(Warning: This chapter gets bleak. Contains descriptions of physical injuries.)

There are some things in life that we know to be certain.

We know that water is wet, ice is cold, fire is hot and that the sun will always, always rise in the morning.

But there are other truths as well. Things that we take for granted as people. Small, childish truths that we just take to be the case, no matter what happens in the world. Things that the small child that lives in the back of our skulls insists are true, no matter how hard the rest of us try and convince it that that isn’t the case.

Those truths are the ones that define us. They define a lot about the way we act, the way we behave, the way that we speak and think. And there is nothing that has the power to shake our reality as much as when one of those truths turns out to be untrue. Not always a lie, because that suggests that people have told you something different. But a truth that you have taken on to yourself.

Examples of these things might include a sure knowledge that this person or that person is absolutely your friend, that they would never lie to you or betray you in any way, until you come round the corner one day and find them kissing the person that they know you have feelings for. Another would be a person who you absolutely believe to be truthful. Someone who would never lie to you. Not ever. And then you find out that they have been lying to your face since the moment that they first met you.

Everyone has examples of this kind of thing. Some of them go back as far as childhood. There are logical and illogical ones as well. The moment where a parent promises that they will never abandon you and that they will always be there for you when you need help. And yet, when you do need help they yell at you for making foolish mistakes, sleeping with the wrong person or spending money that you don’t have.

In that instance, the truth is that they are being there for you, just not in the way that you necessarily want.

A more tragic example might be that, growing up you think of your father as being this giant bear of a man. Amazingly strong, incredibly fast and physically powerful to the point that it never occurs to you that this man might be toppled by anything. There might even be anecdotal evidence that proves this. Your friends might tell stories about how, one day, a tree fell on him or he got struck by lightning. That he was hit by a runaway horse or wagon and that he emerged from a drunken tavern brawl with twelve other men and emerged unscathed.

Then one day he gets sick or injured and the tall, broad, strong man that you remember lifting you up so that you can ride on his shoulders, is reduced to a tottering, doddering, weak old man that needs help to get too and from the outhouse.

I can relate to this. I did not expect my father to die. I had always pictured him in his study, fingers steepled together as he frowned in thought.

My often mentioned, but strictly never named friend from university told a story about how his father had bought him a toy wagon with a carved wooden horse. The wagon was cleverly made by a dwarven artisan so that the wheels turned in tune with the way that the horse's legs moved. Apparently, the wheels would regularly break off and he would take the toy to his father and hold the different pieces aloft and demand in a loud, toddler voice “Daddy fix”. His father would, without fail, take the wagon and push the wheel back into place until it would act as it was supposed to again.

Then one day he broke one of the horse's legs in a more serious accident and the entire contraption fell apart. He took the different pieces to his father and held them up and in a wavering voice asked “Daddy fix?” and his father was forced to admit to the now sobbing child that the toy could not be fixed.

My friend, who would not be out of place in Skellige as he is tall, blond, muscled and handsome, choked up as he told the story and admitted that it was the first time that he realised that his father was not able to do everything. It broke his young heart.

Emma tells a different story about how her world was shaken. For her, it was a time early on when she started to work for our father. She was only young at the time, her words not mine, and she was just starting to make recommendations to him. She made a recommendation that she knew was right, she knew that it would make the trading company a lot of money. In her, then, naivete, she believed that she would be listened to on an equal footing to the other people in the room. Unfortunately, one of the other people in the room was Edmund. And everyone laughed as Emma made her opinions known while praising Edmund’s attempts, which Emma knew would lead to financial loss.

Our father chose Edmund’s plan.

And when it failed, as Emma had known that it would, people were conciliatory to Edmund for the failure saying things like “It happens to everyone,” and “There is no such thing as a certain bet on the trading markets,” and the one that caused Emma to lose her temper which was “No-one could have seen it coming.”

She yelled out “I saw it coming and I told you all at the time.”

And Father yelled at her for lying.

With the cold benefit of hindsight it is easier to see what happened and Emma admits this. It would not have been acceptable for Father to support his daughter over his eldest son at the time. The other people in the room would have objected to a “girl” being consulted and trusted in such a matter. And Father was also in the process of trying to teach lessons to Edmund that he, and Emma for that matter, found simple and easy to follow.

But it hurt Emma profoundly and, she says, still affects her to this day.

Her pain is not helped by the fact that Edmund caught her later that day and after he was inappropriate with her and her maid, he made a point of breaking one of Emma’s favourite toys before blaming Emma for it. For those people wondering, Emma was twelve.

When we were discussing this topic over a breakfast conversation the other day, another one that she brought up was the moment where Kerrass told her that I had killed people. Apparently, and supported by Laurelen, it took her a long time to come to terms with the fact that her little brother had killed several men in defence of himself and others. She was still struggling to think of me as anything other than the little boy who’s cuts and bruises that she had to clean up and bind after a particularly gruelling session in the training yards. But to learn that I was now a killer and a fighter? She found that intensely difficult.

I have had several of these over the course of my life. The first one that I can remember is the moment that I realised that my big sister didn’t know everything. As I have said before, Emma all but raised me. In many ways, she was my mother. It was her that I ran to when I had hurt myself or after Edmund had bullied me or Mark had given me what I considered to be a massively unfair penance in return for a relatively minor transgression.

It was her that I took my problems to and my questions and queries too. And one day I had a problem that my tutor had set that I didn’t understand. I can’t even accurately tell you what the problem was or what the thing was talking about. But knowing Emma, like I do, it was almost certainly a matter of History or Science of some kind. But I do have the most vivid memory of handing her the piece of paper that had the question that I had been set written on it and she looked at it, looked at me, looked back at the paper before shrugging in an offhand way and saying “I’m sorry Freddie, but I don’t know.”

She then couldn’t understand why I had been inconsolable for quite as long as I ended up being. It wasn’t until years later when she asked that I was able to tell her exactly what had happened in my head that day. After which she was, of course, mortified. The explanation for her casual and thoughtless cruelty was that although she is mumblemumble years older than me, she was still not an older and experienced woman herself. And anyone who passed us on the street would not mistake us for anything other than children.

There are other moments that occur to my mind when I think about this as well. It’s not just that one. Many of these moments are ones that I have talked about in past articles. The realisation that I wasn’t going to find Francesca was one of them. I am still dealing with the aftermath of that and I will probably be doing so for the rest of my life. There are others as well.

To be clear, I’m not talking about the other transformative moments. I’m not talking about the beast of AAmber’s crossing or the moment where Ariadne took the engagement ring from my hands. I’m talking about those moments where my settled understanding of existence has been shaken down to it’s core.

Another example was the moment when I read that my father was proud of me. That shook me profoundly. Oddly though, finding out that my sister preferred the romantic and erotic company of women was not one of them. I remember that more as a moment where a lot of disparate facts came together in one moment and suddenly made sense in a way that they hadn’t before.

I talk about this because another truth has been shattered for me and even as I write these words. I can sincerely say that I was shaken to my very core with what happened.

