arrows or throw stones at us? What then eh?’

  ‘In three days we have to stand on the shores of Dyfne.’ strongly reiterated Halfpot. ‘If someone tries to stop or stall us, it is a clear enemy. And enemies have to be neutralized on the spot! But, this is an order! The huts and barns are not to be burned, the cattle not taken, do not pillage or rape the women! Get that in your damn heads and the heads of your soldiers, who breaks this order will be hanged. The duke repeated it at least ten times: ,It is not, for fucks sake, a raid, but brotherly help!‘ Why are you grinning Staler? This is an order for fucks sake! And now, out to your squads, everyone hurry up, the horses and equipment must shine like the full moon! In the evening there is a rapport, the duke and commanders want to see how the army is prepared. If some squad gets drunk, then the corporal will wish he was never born! He wont forget me until his death! Carry out!’