The Lady of the Lake

by Andrzej Sapkowski

  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. Síle 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, deireádh!’

  ‘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 color 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 realize, 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 recognize 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 Síle 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,’ Síle 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.’

  ‘Demavend will not accept this,’ Philippa said laconically. ‘He will not give us the profits and revenues from the Valley of Flowers.’

  ‘On that issue,’ Francesca raised her eyebrows, ‘I am willing to engage in bilateral negotiations, I’m sure we can reach a consensus. A freehold is not required to pay tribute, but payment is not necessarily prohibited or excluded.’

  ‘And what about succession rights?’ asked Philippa. ‘What about the right of primogeniture? Agreeing to a freehold, Demavend will require guarantees of the indivisibility of the Principality.’

  ‘Demavend,’ Francesca smiled again, ‘may be fooled by my skin and figure, but you surprise me, Philippa. It has been a long, long time since I passed the age of being able to get pregnant. As far as birthrights and successions, Demavend has nothing to fear. I am the ultimus familiae of the royal house of Dol Blathanna. However, despite the age difference between me and Demavend, I will not be dealing with him, but his grandchildren’s great-grandchildren. I assure you, ladies that in this respect there are no disputes.’

  ‘In this, no,’ said Assire var Anahid looking the elven sorceress in the eyes. ‘But what about the Squirrels? What about the elves that fought on the side of the Empire? If I’m not mistaken, Lady Enid, they are most of your subjects?’

  The Daisy of the Valley stopped smiling. She looked at Ida Emean the elf from the Blue Mountains.

  ‘Pro bono public...’ she began, but did not finish. Assire nodded her head seriously, indicating that she understood.

  ‘What can we do?’ she said slowly. ‘Everything has its price. War requires sacrifice. As it turns out, so does peace.’

  ‘It cannot be denied,’ the pilgrim said, looking thoughtfully at the elf, who sat motionless with his head down. ‘Peace negotiation are like a flea market. A bazaar. To buy something, others must be sold. That’s how the world works. The point is not to buy something that is too expensive...’

  ‘Or to sell for too cheap,’ finished the elf, not raising his head.

  ‘Traitors! Vile bastards!’

  ‘Sons of bitches!’

  ‘An’badraigh aén cuach!’

  ‘Nilfgaardian dogs!’

  ‘Silence!’ Hamilcar Danza yelled, banging his fist on the railing of the porch.

  The crossbowmen in the gallery turned their weapons on the elves who crowded in the cul de sac.

  ‘Peace!’ Danza yelled even louder. ‘Enough! Shut up, officers! More dignity!’

  ‘You have the audacity to talk about dignity, scoundrel?’ shouted Coinneach Dá Reo. ‘We spilled blood for you, curse Dh’oine! This is how you repay us? You send us to the oppressors of the North? As if we were criminals? Murderers?’

  ‘I said enough!’ Danza thumped his fist into the railing again. ‘Let’s be very clear about one thing, gentlemen! The agreements signed in Cintra, which were recorded the conditions of peace, imposes an obligation on the Empire by the Nordlings to issue war criminals...’

  ‘Criminals?’ shouted Riordain. ‘Criminals? You filthy Dh’oine!’

  ‘War criminals,’ Danza repeated carefully, ignoring the shouts and clamor of the encircled elves. ‘Those officers who are accused of terrorism, killing civilians, the torture of prisoners, massacring the wounded in hospitals...’

  ‘You sons of bitches!’ shouted Angus Bri Cri. ‘We killed because we were at war!’

  ‘We killed following your orders!’

  ‘Cuach’te aep ass, bloede dh’oine!’

  ‘The decision is made!’ Danza insisted. ‘Your insults and cries will not change anything. Please individually approach the guardhouse, please do not resist when being put into chains.’

  ‘We had to stay behind while they fled to the Yaruga,’ Riordain gritted his teeth. ‘We had to stay and fight as commandos. We were fools, gullible fools, we wanted to keep our military oath. Well now we will!’

  Isengrim Faoiltiarna, the Steel Wolf, the legendary leader of the Squirrels, and now an imperial colonel, tore the silver rays of the Vrihedd brigade from his sleeves and threw them on the patio. Other officers followed suit. Hamilcar Danza, who was watching from the gallery, frowned.

  ‘This demonstration is unnecessary,’ he said. ‘In your place I would not so r
ashly abandon the imperial insignia. It is my duty to inform you that the negotiated peace will guarantee a fair trial, mild sentences and early amnesty for imperial...’

  The cul de sac of elves burst into a grim laugh, thundering between the stone walls.

  ‘Furthermore, I want to warn you,’ Hamilcar Danza said curtly, ‘that we will only send thirty-two officers to the Nordlings. We will not surrender any of the soldiers, who you commanded, not one.’

  The laughter ceased as if cut by a knife.

  The wind blew on the fire, sending up a shower of sparks and smoke which filled the eyes. They hear a howl from the pass.

  ‘With the trade,’ the elf said, breaking the silence, ‘everything was for sale. Honor, loyalty, a noble’s oath, common decency... simple goods have value only as long as there is demand for them. If there was not, then it was thrown in the dustbin.’

  ‘On the rubbish heap of history; said the pilgrim. ‘You’re right, sir elf. That’s what I found, there in Cintra. Everything had a price. And was worth as much as what you could get in return. Each morning began like a stock market. And like a real stock market sudden ups and down were continuously occurring. It was difficult to escape the impression that someone else was pulling the strings.’

  ‘Did I hear you right?’ Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen asked slowly, his tone and facial expression giving the impression of mistrust. ‘Are my ears deceiving me?’

  Berengar Leuvaarden, special envoy of the emperor, did not bother to respond. He leaned back in his chair, holding his cup of wine which he rocked rhythmically from side to side. Fitz-Oesterlen was offended; he then put on a mask of contempt.

  ‘Either you’re lying, you son of a bitch, or you want to dupe me. Either way, I’ve uncovered you. So I’m to understand,’ he sniffed, ‘that after far-reaching concessions on borders, war captives, the recovery of loot, on the question of the Vrihedd brigade officers and Scoia’tael commandos, the emperor commands me to reach an agreement and accept the impossible demands of the Nordlings regarding the repatriation of settlers?’