(Warning: Contains a first hand account of a young woman/girl being taken advantage of and manipulated by an older man)

It was a nice little cottage all things considered.

Right on the edge of what would be a couple of hours walk from Beauclair itself while also being secluded enough that no-one would find it unless they went looking for it. It backed onto a steep embankment and was surrounded by the kind of uniform tree placement that suggests a massive timber harvest followed by a large scale replanting.

It was also within a small walking distance from one of the nearby villages and the track leading up to the door was obviously well traveled.

The walls were whitewashed, the roof was thatched but there was real glass in the windows. The shutters were painted in cheery floral patterns by the hand of a child, to my eyes, and were also scrupulously clean. The thatch was well ordered and neatly kept. The gardens around it were kept more towards the utility end of the craft of gardening. I could see rows of cabbages, turnips, carrots, garlic, beans and onions as well as a few other things. There was also a pair of herb gardens. One of which was clearly for the kind of herbs that a person would use for the making of simple medicinal potions. Joint pain hot rubs, ease of breathing, that kind of thing. The other was used for the kitchen herbs. I could see Basil, Sage and rosemary easily and some others that I was not as familiar with.

There was a small enclosure that housed two goats and a carefully fenced off piece of land that contained a henhouse with a large, open, grassy area along with it for the chickens to run around in.

Not all of it was utility driven either. There was another small patch of ground that was given to the growing of flowers. There were small pathways amongst the flower beds and blooms as well as a wooden seat set in a shelter that was wrapped in ivy with rose plants on either side. The garden was not in bloom at the moment. But it was clear that things were being planned for a coming replanting. The ground does not freeze as hard in Toussaint as it does in the North and there were signs of some mulching going on.

It was a beautiful place. Sheltered from the wind by the trees, I imagined it to be a place that would be cool in summer, warm in winter and was always accompanied by the constant music of running water from the stream nearby. And always with the sound of the wind in the trees.

It really was a shame what had happened to that place.

The first thing we saw was a chicken that had had its head cut off.

Guillaume saw it first and stopped our horses. We had been riding quietly for a little while and the day was getting well into the afternoon. I was a bit concerned with the early onset of evening given the time of year and wanted to pursue our enquiries as far as we could given the time available. Guillaume shared the same instinct that I was still just developing and the conversation had died down as he started riding that little bit straighter in the saddle, his shield a little bit closer to hand while loosening his sword in the scabbard a bit.

Seeing him doing this I started to feel the change in the trees myself. It is a cliche of bad plays and books when people say that things are getting too quiet or that they know that there is danger in the air because the surroundings have gone silent. But it is true, that really does happen.

I made my own adjustments quickly. Guillaume is an experienced fighting man and it always pays to trust the instincts of a man like that when it comes to danger. I readied my feet so that I could leap from my horse quickly and fitted my spear together. No matter how much I have practised, I have still struggled to figure out how to fight with a spear from horseback. I understand the logic of the thing, of course I do, but I can’t think like that in the moment and still lack the confidence to actually attempt it in combat.

We rode slowly along the track. When he had seen it, Guillaume held his hand up and dismounted, his squire running forwards and taking the reins of both horses. We dismounted and advanced slowly and carefully. Another difference between working with Guillaume and working with Kerrass is that it’s really hard to be stealthy in a suit of full armour. The benefit was that any attackers would strike at him before they came at me.

We came round the bend and saw what had become of the cottage. Guillaume actively groaned before putting his sword away.

“Whatever happened here is long over.” He told me before calling his squire up. “Planchet, ride back to the village we just passed and tell them that the cottage has been attacked. Tell them that I will be along shortly to ask some questions. Leave the horses, tie them to… that tree over there.”

The lad had paled at the things that had happened. He was swallowing hard and repeatedly.

“Hey,” Guillaume called, sharply but not unkindly. “Look at me Planchet.” The lad was licking his lips and his head jerked up. “Look at me.” Guillaume repeated. “This happens, this is the life we sign up to. When it does happen and you find a scene like this, and you will if you continue down this path, then act first. Weep for the dead later. Get angry for the dead later. But for now, we must do our duty. Now, what have I told you to do?”

The young squire swallowed again and took a deep breath before answering. “I am to inform the village of what happened. I will warn them that you will be there shortly to ask some questions and I should tie the horses to that tree over there.”

“Very good. Then snap to it.”

It was not the worst scene of an attack that I have ever seen. Not by a long shot. Nothing quite like finding a family that has refused to move from within a griffin’s hunting territory. Or seeing what happens to a person when the stone elemental decides to stamp on them. But there is always a special horror that comes with knowing that the awfulness has been committed by a human.

We knew that the owner of this cottage kept goats because the animals had been butchered, their blood had been splashed around everywhere. We saw the other chickens as well. One had been crushed under the weight of something while the others had been decapitated along with the first. The henhouse had been destroyed, the gardens had been trampled, the windows had been smashed, the shutters broken and someone had obviously decided to start a fire in the thatch which hadn’t really taken, presumably due to the colder weather.

The door was off its hinges, the fences had been knocked down. It didn’t look good.

It was a recent thing. Hours old, maybe a day at most that all of this had been done.

We advanced cautiously, carefully placing our feet as we climbed over animal carcasses and blood splatters as we came to the door. Guillaume gestured to keep a look out. I didn’t think that there was still anyone here, but he was right to be cautious. He entered the cottage first, shield in the lead and sword held ready. He wasn’t in there for more than a couple of minutes before he called me in, followed by the very distinctive sound of someone slamming a sword into a scabbard angrily.

“Fuck,” I said as I entered the room.

It was a half living area, half cooking area. Simple, elegant and homely. Someone had loved this place. The furniture was simple and plain, even ragged looking. There was a spinning wheel in the corner as well as a small shelf that contained a few books. Stairs at the end of the room would lead upstairs.

And like the outside, someone had gone through this peaceful place and ruined it. Blood and shit was smeared up the walls, the books had been thrown to the floor and the pages had been torn out. Food had been thrown around and trampled underfoot. But that was not the main attraction.

Nailed to the wooden walls was the mutilated corpse of a man. It was his blood that we had been avoiding in the cottage itself. Strips of clothing lay around the place from where it had been torn. Lying in front of him was the ruin of a sword. Golden hilted, bright, but bent out of shape. Where there had once been jewels on the hilt, I could see scratches where people had pried the jewels free. Someone had taken a hammer to the blade and it was broken, misshapen as a result.

“Poor Vasseur.” Guillaume said, shaking his head sadly. “You deserved better than this my lord. Rest easy.”

“It’s definitely him?”

“Oh yes.” Guillaume pointed at the corpse's crooked leg. “That was one of the places that he was injured in that duel all that time ago. The duellist stamped on it hard and it never quite healed properly.”

I nodded. The fact that Guillaume had to recognise the man by an old injury should tell you about the state of the poor man.

“Right. Ok then.” I decided. “Could you help me get him down and onto this table.” I said as I broke off the only remaining leg of the table to create a flat surface. “And we can see if he can tell us anything in death. Then, do you wanna go and take a look upstairs?”

“Mmm? Oh, of course.”

Working together we were able to pry the nails loose and laid him as gently as we could on the wooden boards. While I worked with the limited tools of my boot knife and a couple of the pieces of equipment around the house, Guillaume went upstairs and had a look round before going outside for a bit. When he came back, he stood back and let me finish up.

“Do you want to go first?” I asked.

“The upstairs rooms are ruined as well. Two rooms, his and hers. Beds torn, clothes everywhere, valuables taken. I think we are meant to believe that this was done by a group of bandits.”

“No,” I shook my head. “Bandits would have taken the meat from the dead animals.”

“And there are no bandits in the local area.” Guillaume agreed. “There is no traffic in this area so there is nothing here to steal and there was nothing here to attract anyone.”

“Another attempted criticism of the Knights.”

“Probably. There are signs outside of several people I think. The Count definitely took one of them with him, or wounded him at least.”

“Any sign of the girl?”

“None. I don’t believe she was here.”

I nodded. “That would track. Lord Vasseur was tortured for information, presumably the whereabouts of his daughter.”

“Poor man. Everyone breaks and he was not a well man… I think that we have to assume…”

“No.” I said, “he didn’t talk.”

“You are sure.”

“He bit his own tongue off to keep himself from talking.”

“Prophet's beard.”

“My reaction was a bit stronger. He fought, they clubbed him down and tied him up. Probably to a chair. Then they tortured him for a while before he bit his tongue off. Then, out of frustration, they beat him to death and nailed him to that wall as… I dunno… Some kind of reinforcement to the idea that bandits did this.”

Guillaume nodded. “He fought. Not with his sword although I think he did that too. But he fought, and there is no better death than protecting the life of an innocent. I will have him buried with honour.”

“He deserves it.” I said. “But what now?”

“I think we need to ask the village when this happened, whether they knew it had happened, and if so, why didn’t they say anything. They might also know where the daughter might be.”

“And we need to pick up Planchet.”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone that the village was fine. Like the cottage, it was a nice little village that under different circumstances might be called idyllic, or picturesque. Winter had curtailed the wildflower blooms and the more summery of the colourful blooms. It was centered around an old vineyard that had lost its prominence and was now all but a ruin. The industrial parts of the old building were still in use, but it was now part of a much larger local operation and the manor part of the vineyard was now part of an inn, currently closed for the winter.

Guillaume told me that this was a secluded part of Toussaint that people very rarely went to. Far from being entirely wealthy and as such, it was increasingly clear that there were no bandits in the area. I mean, what would they get out of it. There was nothing here to steal. The villagers didn’t care though. This was their land and they took pride in it. They were looking forward to the day where they could begin harvesting the timber again, a distant date that they were confident would result in the turn around of their fortunes and if they could only hold on a bit longer…. I’m sure that you know the kind of thing I’m talking about.

There was a village guard posted given the recent events, but there was no wall, no palisade, no watchtower or anything that might suggest that there was anything in the local area that might be a regular threat. The “guard” itself was a ragtag bunch of people that wielded a grain flail and a scythe. One man had a hunting bow that would be laughable against Guillaume’s mail and even a little dubious against my own leathers.

