Baptism of Fire

by Andrzej Sapkowski

  ‘Margarita Laux-Antille, Triss Merigold and Keira Metz, Síle de Tansarville of Kovir, Sabrina Glevissig and two Nilfgaardian sorceresses.’

  ‘Is this the international republic of females?’

  ‘You could call it that.’

  ‘They probably still consider me Vilgefortz accomplice. Will they accept me?’

  ‘They have accepted me. The rest you will have to do yourself. You will be asked to explain your relationship with Ciri. From the beginning, from the events that your witcher was involved in fifteen years ago, when the story took place in Cintra, until the events of the last month and a half. The Lodge will require your absolute honesty and truthfulness, to confirm your loyalty.’

  ‘Who said anything about confirming? Isn’t it a bit early to talk about loyalty? I don’t even know the statutes and programs for this international ladies…’

  ‘Yennefer.’ The elf’s slight eyebrows frowned. ‘I recommended you to the Lodge. But I have no intention of forcing anything – especially loyalty. You have a choice.’

  ‘I imagine not much of one.’

  ‘Well, you can imagine. But it is still a free choice. For my part, however, I strongly urge you to choose the Lodge. Believe me, this way you can help Ciri in a much more effective way than blindly throwing yourself into the maelstrom of events, which I believe, you have a great desire to do. Ciri is at risk of death. She can only be saved with our solidarity actions. When you hear what is said in Montecalvo, you’ll see that I’m telling the truth… Yennefer, I do not like the glow I see in your eyes. Give me your word that you will not try to flee.’

  ‘No.’ Yennefer shook her head, covering her obsidian star with her hand. ‘I cannot do that, Francesca.’

  ‘I would sincerely warn you, my dear, that all stationary target portals are blocked. Whoever tries to teleport inside or out without Philippa’s permission lands in a cell lined with dimeritium. You cannot open a portal yourself with the components. I do not want to confiscate your star; you need to keep control of your mind. But I warn you! If you try something… I cannot allow… The Lodge could not allow you to run wild to save Ciri and seek revenge. I still have your template and the spell algorithm. I will reduce and compress you back into a jade figurine again. If need be, for several months. Or years.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning. But even with all that I still won’t give my word.’

  Fringilla Vigo made a face, but she was nervous and tense. She repeatedly scolded young Nilfgaardian wizards for succumbing to the uncritical stereotypical opinions and ideas, often refuted itself as trivial, painted by rumor and propaganda image of a typical Sorceress of the North – artificially beautiful, arrogant, vain and spoiled to the limits of perversion and often beyond these limits. Now, however, the closer it came to teleporting to the castle of Montecalvo, the more uncertainty tugged at her, of what she might find at the reunion site of the mysterious Lodge. And what awaited her there. Her runaway imagination conjured beautiful images of women with diamond necklaces to their exposed breast with nipples painted with carmine, with moist lips and eyes shining with swallowed narcotics. In her turbulent mind the secret deliberations of the Lodge meeting turned into a wild orgy with frantic music, aphrodisiacs and slaves of both sexes and elaborate accessories.

  The last teleport had left her between two columns of black marble, with dryness in her mouth, the magic winds had left tears in her eyes and her hand clenched tightly her emerald necklace that plunged into her neckline. Next to her Assire var Anahid also appeared to be noticeably nervous. Fringilla, however, had reason to suspect that her friend was confused with her new dress, which was not very typical for her: a simple yet elegant blue color, complimented by a tiny and modest necklace with alexandrite.

  The nervousness passed at once. The large and brightly lit, from magic lanterns, room was cold and quiet. Nowhere could she see a naked black man beating a drum on the table or dancing girls clad only in jewellery nor smelt the odor of hashish or cantharides. The Nilfgaardian sorceresses were immediately welcomed by the lady of the castle, Philippa Eilhart, attentive, friendly and polite. Other sorceresses approached and introduced themselves and Fringilla breathed a sigh of relief. The magicians from the north were beautiful, charming and sparkled with jewellery, but in their eyes, gently emphasized by makeup, there was no hint of either drugs or nymphomania. None had exposed her breasts. On the contrary, two of them had dresses up to their neck – austere, black-clad Síle de Tansarville and young Triss Merigold with beautiful blue eyes and auburn hair. The brunette Sabrina Glevissig and the blond Margarita Laux-Antille and Keira Metz wore necklines down to their cleavage, but not much deeper than Fringilla’s own.

