Time of Contempt

by Andrzej Sapkowski

  ‘Be quiet, Your Excellency . . . Do their expressions surprise you? If the rumours are true, Emhyr will be giving the ancient houses a slap in the face. He will humiliate them—’

  ‘The rumours won’t be true. The imperator won’t wed that foundling! He couldn’t possibly . . .’

  ‘Emhyr will do whatever he wants. Heed your words, Your Excellency. Be careful of what you say. There have been people who said Emhyr couldn’t do this or that. And they all ended up on the scaffold.’

  ‘They say he has already signed a decree concerning an endowment for her. Three hundred marks annually, can you imagine?’

  ‘And the title of princess. Have any of you seen her yet?’

  ‘She was placed under the care of Countess Liddertal on her arrival and her house was cordoned off by the guard.’

  ‘They have entrusted her to the countess, in order that she may instil some idea of manners in the little chit. They say your princess behaves like a farm girl . . .’

  ‘What’s so strange about that? She comes from the north, from barbaric Cintra—’

  ‘Which makes the rumours about a marriage to Emhyr all the more unlikely. No, no, it’s utterly beyond the pale. The imperator is to marry de Wett’s youngest daughter, as planned. He will not marry that usurper!’

  ‘It is high time he finally married somebody. For the sake of the dynasty . . . It is high time we had a little archduke . . .’

  ‘Then let him be wed, but not to that stray!’

  ‘Quiet, don’t gush. I give you my word, noble lords, that that marriage will not happen. What purpose could such a match serve?’

  ‘It’s politics, Countess. We are waging a war. That bond would have political and strategic significance . . . The dynasty of which the princess is a member has legal titles and confirmed feudatory rights to the lands on the Lower Yarra. Were she to become the imperator’s spouse . . . Ha, it would be an excellent move. Just look over there, at King Esterad’s envoys; how they whisper . . .’

  ‘So you support this outlandish relationship, Duke? Or you’ve simply been counselling Emhyr, is that it?’

  ‘It’s my business, Margrave, what I do or don’t support. And I would advise you not to question the imperator’s decisions.’

  ‘Has he already made his decision then?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘You are in error then, to doubt it.’

  ‘What do you mean by that, madam?’

  ‘Emhyr has sent Baroness Tarnhann away from the court. He has ordered her to return to her husband.’

  ‘He’s broken off with Dervla Tryffin Broinne? It cannot be! Dervla has been his favourite for three years . . .’

  ‘Now she has been expelled from the court.’

  ‘It’s true. They say the golden-haired Dervla kicked up an awful fuss. Four royal guardsmen had to manhandle her into the carriage . . .’

  ‘Her husband will be overjoyed . . .’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘By the Great Sun! Emhyr has broken off with Dervla? He’s broken off with her for that foundling? For that savage from the North?’

  ‘Quiet . . . Quiet, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘Who supports this? Which faction supports this?’

  ‘Be quiet, I said. They’re looking at us—’

  ‘That wench – I mean princess – is said to be ugly . . . When the imperator sees her . . .’

  ‘Are you trying to say he hasn’t seen her yet?’

  ‘He hasn’t had time. He only returned from Darn Ruach an hour ago.’

  ‘Emhyr never had a liking for ugly women. Aine Dermott, Clara aep Gwydolyn Gor . . . And Dervla Tryffin Broinne was a true beauty.’

  ‘Perhaps the foundling will grow pretty with time . . .’

  ‘After she’s been given a good scrubbing? They say princesses from the north seldom wash—’

  ‘Heed your words. You may be speaking about the imperator’s spouse!’

  ‘She is still a child. She is no more than fourteen.’

  ‘I say again, it would be a political union . . . Purely formal . . .’

  ‘Were that the case, the golden-haired Dervla would remain at court. The foundling from Cintra would politically and formally ascend the throne beside Emhyr . . . But in the evening Emhyr would give her a tiara and the crown jewels to play with and would visit Dervla’s bedchamber . . . At least until the chit attained an age when she could safely bear him a child.’

  ‘Hmm . . . Yes, you may have something there. What is the name of the . . . princess?’

  ‘Xerella, or something of the kind.’

