(A/N the first: Warning. Scenes of a sexual nature. It's NOT rape so don't worry about that, but it does get into some angry violent sex. I don't think it's particularly explicit but I understand that people's opinions on that may vary. Also, horse care is not something I know about so if I've got that wrong, I'm very sorry.)

(A/N the second: Freddie does some things and behaves in a way that way that horrifies himself and may upset others. All that I can say is that he was being messed with by a Goddess. There will be fallout and explanations down the road.)

(A/N the third: We go quite far down the philosophy hole here. Be warned, but it is worth saying that some of the things and sentiments expressed in this chapter do not align with my own thoughts and feelings. Just as a disclaimer)

I've never liked books or stories that start with the phrase “It was a dark and stormy night.” I always think that it is unneeded addition of drama. But sometimes, when you are recording history and real events, you run up against the fact that it really is a dark and stormy night.

The rain fell heavily but was showing absolutely no signs of turning the ground into mud. Some might argue that the heat from the fires had so thoroughly dried out the ground around us that the rain had some distance to go before it would turn that same ground into mud.

I wouldn't know the answer to that I admit. I don't know what the nominal falling water to ground saturation level is. All I knew was that the rain fell, but I felt relatively warm and comfortable. Certainly not soaked to the skin. Nor did the water get into my eyes or blow into my ears. There was little to no wind that I could feel or otherwise be certain of. All there was was that rolling thunder, the odd flash of lightening and the constant rain fall.

It was the kind of rainfall that farmers pray for at certain times of the year. Enough rain to nurture crops but not to drown those same crops out or flood the farmer out.

Kerrass had stood and I stood with him. It seemed only fitting to stand and greet a Goddess after all and then we continued to wait.

“What was the cat about?” I wondered.

“Hmmm?” Kerrass shook himself from whatever he was thinking about.

“The cat.” I said. “I've never seen an animal behave like that around you. Let alone a Cat. I thought Cats hated you on sight.”

“They do.” Kerrass agreed. “Except when they are the servants of the Goddess. You remember the one up north with the Herb-woman?'

I had forgotten.

“Yes.” I said. “Well also this one. The Goddess sees through the eyes of some cats. Most often black ones. But also Crows and Crows are her messengers. Another of her followers claimed that the Goddess once appeared to him in the form of a Crow so...” Kerrass shrugged.

I considered this for a moment. “So if the Goddess can see through the eyes of a cat and the eyes of a Crow, then she pretty much knows everything right.”

Kerrass chuckled. “That's if she cares to look Freddie. Remember that she is not a power like the Eternal Fire, Kreve or Melitele. She often manifests as a person. Or is looking at something or someone else. Or she is helping another. Or she might not care to look. All of these things are possible. Probable even. But she is always heralded by the thunder, the storm and finally, a small black cat. You can ask her why if you like although if you get an answer, I will be astonished.”

He tilted his head to one side and listened. “Here she comes. Now remember what I said Freddie. She will be predisposed to like you anyway but remember. Do not resist. If you make this, any of this, into a struggle then she will want to beat you. On the one hand, she wants you to fight her. But on the other hand, some contests are best left unfought and un won and....” Suddenly his voice vanished. He realised instantly as he tried various things to make the words come out but nothing worked. He coughed, spat and tried again but still no words came out.

Then he sighed and clapped me on the shoulder before shrugging. He gestured into the night outside the fire.

There were the sounds of hoof-beats with the odd splashing of puddles. It sounded like a big horse and the ground seemed to shake. When the lighening flashed I saw a horsewoman riding towards us but then the darkness descended again. The hoofbeats slowed and she came into the firelight.

The horse was indeed huge. Not a black horse, or a grey, it more seemed like some kind of chestnut horse that had white socks and a white forehead. The woman riding on the back seemed to be more of a black, formless, hooded and cloaked shape on the back. The cloak was huge and came well down the sides of the horse, hanging limp with the water cascading off it. The rider slid off the side and staked the horse down.

She was hooded although I could see bare flesh in her arms.

The horse had bulky saddlebags and the saddle was a simple one with high stirrups of leather. As I say, there wasn't anything particularly unusual in the form of the horse or in the form of the saddle or the bags. If I hadn't seem all the ritual and Kerrass' behaviour, I would have assumed that she was just another traveller, seeking a place by the fire.

After the horse had been staked out, the saddle and the bags were taken off and I found some energy.

“Can I offer some help?” I wondered, walking closer.

“It's alright.” Came a woman's voice. “It's important to do these things yourself after all.”

Again, I was struck by just how normal it all seemed.

The saddle was removed and the saddlebags with it and she carried them both easily over to where we had camped and she ensured that they were both under the cover. A nose bag was produced and a blanket which were tied around the horses face and draped over the back of the steed when it was done.

Then she picked up her spear, slung her shield over her back and nimbly jumped over the fire before tugging the hood from the back of her head and sighed happily.

“Well. Here we are.” She said with a smile and right there and right then I thought that there had been a mistake.

This woman looked perfectly normal. Startlingly attractive to be sure, but there was nothing Godly about her. She was not beautiful in the way that Ariadne is beautiful. Nor in the way that any of the Sorceresses of the continent would be described as beautiful. If you went by classical terms then she would be described as being handsome rather than beautiful. Her chin was too strong for classic beauty, as described by the poets and the painters, and it was clear that she had done none of the normal kinds of beauty routines that modern society seems to expect from it's women.

By which I mean that she wore no makeup that I could see and her eyebrows were large and bushy. But despite the fact that she was not classicly beautiful, she was ridiculously attractive. There was something about her that just drew my gaze. I automatically found myself looking away so that I wasn't looking at the way the water had caused her cloak and under dress to lie against her frame.

She was tall, the same way that Kerrass had described her. Athletically built and muscled. She reminded me of a Shield-maiden of Skellige in her body and the way that she held herself. There was little doubt in my mind that this woman would be more than a match for most warriors on the continent. She moved with an easy grace that was, at the same time, absolutely deadly and heavily sexy.

She wore the same clothing that Kerrass had described. Simple black leather boots, woolen trousers although a bit tighter than I had imagined from Kerrass' description. She was wearing a loose upper layer that might once have been a dress or some kind of shift that hung from the shoulders only that had been cut off at just below the waist. This was then held down and together by a thick, leather belt of similar dark colours and her arms were bare.

There was a pouch and long fighting knife at her belt. Despite the looseness of her clothing, it was clear that there was no corset underneath. She had taken some cloth and strapped down her breasts in the way that some villagers and farmers wives do when they need to keep their breasts out of the way while working, but can't afford proper undergarments. Her clothes looked... old. Or maybe old was not the right word.

Utilitarean might be better. Simple as well, crude even. They were, as Kerrass had said, the kinds of clothes that you could imagine our ancestors wearing when they first landed in the Pontar delta. Or those earlier humans had worn before they had died out. The humans who we still find the remains of, with their obelisks and Necropolices. They were the kinds of clothes where you can imagine that someone must have told her. “You need to wear clothes.” And she said “Why?” They explained and she went out and found the most basic, quickly assembled and simple clothes that she could find.

Her shield was unremarkable save that it was an odd shape. I have seen rectangle shapes and round shapes but this was a kind of oval shape that seemed.... Strange to me. It had a leather cover that was tied on crudely with leather thonging. Like the rest of her clothing the shield appeared crude and simple....

That's it. That's a better description. It was like I was looking at a proto-shield. It was like how I would imagine the conversation went, when men were still fighting with clubs and spears that had been used to hunt, and someone had thought, “Hang on. If I have a large piece of wood to put in the way of the other guy who was trying to kill me, then that would make life easier.” Then you can imagine some woodworker going. “Yeah, that sounds like an excellent idea. I will make you one.” It was easy for me to imagine that the first shield would have looked like this.

“Now Kerrass. That was very naughty of you.” She was chiding him while I made my imspection. She set the shield aside and spun the spear round and plunged it into a puddle that hadn't been there a moment before. The water in the puddle hissed and steam rose from it. “Giving the game away like that. That was most unfair of you.”

Kerrass tried to say something before realising that he still couldn't speak. So he shrugged and grinned at the woman. Once again, that image of the man waiting for his crush to arrive in the tavern or to the party was clear in my head.

