Sam sat at the bench, staring at me.

His eyes boggling out of his head as his jaw worked silently. It was as though he was trying to chew the words before they came out of his mouth. To see what seemed to be most palatable. As I watched his face, I saw thoughts formulate and then be dismissed by new thoughts. Then those thoughts would get together, get drunk, get married and give birth to questions. It was these quesstions that were fighting with each other to emerge from his mouth.

I remember my own response to this moment when Kerrass had first told me that he had found sign of that wizard, Phineas Torlane of the cult of the First-Born, in Angral. I remember sitting in that barn, the desperate heat from the fire and the food and the shared alcohol doing it's best to protect us from the encroaching armies of cold that tried to get through to us from the outside. Helped in their task by the earlier exertion and the leftover emotion from the conversation about my setting my quest aside.

I remember that moment. When I looked up at Kerrass' unhappy face with, I suspect, exactly the same expression on my face as the one that Sam was now wearing. I remember a whistling sound in my ears. The sound of running water or rushing air. The same whistling that you hear when you are riding a fast horse into a strong headwind. I remember looking up into Kerrass' face as all the energy rushed out of me and pooled in my legs. I felt my arms and legs jumping and longing to be in motion.

I remembered the paralysis of too many questions and too many thoughts and as I looked at Kerrass, I remember not knowing what to say first. What to do first. Then, as if spoken by someone other than myself, I spoke those first few words and asked a question that I didn't know that I was going to ask.

Exactly the same question that Sam put to me, several weeks afterwards in a tavern in Toussaint.

“What does this mean?” He asked.

He spoke in that strange place between a whisper and a shout. As though he didn't know which was the most appropriate and couldn't settle on the one or the other.

As it happens, the answer that I gave him was also, exactly the same answer that Kerrass had given me.

“I don't know.” I told him.

After that the questions seemed to come out in a different order though. Although a lot of the sentiments were very different.

“Was there anyone else with him?”

“I don't know Sam.”

“Why not?”

“Because the witness was terrified, intoxicated when she saw him and was only able to recognise this Phineas person from Kerrass' descriptions. She fainted when Kerrass described him and had to be brought round.”

Sam nodded and stared into space.

“She didn't recognise any of the other cultists that Kerrass described either.” I supplied.

“But what does this mean?” Sam asked again after another long moment.

“I don't know Sam.” I told him.

He stared down at the table before staring out at the river before he looked at his wine cup.

“So was he alone? Did he go by himself?”

“We don't know Sam.”

“Did he only go before the coup attempt? Or after it as well?”

“I don't know Sam.”

“Dammit.” Sam shot to his feet and paced away a little rubbing at his forehead. As I say, the tavern in question was protected by mercenaries who would step in when customers would get a bit too uppity. Those men had already been looking over at us in concern. We had staved that off a little but Sam's abrupt movement brought their gaze back.

Just as quickly, Sam came back and leaned on the table.

“So he could have been acting alone.” It was not a question.

“We don't know Sam.”

He nodded again and sat back down.

“So he was in Angral. What for?”

I could not control a sigh. “We don't know Sam.”

“So does that mean that.... Does that mean he was working for whatsisname, Dorme before he was working for Cavil?”

“Or at the same time. Or Dorme was working for Phineas the mage in order to take what he needed. We don't know Sam.”

“Fuck.” He shot to his feet again and stood, staring out over the river.

There was another pause. I felt the need to fill this one. “Ariadne suggested that Phineas even started in Angral. That he was experimenting with contacting other realms as part of some kind of Goetia (Freddie's note: simply, demon summoning and binding. More complicated solution is contacting other beings from other realms of existence. Almost never works) ritual to summon a demon in order to make himself powerful. But that he contacted the same thing that the First-Born cult found and so he left when he realised the limits in Dorme's ambitions. He might have been sent to Dorme by Cavil and his ilk as an effort to recruit Dorme to their cause. He certainly seemed the type to fall for the First-Born's nonsense.”

Sam kicked the railing a couple of times. Not hard, but in the way of people thinking over unpleasant things.

“So we know nothing else?”

“No. We know that he was in Angral. Or at least, someone was there matching his description close enough that they are either brothers or it's the same guy. But beyond that, even the timing is suspect.”

Sam nodded again and sat back down. He was staring at a point in the air off to one side that only he could see.

“What does this mean?” He asked again, his face looked as though he was in pain. “We missed him Freddie. We were so close.”

“I know Sam. I know. I spent a not small amount of time after Kerrass told me what had happened being really angry at myself for that. Angry because we had let the fucker go. We weren't to know and we were in his place of power. But we let him go.”

I felt the beginnings of that old anger in the depths of my chest and squashed it as ruthlessly as I could.

There was another pause as Sam worked himself up to another question. He knew what this question was and it needed to be asked. But he didn't want to ask it. He was afraid. Possibly even of the answer.

“Why didn't you tell me?” He asked. “Straight away I mean. Why didn't you tell me.”

“It wasn't our choice Sam.”

He snorted his scorn at that.

“No Sam, it wasn't. I swear that it wasn't. It's a manhunt now. We don't know where the fucker is, we don't even really know where to start as tracking him went cold after he left Redania during the whole, cutting the cult out of the countryside. So he could be anywhere in the Continent. Fuck, he could be in Zerrikania or half-way across the sea to Ofier by now. Kerrass took it to the Imperials.”

“WHAT?”

“I was angry at first too.” I told him. “I wanted to be the one to hunt the fucker down. Leaving everything else aside, I wanted to be the one that hunted him down and caught him. But where do you start looking. There are no leads Sam. None at all. We checked. Fuck, you checked. So where do we start? So Kerrass went to the Imperials.”

Sam was nodding unhappily.

“The Lodge sent a couple of mages who specialise in hunting down missing people. Lord Voorhis was there for the day and carefully questioned the witness. They combed the countryside for more information. The mage was like a ghost. We heard a bit of rumour here and there but nothing strong or firm. And that's it. It's in their hands now.”

A spasm stuck me then. As I remembered that moment where I was sat in Ariadne's courtyard. Kerrass, Emma, Ariadne and Mark all around me. Trying to distract me as Lord Voorhis stood before us, unhappily explaining that the best thing that we could do for the search was to stay exactly where we were and to continue to behave as we had been expected to behave. Enjoy Yule, go to Toussaint. I remembered Voorhis' face and his voice as clear as if he was stood next to me. “Let us do this.” He had told us. “Let us help you.”

“The Mages told us that the danger would be that if the target was magical, then he could be listening for us coming. That if we...” I swallowed the metallic feeling at the back of my throat. “If messages went this way and that way telling people to look out for this wizard. Then he would hear about it. The search had to be carried out by non-magical means and it was absolutely vital that it be done quietly and under the radar. The mage that Voorhis brought with him, backed up by Laurelen and Ariadne, said that a clever mage who was expecting to be a fugitive could prepare all kinds of alarms to know that hunters were on his trail.”

“We were hunting him anyway.”

“Yes we were. But not like this and not for this.” I replied. “This is small stuff. I have to keep telling myself that, over and over again. I have to keep telling myself that all that this does is prove that he was in Angral. Once. We don't know if it was a one off thing. We don't know if it was a research trip, a recruitment effort or whether or not he was giving Dorme the recipe for the totem that would, in theory, control an elder Vampire.

“We don't know if Dorme was a dry run for what was happening in the North. You know, trying something out away from the cult's centre of power so that they could use it properly later. We don't know if he was working with or for Cavill, with or for Dorme, cousin Kalayn or any of the other fuckers. Hell, it might even be that he's the mastermind behind it all. We just don't know. It's possible, even probable, that he still has nothing to do with Francesca”

“But to know, we have to catch the fucker.” Sam nodded. “So why didn't you tell me?”

“I don't mean to pass the blame Sam.” I said. “But you were supposed to be in the South with us. We wanted to, but Laurelen and Ariadne were ordered to remain home. A teleport to Kalayn lands would have been noted, even watched for. And the Lodge would not agree with that. The Imperials wanted the word spread quietly. So waiting until we could talk to you in person for the agreed upon reasons was all that we could get them to agree to.”

“That's not good enough Freddie.”

“And I know it. But that's not my fault. Nor is it Emma's. It was what we were ordered to do.”

Sam was not happy.

“Over and over again.” I began. “Over and over again, it keeps coming up. It might even be the central theme of my work. If you need something doing then you hire a professional. If you are hunting a supernatural creature or lifting a curse then you hire a Witcher. If you want to fight a war then you fetch a soldier. If you want to investigate a magical effect then you send for a mage. We are hunting someone. So you send for someone who makes their living by hunting people.

“They told us, they ordered us to stay out of it. We were told that we could tell you when we met you here and that we could tell the Duchess and her circle when we got here. And lady Yennefer when she gets back from Cintra. She's on holiday at the moment and Lady Metz who is heading the magical part of the search told me that you don't interfere with Lady Yennefer when she's on holiday.”

Sam said nothing.