I have said, many times in fact, that I love Kerrass like a brother. I will also echo something else that I have said many times which is that in many ways, I love him more than I love either of my surviving brothers. I’m sorry to be a giant cliche, but the two of us have been through too much together. Kerrass was there when I met Ariadne, he helped the two of us get together in the first place. He was there when I learned about my father’s death and he was there when we learned about Francesca.

I have stood with Kerrass in places that I could not have imagined when I set out. I have stood on the decks of a Skelligan Longship and on the top of Sleeping Beauty's castle. He has rescued me from torture of the body and soul and I have seen him fight more monsters and more men than I could have ever even dreamed of.

He is my hero. He has been through more than any of us could imagine. Not least of which was the very process that turned him into a Witcher in the first place. He has lost multiple women that he has loved as well as being tormented by the fact that he cannot have the woman that he loves the most.

Even though the reason that he can’t have that one is entirely self inflicted but that’s a conversation for a different time.

He has been through injury and indignity unimaginable in a world that, although attitudes towards Witchers are mellowing out, the world still hates him as being something alien, something… other than themselves. He is hated and feared in equal measure. And every time he gets close to someone, he is sure to live long enough to see them die.

All the while he is fighting off his own madness and despair as he tries, every day, as he struggles to take just one more monster down. Just one more so that the people of the continent that fear and despise him might be that little bit safer.

He is… so much to me. An indomitable hero, an unmatched fighter. And a good friend.

And my world was shaken to its very core when I saw something happen that I never thought I would see. Something so utterly alien to my imagination that when it happened, even as it happened, I didn’t believe the evidence of my eyes.

It never occurred to me. Never. Not even in my wildest nightmares. It never occurred to me that I would see him lose a sword fight.

I have seen Kerrass fight with fists, feet, head, knees, elbows and when all else failed, he used his teeth to tear the fucker’s ear off.

It was a whole thing.

I’ve seen him display expertise with swords of varying length, daggers, knives, axes… again of varying length, spears, lances, hammers, maces, crossbows, staffs, staves, clubs… I once saw him fend off an attacking inn patron, who thought that Kerrass was making eyes at his woman, with a fork. While the other guy had a broadsword in his hand. I’ve seen him skewer a rat with an unbalanced bread knife… I say skewer, I think he more bludgeoned the poor thing to death rather than actively cutting it given the balance and the woeful lack of edge.

And he did it in the dark. So I hope that I can be forgiven for being utterly taken aback when Kerrass was beaten with a sword.

And what made the episode all the worse for me was that he knew it was going to happen.

That might be wording it a bit strongly. But what he had been told, over and over again by people who had seen him fight and seen Alain fight, was that Alain was the best man with a sword that Toussaint could muster. The very best. The actual quote was that the only person that could beat Alain reliably in a fight with a sword was Lord Geralt, and even then, Lord Geralt would need to keep his wits about him to ensure that he wasn’t caught out.

Why is that important? Because Kerrass himself acknowledges that Lord Geralt is by far the better swordsman out of the two of them. So if Geralt needed to be on form and be careful. Why did Kerrass think he could win?

Everyone told him what was going to happen. Everyone did. Including me. But the bastard went and did it anyway. Through some kind of sense of misplaced desire for justice. But not even that really. Justice was coming for Alain, we all knew that. One way or another, we had more than enough evidence and testimony to put Alain away, even if he was the only member of the conspiracy that we could definitely take down.

Nor can he really claim that he needed to provide a distraction for the guards and the Knights to go out and perform their searches. There were a thousand and one ways that that distraction could have been provided just off the top of my head.

It was the arrogance of the thing. He wanted Alain’s justice to be at the tip of his, Kerrass’, sword. Despite both Syanna’s and the Duchess’ stated desire that justice would need to be seen to be done. He just felt that his justice, his wrong, was more important than everyone else’s. And he had been so furious when our situations had been reversed and he had made me take my time in waiting for my, oh so desired, justice to be delivered.

And in that courtroom, in the heart of Beauclair, when he turned back to me, he did so with a smile on his face. This smug expression of victory was soooo… Aggravating that I desperately wanted to wipe that smirk off his face with my fists.

I have been angry with Kerrass before. I have been hurt, disappointed, scared and everything in between at the hands of the Witcher from the Cat school. But I think I can truly say that that was the angriest I’ve ever been.

I have the distinctness memory of that moment as he turned towards me. The people around the court exploded into a chorus of whispers and mutters that grew and grew and grew until it was almost deafening. It was like the sea coming into the beach although it didn’t seem as though the sound was going to break.

Gregoire and Guillaume left me there to face the coming music. I don’t blame them, they had work to do. Apart from anything else, it was all but certain that they would be leading some of the coming raids, or at least, they would be leading elements of it. But it meant that as Alain left the courtroom in order to prepare and do… whatever he did in the lead up to a duel, I was left staring at Kerrass’ face and that smug, self-righteous smile.

“You stupid bastard.” I snarled.

“What?” He grinned and took a deep breath before stretching his hands over his head. “Goddess Freddie but I’m looking forward to this.”

“What happens if he wins Kerrass?”

“He won’t.”

“Kerrass.” I all but snapped at him.

“He won’t win Freddie. He’s a duellist, he’s smug, he’s overconfident, the crowd will be on my side and I want him so badly. I’m going to win and when I do, his wife will be exonerated. All the men, and the women that he has abused will be avenged.”

He actually laughed before continuing.

“Goddess Freddie. Do you know how rare an opportunity this is? Here is an honest to Goddess monster. A real son of a bitch that deserves everything that I am going to do to him. He deserves it. I am in the right and I am going to fillet him. A real monster. Not some beast or some animal that has had the misfortune to be born in a place where humanity wants to build one of their stinking little villages. Not a rock troll that has the bad grace to call a cave that contains a rich gold bearing vein, his house.

“Not some werewolf that was accidentally cursed by a jealous lover or the spirit of a woman that was murdered on the morning of her wedding for not having the grace to appear grateful when the local lord demanded his rights. This is a real monster. A bad man. A rapist, abuser and murderer and I am going to fight him, humiliate him and then I am going to kill him in front of witnesses.”

“But what if you lose Kerrass?”

“I’m not going to lose.”

A man approached the pair of us.

“Excuse me.” He said. “Your companion is quite correct. My friend, Lord Moineau is a very skilled swordsman. He has taken lessons in Temeria from Brasidas and from the Nilfgaardian capital from Carlinus.”

“Those are big names.” I said. And they are. Those of you that follow duelling as an art form and a sport will have heard of both men. Sir Brasidas has retired from active competition now but is still enough of a tutor to be able to be selective about the students that he teaches and is more than skilled to defeat anyone that he meets. He is to the blade what Sir Morgan would have been to the lance if he had the ability to be more graceful in his retreat from the sport.

Carlinus is a champion still in Nilfgaard. He would be more famous than he is but he has a terror of travelling. He likes his routine and as such, only competes in tournaments that take place within the capital city itself. If he was able to travel, then he would have been world famous.