She stood with her hands on her hips and wearing an expression of exasperated scolding before laughing and throwing her hands extravagently in the air. “Oh, but I can't stay angry with you. Not for long anway. Come here and give us a kiss.”

She grabbed him by the tunic and hauled him to his feet for a hungry kiss. I have seen, and have been lucky enough to take part in many kisses now over the years and this was the most... I want to say “Combative” kiss that I've ever seen. They came together bruisingly, teeth clashed, tongues wrestled, they pulled at each other's hair and spun each other round as both sought for dominance.

I turned away as the display rather made me feel uncomfortable and took a few steps away to leave them to it. The only real thing to look at was the woman's spear.

And I've never seen, or heard of, a more unpleasant and evil looking weapon in my time on the road or reading books at the university. Nor could this have been a spear that I imagined from any of the many myths and legends that I have read about, or been told about as a child.

The closest thing that I could think of was... The Scoia'tael occasionally use these kinds of arrows that are designed to mess people up. The head of the arrow comes in three points that splinter into three parts as it enters the body. They're well known to be utterly useless against anything that is even remotely armoured so, at best, it's a terror weapon. You can only use it on unarmoured common folk, but the horror that such an arrow would cause to a person's body is....

For some reason, this spear was worse.

It was not a long spear, a bit longer than a javelin but certainly nothing like a pike or lance. It was.... Fuck.... It was a lot like my spear actually. A little longer than six foot long but where my spear is more of a two foot blade on the end of a pole, the head of this spear was something of a horror.

It was pointed like a spear but after that it was barbed in the same way that an arrow would be. Huge, grotesque hooks were up the side of the spear and on all axis of the spear, so that even if you used it as a bladed weapon, like I use mine, then you could swing the blade into the body of your opponent before pulling it backwards, raking your opponent with the hooks, blades and barbs.

But if you actually plunged it into the body of a man. Even just the head of the spear. Then I could see no way that that man would survive. No way at all. The spear would need to be cut out of the body of it's victim.

As I looked at it, it was still hissing in the rain water with the heat that seemed to be embedded in the metal of the spear.

“What do you think of my spear?” The woman said. She had come up behind me. Far too close for comfort and she said it right into my ear. There was an tone to her voice that I had never heard before or if I had, it was because a woman had been paid to use that tone. Saffron had used that tone as well when she whispered lewd suggestions in my ear. It was the kind of voice that ripped straight past my brain and sent my heart racing.

I staggered backwards and to one side and then stopped as I saw her.

Kerrass looked shaken, the same way that I imagine that I looked after I had kissed Ariadne that first time. He was breathless, sucking down air, eyes hooded and he was fighting for control. As I watched, he wiped a small trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

I looked from Kerrass back to the woman that was stood in front of me grinning and I realised that I was being tested in some way.

I carefully looked back down at the spear. “I think.” I began carefully. “That I have never seen a nastier or more evil looking weapon in all of my life.”

She laughed. I saw what Kerrass meant about how her laugh reminded me of unpleasant things. It was not a nasty laugh, nor was it filled with Evil. It was a laugh of genuine amusement. It was also the kind of laugh that sits well on the face. When you see someone laughing and then you find yourself thinking that it has made the person look more attractive. It also reminded me of a smith's hammer striking metal. I have no idea why.

“They call it a Gae Bolg.” She told me. “The killing spear or a Belly Spear. It is not the original weapon though. That weapon was, itself, modeled after the Sun spear of Legend and in turn the original was given to a legendary hero from my home-land by a friend of mine.” She had the attitude of someone who was telling a story.

“Later,” she went on, “landless noblemen would form bands of righteous warriors who would roam the land wielding spears copied from the idea of the original. They referred to those spears as Gae Bolg, named after the original but always lesser than that spear of legend. One of those bands of warriors was dedicated to my name and they gave me their best attempt at copying the original as a gift.”

She plucked the spear from the ground and sent it spinning in the air. The end glistening and the rain spattered and steamed when it struck the metal.

“Some would later claim that they had given me the original spear but I doubt it. They say that once cast, the Gae Bolg is deadly as it does more damage when removed from a man's body than it does going in. It is also said that there is no death more painful on that world or any other world than a death by the hands of a Belly Spear.”

She looked at me then and I felt myself being measured.

Then she moved, thrusting the spear towards my belly. The move was lightening fast and I responded with instinctive speed. I stepped to the side so that the spear went wide and I grabbed the haft of the wood below the many barbs of wicked looking metal and I tugged, just as Letho had taught me. With the same movement, I pulled my dagger out of it's sheath across my belly and had it at her neck.

I realised that I was taller than her.

Then I realised just how close the two of us were and that I was looking down at her and that her lips were glistening. There was suddenly a desire in me to kiss those lips.

I pulled away, just as quickly.

The woman grinned and the firelight flickered in her eyes before she turned back to Kerrass who had sat down during the moment. “I like him.” She said with another laugh that reminded me of the sound that a house makes when it is on fire. “Introduce me Kerrass.”

Kerrass rose to his feet and cleared his throat, surreptitiously checking that he could speak again.

“Lord Frederick von Coulthard it is my distinct honour to present to you Macha, Goddess of Battle, patron of magic and soldiers. The Horsewoman of war. Badb, the battle-Crow. Nemain, Queen of death and protector of the land. The Morrigan.”

She nodded. “Thank you Kerrass.”

“Before you start in on playing with your new toy Goddess.” Kerrass went on. I felt an irrational surge of anger for just a moment. “But I have a gift for you.”

She clapped her hands together in childish excitement. “Ooh I do so like presents. What is it?”

“I have woven you a cloak of Crows.” He presented the thing that he had been making and she took it was an expression something like a look of awe.

“Oh it's beautiful Kerrass thank you so much.” And I blinked as suddenly, rather than a loose, ragged bundle of feathers, it was a beautiful, full cloak that seemed to ripple in the night. Far larger than what Kerrass had worked and far richer in appearance to. Try as you might, it is impossible to make a cloak of feathers look pretty without it all going wrong and looking a bit.... well.... foolish. But now it looked beautiful and luxurient. Worth every bit of praise that this woman was heaping upon it.

“And what would you like in return?” She asked of him. “You know that I cannot accept a gift like that without giving you something back.” She smiled a little wickedly and licked her lips.

“The gift of your presence is enough for me.” Kerrass' answering smile was wicked and challenging but it had an odd kind of effect on the woman. Normally, in my experience anway, when a woman is fed so awful a line as that they tend to groan before smiling, laughing and enjoying the implied compliment. This woman did not.

“Kerrass.” She snarled. “I am not to be trifled with here. Nor will I be in your debt.” Her spear, that hadn't left her hand, was pointing at his throat. I started to wonder if I needed to fetch my own spear.

“Yes,” She said to me without taking her eyes off Kerrass. “Fetch your spear. You have admired my weapon and now it is time for me to admire yours.

Kerrass held his hands up in surrender after drawing the scene out a bit further. “ I bring you my friend.” He said. “He has questions that I would ask that you answer. That is all.”

She subsided. “Knowledge for a cloak.” She mused. “I have heard of worse trades in my time and made more than a few of those trials myself. Besides, I am inclined to help your friend anyway. He is well known to me and I like him.”

She turned, Kerrass forgotten and smiled at me radiently. The warm glow of a burning village.

“Now lets have a look at you.” She said walking round me. “Strong, tall, training in the martial forms only really beginning later in life but a veteran of many battlefields for a lot longer than that.”

I felt myself frown and opened my mouth to object to being inspected the way a rider would inspect a horse.

“And a spear boy as well.” She crowed. “I do like this one Kerrass, Well done.”

She stopped in front of me and leant on her spear with her other hand resting on her hip.

“Well young man? Have you come to be one of my Fianna. I have many warriors in many forms but I could always do with another?” Her expression was challenging. As though I was being dared into doing something that I wouldn't like. The words echoed in my skull strangely and I felt a childish rage climbing up my throat. The same rage that you feel when a parent teases you and you know that you cannot strike back.

“Ok.” I began. “First of all, What's a Fianna? Second of all. Who the fuck are you to make comments like that? And Lastly. I have fought in only one battle really and that wasn't really that much of one. Fights? Yes. Skirmishes? Almost certainly, but Battlefields?”