“Our hands were tied Sam. I'm sorry, we all wanted to do more.”

“Even Emma.” He sighed bitterly.

“Especially Emma.” I told him.

He nodded. “This is fucked Freddie.”

“I know.”

“I want to go charging off round the countryside and get this sorted. I want to find him.”

“I know. I feel the same.”

Sam nodded and took a deep breath. “I'm sorry Freddie. I didn't mean to blame you. I just....” he shook his head.

“I know Sam.”

He nodded. “Well thanks for telling me. Any reason you and not someone else?”

“Would you have listened to Emma, or Mark?”

He chuckled a little. “Not easily. I would have been more angry with them. I still might to be honest.”

“We need them Sam. Emma especially. Having her on your side will make so much easier and you cannot do whatever it is you are doing in your lands and in the future, without her.”

He sighed and the two of us stared into space for a while. “I hate to ask this Freddie. But is there anything else I need to know, or should have been told?”

“If there is, I don't know it.”

He nodded and rose. I joined him as we paid our tab and headed off towards the castle.

“Ooh,” I said. “There might be one thing.”

“Which is?”

“Have I told you about Anne yet?”

“You have not.”

He found that part of the story very funny.

The family reunion was not what I wanted though. This was not Sam's fault. Nor was it Emma, Mark, Ariadne or Kerrass' fault. I can, and with Sam's blessing, lay the blame solely at the feet of Sir Kristoff. Who had arrived at the families appartments and had started to go over the security arrangements, finding fault with everything that he could see.

Then he had picked a fight with Kerrass who had made the Redanian even angrier by ignoring him before he had figured out who Anne was and had called her a common harlot.

When I heard about it later, Anne's response was perfect and I laughed long and loud in regards to the subject. She told Sir Kristoff that she was an “exceptional harlot” and that there was nothing common about her at all. For a while after that it became a family joke that one of us could turn to the other and say “Exceptional Harlot” and the other would dissolve into laughter.

But in the there and then of the matter, it was far from funny. Anne was providing a service and that service was legitimately helping me. In working with Ariadne she had woken me from nightmares on several occasions as well as acting as a comfort in those moments where things were getting on top of me. The nature of that comfort had not been overtly sexual, she shared my bed certainly and often enquired as to whether or not I might take comfort from that form of intimacy. But although I was coming round to the idea, my body was still rejecting the possibility and I would far rather collapse into her arms towards rest and sleep than I would perform any kind of carnal action.

Now the problem here was that everyone in the room knew who Anne was and what she was there for. Including those knights who were there for our security and to protect our honour from those people that might seek to do us harm. Everyone knew who Anne was and what she was contributing and although Emma, Kerrass and Mark knew who Kristoff was, they didn't see as how he had the righte to insult Anne to her face.

I have spoken about how I feel about those ladies and gentlemen that ply the oldest trade. I have written about the amount of respect and admiration I have for those people who do a difficult job that society abhors. So I will not go through the arguments again here. If you think that someone shouldn't be a prostitute then find them another job. Calling a woman a slut or a harlot to insult her promiscuity is a double standard as men are often praised for their “conquests”.

I have received more un-asked for, unpaid for and undeserved, kindness and respect from these people than I have from a lot of people that share my social station. A group of prostitutes saved my life and my sanity. I lost my virginity to a courtesan and she was very kind to a lost a little boy when I could have just been a transaction to her. And here was another lady that made her living by selling her body, working towards the healing of my mind. Healing that I so desperately needed. And a knight of my homeland did his best to insult her and drag her honour through the mud.

Kristoff was shouting when we got there. Captain De La Tour had been sent for on the grounds that Kristoff was causing a furor in the palace itself so that was Captain De La Tour's territory. A pair of knights were standing in front of Kristoff as he was shouting at Captain De La Tour and another pair of knights were standing between our family and the angry knight.

He was shouting at Emma. Something about her being a non-human harbouring piece of filth. A Witch lover and a heretic. There were people there that were trying to shield Emma from all of this. Kerrass and Ariadne were there. I was told that Captain Syanna was on her way. As we came round the corner, Kristoff was now picking a fight with Captain De La Tour and calling his competence into question now that he was subordinate to a traitorous bitch in the figure of Syanna.

De La Tour was holding onto his temper with a grip of steel. I think that Kristoff was lucky, very lucky indeed that Syanna hadn't been there otherwise things might have gone quite differently. Sam heard some of it, it was hard to miss as we got into the palace itself. People were running this way and that way and as we came round the corridor Kristoff's voice could be heard, echoing off the wooden panelling as we came.

Sam's pace quickened.

We came round the corner into view and my brother's voice cracked over the scene like a whip. “Kristoff.” He didn't shout, he didn't scream, but there were teeth in his call.

“Lord Kalayn.” Kristoff turned. “The measures that have been...”

“Be silent.” Sam hissed. “I remind you sir that you are speaking to my sister and my family as a whole.”

“But.”

“I would further remind you that we are a guest here and you will keep a civil tongue between your teeth. You disgrace, not only yourself, but you disgrace me and the house of Kalayn with your actions. Explain yourself sir.”

“I...”

Kristoff had misjudged something. I have no idea what it was that he had misjudged, but the confusion on his face was plain to see. Some people have suggested that he might have had something else in mind. That he was trying to pick a fight or to otherwise make a point. I just don't credit him with that much intelligence. I have seen this moment many times before. That moment when the trained soldier thinks that his skill at arms or the strenght of his sword arm is enough to carry him through most problems. Then comes that moment where the warrior finds that he has built his house on a foundation of sand. That moment where he finds it all collapsing around him and they always wear exactly the same expression.

Kristoff was wearing that expression now.

Normally I would say that I feel sorry for these men when they find themselves in this situation. We would have been lost on the battlefield without the skills that people like Kristoff possess. But he was trying to fight on our ground in the same way. Normally I would feel sorry for someone in his position. But here and now, with some of the things that he had said still echoing in my ears, I was just angry with him.

I could tell what he was trying to do of course. It wasn't that difficult. He was trying to pick a fight with someone. He wanted a duel. With Kerrass, with one of the knights, with this person or that person and he was dissappointed that he wasn't getting it.

Why didn't he get one? He was an honoured guest.

“I...” He tried again before subsiding.

“You will apologise to Captain De La Tour.” Sam's voice grated with dissappointment and rage. “Then you will apologise to my sister, both my brothers, Witcher Kerrass, Lady Ariadne and, above all, you will apologise to Lady Anne who has done much to help heal the damage that was done to my brother under our watch. You will do so now sir, if you please.”

“But...”

“NOW Kristoff.”

My father once told me something. He said that if you are going to be angry with someone. Do not start loud, start quiet. That way, when the time comes that you have to be loud, the extra volume will be suitably shocking. Sam had started quiet but forceful and then, when the time came. He went onto loud and as he did so, his voice thundered.

Every so often, Sam reminds us all that he used to be a battlefield knight. With a voice that had to dominate over the sounds of crashing arms and armour so that he could properly lead people into the fray.

Kristoff's face stiffened as he looked at his master. You could see him gather himself to fight back, just a moment to gather himself together... And then.... He folded.

It would be easy for me to go over his disgrace and his apology to everyone involved. I could describe his lost pride and the destruction of his arrogance. But that would serve nothing. Instead, all I will say is that I've had less graceful apologies. But not many.

Sam sent him home. He was ordered to return to the transport area so that he could await Lady Vigo's pleasure in order to be sent back to Kalayn lands.

So when Sam finally came to a halt in the rooms that we were all sharing and he looked at us all. It was a powerful moment.

“I can't prove it.” He told us all as he undid his sword belt. “But I didn't want him to do that. I don't know why he did that. I am furious with him for doing that.” Then Sam looked at the fire for a moment. “I am truly sorry for what he said and what he did. Please believe me when I say that those words were not mine. That he never heard those words out of my mouth. I have been angry over the last year, and sometimes I have been angry with the people in this room. But I would never... I am so so sorry.”

It could have gone badly. It could have gone very badly. But Emma did me proud. She climbed to her feet and went over to gently coax Sam into her arms where he sobbed uncontrollably.

“It's not been a great year for any of us.” She told him.

At some point, Kerrass, Ariadne, Anne and Laurelen left the four of us. The four surviving members of the Coulthard family and we sat in that room and took some time to reconnect. There were tears, recriminations, laughter, a little bit of shouting and then there were more tears. I cannot speak for the others but I think we needed those few hours. It was just a few hours to reconnect and, hopefully, begin the long process of healing each other and healing our relationships.

As I say, I cannot speak for the others but I hope that it wasn't wishful thinking that had me believing that we took the first steps forward into a new era for the family that afternoon.

It was not entirely positive though. It left me with a feeling of selfish guilt as I began to see that I had neglected my siblings in running off around the world to hunt for our sister. It was one of those things where I knew this to be true, but it was re-emphasised in that room in Toussaint. We had, all of us, lost Francesca and we had all been dealing with it in our own way. And in a time where what should have happened was that we should have come together as a family unit to deal with what had happened. To work through our collective grief and.... rage at what had happened to us. But instead, we had shattered as though we were made of glass.