  Waiting for the other participants of the convent gave them time to talk, during which all had the opportunity to say something about themselves and with tactful statements and comments Philippa Eilhart quickly and deftly broke the ice, although the only ice in the area was piled on a mountain of oysters. Other ice was not palpable. Síle de Tansarville, a researcher, immediately found a lot of common topics with the researcher Assire var Anahid and Fringilla quickly gained a liking to the cheerful Triss Merigold. The conversations were accompanied by the greed absorption of oysters. Only Sabrina Glevissig refused, being a faithful daughter of Kaedwen’s forests, she even expressed her contempt for the “slimy filth” and her desire for a piece of cold venison with prunes. Philippa Eilhart, instead of responding to the insult with icy haughtiness, pulled a bell rope and soon inconspicuous and noiseless servants delivered meat. Fringilla was astonished. Well, she thought, different regions, different manners.

  The portal between the columns began to brighten and vibrate. Sabrina Glevissig face was covered in unbounded astonishment. Keira Metz dropped the oyster knife onto the ice. Triss Merigold gasped loudly.

  Three sorceresses came through the portal. Three elves. One with hair of dark gold, a russet-haired one and one with raven black hair.

  Welcome, Francesca,’ Philippa said. Her voice betrayed no emotions, but her eyes immediately narrow with caution. ‘Welcome, Yennefer.’

  ‘I had the privilege of filling two seats,’ the melodiously golden-haired elf named Francesca said, clearly noting Philippa’s astonishment. ‘Here are my candidates. You all know Yennefer of Vengerberg. And Lady Ida Emean aep Sivney, Aen Saevherne of the Blue Mountains.’

  Ida Emean bowed her head with her red hair slightly, her flowing dress rustled.

  ‘I suppose,’ Francesca looked around, ‘that we are complete.’

  ‘We are missing only Vilgefortz.’ Sabrina Glevissig said softly but with evident anger, while watching Yennefer with piercing eyes.

  ‘And Scoia’tael hidden in the basement.’ Keira Metz muttered. Triss froze her with a glare.

  Philippa made the introductions. Fringilla stared curiously at Francesca Findabair, Enid an Gleanna, Daisy of the Valley, the famous Queen of Dol Blathanna, ruler of the elves who had recently regained their country. The rumors of her breath-taking beauty, Fringilla thought, are not exaggerated.

  Ida Emean, the red haired elf with deep eyes, was obviously genuinely interested in everything around her, including both Nilfgaardian sorceresses. The free elves of the Blue Mountains did not maintain any relationships with not only humans, but even their own blood relatives living close to humans. And the Aen Saevherne, the Knowing, were very few among the free elves, and were a closer to being legends. Few people, even among the elves, could boast of a close contact with an Aen Saevherne. Ida stood out among the group not only for her hair color. Among her jewellery was not an ounce of minerals, or a precious stone, she wore only pearls, coral and amber.

  The source of the greatest excitement, however, was clearly the third sorceress, Yennefer, raven-haired, dressed in black and white, contrary to Fringilla’s first impression, she was not an elf. Her appearance in Montecalvo had been a tremendous surprise, and not pleasant for everyone. Fringilla felt from some of the sorceresses an aura of antipathy and host
ility.

  When she was introduced to the Nilfgaardian sorceresses, Fringilla stopped on Yennefer’s violet eyes. Her eyes were tired and surrounded by dark circles and even makeup could not hide the fact.

  ‘We know each other,’ she said, touching an obsidian star at her throat.

  The room suddenly fell into a silence full of anticipation.

  ‘We have seen each other before,’ Yennefer repeated.

  ‘I do not remember.’ Fringilla stared back.

  ‘I am not surprised. I, however, I have a good memory for faces and silhouettes. I saw you on Sodden Hill.’

  ‘And therefore there can be no mistake,’ Fringilla Vigo proudly raised her head and ran her eyes over everyone. ‘I was on the hill at Sodden.’

  Philippa Eilhart anticipated the response.