I shook my head.

“Freddie?” Kerrass warned.

“Oh shut up Kerrass.” The woman snapped angrily and Kerrass fell backwards as though she had hit him. “I think that this conversation is between me and the man you have brought me. Do not speak again until I invite you.”

Kerrass glowered. His own anger clear in his face. I was expecting something. Some outburst of violence or.... I don't know. Something. But instead, he turned and sat down a little way off.

“Do you have more to say?” Her temper seemed a quick thing. Sudden surges of rage to go with equally sudden surges of humour.

“As a matter of fact I do.” I told her. “What kind of Goddess treats her followers, like that?” I gestured at Kerrass. “What kind of Goddess rides a horse to the summoning circle. Who wears a cloak made from the feathers of Crows and.... Are you even really a God?”

She laughed in my face.

Flame forgive me but I nearly struck her I was so angry and wound up by this point.

“I knew I liked you.” She told me. “From the first moment that you crossed his path, I knew that I would like you. When I put some time and effort into finding out as much as I could about you, I found that I liked you even more.”

She stared at me, tilting her head to one side. She suddenly reminded me of the cat that we had seen before. Only she was looking at me the way that a cat looks at a mouse or a morsel of food.

“Now fetch your spear.” She said. “I would like to see what we're working with here.” She turned and plunged her own spear back into the ground. There was another hiss of hot water turning into steam.

My own weapons were near at hand and I handed them over. I had no idea why I did that. I was angry, frustrated and much to my own astonishment, I was also astonished to find that I was incredibly attracted to the woman in front of me.

She took the spear first and gave it an experimental spin. “Good balance.” She said. “Nice and heavy on the blade to help with the cutting when it came up to it, but if I had the choice I would say that that would make the thrust a little ungainly.”

“I was told that I would be better off with the cutting edge as some monsters would simply ignore a thrust from a spear.”

She laughed at that. “It depends on what kind of spear we are talking about.” She tossed the spear back to me as she inspected the dagger that Letho had once given me. “You do prefer your slashing weapons don't you.” She commented. “Don't get me wrong, it will stand you in good stead when you take up the axe later but at the same time, a good stab and rip would do just as much damage in the long run.”

“The axe,” I retorted. “Is back at home. I will never use it. It is far too heavy for me to wield.”

“Of course it is.” She told me, tossing the dagger back to me. “Because you are afraid of it. Afraid of what it represents. But there will come a time when you no longer have any choice.”

“So you can see the future then?” I demanded.

She laughed again. “Only when it comes to death. And I am not so cruel as to tell you when you are going to die. Nor do I generally perform prophesies. Or answer other quesitons on that nature.”

“Is my sister dead?”

“Ah.” She shook her finger in my face. “Why would I tell you that? That is the fuel for your current struggle. It would be a waste of a perfectly good fight. Both internal and external.” She licked her lips hungrily and a look that was as close to being one of lust as you could imagine came over her face.

“Damn you.” I snarled. I was astonished at how angry I was and I tried to fight it back to think clearly.

“Many have tried before.” She said calmly, sitting down. “But cursing me is like cursing yourself. I suggest you sit down. Later, we will see how well you do with your weapons.” She grinned and a shot of desire raced through me again.

When I had become engaged to Ariadne, it was as though I had flipped a switch in my head. I already considered myself a single man, I was committed to Ariadne and as such, I had found that I no longer desired other women. I certainly found women attractive, but it was as though there was an invisible barrier between me and them that I would not be able to overcome. I was self-aware enough to realise that the barrier was self-imposed and I had even suspected that Ariadne and I would still need to work up to physical intimacy when the time came. I had spent too long erecting walls of self-control that they were now, much thicker than I had ever conceived of.

I had even met other women that, if it were not for Ariadne, I would have pursued. I am thinking of the Herb-woman that I met for a start.

But here. There was a desire here that I had not felt in a long time, if ever, because there was an edge to it. I wanted this woman. The closest to it in my history was when I had been with Saffron all those years ago. When I had gotten over my initial fear of the Succubus I had wanted her so badly and then felt the joy of having that feeling reciprocated. But it was a conscious feeling. Something that I knew I could turn off should I wish to.

Here, that desire was becoming harder and harder to resist.

I swallowed and fought it back as best I could.

“But before we get into too much. You had other questions.” She told me. She had picked up her spear again as she sat down and almost leant against it, as her hair blew in the breeze. I almost felt myself grin. Hair heavy enough to not be weighed down by the water coming from the sky, but light enough to be blowing in the breeze.

“So who wears a cloak made out of Crow's feathers?” She repeated. “The answer to that is that I do. Why? Because I choose to. In many ways, I am a crow. I follow battlefields in the same way. I live off battlefields in the same way. I've known crows that are more intelligent than some people for that matter.

“Why do I ride a horse to the summoning circle? Because she deserves to be ridden. She is a good horse. I found her on a battlefield, sides raked with a knight's spurs, foaming at the mouth with how thirsty she was. It made me angry so I gutted the fucker that sat on her back, hauled him and all his stupid, pointless armour from her back, and have used her as a mount ever since when I need to travel anywhere. I like her. She has spirit and when I'm not in need of her. She spends her time in a paddock in Northern Temeria where she eats the grass, drinks the water and lets children ride on her back. Some horses need to be ridden. Some horses are born to pull a plough, others are born to sire other horses or to race or to do any number of other things. This horse was meant to be ridden by a fighter into battle.

“So I ride her.

“Now lets see. There were other questions as well. I want to ask the most simple ones first so that we don't get drawn into extended debates. I know we will at some point and I am looking forward to that when we get there. It's been ages since I've had a good fight and you will do well.”

I felt myself pale and she laughed at my face.

“There is more than one kind of battle. But you asked what a Fianna was. A Fianna is a band of landless warriors dedicated to the preservation of the land and the people. They are often sworn to the ideals of some God, Goddess or other ideal. Mostly made up of Landless noblemen and women. People who have no obligation to others, no other service or goal in mind which is why they are often Landless noblemen as they are sworn to no lord, have no harvests to bring in ro anything of that nature. It was part of their nature to swear themselves to others. They would often choose me as a Goddess of battle and Death without realising that my blessing is a double edged sword. Because I would bring them battle, and I would bring them death.”

Her smile was nasty and her eyes seemed to glow crimson for a moment but I told myself that that might have been a trick of the firelight.

“What other questions did you ask?” She wondered. “Ah yes. You asked what kind of Goddess treats her followers the way I treated Kerrass. Again, the short answer is this kind of Goddess. Am I not beautiful?”

She gestured at herself before laughing and I was forced to admit, even if it was only in my own head, that she was indeed beautiful.

Flame but I wanted this woman. She was not helping by leering at me, as though she knew exactly what was going on in my mind.

“Kerrass is dear to me.” She told me, “as are all of my followers, but I am the Goddess of Battle. I want my followers to be strong and how do they become stronger? They fight. As their Goddess it is my duty to make them stronger and to challenge them.”

“Not a believer in improvement through education, learning and collaboration then?” I retorted angrily.

But my anger slid off her and, if anything, seemed to make her even happier.

“Education?” she asked. “How did you learn to fight? Did you learn in the careful confines of the dueling academy with blunted tips on wooden swords. Or did you learn to fight from a man who has killed over and over and over again. Did you learn in all the times that you had to use your weapon in anger, or defend yourself from men that wanted to end your life.

“If I took your spear from you know and handed you a sword. Would you be more inclined to use it or would you still consider it a waste of time as you did back when you were first learning to use it. Would you look at all those teachers that were training you with it and think “They are training me how to win a sport, not how to kill.” And when you find a real teacher. Would you concentrate that much the harder because you know that your life depends on it.”

I had no answer for her.

“Learning. Did you learn more about the monsters by reading from them in the books, or going out there and finding yourself in their territory so that you must defend yourself from them. Did you learn about how politics works from your time in a library or from when you went to a courtroom where a loose word could cause irreprable damage to your family and your reputation. Did you learn more about war from being in a fight, or reading the romantic views of men who watched from a distance while armies clashed with the flags waving in the air.”

Her gaze skewered me to the floor.