“Well.” Kerrass said. “He will take lessons in Beauclair from me. I must go and prepare. I take it that you are here to represent the wretch?”

The man nodded. He was tall, handsome, dark haired and well tanned. He was dressed fashionably but tastefully in a reserved style. He was the kind of man that knew what kind of clothes suited him and refused to move with the fashions accordingly. He had an easy smile and a well groomed goatee on his face. He was also missing his right hand.

“Allow me to present myself…”

Kerrass waved him off. “I don’t care. Freddie will act for me won’t you Freddie?”

It was the off-handedness that offended me. It stung that he would put me in this position. That he just assumed that I would be part of this and help him out when I utterly disagreed with what he was doing. He just assumed that I was going to fall in line and what really hurt. What really stuck in my throat was that he was right.

That didn’t mean that I was going to let him get away with it completely unscathed though.

“Oh I will will I?” I demanded, with more than a little heat. “And why would you think that I would do that Kerrass? Why would you think I would support you in this foolishness.”

“Come on Freddie.” He scoffed. “You can’t tell me that the bastard doesn’t deserve to die.”

“Oh he does.” The other man agreed, taking out a snuff box. “But he won’t. Not at your hands.” He offered the box to me with a companionable air. “When he does die, none will cheer louder than myself. But it will not be in a duel.”

He took a pinch himself and inhaled it before sneezing massively.

“Alain will die, murdered in his sleep by an angry father or husband. Or he will fall from his horse or die as part of an accident, or as part of an “accident” if you follow. But in the duelling ring. You won’t kill him. No-one will. Not until age starts to catch up to him and he has a few years on that yet.”

He sneezed again.

“Heh.” Kerrass snorted at the words. “He will be beaten and I can do it. So are you going to help me Freddie, or do I need to get someone else to do it.” He wasn’t really asking and we all knew it. Just as we all knew what was going to happen.

I looked, I searched Kerrass’ face for some kind of sign that he knew what he was getting into. That there was some kind of realisation that he had made a mistake. But all I could see was the joy of a man that has gained his heart's desire.

“Of course I’ll help.” I snarled at him. “And when he guts you I want to be close enough to tell you that I told you so before you bleed out into the dirt, you stupid selfish fucker.”

Just for a moment, I thought that I could see my despair and my surety as to what was going to happen, hit Kerrass somewhere. Just for a moment, I thought I could see some form of doubt and fear strike a nerve. But then it was gone.

“I will leave you to it then.” He said. “Freddie can speak for me.” Then he turned and left. Stopping to shake a few of the hands that were offered to him.

“I have something stronger than snuff if you prefer.” The strange nobleman told me offering a small flask. “This is not the first time I have witnessed that kind of argument.”

I considered it for a moment before taking the flask.

“Sip it.” The man advised. “It’s powerful stuff.”

I spluttered. It was indeed powerful.

He laughed. “Let’s start again. My name is D’alambourd and I act as second to Lord Alain. You’ll forgive me for not shaking hands.” He held up the stump on the end of his right arm as evidence. “I know who you are of course and I heartily recommend you get your man to apologise.”

He took a much larger drink from the flask himself.

“I have so many questions.” I said a little weakly.

“I have heard that about you.” He said as he took me by the arm companionably and steered me towards the wall. “But first, let me find you something to lean against and preferably sit upon. I am forced to inform you that for an attractive man, you look positively green around the edges.”

“It’s been a long few days.”

“I can imagine.” He said, taking a large swallow from his own flask that didn’t seem to bother him. “Or rather I can’t which is the most obvious truth.” He sniffed.

“So can I ask my first question?”

“Please.” My new friend caught a passing servant that was carrying a tray of drinks, passed me a fruity drink before taking one the deep burnished brown of something that spoke of hardened alcohol.

“You don’t seem to like Lord Moineau.” I began.

“Can’t bear the man.” He said happily before he stopped and peered at me. “Sorry, was that the question?”

“So why are you doing this. Seconds are supposed to be friends aren’t we?”

He laughed. “Yes, well. It’s a matter of honour you see. I owe friend Alain my life by simple virtue of him having the right to kill me and then only crippling me instead.” He held his hand up as evidence. “My punishment for my arrogance, in thinking that I could challenge a Knight of his strength, is that I must now see him punish every other poor bastard who comes along in the same vein. I largely think he did that because no-one else will be his second any more.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Are you going to have all this printed up?” He asked in excitement.

“Almost certainly.”

“Excellent. Just be sure to make sure you’re far away when you do. He will challenge you for it and then I will have to lie and claim that you must have found it out from other sources.” He spoke with a certain amount of relish.

“I don’t think that will be a problem.” I told him.

“Ooohhh.” His eyes widened with fascination. “I sense gossip. I do so love gossip. No, don’t tell me. I would rather find out on my own.”

“So what happened between the two of you?” I wondered.

He looked to his left and to his right in the most comical overexaggeration of a man looking for spies around every corner that I rather thought that anyone who had been watching would automatically be aware that secrets were about to be exchanged.

Then he led me out onto the balcony and into the open air. I was actually surprisingly grateful for that, the fresh air was like a knife that cut through the woolen blanket that had seemed to wrap my brain, to its detriment.

“It was about my sister.” He said. “He decided that he wanted her and when she had the temerity to turn him down, repeatedly, he made a public fuss, spreading lies and all kinds of horrible rumours about her, him, him and her, me, me and her, me and him, my wife, my wife and him, my wife and me and her and him all at the same time.”

I winced in sympathy while also trying not to laugh. He had that trick of story telling that he could talk about things that must have been absolutely awful while at the same time, making them sound really really funny. His delivery was lightning fast, utterly without shame and a joy to listen to.

“So naturally,” he carried on. “I was not without talent with a rapier and I challenged the blaggard. The result was inevitable. My sister pleaded for my life and given that the only witnesses to the duel were my friends and his as well as my sister and my wife. The arrangement for why my life would be preserved was of the rather obscene nature.”

He sighed unhappily.

“Afterwards, my sister lost her engagement to another friend of mine who was rather more understanding than I would have been if our circumstances had been reversed. I managed to arrange for her to marry a Northern Lord in Kovir and Poviss.”

He pronounced the name of the twin Kingdoms as KovirandPoviss.

“I lost my hand, a good portion of my honour, and I was also forced to extend a permanent invitation to the wretch of a man to attend my parties whenever he chooses.”

“That doesn’t sound… what’s so special about your parties.”

He laughed. “We are both Gentlemen I hope Lord Frederick?”

“I would like to think so although I would say that the term has many different applications and such things are often in the eye of the beholder.”

He laughed. “I like that. I shall use it. But being frank on the matter. My wife and I do not have the most… conventional sexual tastes. And occasionally we like to throw parties where she, and I, can explore such things with other like minded individuals and friends who might want to try a bit of a walk on the other side of the street as it were.”

“I see.” I was overcome with curiosity and embarrassment in equal measure.