  ‘I was also there,’ she said, ‘and I remember too, many things. I do not think, however, that excessive and unnecessary straining of our memory will bring any benefit to us here in this room. What we are going to undertake, would be server better by forgetting, forgiveness and reconciliation. Do you agree with me, Yennefer?’

  The black-haired sorceress tossed a spiral curl from her forehead.

  ‘When I finally find out what you intend to undertake here,’ she said, ‘I’ll tell you, Philippa, what I agree with. And what I don’t.’

  ‘In that case it would be best if we start without delay. Please ladies take your seats.’

  Places at the round table – all except one – had been marked. Fringilla sat beside Assire var Anahid, the right hand chair was free, separating her from Síle de Tansarville beside her was Sabrina Glevissig and Keira Metz. To the left of Assire sat Ida Emean, Francesca Findabair and Yennefer. And exactly opposite of Assire was Philippa Eilhart, who to her right sat Margarita Laux-Antille and to her left Triss Merigold. All of the chairs had armrests carved in the shape of sphinxes.

  Philippa started. She repeated her welcome and immediately proceeded with things. Fringilla was given a detailed briefing by Assire about the previous Lodge meeting and did not hear anything in the introduction that was new. She was not surprised by either the statements made by all the sorceresses, nor the first topic of discussion. But she was slightly embarrassed as the first concern voiced was the war with the Nilfgaardian Empire and especially the recently launched operations in Sodden and Brugge, during which the imperial army had clashed with the army of Temeria. Despite the presumed apolitical character of the convent, some sorceresses could not hide their views. Some were evidently troubled by Nilfgaard’s presence on their doorstep. Fringilla experienced mixed feelings. She assumed that such enlightened people should understand that the Empire would bring to the North culture, welfare, order and political stability. But on the other hand she did not know how she would react if her home was being approached by foreign armies.

  Philippa Eilhart, however, must have been fed up with discussions on military matters.

  ‘No one can predict the outcome of the war,’ she said. ‘What’s more, this prediction would be devoid of meaning. Let’s analyze the latest events with a cool head. First, I do not consider war to be the worst evil. More pressing are the effects of overpopulation, which at this stage of the development of agriculture and industry would mean threat of total famine. Secondly, war is the continuation of the politics of the rulers. How many of those who rule now will live a hundred years? None, of course. How many dynasties endure? There is no way to predict it. Today’s territorial disputes, dynastic conflicts, the ambitions and hopes of today will be in a hundred years from now, nothing but ashes and dust to the chronicles. But if we are drawn into these wars, we will also end up as ashes and dust. But if we look beyond the banners, if we close our ears to the cries of battle and patriotic feelings, we will survive. And we need to survive. We must, because we have a responsibility. Not to the kings and their particular, narrow interests of one kingdom. We are responsible for the world. For progress. For the changes that bring this progress. We are responsible for the future.’

  ‘Tissaia de Vries would have had it otherwise,’ said Francesca Findabair. ‘She was always been about the accountability to ordinary, simple people. Not in the future, but here and now.’

  ‘Tissaia de Vries is dead. Had she lived she would be her among us.’

  ‘Probably,’ The Daisy of the Valley smiled. ‘But I do not think she would agree with the theory of war as a remedy for famine and overpopulation. Pay attention to the last word, dear colleagues. These discussions we are undertaking in a common language to facilitate understanding. But for me it is a foreign language. And becoming more and more foreign. In my language there is no word for “overpopulation”, an Elvish word for this would be a neologism. Tissaia de Vries, bless her memory, always cared about the fate of ordinary people. As for me, it is no less important that the fate of an ordinary elf. I’d agree with the idea of only dealing with the future and considering to as ephemeral. But I regret to say that today determines the tomorrow, and tomorrow will be without a future. For you humans, it may be ridiculous to mourn for an elderberry bush that burned because of the winds of war, after all there is no short supply of elderberries, what does it matter, there will be another. Forgive the botanical metaphor. But please note that what is for you humans, a matter of politics, for us elves, is a matter of physical survival.’