  ‘Not a bit of it. She is called . . . Zirilla. Yes, I think it’s Zirilla.’

  ‘A barbarous name.’

  ‘Be quiet, damn it . . .’

  ‘And show a little dignity. You’re squabbling like unruly children!’

  ‘Heed your words! Be careful that I do not treat them as an affront!’

  ‘If you’re demanding satisfaction, you know where to find me, Margrave!’

  ‘Silence! Be quiet! The imperator . . .’

  The herald did not have to make a special effort. One blow of his staff on the floor was sufficient for the black-bereted heads of the aristocrats and knights to bow down like ears of corn blown in the wind. The silence in the throne room was so complete that the herald did not have to raise his voice especially, either.

  ‘Emhyr var Emreis, Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Monrudd!’

  The White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Foes. He marched down the double file of noblemen with his usual brisk step, vigorously waving his right hand. His black costume was identical to that of the courtiers, aside from the lack of a ruff. The imperator’s dark hair – largely unkempt as usual – was kept reasonably neat by a narrow gold band, and the imperial chain of office glistened on his neck.

  The Emhyr sat down on the throne quite carelessly, placing an elbow on the armrest and his chin in his hand. He did not throw a leg over the other armrest, signifying that etiquette still applied. None of the bowed heads rose by even an inch.

  The imperator cleared his throat loudly without changing his position. The courtiers breathed again and straightened up. The herald struck his staff on the floor once again.

  ‘Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the Queen of Cintra, the Princess of Brugge and Duchess of Sodden, heiress of Inis Ard Skellig and Inis An Skellig, and suzerain of Attre and Abb Yarra!’

  All eyes turned towards the doors, where the tall and dignified Stella Congreve, Countess of Liddertal, was standing. Alongside the countess walked the holder of all those impressive titles. Skinny, fair-haired, extremely pale, somewhat stooped, in a long, blue dress. A dress in which she very clearly felt awkward and uncomfortable.

  Emhyr Deithwen sat up on his throne, and the courtiers immediately bowed low again. Stella Congreve nudged the fair-haired girl very gently, and the two of them filed between the double row of bowing aristocrats, all members of the leading houses of Nilfgaard. The girl walked stiffly and hesitantly. She’ll stumble, thought the countess.

  Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon stumbled.

  Ugly, scrawny little thing, thought the countess, as she neared the throne. Clumsy and, what’s more, rather bovine. But I shall make her a beauty. I shall make her a queen, Emhyr, just as you ordered.

  The White Flame of Nilfgaard watched them from his position on the throne. As usual, his eyes were somewhat narrowed and the hint of a sneer played on his lips.

  The Queen of Cintra stumbled a second time. The imperator placed an elbow on the armrest of the throne and touched his cheek with his hand. He was smiling. Stella Congreve was close enough to recognise that smile. She froze in horror. Something is not right, she thought, something is not right. Heads will fall. By the Great Sun, heads will fall . . .

  She regained her presence of mind and curtseyed, making the girl follow suit.

  Emhyr var Emreis did not rise from the throne. But he bowed his head slightly. The courtiers held their breath.


  ‘Your Majesty,’ said Emhyr. The girl cowered. The imperator was not looking at her. He was looking at the noblemen gathered in the hall.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ he repeated. ‘I’m glad to be able to welcome you to my palace and my country. I give you my imperial word that the day is close when all the titles belonging to you will return to you, along with the lands which are your legal inheritance, which legally and incontrovertibly belong to you. The usurpers, who lord it over your estates, have declared war on me. They attacked me, stating that they were defending your just rights. May the entire world know that you are turning to me – not to them – for help. May the entire world know that here, in my land, you enjoy the reverence and royal name deserving of a queen, while among my enemies you were merely an outcast. May the entire world know that in my country you are safe, while my enemies not only denied you your crown, but even made attempts on your life.’

  The Emperor of Nilfgaard fixed his gaze on the envoys of Esterad Thyssen, the King of Kovir, and on the ambassador of Niedamir, the King of the Hengfors League.