He looked at me shrewdly. “I think it might be a little bit beyond your tastes Lord Frederick. Obviously you would be most welcome but I think you would need to work up to it. Your betrothed on the hand might enjoy it from an onlooker’s perspective if everything you have written about her is true.”

My mouth did that thing where it started talking without my consciously deciding to allow the matter.

“She is insatiably curious about such things.” I said.

“Well,” he went on. “When all of this is over and whatever gossip you are withholding about friend Alain has come to pass, I shall extend an invite. I make it a point to remain cordial, if not friendly, with those friends of the men that Alain ruins. That is my real punishment, you see.”

“I’m afraid I don’t…”

“The loss of a hand has actually been a blessing in disguise. People don’t challenge me and if anyone insults me, better men than Alain fall over themselves to leap to my defence, throwing around phrases like “Insult a cripple would you?” My sister is happy enough and her Northern husband is rich enough, and loves her enough, that she wants for nothing. And the unique things about my parties means that I can control exactly how much enjoyment friend Alain has at such things. Truth be told, I would have invited him just to see him being… well… I shall leave that to your imagination.”

He grinned nastily before moving on.

“The real punishment.” He went on. “Is that I must act as his friend in these matters of honour when the truth is much more towards the fact that I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire and I passed him in the street.”

“That’s… rather vivid.” I told him.

“True though.” There was a sudden steel in his voice. It was suddenly all too believable that this man had once been a skilled and feared duellist.

“But still.” He stood again and took on the cloak of formality. “Lord Frederick, I hope that you do not take this personally. Indeed, when all of this is over, you would do me the great honour if you and your fiancee would agree to join my wife and I for dinner when this matter of Jack has been dealt with. She would be delighted to meet you both.”

“I would be honoured and I will have no doubt that Ariadne will take great delight in embarrassing me with many questions.”

He smirked at that.

“But first, we must discuss the matter that I have been sent to discuss.” He told me. “My friend is outraged at the accusations that your gentleman has thrown in his face and feels that the only possible way that the matter may be resolved is with the life of your friend being spilled out onto the ground. Having said that, he will accept a full and public apology as well as a guarantee that your gentleman will never stain my friend’s presence again. Otherwise we must demand that the duel be fought to the point where one combatant is not able to fight.”

“How does your friend feel about yielding? Not that I think my friend will yield but you never know.”

I saw him trying not to smirk.

“In my judgement, yielding amounts to being unable to fight any further. But you should be warned that if your man yields, then it will depend on the whim of my friend as to whether or not your friend survives or is forced to apologise or some other kind of punishment.”

“Very well.” I agreed.

“Further to that.” He went on. “As your friend is a being of a magical nature, I must insist on a couple of things. On your honour and the honour of your companion sir, I must demand that no magical tricks be used on my friend. Also, your man must not be allowed any chemical assistance before the bout. I know of Witchers and I know all about the various potions that they might employ to gain themselves an edge.”

“I understand.” I said. “I feel that I must also insist on light armaments. Your man is better inclined to defend himself with heavy armour whereas mine is better with leather.”

“Shall we say bare chested then?” He wondered with a slight smile.

“In this weather? You are giving the advantage to my man again.” I said.

“Then we shall say clothing but nothing armoured.” D’alambourd agreed with a slight air of disappointment.

“I will also insist that there be medical personnel nearby.” I said. “I can provide medically trained Sorceresses.”

“So I understand.” He considered. “But an agreement must be reached as to the finality of the duel by yourself and me before the Sorceresses are called in. If that extra time results in one man’s death or other, then that must be acceptable.”

“I understand.”

“And if one or other man survives due to magic... I must remind you that the duel is to the death. The Loser must suffer the consequences of their actions. Yielding? Then the life of the loser belongs to the victor to do with as they please. Including to end it if they so desire.”

“I understand.” I told him. “And I will make that clear to the gentlemen that I represent.”

“Excellent.” He offered his hand. “Then, no hard feelings Lord Frederick?”

I took the offered hand. “No hard feelings Lord D’alambourd.”

“Then I shall see you in the graveyard at dusk.” He bowed and turned on his heel.

I waited outside for a little while, taking in the undeniable beauty of the Toussaint countryside. The clouds were beginning to move in and a not small part of me wondered if Kerrass and Alain would be fighting in the rain. I tried to tell myself that this would be another advantage for Kerrass but there was still little hope of that. Alain had chosen the grounds for a reason and I thought that there was much more to it than to just making a point on behalf of having a good line to deliver.

But Toussaint did look beautiful. The clouds were really coming in now and the wind was picking up. At least it was warmer.

I was startled out of my thought process by the sound of clattering hooves and I was able to look down to see Damien riding out of the palace with a pair of guardsmen at his heels. It was not unlike being slapped in the face with the fact that there were other things to do and that other things were moving that needed my attention and I turned to go back to them.

I returned to the meeting room to find it to be a hive of activity. People were running in and out and shouting. Kerrass was in the corner doing some gentle stretching. You know the kind of thing, he was rotating his body at the hips and pulling up his leg so that it bent at the knee and his heel got to his backside.

Syanna saw me first.

“So when is this idiocy taking place?” She asked in a neutral tone.

“Dusk.” I said flatly. “And this lunacy is none of my doing.” I tried to pitch my voice so that Kerrass would hear me but I think it largely went over his head.

“Dusk.” She mused. “Not bad I suppose but it’s going to be a rush to get everything in.”

Kerrass had either seen me or heard my voice and so he came sauntering over.

“How did it go?” Syanna asked me, ignoring the Witcher.

“It went well.” Kerrass said. “All eyes were on us so we should have a good audience. Sir Raoul looked a little too thoughtful and contemplative for my comfort though. He seemed to be thinking.”

Syanna turned on him slowly. “I was not asking you.” She hissed quietly. She is one of those people that is merely scary when she shouts, but the way that you can really tell that she’s really angry is when she is quiet. “And just so we’re clear. If you rob my sister of her justice. If, by your clumsy sense of romantic bullshit or honour means that Alain gets away then I will hunt you down and have you impaled on a spike. And if you’re killed in the process then I will do something unspeakable to your corpse. I will have one of the Sorceresses that hang around Witchers like Flies on shit have you tied into your body using Necromantic rituals and I will have you tied to a pole in the town square so that people can throw rotten eggs and fruit at you.”

Kerrass eyes narrowed. “I would remind you that…”

“WHAT IF YOU LOSE?” She bellowed at him. Turns out that she’s just as scary when she yells “You challenged him on the grounds that he disgraced his wife by sleeping around and mistreating her. If you lose then according to law and society, it means that Alain was not unfaithful to his wife. She was the one that betrayed him. Which in turn means that he was not the person that was sleeping with Lady Caroline which makes Lady Caroline a liar. She is a woman and underage. Her words will be made lies and she will be disgraced for it.”

The room had gone silent as everyone watched.

Syanna didn’t have to yell at the room. She just looked at them all and the activity restarted.

