(A/N: Getting it out of the way at the top. I’ve not really been well over the last month or so, nothing covid related, more that the brain-weasels have been playing up. This has, unfortunately, meant that the work-rate has suffered. Currently trying to ease myself back onto the horse. Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy this chapter)

It would seem that the nature of waiting for something to happen has changed for me.

It might surprise some people to know that I still receive many letters on the various subjects that I discuss in these articles and writings. I have even talked about this before, that a recurring theme of these articles or other works, is the theme of waiting for things to happen. I have even talked about why this might be the case. I have mentioned things like, the fact that it is in these quiet moments where we are waiting for things to happen that a man can turn towards being reflective. It is in these times where people think about all the choices and circumstances that led them to this particular moment. Of sitting behind a tree with an alchemical explosive in their hands. Hiding in a ditch waiting for a Griffin to take the bait. Or waiting for the ambush, that you know is coming, to fall on my head.

I have also said that it is often in these moments that I jot down notes on the adventures and mysteries that have come up so far. Especially if I am waiting in an inn or a dwelling place with a table to lean on and plenty of light to read and write by. So naturally there is an urge to take that time to reflect.

But always, in waiting for these horrible things to occur. You are waiting with a certain sense of dread. I have never wanted the thing that I was waiting for to happen. In the first ever example of this phenomenon, I didn’t want the sun to rise because that would mean that I would be forced to leap into action. I didn’t want the sounds of Jack’s laughter to intrude because that would mean that I had to rush out into the streets to face blood, horror and death.

I didn’t want Kerrass to be satisfied with my appearance because I knew that then, he would leave me no choice but to go and speak to the terrifyingly beautiful figure of the Vampire that I would go on to fall in love with.

In this situation however, as I sat on a tree stump outside a cottage, the thing that I was waiting for was something that I wanted to happen. I needed it to happen. I needed to see that thing crawling through the trees. I needed to see Jack.

But that’s not what I’m talking about here. The difference between waiting for something that you are afraid of and would rather go on waiting for versus the thing that you are impatient for and desperately want to happen is not that great of a leap really. Even if you don’t want something to happen, there is still a sense of anticipation. A sense that it would be better for everyone involved, including me, if things would hurry up so that I could get them over and done with.

But it felt different.

Why? What was different?

There are many potential reasons as to why the waiting is different.

I am fully aware that I should stop my travels for a while, perhaps indefinitely. Reasons that are not merely limited to a pending marriage as well as the fact that my family and various people that I care about will feel better if I was provably safe and sound.

There is the fact that my moods are volatile. Not in the direction of anger although that was part of it. But because I change between being deliriously happy and suicidally depressed at the drop of the proverbial hat. It would therefore be useful if there was some kind of situation where I could call for a servant, or call on a family member or a friend to keep me company, rather than having to depend on Kerrass who might be unavailable.

Because he’s asleep, in the middle of a hunt, or taking a monster sized shit for example.

There is also the fact that these mood swings are affecting my physical health as well. When I am getting a panic on, or my mood is trying to tell me that I am in imminent danger of… something… then I can get all dizzy and feel faint. I will struggle to breathe, or I will feel nauseous to the point that I will need to vomit…

Heh… Imagine trying to sneak up on some kind of monster when suddenly you start uncontrollably vomiting. “No, sorry Mr Monster sir, could you wait for a second before trying to eat my face, just while I finish heaving my guts up and the world can stop spinning.”

I can also have these odd kinds of fits where I will start breathing harshly and quickly before going into a massive series of shudders while sweating profusely.

None of that would be good for spending time on the road. At best it would be inconvenient. At worst, some village priest would take the spasms and shivering as a sign that I had been possessed by some kind of evil spirit. Such as the spirit that is currently plaguing the town that Kerrass has correctly identified as being a conjuration of the imaginations of superstitious people and honed by the priest in question.

That might sound far fetched but Kerrass and I have literally been run out of villagers for suggesting that a priest of Kreve was using the spectre that haunted the woods as a goad to prevent himself from losing control of the populace. The Priest claimed that Kerrass yellow eyes were proof of the demonic possession and that we were just perpetrating the evil even further. The first victim of this priest was a girl that suffered spasms and sudden fevers as a result of some kind of childhood illness. The second was the forest Witch who was treating these symptoms with herbs. The girl, the girl’s mother, the “witch” and another pretty lady that we hadn’t figured out the connection to it all, had all been drowned as part of the test for Witchcraft.

Now though, I have a new and exciting thing that was, and is, happening more and more.

Ariadne calls them Flashbacks or Intrusive memories if she’s feeling particularly fancy. I objected to this at first because it’s the kind of thing that people talk about in bad novels or plays where someone rushes onto the stage with a card reading “Some years ago” while also, rather redundantly, shouting the same words out for those people that can’t read. Then the actors come back on in different outfits with a change of wigs and removal of facial hair so as to demonstrate that these characters are younger than they were previously.

But these things just happen at the worst possible time. They are like these little flashes of memory that seem to come from nowhere. I will be walking down the street, lying in my bed, reading a book or doing something otherwise mundane and some thought will occur, some sound will happen or some series of coincidences will lead my mind to dredge up a particularly unpleasant memory.

If you want an example. When we eat as a family, Mark likes to add more salt to his food. It’s a perfectly innocent, personal preference that he just happens to prefer there being more salt on his food. Father’s tastes leant in the other direction. He preferred to allow the natural flavours of whatever the cook had prepared to be the only thing that would come forth and as he was the head of the household and the Lord of the manor, his way was law for obvious reasons.

So Mark would be forced to ask for the salt grinder at every family occasion when we were all eating together. Which would, if Father was in an even slightly bad mood, trigger a shouting match about how Mark was being rude to the fine men and women that had put the meal together and blah blah blah. Or it would be the single, isolated thing that would set Father off on a rant about something, or someone else that had pissed him off for some reason. Because the target of that ire would often not be present and therefore Father would take out his rage on someone who was there.

Me for example. But listening to him yell at Emma, Sam, Mark or Francesca was just as awful.

Not Edmund though, I always kind of enjoyed it when Edmund was getting yelled at and as a result, the problem was more about keeping the smile from my face when Father was in full tilt at Edmund.

So now, whenever I eat with Mark at the table, I always go out of my way to ensure that the Salt grinder is placed next to Mark, often passing it to him directly before he has a chance to ask. Because if I hear Mark asking someone to pass him the salt, I flinch.

Emma claims that I have always flinched at that particular sound, but now my reaction is becoming more violent and pronounced. I can literally see and hear my Father beginning to rant and, again according to Emma, I stop behaving like the powerful, educated man in his early twenties. A man who is about to attain a rank higher than Father ever achieved when I marry a beautiful woman that loves me and that I love her. Instead, I behave like I did when I was six. Mumbling, flinching from loud noises, shy, not offering an opinion and generally trying to be as small a presence at the table as possible.

So why is that an impact on waiting?

I can almost hear you all chomping at the bit for me to answer that question as well as to get on with telling you what I was waiting for in the first place. Another thing that people often give me in all of the wonderful feedback that you keep sending me is the fact that the many, and frequent, tangents that I go off on sometimes can become tiring.

So here’s the thing. When I am waiting for something. Especially when I am unable to follow through on any of the normal activities that I would use in order to distract myself, I become distracted. My brain insists on reminding me of all of the other times that I have crouched in a darkened rural setting, or any time that I have been waiting for that matter, and then flooding me with all the adrenaline, energy and things that a body needs when it is about to be involved in some serious violence.

Even when what I am actually doing, and needing to do, is to sit quietly and wait for events to unfold properly.

I understand that this might be difficult to understand or relate to, so I am going to try and describe events as they happened to me the night that I finally saw Guillaume in action.

The now famous night where he crossed swords with Jack.

So, just to illustrate how my mind seems to work now. The situation was that we were at another one of the numerous cottages just outside of Beauclair. I have no idea what it was used for but we had chosen the site carefully. It could not be too defensible or protected, so one of the sites that had been suggested was a brewery next to the riverfront. But that would mean that it was too obviously a trap. Also, it was well known to be a regular staging ground of the guard when they were launching raids on the various smugglers of the docks.

There was an old, ruined castle from the early days of human settlements, but again, that was a regular meeting place and it was a little too far outside of Beauclair for our purposes. In the end we finally managed to choose an old stone cottage. A little way outside the city, maybe an hour’s ride. It was surrounded by woodland, but it was the well tended woodland of the regular hunting ground, as used by nobles everywhere. Carefully cultivated by an army of gardeners and woodsmen to make it look wild but not actually being too wild for nobles to kill themselves on a tree branch.

It was a nice cottage, it was probably once a huntsman’s cottage or a gamekeeper’s cottage. The kind of place that you could imagine deer skins piling up outside the door. Where spears, arrows and things were housed.

Just the kind of place where a very important person might be sent in order to hide. Away from the city, but close enough to be recalled to court at a moment’s notice.

Guillaume, Ariadne and I had arrived early by virtue of the magical transport gate. Ariadne had a sighting of the place by one of the spiders that were living in the roof. How she got that I’m not sure I wanted to know. She joked that the spider’s name was Cedric, but I’m pretty sure she was joking.

Ariadne’s complete task, the one and only responsibility that she had was to ensure the safety of the person that we were protecting. The very instant that something started to happen, she would grab them and teleport to Lady Vigo’s personal transport gate in the bowels of the palace.

