received from Emhyr for doing it… But the preacher only prattled on about the White Flame and the White Queen… the same thing, to the very end.'
'Careful, Demawend,' grimaced Vizimir. 'Don't make any martyrs. That's exactly what Emhyr is after. Catch all the Nilf-gaardian agents you please, but do not lay hands on clerics, the consequences are too unpredictable. They still are held in regard and have an important influence on people. We have too much trouble with the Squirrels to risk riots in our towns or war against our own peasants.'
'Damn it!' snorted Foltest, 'let's not do this, let's not risk that, we mustn't this, we mustn't that… Have we gathered here to talk about all we can't do? Is that why you dragged us all to Hagge, Demawend, to cry our hearts out and bemoan our weakness and helplessness? Let us finally do something! Something must be done! What is happening has to be stopped!'
'I've been saying that from the start.' Vizimir pulled himself up. 'I propose action.'
What sort of action?'
'What can we do?'
Silence fell again. The wind blustered, the shutters banged against the castle wall.
'Why,' said Meve suddenly, 'are you all looking at me?'
'We're admiring your beauty,' Henselt mumbled from the depths of his tankard.
'That too,' seconded Vizimir. 'Meve, we all know you can find
a solution to everything. You have a woman's intuition, you're a wise wo-'
'Stop flattering me.' The Queen of Lyria clasped her hands in her lap and fixed her gaze on the darkened tapestries with their depictions of hunting scenes. Hounds, extended in a leap, were turning their muzzles up towards the flanks of a fleeing white unicorn. I've never seen a live unicorn, thought Meve. Never. And I probably never will.
'The situation in which we find ourselves,' she said after a while, tearing her eyes away from the tapestry, 'reminds me of long, winter evenings in Rivian Castle. Something always hung in the air. My husband would be contemplating how to get his hands on yet another maid-of-honour. The marshal would be working out how to start a war which would make him famous. The wizard would imagine he was king. The servants wouldn't feel like serving, the jester would be sad, gloomy and excruciatingly dull, the dogs would howl with melancholy and the cats sleep, careless of any mice that might be scuttling around on the table. Everybody was waiting for something. Everyone was scowling at me. And I… then I… I showed them. I showed them all what I was capable of, in a way that made the very walls shake and the local grizzly bears wake in their winter lairs. And any silly thoughts disappeared from their heads in a trice. Suddenly everyone knew who ruled.'
No one uttered a word. The wind howled a little louder. The guards on the buttresses outside hailed each other casually. The patter of drops on the panes in the lead window frames grew to a frenzied staccato.
'Nilfgaard is watching and waiting,' continued Meve slowly, toying with her necklace. 'Nilfgaard is observing us. Something is hanging in the air, silly thoughts are springing up in many heads. So let us show them what we are capable of. Let us show them who is really king here. Let us shake the walls of this great castle plunged into a winter torpor!'
'Eradicate the Squirrels,' said Henselt quickly. 'Start a huge joint military operation. Treat the non-humans to a blood bath. Let the
Pontar, Gwenllech and Buina flow with elven blood from source to estuary!'
'Send a penal expedition to smother the free elves of Dol Blathanna,' added Demawend, frowning. 'March an interventionary force into Mahakam. Allow Ervyll of Verden a chance, at last, to get at the dryads in Brokilon. Yes, a blood bath! And any survivors -to the reservations!'
'Set Crach an Craite at the Nilfgaardian shores,' picked up Vizimir. 'Support him with Ethain of Cidaris's fleet, let them go ravaging from the Yaruga to Ebbing! A show of strength-'
'Not enough.' Foltest shook his head. 'All of that is still not enough. We need… I know what we need.'
'So tell us!'
'Cintra.'
'What?'
'To take Cintra back from the Nilfgaardians. Let us cross the Yaruga, be the first to attack. Now, while they don't expect it. Let us throw them out, back beyond the Marnadal.'