“If you lose, you betray her memory as well and she will go into the next world, not as a woman betrayed but as a harlot and a deceiver.”

For the first time, I thought I saw something in Kerrass’ eyes that suggested that he knew what he had done.

“This is not your country Kerrass.” She said. “It’s mine and you have allowed your balls to rule your head. You want to prove that you are more of a man than the bastard that mistreated your woman. I understand that, but we were going to do that. Gregoire and Guillaume are, even now, on their way to go and do that. And lest I remind you that you already had all the proof you needed that you were a better man to her than he was. She went to your bed didn’t she? She went to you to perform the duties of her man did she not?” She demanded.

Kerrass said nothing.

“We could have used you in that search for evidence and witnesses.” Syanna threw her last bolt. “You and Freddie both. We could have used your help. But now among the best trackers and investigative minds that I have are kept from me and kept on the sidelines. If the lack of you, or the lack of Freddie, or your mistimed and noble gesture means that any of these fuckers gets away with it….”

She shook her head.

“You had better hope that you die on the end of his blade.”

She turned away from Kerrass in one of those dismissive gestures that must be taught in the same class where they teach that regal, raised eyebrow thing. Kerrass stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. I recognise that stance now. I have worn that expression myself on many different occasions. It is the face of a man who is coming up with and then dismissing different responses and comebacks. It is the face of a man who knows that the other person is right and there is nothing that can be done about it. That in reality there is no arguing their case.

I would have felt sorry for him but the fury was still hot in my blood, even though it was dulled with fatigue.

“Freddie.” Syanna had turned to me. “Nothing would make me happier than letting you go back to bed to get a few hours rest but I fear that we still need you. First of all, can you add anything to what Guillaume has reported about what happened in the court after Kerrass said his piece.”

I thought for a moment before deciding that honesty was the best policy here. “I will be honest and say that my head was not exactly in courtly mode. I was too busy trying to think about how I was going to keep Kerrass from doing something stupid, and when that ship had sailed I was too busy trying not to slap his smug smile from his face.”

She nodded and shook her head. She was disappointed. Not angry.

“This is taking its toll.” She said. “We are tired, angry, frustrated and that means that we are making mistakes.”

“What did happen?” I wondered.

“Unfortunately,” she told me. “Or fortunately if you would prefer Kerrass’ point of view.”

The man himself had left and was standing looking out a window, a thoughtful expression on his face. He seemed oblivious to the glares that both Syanna and I were sending his way.

“Unfortunately, the ruse worked. Everyone that we are watching or want to watch was absorbed in the spectacle.”

“Then why don’t you look happy?” I wondered

“There was an exception to that rule.”

“Leblanc.” I guessed.

“The very one.”

“I am not surprised. If anyone is cleverer than we are, it’s him.”

“Tonlaire and Guillaume agree. That is why Damien has head out so quickly. He is hoping to get to Headquarters and on to the Leblanc lands before word can reach them to start their purge of incriminating stuff. That’s not the real fear though.”

“Dare I ask what the real fear is?”

She shrugged. “That Raoul figures out what we are doing and warns his compatriots to go to their homes and destroy their own evidence.”

“How likely is that?”

“That’s not my game. You’re the thinker. What do you think he will do?”

“I’m a thinker whose vision keeps flickering out of fatigue.” I told her. “Speaking of which,” I poured myself a coffee as I considered the question.

“I think.” I began cautiously. “I think that he won’t care what his friends and comrades do. In fact, I think even saying it like that is wrong. They’re not his friends or his comrades. Saying it like that would suggest some kind of feeling of friendship or camaraderie. They are the people that he works with and I would be astonished if he thought of them as being anything different than that. He is also known to hate everyone. He hates me, you, Kerrass and the rest but he also hates the people on his own side just as much. I think he will hang everyone out to dry. I think he will leave them to their fate and if he can possibly do something to twist your nose then he will do that as well.”

“What’s that going to look like?”

“I have no idea. Something where he will all but admit that he’s the perpetrator of all of this while also being able to protest his innocence and have the whole world believe him.”

Syanna nodded. “Well you should get some rest. We will need you to assess what we find.”

“I won’t be able to rest.” I snarled at her. “Sorry, Sorry. I’m not angry at you.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not but thanks for saying it. Everyone tells me that Alain is the best duellist in the Duchy, maybe the world. Kerrass is angry, upset and overconfident.” I looked over at my best friend. “He’s going to die this evening and I am going to have to stand there and watch it happen. And when it’s done, I’m going to have to shake the hand of the man that killed him in order to show that there are no hard feelings.”

Syanna put her hand on my shoulder.

“Gregoire and Guillaume are already riding for the Moineau manor.” She said. “The instant that they find something they will be riding back to Beauclair so that we can arrest the fucker. In this instance, the justice of the Duchess takes precedence over the revenge of a Witcher. I will stop the duel and take Alain into custody.”

“There is so much that can go wrong with that plan.” I told her. “Alain strikes me as the kind of man that will take advantage of the distraction to kill his man and claim that he did not hear the warning. You might not find anything and the duel will have to play itself out. Moineau could kill him before they get word back. So much can go wrong with everything that you have just said.”

“True.” She admitted. “But other than getting my sister to order the duel off….” Syanna considered. “She would do it if I asked, but that would set a dangerous precedent I think. And then, there will be even more evidence that we are just doing all of this in order to get our distraction. And flawed though Kerrass’ plan was. It did work for the majority of our suspected conspirators.”

“That is not a lot of consolation.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath. “Still. If you’re not going to go and get some rest, I could use you in briefing my team on Temerian thinking.”

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“What do you mean?”

“Guillaume and Gregoire are leading the efforts to search the Moineau manor. Damien is leading the force that will go into the Leblanc manor and I am leading the team that will take the house of Velles. Of all of them, Velles is a merchant and will therefore be more used to hiding things in places where we don’t know where to look. Knights of Toussaint will not believe that anyone would dare to invade their private holdings and search their papers. Lady Tonlaire agrees that if there is any evidence in Moineau manor, or Leblanc manor, then it will not be hard to find. I am not as confident when it comes to Velles. That man is a merchant and therefore he thinks like a snake.”

I felt another wave of sadness. I liked Velles and I still, dearly hoped that it would turn out that he was innocent of it all. Unfortunately, it was also true that his involvement in the conspiracy fit with all the other factors.

I set to work. I told a group of very earnest looking Knights and watchmen about how to search in hidden books. How to check the spines of leatherbound volumes and how to look for books that were out of place. A book of prayer amongst a set of erotic novels. A book on history among the works of a poet and a sagamaster, that kind of thing. I spoke of desks, looking behind drawers, behind desks, under desks and rugs. To look for bumps in the walls and on the underneath of chairs. I told them about feeling the mattresses for hard lumps and for looking at differences in depth and volume in trunks.

And it was with a sinking feeling that, as I spoke, it occurred to me that the reason I knew about a lot of these things was because I had worked with Kerrass for so long. Some of those skills came from my historical knowledge, still more from my work with the Royal dispatching service during the war.