One of Mark's observations that I found interesting was that we had all, in our own ways, thrown ourselves into our work. Emma had moved from being a merchant into being the arch-merchant. She had become a Merchant Queen, ruthless and terrifying. Using the money and power that she commanded as a weapon to surround the family in a powerful fortification made out of money and influence. Where she had set out to destroy our enemies and in doing so had begun to drive the rest of us away from herself and potentially each other.

I had set out back on the road. With little clear plan and with, possibly although I'm not entirely convinced, a bit of a death wish as I threw myself into crisis after crisis after crisis. Barely escaping with my life each time and it was little wonder that I nearly lost my sanity in doing so. That I had taken a stand against the family, in the right cause as they would all admit, but that I had done it anyway and be damned to how it would affect them.

Sam had thrown himself into his new life as a Landed Lord. Looking after his people and the land that he had, using anything he could, including his brother, as a tool to facillitate the retaking of that land from the wilderness. He apologised to me over and over again. Not for exiling me from Kalayn castle because of my patronage of the elves. But for playing on my sense of duty as he sent me to the North to find the rest of the cult. He had driven Emma away without working with her and had allowed himself to be driven away by her rather than actually sitting down with her to sort out what the problem was.

As for Mark? He had divorced himself of the responsibility of being the head of the family. Where he could have... Where he should have stepped in to heal those rifts that were forming, he had declined the responsibility of being the elder brother, the Lord and the spiritual shepherd of the rest of us. He had declined to get involved in the rift between Emma and Sam, me and Sam and he had not stepped in to bring me to heel for the good of my health sooner. He had not acted in those moments, especially after the problems with the cult when I was holding onto my health and my sanity with my fingertips and he had all but told me that the family was my responsibility.

I suspect that we could have talked for hours. Given enough time, Laurelen, Kerrass and Ariadne would have been drawn in as well so that we could reaffirm out bonds with each other. So that we could begin to take steps forward and work together in deciding what the Coulthard family would look like in the months and years to come.

I made Sam tell everyone what our reputation was in the wider world and we talked about how we could work on mitigating that. Emma told us all about threats that she had received from some of the other merchant circles. While also telling us that, unless we really resisted it, she would be taking up Ciri's offer of a position at the Imperial court. That she felt that she could make a difference for the better there. Sam resisted but he allowed himself to be persuaded. The prospect that Emma could “use her powers for good” while also increasing the Northern presence in the Imperial Court was attractive to all of us. We briefly talked about what was going to happen in Angral and touched on my wedding while also reassuring Sam that he would find someone eventually.

As I say, we could have talked for hours. We probably should have talked for hours. And saying it like that suggests that things went badly, that there was an argument. But that is not the case. What stopped the conversation?

We had to attend a ball of course. Sam had just arrived, the finals of the tournament were tomorrow and we all needed to get ready.

There is a problem here that I'm not really addressing. I am writing all of this stuff and I don't really know how much you are interested in or care about. As I write, I send it all off to various people and one of the things that is coming up is that I could keep writing about everything that is happening in Toussaint and everything that has happened in Toussaint for ever.

That is part of the spell of the place. It is so big and so epic and so... so full of everything that it beggars belief. The first urge of the historian, or rather the first urge of someone like me, is to write down everything.

I have done as well. There are drafts of these pages that have gone un read and will probably go unread forever unless some unforseen time arrives where I come to write my memoirs.

I have no way to prove this to you but I have just shuddered in fear and distaste at the prospect. That would involve my revisiting times in my life that I would be much happier just forgetting.

But what with all the balls, parties, feasts and dinners. I could still be here talking about this stuff for years. Some of you would be fascinated by that. Some of you, even now, are taking up your quills to write to me, wondering when I am going to publish those …. shudder.... memoirs that I have just talked about. Full of every detail including who makes the suits that Emma orders for me. What chemicals go into the cosmetics that Ariadne wears and how, exactly, I like my meat cooking.

Rare in the case of red meat in case you're wondering.

But what would that possibly add towards the overall picture of the world that I live in. What would my future counterpart. The man, woman or other that comes to these articles and my diaries and other written books with the eye of a historian wanting to know what life was really like back in the first years of the Empress' reign. When some lost, self-important little berk from the North decided that the world needed to know exactly what his life was like. What would they want to hear? Or read about? What do they need to know in order to explain what was going on here and in this part of the world.

I do think about them occasionally. I wonder what they might need to know. What truth they might want to have been told in order to make their own way and have their own work pushed forwards. How else can I help with shaping the world and teaching the future about the past so that they don't make the same mistakes that we... that I made.

Yes, I really can be that arrogant in the small hours of the night. When the nightmares come and I try to keep myself awake and aware enough to set all these things aside.

But the truth is that they already know what Toussaint was like. There are numerous sources on the matter and although I might have been experiencing these things as an outsider, making that experience unique to me. My experience was not unique in the grand scheme of things.

What I'm saying is that I'm going to skip over that dinner that night. I don't think that I am alone in the rest of the family when I say that I would have been much happier if the four of us could have had a quiet meal somewhere where we could have finished up our long conversations from another time and place. Hell, I would have expanded that to include Kerrass, Ariadne and Laurelen. Even Anne too if she wanted to come.

But that wasn't the point. The Coulthard flag had to be raised. We had to show the colours and Sam had to make his presence felt.

It was an entirely unremarkable dinner and looking back we came perilously close to insulting all of the other attendees there as the seven of us basically formed a small knot of people as we wandered around the room talking to people.

I was proud of both Sam and Emma that night. After their initial period of getting over themselves so that they could move forward as a brother and sister, Emma had taken Sam aside and very carefully, with as few intonations as possible so that Sam didn't end up thinking that she was judging him, she asked him how Kalayn lands were doing. She listened carefully and politely as best she could before she then asked the follow-up question. “How can I help?”

I think it took a lot for her to ask that. I think it took even more for Sam to not jump down her throat as she did so. Sometimes when you are used to being distracted and on edge and used to being on the defensive. The urge is to stay there. So as she asked that, Sam stared at her for a long time, weighing his responses carefully before he nodded and said something that I did not expect.

He said “What would you suggest?”

I could have cheered them both. As it was I found a couple of cups of wine and toasted them both with Mark.

So that was that evening. Emma and I guided Sam around the room introducing him to various people.

But a lot of that evening passed in a blur if we're honest with each other. I was overjoyed that Emma and Sam seemed to be getting on and I realised just how afraid I had been of the possibility that the rift that had formed between the two of them would now be impossible to overcome.

Sam, it seems, has read my treatise on how a man should behave in public when their skills lend them more towards the martial end of the scale. He responded to most questions with a “yes, no, maybe” of attitude. He does have a couple of talents that help him out in this kind of area. Most noticably his talent for remembering people's names. He claims that it is a left over from his time in the military where it becomes vital for a man to remember the names of those under his command as well as those who are in the command structure above him and on either side.

Dispiritingly, he didn't really seem to get on with Knight Commander Syanna. He would later admit that he found her a little condescending and that he was resentful that she had gained so high a position of military command without ever actually having served in any kind of military. He was self aware enough to admit that it was an ingrained thing. About how people had hated him for his perceived, if innaccurate, stigma that he had achieved his own rank through nepotism. While at the same time seeing other men, lesser soldiers and knights than he, finding advancement through money and family connections.

Regardless, she rubbed him the wrong way and after he had gone, I would find that the feeling was mutual. Captain De La Tour was, like Syanna, unamused by the confrontation with Kristoff and muttered darkly about the lack of discipline.

But Sam did well. He spent some time talking to Lord Palmerin where they exchanged notes about the massacre of the fish market and condolences were given. But the truth was that we didn't venture ourside of our comfort zones that much.

It got further than that even. When we all retired for the night, the urge was to stay up late and spend our time gossiping and talking. Going over things. Emma and Sam were talking about what they were going to do with Kalayn lands. The comment that was made ages ago about how we could turn it into some kind of herbary was taken on board. So Emma was talking plans. She was going to introduce Sam to some people over the next few days. As well as some botanists that would be able to go up to Kalayn lands and have a good stomp around up there. But also she was going to talk to some farming innovators that would be able to go up there and show some of Sam's villagers about how they might be able to make the best of the land that they were living on without seeming too condescending. The argument being that those people had been cut off from the world for so long that it would possibly do them good to realise that they lived in the wider world for a bit.

But we had to go to bed. Tomorrow was the finals of the joust and the sword and we would all expect to be present.

There were two finals of the joust. The first was to crown the champion of the tournament itself. These were men who were competing in their own names and on their own behalf to earn the title of the first Winter Champion of Toussaint. The second was from the knights of Saint... you can't possibly know it but I shudder every time I have to call her “Saint”... Francesca. My understanding was that there had been a small amount of uproar at the fact that some of the other knights ahd wanted to compete in Francesca's contest and didn't see why they couldn't be counted in that kind of elite.