“Did you learn more about what your world calls heresy by reading about it in a book, listening to the sermons in the pulpits, or from when you were there, in the mud with the cultists coming for you and that awful sick feeling that you felt when you watched them perform their rites.

“Learning. Battle is learning you fool.” She sneered. “Collaberation?

“Collaberation. Nothing drives people towards working together than when their lives are in danger or when they are getting ready for a fight. Ask yourself this, would you and Kerrass have ever truly been friends if you hadn't fought the monsters together. Would he have accepted you if he hadn't seen that you were willing to risk your own life to help rescue a child, or that you were more than willing to help destroy the nekker's nest?”

I had no answer for that and she knew it. That was what I had done and there was no way of knowing how things would have worked out the other way.

“Battle is the great teacher.” She told me. “And it brings people together in a way that nothing else ever does. More medical advances have been made after battle than at any other time, as Doctors, surgeons and alchemists frantically try to save lives. More has been learnt about engineering as men try to figure out better and more efficient ways to defend themselves while killing as many of the other side as possible. Chemistry as well. And even more importantly, battle teaches us more about ourselves both as individuals and as a people. How far will we go. What is our limit. It goes on and on and on.”

“I have heard that argument.” I told her. “And you are right that those improvements have been made. I've even heard more arguments that say that war can reduce excess population and is good for the economy. But war divides nations. War has caused the Elves to hate humans and the humans to hate each other. There have been three separate continental wars in my lifetime and I'm only just into my twenties.”

“But that's war. Not battle.” She grinned, like the light shining off the headsman's axe.

“Are the two different?” I retorted.

“Of course they are. War is a tool of politics. War is most often a way that politicians, no matter whether they wear a crown, a chain of office or have some kind of warrant of control, control their people. It's an excuse that these people use for increased taxes, why their food has been taken and so that the people can be told who to hate rather than letting them make their own minds up. War is an extension of politics.

“But battle? Oh Freddie. Battle is what happens down here, in the mud, in the minds of the generals trying to out think each other. But only if those same men are not being political. There is more politics in the minds of those generals than I should like.”

“But that suggests that battle is only a by-product of war.” I retorted

She sighed, subsiding. “If I did not like you so much, I would get angry at that. Furthermore, I know that you are not that stupid. You just pretend to be, in order to make a point and to keep things going. You are being deliberately ignorant and narrow-minded in order to challenge me. But unlike many of the beings that you have spoken to and people that you have questioned, I will not be tricked into thinking the same way.”

I snorted with amusement, feeling my own anger subside just as suddenly. “You like me?”

“Of course I like you.” She leered at me and shifted her position so that her trouser legs were pulled tight and it became easy to see the shape of her legs. Again, I forced myself to look away.

“Why?” I asked.

She smiled at me. This time the smile reminded me of the comedown after a fight. That joy of knowing that you had survived. I got the feeling that I was being let off the hook in some way.

“Two reasons. One reason goes back to why I think you have been in many battlefields. The other? You saved his life.” She gestured back at Kerrass.

“He has saved mine many more times. Many more indeed.”

“You are not listening.” She chided. “I am going to pose you a riddle. You have been following Kerrass around now for what three years?”

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“A little less if we are being precise.”

She shrugged. “But how many times have you seen him seriously wounded?”

“Not many. He is sometimes hurt but the use of potions and things helps to prevent and lessen those injuries. Or at least that's what I've thought. I'm the one that keeps getting injured.”

“Correct. And that's because mortals like you are not supposed to go through all the things that you go through. But that's a discussion for another time.”

“Wait, what?” I wondered. There were things there that I wanted to explore but she overrode me. She didn't even notice that I had tried to interrupt her.

“So now ask yourself this question. On the day that you found Kerrass bleeding to death outside an inn in South Eastern Redania. The beast on the horses back was a what?”

“I have no idea, it was in a sack.”

“Not a very big sack was it?”

“No.”

“So ask yourself this, if Kerrass has potions and decoctions and things that he can take in advance of a fight to help prevent, or lessen injury. Why was his injury so bad from a relatively small monster. Furthermore, if he had the strength and the coordination to get on his horse, get the monster carcass back to the inn, why didn't he treat his own injuries first in order to prevent himself from bleeding to death.”

I turned to look at Kerrass who I found was ignoring the pair of us. Staring into the firelight.

“All Witchers are caught unprepared sometimes.” I argued.

“Yes they are. But that doesn't explain why he got on his horse.”

“The injury was worse than he first thought.”

“Possible, but we both know that proper witcher training would allow you to be aware of just how badly you had been hurt. You saved his life that night. The shock of compassion from a stranger meant that he went through the motions of healing himself in order for him to find out what your game was. Then he tried to drive you away.”

“He regretted the deal.” I argued. “I was a nuisance back then. He might even argue that I am still a nuisance even now and I would not blame him for thinking that. But I remember who I was and what I was like at the time and I wouldn't want to travel with me.”

“Maybe. Or was he looking for a way to die. Was he on the verge of “giving up” as he calls it?” She shrugged. “There is no easy answer to that. No easy answer at all and I doubt that he even knows the answer himself. But to me, his Goddess, he was as close as he has ever been to allowing his despair to overcome him then and it was you that brought him out of that pit without either of you knowing it. So all in all, I was already inclined to help you. I shall have to think of some other way to reward you.”

“You could always tell me where my sister is.”

She laughed. The edge of mockery that she had put back into her voice cut me sharper than any blade.

“I mean it.” I was wounded and pulling back.

“And so do I.” She snapped. “I like you, but just because I like you does not mean that I will deprive you of the battle that you need in order to become the man that you need to be. That is the way of things. Do not ask again or I shall grow angry.”

“Are you not already angry?” I wondered.

“Ah Freddie.” She subsided again, just as quickly as she had grown angry. “That is the other reason that I like you. You never give up.”

“I don't know.” I joked. She was leaning back on the ground on two elbows. The posture had the unfortunate effect of pushing her chest into the air. “I rather think that I have given up several times.”

“Not quite.” She said. “Your association with one of mine means that I have been watching you. But I was aware fo you since long before that. You have been fighting all your life. All your life.”

“Some would say that I have had it fairly easy. Kerrass, for instance has had a far worse life than I with the trials, the loss of loved ones and the constant battles and persection.”

“Easy is relative to the observer.” She told me, waving her hand dismissively. “There is no way of knowing how any single person would react in any single instance. If we put you into Kerrass' life, would you have accepted the mutations that much better. Would your physiology have made life and acceptance easier. And vice versa, would Kerrass have coped with the bullying that you have suffered at the hands of your older brothers and father, along with the negligence of your mother, that much the easier. Would he have ignored it and moved on with his life while those self-same things still haunt you to this day.”

“My parents were good people...” I protested. “And I will...”

“Even good people hurt their children.” She told me, waving her hand dismissively. “Even good people get angry and snap so that they lash out. Even good people leave their children's care to others and even good people fail to understand the children under their care. Which of your siblings are you closest to?”

“Emma, and if you are going to....”

“When did Emma ever raise her voice to her father in order to defend you from his wrath. When did she ever try and divert your father's attention away from you and onto herself. She might have bandaged your hurts afterwards and held you while you wept with the injustices of it all. She might even have believed what she was saying. But when did she ever actually risk anything on your behalf?”

“She was constrained. She was a daughter and in training to be a lady.”

“Fuck off.” The woman snarled. “When did her training as a lady or her duty as a daughter ever stop your sister from doing exactly what she wanted at any given time?”

My rage was collossal. It was like a pressure behind the eyes, building and building until a white hot explosion came forth. I was up and on my feet in seconds and storming towards her. She was on her feet to meet me and I grabbed her by the throat with one hand and by the shoulder with the other....

I am so sorry. I didn't... I was not in control of my... I was so angry. She made me so....

“Don't talk about my sister that way.” I snarled into the woman's face. A woman who did not even blink. She was certainly not startled or afraid. Instead her eyes shone and her lips parted.

“There you are.” She said. “There's the Freddie I know.”

Then she threw my arms off as though my strength was nothing, grabbed my head and kissed me, hard. Arousal ripped through me. But so did confusion and horror at what was happening. I pushed her back with all the strength I could muster, although in doing so I did not move her. I only moved myself. I staggered and fell backwards. Breathing hard with the emotion of it and... yes.... I must admit it.... the stymied arousal.