We approached slowly though and the men called out to us by name. We were led straight to the inn where the mayor of the village was waiting for us with members of his dour faced village council. There was genuine remorse at the news that Count Vasseur had died and it would seem that the folk of the village loved the exiled Count.

“My companion here has some questions.” Guillaume told them, “and I charge you all to answer truthfully as we are seeking for the killers of this man as well as the other killings in Toussaint.”

“Jack.” They murmured, as if to speak his name was to summon his gaze to you.

Which of course it does, but this was the kind of murmuring that he would enjoy more than anything else.

“Right.” One of the villagers had poured me a cup of wine, a little carelessly, as though it were slop. I am sure that no-one will be surprised if I tell you that it was among the best vintages it has ever been my good fortune to encounter.

“Right.” I said. “Let’s start with the obvious. I think that we are meant to believe that this was banditry. Going to Lord Vasseur’s residence in an effort to find something worth stealing so let’s start with that. Have any of you seen any sign of bandits in the local area?”

There was much shaking of heads.

“We are not angry, except to the people that did this thing.” I told them. “But would it be possible for a group of bandits to approach the Count’s cottage without you noticing.”

“I don’t see how milord and that’s the truth.” One man said. “There are regular excursions out into the woods to find chestnuts and things. Winter berries, fruits and the nuts and the like. There is also still game out there to be hunted and we collect herbs and things to be sold at market. Even in winter, there is work to be done. It is not like the north where work stops for the winter.” The speaker sneered as though this made the Northern farmers lazy and feckless.

I carefully did not tell them that the winter that they were “enduring” was not the same as winter in the north. Where the hair can freeze to the ground if you are not careful. Where to expose flesh is to risk losing that limb and being forced to sleep outside is a death sentence. Northern farmers would work outside if it was an option and would laugh at the conditions that Toussaint farmers were complaining about.

Or I might be displaying my Northern bias there.

“Ok. but…”

“And ‘is lordship did not exactly have anything worth stealing if you take my meaning.” Said a woman. “I’ve been doing ‘is laundry you see. ‘Is daughter did her best to see to his needs but sometimes there was just some stuff that she didn’t know how to do.”

I nodded.

“Why not?”

“Well, she wanted to. She was enthusiastic and everything, keen for her and her father to be able to stand on their own two feet.”

There was some muttering along the lines of “admirable”.

“But he insisted on her getting schooling of a different sort if you follow me. He would send her off to learn at that fancy school up at Beauclair. She would learn to dance and sing and play fancy music and things.” The woman that was speaking sniffed to show what she thought of that. “If she were my daughter, I would have taught her how to live life, but he gave her airs and graces that she didn’t need and, if you’ll forgive me, she didn’t want.”

“What do you mean? What kind of girl was she?”

The entire room softened, but also became more defensive. As though I had moved things in a direction that would suggest that I was going to insult, or attack the girl in question.

“I stress.” I said. “That we are only concerned for the lady’s safety. That we are looking for her, only to make sure that she is unharmed.” I gestured to Guillaume to include him in that sentiment. “I do not for one moment, mean her any harm, nor would I wish any harm to befall her. At the very worst, I believe that some evil men seek to make her a tool for their own purposes.”

“She wouldn’t…” The woman began.

“She would never…” Began another.

“She would die before…”

There were many beginnings to this kind of sentiment.

“And that last.” I told them “Is precisely why we need to find her.” I told them. “They want to make her a tool. I am sure of it, but I also have reason to believe that she is resisting their efforts. But that puts her in danger.”

There was a pause as they all looked at each other, they seemed to communicate telepathically, with glances and expressions and small whispers. That way of speaking that seems to come naturally to married couples and people that have known each other for years.

“She were a good lass.” Said the one that seemed to be in charge. “She were kind too. I mean, we all know the rumours about her and her father but she didn’t care. She just wanted to take care of her father and do the best she could. She didn’t want to impose on anyone, she didn’t want to ask for help. She loved her father and there was just some things that he didn’t want her doing. He wanted her to be a lady whereas she just wanted to be her father’s daughter.”

I nodded.

“She were lonely,” said another of the women, younger than the rest I thought. “There were plenty of young men that wanted to pay her court but her father wouldn’t hear of it. This, despite the fact that there was little to no dowry to speak of as far as anyone knows. She’s a comely lass if you like that sort, well spoken and things. But sooner or later, a man wants a dowry. But the Count, he turned them all down flat.”

“It sounds like…” I reached for the words and just decided to go for it. “It sounds like you all love the girl, but that you can barely stand the father.”

“Oh, he were just ‘is lordship weren’t he.” Said the leader. “He were a good man and we remember from old. Fair, even, just if a little harsh in his dealings. He was good and kind to us and he needed our help and we never begrudged him that. He hated himself see?. He was quite angry and just occasionally it would spill out of him and be directed at the nearest person, if not at himself. He were still decent enough, kind enough, generous enough. Spoke well and didn’t talk down ‘is nose if you follow. It were only in the way that he behaved towards ‘is daughter’s suitors that he was… unkind.”

“I see.” And I did. A fallen noble, deluding himself into thinking that his daughter might be a key into reclaiming some of his former life. An old madness and an ancient story. Rarely turns out well.

“How did she feel about him?” I wondered.

“Oh she loved him.” Said the woman. “Not the blind devotion that some expect as she had no time for his nonsense and would tell ‘im so. Regular and often. There were a couple of her suitors that I rather think she were interested in. But her father wouldn’t have it and she hated that. She also refused to accept his temper or his maudlin turns.

“She would literally drag him to the festivities whenever there was a party going on. She would feed him treats and ignore his sulking. She were a good girl. Kept apart from us by her father’s… fatherness. And away from her own people by her lack of money.”

“It sounds like a sad case.” I commented.

“It was.” Said the woman. “Very sad.”

“So what happened? Where is she? The count is dead but there’s no sign of anyone else.”

There was some more exchanging of glances. More of the tiny communications of facial expressions and pursed lips.

“Someone started… courting the young lady.” Said the woman. “It were a gradual thing at first. Small things. She started to be walking around and smelling bunches of flowers. She kept taking a note out of… a private place and she could be seen to be reading it. She had a more dreamy way of moving around the place. Normally, she was a salt of the earth, common sense kind of girl, but more and more she was walking around with her head in the clouds.”

“Do we have any idea who it was?”

“Not for the longest time.” The man took up the tale. “We asked, excited for her you know?”

“I know.” I nodded.

“It seems that it was a secret admirer of some kind. Which caused a little bit of concern. I mean, a secret admirer like that, they’re only after one thing aren’t they.” He said darkly. “Especially as it seemed to go on for quite a while and we began to be concerned that someone was stringing her along. There was even a darker suggestion that it was her father, binding herself to him and keeping her mind off all the other boys that were wanting to come a callin’,

“But ‘e were just as concerned as we were. Then, about a month ago, a Knight arrived on his big horse with shining armour.”

“What colour was the armour?” I asked. Was it steel and silvery like Sir Guillaume? Or was it golden?”

“Oh, definitely golden sir. He seemed right proud of it too.”

“Did you see his face, do you know what he looked like…” I was excited and it was only at that point that I asked the obvious question. “Do you know who it was?”

“I’m afraid not sir. He came incognito without a banner, or heraldry. He was wearing a full helm and just walked his horse through, as courteous as you like.”

I tried to hide my disappointment.

“How tall was he?” Guillaume asked. “How wide? How big was the horse?”

“He wasn’t very tall sir, less than yourself of course, maybe a little shorter than his lordship as well.” The speaker gestured at me. “He was slender as well, moved with a grace, like a panther hunting its prey.”

“Not Gregoire then.” Guillaume commented, trying not to sound too disappointed. “How about the horse?”

“It was a big horse.” One of the farmers commented. “Chestnut he was, gelding, well behaved and moved easily. Good rhythm to his foot falls, but to my eyes he was a riding horse. Not a fighting one. Meant for endurance and speed rather than strength.”

I nodded. That didn’t tell us much, chestnut horses are common.

“He rode through here on his way to the cottage. He were polite. Muttered something about Knightly vows and a need to speak with the Count. He were there a few hours before he came back and left the way he came. He came back the following day and the day after that before he rode off with ‘er ladyship on the back of his horse. And that were that we thought.”

“How did the Count feel about his daughter leaving.”

“At first he were really happy about it. Obviously really pleased. He walked around for a while with a spring in his limp and a song on his lips. It was as though a great cloud had been lifted from him. We rather thought life would improve.”

“You say that like things changed.”

“Well sir, they did, right enough. They did.”

“There started to be messengers going back and forth. Palace messengers. The kind that you’re not allowed to stop on pain of death.”

“I know the ones.”

“At first he was pleased with what was in the letters, the Count I mean. But gradually, he seemed to get angrier with it. Angrier and angrier before he… visibly, started to sink into this kind of strange depression. He started to watch the roads carefully. For the first time since he came here, he took his sword down from above the mantlepiece and started to clean it carefully. Taking it out into the fields near where his cottage was and working the old movements that I recognised from my time fighting for the Empire. He got really angry then, really cross with himself for not being as good with it as he used to be. As he remembered being.”

“What happened?”

“He started to warn us off, telling us that it wasn’t safe around the cottage. Then, in the early hours, ‘er ladyship came back.”

As they were getting excited, they started to cut off each other’s sentences. Passing the story round like they were getting frustrated with how slowly the tale was being told.

“How did she seem?” I asked, trying to calm and slow the flood of information.

“We didn’t see her that much. Her father had taught her to ride back when they could afford to keep a horse and she had obviously kept up the practice as life moved on. She rode through here like the hounds of the hunt itself were after her. She did not stop, hair flying, cloak billowing behind her.”

“She nearly ran over Jacques.”

“She said she were sorry though.”

“Aye, but she didn’t stop to check, did she.”

“So she was in a hurry?” I checked.

“Yessir, as fast as I’ve ever seen her move.”

I nodded.

“What happened then?”

“She were only at the cottage for a short while before she rode back, a little calmer but still moving quite quickly.”

“Was she carrying anything?” I asked. “Did she have any bags with her? Any boxes?”

“She had a couple of bags with her.” Someone said. “Food, a waterskin and a blanket tied behind the saddle. She had changed clothes as well.”

I nodded.