Guillaume stayed in the house. He was fully armed and armoured. His task was to entrap the attacker or attackers in order to keep them there, in the clearing in front of the cottage while our reinforcements would come in. He could not wait outside because even though it was, now, the early hours of the morning, his full armour, size and things would mean that it was far more likely that he would be seen. He was the spring of the trap. The bar that would fall across the neck of our intended victim.

Leaving me. My job was lookout. There had been some argument as to where I should be placed. It was very cold outside and as such Ariadne wanted me in the house itself so that I could stay warm. I wanted to be further out on the argument that as a look out, there is very little logic to having a lookout if you’re only looking out as far as everyone else is.

“The beast is coming.” I would shout only for everyone else to reply “We know, we can see it next to you.”

Also, I was concerned that the firelight in the cottage would render my nightsight useless and mean that I would be completely redundant. But that was countered by the argument that I would be left vulnerable to attack, ambush, kidnapping and all kinds of other circumstances. And when the woman that you love, the Knight Commander of Toussaint and the Duchess of Toussaint herself all declare that that would not be allowed to happen, You are forced to listen.

So I was stationed next to the house, sitting on a round of wood, near the log pile. I had a good view of the house, the approach and I had sprinkled some dry leaves behind me so that no-one could sneak up on me. My spear was next to me on the ground, the blade covered in leaves so as to leave all the metal covered and unreflective in the torch light and that meant that the only way that I could not see anything, was because the cottage itself was in the way. But that direction was covered by a scree slope and we were confident that if someone came that way we would hear them.

And we were fairly confident that our target was too arrogant for the more clandestine approaches.

So just like I have a hundred times before. Hundreds of times, thousands of times even. Although I think that that amount might be a little bit much to tell the truth. I sat down, leather coat on, weapons strapped to my waist or by my side and I settled down to wait. I was among trees, I could hear a small wind in the uppermost leaves. If I really concentrated I could hear the sounds of a faint trickle of slow water from some stream, some melting ice in the mountains forming a tiny little rivulet that ran past the cottage. If I concentrated still further, I could hear the rustling of the very early small creatures that were just waking up into the dawn to go foraging for food. It was cold, but not too cold. This far south, I wondered if I could smell the faint scent of spring in the trees.

I blinked.

I was younger. I could smell the distant feeling of baking bread and the recently turned earth that smelt of rot and dampness. I could hear a distant murmering of cattle and the sound of my own heartbeat. I was so afraid. I had left the spear with Kerrass because it still felt clumsy in my hands and I wished that I had been allowed to keep my old quarterstaff. The one where I had gotten to the Quarter-finals with that Kerrass had broken.

I hated him for that. I hated him for having me out here in the cold, damp air of a middle of a late Spring night in South Eastern Redania somewhere outside a village that I couldn’t point to on a map. If it actually appeared on a map for that matter. I hated him for manipulating me into offering to help him. I hated myself for lying to him when I said that of course I wanted to help. I hated the Nekkers for being just below the surface over that away. I hate the smooth metal and glass cylinder that I held that a twist, a shake and a throw would explode in a way that would collapse the tunnel.

Or so Kerrass had told me. Not that I trusted him. It was just as likely to blow me up so that he could get rid of me as it was to actually work and I hated that uncertainty.

I hated my Father for driving me out of my home. I hated my best friend for making the woman that I was crushing on fall in love with him instead of me. I hated the tutor who had turned down all of my research proposals that would keep me happy, in a library somewhere and away from all this horror. I hated the girl who had really broken my heart by throwing herself at a tough looking and talking mercenary when she had sworn that she would never leave me. The one for whom I had been driven from Oxenfurt to find a Witcher in the depths of the Wild so that I wouldn’t have to see her face walking down the street, hanging off the arm of the nearest pretty man that she could ensnare with her high cut skirts and low cut tops.

I hated them all with a violent and all consuming passion.

I hated them all with as much passion as I could muster, because it was that or whimper with a terror that had already made me piss my britches.

I was so scared.

I blinked, and then I blinked again.

I was shivering with terror and could taste blood from where I had bitten my own lip to keep from crying out in fear at the Nekkers that I was so very sure were climbing out of the hole that was behind me. Just for a moment, I found myself looking for the fluttering piece of white cloth that would signal the direction that I would run in order to get to the next burrow.

Then I remembered. It had been cold that night, but that was the cold of a young man who was unused to spending his time outside in the middle of the night. I had a blade at my belt that had been used to kill people more than once. My spear was at my side and although it would occasionally be clumsy in my hands, that was more due to me than the fact that I was unused to it after several weeks and months of illness and the neglect of the skill. If I was in that situation with the Nekkers now, then not only would I not need the white cloth to show me the way, but someone would have had to pry the spear from my cold, dead hands.

I chuckled as I remembered what I had been thinking about. That village was so long ago now that I can barely remember some of the facts. I can’t remember the name of the Alderman that had tried to cheat us, or the Craftsman that Kerrass had had to kill in order to save my life.

I now knew that the hatred that I felt at the time was a symptom of the abject terror that I was feeling. I did not, and I do not, hate my Father. I was scared of him back then. I lived in fear that I would find him and a men-at-arms outside my rooms before he would drag me off by the hair in order to return to the family castle. I didn’t hate Kerrass, he was simply unknown to me and we always fear the unknown. Which meant that I hated him.

I can see, with more experienced eyes, that the Quarterstaff would have been utterly impractical in the life that I was coming to lead.

My tutor was simply keeping me from becoming boring and lost in a sea of other scholars that were already studying the same things that I proposed to study. I did not hate my friend and the girl that fell for him rather than me. It was clear to everyone that they loved each other to a degree that I can only hope that Ariadne and I will reach. She wanted to settle down and have babies and I can admit now that I would have found that boring in that time and place.

And as for the girl that broke my heart. It might sound bitter of me now, but she did me an enormous favour. In the end she married a guardsman, had a child and when the guardsman was stationed elsewhere he took her with him, According to a couple of people, he caught her sleeping with one of the Knights that were still part of the army and left her. She became a prostitute, got addicted to Fisstech and vanished into the Viziman underground. I feel sorry for her now.

I don’t know where her child is and apparently, nor does she. She still writes to some former friends and asks for money but those people are confident that she spends it on cheap gin and expensive drugs. If she contacted me now I would try and help her, but I would not give her money. Another friend claimed that his, now betrothed, was a peer of hers in Oxenfurt. They paid for her to stay in a church hospital to get clean but she ran away early taking the donation box with her and leaping into the biggest pile of Fiss-tech she could find.

They told me that some people just don’t want to be saved.

And our grand love affair that I had been convinced would last for the rest of my life had lasted a little over a fortnight.

But now I was climbing out of my pit of terror and looked about myself. The part of me that was young, scared and inexperienced was astonished to find himself in a winter wonderland of a forest next to a small cottage and the more he was surprised by what he found, the more he retreated, leaving the real me in his place.

I rubbed my face and picked up my spear. The cold from the metal haft seeped into my gloves and was an important grounding tool to keep me in the here and now.

Then I chuckled. The main thing that I was feeling now was embarrassment. Flame but I was an asshole back then. Kerrass would immediately joke that I was still an asshole now but at least I had stopped spewing shit.

He can get a bit poetic when he puts his mind to it.

The entire process of that entire flashback took maybe a couple of heartbeats to rip through my head.

I had a small skin of icy stream water nearby and I took a small drink from it. The freezing water hurt the back of my throat and finished the task of bringing me back to the here and now even more effectively. I took up my spear, ensured that the blade was kept hidden so that there would be no light reflecting from it to give away my position.

And I went back to waiting.

I saw firelight through the trees, just a dim and distant flicker, partially obscured by branches and dead leaves.

I blinked.

I was hiding in a ditch. Dirty, tired and stinking of cow piss and other smells that I could not identify. There was some kind of beast out there. I had no idea what it was but Kerrass seemed confident. He had laughed at me when I had asked him if it was a dragon before he told me that if it had been a dragon, we would be on horseback and still urging those mounts to greater speed as we fled the area.

The family that had been attacked was hiding in the ditch behind me. The mother was trying to keep a whimpering child quiet while the man was taking out his own terror on both the mother and the child that refused to stay quiet. He couldn’t see that the more he yelled in a whisper, the more that the child was whimpering.

Through my fear I came to a place where I started to find the entire thing funny.

The fire moved.

But the fire didn’t move back then.

I blinked.

I shook my head, muttered “This is getting serious,” under my breath and blinked furiously for a few seconds. I had not gone as deep this time. I had been afraid back then, but it had been the useful kind of fear that meant I could do things about it. That kept me in the ditch rather than going off to try and chase a thing that I knew nothing about.

And the beast in question had never actually breathed fire. That was a figment of my imagination and the fact that early on in the beast’s attacks, it had knocked over a flaming brand, setting fire to a haystack and store house.

Kerrass had been quite disappointed when the beast turned out to be a simple Wyvern. Not even a royal one.

This fire that I was looking at now was a small fire, almost a spot of light moving through the trees. And it was expected. I had known they were coming. If we were right, at some point along the journey, someone had been looking for that flame and was checking for its presence. They had followed it and watched which path it had taken.

What it was coming from was a torch, carefully oiled so that the smell of the burning pitch would carry and it would produce lots of smoke. It was carried by a guardsman. One of the older guardsmen of the City guard that Captain de La Tour had promised us all that he was a steady veteran and that he would play his part properly rather than try to be a hero. This too was essential.