“I'm sorry.” I didn't dare look at her. “I've never done anything like that. I didn't mean....”

“Do not be sorry.” She told me. Her voice having that ring of command that you can hear if you ever listen to the Empress speak. “Never be sorry for righteous anger and defence of those that you love and care about is always righteous.”

I looked up at her then from where I lay on my back. The horror of what I had done receded. I could never have hurt this woman, not that I didn't want to, but because I was incapable. She stood over me, domineering and terrible in her imperiousness of it. If anything, my desire for her grew. She grinned at me knowingly.

“Stand up.” She demanded after a long moment.

“What?”

“Stand up. After being knocked down, the first thing you should always do is to stand up.”

There was a crack of command to her voice. The same air of command that Kerrass has when he's training me in something. Some movement or technique that I need to learn to master. There is a tone that he uses that is impossible to disobey. She had the same sense about her and I was struck by it.

I climbed to my feet and looked at her.

“Good.” She said. “Always stand up. If you are physically incapable of standing due to injury then you wait until you are healed and your doctor or Surgeon tells you that you are capable again. Then you should stand up and fight back to recovery. If you are sick or your injury means that you will never be able to do so physically, then the battle to rise to your feet is in your head. It is the most basic form of the fight. Stand up. If you cannot stand then you cannot fight. Even if that standing up is in your head.”

I nodded.

Then she hit me again across the face. “Don't you look at me with your lying face.” She snarled, her lip curling in disdain, which made her look even more attractive, but she calmed just as quickly. “You hear the words but you do not understand. That is alright. Some people never understand but you are closer than most. You do it automatically. Your life has been a series of times where you have been knocked off your feet, followed by a moment of self-pity and then a struggle to get back to your feet. And that is why you are so close to being mine.”

I took a deep breath to try and calm myself and when I opened my eyes, she was smiling at me approvingly.

“But you said that I am a veteran of many battles. As I say, there are veterans of armies all over the continent that would be insulted if I tried to claim that I had fought in a battle.”

She laughed, “And their arrogance shows their lack of understanding. It doesn't matter about the size of the armies, how many men and women show up or how many siege engines are arrayed against each other. That is what War is about and that is the difference. Battle is the struggle, the moment when the armies meet. War is the extension of politics whereas Battle is the extension of War. But only in that form.”

“Even so, I have only really been fighting over the last few years.”

“Really?” She smiled and the firelight reflected off her teeth in the same way that it does from a blade. “What about all the times at the dinner table when your father was shouting at you about knowing your place. What about all the times when your Elder Brothers would use you as a way to make themselves feel powerful. Whether that was Edmund driving off your friends so that you would grow up lonely and without the social skills to move on in the world. Skills that you had to learn later. Mark giving you harsh penances so that he could prove to his own tutors and your parents that he was a proper churchman in the making. Or Sam, taking the opportunity to beat up his younger brother so that he could feel better about the fact that you were far cleverer than he was.

“It goes further. Your battles for your mother's attention and affection that you lost. That because she was too self-pitying as a result of what happened to her to properly realise that she driving away her children and making them miserable. Your battles for your father's affection, even when you were just trying to avoid angering him. Trying so hard to avoid making him angry when it should have been clear to him, the adult, that you were different to how he was and that he should not punish you for that difference.

“I've talked about the battles with your elder sister. But what about your battles with Francesca?”

“Hey,” My mind rebelled and I felt the anger in the hollow of my chest again. “I loved...”

“Of course you loved them. You loved them all, you still love them all, even the ones that are dead or have changed beyond recognition. But that, in and of itself, can be a battle. And with Francesca? You spent all of your time trying not to be jealous. She was so perfect, so clever, charming, wonderful and beautiful that everyone loved her. Family, suitors, friends and social circles. Including you and you were jealous. Do not try to deny it and you knew that it was wrong because your chosen morals told you so. So you fought those feelings down. You fought, telling yourself that you were wrong to feel that way.”

The woman stared at me.

“You have fought at every stage. Small battles, large battles. When you realised that you could not be what your father wanted you to be, you fought to find what you wanted to be. When you heard that your father had died, you fought your family again to make sure that the proper killers were brought to justice. Even now, you fight to make sure that what happened to your sister is properly dealt with. You are a fighter Freddie. You have always been a fighter.”

“You make that sound like something I should be proud of.” I retorted.

“Is it something you should be ashamed of?”

“I had all the priviliges in the world.” I responded. “I was backed up by wealth, education, prestige and noble birth. Compared to the average person born in a village...”

“You are being stupid again and I will not stand for it.” She snapped. “We have already discussed this. It is not the size of the fight, but the fight itself. Some people find it easy to live in a village and produce crops, get married, raise half a dozen kids and then die. Some people are content with their lot as a noble. They enjoy their lives, collect the taxes, play in silly little political games, marry who they are told to and then move on.

“Those people that fight for something different are actually much rarer than you think and they are always always remarked upon by their fellows. “You want examples? Kerrass had to fight his way clear of madness, I helped a little, but no more than the drugs that he took, I just propped him up a little when he wobbled. Your sister, Emma, fought to be the head of your families merchant endeavours. Luckily, your father did recognise that in time and took steps.”

She grinned at me again. “Your betrothed fights every day to assimilate into human culture. There are exmples all around you. You are drawn to each other and you help each other. You are the best examples around to show what mankind is capable of.”

I saw a way in. “Ah, but constant battle could also be harmful. Ciri has fought all her life, fought to survive, always running, always fighting and then, when that battle was taken away from her, she floundered and began to lose herself as she looked for someone, or something else to fight.”

The woman laughed. “Ah Ciri, I do love that girl. Her struggle is bigger than anyone elses and it is not over yet. But you are wrong. She was still fighting, she just resented the fact that one kind of fight had turned into another kind of fight. The change was shocking to her system and she rebelled against it. You too will have this fight ahead of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don't think it will be easy to just stop your travels at the end of your journey do you. When everything is said and done, do you really think you will be able to set aside your spear, take your dagger out of your belt and just sit still for a while. Come to that, how will you feel when you have nothing else to write about. When the day comes that you must take up the responsibilities of a feudal lord and husband. Where reading and scholarly pursuits become hobbies that you must set aside in the face of duty. How will you find that particular struggle I wonder?”

“I am not looking forward to it.” I admitted. “But I will have Ariadne there to help.”

“You see.” She crowed in triumph. “Battle brings people together as well.”

I laughed and she laughed with me. It felt good.

“It is also a mistake to believe that battle only happens with weapons or fisticuffs. You have just done it with me now. You do it regularly. You know that I am right or that I have, at least, a different point of view, so you automatically take the opposite. You regularly pretend to be stupid in order to draw people into telling you their point of view so that you can stand there and do your best to poke holes in it.”

“That's how you test theories.” I told her. “You ask questions, even stupid questions and then you can tell what is going on based on the person's response. How can you see whether or not a person's opinion or theory is correct unless you test it rigorously. Alchemists do it all the time. They mix this together with that and see what happens. Then when they've got stuff, they test it over and over and over again. Give the medicine to someone else. Give it to more than one person. Give it to a woman, a halfling, a dwarf and an elf. Fuck, give it to a troll if you can. Give it to someone old. Give it to a baby. It's as though they're always trying to prove themselves wrong. To prove to themselves that they made a mistake.”

“And that is a battle too. Battles of ideologies. Battles of philosophies and religions and scientific method. Which is the best way to forge a blade. What is the best medicine or method to treat the plague? It's all a struggle, it's all a competition to see who is better. Who is right.”

I stared at her for a long time.

“You were a fighter long before you met a Witcher.” She told me. “Your weapons are words and questions, ideas, theories and evidence. You have tested these things in the battlefields of the lecture halls, libraries and seminar rooms. You have even used these skills in your day to day life as you fought your parents, your siblings and the rest. It is still a weakness of this world that they only think of battle as being something that results in blood and death. There will come a time when your skills and your weapons will become the primary driving force for change and then the world will tremble indeed.”

She turned her head on one side. “Think of it another way. Who is in charge of things when you are heading off to fight a monster?”