'How? We've just said that it's impossible for an army to cross the Yaruga-'
'Impossible for Nilfgaard. But we have control of the river. We hold the estuary in our grasp, and the supply routes, and our flank is protected by Skellige, Cidaris and the strongholds in Verden. For Nilfgaard, getting forty or fifty thousand men across the river is a considerable effort. We can get far more across to the left bank. Don't gape, Vizimir. You wanted something to put an end to the waiting? Something spectacular? Something which will make us true kings again? That something is Cintra. Cintra will bind us and our rule together because Cintra is a symbol. Remember Sodden! If it were not for the massacre of that town and Calanthe's martyrdom, there would not have been such a victory then. The forces were equal – no one counted on our crushing them like that. But our armies threw themselves at their throats like wolves, like rabid dogs, to avenge the Lioness of Cintra. And there are those whose fury was not quelled by the blood spilt on the field of Sodden. Remember Crach an Craite, the Wild Boar of the Sea!'
'That is true,' nodded Demawend. 'Crach swore bloody vengeance on Nilfgaard. For Eist Tuirseach, killed at Marnadal. And for Calanthe. If we were to strike at the left bank, Crach would back us up with all the strength of Skellige. By the gods, this has a chance at success! I back Foltest! Let us not wait, let us strike first, let us liberate Cintra and chase those sons-of-bitches beyond the Amell pass!'
'Slow down,' snarled Henselt. 'Don't be in such a hurry to tug the lion's whiskers, because this lion is not dead yet. That is for starters. Secondly, if we are the first to strike, we will put ourselves in the position of aggressors. We will be breaking the truce to which we all put our seals. We will not be backed by Niedamir and his League, we will not be backed by Esterad Thyssen. I don't know how Ethain of Cidaris will react. An aggressive war will also be opposed by our guilds, merchants, nobles… And above all, the wizards. Do not forget the wizards!'
'The wizards won't back an assault on the left bank,' confirmed Vizimir. 'The peace agreement was the work of Vilgefortz of Roggeveen. It is well known that his plan was for the armistice to gradually turn into permanent peace. Vilgefortz will not back a war. And the Chapter, believe me, will do whatever Vilgefortz wishes. After Sodden he has become the most important person in the Chapter – let other magicians say what they will, Vilgefortz plays first fiddle there.'
'Vilgefortz, Vilgefortz,' bridled Foltest. 'He has grown too large for us, that magician. Taking into account Vilgefortz's and the Chapter's plans – plans which I am not acquainted with anyway, and which I do not understand at that – is beginning to annoy me. But there is a way around that, too, gentlemen. What if it were Nilfgaard who was the aggressor? At Dol Angra for example? Against Aedirn and Lyria? We could arrange that somehow… could stage some tiny provocation… A border incident caused by them? An attack on a border fort, let us say? We will, of course, be prepared – we will react decisively and forcefully, with everybody's full acceptance, including that of Vilgefortz and the entire Chapter of Wizards. And when Emhyr var Emreis turns his
eyes from Sodden and Transriver, the Cintrians will demand their country back – all those the emigrants and refugees who are gathering themselves in Brugge under Vissegerd's leadership. Nearly eight thousand of them are armed. Gould there be a better spearhead? They live in the hope of regaining the country they were forced to flee. They are burning to fight. They are ready to strike the left bank. They await only the battle cry.'
'The battle cry,' bore out Meve, 'and the promise that we will back them up. Because Emhyr can command eight thousand men at his border garrison; with that strength he won't even have to send for relief troops. Vissegerd knows this very well and won't move until he has the assurance that your armies, Foltest, reinforced by Redanian corps, will disembark on the left bank at his heels. But above all Vissegerd is waiting for the Lion Cub of Cintra. Apparently the queen's granddaughter survived the slaughter. Allegedly, she was seen amongst the refugees, but the child mysteriously disappeared. The emigrants persist in their search for her… Because they need someone of royal blood to sit on their regained throne. Someone of Calanthe's blood.'
'Nonsense,' said Foltest coldly. 'More than two years have passed. If the child has not been found by now, she's dead. We can forget that myth. Calanthe is no more and there is no Lion Cub, no royal blood to whom the throne belongs. Cintra… will never again be what it was during the Lioness's lifetime. Obviously, we cannot say that to Vissegerd's emigrants.'
'So you are going to send Cintrian guerrillas to their deaths?' Meve narrowed her eyes. 'In the line of attack?