But a lot came from watching Kerrass work.

As for the Witcher himself. He had left at some point, he left word that he was going to train, warm up and prepare himself. Looking back now, I wished I had gone with him.

But I worked away and did the best that I could to prepare the teams for what I knew to be coming next. But then, at some point I looked up and I realised that the table that I was sat at was empty. They had all gone about their tasks and I was left alone in the room. It had been a hive of activity, the centre of the brain that we had spent time devoted towards the thinking and defeating of our enemies. And now the room was empty and silent.

I walked to the window that I had seen Kerrass looking out of and gazed out of the same glass. I felt cold and I sighed.

“How is it going?” I asked Ariadne through our link.

“As well as can be reasonably expected.” She sent back. “You are angry and sad at the same time. Are you alright?”

I leaned forward and rested my head on the welcome cool of the glass.

“No.” I said. “I am tired but I am too energised to sit down. You have heard of Kerrass’ foolishness.”

“I have.” She said gravely. “I was not far off from going down to the graveyard myself. After all, my services might be required and I wanted to be there for you should things go in the direction that a lot of people seem to think that they will.”

I grunted at that.

“But why are you so angry?” She wondered.

“He’s going to get himself killed.” She snorted. “There are so many ways that we could have done this better but he had to go and do it this way. This way where the guilt of his opponent will be in jeopardy if he loses, which he very well might do. This way where he will die and… there were so many other ways it could be done.”

“Really? Name one.”

“What?”

“If there are so many other ways that your enemies could have been distracted in so short a period of time, name one other way that they could have been distracted. Just one. I will wait.”

I got the sense that she was folding her arms.

“Well we could have…” I began and then stopped myself. There would not have been enough time to do that.

“I am waiting,” she said sternly.

I tried again, I have no doubt that my face was exactly the same as how Kerrass’ own mouth had opened and closed like a fish earlier.

“You can’t can you.” She said. “Also, while you are thinking about that. I have another harsh truth for you. Honestly, are you surprised at what Kerrass has done? I am not.”

I thought about that for a moment and I saw that she was right. I was not surprised. I was shocked, angry, appalled and scared. But I was not surprised.

“Kerrass is a male,” she went on. “and although life, experience, illness of the physical and mental variety, Witcher training and oh so much trauma has robbed him of a lot that makes him human. He is still a romantic fool. If you want to wonder why women like men so much, one of the many many reasons is that we like that romance in men. He loved Lady Moineau. He didn’t say that aloud, he probably didn’t even think that to himself or realise that of himself.”

“But the Princess Dorme...” I protested.

“You see.” She was not done. “This is another one of those things that human language does not properly encompass. Kerrass loves the Princess. Indeed, it might be true that she is the love of his life. The tragic love affair that never was is a compelling romantic hook. But he also loved Lady Moineau. As I have said before, many times, there are many different kinds of love. Including the romantic kind between men and women. Kerrass loved her, and she loved him too. They were two, very wounded, people who saw in the other a person that was as hurt as themselves and they realised that truth that so many humans miss. That in comforting another, we too are comforted. Being analytical, they would not have been the all encompassing love that lasted a lifetime. But they would have made each other happy for a while and parted on good terms. That is also love.

“So why are you angry?”

And just like that. I saw the answer. “Because I am afraid that I am going to watch my friend die.”

“Then you should go to him now and make your peace. Do not part like this. You will regret it for the rest of your life if your worst fear comes to pass. I will fetch his potion case and Laurelen who knows more healing magic than I do and we shall do our best to save lives if the worst comes to it. But if the worst happens, then I will ensure that I, and others, will be there to catch you.”

I nodded. She was right. Of course she was right.

“It comes with having nine hundred years experience.” She told me. “I love you Freddie. So much.”

“I love you too.” I said.

“So go and make your peace with your friend.”

I found Kerrass outside sharpening his sword. He almost never does that, he almost never needs to. He looked up at me as I approached.

“Are you still angry with me?” He wondered as he examined the edge of the blade.

“Yes.” I admitted. “But I don’t know for certain if it’s you that I’m angry with.”

“You should be angry,” he told me. He produced a small bottle of blade oil and ran some down the blade. Normally he would have called this a colossal waste of blade oil. Normally he would have poured a small amount of the oil into a cloth before rubbing that into the metal.

Normally.

“It might rain,” I commented looking at the cloud coming and having a sniff of the wind. There was certainly damp in the air and if we had been on the road somewhere then I would have been looking for an inn, or a big enough hedge for us to shelter underneath.

“Nah.” He said, carefully rubbing the oil into the blade with small circular motions. “If it rains, that will only work to my benefit. He is not a man that will enjoy standing in the rain and he will want to finish things quickly. Not to push the point, but the ground in the graveyard is a little uneven and the rain might make things slippery. Which is again, not something that he will be as experienced with as I am, or that you are for that matter.”

He sighed and sighted along the edge of his sword.

“But it won’t rain. Not until well after nightfall and unless I miss my guess, all of this is going to be over well before then.”

I grunted at that and I stared out over Toussaint. The garden that we were in overlooked the hills and slopes down towards the Tournament field. I had been shown the horse racing track when we had first arrived and as I stood and watched it, workers were pulling covers out and covering the track with canvas cloth to protect vulnerable areas from the coming weather. I snorted at the thought. We couldn’t possibly allow something as mundane as the weather to come between the nobility and their idea of entertainment.

“I am sorry Kerrass.” I said. “I should have been with you on this. Even when I disagreed with you. Even while I think that you might be walking down to your death. I should have seen how much she meant to you and therefore how much your vengeance, or the hope of your vengeance will have meant to you.”

“No Freddie.” He said, sighing audibly, even over the wind as he rose and thrust the sword into the scabbard. “No, you were right to be angry. You are right to be angry. I am being a fool. I know it. Both you and Syanna have made it clear and you are both right.”

He came and stood beside me to look out over the countryside.

“What I should do.” He said after a moment. “Is march to the site of the duel and apologise. I should get down on my knees and beg for his forgiveness and then I should take to horse and ride out somewhere. Maybe get Laurelen or Ariadne to transport me out of Toussaint where I can wait for all of this to blow over. I have arrangements to make for your wedding after all. That is what I should do. It will leave me alive and uninjured to follow my other obligations. It will leave him open to being taken for the crimes that he has definitely committed. It will mean that things will be seen to be done in the correct way. That is what I should do.”

“But you are not going to do it.” I told him, even as my mind went down that avenue. Even as my imagination rolled through the potential implications of what would happen in the world and the future of that. I could only get so far down that particular tunnel before my mind would just… sheer off to the side of the path. Where I would refuse to believe what I was thinking about. It just wasn’t going to happen. I knew it. It was so against my understanding of the way that the world worked that it was clearly ludicrous and I would be lying to myself if I tried to convince myself that that was the case.