“Kerrass.” I told her.

“That's correct and you are right to do so. He is more skilled at that than you would be. But now answer this. Who is in charge when the two of you have to sit down to a dinner, or attend a reception. Now that you are more experienced, who talks to nobles, craftsmen and merchants in order to get the information that you need. Is it you, or is it Kerrass?”

“It's me.” I admitted.

“That's because he recognised your skills. In the same way that you would never challenge him to a fight on his battleground, with swords and magic. He would never challenge you to a fight on your battleground, with dances, comments and insults. He would lose and he knows it too. It is in your nature to admit who is better than ourselves. But for those of us who are fighters. We would also work to make ourselves better.”

Silence fell between us for a little while.

“I think you're being a little harsh on those people that do not fight.” I told her. “Those people that are content with their lives and do as they're told. I have been enormously fortunate in that I have had the freedom to pursue my passions. To marry the woman that I love and to do what I want to do. But not everyone has that privilege.”

She waved her hands dismissively. “Those people are not my concern.”

“But they are the ones that mean that I can do what I want. I could not without the farmers that work on my fields and trade with my family. Also, what about those people that follow their passions and their drives into less savoury things. What about those people that struggle so hard to rape and murder anyone that they want. What if my struggle is to keep the little person down so that I can be on the top. If I struggle to hold onto as much of the money as I can in order to to keep it out of the hands of those people who, I think, don't deserve it. What about those struggles?”

She laughed. “I said that I like you and I meant it. You are struggling to argue that evil exists. You are trying to say that some desires are bad and some desires are good. That some people struggle for their own ends rather than the struggle for the better. This is true and I acknowledge it. But there is always, always, a reaction to that. The evil and tyrannical ruler is always overthrown eventually. It might take time, years, decades or even generations before the tyranny is destroyed and or corrected.

“There is always a small group of committed people that will stand up and say “This is wrong.” If they say that often enough and loudly enough then people will always pay attention. Always. Because they have to. The truth inside those words will reach down inside something feral and primitive and that will start the revolution. It is sometimes a slow process. But it always happens.

“So yes. I like tyrants as well. Because no-one creates struggles quite as often or as surely as tyrants do. There is always an equal and opposite reaction to those extreme personalities and tyrannical rulers and you would be surprised as to just how often, the reaction turns out to be worse than the initial tyranny.

“But the struggle is eternal. Sooner or later a man will stand up and say “no more” and then the struggle begins again, the battle starts anew.

“You might say that some people don't fight, that they are content with their lot. That is true, but a lot of them had to fight to get there. Even if they didn't have to fight particularly hard.”

“But in all fights, there must be a loser. What about them?” I was fascinated. I didn't like the philosophy but it was... enchanting.

She smiled at me, almost gently, it was the first time that I found any softness in her. In that moment, she reminded me of the woman on the back of the Skeleton Ship. I don't know why.

“In any fight, there are always losers and there is no shame at all in losing. Life is a battle and at the end of that battle, everyone loses. No-one gets out of the battle alive. No-one. It is no shame to have no strength to fight. Kerrass should not be ashamed if he had not had the strength to summon me, to take the potions, and monitor his own thought processes enough to keep himself on the path as long as he needs to. And on the day that he no longer has the strength to do all of that, then I will be there to catch him.

“It would not have been a shame if, at your father's dinner table on the last day when he told you to give up your studies and marry who you were told to marry and serve the family.... You would have had no need to feel shame if you had done as you were told. If you had gone to your room, thrown your books away and packed to go and court the next unsuitable match. There would have been no shame in that as your Father would have already beaten you and taken away your strength. But he had not yet, not yet and you still had that small amount of fight in you. In the tears that you shed at the thought of giving up. You came so close to giving up but then you found your strength and got back on with it. I was proud of you that day but I would not have been ashamed if you had given up.

“It is no shame to run out of strength and let yourself die. Never claim differently and anyone that does claim differently has never experienced the awful pressures that are involved in either your fight or Kerrass' fight.”

“So what does deserve shame, in your mind?” It was the obvious question and I rather thought that I already knew the answer. She smiled at me, that challenge was back in her eyes now. That goading sense of her as though she was pushing me into something.

“You see? You know the answer to that. Of course you do, but you ask it anyway. It's just one of those tools, one of your weapons in the arsenal of a scholar. And to beat you here, all I have to do is to not answer it. All I have to do is walk away.”

“But you won't.” I told her and I saw that I was right. “You will answer. Everyone always answers because it makes them feel better than the questioner. They see that the answer is obvious because to them it is obvious and in so doing, they prove that they are better than the person asking the question.”

“But you know that. So you also know that you are better than your subject.” She smiled and appraised me again. “Oh, if only I had time, I would debate with you on subjects far reaching, obscure and miniscule.”

I smiled. “But I notice that you haven't ansered my question.”

“Which is the other way to not answer the question. Divert the questioner.”

“By complimenting them. I know this. Answer the question.”

She smiled and licked her lips and a hooded look came into her eyes. “Shame comes, shame is deserved when there is a fight, you know that you have the tools to fight it, you know that you have the ability to fight it, you might have the duty to fight it and that the fight is worth fighting. But you choose not to. That is shame. These are the people that deserve no pity when their destruction eventually comes. They are the weak, the worms and the men who should be spat upon on the streets. Even if the fight will be lost, even if you know that you cannot win. If you see that fight, and know that you should fight it. But don't?”

She hawked and spat.

“Some people have reasons to stay behind.” I said after a while. “Family and so on.”

“You are thinking in terms of battle as only being done with swords again.” She chided me. “But alright, I will engage with that. In that instance, the man should stay behind. Because in that instnace, the presence of his family that he has to protect robs him of his ability to fight. Then it becomes a question of, does he have to fight to protect his family, flee to protect his family, entrench to protect his family. All are struggles, all are fights. The weak man would just run away and abandon his family to the.... whatever. You have mistaken not fighting for choosing your battle. And....”

She tilted her head to one side and considered, the fire highlighing the line of her neck.

“Sometimes, choosing not to fight is the hardest battle of all. Battlers are my children. All of them. It's just that in this world, a lot of them are warriors. Your World has not moved on enough that the term “fighters” has not progressed to include all kinds of other things such as people struggling with illness, injury, political fighters and so on and so on.”

I nodded and let things subside. I realised something then. This was not a debate. Arguing with this woman was like arguing with a fanatic. I would never be able to get her to see any other point of view. I would never get her to see that certain aspects of her philosophy was flawed. She would never understand that if you view everything as a battle, then you see everyone as an adversary to be confounded and defeated. I saw my thought process race ahead of me like a runaway horse, chasing off into the distance. She would argue that not everyone was an adversary, that all battle's need allies, but I could counter that there are battles within battles within battles. And that some battles are more harmful than others and that some battles can become subverted into something that is evil. That a battle against poverty can sometimes be a battle against poor people. That a battle against sickness can be a battle against sick people.

That some battles can never be won. That a battle against crime is something that can never be won because there are always people that want the thing that we cannot have.

“The most important battle of all.” She was grinning at me wickedly. “The battle in your own head when challenged with ideas that you don't like.”

My anger crept back. I felt that she was laughing at me. Not entirely unfair because she was really laughing at me. “Fuck you.” I told her.

“Maybe later if you earn it.” She told me. “So, how does it feel to question a Goddess. To ask higher questions of philosophy of a Goddess?”

“Are you a Goddess?” I accused. Some part in the back of my head noting that the conversation had become antagonistic again. “So far I have seen a woman, a beautiful woman admittedly.”

“You think I'm beautiful?” She ran her hand down her body in an aggressively lewd way that I found distasteful.

“Not when you do that I don't.” I told her. “Of course you are beautiful and you know it too. You are using it as a weapon to make me feel uncomfortable.”

“Not entirely the thing that I was going for.” she teased. “Oh fuck off.” I snarled back in disgust. Both at her for using such blatant and offensively clumsy actions but also at my own body for falling for it. I realised that I had been staring at the way that the cloth that she was wearing had highlighted her breasts and I tore my eyes away.

She laughed.

“You're a beautiful woman who claims to know Kerrass. But to him, his Goddess is blonde. So how do I know that you are a Goddess. To me, you just seem like a rather arrogant fanatic with a kind of warped philosophy of life.”