It had all died down in the days immediately before Sam's arrival as Syanna had declared that the Knights of Saint Francesca would not compete in the finals for the tournament. But that they had taken part in order to keep their skills sharp. After all, a Knight of Francesca would be too busy with his (or her) other duties to be able to properly defend their own titles.

This had not been taken as graciously as some people had expected. Syanna couldn't give a damn. She had said, a little smugly, that every time one of those knights complained that she was trating them unfairly, or keeping them from their proper plaudits, or otherwise preventing them from displaying their capabilities on the field, then they continued to prove her disdain for the office of knighthood justified.

I didn't understand their problem and said so loudly to whoever was nearby.

It took Sam to explain it to me. Which says something I suppose.

“It's about Pride Freddie.” He explained to me. Some idiot had put several bottles of wine in the Ducal box where we were watching the contests from. Sam and I have always been bad influences on each other when it comes to drinking and as a result, the two of us, together doing our best to reconnect, along with some of the finest wine in the world, were getting rather drunk.

“It's about Pride Freddie.” He told me. “Remember what I told you on the castle walls in Kalayn. A warrior needs their pride. It's the thing that keeps them going. It's a warrior's pride that forces him into the breach, into the enemy shieldwall or...” he gestured at me, “onto the deck of an enemy ship.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” I told him.

“Remember when we were little and I told you that we would make a warrior out of you one day.”

“I remember that I was eleven.”

“And I was twelve. And lo and behold, we managed it.”

“Not far off ten years too late.”

“All he does is moan” Sam commented to Ariadne who was watching the horsemen closely. “Are you prepared to put up with all of his moaning?”

“That depends what kind of moaning he's doing.” Ariadne leered at him.

Have you ever seen a beautiful woman leer? It's the most off-putting thing you can imagine.

Sam shuddered. “Anyway. It's about Pride. To make warriors better, then one of the things that you can do is to take the best of those warriors and make an elite cadre of them. You put them together and tell them that they are the baddest, hardest, most deadly motherfuckers on the face of the continent. You build that spirit of companionship between the lot of them and you would be astonished as to how often it works as well. That was why Rickard and the Bastards worked together so well.

“So that's what the Knights of Francesca are. Or rather, that's what other people are seeing them as. You and I know that they are not. They are also guards, investigators and negotiators. But to these knights down there. They are what they think of as knights. Just bigger and better ones. These golden armoured twits are hurt that they are not allowed to prove to the world that they are better than these steel clad common born fuckwits by pounding them into the mud. The Knights of Francesca are a challenge to their pride and they don't like it.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“They would be happier if Commander Syanna had allowed them all to compete equally before being pounded into the ground themselves. Especially as, to my eye, Guillaume is on fire out there today. There is no way that any of these wretches would be able to touch him.”

Ariadne had been listening as well. “It begs the question, how many of them did Syanna reject from being allowed into the knights of Francesca.”

“It's an interesting question.” Sam mused. “That would certainly explain some of the anger of both these knights and their families.”

It turned out that a good chunk of them had been rejected from the ranks of the knights of Francesca. This had angered both the knights in particular and their families as well. Adding fuel to the fire of the old guard of Toussaint.

All that you had needed to do before to be a knight was to pay for your equipment, stand the vigils and be of suitably noble blood. Now, Syanna had standards that she expected you to hold to to be a knight of this “higher order” and not everyone agreed with those standards.

Such as virtue. Any accusation of impropriety or cruelty meant that you were automatically dismissed. Not a bad thing in my view but some of those knights complained that the peasants that they had supposedly been involved with were just peasants so that their views didn't count. It might not in law, something that is sadly still true in a lot of the continent, but it did not sway Syanna when it came time to join her order of knights.

And she said so. Loudly and to anyone that would listen.

The finals were a privilidge to watch. Some people might wonder whether or not I would be critical due to the politics and the behaviour of some of the knights involved in the final of the standard bouts. But at the end of the day, I was forced to enjoy the spectacle for what it was and what it was, was an outstanding piece of showmanship, horsemanship and the proper use of the lance. That final involved the four best knights from the previous jousts and their places in respect to the top four places. First, second, third and fourth.

There were prizes for all four places as well as the honour of being able to call themselves the Champion of the First tournament of Saint Francesca.

That alone, or so I'm told, was more than enough honour for any knight to want to give it their all on the field and, to be fair to them despite my personal distatste for their behaviour, they did.

Sam provided proper commentary, telling us all how they were doing and the techniques that each of the knights used. The way he described it made it all sound rather complex. The proper use of armour and how that armour was forged. The shape of the armour and how it was anchored to the body. The weight, length, balance and focus of the lances that were used. I was more use when it came to matters of the horses that were being ridden in the joust. Whether the knights were using chargers, Geldings, Studs or any of the other many and varied breeds.

It was fascinating and I took it all in as the four men met each other over and over and over again. Best of three passes on each case with an unhorsing ending the bout. Pretty standard but each man had to meet each of the others.

The other thing that was clear was that each came to the field having watched the others joust in detail and each had a theory as to how the other could be beaten and had come up with a counter to the techniques of the person that they were facing. I didn't see it all and the only reason that I know that this was taking place was due to the commentary and help of Sam and Kerrass between them.

The closest I could call it from my own experience was a group of people at a Gwent tournament. Each of the players had their own decks and preferred tactics that they liked to use while also having a large selection of other cards to choose from. So they had watched the other players and, as a result, had a good idea of what kinds of cards they liked to play and in which order. Then they had gone away and constructed decks to counter their future opponents. Just as I had once countered Mark's favourite Nilfgaardian deck with all of it's spies. But now the players know that their own weaknesses have been exposed and, as such, have been able to take steps to ensure that they can counter the counter.

In Gwent, that can sometimes make for boring matches where people just keep pulling out decoy cards. But in jousting, there is always the possibility of an impact and someone being unhorsed.

So here are just a couple of the examples of things that I did see and techniques that I could tell that were used.

One man liked to use a long lance. The hope being that he could unhorse his opponent before being in range of his opponents lance. There wasn't that much in it but the technique was there. But in order for this lance to be viable and not ridiculously heavy, it had to be slim and light meaning that the knight using it had to be very precise in his strike to hit his opponent just right to cause the lance to shatter correctly let alone un horse his opponent. The other man knew this and knew precisely where he would need to be struck for it to work. So as the two men came together, Long lance aimed his spear precisely, his opponent saw it coming and tilted his body aside so that the lance glanced off his chestplate and clattered clear, leaving the opening for the return blow.

Another man was a huge figure of a man. Riding something that was, essentially, a cart horse. It had to be in order to carry all that man and armour. He jousted bringing all of his strength and power to bear on his opponent. Ignoring the opposing lance as it struck him on the chest but using the following tidal wave of flesh and metal to carry his opponent from his horse.

I had watched the man, one of those rare people who did not bother with too much ornamentation on his golden armour. This was Sir Gregor who had been the Champion of Toussaint before Lord Geralt had entered the Tournament as a way to get close to Lady Vivienne in order to lift her curse. He was a terror on the field and I had seen more than one match that had ended with his younger, more inexperienced, opponents simply throwing their lances aside and surrendering rather than facing that storm of knightly power and fury.

It was one of those techniques that needed a counter to be able to affect them. And a clever knight had done just that. He wore a light set of armour. Ridiculously light and white in it's colourings. The armour lackquered white and light blue. He carried a short, delicate looking lance and rode a small, lightening fast but equally delicate looking horse. The horse, the armour and the make of the lance were all different from what the white knight would normally joust in. As the match started, the betting was not on who would win but more on whether or not Sir Gregor would kill the White knight during the match.

All possible precautions would be taken of course. But accidents do happen. Especially when a man comes to the field so woefully under prepared or under protected against the galloping tide that was going to come at him.

As it turned out though. It wasn't a contest. As the two rushed together it became clear that the white knight had planned for all of this. At a given signal, his horse danced aside from Gregor's lance, causing the other man's blow to sail, cleanly past the white knight so that he had missed. Then all the White knight had to do was choose where to place his own lance.

It was smartly done and spoke of hours of practice. Days of practice as not many horses would do that kind of maneauver. Certainly not without complaining loudly whenever given the opportunity.

I saw another lance parried in mid stroke in a move so similar to a fencing parry that I marvelled at the wrist strength that that must have taken.

It went on and on. Move and countermove and I sat there in awe and joy as I watched everything that those men brought to the field.

There is a simple joy in watching true masters of their craft perform at the very top of their skill levels. To perform at the very best of their games. I didn't need to be a master of the sport that I was watching. I didn't need to be a proffessional jouster to follow everything that was going on there. It helped and Sam's input and informed admiration was certainly a powerful addition to the commentary. But I didn't need that to acknowledge the mastery at work here. I didn't need it to admire the artistry. Because that is what it was. That was more than what it was. This was Professor Dandelion singing for the Empress. This was Daniel the poacher shooting into the sun. This was the swirling magical energies of... Oh I don't know.