“No I’m not.” He admitted. “I’ve tried Freddie. I’ve really tried. I’ve been sitting here since it became clear that I was no longer welcome in the inner chambers. I saw that way out of all of this almost immediately. Your tutoring in the subject of politics and courtly plays no doubt.”

“No doubt.”

“But a little while ago, I realised that I was just not going to do it. That would be too close to giving up for me to be comfortable with it. I am going to go down to the graveyard in a short while. I am going to refuse to apologise or do anything other than to do my very best to kill the bastard. I would prefer to do it as slowly as possible so that the fucker can feel it and know, in the sucking pit of darkness where his noble soul used to live, that it was his wife that was doing that to him. I cannot do anything else. I have tried. I really have.”

I said nothing. As is so often the case with these kinds of things, the person wanted to fill the silence and all I could do was to let him. It occurred to me as he spoke that he was grieving. I was once told that there is a process to grief and that there have been books written on the subject. I cannot answer for that and I have certainly never read any of them. But I remember someone saying that one of the parts of grieving is to get angry.

And that was what Kerrass was doing now.

Another one of Kerrass’ many lessons on how to fight was that if you go into a fight angry, then the danger of you losing your temper is almost overwhelming and as such, is highly dangerous. So I resolved to just let him get it out of his system.

“I had given up Freddie. The Goddess will be furious with me for admitting that but right now, I don’t really care what she thinks which will, oddly, make her a little proud. But I had given up on my vengeance. I had told myself that I would revenge Lady Moineau on her husband when we caught him in his crimes and that I would be able to whisper in his ear as to what was going to happen and who had done this to him. I was not satisfied with that. Even if the Duchess would allow me to be the one to wield the blade, I would just be the final blow that finished the thing, he would have been killed long before that, I would just be the last part of it. That was not me beating him. It would just be my killing him.

“And then we were all sitting there in the room and someone said… I couldn’t even tell you who it was. Someone said that we would need a distraction so that all of the eyes of our enemies were on one thing and not on the fact that armed men were leaving the capital. That messages were leaving and going here and there to tell people what was going on and what needed to happen and then…”

He shook his head and when he spoke again, his voice sounded like it was on the verge of cracking.

“

It was as though I could see her face. Oh Goddess Freddie. I could see her and she was smiling at me.”

I turned towards him then and I saw a broken man. My friend, my teacher and my brother and he was broken. So I put my arms round him and hugged him as he sobbed for a moment. It wasn’t for long.

“I am so sorry Kerrass.” I told him.

We stood like that for a moment and I listened to the wind while I waited for him to calm a little.

Then he pulled away. “What do you have to be sorry for?” He demanded, with a touch of his slightly mocking smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No. I know.” I said. “But I am still sorry.”

He nodded at that. “She was a fling. Just a fling. A warm pair of arms to wrap around me. A soft pair of lips for me to kiss. It was never going to last and we both knew it. That it lasted more than a single night astonished both of us I think. I have lost lovers before. Ones that I have known longer and been more involved with than this one. Good women, beautiful women, kind, generous and strong. But this one…?” He shook his head. “All I can say. All I can admit to is that I don’t remember walking into the courtroom. I don’t remember anything else other than the immense satisfaction when I smacked the fucker in the jaw. I won’t lie Freddie. That felt better than some sex I’ve had.”

“Too much information Kerrass.”

He smirked at that and we lapsed into silence.

There was something I needed to say though and I took a deep breath.

“Ariadne,” I said carefully. “Thinks that you loved her.”

Kerrass took that in silence and tilted his head onto one side. “Maybe.” He said. “It would have been nice to have the opportunity to find out.”

I nodded to that too. That seemed to be as close to the truth as I was going to get.

“We should get going soon.” I said. “I presume you want to be there early?”

He nodded.

“Then I need to say this. And before you get all… “Don’t give me that crap Freddie.” on me. I would point out that according to everyone that we like and respect in Toussaint, this man is probably the best sword you’ve faced since the last time you faced Geralt. I can’t speak for Letho or any of the others. But this guy is it. So I have to prepare you, to understand that this might be the last time that we get to speak together as friends.”

He opened his mouth.

“I swear to the Fire.” I snapped. “If you say something overconfident like “He won’t get me Freddie.” I will slap the silly off your face.”

The comment occurred to us both as being funny at the same time and we laughed.

It felt good.

“But if you die down there.” I told him. “You should know that it has been a privilege to have travelled with you, and an honour to be your friend. I owe you everything Kerrass.”

“Freddie.” He said. “Likewise. I do not have the same gift with words that you do. But likewise Freddie. Likewise.”

He held his hand out and I shook it.

“Time to go?” I wondered and he nodded, turning and picking up his sword, carrying it in his hand.

It was just before we got to the door that he stopped me.

“Wait.” He said. “Just a moment.”

“Kerrass, we need to…”

“No, listen to me.” He spoke fiercely. “If this fucker gets the best of me. And if he wriggles out of the net that is closing round these fucking scum that have been doing this. If he lives Freddie, you kill him for me. Can you do that?”

I was appalled but then I looked a little deeper and realised that I was also determined.

“We’ll get him Kerrass.”

“But if you don’t.” He said. “If he runs or if he gets away with it. You kill him. I don’t care how. I don’t care if you kill him in his sleep, poison him, set Ariadne on him or what. But you kill him. And if you can, whisper her name in his ear when he dies. Will you do that?”

“I will.” I promised. I was also astonished to discover that I meant it as well.

“Kill him for me Freddie.”

“I will.”

And the pair of us walked to the graveyard.

At some stage, at some point in the future if they haven’t already. Someone is going to write a book on graveyards and what they mean for the world. The book is going to analyse what a graveyard is for, why we have them and the way that different religions treat them.

As part of this book, some enterprising scholar is going to look at the different kinds of graveyards around the continent and talk about what they all mean. Why they are the way that they are and what led to them.

I mean not me, I’m not going to do that. I don’t really care that much beyond a kind of surface level of fascination. I am, after all, well acquainted with Graveyards in my time travelling with Kerrass.

They don’t tend to attract wraiths or spirits as much as you might think. They are attracted to their own remains of course, but in my experience, the angry ones which are the ones that a Witcher is more likely to be employed to deal with, are drawn to the places where they die. The place where the bones lie is still important because the remains often need to be burned to fully and finally dismiss the body. But the spirit itself, the bit that kills random passersby. That is in the place where the death took place, or where the wrong was committed.

As a result of these kinds of hunts, which I will admit I find far more fascinating than the other kind of… monster hunting hunts….

They require more historical research rather than knowledge of the beast in question. And to me, that is just more interesting. I’m a historian for a reason.

… I have spent a rather uncomfortable amount of time digging up graves, standing watch over Kerrass while he digs up graves, breaking into mausoleums, breaking into crypts and rooting through corpse piles than I am entirely comfortable with. I have also been chased from many of these places as the same authorities that have just told Kerrass to do whatever it takes to get rid of the monster, suddenly balking at the prospect of having the dead dug up. That says something about society. I have no idea what, but it says something.