He was also wearing armour that was far too big for him. Which also meant that it would jingle and clank much more than properly fitted and measured armour would. The result was quite comical. The effect of faint comedy was further emphasised when he came into view. He was wearing such a look of nervous and exaggerated terror that I thought it was far too obvious. He might as well have been playing a farce on stage. He was leaping in fear at every noise, every crack of a branch and every bird call that was coming with the dawn.

And as he came into view. his companion for the night was also coming into sight. Her hair newly, if hurriedly, cleaned so that it would shine in the torch light. Her cloak was a lovely shade of cream that shone in the same. This was not a girl that was trying to hide in the forest. The bright colour of the cloak practically glowed as the young Countess Vasseur came into the clearing.

I prayed that we were right. Otherwise, another woman would die tonight.

The young lady was doing well though. Arguably, she was doing better than the Guardsman was. She was playing her part beautifully. Walking calmly and quietly despite her obvious fear with hands clasped in front of her in the perfect configuration of a young lady out for a stroll in the woods. As I watched, she literally held her hand out to be helped over something that I couldn’t see from my own perspective. She bestowed this beatific smile on the guardsman who, I was certain, blushed from the attention. Her hair shone, her eyes sparkled and her face was flushed. I did wonder whether it was anything to do with the cold or the excitement.

Or both.

If I didn’t know better, I would be prepared to swear that she was enjoying herself. I knew that feeling though. The thought that she was actually taking the fight to her enemies is an intoxicating feeling. Something that I know all too well from various escapades.

We weren’t there yet here though. We knew who one of the Conspirators was in the figure of Alain Moineau. But as for the others, all we had was guesswork, no matter how educated that guesswork might be.

I watched and wondered who had taught the Countess how to behave so magnanimously and regally. It was possible, of course, that her Father had taken steps to ensure that the girl was properly educated and prepared for her coming adulthood. But I had a strong suspicion that someone, probably the Duchess, Syanna or even Ariadne, had taken the girl aside and had a few discreet words followed by a few quick lessons.

She seemed to shift in my perceptions of her. On the one hand she would do or say something or behave in a way that would remind me of Francesca just before I had left home, leaving me thinking of her as a girl. Then she would shift. A trick of the body language, a tone of voice, a change in the facial expression and then I could no longer avoid thinking of her as a woman. Countess Vasseur and although, at that time, it had not been made public, it was more than likely that she was the presumptive heir to the Ducal throne of Toussaint.

I blinked.

This time I did not fight the images that flashed before my eyes. This time I did not fight the emotions that welled up within my heart and I did not flee from the memories that came up on me. They were far more recent after all and like all of the things that had happened over the last few days, I was convinced that there were clues here that would lead me to the solution to all of these problems. So spending a few moments, just a few, going over things was not a wasted period of time.

It had not taken Guillaume and I long to decide that the disposition of the possible daughter of the Duchess was above our paygrade and that we would be better off discussing matters with people other than ourselves. Ariadne contacted Lady Vigo who was at the palace in order to arrange that we wouldn’t be jumped by a whole host of palace guards when we just appeared in the middle of the great hall. Also so that the other Sorceress could appraise the Duchess of exactly what we were bringing to her in the middle of the night.

I had no idea what time it was by that point. It was far too close to the morning for my comfort and I could feel the slight jumpiness in my fingers and my toes that meant that normal energy had been replaced by adrenaline to get me through the rest of the night. I had been doing this too often of late and I would pay the price. I was alright with that though. A few days in bed being ministered to by Anne and Ariadne between them along with some nice drugs provided by Sir Walther, the Ducal surgeon, actually sounded rather pleasant about then.

Ariadne received the nod and bid the three of us to come closer to her. The teleport gate opened which caused a little consternation from the young lady at our side, turning her from the lady back into the girl for a moment. We appeared in a small, nondescript room in the palace, to my eyes it looked like one of the basement rooms judging by the more Elven nature of the architecture on display. Lady Vigo met us and we waited for a short while as the corridors were secured to ensure that no one would see us coming and going. Even despite this, we were wrapped in voluminous cloaks as we moved through to the antechamber.

It is not a small thing to note that rulers often have several receiving rooms. There is the main “court” room that holds the throne of the area in it where a feudal lord might receive guests or judge matters accordingly. Then there will be several other rooms to take various meetings in it with variable levels of discretion. I had never seen the room that we went into before but I soon guessed as to what it was. The art on the walls was tasteful and refined showing various scenes from Toussaint history. They lacked the somewhat exaggerated nature of some of the other paintings that I saw in my time in Toussaint and going along with the new look of the palace, they were all framed in simple wooden constructs. So I took them as commemorative pieces instead.

They showed battles, courtrooms, a siege and a few pictures of Knights in shining armour charging down nameless, faceless hordes in black armour.

The “hero” Knights were not wearing Golden armour I noticed. The painting looked old and if I had time and was in more of a “historian” frame of mind, I might have investigated as to when Knights started to wear Golden armour.

Something in all of that suggested that there might be something significant going on.

The Duchess was already waiting for us. If this was a standard court session then that would not be a good sign but in the here and now, and given that we had arrived as fast as we could, it more suggested that if there was any anger here, it would not be directed at us. The Duchess had all the appearances of a woman that hadn’t really slept. She looked as though she was all but dressed for bed with a simple mantle over her shoulders for warmth and to distract from that. Her hair was done up for bed in a similar style to how Emma likes to keep her hair out of the way when she goes to sleep. There was just the hint of some makeup around the eyes which rather suggested that she had been weeping.

There were also another two men in the room. One of which I knew to be the Ducal Herald.

The Duchess turned towards us from where she was having a conversation with the other man and smiled at us. It was not instantly reassuring. It was the cold, cautious smile that a ruler bestows on a person when they haven’t decided what the next step was going to be. You can see identical smiles on the faces of cats when they have cornered a mouse and are deciding whether to eat the thing or let it go for another chase and play later on.

“Countess Angral.” The Duchess nodded as the large cloaks were taken off us by a servant and placed on a nearby chair. “I must thank you for coming as well as for the service that you have, doubtlessly, performed for me and my house this night. The details of which I am positively vibrating with anticipation to hear.”

Ariadne curtseyed.

“Sir Guillaume, Lord Frederick. I must greet you also and, as I say, I am looking forward to hearing what brings you to my door, again, in the middle of the night. Again.”

“Your Grace,” I began with a bow but she held her hand up. “Not yet. Do not get me wrong but I have heard you speak before and I am sure that your story will be a tiresomely long one and as I have no desire to listen to it more than once, I wish to wait until certain other matters have been dealt with.”

I nodded. Taking it as the dismissal that it was.

“Now,” The Duchess’ voice became warmer, the smile a little more genuine. “Lady Vasseur. Let us start simply as though we are two strangers who are only just meeting. I stress that my pending anger that is already too long postponed will not be directed at you. Do you know who I am?”

“Yes Your Grace.” The young lady sunk into a deep curtsy.

“Please rise Lady Vasseur. I am relieved that you are aware of that at least.” She literally took a breath. I have only recently heard of your Father’s death, you have my deepest sorrows. Your Father and I were close friends once and although I could not maintain that friendship as much as I would have liked in the years since the incident, I am shocked, appalled and saddened by news of his death.”

Caroline bowed her head, on the edge of tears again, once again looking as though she was much younger than she was.

“In a short while,” The Duchess went on in a slightly sterner voice, prompting the girl to banish her tears again “and before witnesses, you and I shall discuss what is to happen about your future. But first, I must beg for your patience. If these two gentlemen are involved then I must deal with that matter first as it might deal with matters of security regarding the future of Toussaint.”

The young lady curtseyed again with the air of someone who had no idea what to do other than to curtsy.

“Now gentlemen.” The Duchess snarled. “I beg you to tell me exactly who I need to be angry at. I require your story sirs, spare no detail. If it is you that I need to be angry at then you should know that my anger will be swift and merciless. However it will be nothing compared to the amount of manure that will be shovelled down your throat if I later find out that you lied to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes Your Grace.” We echoed accordingly. Guillaume appeared unperturbed but I was too busy thinking about all the stories that I had heard about the Duchess’ temper when she got riled.

She nodded and took a deep breath, rather theatrically to be honest, leaving me thinking that it was a gesture that she was telling us about.

“Do I guess that this is regarding the matter of Jack and the fact that your companion, the Witcher is currently in my dungeon accused of being Jack?”

“What?” Countess Vasseur demanded. “That is impossible, the Witcher did his best to…”

The Duchess held out her hand and the young lady quietened. As I looked into the Duchess’ face, I wondered if I could see a certain fond… exasperation there.

“I will take that as a yes.” The Duchess said. “Very well,” She turned to the two attending men. “Gentlemen, I must ask you to excuse us for a short while. Lord Herald, If you could wait in the corridor as I will need your services eventually and I would rather not roust you out of bed again.”

“Yes Your Grace.”

“And Mister Secretary. Kindly find someone to summon our…” Her face twisted nastily. “Beloved sister…”

It would seem that it would not just be ourselves that were about to be subjected to the Duchess’ wrath.

“... and tell her to get her fat ass out of bed and over here, right…. Fucking…. Now.”

“Yes Your Grace.”

I had to turn away and use a brief coughing fit to disguise my sudden burst of amusement as Lady Vasseur gave a little gasp of shock at the Duchess’ profanity. It would seem that I was in one of those moods. The kind that will historically, either get me tortured or married. I would need to guard my tongue carefully.