“The following morning, we all trooped down to the Count’s cottage to ask what was going on but he sent us away.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that some people would be coming. That we should hide, that we should just let them through and not try to stop them. We tried to tell him to come with us, to hide with us, but he refused.”

“Did he say why?”

“He said that he had started this. He said that he had sold his daughter and now he was paying the price. He wouldn’t tell us what he meant though.”

I nodded.

“That was the early hours of this morning.” Back round to the leader again. “We hid in our homes, we even put milk out and lined the boundaries with salt. But we heard nothing, saw nothing. We thought it was ‘is lordship just being ‘is lordship. But it wasn’t was it.”

“No.” I told them. “It wasn’t.”

Guillaume and I had a little conference outside.

“So we have learned something here.” He said.

“I think we have.”

We both nodded for a little while.

“What do you think we’ve learned?” He wondered.

“I have no idea.”

We laughed at each other for a moment.

“Ok. She had an admirer, someone that did a fairly good job of seducing the girl from afar.” I tried.

“I do not think that would be hard.” Guillaume commented. “She is only young as these things go and every girl or woman that I’ve ever met, and a lot of boys for that matter, want to be swept off their feet. It wouldn’t take much to get that going.”

“Mmm.” I grunted. “Especially if you were starved of company of people your own age by an obstinate father, were lonely and spent all your time looking after said Father who didn’t want you to leave.”

Guillaume nodded.

“So,” I tried again. “She was being seduced from afar. Then a Knight turns up, anonymously I notice.”

“I noticed that too.” Guillaume commented.

“Is that kind of thing common?”

“It was less common as the old Knights Errant preferred the fame of the matter.” Guillaume said. “It’s much more common now. But a Knight is supposed to declare themselves in advance and the Knight Commander is well aware of the deployments and things so that we can be held accountable if something goes badly. There is also a list of people that can challenge a Knight to reveal their identity. Guards, the leaders of any particular area. Mayors, overseers, aldermen, that kind of thing. Vows of silence are forbidden but we declare ourselves as the Knights of Saint Francesca first. So if forced, I would describe myself as Sir Guillaume of the Knights of Saint Francesca. We want the prestige to go to the Knights as a whole, not the families that are part of it.”

“I see. So it’s not too suspicious?”

“Oh it’s very suspicious. That was a golden armoured Knight. Those that still do that insist that they be recognised for their words and deeds. They want to be recognised to hold onto what fame, power and prestige they have left.”

“I see. So he was hiding his identity.”

“I think so.”

“So we have to assume that that Knight was either the admirer or that he worked for the admirer.”

“I think so.”

“And they took her off somewhere…. Why?” I wondered.

“To prepare her for a wedding? To bring her into their plots?” He sighed. “To have their way with her?”

“You are sure that this Knight was part of the plot? Not that I disagree with you, but still.”

“Yes. Golden armour and the rest suggest, to me, a former Knight Errant.”

“Mmm.” I rubbed at my chin and realised that I needed a shave. “So she goes off to do… whatever. And then, at some point, she realises that her new fiancee and his friends were up to something nefarious. That Lady Moineau is in the firing line and she attempts to warn her.”

“I think so.”

“She is not afraid yet. But she is determined to save Lady Moineau. But then, they start to frighten her and she flees. Out the window, down a sheet or something. Gets a horse and comes back to her father to hide, or get advice.”

Guillaume was nodding. “But he realises that this would only draw the enemies back here. So he tells her to take some things and to flee. To run, to hide. Does he send her somewhere?”

“He might.” I said. “That would explain the torture and the refusal to speak. If he didn’t know then he could have just told them that he didn’t know.”

“I don’t know about that.” Guillaume replied. “He could be forced to speculate as to where his daughter might have gone. And as her father, his guesses might have been fairly accurate and able to point them in the right direction.”

“Fair point. So she flees and he stays behind. Did they catch her?”

“No, because then, why torture the father? The villagers didn’t see them so the attackers were moving stealthily. The problem with being so stealthy is that you are out of sight of them and they are out of sight of you. Also, last night, Lady Moineau was being killed.”

“True.”

“If I have to guess. I would suggest that she escaped while everyone was arranging the death of Lady Moineau.” Guillaume tried. “Then they come back, congratulating themselves for the execution of a task well done, maybe even after a certain amount of celebration, only to find that this particular part of their endgame has fled.”

“They chase after her,” I took up the tale, “wanting to avoid the village where the father and daughter are popular. They still want to preserve the Jack cover so they can’t use that, and instead they try to pretend to be bandits.”

“They find the girl gone and the father being obstinate. It is clear that the girl is one step ahead of them.”

We paused for a little while.

“I think we have the truth of it.” I said. “That feels solid.”

“It does, doesn’t it.” He said. “But that still leaves us with the question of where she will have gone to hide. We must find her and find out what she knows.”

We stared into the distance for a little too long.

“So, how do we set about finding her?” I wondered.

As it turns out, all we had to do was to turn around, re-enter the hall where most of the village was still sat, waiting for us to ask the question.

But that’s not to say that it was a pleasant conversation.

Every so often when you’re out on the path with a Witcher, walking into strange places and strange times, you come across moments where you have run afoul of some kind of local superstition or local rule that is born out of a very real need to survive. Sometimes, quite often even, a local superstition is born out of circumstance. As an example, they might have found that there is a spirit in a certain area that affects… I don’t know… It turns the hair of young men white and renders them infertile. So it becomes taboo to go there.

Then one day, the lord’s son goes into the area, gets his hair turned white and becomes infertile, a witcher is summoned and identifies the curse, goes to the area, finds the spirit that is causing all the ruckus and deals with the matter. But even though the spirit is gone, the taboo still remains.

Another example is if there is something going on in a particular building that the common folk know about, they don’t know what it is, and because they are common folk, they get scared and invent dark stories about whatever it is that is hiding out in the ruin. It becomes taboo to talk about it. It becomes a tale that grizzled old men tell around the camp-fire, or around the inn, or the hearth-fire. A friend’s uncle’s cousin had gone there with a group of his friends in order to try and seduce some girls that they were with (Note the moralising nature of all of these stories. That is not an accident). But when they got there, they saw a woman, wearing a white dress who was bleeding from the eyes and as she opened her mouth to say something, blood came out of the spirit’s mouth in a river that started to flow towards the encroaching people. The friend’s uncle’s cousin flees, being towards the back of the group and as he runs, he hears the screams of his friends that he had left behind. Then, the following day, some other locals go back and they can’t find the remains of the other dead young folk. They have all disappeared.

Then the ghost gets a name like “Red Jenny” or “Bloody Becca” or the like. But you have to ask the question, who she was, where might she have come from and so on.

When you do that, it’s a peculiar kind of feeling. The closest to it that I can think of is… Back at home, my family dining table was less than an entirely pleasant place to be. It certainly wasn’t the most relaxing meal that could, or would ever happen. You could tell the kind of evening it was going to be almost immediately. If father was laughing and joking, teasing Frannie and playing with one of the children’s toys then we knew that it was going to be a good evening. But if he stalked into the room without a word and sat in silence, we knew that the best thing to do was to keep our eyes on our foods and say nothing.

But then there would be moments where Father’s wrath would not be denied a victim. He would ask questions, or someone would cough and forget their manners or something similar and then the mountain would erupt into flame.

There was always this moment. Just a moment before the yelling, or the cold cruel words would start. Just a moment where the entire room would just freeze. Where we would all just sit there in a mutual horror at what was about to take place, sympathy for the poor soul that was about to get destroyed and a shared gratitude that it wasn’t going to be us that were going to be punished.

That moment. That moment where your arse tightens up. When your stomach roils and the room seems to get a little bit darker.

It is exactly like that.

Over and over and over again, I have been taught the lessons that uneducated doesn’t mean that a person is stupid. But another lesson is that just because it is a peasant superstition, does not mean that there is not some wisdom to be found in the depths of that superstition. Listen to it and make your decisions accordingly.

So Guillaume and I leave the patch of wall that we were in the middle of propping up and reenter the hall. The innocent question of “Where might the young lady have gone to hide?” And it was as though we had asked when the Wild Hunt would be riding through the village to take another harvest of souls beyond the moon. The entire village pulled back from us as though we were carrying some form of disease.

Then they turned on each other and started talking in a gaggle of whispers. Something about her. Some female figure that they were really scared of. It was… extreme and I found myself bemused. Eventually the mayor was pushed forward again, the problems with being mayor meaning that he was also chosen to be the spokesperson when he clearly wished to do nothing of the kind.

“We dare not speak her name.” He whispered, as though she might be listening. I will admit that I found the entire circumstance rather comical. “She was a wronged girl. She was scared. She was running. It is known that, if there is no-one else. When their friends have left them, or their friends are in danger. It is said that a wronged woman can go to her for help and she must help. It is the one thing that would redeem so black a soul.”

It is an unfortunate thing to be cursed with a sense of humour like mine. The urge to find these things funny is strong in me, it always is and I was preparing to flee outside before a fit of the giggles overtook me when I saw Guillaume’s face. He had turned pale. Haggard, sweating and his eyes staring. He saw me looking and turned his gaze to me and I realised that there was something here that I had never seen before.

Guillaume was afraid.

“Thank you.” He told the room. “I will not make you speak any further. You have done well and I would thank you for your service. I know of whom you speak.”

There was more murmuring of agreement and gratitude before the mayor stood up.

“You mean to visit her don’t you.” The mayor said.

“I fear that we must. Our mission is vital to the survival of Toussaint. We have no choice.”

The mayor nodded. “Then we shall pray for your safe return.”

“Come on Freddie.” Guillaume tugged me away.

After we left I desperately wanted to ask Guillaume what was going on but he held a hand up to keep me quiet.

“Planchet?” He called.

The squire trotted over.

“Paper Planchet, quill, ink.”

The squire nodded and retired to the saddlebags to produce the required implements. There was a shift in the squire’s behaviour. Normally, as I have previously written, he behaves towards Guillaume with a barely disguised air of bemusement. But there was something in his master’s attitude that spoke of real urgency.

Guillaume sat on a wooden bench and quickly scrawled something before folding it and passed it to his squire.

“Take this back to Beauclair. Put it into the hands of the Knight Commander herself, no-one else. Do you understand?”