I sometimes remain dissapointed that I lack the skills of a poet.

Other people might claim that I did not enjoy those displays. Some might claim that I was less than enthusiastic about what I saw. But those people are wrong. I was struck in the face by the skills, the talents, the showmanship and the mental trials that were being undertaken here. I might not have cheered with the wins or moaned with the losses. If we're honest with each other, I didn't really have any skin in the game here. My previous betting record was doing well but at this level I lost as much as I won and the amounts were relatively small. This was more about mind against mind and that was something that I couldn't judge. It was a place beyond impressiveness and I was struck speechless by what I saw.

When the victors had been decided they rode a small circuit of the field. The winner, the rider who wore the white armour, rode high in his stirrup and rode around the field with his gauntleted fist held high without showing us his face and the crowd loved him.

Sir Gregor took second place. He, at least, had taken his helmet off and rode around the arena silently, without expression and did not lift a hand or a smile to acknowledge the crowd.

Sir Morgan the Blackhand rode next. He wore the golden armour that was expected of a Toussaint knight. He was a much older man than the others by the look of him but he had ridden as well as the rest. His armour was unusual as he wore the gauntlet that gave him his name in that his right hand was a plain, black gauntlet. Utterly lacking in any of the other ornamentation that the rest of his armour had been tooled with. He was clearly beloved by the people and waved, shouted and laughed as the crowd cheered him as he past.

The fourth place was a man called Alain La Sentinelle. Toussaint speak for Alain the watcher. I didn't know why you would have a title like that to be a knight. But this man did. From where I sat I didn't get to see much of him until the ball later. But for here and now I could see that he had a shockingly red head of hair. Red enough that I wondered if it had been dyed. He seemed to interact with the crowd fairly well. Especially the women there which suggested that he might be rather handsome. But that was from all the way over there.

There was some distress that we wouldn't be presenting the prizes there and then, but the light was beginning to fade by this point. A fact that made Syanna mutter darkly that the jousters had deliberately delayed things so that the finals of the Knight's contest would have to take place in darkness, or be postponed to a point where they would not get the prestige that they deserved.

I have no idea about that.

The Knights of Francesca took the field and it was... something else. The previous posturing, showmanship and gaming of the system was done with and set aside.

To use my earlier Gwent analogy. This is what would happen if you got the best Gwent players in the world together and gave them each a set of identical cards. No deck building, no faction strengths and no leader cards. Just the Decks themselves, premade. Then told them to go at it, so that the entire thing was about which order the cards were placed and when a player decided to stand.

It was jousting at it's purest. No tricks, no mind games. Just pure skill against skill with the winner getting past. They all wore the same suits of armour, rode similar horses and carried identical lanses. Physical stature was part of it, I have no doubt. But at the same time, there was very little between the four people fighting in that particular final. Syanna had already told me that those people unsuited for the contest had not even bothered signing up for the fight.

It was also anonymous. So no reputiations to fall back on. No bullying or intimidation. You went to the starting position, a squire would give you a lance and off you went.

Sir Guillaume won. I could recognise him by the size of him and the way he moved. To my eyes it wasn't even really that much of a contest.

I am no expert in these things and I am certainly not going to wade into the debate about whether or not he could have beaten the other contestants in the earlier jousting. That sort of thing is a little bit beyond my capabilities to test or comment on. To my eyes, the two types of contest were so utterly different. The one a complicated mash of different techniques and thought processes versus a pure, stripped back demonstration of the art form.

There was also a sense of camaraderie in the knights of Francesca that was missing from the other contestants. When Guillaume unhorsed his fellows he climbed down and helped his opponents to their feet who would promptly embrace him, sounds of laughter and congratulation between the two as they slapped him on the back with the crashing of gauntlet against breastplate. I suppose there was no weakness in admitting that another man is better than he you are in that regard.

In comparison, the other knights were doing their very best to make the other fellows bleed. They needed to defeat their opponents and drive them into the mud in orer to intimidate them for the next bout. I remembered Sir Cawthorne and his own methods of ensuring his victories. By doing his best to ensure that he had already won before he started by methods of intimidation and bullying.

But with the Knights of Saint Francesca, they were doing their best. I even know that Guillaume was giving them pointers on how the losers might be able to beat him next time.

So who was better? How would Guillaume and the others, who I didn't know, have done if they had taken part in the standard lists? I have no idea. It's one of those conversations that is going to be dominating conversations in the world of Jousting for some time to come until one of those other knights joins the knights of Francesca or until Sir Guillaume leaves the knights and competes in his own rights.

All I have to say on the matter is two things.

The first is this. They say that a true master of a sport, art or physical activity makes it look easy. Watching them leaves you thinking that anyone can do it. It makes you want to rush over, pick up a paint brush, the lute or the Lance and get cracking. Professor Dandelion does that with poetry and the Lute. Lord Geralt does the same with a sword and Jarl Helfdan looks like that when he stands on the deck of a ship.

Guillaume looks like that on the back of his horse.

The other knights seemed to be tied up in their techniques and tricks and the way that they moved. Guillaume simply rode his horse towards the other at hight speed. As far as I could tell, he did it in a straight line and every single time, his lance would shatter properly while his opponents lance would escape unmarred. That was when his opponent did not fall from his horse.

Every. Single. Time.

The other comment is one about Sam's reaction.

Sam is a knight and was skilled enough in the jousts that he got to the quarter finals of the sword and within the top thirty of the Joust for the Empress' coronation. He would say that he is not great but he was good enough. He would also say that you do not need to be a good jouster to be able to comment on the quality of what he saw. For those who were wondering. Sam has retired from the jousting circuit which he only took part in occasionally anyway on the grounds that he doesn't really have time to train properly anymore.

When Sam was watching Gregoire and the others, he would be full of commentary on the way that the lance was held, the way that the blow struck home, the way that the knight in question rode his horse.

But when he was watching Sir Guillaume joust, he only had one word to say in comment.

“Beautiful,” he said as he turned away shaking his head. He had odd comments for the other jousters among the knights, but he commented that Sir Guillaume was just operating on another level in this particular case.

So Sir Guillaume won. To most people's utter lack of surprise. Some of those noblemen in the stands, (not the noblewomen, but I will leave it to you to comment on that kind of thing.) made a few comments on the subject. They were especially annoyed that although it had been acknowledged that the other knights would be given their prizes at the ball later. The knights of Saint Francesca would receive their prizes now and in the open.

It didn't seem to matter that the prizes for the tournament champion were fine works of art, master crafted swords or pressed gold statues. Items of worth and significance. This compared with the white scarf that would be tied around the wrist of Francesca's champion so that all might know who they were to call on should another seek to take advantage of what had been found.

It didn't matter that the tournament was named after the patron symbol of these Knights and that, indeed, the entire event was planned around this particular moment. Nor did it matter that the practical aspects of the prizegiving were just as important. Where the public needed to see who it was that was being crowned as their champion. None of that mattered.

But that Guillaume received his plaudits before the men that came from within their ranks. That is what rankled. That he received the attention first and in public where their other champions were deprived of those awards.

But the prizes were to be given. As the family of the saint, we had been asked if we would give out the prizes to the knights of Francesca. I say prizes, but it was more about who would receive the responsibilities first. If Guillaume was incapacitated or was unfindable for any reason. Then the second would take his place. And so on down the line.

We had been warned in advance so we had spent some time to try and figure out how we were going to set about doing this in order to include as much of the family as possible but also to work within the female centric nature of Toussaint's preffered method of prize-giving. We had four prizes to give out and we had discussed how to arrange this over dinner the previous night.

So if you will forgive me some of the more poetic stylings of writing that I was taught in the Skelligan Isles.

And so it was that the family Coulthard walked out onto the field of victory in Toussaint.

The sun was setting, we had managed that at least. So as we walked out onto the field we had worn our best clothing. Emma, Laurelen and Ariadne had all worn white dresses that covered them from head to toe. I am no dress maker to be able to properly comment on such things. But they had all dressed in order to look as virginal as possible to stay within the overall theme of the situation. They were, after all, representing a Saint.

Mark led the procession in his formal regalia, lacking only the hat and the more ornate symbols. So he was priest but not on duty. He was a priest but not speaking for the church in that regard. He led, hands pressed together in the attitude of prayer.

Emma came next, resplendent in her white dress. I have to admit, she looked good. She had a long train with long sleeves with the inlay being of Coulthard colours. She looked regal and impossibly sad. No wonder, I was a little moved by what we were doing as well.

Sam and I came next, not out of a position of prestige, but because we were carrying the portrait of Francesca that had been her representative during the tournament. I didn't talk to anyone else about it at the time. But I remember feeling sure that, as I walked with the almost precariously large gilded frame in my hands, I felt sure that I could hear my sister laughing at the entire situation. It was, there is no doubt about it, rather an extreme situation.

