Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 06]

by The Lady of the Lake (fan translation) (epub)

  'That was a skrekk,' the elf said while crushing a bone between his teeth. 'But it does not resemble anything I have ever eaten.'

  Boreas quietly cleared his throat. The barely perceptible undercurrent of amusement in the elf's voice proved that he knew that he was eating a huge mountain rat, with blood red eyes and sharp incisors, whose tail measured one and a half cubits. The tracker was not going to catch the giant rodent, but shot it in self-defence. He then, however, decided to roast it.

  He was a wise man, the thought coldly. He never would have eaten a rat that fed on garbage and waste. But the nearest community to the Elskerdeg Pass that was able to produce waste was over three hundred miles away. The rat - or the skrekk as the elf had called it - has been clean and healthy. It had no contact with civilization. Therefore it had not been dirty or carrying disease.

  Finally they finished the last of the meat, the ribs and bones went into the fire. The moon rose over the jagged peaks of the mountains. The wind fanned the flames and sparks flew, they would die off between the myriad of twinkling stars.

  ‘Have you gentlemen been on the road long?’ Boreas Mun allowed himself another indiscreet question. ‘How long since you went through the Solveig Gate?’

  ‘Long ago, or recently,’ said the pilgrim. ‘What does it matter? I passed through Solveig two days after September’s full moon.’

  ‘For me it has been six days,’ said the elf.

  ‘Ha,’ the tracker said, emboldened by their answers. ‘I’m surprised that we did not met there, Because I was passing through at the same time. But I was on a horse.’

  He paused, quenching gloomy thoughts and memories of his horse and its loss. He was sure that his casual companions had similar adventures. They could not have travelled the whole way on foot to catch him here in the vicinity of Elskerdeg.

  ‘I gather,’ he continued, ‘that you gentlemen started travelling just after the war and after the conclusion of the peace of Cintra. Naturally, I don’t care, but I dare to presume that you, gentlemen were not satisfied with the order of things established at Cintra.’

  Silence reigned for a long time around the fire but was eventually broken by the distant howl. A wolf, probably, although around the Elskerdeg Pass you could never be sure of anything.

  ‘To be honest,’ the elf said unexpectedly, ‘I found after the peace of Cintra there was no reason why the world should love me. Or me the new layout.’

  ‘My own case,’ said the pilgrim, crossing his arms over his powerful chest. ‘was the same. Although I learned of it, as a friend of mine says, post factum.’

  There was a long silence. The howling had ceased in the pass.

  ‘In the beginning,’ continued the pilgrim, although Boreas and the elf were convinced that he would not, ‘everything pointed to the fact that the peace of Cintra would bring changes for the better and set tolerable living conditions for this world. If not for all, at least for some …’

  ‘The kings,’ grunted Boreas, ‘travelled to Cintra in April, if I recall.’

  ‘Exactly, April second,’ said the pilgrim. ‘I remember it was the new moon.’

  * * *

  Along the entire wall located under dark beams within a gallery, hung a row of shields with the colourful figures of heraldic emblems and the coats of arms of the nobility of Cintra. One glance was enough to detect the difference between the old faded coats of arms of the nobility of Cintra and the newly promoted families from the reign of Dagorad and Calanthe. The latter had vibrant colours which had not yet faded and you could not detect the slightest sign of woodworm.

  However, the most intense colours appeared on the shield that had been put up most recently, those with the coat of arms of the Nilfgaardian nobles. Those who had distinguished themselves during the conquest of the country and had proven themselves during the five-year imperial administration.

  Once we again hold Cintra, thought King Foltest, we will need to ensure that these coat of arms are not destroyed in a fervour of restoration. Politics is one thing, aesthetics another. Changes to a regime do not justify vandalism.

  So this is where it all began, thought Dijkstra, looking around the large hall. The famous engagement feast, during which appeared an iron hedgehog demanding Princess Pavetta’s hand … And Queen Calanthe hired a witcher …

  How amazing are the interwoven fates of humans, thought the spy, surprised by the banality of his own thoughts.