“Yes my lord, but…”

“No buts Planchet. And if we don’t come back, tell my wife I love her. And you should know that I was proud to have you as my squire.”

The poor lad looked as though Guillaume had slapped him. “My Lord?”

“Hop to it, Planchet.” Guillaume snapped, “There are only a few more hours of daylight left.”

The lad ran off.

I took a deep breath “Guillaume?”

“Not yet Freddie. Not here.”

I know the sound of an obstinate man when I hear them. There was no way that I was going to get anything out of him at this rate. Instead, we climbed on our horses and I was led towards a single file track that led us north. After a mile of easy riding the track widened to the point that we could ride alongside each other.

“I think I’ve been very patient.” I said with as little tone in my voice as I could manage. “Where are we going? Who are we meeting? Where is Lady Vasseur? Countess Vasseur I should say.”

Guillaume seemed startled before he turned back to me.

As he considered where to start, I found myself wondering if I was about to do something that Kerrass would add to his list of top ten stupid things that I had ever done. It’s been a while since I asked him about that list and part of me spent a couple of seconds wondering if anything had been done recently to gain entry onto that list.

“As you have seen.” Guillaume began. “Toussaint is a place of stories. Of heroes and villains. Of monsters and shining Knights that woo lovely ladies with flowers and poems. But just as we are fascinated by heroes, we are also enchanted by villains. Every outbreak of Echinopsae has a dark and sinister reason for it. Every nest of Arachnomorphs were drawn there by horrible memories. Every giant is a cursed villain, Every cyclops is a Knight cursed to horror. Every ghoul nest, every giant, cyclops, werewolf and the rest. We know it’s all nonsense. That sometimes a Giant is a Giant with no rime or reason behind it. Sometimes a nest of Kikkimores just burst into the open. But we can’t accept that. There must be a reason so we justify it all to ourselves and so… They are all justified by some kind of story. Something that we can hold up and justify our own existence with it. Sooner or later though, there needs to be a villain of the piece. The boogeyman that holds the entire thing together. Do you follow?”

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I nodded.

“In recent times, since the loss of your sister, that boogeyman has become Jack. With these latest killings, I doubt that that trend is going anywhere any time soon. For a brief while it was Detlaff, or as the people called him “The Beast of Beauclair”.”

“Alliteration has a lot to answer for in this kind of thing.”

He actually smiled at that.

“But before both of them there was another villain. She was the Witch of Lynx Crag.”

It was getting increasingly difficult not to laugh aloud.

“Guillaume. There are many Witches in this world. Most of them turn out to be women that know a little bit more about certain things than the average villager. They live in remote cottages and things because it’s a practical thing, it means that they can be closer to the herbs and things that they need to make their livings off. And a bit of mystery helps them make a bit more money off the gullible.”

“Freddie.”

“Painting them as some kind of sinister, otherworldly horror is always, always just an excuse by religious people, or men in general, that are intimidated by their female power. Do not tell me that you subscribe to this kind of nonsense.”

It was already cold as we road, but for some reason, the temperature seemed to drop even further. We rode in silence for a while.

“I’m sorry Guillaume I didn’t mean to…”

“My uncle on my mother’s side died when I was very young.” Guillaume began. “I think I might have been six at the time, still the image of a Knightly man. My other uncle, Lord Palmerin, was always a bit austere for me to be entirely comfortable with him and he has since admitted that he was not entirely comfortable with me at that age. It wasn’t until I began to earn my spurs that we started to become close. He struggles with children you see. But my other Uncle was a loud, brash, boisterous, bear of a man. One of my earliest memories is of him carrying me round on his shoulders, running through our family's orchards. This before taking me for a ride on his horse where we charged down the imagined enemies that were at our families gates and, all of four or five, I first felt the thrill of battle as we fought, side by side to defend the servants and my parents that protected themselves inside.”

He smiled at the memory.

“And then he died. They didn’t tell me why for quite a long time and to be honest, they were right when they said that I wouldn’t understand it. All I knew was that my favourite uncle just wouldn’t come by any more. They tried to tell me all the normal things that you tell a child when someone dies, about how he went away and wasn’t coming back. That he had gone to a better place and I suppose that my reaction was not unusual. I promptly broke my parent’s hearts by saying that I wanted to go with him and if it was such a better place then wouldn’t we all be better off going to that “better place.”

“Eventually, my Father had enough and he told me that my Uncle had been killed by a villain and there was nothing that anyone could do about it. That he went to his death willingly and in order to save the lives of a pair of innocent children. He told me that we should all hope to die in such a way. That he was proud that he was the family of a Knight Errant that had performed such an act.”

He chuckled. “One of those events where you look back at it and find yourself wondering if that was the reason that you decided to become the person that you are now. I mean, how do you know? But certainly, it was one of them. I aspired to be like my Uncle and for a while I scared my parents even further when the games that boys play, with Alain, Crawthorne and the rest, started to involve me valiantly sacrificing my life so that others could survive. I was lucky though, I grew out of that particular urge towards self-sacrifice and have since decided that, although my life and my health are the property of the Duchess and of Toussaint. And should either of them require that particular coin then they have only to ask for it. But it is much better, better by far to live for the Duchess and for Toussaint. There are always people that would prefer the other.

“But when I was old enough, I was sent to be the squire of Uncle Palmerin. He understands that truth that, being a Squire is almost a lesser version of the Trial of Choice that is part of becoming a Witcher. It’s meant to be hard but it’s also meant to be educational. And one day, he decides that it’s time to tell me what really happened to my Uncle.

“He was investigating a disappearance. A young couple, all of maybe sixteen or seventeen. Certainly no more than that. Had run off into the woods so that they could make a mutual assault on their respective virginities. They were young, handsome and pretty respectively, hopelessly in love the way that only people that age can be, but he was about to be sent off to learn the fisherman’s trade and her father had an idea that he didn’t want his daughter to be the wife of a fisherman. So he had made a match with a Cooper on the grounds that Toussaint is always in need of barrels.

“However, the two of them would not be denied. Which of them came up with the plan is of anyone’s guess. But one of them decided that if they slept together, thus ensuring that she would lose her virginity, then the marriage contract would be void and their fathers would just have to suck it up. As plans go, it wasn’t a bad one for that time and place, except that the girl was very pretty for her walk of life and just in the bloom of it before working life beat her down and the Cooper was smitten enough to ignore it should it come up.

“So the two of them evaded their chaperones and ran off into the woods to have their way with each other. One of those things that, under different circumstances, the people of Toussaint would cheer on. Romantic longing blah blah.”

We exchanged smiles but I didn’t want to interrupt the flow. My time in Skellige taught me that the real history of a land is often involved in these kinds of tales and even if there was no lesson to be learnt here, then there was still an interesting story that was worth recording. And, I was concerned that I had inadvertently damaged our new found working relationship so I didn’t want to hurt what I was taking to be an attempt to rebuild that sense of trust and peace between us.

“I even think that their parents might have been tolerant of a quick affair of romantic longing so that they could both get it out of their systems. Certainly Uncle Palmerin agreed with that as he was part of the search party at the time.

“You see, the pair of them didn’t come back. Everyone had guessed what had happened of course, teenagers at that age are not as good at hiding their plans from their parents as they think they are so it was well known that the couple were planning something. The chaperones were admonished and then the village in question settled down to wait for the inevitable moment when teenage lust gave way to practical concerns like food, money and shelter.

“Two days later they hadn’t emerged and the village started to become concerned. There were visions of various things. Bandits were the most likely but there were Sylvans, Panthers, Barghests and all kinds of things in that particular area of the woods. This will have been before Lord Geralt’s first visit to Toussaint and the monster population was still quite large.

“So the alarm was called and, among others, my uncles answered. Uncle Palmerin’s talent is not in the tracking of something. As fine a swordsman, you will struggle to find and I wish you could have seen him in his prime. As it stands, there are still only a dozen swords in Toussaint that could beat him but in tracking someone through the woods, he would be outclassed. So Uncle Lafitte took up the direct tracking while Uncle Palmerin organised a search and waited for reinforcements.

“Things looked bleak and everyone was just there, expecting the worst. To find a foot or a piece of bloodied clothing to signify that the pair of them had wandered into a monster’s nest. The family were weeping, younger brothers and sisters were standing around, red eyes and impotent with their grief. And in the way that they do, the villagers rallied around and saw to the needs of the families. Recriminations were flying and tears were being shed.

“And Uncle Lafitte went into the woods to find them. At which point, he too disappeared. Uncle Palmerin described it to me as though a strange kind of shadow began to fall over the surrounding woodland. He used to stress, to me, that it is important, especially in the presence of the more spectral monsters, to be able to keep a rational head on your shoulders, to stay calm. To trust the blade in your hand, the man at your side and to take one crisis at a time. To trust in Toussaint, trust in the Prophets and to trust in the Lady and if that should be the day of your death, then so be it.

“But he told me that it was as though the woodland around them was becoming wilder, darker and more dangerous. Instead of the well treated, carefully cultivated woodland that it was, where pigs roam looking for truffles and where young lovers go to court and share kisses in moonlight. Now it was dark, tangled and forbidding. Like the wild forests that I saw in the North of Kaedwen or the outskirts of Toussaint itself. The pigs had fled, squealing and screaming as they tumbled over each other in their efforts to get away. Birds leapt from the tree tops and frantically beat their wings as they climbed higher and higher away from the trees so that the forest became utterly silent. Broken only by the sound of the wind in the leaves, the beating of the branches on each other and the creaking of the trunks in the wind.

“They were not deterred. By now, other Knights had arrived to assist in the search. They held the line against the darkness, brave men standing guard before the village with swords in one hand and lit torches in the other. The lone line of order against the encroaching darkness.”

He paused, his eyes vacant. I can’t blame him, it was a stirring image.

“Morning came and Uncle Palmerin led a search party into the trees. Dawn had helped lift some of the atmosphere of the area and he was accompanied by another pair of Knights as well as several local woodsmen to help clear a path or to… wherever they were going.

“And also to help carry the inevitable bodies back.

“So they were astonished when, not even an hour into the search, still following the trail that Uncle Lafitte had left them with the sign left on the trees and on the ground, they found Uncle Lafitte walking towards them with the figure of the missing girl in his arms. She was thin, skeletally thin, dangerously thin with the pale skin of someone who has spent far too long without seeing the sun.