The painting was not heavy but it was all too easy to imagine a gust of wind coming and blowing it over, taking Sam and I with it. And Sam was wearing his sword so we would ALL go flying off. It was a funny image and as I say, I am sure that I could hear Francesca laughing at me as we walked.

I felt the tears pricking in the corner of my eyes as we walked. Flame but I missed my sister.

Behind us walked Laurelen and Ariadne. Included in the family because they were all but married into the family itself. We thought of them as Coulthards. Ariadne would be a Coulthard before too much longer (flame help her) and Laurelen would be if we could convince the church to allow it. They wore similar outfits to Emma but with a little bit more ornamentation and personalisation than Emma's. Neither of them had quite so expansive a train and Ariadne wore her gown sleeveless despite the brittle cold of the air.

After them, we had asked Commander Syanna to be part of the presenting party. She was the Commander of the Knights which meant that she was linked to this. She was also a woman which meant that she fit the poetry that lies in the heart of the people of Toussaint. But also, there was symbolism there as well. This was us showing the world that we supported what she was doing. That we approved of the Knights of Saint Francesca.

Which was mostly true. There were individual things that we all felt were a bit problematic and Syanna herself admitted that there would be problems to iron out in the weeks and months to come. But for an imperfect system that would do better at keeping people safe. I thought that they had done a good job. It was certainly better than the efforts that had led to the loss of our sister in the past.

Kerrass brought up the rear. Carrying the stand that we would place the portrait of Francesca on. We had wanted to find a way to keep him involved and had struggled until he himself had wondered how we were going to carry the stuff around.

The Duchess had already gone out to greet the victorious Guillaume who had led his fellows to stand in a row and wait for us. The four knights standing in their faceless helms and anonymous arms and armour. As I say, I knew which one was Guillaume due to his size and way of moving. But the others could have been anyone.

The crowd went still as The Duchess made a short speech. I wasn't really listening as I was too busy working with Sam and Kerrass to properly site the portrait so that we could get it right so that it wouldn't fall over or anything.

The Duchess spoke of the sacrifices that were made. The purpose of the Knights of Saint Francesca. How the people of Toussaint could contact the Knights and make use of their skills as and when it was needed. She spoke well but it was a speech about practicalities rather than a rousing call to arms.

When she was done, Commander Syanna placed a small white scarf, little more than a ribbon, at the base of the portrait. The fourth place knight came forwards and knelt. He picked the ribbon up and lifted it to his lips, or rather that place on his helmet where the lips were, as a symbol of devotion before Syanna helped him tie the ribbon round his wrist.

The pattern was followed by Laurelen with the third place prize of a slightly wider ribbon that was tied around the third places belt.

Second place was a scarf placed around the neck of the runner up by Ariadne's hands.

But the winner, who needed all of our help to get it on, was given a white over mantle. Like a cloak that rested over the shoulders of Francesca's champion.

All of the prizes had that same silhouette on it. Made from a thick white material with the silhouette picked out in gold but there was also a black trim to show that the knights would always be mourning she who was lost.

Being part of the ceremony I felt a little apart from it. It lacked the emotional heft that it might have had otherwise. I felt like an intruder, looking out at the world and so I noticed small things that might otherwise have passed me by.

The crowd roared as the prizes were given. Of course they did, this was Toussaint after all. But I couldn't help but notice that the common-folk cheered with considerably more enthusiasm than the nobility on the stands.

I also saw that the other knights and their squires didn't bother to hide their disdain of what was happening. I don't think that their disdain was aimed at me so much that it was aimed at the knights that were receiving the prizes.

I saw Captain De La Tour, silently watching the entire thing from the Duchess' viewing box with an impassive expression on his face. I saw Syanna wink to her sister. I was also privilidged to see Lady Vivienne beaming with pride at her husband's accomplishments.

And just like that, it was over. Sam and I were carrying the portrait back to hand it over to a couple of servants who would be taking it off to be crated up in order to be transported back to the chapter house of the knights where it currently sits, overlooking the entrance hallway to the main buildings. The stand vanished somewhere and the rest of us filed off to the waiting horses and carriages so that we could go back to the palace in order to prepare for the evening's festivities.

It was all over so fast that I felt cheated in a small but significant way. I had been looking forward to the moment but, in some small way, I felt as though I had missed that same moment. As though, in concentrating on making sure that the painting hadn't fallen over, or in listneing for that strange laughter that I had heard before, I had missed the gravitas of the moment. I had been looking forward to the catharsis that I would feel now that the name of Francesca was going to be spoken on all those lips for some time to come.

But I didn't have that and I was left feeling more than a little lost and afraid by it.

I felt hollow and vacant. I wanted to go and sit somewhere quiet, cool and dark and to let myself unwind from that moment. I needed to take it all in and let it all flow through my mind and my heart.

Francesca wasn't mine anymore and that was the moment that I realised it, I think. Properly realised it. Francesca the woman, the sister, the girl was gone now, fading into the memory of the people that knew her, the people that loved her. We would never stop loving her. We would never stop. But she was gone. All but certainly dead. I'm not going to comment on the uncertainty at this stage. It was hard, very hard but that's not what I'm talking about here.

She was gone. Dead in all but name. And she was being replaced. She was becoming Saint Francesca now. She would be repainted, reformed into a virginal Princess, kind, gentle and caring. No-one would remember the wicked sense of humour or the quick wit and intelligence. They would take those bits of her character that she needed and elevate them to the virtues that they undeniably are. And they would forget the rest.

The Knights of Saint Francesca were not even their final form. Syanna had spoken about plans that, if these first few years worked in the Duchy, then there was the suggestion that the form of law enforcement would be expanded to other parts of the Empire. That Knights of Saint Francesca would become what those other knightly orders were supposed to be. Upholding the laws, protecting the innocent and helping those people that had neither the money or the prestige to look after themselves. “Witchers for Monsters and curses.” She said. “Because no-one better. Sorcerors and Sorceresses for Magical phenomenon for the same reason. But for those crimes where the skills of the local watch are not good enough. Where the lords of the land are persecuting their people. Where there is a murder that cannot be solved, then call for a knight of Francesca.

“Think of it.” She went on. Her eyes shining. “Diplomatic missions guarded by Knights of Francesca, incorruptible, anonymous and resolute. Diplomats guarded. Roads patrolled. Villages protected and when a Lord descends from his castle or Manor house to despoil and have his way with a farmers daughter then a Knight of Francesca will be there to protect her at best and to avenge her at worst.”

“It is a pleasant dream.” I had told her. “But you will need to be careful. Such a system will be open to abuse and you will need to be careful not to fall into the same traps that the Knights of the Flaming Rose fell into.”

It is a pleasant dream and I sincerely hope that they can pull if off. Holding themselves to some impossible standard and if I am honest with myself. Francesca would be happy if she could do that for people. If all that resulted from her death was that her name would be used to scare bandits to sleep. “Be good or the Knights of Saint Francesca will come for you.” Then she would be happy with that.

In theory, that means that her name will be elevated. In theory, even if it's only in this, relatively small corner of the world, the name of Francesca will still be spoken long after I am dead and gone. Long after the events that robbed her of her life. Long after people have forgotten that her surname was “Coulthard”. Not necessarily a bad thing. But I couldn't help but mourn a little bit for the loss of my sister.

I was not alone in being absorbed by my thoughts as we all climbed back aboard the carriages to be driven back up to the palace. All I can tell you for certain is that Ariadne held my hand through it all but I remember no conversation. I can remember no speeches or words. Just lots of staring into space as we rattled over the cobbled streets of the city of Beauclair and when we got back to the palace, each of us retreated to the rooms that had been set aside for us where we could sit and think. Ariadne joined Anne and I, but we didn't speak.

We just sat.

That.... fugue state lasted until we had to start getting ready for the ball that evening. And this is largely due to the fact that it's impossible to be contemplative while you're getting ready for that kind of thing. Emma claims that you can get used to it if you have to do it on a regular basis, which I suppose she has to sometimes. But I can't ever forsee a time and a place where I would be so used to being manhandled in such a way that I would be able to leave what I was doing around me and just retreat into myself and think about nothing.

It's hard. I had to stand there while servants cleaned me, shaved me and then dressed me so that I would be presentable for the coming ball. A thing that was going to drown out everything that we had been to or seen before when it came to our time in Toussaint. So we were all dressed in the finest fabrics, leant jewels and things so that we could cut the best figures. We would be eating the finest foods and drinking the finest wines while mixing with the most fabulous people that we could imagine.

I was oddly fascinated by it all while also dreading the entire process.

But I couldn't keep hold of my mood while all of that was going on. I couldn't maintain the thoughtful calm while I could hear Sam yelping that he didn't need anyone's help in drying himself after a bath. Nor listening to Ariadne's whining that she neither wanted, nor needed to be any slimmer than she was, therefore the servant could take the corset that she was being dressed in and jam it somewhere that a surgeon would be required to find it.

There are some things that just require you to go with the flow and to enjoy yourself.