“Your Grace, if I may.” I began carefully, ignoring my own advice.

“Go ahead Lord Frederick.”

“The Lady Vasseur has already had a trying day and I would be astonished if she has eaten anything since breakfast. Also, given that she has already delivered her story of the events to myself and Sir Guillaume, who by his nature will keep me honest, regarding her account. Might I recommend that she be allowed to freshen up and maybe have something to eat?”

The Duchess gazed at me levelly. “Very well.” She rang a small handbell that I had not noticed and a guard entered from a side door. “My compliments to Lady Vivienne de Launfal and if she could attend upon us forthwith.”

The guard nodded and in short enough order that I suspected that Guillaume’s wife had already been waiting for the summons, the lady herself entered. Her expression, serious.

Lady de Tabris de Launfal is beautiful but saying that is redundant. What elevates her is the intelligence and the humour that normally glitters in her eyes. There was none of that today, instead she looked tired although she was obviously pleased to see Guillaume.

“Lady de Launfal.” The Duchess began. “It is my honour to present Lady Caroline de Vasseur. She has had a difficult day and could do with something to eat and possibly a change of clothes. We will have need of her before the end of the night however.”

Lady Vivienne bowed and ushered Lady Caroline out of the door.

“A good thought Lord Frederick.” The Duchess said. “I will remember it should it transpire that you are at fault.”

“Ummm. Thank you Your Grace.”

There was a long moment after that when the Duchess paced up and down. Guillaume, by some method of super-human effort, managed to stay calm. I assume it is something that you learn while you are training to be a Knight. I was beginning to get a little frightened.

Then Syanna came into the room. I am noticing this sort of thing more and more now that I come to think of it. It was Syanna at the moment, not the Knight Commander. She was dressed in a simple blue tunic and hose with some light boots and a sword tied to her waist. It looked like the kind of thing you could sleep in while waiting for some important news and it was also easy to imagine her climbing out of bed and belting the sword round her waist as she walked over.

“You bellowed?” She began with a huge yawn.

Then she realised that she had misread the room.

“Syanna.” The Duchess smiled sweetly. “I love you. I love you more than I can say.” Her tone shifted. “But when I give an order, I expect that order to be followed to the letter.”

Syanna frowned slightly and she was the Knight Commander again. “And which order have I disobeyed?”

“I specifically ordered that Lord Frederick would be removed from the investigation regarding the “Jack” matter. It was even your suggestion as I recall. I told you to assign a trustworthy Knight in order to ensure that when everything kicks off, then Lord Frederick would be above reproach.”

“I remember the matter well.” The Knight Commander growled. “And I too would like an answer as to what they are both doing in this room.”

“Lord Frederick?” The Duchess turned on me. “I require your oath on the matter that everything you say here and now is the truth.”

“And you have it.” I said. “By whatever sign you deem prudent.”

“And mine.” Guillaume said. “I swear by the saint and by my sword.”

I felt my own anger rising a little and decided that it would not hurt to allow that to colour my own words. “But while we are on the matter, I would ask what action that I have ever taken that would suggest that my word would ever be in doubt?”

“The Knight Commander should have told you not to investigate the Jack matter any further.”

“And she did.” I growled. “What I was investigating was the matter of my friend and comrade’s supposed guilt. Which was nothing to do with the overall investigation. He was being framed. That could have been done by anyone and I seek to clear his name. He is my friend, my comrade and it would not be amiss to call him my brother. He is innocent of the crimes of which he was accused. I know that. You know that too, as does the Knight Commander. So this is a frame up. I was investigating that, which at the start, was nothing to do with Jack. It still might have nothing to do with Jack.

“But while I am on the subject, if you both know that Kerrass had nothing to do with the Jack killings, then why did you seek to see him imprisoned. Especially when he and I have done our absolute utmost to help. Indeed we have unearthed more truths and patterns to the killings since we started to help than you had managed by yourself. And now you question my integrity?”

“Freddie?” Guillaume warned.

But it seemed that I was not yet done.

“You insinuate that I might do anything that would risk the lives of an innocent young lady. By what right do you do so? If I choose, my family and I can, and will, leave you all here to the mess that you’ve made for yourselves and be damned to you for it all. And from there, when people ask me why I left you all in the middle of the crisis, I shall tell them that I did everything in my power to help you, a favour for which you reward me by insulting me. I will even include into my journals about how the public face of Toussaint does not match the arrogance and disdain that they show in private. All of this you would absolutely deserve. How dare you suggest that I have done anything but do my best to help you out of this situation. Which, by the way, involves a plot to overthrow both of you. How dare you question my integrity?”

I realised that my hands were shaking.

“I would remind you that you are a guest here…”

“Precisely I am a guest.” My anger was clearly no longer feigned, if it had ever been. “And as a guest, I am able to leave whenever I like. Along with my entourage which were visiting as guests. All that is happening now is that you are proving that you are no better than the petty Lords that look for someone to blame in order to salvage your own pride. And you find that person in the body of a Witcher and anyone that tries to help that Witcher. Well you will not stain me with that. Nor will you stain Kerrass who, also, has done everything he can do to help.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

My words echoed around the room and I suddenly felt dizzy.

“Woah that was way too far.” I said.

“No,” Sir Guillaume said. “No it wasn’t.”

“Do you feel better for getting that off your chest there Freddie?” Syanna asked, smirking slightly.

“I could do with a chair.” I said. “You know before my legs give out.”

Ariadne was there and provided one before pouring me a cup of wine.

The Duchess herself seemed to be quite calm. “It is always pleasant to hear genuine righteous anger coming from a person rather than the feigned thing that I am forced to listen to in the courtroom.” She said to the room. “That Witcher Kerrass is innocent is obvious to anyone with half a brain. I am told that even Sir Alain is down there, right now, arguing for his immediate release as well as riling up everyone he can get his hands on in court to mount a protest. According to some reports, Sir Morgan has told him that it is time to get some rest.”

I felt my mind begin to work the problem again after my outburst.

“You also,” The Duchess went on, chiding gently. “Seem to have forgotten that sometimes these things need to be done and said aloud as a matter of record. Even when we know them to be true, they need to be said aloud and recorded. Your oath and Sir Guillaume’s are a matter of record now. As is my anger. Now, I am still angry but I am inclined to forgive your outburst. But time grows short. I understand that there is still no Jack attack this night?”

“There is not.” The Knight Commander put in.

“So either there won’t be which will be damning evidence against Kerrass, or that there is still a death to come.”

“I think that the intended target is in the other room with my Wife.” Guillaume said. “I would ask that the guard on them be doubled with known men.”

The Duchess nodded towards the Knight Commander. “So ordered.”

The Knight Commander went to the door and said something to someone outside before coming back in.

Then I started my story. As instructed, I left nothing out. At the beginning, the Duchess found a chair and lowered herself into it. She didn’t stay in the chair for the entire story though. When we came to describe the death of the Count Vasseur she shot out of her chair and went to the window. Syanna came round us and motioned me into silence for a while as she stood near her sister, the two of them just standing together.

I described with as much detail as I could remember what happened between us and the Witch of Lynx Crag, which prompted another brief moment where Syanna went to the door and spoke to the person outside the room before coming back in. And then we came to the part of the story where we told the two sisters that ruled Toussaint between them, what the young Lady Vasseur told us.

There was one brief moment where Syanna wondered. “Would it not be better for us to have this conversation with the young lady herself.”

“That would be ideal.” I said, “but the young lady is tired, injured and heart sick. She has already told the story once tonight and although i do not know young women well, I would suggest that she is holding onto her self-control with her fingernails.”

Ariadne and Guillaume agreed.

The Duchess motioned us to continue. As we began to recount the part of the tale that had to do with the seduction of so young a lady by Sir Alain, the Duchess got back up to pace. When we got to the part where she came to the realisation that she was little more than Sir Alain’s mistress, the Duchess shed a tear and Syanna turned away to hide her face. By the time the tale had come to a close. The Duchess was standing, facing away from us and her voice shook when she spoke.

“Lord Frederick.” She said. “Earlier you threatened us with the prospect of your recounting these events in your journals for publication.”

“I did.”

“That is no longer a threat.” She said. “When all of this is over, and this cadre of men, as I agree that they must be men to arrange this plot, are brought to justice and dance on the end of a noose, I would charge you, no…. I beg you to recount this entire series of events for your journals. I would ask that you spare no detail and that you show the ugliness that lurks underneath the surface in Toussaint. Spare no detail. Will you do that for us?”

“I would rather preserve the girl’s dignity.” I began.

“I will speak to her.” The Duchess said as she turned back around. Her face was a terrible mask of shame and rage. “We will turn her disgrace into a weapon that we will thrust into the hearts of our enemies and in doing so we shall prove that we are far stronger than they think we are. We will turn her shame into the shame of all that would do the same to others and we will ensure that she is all the stronger for it.”

She nodded to herself.

“We did this to her.” She said to her sister, who had also shed tears of rage. “We did this to her. Her shame is our shame.”

Syanna nodded.

The Duchess was suddenly back in the room, thus adding further fuel to my growing theory that we are different people when we take on the mantle of our professions and positions.

“Send for Lady Vivienne, her young charge, my Secretary and the Herald.” She said. We had to wait for a few moments. The Herald came in through the main door while the Secretary came in through a side door where he had either been listening in or seeing to some other chores. It took Lady Vivienne a good ten minutes to return with the young Lady Caroline and when she came in, Sir Guillaume beamed with pride.