“She was also older than she had been. To the point where her parents almost didn’t recognise the living corpse that they were brought. It was only when she wept her relief at seeing them that they finally knew her, taking her in their arms and carrying her off to a bed and started to feed her the soup and potions that she would need to return to full health.

“Uncle Lafitte had also changed. He was thinner, he was still a powerful man, muscled in all the places that you get muscles when you train in full armour with heavy swords every day. But he had lost some of the… the signs that he had lived well. This was a man that ate what he needed to survive rather than the man that would stop next to an inn and buy every person there a drink. Would insist on eating the finest cuts of meat with the best and richest sauces. He looked tired as well, as though he was returning from a battle.

“But there were other changes as well, signs that he had been touched by something strange, almost not of this world. Uncle Palmerin described him as being able to see his veins and his nerves under the skin. He said that they almost seemed to pulse with some kind of green power beneath the tanned and healthy skin.

“And his eyes glowed a pale blue where before they were brown.

“He left the girl with the parents, stayed long enough to ensure that he was alright before he turned and walked back towards the trees. Uncle Palmerin stopped him but he refused to be turned aside.

““I must go.” He said. “Let me go. The girl was the proof of her good faith and a guarantee of my return. She was a hostage released and now I must make good on my promise. Let me go, my friend and brother. The boy will be released on my return. It has been sworn by blood and by seed and I cannot forswear.”

“ He removed his sword from his side. “I will not need this.” He said. “Give it to Guillaume, or some other Knight that will use it for Toussaint.”

“Uncle Palmerin was distraught and angry. “We can rescue you.” He said. “We can take whatever has taken him. You do not have to do this.”

““Yes I do.” Uncle Lafitte told him. “I love her you see. Look for me in the spring.” And so saying, he turned and walked into the forest, removing his armour and letting it fall as he walked. Uncle Palmerin followed the trail left by the armour until he came to a clearing where the Helm had been left, as though placed carefully on the ground. They were there a matter of heartbeats before the missing boy emerged from the trees.

“The boy, like the girl, seemed a little bit older than he had been when he had gone into the trees. He looked tired more than anything, but the difference was that where the girl looked as though she had not been eating properly, gaunt to the point of sickness, the young man looked like a prime specimen. Muscled, strong, handsome. Where his parents remembered a gangly boy, he had returned to them as a man and a handsome man at that. He demanded to know the location of the girl and went to her bed side where he waited until she woke up.

“They were no longer lovers, you could tell apparently, there was no attraction to their interactions. My uncle said that they looked and behaved like comrades that had been through something horrific. They hugged each other, wept, talked, but there was no kissing, fondling or caressing. They just sat with each other and talked.

“My uncle listened to the conversation. He said that the boy had to convince the girl that they really were free. That this wasn’t another illusion, or a trick, that they really were free now and that they would remain free. He told her that the Knight had sacrificed his own freedom in return for theirs. It was only then that he was finally able to convince her to eat something, to the gratitude of her parents.

“When she settled down, the story came out. The pair of them had indeed gone into the woods to explore each other’s bodies and to find out what made each other tick. The boy was rather candid even, he said that although they had every intention to give the other their virginity, neither had really known what that would entail and as such, he admitted, it was actually unlikely that such a thing would happen.

“They had gone into the woods to look for a cave or a clearing or somewhere that they could lay their blankets where they wouldn’t die of the cold or some other more sinister factors. But what they stumbled on was a sandy bank of soft earth that would be as comfortable as a bed and that seemed to suit their purpose even better. So they settled down and had started kissing and fondling and it was this that had attracted the Centipedes.

“I can well imagine how terrified they must have been, half dressed, tangled in shirts, skirts, trews and shawls. Naked, exposed, vulnerable. The centipedes were attacking, both of them sustained damage from the spat poison and the pincers on the beasts jaws when the girl thought she saw someone off in the trees. Calling out for help, she ran forwards while the boy tried to buy time for her safety by virtue of a swung branch or something when he described there being a flash or blue-green light and the Centipedes seemed to freeze in position. The girl was back by his size and before them both stood a woman that the boy did not know.

“He described her as being a woman of darkness. Not dark skin as when pushed he would say that she was quite pale to look at. But she had bright blue cat’s eyes with vertical pupils, like a Witcher. But obviously blue eyes instead of yellow. He said that she was beautiful, but frightening with it and that she always seemed to be shrouded in some form of shadow that gave a frightening, otherworldly image to her.

“She asked what she could do to help. The girl asked her to save them and the woman laughed. “What is in it for me?” She asked. “Two, half-naked, if comely children. What do you have to offer me on this night?” The children were aghast that someone would ask for some form of reward to save them from danger and they looked at each other in dismay.

““What would you ask of me?” The boy said. “Save her, for I love her, and with me, you may do whatever you will. Ask, and if I can give it to you, I will.”

“Whatever I will.” The woman laughed. “Some things are not for the asking. Nor can they be so freely given. But still, let’s see what we are working with.” She ordered him to strip and examined him from head to toe, weighing his manhood in her hands. He was fixated on that point in particular.”

“Can’t think why.” I muttered, unable to stop myself.

“She then took them both through a mage portal to a house. The girl was taken down into the basement and the boy… well… he was a slave to the woman’s pleasure. By the time that she was done, he had given her what she had wanted and he loved her with everything that he had, even while, at the same time, he did not stop being afraid of her. The girl was a captrive against his good behaviour as the woman did not seem to believe that the boy would not leave, despite his giving his word, but the woman stated that she had known far too many good men that had given firm oaths. All of them had betrayed her and as such, she had decided not to take people’s words for it and instead, to demand payment in advance.

“Instead, the boy cared for the girl as best he could, the love that they had once borne for each other was burnt out of him by the attentions of the woman, and by her from being forced to listen to what the boy endured. She would later say that the act of love did not sound pleasant when it came from the room above the basement in which she was kept.

“They were just about resigned to the fact that this was their life now. After what felt for them to be three years, the boy marked the time by the daylight in the windows, a Knight came into the clearing outside the building and demanded to know what had happened. He called the woman the Witch of Lynx Crag which had struck the boy down with terror as he now knew what he had been making love with and he was overcome. The Witch told the Knight the story of their rescue and informed him that all she was doing was extracting the fair price of her services.

“The Knight protested that the boy was far too young to know what was involved but the Witch insisted. “The boy loves me,” she said smugly and demanded that “The boy” demonstrate his feelings in front of the Knight. Which, of course, he had no choice but to obey. The Knight was obviously repulsed but he seemed to be fascinated as well which amused the Witch no end.

“Then the Knight offered himself in exchange for the two youngsters. The Witch considered this before agreeing that an experienced lover might be more satisfying than an inexperienced youth. The Witch and the Knight made love to seal the deal and so the Knight was allowed to carry the girl out of the trees as proof of the Witch’s good faith while the boy would remain behind in order to guarantee the Knight’s return.

“He had been told to leave when the Knight came back. He wept as he said this and told my uncle that he missed her.”

Guillaume rode in silence after that for a while.

“And that was that. People went to where it is known that the Witch lives. The cottage that we are riding to now, but the Witch could not be found and it would not be out of the realms of possibility for the Witch to have another home deeper in the woods where she could gather herbs for whatever ritual or magic that she was concocting. But it was said that all through that harvest season and the winter that followed it, the sounds of a woman’s pleasure could be heard ringing out.”

He shook his head.

“Did your Uncle come back in the spring?” I wondered.

“He did. In the middle of spring, around the time of the Equinox, an old man was found wandering around the local areas. Tottering around with the aid of an old walking stick. He was quite mad, wrapped in what remained of an old tunic that had long since gone to rot and ruin. Uncle Palmerin was called and arrived just in time to see Uncle Lafitte die of old age and exhaustion. They knew who it was due to a birthmark. But in the few months that he had been missing, a hale and hearty man in his prime had withered away to a husk.”

“And what happened to the other people in the story?”

Guillaume laughed suddenly. “Tell me Freddie, do any of your friends ever get annoyed or frustrated by your constant efforts to chronicle their every word.”

“More than somewhat.” I told him. “I leave that bit out of my chronicles on the grounds that it would get boring after a while.”

“I can see that. The girl could not summon any interest in marriage to anyone. She went through with the marriage to the Cooper that the father had arranged before their little adventure, but the thought of physical congress disgusted and terrified her. Eventually, the marriage was annulled due to the sickness of the woman and her,” Guillaume sneered. “Inability to behave as a wife should. The dowry was returned, minus the sums that had already been spent on the Cooper’s business. The rest of the dowry was used as a donation so that the girl could join a nunnery. A cruel result in my opinion, but apparently, she went quietly and contentedly.

“The boy went to work at the Belle’s in Beauclair. He was beautiful to look at by that point and I’m told that anyone that finds male beauty attractive would swoon to see him. He made, and continues to make as far as I know, his money from allowing ladies to order him around in the bed chamber. Nothing is too debasing for him and as far as anyone is aware, the more degrading the thing he is ordered to do, the more arousing he finds it. It has made him quite wealthy apparently.”

“And is that your Uncle’s sword?” I gestured at the blade at Guillaume’s side.

He laughed. “No. I found that sword too heavy for my taste. If you need weight in a weapon then use a mace or a hammer. A sword needs to be heavy enough to be durable but light enough to maneuver and it was too heavy for what I wanted from a sword.”

“The right tools for the right job.” I commented. Kerrass would agree.

“It’s a beautiful blade and I am pleased to say that Planchet prefers a heavier blade so I intend to give it to him when he’s old enough to take his place. The sword deserves to be used in defence of the Duchy.”

I nodded.

“So, tell me if I’m wrong. But this Witch seems rather sinister. Why would Lady Vasseur go there? She seems, from accounts, to be a rather sensible and down to earth kind of girl.”

“And she would be. The Witch lives at the top of Lynx Crag. There are many stories like mine. Geralt tells the story of his run in with the Witch where she had cursed a young lady to take the form of a tree. This, out of spite for the fact that the Witch’s then lover had promised to marry the young lady in question. The lover was said to be a Knight and had seduced the Witch… Lord Geralt tells it better so you should ask him.