  It’s been five years, thought Queen Meve. Five years ago, the blood and brains of Calanthe, the Lioness of Cintra, exploded on the flagstones of that courtyard, which I can see through this window. Calanthe whose portrait we saw proudly hanging in the foyer, the last of the royal bloodline. After her daughter, Pavetta drowned, she was left with only her granddaughter Cirilla. And if it is true that Cirilla also died …

  ‘Please,’ Cyrus Engelkind Hemmelfart the hierarch of Novigrad, waved his trembling hand, by virtue of his age, position and widespread respect he was to preside over the discussions. ‘To your places please.’

  They sat at a round table, where the seats were identified by mahogany tablets. Meve, Queen of Rivia and Lyria. Foltest, King of Temeria and his vassal, King Venzlav of Brugge. Demavend, King of Aedirn. Henselt, King of Kaedwen. Ethan, King of Cidaris. The young King Kistrin of Verden. The Duke Nitert, head of the regency council of Redania. And the Earl Dijkstra.

  We should seek to get rid of this spy and remove him from the table of discussions, thought the hierarch. King Henselt and King Foltest, and even young King Kistrin, have already allowed themselves a few sour comments to our Nilfgaardian representatives. This Sigismund Dijkstra is a person of dubious origins with an unacceptable past and reputation. We cannot afford to have such a person distorting the atmosphere of the deliberations.

  The head of the Nilfgaardian delegation, Baron Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen, who sat at the round table directly opposite Dijkstra, greeted the spy with a curt diplomatic bow. Seeing that everyone was already seated, the hierarch of Novigrad also sat. Not without the help of a few pages that held his trembling hands. The hierarch sat on a chair made years ago for Queen Calanthe. The chair had a beautifully carved backing, towering over the other chairs.

  Even though this was a round table, it was known who was the boss.

  * * *

  So it was here, thought Triss Merigold, looking around the room, looking at the tapestries, painting and numerous hunting trophies. Here in this room, after the devastation of the throne room, a memorable conversation took place between Calanthe, the witcher, Pavetta and an enchanted hedgehog. Here the Queen agreed to a strange marriage. After all, the princess was already pregnant and Ciri was born less than eight months later … Ciri, the heiress to the throne, the young lion with the Lioness’s blood … Ciri, my little sister. Who is now apparently far away to the south. Fortunately, no longer alone, she is with Geralt and Yennefer. She’s safe.

  Unless they have lied to me again.

  ‘Take a seat, ladies,’ Philippa Eilhart said, who Triss had been watching suspiciously for some time. ‘The sovereigns of the world will in a moment begin to recite their inaugural speeches. I would not want us to miss a single word.’

  The sorceresses, interrupting their gossip and quickly took their seats. Sile de Tansarville, wore a silver boa, a feminine accent to her austere black outfit. Assire var Anahid was dressed in a violet silk dress, which was graceful and combined simplicity and modest elegance. Francesca Findabair was majestic as ever. Ida Emean aep Sivney was mysterious as usual. Margarita Laux-Antille was dignified and serious. Sabrina Glevissig was adorned with turquoise. Keira Metz was dressed in green and lemon yellow. And Fringilla Vigo. Depressed, sad, pale, morbid and with a literal corpse-like pallor.

  Triss sat next to Keira and opposite Fringilla. On the wall behind the Nilfgaardian witch was a picture of a rider galloping down an alley of alders. The trees limbs reached towards the rider and their black cavities that served as mouths laughed. Triss shivered involuntary. />
  Set in the middle of the table was a telecommunicator. Philippa, with a spell, adjusted the image and sound.

  ‘As you can see and hear,’ she said somewhat bitterly, ‘in Cintra’s throne room, just below us, on the ground floor, the sovereigns of the world are about to decide its fate. And we, here, one floor above them, will watch to make sure they don’t make a mistake.’

  * * *

  The howling in the pass was joined by other voices. Now Boreas had no doubt, they were certainly wolves.

  ‘I too,’ he said, trying to encourage more conversation, ‘did not expect much from these negotiations in Cintra. The truth is that no one I know counted on these negotiations bringing anything good.’

  ‘The important thing was,’ said the pilgrim, ‘that the negotiations had begun. The common man, for that’s what I consider myself to be, were well aware that the warring kings and emperor would destroy each other if they could, relentlessly. To stop the killing and sit down around the table. It meant that they no longer had the strength. They were, simply speaking, powerless. And that powerlessness meant that no soldiers would kill the common man, burn his house, kill his children raped his women or sell his whole family into slavery. No, instead they gathered in Cintra and negotiate. Let us rejoice!’

