Chapter Two
One month after the massacre in Loc Muinne, Iorveth surveyed the crowded Rhundurin Square in Vergen. Saskia had called a rally to discuss an important issue, and she now stood at the center of the marketplace with a multitude surrounding her.
Gwynbleidd's prediction had been right: since the bloodbath following the peace summit, the dwarven town saw a surge in not only nonhuman population but spellcasters as well. The wayfarers poured in from across the realm, each with tearful stories to tell of cruelties against their ilk back in their hometowns. Fortunately, Merigold has also been correct—the refugee sorceresses knew Vergen was their only safe haven for now, so they stilled any ill intent they meant before.
The citizens had been disheartened at first to learn of the Nilfgaardian invasion. Victory against Henselt had seemed a miracle—to fend off the Empire would require divine intervention. Yet the days turned to weeks, and there was still no sign of White Sun emblems on the horizon. No one was sure why. First there was unrest, then cautious optimism. Dwarven women and children even started to walk the streets freely again—a sure sign of peacetime. The people dared to believe, in spite of turmoil outside their borders, that the future of Vergen looked encouraging.
"People of Vergen," Saskia addressed the crowd. Her authoritative voice commanded their attention. "I thank you for making attendance."
She'd kept her word and addressed the public on every major issue, putting each decision to a vote and acting in the best interest of all her citizens. Iorveth marveled at how gravely wrong Philippa had been about her: there was no one better suited to lead a realm of elves and humans than she, who was neither. Who was greater.
"What I have to say is a vital issue that concerns us all," she announced. "As of late, Vergen had become home to the downtrodden from all over the Northern Kingdoms."
'Home' was not the term Iorveth would apply to Vergen, in spite of being vagrant for over a century before settling here. As he looked over the town, overrun as it now was, it looked much more like a refugee camp than anyone's home.
"I'm sure all of you wish as much as I do for this place to remain the harbinger of equality it was when first we defeated Henselt," Saskia presumed.
Her success in establishing a land without prejudice was unprecedented. But as she spoke to the crowd even now, they sat in segregated sections of the market square. The dwarves occupied the seats to the right of her pedestal, while the human peasantry took the left with the nobles directly behind them. The sorceresses gathered near the back, just adjacent to the resident elves. Iorveth and his Scoia'tael clung to the fringes. "Harbinger of equality" was an aspiration that still remained just out of reach, even under Saskia's fair reign.
"But in order for this to happen, something must be done about the shortages we now face." Saskia's voice grew grim. "Vergen's population has risen a staggering twofold in the past month. Winter looms, and we simply haven't the resources to feed and shelter everyone until spring."
This prompted murmurs.
"You all understand how grave this is. Just as resources are scarce, so too are allies to turn to for aid. There are those in Kaedwen, Redania and mainland Aedirn who'd revel to see us starved out and primed for the taking. And underlying all of this, war with Nilfgaard rages on across all the kingdoms."
The murmurs grew louder with this revelation.
"So," Saskia posed, "what do we do?"
The question brought an abrupt silence over the assembly.
"…Bollocks, Saskia. Yer askin' us, are ye?" grunted Zoltan Chivay from the section where the dwarves were seated.
"This decision affects everyone," she replied. "So everyone has a say. I put it to all of you. How will we survive the winter?"
A few in the assembly scratched their heads.
"We…er…well, we got us a right lot of sorceresses around here, don't we?" a human peasant ventured. He had a strong build and ginger hair ending in mutton chops. "Ain't there some sorta magic spell can, I dunno, just make food appear outta thin air, suchlike?"
"Oi! Let's not start countin' on magic to cure all our ills!" protested a she-dwarf.
"The spell you're thinking of is illusionary anyway," added a sorceress. "You'll dine like a king, but you'll just be hungry again within the hour."
"Oh. Guess that's right out, then, isn't it?"
"It seems we're all forgetting about a little pastime I like to call 'hunting'," said a nobleman sporting a courtier hat with peacock plumage. His rosy-cheeked expression indicated he was one who was used to getting his way. "I'd wager our elves have been itching for another chance to use their bows since the Siege of Vergen ended."
"Use them on what?" a dark-haired, female Scoia'tael shot back. "The scores of wild game that roam Upper Aedirn from now until spring?"
"Well, then. If our local elves feel their part had been sufficiently played, then what of the elves of Dol Blathanna?" suggested the nobleman. "Surely they'll have an abundant enough harvest to consider bartering with us."
"Out of the question," spat Iorveth. "Findabair and her subjects are nothing more than Nilfgaardian pawns."
"But should we still be worried about Nilfgaard?" asked another peasant.
"Bite yer tongue, lad!" Sheldon Skaggs growled. "We should always be worried about Nilfgaard, and what those cocksuckers down south might be tryin' next!"
"They ain't tried nothin' yet," the peasant remarked. "They may be ploughin' the rest of the North at present, but they ain't even marched on us."
"Aye, and if I was you, that'd worry me most of all," Sheldon replied. "I'd gladly take an axe to any Nilfgaardian prick what showed his face here. But what's stoppin' 'em?"