I greeted Sir Guillaume warmly and with congratulations. I had, after all, won a not small amount of money on him which I donated back to the Knights coffers so that the funds could be properly used to help in what they were trying to do. I was going to do that anyway but Emma congratulated me on making a proper statement of support for the family.

I shrugged at her.

I'm not going to go through our ensembles for the night. Mostly because I would fill several pages of parchment, use up several quills and a pot of ink to do so and I have already written far more on the subject of what was happening in Toussaint before things boiled over than I intended to.

We all looked splendid. I mean that in every sense of the word. We looked amazing. And even as we all stood there admiring each other we all vowed silently that these outfits, which were gifts from the Duchess, would be folded up carefully before being consigned to some out of the way place to never be worn again.

Other than Mark who rather thought that he would “never need to wear this shit again this side of my death bed”, who intended to sell it and give the proceeds to charity.

For the rest of us though. The only feasible way that anything like this would ever be worn again was if we were invited to another court function at Toussaint where we would be the guests of honour, in which case we would almost certainly be gifted another suit. In any other court in the land, from the Southern parts of Nilfgaard to the Northern tips of Kovir & Poviss by way of Skellige and Lyria & Rivia. This outfit would be far too gaudy. It was almost too gaudy for Toussaint itself if the truth of the matter be known. But that was a fight for another day.

But it soon became clear that the best tactic for ongoing survival was to just let the professional servants get on with things and as a result, I found that I was done and prepared all the much the faster.

“Is there any reason.” Sam began while we were waiting for the ladies to have their finishing touches to their hair and makeup. “Why I shouldn't get utterly wasted tonight. This is going to be excruciating enough without having to do it sober.”

Sam was still tired. Pale, and obviously on the edge of exhuastion but it was good to see that, at that point at least, he was beginning to recover some of his former sense of humour.

“Believe me when I say...” Syanna was wandering in and out of the suite as she prepared for the night's ceremony where the knights of Saint Francesca would formally take over security of Toussaint from the 4th Alba division. “... That you will not have time to get properly drunk. You will be far too busy shaking hands and being...” She shuddered theatrically, “nice to people.” Her mouth twisted in distaste. “I sympathise with your predicament though. My advice is to last as long as you can before stealing a number of bottles of wine and bringing them back to your rooms to get properly shit-faced.”

Syanna was wearing her own full harness. A slimmer and, to my eyes, lighter fit than what Guillaume and the other knights were wearing. But there was little doubt as to who she was. Silver steel plates over shining chain mail over a dark blue arming coat. She looked good. Especially as she was glowing with triumph. This was her moment after bringing the knights of Francesca so far in so short a period of time so, for my money at least, she deserved what she had gained.

“Now that.” Sam pointed at her to emphasise the point. “That sounds like the best plan I've heard in a long fucking time.” Mark, Kerrass and I laughed. “What do you say boys. Gonna join me in getting utterly rat-arsed after all this is done? After all, when this is over, I have to head back north to find out about all the other problems that my chancellor and seneschal have left for me.”

“Something to look forward to.” Mark agreed.

“I'm game.” Kerrass said. “A lot of these functions leave me feeling giddy so some good hard drinking would possibly do me some good.”

“Isn't there a Lady that you're keeping on the hook nearby Kerrass?” Mark teased. “A certain Lady Moineau?”

I blinked and turned. I had not known about Kerrass' endeavours on that field.

Kerrass snapped his fingers. “That's true.” He grinned. “Although it has to be said that after the amount of time and effort it took me to get into this thing,” he gestured at the suit the tailor had made for him, “and the amount of time it's taking the ladies to get into their outfits, the possibility of taking her off into a quiet corner for a good hard boff will involve far too many petticoats for my liking. Things are likely to get in the way.”

“Oh how awful that must be for you Kerrass.” I let the sarcasm build.

“So I will probably spend the evening with longing stares and play up the world weary, lonely and heartsick Witcher that cannot possibly allow himself to love or be loved.” He struck a dramatically tragic post with the back of one hand pressed against his forehead. “That way I can allow myself to be caught later and under more... practical circumstances so that the passion can overtake me to the point that I can hardly hold back.”

“Bit unfair on the lady isn't it?” Sam wondered.

“Nah, she knows the game as well as I do and is enjoying the drama of it. She acts all innocent but I wager that I am far from the first noble savage man of violence that she has seduced in this way. She's too practiced at this, too good at wearing her dresses just right so that her... hysterical and passionate breathing does interesting things to her bosoms. But she will be with her husband tonight and her father is here as well. So I doubt that anything can happen. As I say. Longing looks, averted gazes. Heavy breathing.”

“In the meantime you can console yourself with that maid that I saw you looking at, right?” I wonderd.

“Which one?” Kerrass grinned nastily. “But in all seriousness. It will depend on who's working tonight.”

“So it sounds like the Witcher's amourous adventures will keep him from drinking heavily tonight.” Sam moaned. “Mark, do your brother a solid and tell me that we have time to get properly drunk together.”

“Would that I could old boy.” Mark said. “But the medication that I'm on along with the illness means that I can't afford to. I have to heavily water my drinks at the moment and even then, I'm a lightweight the likes of which you have never seen.”

“Dissappointing.” Was Sam's verdict.

“I will keep you company though.” Mark told him. “It is, after all, a big brother's duty to tuck his errant siblings into bed when they take things too far. But I'm not holding the bowl for you when you vomit this time.”

“Fair enough. Freddie. Surely you won't leave your brother hanging.”

“I'll have a drink or three with you Sam. You just have to promise me that if I start getting too maudlin that you will put me to bed rather than laugh at me.”

“No promises. But it's been years since we last had a proper drunken, Coulthard boys putting the world to rights session.”

“It has at that.” It had been after Father's funeral. I suspect that Sam knew this as well but didn't want to bring that up then and there, like me.

We were the guests of honour. Again. But in this case, due to the formality of the event, we would be part of the receiving line being introduced to all of the guests. Syanna led us and our escort through the back corridors of the palace until we came to the banqueting hall where we formed up in the line. I was both the youngest and the least ranked so I was placed at the beginning of the line with Ariadne on my left and Sam on my right.

A herald stood behind me in order to announce those people that we didn't know and to remind me of when I had met the person in question if we had had any dealings in the past. A clever system so that I didn't end up accidentally offending anyone important by forgetting a bosom companion that I had gotten drunk in a tavern with at some point in the past.

Not so remote a possibility as you might imagine.

Kerrass was further down on my left with Emma and Laurelen beyond Sam before you got to Mark in his guise as the Baron von Coulthard and then onto Syanna and the Duchess at the end of the line.

Some people, strange, bizarre people, claim to be able to enjoy being part of the receiving line. Emma is one of these people that need to have their heads examined. But for people like me, I tend to find that all of those names and faces tend to melt together into one, amorphous blob. A featureless face that blends into others.

Even people that I have met before and been good friends with can suddenly come out of the mass of well-wishers and ambush you. So that you find yourself staring blankly at the person opposite you while they wait for you to remember that you swore eternal friendship with each other only the previous evening.

As it was, it took me several heartbeats to recognise Colonel and Lady Duberton and I only recognised them because they were both wearing the subdued black of their homeland. He in his uniform, freshly pressed and groomed while she wore the same cut of dress that she ever wore with her hair tuckedd underneath a bonnet.

Despite all the efforts that we had made to become friends with her, efforts that had begun to look as though they might bear some fruit, she had reverted to type under the influence of all the extra people. They looked good as a couple though and a couple of quick jokes were able to get the lady to relax as well. They struck me as a couple that were happy. A not unpleasant job was about to be finished when the Colonel formerly handed over protection of Toussaint to Syanna and the Knights of Saint Francesa. Then the pair could enjoy a short time of rest and relaxation before duties recalled them to the greater Empire.

They looked happy.

Another couple that I struggled to recognise for far too long was Lord Palmerin and his escort, the Succubus Natanis who chided me on being out of bed when I was clearly still unwell. Then she chided Ariadne for allowing me to be out of bed and made several lewd and frank suggestions on how Ariadne could get me to stay in bed. I made a joke that I would not be averse to such things. Then I claimed to be feeling much better. Natanis looked at me from under her long eyelashes and brushed a lock of long golden hair out of the way. I felt a jolt of erotic fascination shoot through me and my loins stirred.

“You can lie to many people Lord Frederick,” She said brutally but, I think, not unkindly. “You can lie to your betrothed, your family and your friends. You can even lie to yourself. But you cannot lie to a Succubus. You are heart sick and your healing is a long way off yet. That is if it ever comes.” She turned and looked at Ariadne frankly. “If you ever need any more help or advice on how to proceed with the healing, then I am at your disposal madam.” She said, almost formally but, towards the end, there was a small touch of humour in her voice.

“I will bear that in mind.” Ariadne said with a slight smile.