  ‘Politics do not interest me,’ Margarita Laux-Antille, the rector of the academy of magic said loudly. ‘I simply do not want the girls for whose education I have am in charge of, to be fed slogans about the love of country and used as war leaders. The homeland of these girls is magic, that’s what I teach. If someone commits my girls to war, placing them on a new Sodden Hill, then they will lose, regardless of the outcome of the battle. I understand your fears, Enid, be we have to address the future of magic, not radical problems.’

  ‘We have to deal with the future of magic,’ Sabrina Glevissig repeated. ‘But the future of magic determines the status of the wizards. Our status. Our meaning. The role that we play in society. Trust, respect, credibility, the general belief in our usefulness, it that magic is essential. Standing before us seems to be a simple alternative – either the loss of status and isolation in ivory towers, or service. Service even on the hills of Sodden, even as war leaders…’

  ‘Or as servants and messengers?’ Triss Merigold said throwing back her beautiful hair. ‘With bowed neck, ready to serve whenever the Emperor moves a finger? Because at the end of the day that is the role that Nilfgaard will give us, if they were to conquer us.’

  ‘If you were to be conquered,’ Philippa said with emphasis,’ We would have no alternative. We would have to serve. But serve the magic. Not kings or emperors, not their everyday politics. Not the cause of integration of the races, because it is also subject to current political objectives. Our convent, dear ladies, was not convened so that we will adapt to this policy or the daily changes on the front lines. Not so that we frantically seek adequate solutions to the situation by changing the color of our skins like chameleons. The role of Lodge is to be active. And opposed to what I have just spoke of. And we must do it with every means at our disposal.’

  ‘If I understand correctly,’ Síle de Tansarville raised her head. ‘You are encouraging us to actively influence the course of events? By all means? Even illegally?’

  ‘What kind of laws are you talking about? About those for the weak and defenseless? About those that are written in codes and used by actual lawyers? Only one law binds us. Ours!’

  ‘I understand.’ The Sorceress from Kovir smiled. ‘So we are then to actively influence the course of events. If we do not like the policy of the rulers, we simply change it. Is this so, Philippa? Would it not be better, for that matter, to throw down those fools with crowns, dethrone them and drive them out? Can we take the power into our own hands?’

  ‘More than once we have sat on the thrones of Rulers. Our mistake was that we did not sit on a throne of magic. We have never given absolute
power to magic. It is time we fix that error.’

  ‘You, of course, mean yourself?’ Sabrina Glevissig leaned over the table. ‘Obviously on the throne of Redania? Her highness Philippa the First? With Dijkstra as prince consort?’

  ‘I do not mean myself. I do not mean the kingdom of Redania. I mean the great kingdom of the North, which will arise from today’s Kovir. An Empire whose power is equal to Nilfgaard, thus swaying at this moment the scales of the world and bringing the finally into balance. An Empire, ruled by magic, which we will take the throne by marrying the heir of Kovir with a sorceress. Yes, you hear correctly, my dear colleges, you’re looking in the right direction. Yes, here at this table, there is an empty space where will sit a twelfth sorceress. And then she will sit on the throne.’

  Síle de Tansarville broke the silence that had settled.

  ‘It is certainly an ambitious project,’ she said with a note of sarcasm in her voice. ‘Certainly worthy of all who sit here. It fully justifies the existence of this Lodge. After all, it would constitute an affront to us all to be set a less noble task, even teetering on the verge of reality and feasibility. It would be like driving a nail with an astrolabe. No, no, it is better to start with a completely impossible task.’

  ‘Why is it impossible?’

  ‘Have mercy, Philippa,’ said Sabrina Glevissig. ‘None of the kings will ever marry a sorceress, no country will accept a sorceress on the throne. It has been a custom for centuries. It may not be a smart custom, but it still exists.’

  ‘There are also,’ added Margarita, ‘technical barriers, I would say. A person who could be put into Kovir’s house would have to meet a number of conditions, both by us and by the royal family. These conditions mutually exclude one another and vice versa. Don’t you realize Philippa? For us it would need to be a person educated in magic, totally committed to the cause of magic, understanding their role and able to play the part deftly, seamlessly and without suspicion. Without help, without ever standing in shades of gray eminence, against whom the anger from the subjects must always be redirected at the first disturbance. It must be both a person to whom Kovir itself, without any apparent pressure from our side, would choose to have as a wife and heir to the throne.’