"That much is obvious." The noble lady cast her gaze towards the sorceresses. "It only took one sorceress to reduce the nearby field to ashes three years past. We house a score of spellcasters. That's why Nilfgaard won't cross us."
"Not likely," cut in an elven woman. "The southern d'yaebl has sorceresses of his own, after all."
"Or it may be," Saskia spoke over all the others, "that the Emperor bides his time, content to allow the winter to weaken us, then come spring he'll pluck our fertile region out from under us. Whatever Nilfgaard intends, it won't matter when or how we're struck if we don't see to providing for ourselves first."
"We may be short on food and shelter," Cecil Burdon chimed in. "But there's one thing we've got that no one else has. We sit on top of a fat vein of iron no one this side of the Yaruga can compare to. Surely there's someone out there who's willing to trade for what we got."
Quiet affirmations rippled through the crowd.
"Our alderman's onto something there," said Yarpen Zigrin. "Now, who can we trade our ore with?"
"Temeria?" suggested the ginger-haired peasant.
"Not current in our politics, are we?" sneered the nobleman in plumage. "There is no more Temeria. It's been split into Redanian and Kaedweni territories."
"Forget about Kaedwen. That fat-arse Henselt ain't likely to be doin' us any favors any time soon," speculated Sheldon.
"But Redania?" asked a noble lady in the crowd.
"Radovid was at the forefront of the slaughter of mages in Loc Muinne, assisted by the Knights of the Flaming Rose!" exclaimed a voice from the sorceresses' section.
"Never mind our current standing in the eyes of Aedirn."
Iorveth leaned against a stone wall, the persistent voices of the debaters merging into a sort of white noise to his ear. This always happened at any deliberation with humans in attendance. They'd argue with the nonhumans, then proceed to argue amongst themselves. They'd let their base emotions steer their actions and speech, and in the end all that resulted was an eruption of mayhem which Saskia must then effectively dispel.
He and his Scoia'tael were the least concerned of all at the thought of a harsh winter. It wouldn't be the first time they faced starving or freezing (the dh'oine had been seeing to that for years) and they certainly had no delusions it would be the last time. Yet, they weren't the only ones at stake now. There was the rest of Saskia's vastly growing subjects to consider…including those now on the way.
He passed his gaze over the young elven women, both of his commando and amongst the citizens. Though lacking for places to be alone in the densely populated city, young Aen Seidhe couples had been frequently seen sneaking off together in whatever private corners they could find ever since the celebration of victory over Henselt. Already, some of the women were hiding radiant smiles and absentmindedly rubbing their bellies, hinting at the secrets they carried. The idea of elven children soon to be born was a much welcome ray of hope for the declining people. For their sake, all that could be done to survive the coming winter, must be.
"So, we can't turn to Temeria. Not Kaedwen, Redania or Aedirn, either…and of course, not Dol Blathanna," summarized the nobleman, with a pointed glare towards Iorveth at the end. "So, what allies are we left with, then?"
This was met with more silence.
"Saskia. What of the Hengfors League?" Iorveth spoke up. A few heads turned.
"The Hengfors League?" Saskia repeated. "That's a long way from here. Why such a distant place?"
"The western neighbor of Hengfors—Kovir and Povis—stayed neutral in previous clashes with Nilfgaard," he recalled. "But Kovir is home to mineral exports superior even to those here. The Emperor will surely covet control of them sooner or later, but in order to get to them, he'll need to pass through Hengfors. By trading with them, we'll get what we require and they can make use of our goods to mount a defense."
Saskia pursed her lips in thought. "Cecil, fetch a regional map," she instructed.
"Right away." The alderman broke apart from the crowd.
"Our Squirrel 'friend' would have a sound plan," said the nobleman. "Except for one thing. How are we to get to Hengfors? I know my geography; there are no land paths to the place except through Redania."
Iorveth glanced at Saskia. Unbeknownst to most of the assembly, she could make such a journey on swift wings. But to appease the human crowd, an alternative was needed. "We traverse the Kestrel Mountains," he suggested. By this point, Cecil returned with a map, which Saskia inspected while Iorveth continued. "The range makes up the border of Redania and Kaedwen. By forging up the middle, we'd avoid too much attention from either side."
"Shite. It's crazier than anything ever come out of an elf's mouth, but could work," said Yarpen. "Both sides will be too preoccupied with their stands against Nilfgaard to mind a lone convoy of miners and traders heading along a mountain path."
"But scaling mountains in winter? Bloody hell, that's suicide!" exclaimed the ginger-haired peasant. "We'd freeze to death before we even got there!"
The female Scoia'tael scoffed. "The Aen Seidhe have managed it ever since you humans came here."
"Be that as it may…Lady Saskia, are we truly going to stake everything on the whims of these Squirrels?" asked the nobleman. "A tenuous alliance against Kaedwen was one thing. But to readily let them lead us to our deaths in the mountains?"
"The Scoia'tael won't be leading this expedition," Saskia declared. "I will."