There were many other interactions of that sort. I exchanged a few more words with Lady Vivienne who smiled and laughed at my jokes. She had discovered that Ariadne and I, at least if not the rest of the family, would be staying in Toussaint for a while after the investitature of the Knights of Saint Francesca and was insisting that we go out to stay with her and Sir Guillaume at the family estate for a few days. Likewise, Ariadne and I were insisting that she and her husband should come to see us in Angral when they get the chance and their duties permit them.

I sincerely hope that I will get to maintain that friendship with that couple as I like them both dearly. Ariadne has already made noises about their invite, along with the Duchess and her sister so I leave all of that in her capable hands.

As I say though, the majority of the rest of those interactions melded into my memory. I had to fight to keep my conventration in one place and focus on the person standing in front of me.

That is the other problem with this kind of thing. When people do arrive, coming down the line, that you would actually unjoy spending a bit of time with, then they often have to move on before you have proper time to talk to them and discuss matters.

I let myself slip into the kind of drowsy headspace where I answered questions automatically, trotting out the same tired responses, gratitude and jokes that I had used on every different occasion where this kind of thing comes up and allowed myself to drift off.

I noticed a few things during this period. I noticed Sam being introduced to several sets of Merchants by Emma. Men who wanted to travel up to Kalayn lands in order to discuss how the land could be used in order to generate proper revenue. They all, to a man wanted to know how long Sam intended to stay in Toussaint so that they could meet “over lunch or something” so that they could talk through the ideas.

I was moved to help him and interceded with a joke about the line being held up to move on.

None of the trio of merchants seemed like particularly bad people to me. But none of them had any idea on how to talk to a soldier. They talked to Sam as though the priority was the bottom line without understanding that this was just the kind of thing that was almost tailor designed to annoy someone like Sam.

But here's a lesson to how to deal with this kind of thing. As well as the people that are standing in front of you, shaking your hand or kissing your knucles depending on the circumstances before bowing and making some small conversation. You also have to be aware of what's going on behind you. As well as the heraldic specialising servant, there will also be a servant with a jug of watered wine and several cups. This is so that you can wet your lips and loosen your dried throat when the time comes.

But there are also other things and people moving around.

So one of the tricks that is sometimes employed is that a devious or cunning man will send a trusted servant ahead to bribe the heralds into adjusting the information provided to the man or woman in the line. Or the servant will just stand there for a while and listen. In this case a man caught Sam out by the performing of this exact trick.

“Lord Kalayn.” He said after leaving me behind. “A pleasure.” His voice was strong and formal. Obviously trained.

Sam has had the same training that I have had and had cocked his head to one side to listen to the introduction for the man. He was not as good at it when we were younger but it seems that his elevation in the world means that he must be more driven to learning this kind of thing.

“Lord Velles.” He said, offering his hand to be shaken. “I do not believe that we have had the pleasure.”

“We have not Lord Kalayn.” I point out the use of “Lord” Kalayn rather than Sam's official title of “Baron” to my unofficial students in the arts of being a courtier. Sam always rankles a bit that he has the lands of a Count but that he cannot get that title ratified by the crown of Redania. This Merchant had found this out and therefore was using the more neutral title.

That's how you are trained to think when you are a courtier. Yes it is a lot. Yes it takes time to learn and yes it is an unpleasant way of thinking. Consider that the next time you find yourself wishing you were a politician.

“Please, Lord Kalayn. I have no titles and though I do have a certain amount of resources to my name and as I no longer bear arms, I find it a little presumptious to name myself a knight.”

“You served, sir?” Sam asked. Assuming the title notice.

“I did, before a mace shattered my shield arm at the battle of the Line.”

“You fought for Temeria then.”

“I did.”

(Freddie's note: The battle of the Line was one of those horrible wastes of life that happen in any war that later get elevated to a story of heroism against the odds in order to goad people towards the fight and to glorify the sacrifice of one's life in the name of national pride.

Foltest was dead. Natalis and all the “competent” Temerian field commanders were still at Loc Muinne while the Nilfgaardian army was advancing on Temeria. The terrified commander of the Viziman garrison ordered a ridiculously small force to hold the Imperial armies back so that the people of Vizima could escape before the siege could be properly invested.

It was a shameful piece of military cowardice. There was no way at all, that the couple of hundred men could hold back the might of the Imperial army, but they did as they were bid while the richer and more cowardly nobles of the city fled to the North and the waiting arms of Radovid.

Those soldiers and knights would not really have made much of a difference behind the walls of Vizima but they might have been able to cause enough damage in order to force the Nilfgaardian forces to sue for terms. In the meantime, the richest friends of the commander, or those who could afford the bribes escaped at the cost of a couple of hundred dead or captured.

Rumours vary from the Redanian propaganda that states that the five hundred Warriors of the Line fought to the last man so that the good and innocent people of Temeria could escape the oncoming black tide of Nilfgaard. All the way to the Nilfgaardian Propaganda that states that the two hundred soldiers of the Line were overwhelmed and captured where possible and taken into custody. Brave men who fought to protect their cowardly and decadent noble caste.

The truth is harder to find. At that early stage in the war in Temeria, there was relatively little organisation in these matters. There was certainly a battle. Many brave men died and the Nilfgaardians certainly did their best to save as many of those brave soldiers and knights as they could. Soldiers in wars, as I have said before, often find more in common with their opposite numbers than they do with the people that give them their orders.

For a while, it was quite trendy for people to borrow the valour of those men and claim that they fought at the Line, knowing full well that their participation could not possibly be proven one way or another. Those that really did fight there, stopped claiming so on the grounds that people rarely believed them and, like Sir Velles, found other occupations rather than trade on an old, lost battle that became a symbol for both sides.

There is something of an effort to find the survivors and bring them together though.

Those nobles that escaped to Redania had all their goods and wealth confiscated by the Redanian war effort and the escaping nobles were sent to the front on the grounds that Radovid despised Traitors. Even when they had betrayed others to go to him. So there was some justice there in the end.)

“Yes, I fought for Temeria.” Velles offered his wooden left hand as proof. “I took up an old shield and it shattered under the mace blow. Stupid bloody fool like I was.”

The woman that I was talking to winced at the language and I didn't hear the conversation for a bit.

“Your sister tells me that you need some help securing funds so that you can secure your holdings Lord Kalayn?” Velles wondered.

“That would be helpful Sir Velles.” I noticed that Velles no longer objected to being called knight. But Sam was lapping it up.

“I understand that there has never been proper mineral explorations in your lands. Also that they are full of many herbs of a most potent nature?”

“So I am led to believe.”

“Then maybe I can help you Sir. Might I call on you before you leave in the morning.”

“I believe I would enjoy that.” Sam replied. “In the meantime, maybe I could trouble you for the truth about what happened at the line. My brother would, I am sure be fascinated as well.”

“The truth is that we were betrayed, surrounded and very nearly slaughtered.” Velles sighed bitterly. “I might have taken it easier if any of the bastards survived for me to take my revenge on. But Radovid did me out of that vengeance too.”

The lady blanced again, her husband who was talking about something with Ariadne became red-faced and snapped along the line.

“Sir. There are ladies present.”

Velles looked a little shocked before being instantly contrite.

“Of course. Forgive me Ma'am. Sir. Discussing things with another soldier reminds me of times in the field and I regressed for a moment.”

The lady and her husband, or course, forgave Velles who moved on. I remember this interaction because I did indeed sit with Sam and Sir Velles as we discussed the Battle at the Line and I have sent that account to the University as an account of the battle.

Sir Velles was not the only merchant to spend some time with my brother. Nor was he the only person that knew a bit more about how to approach Sam properly. Lord Leuvarden was also prominent and was wearing his cheerful and affable persona. Sam is not quite that naive but I notice that he still was not so averse to having a small snifter from Lord Leuvarden's flask.

Lord Leuvarden is one of those kinds of merchants that made their money a long time ago. A scion of the Nilfgaardian family of Leuvarden's which means that Declan Leuvarden is in the game as a way of keeping score and because he happens to enjoy it. It also gives him a cover for his rumoured involvement in the Imperial Intelligence services. There is, obviously, no proof of that and Lord Leuvarden never denies it. But there is also more than a little bit of a hint that he happens to enjoy the notoriety on the subject. Then he gets to surprise people by being nice to them which always throws people into confusion.

Emma's assessment of the man is that if he really put his mind to it then he could be a power in the merchantile endeavours. But fortunately for her, he sees it all as a game. Something that she finds a little offensive but my understanding is that their rivallry is relatively friendly for all of that.

But I was able to drift off into my half snoozing, half doze while things carried on until the guests of honour arrived. This being the top four knights of the joust. The men that would bear the title of the first champions of the Winter Tournament of the Saint in Toussaint.

I tried, I really did. I tried really hard to be nice to these people. I tried to like them so much that it is honestly a little bit upsetting that it all went so badly and that we would end up disliking each other to such an extent. There was one exception of a man that, from everything that I had heard of him, I rather expected him to be someone that I would dislike intensely where I turned out to be wrong. But I will not speak out of turn.

They came in reverse order.