Lady Vivienne had done us proud. In the time that she had been out of the room, it was clear that Caroline Vasseur had wept, eaten, bathed, rested a little and been clothed and made up ready to face whatever was to come next. Her hair hung long down her back and it shone in the candle and torch light. She walked forwards towards the Duchess and sunk into a deep Curtsy. “Your Grace.” She said in a small voice. “You have summoned me and as such, I come.”

Lady Vivienne positively glowed with pride having sent the young Lady into the room with a gesture almost exactly the same as the way a Falconer releases the bird of prey at it’s target.

The Duchess was wearing her court face. We all have one, it’s the same face that you wear when you stand before an authority figure. When a Watchman demands to know what you are doing outside at this time of the night, or when a parent demands to know why the chore that they have told you to do remains unfinished. Of course, people who play at the level that the Duchess plays at are far more skilled at it. The Duchess was doing this deliberately and just for a moment, I felt that the difficulties in the life of young Caroline Vasseur had only just begun.

“Lady Caroline,” The Duchess began. It turns out that there is also a court voice. “We have spent the time between when you left our presence and the moment you returned discussing your recent life with Lord Frederick von Coulthard and he has brought us up to date in your recent comings and goings as well as the deeds that you have performed.”

“Yes Your Grace.” She hung her head.

“Some of the things that he has told us are rather extreme in nature,” The Duchess went on and I felt the desire to shift in discomfort. I couldn’t tell if the Duchess was teasing the girl.

“Yes Your Grace.”

“Look at me child.”

Slowly, the girl raised her head to look the Duchess full in the face. Something that she saw there caused destroyed the props that kept her self-control in place and she fell to her knees before sobbing. “I’m sorry.” She wailed. “I’m so sorry. I thought he loved me and… and I tried so hard to make him and…. And Father encouraged me in…”

I was watching carefully, trying to keep my temper in check at what I saw as more than a little bit of cruelty here. What I was watching was tainted by my own experiences at my Father’s table or, even worse, in his study. Because I was watching carefully, I saw the Duchess glance at her sister. Just a small shifting of the gaze and I was not fast enough to see Syanna acknowledge it, but the look was eloquent.

“Oh hush child,” Syanna snickered. “One day, someday soon, I shall tell you of some of the misadventures of a certain red-haired minx that is standing not so very far away from you now.”

It was like watching a choreographed dance.

“What?” The girl was startled.

“I don’t know what you mean.” The Duchess replied, still in her court voice.

“The Nilfgaardian ambassador and the rotten eggs?” Syanna said with a smile.

“I don’t see what that has to….”

“He’s soooooo handsome.” Syanna mimicked a young girls enchantment with a pretty boy, clasping her hands next to her face theatrically. “And if he loves me then…”

“He was very attractive.” Lady Vivienne added to the conversation. “I remember him well.”

“He was also twenty years older than us.” Syanna added.

“At least.” Vivienne agreed.

“And already married.” Syanna finished.

“That’s enough.” The Duchess responded, a little waspishly. “I could tell her worse stories about another raven haired girl that is much closer to me, and from much more recent circumstances as well involving the squire of a certain Knight that we don’t talk about anymore.”

“Hey that’s not fair.” Syanna protested. “He was very pretty, excellent in the haystack and that Dipshit of a Knight who is, thankfully, no longer a problem, deserved to have his pride punctured.”

The girl was appalled. “That’s not how ladies are supposed to behave.”

“That’s your Father speaking.” The Duchess told her gently.

“And who said I was a Lady.” Syanna sniffed derisively. “I started taking much more enjoyment out of life when I stopped trying to conform to what society thinks of as being ladylike.”

“Your Father was a good man.” The Duchess told the girl. “A very good man and he was a good friend to me when it seemed that all other friends had left me. I cared for him deeply and I am heart-broken that he is gone. I was unable to maintain that friendship given what happened, but he has always been close to my heart and although you and I have not really spoken, he would occasionally write to me to keep me apprised of your progress.”

The girl hung her head again.

“Alas,” The Duchess went on. “There are some aspects of your education that you are missing. Your father provided for your education in reading, penmanship and other such feminine arts I would imagine.”

“As well as music, dancing, poetry, embroidery and all other things that we are supposed to learn to attract a husband.” Syanna recited in a sing-song voice.

The Duchess glared daggers at her sister. “All of which are useful skills.”

Syanna snorted. “Embroidery?” She queried.

“However,” The Duchess went on, ignoring her sister. “They are the things that a father would expect of his daughter. Thus missing out the part of a young ladie’s education that can only be provided by a mother.”

“Or an elder sister.” Syanna put in.

“Or a properly trained Lady in Waiting… or Handmaiden.” Lady Vivienne added with a twinkle in her eye.

It might have been my imagination but the Duchess’ face reddened slightly. I was not the only person who noticed and Syanna’s eyebrows shot up as she appraised her sister carefully.

I completely missed the reference though. Probably for the best.

“The point being.” The Duchess was glaring at the other women, including Ariadne who was doing her best to be diplomatic. “The point being that there are certain parts of your education that are missing. The fault is not yours. Nor is it really your Father’s…”

“I would tend to disagree with that…” Syanna tried.

“... as he would not know that it would be something that you would need to learn. I am interested to know why he would think that Sir Alain would be a good match for you as it would be extremely unlikely that your Father would not know everything there was to know about him. But you should have been able to recognise the efforts to seduce you, as well as being able to critique what he was doing…”

“As it would seem that he was being rather clumsy.” Syanna wasn’t letting up.

“... and thus be able to tell the difference between a genuine declaration of love and affection from a false one. They both have their uses of course but that is getting into more advanced knowledge than I judge that you are ready for.”

“But how am I to be married when I am so soiled?” Caroline wailed. “I am not a virgin and after my marriage night, when it is clear that I was in no pain and there is no blood on the sheets, who will marry so used a… a whore as...”

“That’s enough.” The Duchess snapped. Rightly so in my opinion. “Your education is in my hands directly now rather than simply paying for your schooling.”

Interesting.

“What was done to you was not your fault.” THe Duchess told her. “If Lord Frederick’s story is accurate, and I have no reason to suspect that it is not, you had little choice in the matter. You did what you needed to do to survive. Never beat yourself up for that. And while I’m on the subject, Self-pity is a luxury that we cannot always indulge and now is one of those nights where we do not have time for it. But as you bring it up. Men will ignore your lack of pain and think of it as a reflection on their own prowess. They will be proud of themselves for it rather than seeing the implied criticism involved in the matter of it not hurting.”

Caroline glanced at me in astonishment. I shrugged. “Not unfair.”

“Criticisim? What Criticism?” She wondered.

“If it didn’t hurt, then they can’t have been very big, it’s a criticism of their manhood.” Syanna supplied helpfully.

Caroline reddened.

“And as for the rest,” The Duchess went on. “A small clean pin can achieve wonderful things if properly used at the right time. And that is if we, and by “we” I mean you and I, do not decide to use all of this as a weapon in our efforts against the people that would use someone in your position in the way that they have. Now…”

The Duchess gestured and the Secretary and the Herald came forward.

“You and I have a lot to talk about. You will have questions, I have no doubt. Many questions and most of them I will not be able to answer. Including the question regarding your proper parentage.”

“Father made me aware of that.” She said in a quiet voice.

“Yes.” The Duchess’ eyes narrowed. “I’m sure he did. But that is now different. There is now the fact that we need to avoid piling further disgrace on your father’s head. He will have thought of the problem in terms of your pending marriage. About people who would seek to take advantage of you, something that I note he did nothing to prevent.”

That last was meant for Syanna, who nodded without surprise. She too had noticed that aspect of the story.

“But the truth,” The Duchess went on, “is more complicated than that. Before we go into that however we must dispose of your immediate future and status, therefore it is with no small amount of pleasure, along with the grief that it comes to you given the circumstances. But I hereby confirm the title of Countess Vasseur to you with all the rights, privileges and responsibilities that come with that rank.”

The Secretary had been laying out a paper with quill, ink and wax. The Duchess went over and signed the paper with a flourish before adding wax and stamping the wax with her signet ring.

“I sign my name and attach my seal and thus, by the power invested in me by the people of Toussaint and by the grace of our cousin, the Empress of Nilfgaard to whom we owe our allegiance, I declare you Countess of our realm before the witnesses in this room.”

The secretary took the piece of paper and handed it over to the Herald who placed it between two sheets of prepared wood.

“Now I know what you are thinking.” The Duchess went on while the Secretary prepared another piece of paper. “You are thinking that the title of Countess is all well and good when there are no lands, goods or wealth attached to it.”

Judging by the expression on the girl’s face, she hadn’t been thinking anything of the kind.

“It is a fair thought.” The Duchess told her. “And if that is all it was then I would point out that there are plenty of good men that we could find that would marry you for your title, before loving and caring for you as a man should love and care for a wife. But there are other considerations that it is now prudent to deal with.

“Your Father and I were friends. Good friends. As I have said, he was a friend to me when my sister had been sent away by uncaring and ambitious parents and what friends I had left had been driven away by an uncaring and lazy husband. That friendship was forcibly removed from me when the scandal struck your father and the matters of law were manipulated to ensure that he would not receive the justice that he deserved. I could not help him with that, nor could I do so in the intervening time.