She laughed again. It was as irritating a laugh as I'd ever heard. It reminded me of gravel being crunched underfoot by booted feet.

“And yet,” She said with a smile. “When I was summoned, I came.”

“Oh come on.” I replied. “You could be anyone that passed and came down to look at two lunatics that were building a big fire. You could be a Sorceress of some kind.”

She laughed, a little more derisively. “A Sorceress? Please. No Sorceress would carry a spear like mine. Sodden taught Sorceresses what happens when magic users fight in battles and now they are too afraid. They claim that they know the right thing to do but you watch, when it actually comes to be time to put their own life on the line for a cause, or a flag or some other case then you look around. Where are they?”

“Persecuted into the ground.” I replied.

“Please.” She sneered. “Are you telling me that if Phillipa Eilhart wanted to she couldn't rain down fire onto Radovid's head and install a friendly ruler.”

“But then all Magic users would be persecuted.” I grinned. I felt like I was back in the game somehow. I had found a pressure point in her and made her angry. It was exactly the same feeling that I got when I had seen a weakness in an opponent's guard during a fight.

“But they didn't did they.” She retorted. “They fled. When the going got tough, the Magic users ran from it. They were used to their own little niche of power and guarded it jealously. Instead of working with the church, instead of helping the common folk. The Eternal Fire, Radovid and the rest would not have dared to persecute magic users so much if people had been able to show, conclusively that Magic users had been helping society for years. But even you, student of history knows the answer to why that was.”

“I do.” I responded. “I am interested as to why it makes you so angry.”

“The mages guarded their knowledge and became arrogant with it. They hoarded their power and their information and told people that magic made them better than they were. Radovid hated Eilhart because of the way she treated him as a child. So it was a correction. One of those that I talked about. The mages tried to hold onto too much too tightly and it slipped through their fingers. Disgusting. They could have been allies to the North but they drove the rulers, the nobles, the priests and the common folk away from themselves. Everything that they gained at Sodden was lost. But without them, the North was doomed.”

There is a certain kind of woman that looks exponentially more beautiful when they are angry. This woman was one of them. But I am a proffessional now and my instinct was that I needed to keep poking this particular sore spot for her.

“All of that is lovely.” I told her. “And I can think of several different scholars who would be interested in that point of view. Not least of which would be several Magic users themselves but none of what you are saying is particularly convincing. The fact reminas that, you could just be some slightly magical person of some kind. I chose Sorceress because it seems to be that much more likely. Why should I believe that you are a Goddess?”

“Why shouldn't you?”

“And that's not going to work either.” I retorted. “It's the oldest trick in the book to answer a question with a question. If we're fighting, if we're “battling” and this debate is my version of a battle as you suggest. Then that would be the equivalent of you trying to turn my attacks back on me. In asking you a question that you don't want to answer you are responding by asking me a question that I have already answered.”

“And yet there is a certain part of that question in the answer.” She responded, her anger smouldering in her eyes a little. “Why shouldn't you believe that I am a Goddess?”

“Because Gods are powers, you might be possessed of a God or a Goddess it is true but in the event of anything else, the truth is nearly always much simpler than that. Why should I accept your suggestion that you are not a Sorceress. Or a spirit of some kind, or some other creature with the power of illusion. But why shouldn't I believe that you are a Sorceress? You carry all the characteristics of being one. You are beautiful, opinionated, arrogant and you have undeniable power.”

“So, knowing my power, you choose to insult me?”

“If the only way that you can prove your Godhead is by being petty and incinerating me then that doesn't make you a God. They just makes you a bitch.”

She laughed at that and her anger dissipated. I felt my own frustration grow to replace that.

“I haven't had this much fun in years.” She told me with a slight sneer. “The truth, Freddie dearest, is that the reason you deny any potential divinity in me is due to the fact that I don't behave like any God that you have experience of. The Eternal Fire, Kreve, Melitele, Freya and the rest are all names given by humans to existing powers. Does that make them Gods?

“Whereas, here I am. A living breathing woman as far as you can tell. Admit it. You would have more faith in the possibility of my being a Goddess if you couldn't see me. If you couldn't reach out with your hand and touch me as you are so desperate to do. Because you do want to touch me don't you Freddie.”

She licked her lips.

“This is my battleground now.” I told her. “And you are not going to distract me by appealing to my libido. You are arguing that Gods here are figures of faith. This is true. But you are not are you. You are not a figure of faith. From everything that Kerrass tells me, there are relatively few people that even acknowledge your existence here, let alone worship you. But you claim to be a Goddess. So, again, why would I believe you?”

“Because I don't need faith to exist.” She told me. “ I was born, I live in the fires of combat no matter what form of combat that might be. My gifts are strength and the release of pain. No-one following me will ever have power to confound their enemies, they will never wave their hands and perform miracles, my followers will never heal the sick or raise the dead. All that I can give and all that I would give is what the person has already has in their hearts and in their arms and in their minds.”

“Some would argue that that makes you a fairly weak Goddess.” I realise that I was insulting her but I was doing it deliberately. I wanted her on her back foot. She seemed to show me more when she was angry and that was what I was going for.

But she had an answer.

“Or does that make me stronger. I have no need of followers. I am not so insecure that I feel the need to give of my power to other people in order to prove my existence. I am not so weak in myself that I need to pay people for their worship in peace, miracles or safety. Following my most influential of followers around and showering them with gifts and miracles like some kind of love-sick child chasing after the crush that doesn't even know that I exist. I am the Goddess of battle. You must fight for my approval. It is not there for the asking. And in fighting for my approval you would often find that you already have it. So does that make me a weak Goddess? Or a strong one?”

She leant back.

“There is no answer of course. The only way that we can define who is strong and who is weak would be to have a fight over it. That kind of thing never works among Gods because how do you fight? I have met Kreve several times. I thought he was rather arrogant myself, but that wouldn't be a surprise given that his guise is one of rulership and Lordship as well as a God of War. Who is stronger, me or him? If we fought, he would be winning when the two of us were not actually clashing but every time my forces met him then I would be the stronger. Myths and Legends always talk about Wars of Gods but that makes no sense. How would the God or Goddess of Love actually fight?”

She shuddered theatrically.

It was an interesting question and one that I will take up with Mark the next time I see him. Both that question and the question about what makes a God or Goddess stronger and more powerful than the others.

“I'm going to ask you another question now.” She told me. “You suggest that I am just some powerful woman and not actually a Goddess. But what is the difference between a Goddess and a woman? Is it the presence of followers, worship, faith. Or is it a matter of perspective. Is it an uncomfortable truth that we are all Gods. All of us, and the only reason that some of us lead such miserable lives is because those of us that realise the truth, know that in order to keep their power, they must keep the rest of you down and convince you that they are better than you?”

“That is an impossible question to answer.”

“It's not supposed to be answerable. It is supposed to spark thinking and consideration.”

“But you still.... STILL haven't answered my question. Why should I believe that you are a Goddess? What have you done other than make claims to powers and circumstances that could belong to anyone. That could have been made by anyone in order to get what you want. What you have done could be done by anyone with a bit of power so why should we believe that you are more divine than the next guy or gal that comes this way and attempts to tell us that they are a God.”

She smiled nastily. “But that's my point Freddie. And I've explained this before. There is nothing that I could do, nothing that anyone can do, to say that I am a Goddess, or God, that would satisfy you. There is nothing on this continent that I could claim as proof of divinity that you could not poke holes in. The same with any God or Goddess that you claim to mention on this world or any other world for that matter.

“Miracles of healing that might turn out to be fraud is the most common of course. Other's report miracles of plenty which could easily be explained by the pressures of others. The eternal flame that could merely be the use of magic that Elves understood more than the primitive humans that first came there. Divine miracles cast by priests that actually turn out to be the channeling of magical forces that a Sorcerer or Sorceress would access and use in a different way. What makes me divine and the other person not?

“Other people. People like Kerrass and numerous others that call me divine. They call me Goddess and so I am one. I answer their prayers and so I become divine. So I become a Goddess. Shall I tell you how I came to be? It is valid for you and to answer the questions that you were supposed to ask me but have since forgotten about.”