  The elf looked up from the burning logs which he was prodding with a stick.

  ‘Even the common man,’ he said with obvious sarcasm, ‘even in his moments of joy, should know that politics is also a war, only by other means. It should also be understood that such negotiations are merely a form of trade. It is conducted in an identical manner. Success in negotiation is based on concessions obtained. Something is given, something is lost. In other words, in order to buy something, something must be sold.’

  ‘Indeed,’ the pilgrim said after a moment, ‘Something so plain and obvious can be understood by even the simplest of men.’

  * * *

  ‘No, no, a thousand times, no!’ cried King Henselt, smashing his two fists into the tabletop, overturning his drink and making the inkwell jump. ‘I will not hear any more discussions about it! No more haggling! No more, I say, deiraedh!’

  ‘Henselt,’ Foltest said quietly in a conciliatory tone, ‘don’t hinder. And do not embarrass us by screaming in front of His Excellency.’

  Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen, the negotiator on behalf of the Empire of Nilfgaard, bowed with a false smile, that suggested that the antics of the King of Kaedwen did not irritate or ultimately interest him.

  ‘Are we going to start attacking each other,’ continued Foltest, ‘like a pack of rabid dogs? Shame on you, Henselt.’

  ‘We have made arrangements with Nilfgaard in the thorny matter of Dol Angra,’ said Dijkstra. ‘It would be foolish …’

  ‘I resent such comments!’ roared Henselt so loud he could have competed with a buffalo. ‘I resent such rude comments, particularly from some fucking spy! I am the fucking anointed King!’

  ‘It can’t be seen at first glance,’ Meve muttered.

  Demavend, turned away from looking at the shields on the rooms walls, smiling with distain, as if not concerned about the future of his kingdom.

  ‘Enough!’ wheezed Henselt, his eyes rolling. ‘Enough, by the gods. As I said, I won’t give up an inch of land. Not one, not a single claim! I do not agree to the depletion of my kingdom by even a span, not even half an inch of earth! The gods have entrusted me with Kaedwen and therefore I would only be willing to surrender it to the gods! The Lower Marches is my territory … It has for centuries …’

  ‘Upper Aedirn,’ Dijkstra spoke again, ‘has only been part of Kaedwen since last summer. More specifically, from the twenty-four of July last year. From the moment that Kaedwen sent in occupational forces.’

  ‘I ask,’ said Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen, ‘that it be recorded ad futuram rei memorian, that the Empire of Nilfgaard had nothing to do with this annexation.’

  ‘Except for at that time you were plundering Vengerberg.’

  ‘Nihil ad rem!’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Gentlemen!’ Foltest admonished.

  ‘The Kaedwen army,’ fumed Henselt, ‘entered the Lower Marches as liberators! My soldiers were greeted with flowers! My soldiers …’

  ‘Your bandits,’ said Demavend calmly, but his face betrayed the effort it cost to stay calm. ‘Your bandits invaded my kingdom, murdered, raped and looted. Lady and gentlemen, we are gathered here for a week to discuss the future of the world. By the gods, is it to be the face of crime and looting? Should it be maintained in the lawless status quo? Should stolen goods remain in the hands of thugs and robbers?’

  Henselt grabbed a map from the table, tore it in two and with a rapid movement threw it at Demavend. The King of Aedirn did not even move.

  ‘My armies,’ Henselt spluttered, his face turning the colour of a well aged wine, ‘won the Marches from the Nilfgaardians. Your pitiful reign at that time was already in the past, Demavend. You probably don’t realise, but if not for my troops, you would not even be ruling today. I’d like to see how you’d drive the Black Ones back over the Yaruga without my help. Without exaggeration I can say that you are only a king because of my kindness. But now my kindness ends! I will not let my kingdom be depleted!’

  ‘Neither will I,’ Demavend stood. ‘We will never reach an agreement!’