“But as I say, there are many stories. A beautiful woman of red hair that lives on the crag. Served by panthers and the Lynx that are native to that area of Toussaint. She is said to prefer the company of women over men, unless the men are beautiful or handsome to look at. She is also known to help out women, especially younger girls, who ask for her aid. She takes a certain amount of delight in thwarting the schemes of pompous men. There is always a price for her help, it rarely ends entirely well for the person asking for help and any man that goes up there to try and banish her or drive her off, ends up either in her bed, or otherwise cursed to a horrible fate.”

“A horrible fate?”

Guillaume scratched his chin in discomfort. “Have you ever heard of the Black Lion pox?”

“That’s the version of The Pox that has been all but eradicated. Sends a man to madness and death while his genitals rot from the inside.”

“That’s the one. One man went up there to demand she leave, intending to drive her off. He came down the crag delirious with the illness. It was awful, but in comparison to the original disease, it was not contagious. She is deeply sinister, has a weak spot for wronged women, but otherwise prefers her solitude. She is the boogeyman in the wild.”

“And this is where we’re going? I knew I was supposed to have a good look around Toussaint but it sounds like you’re taking me to the really pleasant places.”

Guillaume laughed at me.

We rode a little further before I was forced to admit. “I have more questions.”

“I thought you might.” Guilaume seemed to have forgiven me my earlier flippancy,

“How long has she been up there?”

“What do you mean?”

“How long has there been a Witch that people tell stories of?”

“Oh. No-one has quite figured it out but it’s a long time. There are stories of a woman like her being in the area from as far back as the founding of the Duchy. One of those early, nameless Knights that carved Toussaint out from the barren wasteland of banditry and monsters was said to be her lover. One of the few that have known her and known her favour consistently over the time that she has been around. After that?” He shrugged. “There are always stories about her. She will go off and we won’t hear anything from her for a year, a decade at most, and then someone will see her somewhere, walking through the trees and gathering her herbs and fungi. Someone will say that they met her or that some girl goes to her little house to beg for her help with a spurned lover.”

“So is this the same woman?” I wondered. “Or is the story of the Witch of Lynx Crag just a convenient alias used by magical women since time immemorial?”

“It’s impossible to say of course. As is the suggestion that it’s actually a line of women, mother to daughter that pass everything down through the generations. A code of conduct that they must obey.”

“I find that less likely.” I told him, my historian’s brain already coming up with answers to that. “Where there is one child there is always more, gender cannot be identified or guaranteed by birth, so where are the sons of such unions? Also, it is well known that magic makes the practitioners of magic infertile so…” I shrugged. “It’s a long time for such a secret to carry on without someone noticing and remarking on it. Same as with the story of the Duchess having a secret child. Where is the midwife? A witch wouldn’t depend on luck for her own birth without risk and if that was the case, then the secret will have gotten out eventually.”

“Do you have a habit of spoiling all the fun stories when they come up?” Guillaume wondered. “Sometimes a story is just a story and it is fun for people to sit around camp fires or gather in knots at parties in order to discuss theories.”

“Yes it is.” I admitted. “And yes I do have that habit. It’s part of my job to look for the truth behind such stories. Kerrass drilled such thinking into my brain as well during our journeys together. It is one of those surprising things that you only find out when you have actually been on the path for a certain amount of time with a Witcher. That is that the life of a Witcher can be incredibly monotonous. There is almost never a unique monster. Sooner or later, someone will give over a piece of information, or tell a story that will make Kerrass go…” I clicked my fingers in the traditional AH-HA gesture. “It’s a… this. Then the story teller is always disappointed that you’re just dealing with a common, garden variety Cockatrice or Noon-wraith. Then they try and reduce the reward on the grounds that it being so common a monster means that they don’t need to offer quite as much money.”

Guillaume considered this for a while.

“Why has there never been a concerted effort to drive her off?” I wondered. “Toussaint is not short of mages, armed people or influence. Mage-hunters would love a crack at something like this. Either the Nilfgaardian variety for bringing the Witch to their training towers, or the Northern Variety as an example of the evils that magic-users can do. There are ways that such a being can be… dealt with.”

“Yes there are.” Guillaume mused. “There are ways and yes we could go up there in force. There are some problems though, one of those problems is that she is rarely at home. The number of times that people have gone up there to try and talk to her, or to drive her off as you suggest, only to find her home deserted and all but empty. And the cave under her home being obviously used as a den for animals rather than the laboratory and herbarium that people claim to have seen before. As to foreign aid?”

He clicked his tongue.

“Toussaint likes to think of itself as self-sufficient and neither the Duchess or any of her predecessors have ever seen fit to change that policy. The danger is that if we ask for outside help then those same outsiders will start to believe that they have a right to meddle in our affairs. As evidenced, admittedly for the better, when the Empress decided that the old system of the Knights Errant was no longer working.”

“I can see that, but have there not been sufficient rumours to bring these people here anyway?”

“Yes and no. Sooner or later, people find it easy to dismiss anything that they hear coming out of Toussaint on the grounds that it’s Toussaint. The land of fairy-tales. They just assume, like you did, that the Witch is just a simple herb-woman that might know a little bit more about certain things than the average person in the street.”

“Ok, I deserved that.”

“Yes you did.”

We rode on in silence for a bit longer which meant that I was startled from a thought process when Guillaume started speaking again.

“There is another reason that we don’t go up there in force. A slightly more sinister and political reason. One of those reasons that we don’t really talk about, but I have been left with the genuine belief that I am not the only person that has seen this result. We don’t go after her because we might succeed in driving her off. It is useful, politically speaking, for there to be a villain, a reminder that what is out there is often more than mere bandits or commonly identifiable monsters that can be destroyed by a Witcher’s blade or a Knight’s lance. It is unifying to have something or someone that everyone fears, from the most powerful noble all the way down to the lowliest peasant.

“And also, it means that men treat their women better. That fear that, if they mistreat their lovers, daughters or wives, then the woman can always go to the Witch of Lynx Crag and get a small measurement of revenge. I think that this idea appeals to the Duchess. And I can’t speak for everyone, but I was certainly warned as such by my father when I started properly wooing, or attempting to woo, the lady that is now my wife.”

I considered this. “What a depressing thought.” I said eventually. “That people need a goad in order to behave properly and decently.”

Guillaume snorted in scorn.

“Oh come now Freddie. As a Scholar you would know that most of what all of the Churches, from the Northern Kreve, Redania’s Eternal Flame and the South’s Great and mighty Sun. The prophets, Melitele and all the rest down to the small shrine and little Gods and Goddesses of individual villages. Just about all of what they teach us to do is based, not on what the God or spirit might or might not want, but in telling people how to behave. Including when it comes to how men should treat their women.”

“Some of those religions are not very complimentary on how men should treat their women.” I commented.

“No, but it is still a code of behaviour enforced by unseen, supernatural stories. What did the Eternal Fire ever say about the treatment of… I don’t know… Children. I’ve read that holy book of yours and most of those rules were made up long after the Eternal Fire was first discovered and that the guardian spirit first spoke to the people that found it. After that, there is a lot of extrapolation and interpretation involved.”

“You are not wrong.” I agreed. “The difference being that the Eternal Fire is supposed to be inspirational, whereas this figure of the Witch is like a parent raising their fist to a child and saying “Go to bed or else.””

“Again, I must call you out on that.” Guillaume replied. “Does not the Eternal Fire use it’s own version of that fear? “Follow the Eternal Flame.” they say, “or suffer eternal damnation where the flames burn your flesh and bone away.”

I shifted in my saddle uncomfortably. It is never nice to be beaten at your own game. Especially by a person to whom you had underestimated when it comes to their debating skills.

There is another lesson. Similar to the thing that I have said many times, and will continue to say so long as there are people that need to learn the lesson, where a lack of education does not mean a lack of intelligence. There is also a danger of feeling the arrogance of one type of education over another. Guillaume is a Knight. He knows more about swords and weapons and horses and tactics and strategies than I will ever know. But I had assumed that this would mean that his thinking processes would not have involved much debating skills or on the matter of philosophy. I had subverted him before when we had first begun to get to know each other and I had assumed that it would be easy to do so again. How wrong was I.

During this conversation, just one of those conversations that you share with people in order to pass the time while watching the road be pounded out underneath the hooves of our horses, the sun began to sink towards the horizon. It was a beautiful sight, the reds, golds and oranges of that descent behind the mountains bathing Toussaint in an otherworldly light. It was at times like this that I could absolutely understand the Nilfgaardian urge to worship the sun as they did. What it did to the trees and hills of the Toussaint that we were moving through was to create a false illusion of summer. The sun shined and was reflected off the small ice crystals that had formed on the grass, the leaves of the trees and the fences that lined the way.

We were climbing, Guillaume leading us, unerringly and without hesitation through the tracks, the pathways and hunting trails onto a small road that looped around the back of things. If we had been on any other errand I would have been fascinated by what I was being shown. I felt that I was seeing the back end of Toussaint. The part where the work really takes place. This was not the area where beautiful people gathered in posh dresses and ornate masks to dance the night away. This was the part of Toussaint where people worked, sweated and drove themselves hard to tear some form of living from the ground.

“It’s a similar feeling to when you walk around the docks on the other side of Oxenfurt. Not the side where the bigger ships can dock, the side where Emma is building the new docks or that King Radovid moored his royal barge. But the other side. Where men moor the fishing boats and those smaller barges that carry sacks of grain and horse feed from the fields just over the river. The place that has no prestige, no fame or beauty about it. Just men and women working hard. Seeing the world by the Tradesman’s entrance or seeing the support struts of a city, or a country.

Normally I would have enjoyed such a moment. It is in these places and at these times when you are not looking at the face that a place shows you, that you find what really drives a society. But all I could see was the sun sinking towards the horizon and therefore bringing the next attack from the Jack killers all that much closer. I found myself wondering about them. Had they already chosen a victim? Did they have a stand-by option in case that first victim fell through and couldn’t be found?

I felt sure that the girl that we were looking for had made it onto the Killers’ list. And if we found her then maybe we could thwart that effort, but if she wasn’t, or they didn’t know where she was, then would they kill someone else in order to preserve the image that it was Jack doing these killings? Then who was their target going to be?

