Severin Mordain, the sovereign of Nazair, sat on his throne, utilising his inhuman willpower not to facepalm as yet another noble came forth to report an attack.

  “This monster,” he cut the blabbering fool off, “sounds remarkably like a griffin.”

  The corpulent baron nodded, “Aye! But no griffins have attacked my land in years, your majesty! It is surely the doing of the Cintran devil!”

  Severin’s eye twitched.

  “You propose that the Slayer of Wenceslaus infiltrated our country, only to unleash a griffin on some peasant’s sheep?” The King spoke incredulously.

  “Of course not, your majesty,” the baron defended himself, “I’ve been hearing reports of monster attacks throughout our nation. It is surely a coordinated effort to weaken us!”

  Severin stared. He had also been hearing those reports. Just as he had the year before. And the one before that.

  Yet now, because of that damnable witch, every monster was somehow Cintra’s fault. The entire matter was only made worse by the unreliable reports that the routed soldiers and mercenaries brought forth.

  The King could only lament the loss of Garrik. The man was a capable commander and had his head on straight. He would have surely shed a proper light on the entire matter. Unfortunately, Severin couldn’t ransom him directly, nor any of the others. While the disconnect between the ‘raiding’ force and Nazair was paper-thin at this point, doing so would dispel any doubt, especially when he had already denounced the commander as a rogue element and a glory hound.

  So, they had to make do with the reports of less trustworthy men. Yet, there was little more a soldier who ran away from battle desired than to justify his cowardice. Still, quantity made up for quality. By carefully sifting through and picking out the information that stayed the same, facts could be established.

  And, while details were lacking, the facts were simple. Garrik had been outsmarted on the battlefield, while Wenceslaus had been ‘outspelled’ or whatever the fuck it was that sorcerers did. A sorceress wearing a skull or, more likely, a skull-shaped helmet was responsible; the figure easily linked to Cintra’s new court sorceress, one Tanya von Degurechaff.

  However, not many people had the resources and will to sift through so much information for the truth. They just heard one or two rumours and forged their views according to those. Now there wasn’t a tavern in Nazair where his citizens didn’t whisper of the Devil of Cintra, a skull-faced demoness who commanded monsters and slayed the beloved hero Wenceslaus. That the old man had been half-forgotten before his death didn’t dim their enthusiasm in the slightest.

  Severin’s eye twitched again as the noble continued wasting his time.

  Decades ago, the sorcerer had travelled around Nazair, vanquishing monsters and bandits alike, before sequestering himself in his tower. His service was such that even Severin’s father, Cassimar Mordain, had been forced to acknowledge the unpleasant man. Yet, unpleasant or not, the sorcerer had been capable. While his rates may have been outrageous, Severin had thought them well worth it for the peace of mind. Victory should have been assured, and peace should have been secured once more. With the chaos in Metinna, Nazair could not afford a war with Cintra.

  That hadn’t happened, of course. The sorceress, by all accounts an unblooded fresh graduate, had triumphed over the 'hero'. Whether the old man had been senile or the sorceress some sort of prodigy mattered little. His citizens were either trembling in fear or foaming at the mouth, all clamouring for war.

  ‘Wenceslaus’ death should be punished.’

  ‘The monster attacks have to be stopped!’

  ‘Demons cannot be allowed to walk the mortal plane!’

  ‘The Devil of Cintra will kill us all!’

  Every day, the rumours grew wilder and wilder. At first, the witch was just commanding monsters, including the legendary serpent Vlazmora. Then she was creating them. Now, there were supposed eye-witness reports of the sorceress copulating with Wenceslaus’ corpse to create more of her foul children.

  Still, if it were just the peasants who believed their nonsense, that would be that. But no.

  “Lord Valerio,” he cut the rambling baron off, “I understand. Rest assured that this matter is receiving my utmost attention.”

  Severin wasn’t lying.

  The baron attempted to bow, but his weight prevented him from doing so properly. Then he left.

  Tissaia de Vries stood in the Gallery of Glory on Thanedd island, staring intently at a painting in front of her. It depicted the creation of the first Chapter and the enactment of the Law.

  Herbert Stammelford, Aurora Henson, Ivo Richert, Agnes of Glanville, Geoffrey Monck and Radmir of Tor Carnedd.

  The first Chapter. And the masterminds behind the Law.

  Tissaia watched with sharp eyes as a speck of dust fell on the painting, marring its perfect surface. Then the speck ceased to exist, annihilated without a sound with a flex of willpower.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Footsteps interrupted her contemplation. The archmistress turned her head, examining the intruder briefly, before turning back towards the painting.

  “Tissaia,” A voice greeted.

  “Vilgefortz,” she responded. She did not turn.

  “Communing with the dead, I see,” he began.

  Tissaia did not deign his barb with a response. Vilgefortz was the youngest of the Chapter, and the most talented. His star was ascendant, while hers had been falling for decades. Yet, there was not much he could do to compete with the respect and connections forged through age. In that, no amount of scheming would let him surpass her or Gerhart.

  Tissaia did not need to read his mind to know that Vilgefortz hated that.

  The Rectoress adjusted one of her rings. It had turned the wrong way around.