  ‘May the entire world know the truth, and among them also the kings who pretended not to know where rightness and justice lay. And may the entire world know that help will be given to you. Your enemies and mine will be defeated. Peace will reign once again in Cintra, in Sodden and Brugge, in Attre, on the Isles of Skellige and at the mouth of the Yarra Delta, and you will ascend the throne to the joy of your countrymen and every one to whom justice is dear.’

  The girl in the blue dress lowered her head even further.

  ‘Before that happens,’ said Emhyr, ‘you will be treated with the respect due to you, by me and by all of my subjects. And since the flame of war still blazes in your kingdom, as evidence of the honour, respect and friendship of Nilfgaard, I endow you with the title of Duchess of Rowan and Ymlac, lady of the castle of Darn Rowan, where you will now travel, in order to await the arrival of more peaceful, happier times.’

  Stella Congreve struggled to control herself, not allowing even a trace of astonishment to appear on her face. He’s not going to keep her with him, she thought, but is sending her to Darn Rowan, to the end of the world; somewhere he never goes. He has no intention of courting this girl. He isn’t considering a quick marriage. He doesn’t even want to see her. Why, then, has he got rid of Dervla? What is this all about?

  She recovered and quickly took the princess by the hand. The audience was over. The emperor didn’t look at them as they were leaving the hall. The courtiers bowed.

  Once they had left Emhyr var Emreis slung a leg over the armrest of his throne.

  ‘Ceallach,’ he said. ‘To me.’

  The seneschal stopped in front of the emperor at the distance decreed by etiquette and bowed.

  ‘Closer,’ said Emhyr. ‘Come closer, Ceallach. I shall speak quietly. And what I say is meant for your ears only.’

  ‘Your Highness.’

  ‘What else is planned for today?’

  ‘Receiving accrediting letters and granting a formal exequatur to the envoy of King Esterad of Kovir,’ recited the seneschal rapidly. ‘Appointing viceroys, prefects and palatines in the new provinces and palatinates. Ratifying the title of Count and appanage of—’

  ‘We shall grant the envoy his exequatur and receive him in a private audience. Postpone the other matters until tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, Your Royal Highness.’

  ‘Inform the Viscount of Eiddon and Skellen that immediately after the audience with the ambassador they are to report to the library. In secret. You are also to be there. And bring that celebrated mage of yours, that soothsayer . . . What was his name?’

  ‘Xarthisius, Your Highness. He lives in a tower outside the city—’

  ‘Where he lives is of no interest to me. Send for him. He is to be brought to my apartments. Quietly, with a minimum of fuss, clandestinely.’

  ‘Your Highness . . . Is it wise, for that astrologer—’

  ‘That is an order, Ceallach.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Before three hours had passed, all of those summoned were present in the imperial library. The summons didn’t surprise Vattier de Rideaux, the Viscount of Eiddon. Vattier was the chief of military intelligence. Vattier was often summoned by Emhyr; they were at war, after all. Neither did the summons surprise Stefan Skellen – also known as Tawny Owl – who served the imperator as coroner and as the authority on special services and operations. Nothing ever surprised Tawny Owl.

  The third person summoned, however, was astonished to be asked to attend. Particularly since the emperor addressed him first.

  ‘Master Xarthisius.’

  ‘Your Imperial Highness.’

  ‘I must establish the whereabouts of a certain individual. An individual who has either gone missing or is being hidden. Or is perhaps imprisoned. The sorcerers I previously gave this task to failed me. Will you undertake it?’

  ‘At what distance is this individual – may this individual be – residing?’

  ‘If I knew that, I wouldn’t need your witchcraft.’

  ‘I beg your forgiveness, Your Imperial Highness . . .’ stammered the astrologer. ‘The point is that great distances hinder astromancy, they practically preclude it . . . Hum, hum . . . And should this individual be under magical protection . . . I can try, but—’

  ‘Keep it brief, master.’

  ‘I need time . . . And ingredients for the spells . . . If the alignment of stars is auspicious, then . . . Hum, hum . . . Your Imperial Highness, what you request is an exacting task . . . I need time—’

  Much more of this and Emhyr will order him to be stuck on a spike, thought Tawny Owl. If the wizard doesn’t stop jabbering . . .

  ‘Master Xarthisius,’ interrupted the imperator surprisingly politely, even gently. ‘You will have everything you need at your disposal. Including time. Within reason.’