“But early on over the course of matters, we did, briefly, discuss your position should anything happen to him. I agreed with him that your position would be tenuous in that event and I swore to him that I would do everything in my power to see to matters regarding your future.”

She sighed sadly.

“I am sorry that I cannot confirm nor deny matters regarding your mother. If it were me then I would be proud of the woman that you are becoming, if you were otherwise, then that woman could call herself proud. I cannot acknowledge you as my own as that would lead to disaster in this time of change. If I did so I would number both my days and yours, as what happened to me would happen to you in that you would be married to someone, and then you would die so that you could not control the will of the people when you came to inherit the ducal crown and that would be if you were lucky. You would also be condemned by the scandal that would have led you to your birth. They would call you bastard and base-born. A rebellion would rise against us and then your body would join mine as we swung from the top of the nearest tree.

“If I name you otherwise, you will be condemned even further than that. You will be called all the names under the sun and you will be lost, alone and neglected. You would be disgraced as little more than the result of your father taking advantage of some peasant girl’s sympathy at best. Still a bastard, still base-born and as a result, utterly worthless. I cannot allow that and I promised that I would not.

“Therefore, by the power invested in me, I formally adopt you into my family as my daughter. I will warn you that this will still make you a target for people, both good and bad. It will also put you in the line of succession to the Ducal throne although you would be eclipsed should either I, or my sister…”

Syanna stuck her tongue out at the Duchess.

“... produce natural, true born children as a result of a formal wedding.”

The newly formalised Countess Vasseur was gaping.

“I will not require you to call me mother. Nor will I call you daughter, I do not deserve that privilege. Instead I shall call you by your title until things settle down a bit further when you and I can have a proper talk. So…”

The Duchess turned back to the table and affixed another signature and seal.

“I sign my name and attach my seal and thus, by the power invested in me by the people of Toussaint and by the grace of our cousin, the Empress of Nilfgaard to whom we owe our allegiance, I declare you my adopted daughter and welcome you to our family, the properly anointed rulers of our realm before the witnesses in this room.”

The Countess did us all proud then as she curtseyed low. “I have no words.” She said. “I thank you now and I will thank you again when my mind has settled.”

“I understand.” The Duchess allowed some softness into her voice. “One of our first duties as mother and daughter will be to arrange for the funeral rites of your father. In the meantime however, there are certainly elements of your education that are sadly lacking.”

The Countess changed into the girl again as her disappointment was obvious.

“I understand that you already know how to ride.” The Duchess said. “However, it is also vital that you know how to defend yourself. I charge you to go with the Knight Commander who, after you have rested, will have you escorted to the House of the Knights where you will be properly trained in those things that might be required of the Duchess of Toussaint, should you find yourself called to that duty. You will learn of strategy, tactics, leadership, courtly matters, swordplay, proper use of a dagger and anything else that she might deem fit to teach you in order to ensure your survival. She is far better at the art of Survival than I and I can think of no better teacher.”

Syanna’s eyes glowed. “You’re giving me a Niece to corrupt?” She crowed with triumph.

“Wait,” The Duchess groaned. “I’ve changed my mind. I will find a nice Governess or something and they can see to her proper…”

“No no.” Syanna wagged her finger at her sister. “No take backs. You told me that I can see to her education. Come with me oh niece of mine. You and I are going to have such fun.”

There was much laughter as the new Countess looked both excited and scared at the same time. I rather think she will do fine.

“Commander?” The Duchess finished with a little more formality. “Come back soon as there are other matters we need to discuss.”

The mirth left Syanna as quickly as it had come and she bowed formally before leading the new Countess out.

I blinked.

It was quiet in the clearing in front of the Cottage now, cold too. I envied the guardsman standing out there in the open, another necessary part of the entire plan. We needed proper bait for the trap. Not that it was much of a trap but when it comes to this kind of thing, beggars can’t be choosers. The guard had his instructions. When Jack came out of the shadows, which we were confident that he would, the guard was going to run. He was going to drop the torch onto the ground and run for it. We had tried to emphasise that he wouldn’t need to do much more than that, but the problem with Toussaint as a whole was that it provoked a desire to be a hero in just about everyone.

Including me.

I probably shouldn’t have been there. It would almost certainly be a much better idea for my health and wellbeing that I be in bed. A nice warm woman, a proper meal, a fire in the hearth and a bedwarmer having prepared the way for me. Some nice mulled wine would not have gone amiss too, or some equally mulled mead for that matter. Not that they serve mead in Toussaint. They seem to think that it’s beneath them.

I wish Kerrass was with us. Just something about his presence that made it seem all that much the safer. Something about him standing beside me or behind me that led me to that feeling of indomitable safety. I would be confident then. I would feel certain that we would win. His heightened senses would warn us of danger that much the quicker. His potion enhanced reflexes would mean that we would be more sure of victory. True, Guillaume had his armour and everything but I had seen what a skilled swordsman could do to a man in full armour.

I blinked.

I was in a clearing. I could hear the wind in the trees and the air smelled of Troll, an odd, slightly spicy kind of leathery smell. I could hear a young woman’s moan as the Knight, her champion, collapsed with a crash of metal clashing and grinding against metal. I saw Kerrass dancing out of the reach of the Knight’s flailing sword and laughing, the slightly maniacal edge in his voice that I knew that I should be worried about. The glint in his eye that told me that he wanted blood.

They spoke, the girl shrieked and Kerrass stabbed down through the eye slit of the visor. He looked up at the girl, who stood, unspeakably beautiful in a way that could inspire lust and a desire to worship in equal measures. She shrieked and her rage and arrogance made her ugly. I wanted to turn away but Kerrass had already killed once. I wanted him to kill her too. She deserved it. She needed it. The world would be a better place for so many people if I just let Kerrass give in to the murder that was already glittering in his eyes.

After everything that she had done. After everything that she had made me feel and say and do. I wanted her death too.

I blinked and shook my head hard.

Not my best memory, all things considered.

I was a different person back then. I know that now. I was moving from that boy that I had been into the man that I hope I have become. Or am still becoming. I wonder, looking back, how many people would say that I was better then or whether I am better now. And sometimes, even now, I wonder how far I still have to go.

I remember the self-loathing I had felt when I had made a joke over the corpse of the dead troll. I remember the shock and violence of Kerrass’ hatred and disdain. I remember realising that I was wrong and for a moment, that memory nearly pulled me down into the depths just as surely as the last one did.

I thought of Ariadne and the way that firelight dances in her eyes and on her skin. So very similar to the way it dances on the face of a human, but at the same time, slightly different. As though her skin absorbed the light rather than reflected it, only to give off a strange glow of her own.

Or that might be just how I feel about her.

“It is true that my skin works differently to that of a human.” She said in my mind. “It is less permeable, slightly more translucent and it reacts to sunlight differently which undoubtedly led to the myth that Vampires can’t walk around in sunlight. We can of course, although some types of Vampire are better at it than others.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. “I needed the distraction.”

“I know.” I could feel her answering grin. “I am looking forward to showing you all the other ways that my body reacts to light. You have seem me in candlelight, but not in full sunlight after all.”

She was feeling mischievous.

“That might be a little more distraction than I need.”

She mewled in disappointed agreement.

“Still looking out for me?” I wondered.

“Always. I shall see you soon.”

And she was gone. I felt an immense desire to wrap myself in a blanket and burrow into a warm pit made of blankets and cushions. Not because I was particularly cold or tired, because I wasn’t. Not really. I just wanted the comfort of being wrapped up and if I couldn’t be wrapped up in the arms of the woman I loved, then I would take a set of blankets.

I blinked.

“How did you know?” The Duchess wondered.

“What?” Ariadne looked up from where she had placed a piece of warm ham on a slice of bread and was smearing it with the grainy mustard that the people of Toussaint seem to love so much.

“How did you know that Freddie and Guillaume needed rescuing?”

I felt my cheeks redden as I lowered my gaze, hoping that Ariadne would keep herself quiet and to the point.

No such luck of course.

“Do you want to tell them all Freddie or shall I do it?” I could hear the laughter in her voice as she bit into the hot food.

Syanna still wasn’t back, not that she had gone very far or for very long. I assumed it was all part of the effort to take the newly formal part of the Ducal household and settle in. The Duchess had decided that Guillaume and I, and therefore she and Ariadne needed some food inside ourselves. She was not wrong to be fair and I needed the extra sustenance. Lady Vivienne had declined with a shake of her head, promising her husband that she would have some proper breakfast later, but that she was still hoping that she would be able to head back to her bed before too much longer.

The Duchess had snorted at that.

Some servants brought up some newly hot ham that had been glazed in honey, some warm bread and the usual other . Toussaint accompaniments. There was no wine for which I was grateful, instead there was coffee. Good, strong coffee which was like nectar of the Gods. Even Ariadne’s eyebrows rose in appreciation of the blend. It had been brewed strong and I could already feel the faint sparkle of the false energy that Coffee can bring, dancing in the ends of my fingers.

I too noticed that Lady Vivienne was drinking the coffee with relish. Guillaume noticed and sighed. He was not drinking the coffee and was instead drinking some spiced milk.

“My beloved wife claims that the Duchess’ coffee is the finest in the land.” He stage whispered to me.

“And she would be correct.” The Duchess responded.

“She also claims that Toussaint runs on the stuff.” He pulled a face of disgust.