  “Quite the powerful image, isn’t it,” Vilgefortz of Roggeveen broke the silence.

  Tissaia inclined her head slightly. It was the moment when proper order was established in the world of magic. The Chapter, the Law, the Brotherhood. All instrumental.

  “I’ve long since admired your adherence to the Law,” Vilgefortz continued, voice dripping with sincerity, “I dare say it is one of your most charming qualities.”

  “Is it?” Tissaia answered, adjusting another ring.

  “Rules are the foundations upon which any society is built,” the sorcerer spoke, “Is adherence to the rules, in the minds of many, not the distinction between good and evil? The thief and the taxman, the murderer and the executioner, what is the difference in their actions really?” he monologued, “Their actions are similar, yet one breaks the rules of society, while the other abides by them. One harms society and the human race, the other is beneficial.”

  “Have you come here to debate the connection between laws and morality?” Tissaia asked, though she already knew the answer. Vilgefortz wasn’t someone who wasted time with frivolities.

  Vilgefortz eyed her before he sighed audibly, “I’ve received some troubling news, Tissaia. I thought it prudent to discuss such a private matter with you first, before bringing it to the attention of the Chapter as a whole.”

  Tissaia turned, facing the man. Vilgefortz looked young for a sorcerer, around his thirties, though he was older. He was well built and tall, with neat black hair and wore a short jerkin, as usual. His face was the very picture of nobility, while his sincerity could be felt in his every word.

  Not that Tissaia was fooled.

  “What news?”

  “It appears,” Vilgefortz began, pausing dramatically, “That one of our members broke the Law.”

  His gaze drifted pointedly to the painting.

  “A serious infraction, if you believe it to be a matter for the Chapter,” Tissaia replied coldly.

  Vilgefortz nodded, his face one of concern, “Most assuredly. A member of the Brotherhood had joined a provocateur unit, before helping them massacre the response force. I am told the casualties were in the thousands, all without our approval.”

  Tissaia blinked slowly, before straightening one of her sleeves, “I’ve heard nothing of this.”

  Vilgefortz chuckled, his amused eyes finding her own, “I am not surprised, not surprised at all. It has only happened very recently. Barely a few weeks, and quite the distance from Thanedd.”

  ‘Which assuredly eliminates Temeria and Redania, as I would have heard of such a matter by now. With Vilgefortz preening here, the matter likely concerns me.’ Tissaia’s brow furrowed in thought, ‘Perhaps a border skirmish between Aedirn and Kaedwen in Lormark? Yet Yennefer was not one to get entangled in such matters.’

  She frowned.

  ‘Cintra, then.’

  “Nazair or Sodden,” she asked.

  Vilgefortz smirked, “Nazair.”

  Tissaia nodded.

  “Bring it to the Chapter,” she spoke coldly.

  Vilgefortz's smile did not disappear, but it did twitch.

  “Tissaia, I came here out of my respect for you,” he said, voice conciliatory, “You deserve to know when a pupil of yours has made a mistake.”

  “Mistake?” A brief smile flickered on Tissaia’s face before it returned to its customarily stony neutrality.

  “The Law is quite clear,” the sorcerer continued.

  “Yes, it is,” Tissaia concurred.

  To that, even Vilgefortz had no retort.

  Silence reigned for a few moments.

  “The Chapter will decide, then,” he spoke eventually.

  Tissaia nodded.

  Vilgefortz stared for a few more moments, before speaking, “So be it.”

  The archmistress turned back towards the painting as his footsteps echoed throughout the hall.

  Her Tanya, breaking the Law? What a joke.

  With Yennefer and Philippa, she could see it happen. With Tanya? The girl would probably combust at the mere suggestion.

  A small smile worked itself on her face. Vilgefortz had misstepped. With a bit of luck, he might even learn something from this, though Tissaia doubted it. The man was too prideful, but he might at least think twice before trying to drag her into his politicking again.

  ‘Well, the young are permitted their little follies,’ she thought. Even if they were annoying.

  Her smile disappeared as the full weight of the conversation dawned on her.

  Cintra should have been peaceful. A safe and calm place, that is what Tissaia had desired for Tanya when the girl had first expressed the wish to leave Aretuza. The Rectoress thought it would have been better for Tanya’s mental well-being had she stayed, but Tissaia knew her well enough to understand that the girl’s personality would have never allowed it.

  She began fidgeting with her ring once more, eyes staring at the painting, yet seeing nothing.

  While Tanya’s displacement was spatial rather than temporal, Tissaia had sympathised with the strange child. The opportunity to research such an anomaly had been welcome as well, though it ultimately led to nothing. Tissaia suspected some sort of dimensional memory transferring spell, but both mind and dimensional magic were terribly difficult fields. While she was likely one of the foremost experts on the former, she was merely adept at the latter, thus, she had made little progress in uncovering the mystery.

  In truth, it stopped mattering to her years ago.

  She sighed. Safety and tranquillity, that is what she had thought would benefit Tanya the most and why she had leveraged her past relationship with Adalia to appeal to her heir, despite Calanthé’s known distaste for the Brotherhood.

  It seemed that she had failed.

  Despite the small victory over Vilgefortz, Tissaia de Vries left the gallery with a bitter taste in her mouth.