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Cyrus the hierarch in a conciliatory tone, who until then had been dozing. ‘No doubt, we can always reach some compromise …’

  ‘The Empire of Nilfgaard,’ said Shilard, ‘does not intend to accept any solution that would harm the country of the elves of Dol Blathanna. If necessary, My Lords, I will re-read the content of the memorandum …’

  Henselt, Foltest and Dijkstra snorted, but Demavend looked at the Imperial ambassador calmly, almost benevolently.

  ‘For the good of the people,’ he said, ‘and to maintain the peace, I acknowledge the autonomy of Dol Blathanna. But not as a kingdom, but as a duchy. The condition is that the Duchess Enid an Gleanna pay me homage, and is committed to the equality of elves and humans rights and privileges. I am willing to do this, pro bono.’

  ‘Here,’ said Meve, ‘are the words of a true king.’

  ‘Salus publica lex suprema est,’ added hierarch Hemmelfart, who for some time had waited for the opportunity to boast of his knowledge of diplomatic vocabulary.

  ‘I would like to add, however,’ Demavend continued, looking at the bloated Henselt, ‘that Dol Blathanna’s concession is not a precedent. This is the only breach of the integrity of my lands that I will accept. I will not recognise any additional distributions. The army of Kaedwen, which breached my boarders as an aggressor and occupier, has one week to leave the fortresses and castles that they have illegally occupied in Upper Aedirn. That is the condition for me to continue to take part in these negotiations. And verba volant, my secretary will add an official protocol in that sense.’

  ‘Henselt?’ Foltest gave him a questioning look.

  ‘Never!’ bellowed the King of Kaedwen, overturning his chair and jumping like a chimpanzee stung by a hornet. ‘I will never give up the Marches! You’ll have to go over my corpse! I will not give it up! Nothing can force me! Nothing! Over my dead body!’

  And to prove that he was a scholar he shouted.

  ‘Non possumus!’

  * * *

  ‘I’ll give him non possumus, the fool!’ snapped Sabrina Glevissig in the chamber one floor above. ‘Don’t worry ladies, I’m going to make this stubborn fool surrender Upper Aedirn. His army will leave within ten days, it is clear. There is no question about it. If any of you ladies doubt this, I have a right to feel offended.’

  Philippa Eilhart and Sile de Tansarville expressed their appreciation by bowing. Assire var Anahid thanked her with a smile.

  ‘Let us return to the problem of Dol Blathanna,’ said Sabrina. ‘We know the content of the memorandum of Emperor Emhyr. The kings down there have not have time to thoroughly discuss this issue
, but they have already hinted at their approaches. The king whose voice carries most interest, you might say, is King Demavend.’

  ‘Demavend’s position,’ Sile adjusted the fur boa around her neck, ‘can be described as extremely helpful. I consider his position to be thoughtful and balanced. Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen will be no small trouble trying to argue in the direction of greater concessions. I don’t know whether it can be done.’

  ‘It will be,’ said Assire var Anahid. ‘Such are his instructions. The presentation of an official note will have them tangling for at least a day. After that time, he will begin to make concessions.’

  ‘That is the normal procedure,’ said Sabrina. ‘According to him, they want to meet in a separate negotiation and come to an agreement. That’s what we expect. We’ll decide how much we’ll allow. Francesca! Speak! After all, this is about your country.’

  ‘That is why,’ said the Daisy of the Valley with a smile, ‘I am silent, Sabrina.’

  ‘Break your pride, please,’ Margarita Laux-Antille asked seriously. We really need to know what we can allow the kings.’

  Francesca Findabair smiled more beautifully.

  ‘For the cause of peace and pro bon public,’ she said. ‘I agree with the proposal f King Demavend. From now on, my dear friends, you can stop titling me, Your Majesty, Your Grace will be enough.’

  ‘Elven jokes,’ said Sabrina. ‘I never laugh, probably because I don’t understand them. What about Demavend’s remaining requirements?’

  Francesca blinked.

  ‘I agree with the repatriation of the settlers and the restitution of their property,’ she said gravely. ‘I guarantee equal rights for all races …’

  ‘By the gods,’ Philippa Eilhart laughed, ‘don’t be so accommodating! Submit your own terms!’

  ‘I will,’ the elf suddenly turned serious. ‘I will not pay tribute to the Aedirn king. I want Dol Blathanna to be a freehold. Without the bond of vassalage, beyond the pledge of allegiance and not to act against the sovereign.’