“And she would be correct about that too.” The Duchess replied. “You have no idea just how much boring courtly work is completed thanks to a pot of good coffee.”

“I do.” Ariadne said.

There was a need to talk in the air. I had no idea what time it was. It was winter though so there were several hours until dawn. Time was doing that thing it does when you have not had enough sleep recently. It seemed to be a fluid state that would sometimes seem to run long and sometimes it seemed to pass by in an instant. What had seemed to be a relatively small period of time in the clearing outside the Witch’s cottage now seemed to be a vast ocean of time, leaving us plenty of space to be able to make our plans and discuss the matters.

It’s like when you cannot sleep and you feel sure that dawn cannot be too far off. But then you hear a church bell or a guardsman calling the watch and realise that only an hour or so has passed.

But it seemed to me that we were in a bubble of space. The world seemed to be distant and far away. A frozen wilderness that was out of sight and out of mind. Filled with horrors and danger whereas in the here and now, we were safe, warm, fed and surrounded by friends. The conversation was part of that and the Duchess wanted it to continue.

“How did you know?” The Duchess asked again.

“I think you should tell her sweetie.” I told Ariadne, doing my best to put some sense of foreboding in my voice. “After all, it was your idea and your manufacture that arranged it.”

‘And I get to embarrass you as well.” She smiled happily. “The answer, Your Grace, is that it has to do with the link that exists between Freddie and myself. As you know, we have a way that the two of us can communicate.”

“I was aware. Yes. I also know that you have changed it since certain people read about it and were therefore able to neutralise the link.”

“Yes,” Ariadne’s face darkened. “Although our link is not perfect, society still forbids us from taking that necessary step.”

The Duchess’ eyes glittered in amusement as my face grew hot at the memory of how we would set about doing that. Judging by the smirk on Ariadne’s face, she was well aware of just how uncomfortable she was making me.

“Since that loss as well as certain recent events and Freddie’s, still developing, illness and symptoms. I have added certain aspects to the link. Certain alarm bells if you will, that go off if Freddie is in certain circumstances.”

“How do the two of you contact each other?” Lady Vivienne wondered. “I have often wondered. It would certainly be a useful thing. Especially when Guillaume is off somewhere and I want to talk to him.”

“Alas, it is magical in nature and I am unwilling to discuss the method.” Ariadne told her. “One person can keep a secret, but after that, people start being able to study the method and circumvent it. But to activate it, one of the things that you can do is to think of the other in an erotic way.”

“Or romantic way.” I protested.

“Or both.” Ariadne agreed. “It has to be said that Freddie’s images of me are rather sweetly erotic rather than the utter filth that I send down the link towards him.”

There was some laughter at my expense.

“He imagines things like the curve of my neck, my smile and the feel of my skin from the few times he has plucked up the courage to touch me. His more filthy thoughts tend to come when he is just on the verge of falling asleep or in the early hours of the morning.”

“I wish there was someone who thought of me like that.” The Duchess sighed plaintively. It would seem that we had become informal.

“Like what?” Ariadne asked innocently.

“With sweet romance and occasional erotic bursts.”

“There is.” Lady Vivienne had taken out an embroidery hoop that she worked on with fast, automatic fingers that moved seemingly of their own accord and without attention from the lady. Guillaume would later tell me that she does it to keep her hands busy because otherwise she fidgets, or bites her nails. A childhood habit apparently. “But you have forbidden Lord Dandelion from returning to Toussaint.”

The Duchess’ eyes darkened a little. “As I recall, I threatened to take the next person who mentioned that name in my presence and break them on the wheel.”

“No you didn’t.” Lady Vivienne answered reasonably and without fear. “What you actually said was “The next man to speak the name Julien Alfred Pankratz in my presence, recites his poetry or plays his music will be broken on the wheel.” As I am neither a man, nor did I say that name, my life is safe. We can check the court record if you wish.”

“You have just said his name.” The Duchess crowed in triumph and laughter. “Guards, take this woman away.” The Guards didn’t materialise.

“I merely say that to illustrate my defence. Of course, if you wish to be known as a tyrant instead.” Lady Vivienne hadn’t flinched, moved or changed her tone of voice.

The Duchess sighed. “Why do I keep you around again?” She wondered.

“Because not only do I know where all the skeletons are buried.” Vivienne told her reasonably. “But I helped you bury them.”

“True.” The Duchess admitted before turning back on Ariadne. “But don’t think that lets you off the hook. How did you know?”

Ariadne shrugged. “The Witch was forcing Freddie to feel arousal.” She said. “She was manipulating his body with her spells and her own, not inconsiderable charms. He had little choice in the matter and he fought the effort by thinking of me. He does that regularly when women try to seduce him which is happening more and more often to my eyes, even when he himself doesn’t notice it. He thinks of me and moves on. When the woman is being particularly insistent or amorous, he puts me in her place. I felt this, recognised the magic in question and…” She shrugged.

“Are you more powerful than her?” Guillaume wondered. “You did seem to beat her but it also looked as though you were on the ropes for a while.”

“Our disparate power would depend on the circumstances.” Ariadne replied, making herself another open sandwich. “If I got between her and a man that she wanted, or needed her vengeance on, I rather think that she would be able to take me as that is her old magic and the circumstances of her power. The magic that made her who she is. On any other day? I would be confident that I can better marry skill to power. She has a temper on her which means her control is somewhat lacking. In this case, she was angry, she had no cause to declare that either of you had wronged her. She was angry because you both denied her. A rare feat in and of itself.”

“So why did you look as though you were being beaten?” Guillaume wondered. Completely missing the compliment about him being able to deny the Witch. His wife didn’t though, and preened.

Ariadne laughed.

“It was a trick that Freddie and Kerrass taught me actually. Back from the account regarding the Flaming sword Knights?”

The Duchess looked curious.

“When Freddie was pretending to be weak, he was actually strong. He drew the attention to himself so that Kerrass could do what he needed to do. Then Kerrass drew the attention back to himself in order to allow Freddie to free himself. One of the ruses that they used was to pretend to be weaker than they actually were. So what I was doing was to pull the Witch’s attention to me while the boys freed Countess Vasseur, by pretending to make a strategic mistake. By summoning light when I, normally, should have been mounting an attack or shoring up my defences.”

“But what it did,” I joined in, “was to give us light to see by and make the Witch overconfident.”

“And then I could draw her in, thinking that I was being beaten. When I was actually ensuring that Freddy and Sir Guillaume had time to get the Countess free.”

Guillaume was frowning in thought. “In strength, pretend weakness.”

“Exactly.”

“Interesting.” He literally stroked his chin and I had to restrain myself from laughing. I like Guillaume an awful lot but sometimes he is such a caricature of a Knight and of himself that he becomes a figure of comedy. Vivienne caught me laughing and winked at me. “So it really does have many applications, not just in combat and war.”

I manfully managed to keep a straight face as I said “It really can.”

Vivienne hid her snort of laughter in her coffee cup.

The door opened and Syanna came back into the room.

“How is she doing?” The Duchess wondered.

“You’re not going to like it.” Syanna told her.

“That sounds ominous.”

“She wants to know what she can do to help.” Syanna came to the table and quickly made herself a sandwich with ham and cheese before eating it at a pace that would have resulted in me getting yelled at at the family dining table. It was made worse by the fact that she drank a coffee that was still at scalding level, at a gulp. “I don’t think that she has the language to cope with it yet, and rage is a new emotion to her I think, but if we give her the chance?” She poured herself another cup of coffee. “I think she would cheerfully rip Sir Alain’s balls off with her bare hands and dance on them before tearing his lungs out and doing the same thing.”

“Not his heart?” I wondered aloud before I could stop myself.

“No.” Syanna flopped into one of the more comfortable chairs. “She still loves him, unfortunately.”

“Love feeds rage,” Guillaume mused.

“Especially when you are a sixteen year old girl.” Syanna agreed. “And that girl has all the capability of rage that we could want. Maybe too much even.”

“How do you know?” The Duchess wondered. There was a tone to the question, as though she already knew the answer.

“Because I remember feeling the same way myself. When all this is over, we are going to need to find a way for her to channel that rage into something else or we risk that rage turning back on us.”

The Duchess mused a bit and nodded.

I blinked.

The Countess had gone inside the cottage now. She was in there somewhere, moving around, making sure that she was in sight of some of the windows. Not too long. She was probably making a big song and dance about going to bed and getting some rest. We had checked the cottage out beforehand and there was everything that she would need, to do so in privacy. There was a changing screen for her to get “changed for bed” behind. She had made a show of building a fire even though there was a fire pot in there that meant it was all nice and glowy, she had made a big show of shuttering the windows.

All the while she was doing this, Guillaume and Ariadne were in there with her.

The brief for them was simple. Ariadne was cloaked in a spell of invisibility. Either that or it was some kind of Vampiric ability that she had never told me about up till this point, but still. Guillaume was there as well and if everything went to plan, when “Jack” emerged and was nice and close to the cottage, Ariadne would teleport herself and the Countess off back to the Palace while Guillaume emerged to fight, and entrap the assailant.

It was the nature of the assailant that we still didn’t really know about.

If it had been me acting as the assailant, I would have surrounded the cottage with hired men, which we presumed the conspirators had access to in order to ensure that the target would not escape and to provide backup should things go wrong, and then I would have advanced incognito to ensure that the Countess was actually inside the cottage. Then, I could have backed up, changed into a Jack costume and done the deed. Possibly with the help of some of the flunkies, remembering what had happened during the attack on Lady Vivienne.