“Please.” I snapped. I was being challenged and parts of my brain were fighting back.

“I came to another land once. There were many of us back then and we came to an island, far far away from here. There were a people there that were being oppressed by strange creatures and so we liberated them. We had no interest in rulership or Lordship and much to our surprise and amusement, we found those primitive people who were not dissimilar from yourself, were worshipping us.

“That is what made me a Goddess. I have power over Battle which is my main remit. I can feel the push and pull of conflict, no matter the form it takes, the size of it or the power of it. From the smallest tavern brawl to the larges battles using forces and sciences beyond your capability. I have seen stars fighting each other as to who could shine the brightest in order to dominate their particular patch of space. I have seem tiny tiny beings struggling to survive in harsh environments that they have just entered and I was there too. I have fought in wars and battles using weapons and powers that you cannot even dream of except in your worst nightmares. Just as I have also fought alongside people that fought off predators with nothing more than a jawbone taken from the last beast that was slain during the struggle to survive.

“I am the Goddess of battle and so long as there is a living creature that will struggle against something, in this plain of existence or the next one, then I will be there and I will be cheering them on to fight harder, fight further and fight longer.”

Her little speech floored me a little. It seemed powerful and passionate. She had risen from her seated position at the time and was now stood, her arms outstretched and there was a look on her face of reflected ecstasy.

And I wanted her. I fought it every step of the way. I fought it so hard. I looked away, I tried to imagine Ariadne's face. I tried to imagine lovers past and lovers that I would never know. But this woman was getting through that. I gritted my teeth as I realised that I had closed my eyes and I forced my eyes to open. She was smiling at me and as I looked at her. I could see what she would look like naked.

“I have other remits though,” She said as she walked towards me. “I am a Goddess of Magic... I don't know why but many people ascribe those things to me.”

She was getting closer to me now and I found myself needing to stand and back away. I was nervous, even terrified. “But you have such disdain for Sorceresses.”

“I do.” The shadows from the flickering flames shaded her features and those shadows seemed to dance around, deepening the eye sockets and giving her a kind of sinister look. I wanted her badly. “Magic is raw and unstoppable. I know that some magic users here call it a force while others call it a chaos. Both are true. But it is raw and powerful and alive in a way that your petty little Sorceresses cannot hope to comprehend. They are like children standing up before their angry parents and shouting, screaming and being disobedient to attract their parent's attention. Do you know what you do to disobedient children Freddie?” She took another step towards me and again she licked her lips.

“You pay attention to them?” I took another step backwards.

“You hit them Freddie. You teach them that playing with fire is dangerous and you put them in the fear of you. I so look forward to the day when the magic users of your little continent go too far and Magic as a force slaps them back down to punish them for their arrogance.” Her smile was predatory. From somewhere it occurred to me to notice that the storm was getting worse. That last flash of lightening was closer and the rain was falling heavier.

“I am also a Goddess of Death.” She went on, her smile broadening. “Not that that should surprise you. I am the Goddess of battle after all. And sooner or later, there comes a point where a warrior can fight no more. The sufferer can take no more pain, the sick have no more strength to keep drawing breath. Sooner or later, everyone loses that fight and there is no shame in that loss. People don't tend to pray for my gift of death though. They pray for the strength to die a good death and do you know what I do then Freddie?”

“I cannot imagine.” I replied taking another step back. She was terrifying in her sexuality. They tell stories of Sabrina Glevissig and about how she used to wear revealing dresses with all of her feminine curves on display while, at the same time, being utterly intimidating with it. I've met people that knew her and talked to her and they tell me that she used her sexuality in the same way that a Griffin would use it's claws. So that no-one would dare approach or proposition her. I remembered that story then as I took another step back. Not just scared at this creature coming towards me. This woman that I was beginning to believe really was a Goddess of some kind.

She stepped towards me and reflexively I took another step back. Too late, I felt the heat on the back of my legs and realised that I was about to step into the rign of fire that had surrounded us. I staggered, nearly fell, one of those arms pinwheeling everywhere kind of falls. Lightening fast, her hand whipped forward and caught me by the front of my shirt and yanked me forward so that I would not fall backwards into the flame.She pulled so hard that my shirt tore and I heard that sound of cloth tearing. I do not know why but this time it sounded like a whetstone being run along the edge of a blade.

But in pulling me, I was now close to her. Far too close for my own comfort. I could feel the heat from her and smell her breath even though we did not touch. I was breathing heavily and I could see her eyes, glowing slightly with the reflected firelight. Her eyes darted around my face and her lips parted slightly. It can't have been for very long. A couple of heartbeats at most. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff and dangerously close to falling.

“When a man prays to me for the strength to die a Good death?” She repeated, almost breathing the words and my arousal spiked again. I wanted this woman so badly I felt my lips curl into a snarl as I fought the feelings coming over me with every fibre of my being. “I give it to them.”

Mercifully, she stepped backwards and turned away. I felt like I was being let off the hook. She looked over her shoulder at me as she moved off and smiled. “I let them fight off the enemy until they can no longer stand and then I let them die. I let them cover the retreat of their comrades or the people that they love and then I let them die. I let them stand on a mountain of bodies that they have slain with their own two hands and then I have an archer step out from behind a tree and shoot them dead. I give them a hero's death.” Her smile became a little more predatory. “I wonder Freddie, when your time comes, will you pray to me for the death of a hero?”

I was not off the hook. I was being played with. And I wondered if, in nature, when a cat is chasing a mouse or an eagle dives for the rabbit, whether the prey ever longs to be caught. I had no idea how much longer I could keep up my self-control.

That moment, on the edge of the fire, it had taken everything I had not to grab her and kiss her before tearing at my clothes and at hers. It took everything that I had and I wondered if I would be able to resist next time. A small part of me thought that I wouldn't and part of me. A part that I hated, didn't want to resist.

I swallowed, realising that I had started looking at the floor again and I raised my eyes to look at her. She was standing a short distance off with her hands on her hips and she was looking at me with a thoughtful glint in her eye. Not for the first time in our little debate and dance, I thought she was appraising me.

I thought that I was being weighed, measured and found wanting and part of me was angry about that.

I was also astonished to realise that she was still fully clothed. That there was nothing tittillating about her appearance. No cleavage was on display, relatively little flesh, other than her arms, was on display, but I had had such a sense of her as a sexual creature and I was disturbed by that.

I thought of Saffron for a moment and as I always do whenever I remember those three people that lived on the hill, I had a little surge of sadness. But I remember a similar feeling with Saffron. When Saffron decided that she was going to have me, there was nothing that I could do about it but there was no... aggression to it. She did not.... She just let it happen until an overwhelmed Freddie gave into her charms and let her take me.

Then I thought of hunters. There are two kinds of hunters and unfortunately they seem to fall into two categories. This is not an exhaustive list and it is also a generalisation so don't get too angry at me for this.

But there are those people that hunt for food and those people that hunt for sport. The people that hunt for food do it carefully, they might lay their traps, stake out the water holes and the tracks that the animals use to get to the water before they wait. They wait until they have the perfect shot so that they can kill the animal in one stroke. This is because a tensed animal, a scared or frightened animal is all tense which toughens up the meat.

Those people that hunt for sport will chase the animal down until they can get what the hunter considers a perfect kill. The meat is still used but it tends to need other preparations. But there the animal gets cornered, and turns at bay to sell itself dearly.

Saffron was the first of these kinds of hunters. She allowed me to fall into her, entirely gentle and benign, affections. Where as this woman, I still could not think of her with her name, was hunting me down.

These thoughts shot through my head with a speed that I could not easily comprehend. I had enough time to register them, listen to them and realise them. But the woman was standing there looking at me.

“I am also a woman's Goddess.” She said when she realised that she had my full attention. “Men can have their war and their rulership and supposed control over everything. But they don't understand it, not really. They cannot even begin to comprehend the true nature of how the world, how eixtence works. But women do.”

I blinked at her, trying desperately to recover my compsure as she carried on talking. “Women understand that the world doesn't work like that. That no matter how hard you try to control the things that you have, the tighter you hold onto things, the faster they will slip through your fingers. So all you can do is hold on to the world and ride the chaos and see where it takes you. That is how the world works and men cannot accept that.”