  ‘I shall do everything in my power,’ declared the astrologer. ‘But I shall only be able to determine the approximate location . . . I mean the region or radius—’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Astromancy . . .’ stammered Xarthisius. ‘At great distances astromancy only permits approximate localisations . . . Very approximate, with considerable tolerance . . . With very considerable tolerance. I truly know not whether I will be able—’

  ‘You will be able, master,’ drawled the imperator and his dark eyes flashed balefully. ‘I am utterly confident in your abilities. And as far as tolerance is concerned, the less is yours, the greater will be mine.’

  Xarthisius cowered.

  ‘I must know the precise birth date of this individual,’ he mumbled. ‘To the hour; if possible . . . An object which belonged to the individual would also be invaluable . . .’

  ‘Hair,’ said Emhyr quietly. ‘Would hair suffice?’

  ‘Oooh!’ said the astrologer, brightening up. ‘Hair! That would expedite things considerably . . . Ah, and if I could also have faeces or urine . . .’

  Emhyr’s eyes narrowed menacingly and the wizard cowered and made a low bow.

  ‘I humbly apologise, Your Imperial Highness . . .’ he grunted. ‘Please forgive me . . . Of course . . . Indeed, hair will suffice . . . Will absolutely suffice . . . When might I be given it?’

  ‘It will be supplied to you today, along with the date and hour of birth. I won’t keep you any longer, master. Return to your tower and start examining the constellations.’

  ‘May the Great Sun keep you ever in its care, Your Imperial—’

  ‘Yes, yes. You may withdraw.’

  Now for us, thought Tawny Owl. I wonder what’s in store for us.

  ‘Should anyone,’ said the imperator slowly, ‘breathe a word of what is about to be said, they will be quartered. Vattier!’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

  ‘How did that . . . princess . . . end up here? Who was involved?’

  ‘She came from the stronghold in Nastrog,’ said the chief of intelligence.
‘She was escorted here by guardsmen commanded by . . .’

  ‘That’s not what I bloody mean! How did that girl end up in Nastrog, in Verden? Who had her brought to the stronghold? Who is currently the commandant there? Is it the man who sent the report? Godyvron something?’

  ‘Godyvron Pitcairn,’ said Vattier de Rideaux quickly, ‘was of course informed about Rience and Count Cahir aep Ceallach’s mission. Three days after the events on the Isle of Thanedd, two people showed up in Nastrog. To be precise: one human and the other a half-blood elf. It was they who, citing the names Rience and Count Cahir, handed the princess over to Godyvron.’

  ‘Aha,’ said the imperator, smiling, and Tawny Owl felt a shiver running down his back. ‘Vilgefortz vouched he would capture Cirilla on Thanedd. Rience assured me of the same. Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach received clear orders in this matter. And so, three days after the scandal on the island, Cirilla is brought to Nastrog on the River Yarra; not by Vilgefortz, nor Rience, nor Cahir, but by a human and a half-elf. Did it not occur to Godyvron to arrest them?’

  ‘No. Shall he be punished for it, Your Highness?’

  ‘No.’

  Tawny Owl swallowed. Emhyr was silent, rubbing his forehead, and the huge diamond in his ring shone like a star. A moment later, the imperator looked up.

  ‘Vattier.’

  ‘Your Highness?’

  ‘Mobilise all your subordinates. Order them to arrest Rience and Count Cahir. I presume the two of them are residing in territories as yet unoccupied by our forces. You will use Scoia’tael or Queen Enid’s elves to achieve that end. Take the two captives to Darn Ruach and subject them to torture.’

  ‘What information is required, Your Highness?’ said Vattier de Rideaux, narrowing his eyes and pretending not notice the paleness on the face of Seneschal Ceallach.

  ‘None. Later, when they’re softened up a little, I shall ask them personally. Skellen!’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘That old fool Xarthisius; if that jabbering copromancer manages to determine what I’ve ordered him to, then you will organise a search for a certain individual in the area he indicates. You will receive a description. It’s possible that the astrologer will indicate a region under our control, and then you will mobilise everyone responsible for that region. The entire civilian and military apparatus. It is a matter of the highest priority. Is that understood?’