Then I would have fled as if the Hounds of the Hunt were after my blood to ensure that a few people would see “Jack” fleeing from the scene so that the story would continue to spread, before darting around a rock and changing into normal clothes to claim that I had seen Jack sneak off round that corner over there.

That is what I would have done. Syanna rather thought that something else would happen, she thought that people would be cautious. She thought that some people in the conspiracy would be aware that this was a trap. So they would send someone disposable, someone who could get caught and it wouldn’t damage the rest of them. Either that or the conspiracy were so tied into their arrogance that they thought that they were simply immune to this kind of thing happening. Therefore, a more formidable Jack would approach.

Either way, she thought that the Conspiracy would send one man who would be an excellent swordsman, on a fast horse to get the deed done quickly. Where the girl would be dead, disfigured afterwards. She thought that the actual witnessing of Jack’s presence would be done before the deed, keeping everyone nice and afraid so that they wouldn’t sound the alarm.

Guillaume did not care. He had his task and as soon as that task started, he was consumed with the preparations for what was to come.

Neither of these options were our worst case scenario.

The Duchess disagreed of course. The Duchess’ worst case scenario was that the assailants would get through our defences and be able to slay her newly adopted daughter. Syanna would later joke, after the Duchess had left the room of course, that the Duchess wanted enough time for her daughter to really begin hating her. Syanna herself claimed she was looking forward to being the crazy aunt who took the girl out to get drunk and, and this is a quote, “properly laid by someone who knew what they were doing.” I wondered whether the Duchess would allow that to happen and Syanna had looked haunted for a moment before her impish smile came back. “What my sister doesn’t know…” She began before walking off.

We were confident that the Duchess’ fears were unfounded. Due to the layout of the cottage, the shutters were hardened so anyone trying to get through them would warn of their arrival. Guillaume was standing between the Countess and any attacker that came from any other avenue and Ariadne was standing, invisible, next to the Countess with the teleportation spell already on her lips.

There was no way, barring her tripping and falling to break her neck, or Ariadne’s transport gate being miscast (a possibility that I dismissed) that the Countess was in any danger.

Our worst case scenario was that we had misjudged. That we had made such a cataclysmic mistake in believing that the new Countess was a target and that the conspiracy was actually targeting somewhere else. That in the morning, there would be a report that some other lady had been killed in a horrible way and that Jack had been seen in the vicinity. That was our worst case scenario and by “our” I meant, Guillaume, Syanna, Ariadne and myself.

But I had another worst case scenario.

At the time, I had buried this deep. Deep in the depths of my own fears. So deep that it was barely there and that I had even denied the possibility to myself.

So deep that I wasn’t aware of it.

That possibility? Was that Jack himself walked out of the trees.

I knew it wasn’t him that was killing these people. I knew it. Everything that I had learned about the figure of Jack told me that it wasn’t Jack that was committing these atrocities. Everything that he had told me himself told me that that wasn’t what was happening. It wasn’t Jack, it couldn’t be Jack.

But I was afraid that it was Jack. That unreasoning part of me. The small, terrified, trembling thing in the back of my throat was afraid of that possibility. That Jack would come out of the darkness.

I knew it wasn’t Jack. But what if I was wrong?

What if I was wrong.

Guillaume would be dead. I had no doubts as to the capabilities of Guillaume as a fighter. There is a reason that he is one of the top swordsman in Toussaint with only Alain and maybe Raoul and Gregoire able to beat him in the duelling circle. It had been made clear to me though that one of the reasons for this was not natural talent. It was more that Guillaume had spent more time out in the field hunting monsters of the magical and human variety which had meant that his “Duelling” skills were neglected in favour of being able to survive when a giant centipede burst from the ground, or when a murderer tried to shoot him in the back.

But Jack was on a whole different level. When Jack had last been in Toussaint, it had taken four Witchers to subdue him. They did it by ambush and magic as much as by sheer skill with a sword and even then, there was more than a little analysis that would argue that Jack let them win because of all of the other controls that were going on at the time.

He had literally carved his way through the majority of the ranks of the Knights Errant. This was not someone, or something, that could be stood up to by a solitary Knight in armour. No matter how good he was.

No matter how hard I tried, now matter how hard I concentrated. That image would implant itself behind my eyes.

It would start with the cold. Where I got that from I have no idea, but in my imagination, the presence of Jack was always heralded with the onset of cold.

How foolish was this? It was the middle of the Winter, in the dark, dawn still a little while off. Of course it was cold, but as a result of that, my imagination started wondering. Is it cold because it’s the middle of winter and I’m out in the open when I’m not particularly well anyway. Or is it cold because Jack is coming.

It would start with the cold. It would seep out in a wave from over where his feet fell. The branches would part before his presence, would part in fear before him as the leaves withered in their own fear and fell from the branches.

And yes, I know that it was winter and that the leaves had already fallen. Do not bother me with these details, it was my imagination.

He would announce his presence by laughing. I have made a lot of studies of the subject of Jack and the times that he laughed as he killed or announced his presence is actually surprisingly rare. The most common one is the most recent when he was personified as Laughing Jack when he came to Toussaint. But otherwise, he was the private, faceless killer. Sinister, silent and utterly devoid of emotion. His amusement was obvious in the nature of the way he killed. The way he seemed to toy with his victims. The way he chuckled, quietly, at the people that he allowed to survive.

But in my nightmares, he laughs. When he strides forwards out of the shadows by the side of the road. Or when that frightening looking tough on the other side of the street produces that strange hat that Jack prefers to wear so that his face is shadowed when I see him in my mind’s eye. He just starts to laugh as he strides forward to where I am frozen in terror.

If it is Jack, then everything that I have done would be for nothing. Every effort to save… well… everyone would be for nothing. He would simply laugh as he toyed with Guillaume, dancing just out of the reach of his blade and bleeding him slowly from small cuts that would all but ignore the Knight’s armour. Then just before our intended and expected reinforcements would arrive, he would slay Guillaume before rushing into the cottage to where he would kill Ariadne as she tried to protect the young Countess, and then he would literally tear the Countess apart.

And he would laugh while he was doing it. He would laugh as the reinforcements from the guards and the Knights arrived in the clearing and spread out to try and corner him. He would laugh as he danced between the glittering spear points, the weighted nets and the barbed polearms and behind him he would leave a mess of injured, mutilated and maimed men who would scream in agony before begging for water, a swift blade to end their misery or calling for their mother.

He would leave Syanna alone. He would let her see the mess that he had made of her command and as he did so, he would be laughing as she desperately tried to get a hold of him. As she desperately tried to find some small measure of justice for the men that lay at his feet that were howling their agony into the night’s sky.

Then finally, after he rendered her unconscious with a blow from the pommel of his sword, he would turn to me, still hiding behind the woodpile and shivering in fear and he would stride towards me. I would be frozen, trembling, like the young woodland animal that is just waiting for the final blow to fall from the executioner. The way a rabbit will just stand there and stare at the horse that is bearing down upon them, knowing that it must mean their death.

I would look up at him as I clutched my spear, quaking before my death and he would look down at me with frightening eyes.

“This is what happens.” He would say. “This is what happens when I am denied.”

Then he would reach out and….

The unknown is always more terrifying.

I blinked.

“Is it always like this?” Sam wondered from the safety of the inn. “I am used to the waiting for a battle but this seems different in some way.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, playing with the bottle of wine that I desperately wanted to drown my sorrows in the depths of.

“Well, battle is always organised. You know when it is going to hit its peak. You can see it, smell it, hear it. I was once standing next to an old Sergeant who took out a length of sausage from a pocket as we saw the enemy advancing on his position. He finished his lunch and had time to draw his sword, crack a joke to the young soldier next to him and shout some orders before the two fighting lines crashed together hard enough to shake my teeth. But this?...”

He shook his head. “This is different. This is worse.”

I blinked and shook my head furiously trying to shake the images from my sight. Now was not the time for it. Now was not the time to be sinking into this dream or that memory. We would be waiting now, waiting for a long time maybe. Given the winter months, dawn was still a long time off. My body was telling me that it was nearly dawn now and that it was really time to be waking up and getting dressed. Given the fact that I was outside and the smell of the trees and the earth as well as the woodsmoke, my limbs were feeling as though it was time to be on my way. To be moving on and getting underway.

But instead I forced myself to wait. The plan was a good one. It was sound, some of the finest strategic and tactical minds in the Duchy had been working on it and now it was time to see if we were right or not. We had planned for this. Even if it was Jack, Ariadne would teleport the Countess away and so the pair of them, at least, would be safe.

Guillaume was not as impetuous as the other Knights had been. He would defend himself. He would not allow himself to get drawn into the situation. The trap of thinking that he could take on the impossible task. He was too clever for that. He was too collected for that. He had too much to live for to allow himself to be drawn into that.

He would also have the benefit that he would not be confined by the press of all the other Knights that would force their way forward with righteous indignation at the indignity of what Jack was doing to them and to their way of life.

But it wasn’t Jack. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. As I said all that time ago… These killings were too specific and the manner of the deaths was too… too crude. Jack was capable of cruelty and horror. I knew that, we all knew that, but this was too… thoughtless. Jack was cruel and yes, his manner of killing could and often would display a horrific kind of humour. He would torment his victims and their families as well as the people that were chasing him in the mistaken delusion that Jack was a normal, run of the mill, monstrous human rather than something else.