Such thoughts are useless but there is no helping a brain when it decides to lead you off on these kinds of tangents. Sometimes you just have to ride these things out and let yourself go with them. To be fair though, sometimes they might lead you to an insight that wouldn’t normally have occurred otherwise.

We came to a fence next to a steep, rocky hill and Guillaume dismounted.

“Tie your horse here, we go the rest of the way on foot.”

“Lovely. Where are we going?”

“You can just about see the cottage on the rise up there.” He pointed and I could indeed, just make out the shape of a house, there was a light coming from a window.

“Looks like she’s home.” I commented before turning back and examining the trail. “I don’t look forward to coming back down that in the dark.”

“I have torches.” Guillaume told me.

I was not reassured and told him so. Funny how he didn’t really pay any attention to my objections.

The climb was not particularly difficult as these things go and it was an odd slope, in that it was going to be much harder to go up than it would be to come down.

I have just re-read that sentence and realised how stupid it is but it is important to realise our own faults and accept them.

What I meant was that we could climb, there were several jumps and things which, while not particularly difficult, even for me or Guillaume in his full armour, still needed to be made to make the climb. If we missed, which we both did on a couple of attempts, it would not have led to any permanent injury except to our mutual pride. Which, to be honest, deserved to be injured. All it meant was that we had to climb back up and attempt the jump again. On the way down we could easily just jump off the ledges and nothing bad would happen.

That’s not to say that it was an entirely comfortable climb. I was highly aware that we were being watched as we climbed. The last rays of the setting sun were reflected by eyes that watched us cautiously. To the point that we had to have one of us watching out in case of attack while the other laboured up the slope. But the watchers did not move, they just kept their eyes on us as we came, watching and waiting.

Eventually we came to a plateau. Ahead of us was the gaping maw of a cave mouth but the path was visible that would snake round and lead us up to the cabin. There was also another path leading off and down into the forest below us which left me feeling a little annoyed as that path looked far more gentle than the one we had just dragged ourselves up.

“Cave or house?” I wondered while I got my breath back.

“My vote is house.” Guillaume said. “I rather think that this is one of those times where we might live or die according to our sense of courtesy. If the house is empty we can come back down and search the cave.”

I nodded, I had been leaning in that direction myself but I couldn’t resist a joke.

“I was hoping that we could avoid any more climbing.”

“I will have to speak to Kerrass regarding your stamina training as I believe that you have been neglecting it.”

“I’ve been sick, remember.” I started to lead the way.

“And you should have taken care to warm yourself up gently rather than just leaping into matters and expecting yourself and your body to behave the same way that it always had.”

We were both nervous and humour is always the first defence of the nervous. Kerrass would not be nervous. He would be resigned and annoyed at my urge to make jokes in this situation. Unfair of me to compare the two companions but sometimes comparisons are inevitable.

We arrived before the door of the cabin and surveyed it. Guillaume told me to wait while he walked around the outside and I had the chance to study the building properly. It was old, very old. I have no way of being able to tell how old but the wood that made up the walls and roof was clearly well worn by the elements. Moss and ivy climbed up the walls in the kind of growths that spoke about much time spent with the leaves climbing over each other. At one corner of the house I could see a small patch of wood that was sprouting in various forms of fungi,

There were other signs of activity. A wood axe was buried in a nearby stump next to a pile of wood rounds and the stack against the side of the house was not small. There were also skinning and tanning stands there that were currently unused and covered with a hide that I did not recognise.

But the thing that made my skin crawl were the charms that had been hung around the house. I didn’t get close to them to properly have a look but they were certainly made from bones. Small bones at that. Some of them had clearly been cleaned of whatever they had been part of while others still had unidentifiable stains at either end.

I shuddered. Then I found myself wondering if there was actually any mystical significance of those charms. There was one of two possibilities at work here. The first was that this woman was a genuinely supernatural creature. Whether a Sorceress in hiding over the years or some other kind of Hedge witch that was in the process of staying away from the Witch hunters in either direction. That would mean that these charms had real power and that we would be foolish to interfere with a woman like this.

The other option was the one that I had first suggested. That this was a wise woman, or a chain of women that had taken the name of the Witch of Lynx Crag in an effort to protect herself. Which meant that the charms and other signs of mystical defence were entirely fraudulent and that we had nothing to fear from simply booting down the door and seeing what was inside.

Except that, Guillaume was right. That would be discourteous.

The man himself came back round the house, caught my eye and shook his head.

I nodded. He either couldn’t see inside or there was nothing to see.

“The Light’s still on.” I commented uselessly.

“Of course it is.” He said. “So what now?”

“I dunno?” I scratched my chin, again noticing that my beard was growing through and itching. “Knock?”

Guillaume shrugged and led me towards the front door where he did as I had suggested.

The door swung open at his strike with the most cliched and stereotypical groan of a hinge that I have ever heard. It was so much that it was almost comical.

“Hello?” Guillaume called. “Anyone home?”

There was light enough to see by and so Guillaume led the way inside. “My name is Sir Guillaume de Launfal.” He said, loudly and clearly making sure that there could be no confusion about what was going on. “With me is Lord Frederick von Coulthard. We are looking for Lady Vasseur as we are concerned for her safety.”

The interior of the cabin continued to present the same dichotomy. On the one hand there were the signs of human habitation that left the place looking quite homely. There was a sink next to an old dwarven, or Gnomic, water pump. There was a fire that was burning fairly brightly that provided most of the light to see by. There was a pot over the fire that was steaming gently. I could see some stores of wild onions, wild garlic, cabbages and turnips as well as a Ham that was hanging, a pair of game birds that were likewise hanging from a stand as well as some carrots that were stacked together in an alcove.

I could see a few books, one of which was open next to what looked to be an alchemy station which had some charcoal drawings in. I took it to be a recipe book or herbarium of some kind. There was more wood stacked against the wall that would be drying out inside. There was also a work table, a spinning wheel and a small bed off to one side against the back wall that was neatly and precisely made.

But then there was the other side of things.

The same charms that were on the outside of the house were also dotted around the room. The bed was inside a circle of chalk, the inside of which contained some kind of arcane symbol that I did not recognise. There were candles dotted around that circle.

There were also a pair of human skulls that were placed on the floor, facing each other. They were surrounded by Mistletoe and Holly wreathes as well as some stain that was underneath them that looked like blood. The skulls were scrupulously clean.

Most foreboding to me, was the deer skull that was nailed to the walls along with a huge rack of antlers still attached.

I blinked.

There was smoke on the air, I could hear the screaming of Father Hacha being tortured to death. The calls of men fighting and the charging hoofbeats of a monster on horseback, sharp claws that glittered in the firelight, reaching for my flesh and my own blood. And the face of Lord Cavill, head dress casting huge shadows that, as they crossed my vision, froze my bones to marrow.

He was laughing.

I blinked again.

“Freddie.” Guillaume was at my side, hand on my shoulder, resting gently. “Are you alright? You look like… forgive me but you look like you saw a ghost.”

I found some humour from somewhere. “I have seen ghosts.” I said. “Normally they are less terrifying. What I saw was the past, out of nowhere, the memories come at me like… Like a lance to the chest.”

He nodded. “Are you going to be ok?”

“Yeah, Just need a moment to get my breath back.”

The shadows seemed to lengthen and deepen. The fire did not die bown but it was as though the fire itself radiated darkness instead of light. The flames themselves seemed to us to be dancing flowers of darkness.

“You are not alright.” Said a very female voice. I’m sorry, I don’t know how else to describe it. “You will never be alright again. There will be days and nights where you go without the images and the memories intruding into your life and you will think that you are saved, that you are redeemed. But in the end, the dreams will return and you will finally give in to despair. You will never be alright again. That is your doom, your destiny and nothing that you say, or do will save you from this.” The voice echoed off the walls, as though the speaker was, at the same time, stood right next to me, and yet also, far away.

There was a woman in the corner of the room. It was the strangest feeling, neither of us had seen her but at the same time, it was clear that she had always been there. It was as though she simply stepped forward into our vision. Saying that she was beautiful seems a little redundant. I have never met a user of magic that wasn’t beautiful in some way, regardless of whether they are male or female. But she was beautiful and oh so sinister.

It was all a trick of the light. A trick of the shadows that danced over her form that made her so. Her teeth seemed to have been filed down to points. Her cheeks seemed to be sunken into the bones and her eyes glittered with amusement and scorn from the depths of hollow sockets. She was tall, or rather she seemed to be tall at the time and her chin was raised in the way that nobles have. That particular way that leaves you feeling as though certain members of the nobility are looking down at you, even while you might be taller than them. It was the same kind of thing.

She had long, almost curly red hair with just some strands of grey at her temples even though I would not put her age at much above twenty. She was wearing a Green dress that looked to be made out of some kind of dyed leather that was belted in such a way to emphasise her slim waist. She also had brown leather trews on underneath that were tucked inside some hardy looking boots.

She wore a shoulder mantle of dark brown fur. There was no shape to the fur but it felt like some kind of predator's hide. It made me think of a wolf, a bear or one of the Lynxes that gave the crag its name.

I was reminded of several things. The first thing that she reminded me of was of a Goddess in a circle of fire.

I blinked.

The beautiful hard, naked woman rising above me as she laughed and shook in her ecstasy. The firelight making her skin glow red and orange.

I blinked again.

She was that kind of arousing and beautiful mixed with abject terror that came with it. She was frightening in her power. But there was also something about her that seemed sad. This was a woman that seemed to be lashing out, as though she was angry because she had been hurt so many times. To the point that, as well as being terrifying, there was an urge to hold her. To protect her and tell her that everything was going to be alright.

I blinked.

It was raining, I could smell the damp in the air. The smell of wet leaves, trees and moss as I stood in front of a mountain of thicket. Brambles, thorns and other things that I did not recognise. Ariadne hid inside that bush and she was weeping.

I blinked again.

I shook my head to try and clear it.

“You will never be free.” The woman said. “What brings a Knight of Francesca and a Northern Lord to my doorstep. A Northern Lord that I feel as though I should know. Speak quickly, my patience is not without limit.”

Guillaume was looking at me, concern clear in his eyes.