A few collective gasps resounded. She turned the map to the crowd and traced Iorveth's proposed route with her fingertip.
"I'll choose a party from volunteers to accompany me north through the Kestrel Mountains to the Hengfors League," she explained. "We'll have the highest quality mineral ore from our mines in tow, for which we will find a buyer at our destination. The League will have need of it to defend against Nilfgaard, so they should be willing to exchange it for food. Our goods traded, we'll return to Vergen the way we came."
"Milady, forgive my candor, but that's much too risky," objected the nobleman. "What if the worst happens? Or what if Nilfgaard attacks here while you're gone?"
"We could teleport," suggested a soft, demure voice. It seemed to come from a temperate and apprehensive young woman. This is what made it strange that it issued from the sorceresses' section. A lone sorceress lifted her head. She had platinum blonde hair and wore a red and brown plaid gown. "I can join this convoy, and should Nilfgaard march on Upper Aedirn, then I will teleport us back home to protect it."
"Here we are again—putting all our eggs in the magic basket," grumbled the she-dwarf. "Why didn't she opt to teleport to the Hengfors League in the first place?"
"I don't have a piece of Hengfors," the sorceress replied. Her gaze was distant, almost dreamy.
"Come again?"
"To teleport to another region, I need a piece of its land. A leaf, a flower," she explained. "So I can't craft a portal to Hengfors. But I can bring us back here. I can use a Vergen rock. Rocks are everywhere." She picked a pebble up off the ground, as if the assembly needed confirmation of this. "See?"
"Scoia'tael schemes, with a daft sorceress as the failsafe." The nobleman shook his head. "Milady, there's far too much at stake here. I plead you to consider less extreme alternatives."
"I see but one alternative," Saskia replied gravely. "If we cannot provide for everyone, then our only choice is to turn people away, and establish customs to restrict who can and cannot settle the Pontar Valley."
"Restrict immigration? Turn away refugees?" Cecil asked. "But where will they go then?"
"Ultimately, the goal will remain that they could come here," Saskia answered. "Just not now. Not yet."
"It's a harsh reality," grumbled Zoltan. "But maybe that's how it'll have to be for now."
"The free PontarValley was an ambitious plan…perhaps too ambitious to be realized all at once," the nobleman offered. "I believe it's the right choice you're making, Lady."
"But it's not my choice to make," said Saskia. "I will leave this to be decided by the citizens in a vote. Cecil, set up a ballot outside The Cauldron. Everyone has until tomorrow at dusk to elect Vergen's course of action: either select a convoy to journey north and trade with the Hengfors League, or start turning refugees away from our borders."
She turned to the crowd with a solemn expression. Iorveth knew that expression well. She donned it when she introduced him to the War Council. She donned it any time she had to persuade her subjects in matters of dire importance.
"Citizens, I urge you not to make this decision lightly," she began. "Before casting your votes, talk to your neighbors here in Vergen. And by neighbors, I mean everyone—elves and dwarves, peasants and nobles…and sorceresses likewise. Many of you may become convinced that we were wrong to assume ourselves so accommodating. You may sympathize with those who have called Vergen home for generations, who fear our good intentions will see us all starved, frozen, and seized by Nilfgaard like a helpless waif on war-torn streets. Perhaps you'll decide that even in the free realm, restricting our numbers is the only way we can survive."
She paused. "…Or, you may find yourselves moved by those for whom this place is the last remaining ray of hope."
Iorveth felt her gaze connect with his for a fleeting second before she went on.
"It is said that to understand a person's troubles, you must walk a mile in their shoes. There are those among us whose proverbial footsteps stretch back for countless miles, beset by oppression, bloodshed and heartbreak on all sides."
She moved her attention amongst those most verbal in the assembly: from the female Scoia'tael, to the blonde sorceress, to the ginger-haired peasant, and finally the nobleman in plumage.
"These people hoped and prayed for a place like this to put up their weary feet. And once they found it, many of them risked their lifeblood against Henselt's seemingly infallible forces for the chance to keep it. Perhaps, for their sake, you'll decide that an uncertain venture with an uncertain ally is worth the risk, so that the free realm remains truly free."
She raised her hands. "Go, and decide wisely. Tomorrow night we'll count your votes, and the future of the free Pontar Valley will be decided by all its citizens."
(***)
Over the course of the next day, activity buzzed around The Cauldron and the ballot just outside of it. Dwarves pledged their support for the convoy over tankards, and boasted of the mettle they'd display on the proposed mountain trek. Elves whispered dismally of the possible exodus back to the mercy of the forests. Human peasants and nobles seemed split down the middle on the whole issue. The sorceresses remained characteristically silent. The ballot box became fuller and fuller as the sun crept towards the western horizon.
When the hour of dusk arrived, tensions were palpable as the counting began.
(***)
The next morning, the ballot box was replaced by a big, bold sign on the notice board outside The Cauldron. It read: "Now seeking volunteers for the trading convoy to Hengfors. See Cecil Burdon for details."