“Don’t look at him, look at me.” The woman, the Witch snapped at him. “Tell me why you are here before I cause you to eat each other.”

Guillaume drew himself up to his full height, which is not small. “I come here, Madam, in order to protect Lady Vasseur who we have reason to believe is in your care. She has information that makes her vulnerable to our enemies that are scourging the land at this time, causing all the people of Toussaint to cower in fear at the mention of the name, “Jack”. We seek to thwart them. Not only in their killing of the people of Toussaint, but also to remove the threat to Lady Vasseur.”

“Lady Vasseur?” The Witch’s eyebrows rose up towards her hairline. “Lady Vasseur. Interesting. So her father is dead then.” She laughed, stopped, stared into space for a moment as her eyes seemed to unfocus before she laughed again. From somewhere, both far away and yet close to us, the sound of grief came clear in a wailing denial.

As it always does in these kinds of situations, my mouth decided that my mind had completely disintegrated and it just started speaking.

“That was cruel.” I said. “You have just told her that. You just told a young lady that her father was dead.”

“Such matters are best dealt with quickly.” The Witch hissed. “Tear the binding off quickly. The pain will be more intense but in such matters there are reminders that you are still alive.”

She considered something.

“What will you do with her?” She said. “Marry her off to some young princeling that will flatter her, seduce her and then set her aside the moment that her looks begin to fade and her hair loses its luster. Make her some rich man’s mistress so that no-one will ever think of her ever again?” She shook her head and grinned horribly. “I think not.”

“Such matters are not for us to decide.” I said.

“I cannot speak for Lord Frederick,” Guillaume said at almost the same time. “But my intention is to take her to a place of safety, ask for her story and then move on from there. As to her long term fate, those decisions will be made by much wiser heads than ours.”

“The Duchess you mean.” The Witch sneered.

“Have a care.” Guillaume warned. “Witch you may be, powerful you may be, but if you insult the Duchess then I will ensure that you answer for it.”

“How about if I insult your wife?” The Witch taunted. “Would you give me another warning then?”

“No.” Guillaume told her. “If you insulted my wife then your head would already be rolling across the floor of your hovel.” He did not hide his anger well.

The Witch laughed. “You will betray her of course. Men always do.”

“Never.”

“How naive he is.” The Witch turned to me. “You know the truth do you not Lord Frederick.” She made the title sound like an insult. “The truth that all it takes for a man to be unfaithful is the right combination of drugs, opportunity and closeness.”

“I do know that.” I said. “Just as I know that it is just as true for women as it is for men.”

I blinked.

I was alone in an Oxenfurt street. In my dreams it is always raining in this memory but the truth was that it was a fine night. I had just left the tavern after seeing the girl who had promised me that she would never leave me sitting astride a town handsome man and allowing him to pour wine over her chest where he had licked it off. Later, I would never remember the event other than the fact that it had happened, but the emergence into the cool night air afterwards as my life seemed to fall apart. That, I will never forget.

I blinked again. But this time I knew what was happening. My fists clenched, my jaw tightened and I squeezed my eyes shut against the memory until the feelings of shame, heartbreak and sullen anger threatened to overwhelm my senses.

And just as quickly as it came on. It was over.

The Witch looked at me angrily as I took a deep breath. “Furthermore.” I said, forcing my heart to calm it’s racing. “I also know that a righteous person would avoid the situations where they might be tempted into faithlessness.”

If anything, she seemed to get angrier, but I found that I could not stop talking.

“If they know that they are in a situation where there is a person that they are attracted to, it is as simple as not having too much to drink. Avoiding any situation where private intimacy might occur and if necessary, avoid the situation altogether. I agree that there is always a risk that nature might take its course. But there are ways of thwarting nature, if you decide that that’s what you want to do.”

“You are a fool,” She snarled. “Both of you. Romantic fools. Neither of you really know the pain of heartbreak.”

She spun around on the spot twice, hair and dress flying out before spitting at us.

“I deny your request.” She snarled. “I have promised the girl that I would keep her safe and I am not confident of your abilities to do so.”

“And how will you keep her safe?” Guillaume asked.

“She will be kept here.” She gestured and some of the shadows seemed to retreat from a corner of the room and there was the girl as she had been described to us. She was sat on the floor, her hands manacled above her head. It was clear that her wrists were bruised and bleeding as she sobbed in her grief and fear. She was about three feet from Guillaume’s feet and we hadn’t seen her.

“A prisoner.” Guillaume sneered. “How is that keeping her safe?”

“She will stay here.” The Witch said, “Quiet, safe, she will never be a playing piece in the schemes and machinations of this court or that one. She will stay here. She will be fed, clothed and watered. I may even educate her depending on how well she behaves. But she will never leave this place. She wanted to be kept safe. From the man she loves and the men who would use her. That includes you. Do not pretend any different. Do not pretend that you would even have considered her plight if she had not been in possession of the things you need to know.”

“You have twisted her words and you know it.” I accused. I tried to catch the girls eyes to show her that I was sorry for what I must say next. “She is just a child and she did not have the wit to deal with you as a more experienced mind would.”

“And still you are naive and stupid as well. Girls her age have been getting themselves into this kind of trouble since time began. A handsome face, hard lean muscles, fine words whispered in the moonlight.” Her voice softened towards the end of her little speech as she seemed to be lost in some kind of memory. Then she shook herself and her anger and scorn had returned. “These are the weapons of the men of the world and they cut deep. So deep that they do not even leave a scar.”

And now she was on the edge of tears.

“They come to me.” She sobbed. “They come to me and they demand a potion, a pill, a spell, something, anything that will make that shame go away.” Her eyes hardened. “No-one ever tells them that they are too young to make that kind of decision do they. No-one ever tells them that they should keep their legs closed, or tell their fathers that send them that they should fuck off if they do not think there is any shame in what they do.”

She smiled then.

“A good effort as these things go.” She said. “A very good effort. But fruitless. Appealing to my motherly instincts are useless. I burnt them from my soul years ago. The girl stays here. I will honour the original agreement... She will be kept safe, secret, and far away. I will take her this very night, deep into the wilderness where no-one will ever find her.” The shadows lengthened again so that we could just see the outline of The Witch’s shape, the end of her nose and the edge of her cheeks.

I could see her smile, and hear the girl whimpering.

“I will keep her safe.” She said again.

“Surely,” Guillaume began before I could stop him. A sudden insight struck me about what he was about to say. “Surely there is a way, something we could do, some favour that you could ask that we might be able to achieve for you. Something that we could do to pay for her freedom.”

She tilted her head on one side. And the shadows retreated for a moment. “What price would I set?” She mused. “Are you trying to bribe me Sir Knight?”

“What?”

“Are you trying to make me go against my honour?”

Guillaume reddened. “I would never…”

“I gave my word sir.” She screeched although I rather thought that she was toying with him. “I gave my word that I would keep her safe and sending her off with you is hardly doing that.”

Guillaume spluttered.

“Or,” She carried on. Driving the dagger home with her words. “Are you trying to suggest that your honour is worth more than mine.”

She laughed nastily. “Ah, I had forgotten how much fun it is to play with an honourable man.”

And the atmosphere of the room changed. The light lowered, to a dull red, the girl seemed to vanish to the point that I could only see her if I really concentrated on it and because I knew she was there. My eyes kept trying to find ways to slide off the patch of floor that I knew her to be.

I started to get a headache.

I also came to realise, as though I had forgotten, that the Witch was an extremely attractive woman. She seemed to sway towards Guillaume until she was standing face to face with him. The room had a smell, like the perfume of a really good brothel, with just the right mix of herbs to make a man think of sex.

“I know what you can do for me.” She purred, running her fingers up Guillaume’s chest plate. “You can prove me right. You can prove that all a man needs is attraction, opportunity and…” There was a bottle in her hands out of nowhere, and a tray with three cups. “And suitable narcotic encouragement.”

She poured and the smell of strong plum alcohol wafted into the air.

“One, or both of you.” She said. “Prove me right. However you wish. Love me and the girl is yours.”

I found that I was looking at her heaving bosom and that my mouth was dry.

“No.” I said, tearing my eyes away.

“Never.” Guillaume said at almost the same time, looking as stricken as I felt. He took a quick, jerky step backwards. “I swore my oaths to my wife and I will not betray her.”

“Who are you betraying?” She wondered, her voice soft and smooth like good dark honey. “No-one need know. Not your wife,” She said to him before turning to me and taking a step towards me. “Not your betrothed. All you have to do is to keep this secret and neither of them will ever know.”

“I would know.” Guillaume said. “I would know and I will not betray her, my honour or myself.”

I forced some saliva into my mouth so that I could swallow. “Nor I.”

She was angry again.

“And we would not be betraying anyone.” I told her. “You would have forced the action. I would even guess that my own love would understand if I took up your offer in order to save an innocent. As would, I guess, the wife of my friend. They would be hurt, they would be upset, but they would understand. I cannot speak for Guillaume, but that is one of the reasons why I love my lady and it is precisely why I would never betray her.”

“Well said.” Guillaume told me.

“You doom this girl to torment and imprisonment at my hands.” The Witch snarled, her fury and hurt making her beautiful features ugly. “I am angry now and I will keep her safe. She will never see the sun again as I keep her in a cave so dark that she will even forget what the sky looks like. To save her from this kind of torment. That is the kind of torment that you are leaving her to if you do not do as I ask.”

“If we do not do as you demand.” I countered, gripping my spear.

“And the decision is yours. Not ours.” Guillaume told her. “You are the one that is keeping her here. You are the one that denies her these things. Not us. The torment of the girl is not on our shoulders but yours. And I would argue that safety includes freedom. As health requires air and light and people and…”

“ENOUGH.” She bellowed. The shadows seemed to lengthen behind her and the background of the cottage seemed to fade away until all we were seeing was her. And she seemed more real than life itself.

“You will serve me.” She cackled. “You will love me and I shall love you and when I am done with you you will be naught but withered husks that I shall discard into the cess pits.”

She gestured again and I felt my spear grow hot until I dropped it. My manhood hardened to a painful degree and I found my fingers working at the buckles to undo my armour.

“No.” I protested. “NO!” I shrugged off my armoured coat.

“Yes.” The Witch hissed. “And you will watch from inside your own head as you betray your love over and over and over again.”