So, by far, the biggest problem in Graveyards or other areas where people store the remains of their departed brethren, is the Necrophages.

Believe it or not, there is more than a little bit of evidence that the new decrees by the Eternal Flame that the dead should be burned… I say new, but it’s like fifty years old now,... Is a practical one in an effort to cut down on both returned spirits and leaving things that would attract Ghouls and the like.

It doesn’t work. Fire leaves bones and one of the things that the Necrophages are after is the marrow in the bones and Kerrass is of the opinion that all that burning the body does is give the marrow a nice roasted flavour. His words. To truly, utterly destroy the body needs a heat that few outside of a furnace can manage and it doesn’t stop angry spirits either. They will just find something else to bind them to the world which is far more difficult to hunt down. The best way to prevent a Ghoul or other nasty Necrophage from eating the bones of your dearly departed is to have a well lit graveyard that is regularly patrolled by people that know what they’re doing and regularly pour sage oil around the boundaries of the place.

But I was talking about Graveyards.

The thing that makes it strange is that the differences between the different ways that people pay tribute to the dead seems to be a cultural thing rather than a religious or a racial one. The biggest difference being the Elven race who believe that the corpse of a fallen companion is just meat and might as well be left for the local flora and fauna to feast upon. They make it sound more flowery than that of course but that’s essentially what it boils down to.

The people of Skellige burn their dead when they are lost in battle. They build a big fire and burn the bodies, or if they have time and the dead person is particularly important, they might build a ship and send it out into the sea… before they set fire to it.

However, there are no such niceties about the bodies of honourless men. Bandits and foreigners that might die on the shores of Skellige are taken into the catacombs where they are dumped wherever there is space. Yes, this attracts Necrophages but it is a rite of passage that the young folk of Skellige go into these old tunnels and barrows to retrieve something. It is also good practice for the Huscarls to go and clean the places out once in a while.

The people of Redania and Temeria don’t like to think about their dead. They like their graveyards to be off and out of the way somewhere. A remote site or walled off cemetery where you can’t see it by accident. The dead are housed in crypts underneath churches and chapels, in family crypts on the estate well away from the houses themselves. That’s not to say that people don’t visit these places in order to pay their respects to the loved ones that are interred therin.

There is just a feeling of… Out of sight, out of mind. People don’t want to be reminded of their own mortality and as such, they prefer their dead to be kept out of the way of people. So it doesn’t depress them or something.

The people of Aedirn are torn. On the one hand, they agree with the people of Redania and Temeria, that the best thing to do with the dead is to keep them well out of the way. But Aedirn is riddled with sites of old, historical purpose. So as well as those kinds of graveyards, they also like the ideas of crypts. Large buildings to store the dead. Like my family crypt only on a much larger scale.

Apparently, you get a slot and they put your body in it, head first and then seal you in there by a block of stone. Your name is inscribed on the stone if you’re lucky, or if you are particularly poor, or no-one knows what your name was, they will just put a sign up to say that it is occupied.

The people of Kaedwen like to think that they have been living in Kaedwen for longer than the rest of us. They believe that they are more descended from the first humans. The Dauk that historians agree died out in some kind of cataclysmic series of events that we have no record of because we don’t understand the artifacts that they left behind. The Menhirs and the obelisks and the like. But in the case of the people of Kaedwen. They believe in interring their dead. The rich and powerful get interred in Barrows, the same as the old races of men did. They don’t get buried with their wealth or favourite weapons, horses or slaves or anything like that. But they do get buried with things that symbolise that kind of thing.

The important thing about this, is that there is no headstone. No monuments or anything left that tells people who it is that lies under that particular pile of earth and grass. There might be a standing stone or something on the top, but it never contains the name of the dead. This is because it is up to the surviving family and friends to keep the name of the dead people alive.

As for why all of this comes up and why I’m talking about it now? The people of Thussaint like to keep their dead closer.

For them, grief is a communal thing. Even if they are all there to visit different people, even though they might all have different wealth levels or status. Grief is the great leveller in Toussaint. It is the one place where people get together and share all of that sadness. They are together in it. It is impossible to take in the entire scope of the thing in one visit.

The stuff that is on the surface is just one part of it and is, arguably, the smallest part of it. The tunnels underneath the carved mausoleums themselves are full of small niches where someone has tunnelled out an extra part of the ground underneath Beauclair and there they have left some small place of remembrance. Even if that is not the body of the dead themselves. A small stone, a picture, a portrait, an urn full of the ashes or some small monument to the memory.

As a result, the tunnels of Beauclair are often filled with robbers but that practise has fallen down since the Empress decreed certain things. Now there are regular patrols of the tunnels and guards posted a good percentage of the time. So it’s one of the safest places in the world. This has also meant that the number of Necrophages have reduced.

I’m told that it can be quite beautiful. Small alcoves with votive candles burning as men and women stand together, arms around each other as they weep with grief about different people and different things. When Knight and peasant sob and maid and high lady wail at the losses that plagues us as those that we love move into the next part of the journey.

It is a nice thought. Even if my treacherous mind cannot help but imagine the noble marching away from sharing some grief with a baker only to demand reparations for the damage caused to their clothing due to the presence of bread flour in the weave.

But then again, I am from the North, not from Toussaint and it is entirely possible that I am jaded by the differences in geography.

Unfortunately, I do not have much that I can add to the mental image of what you are thinking about the place. I have been there three times. The first is by far the most publicised of the lot in that it was during that time that I fought against Jack. As well as my own account of the events of that night, there are also a growing number of other histories and analyses that are building up on that subject. For myself, I have already said everything that I have to say on that subject and I have no intention of going over it again.

There is literally a play written about that night. I was invited to go and see it. I told the person inviting me that I couldn’t possibly think of anything more obscene than sitting through such a thing.

The second time was when I first returned to Toussaint. I was invited to go back to see the beauty of the place for what it was. I was told that a shrine had been erected there for my sister and when I was going there, right up until the moment that I touched the gate, I absolutely intended to walk in and see the place for myself.

But just as I was about to enter with Mark who had wanted to come with me, Emma had already been, I felt a stabbing pain in my chest where Jack had started to impale me on his absurdly slim sword.

So I claim that as a visit. I went, and I stood out in the street and looked into the place. I saw the edges of the, undeniably, beautiful stonework, statues and the like. And it really is beautiful.

And then I walked away.

And the third visit was the most recent and hopefully, the last visit.

It was an interesting choice of a place for a duel. I had wondered if Alain had chosen the place deliberately on the grounds that that would put us off. The place where Kerrass had fought Jack and that I had nearly died. I considered it for a few heartbeats before I realised that it was either really really stupid, or incredibly clever. Kerrass would not be affected by that kind of thing. And he wasn’t fighting me. So I rather thought it was just one of those tricks that a duellist has in their arsenal. A psychological thing. I’ve heard of people arranging duels in graveyards, near churches and all kinds of symbolic things in an effort to throw one or other fighter off their stride.

I think it was that. Anything else would be giving Alain too much credit.

When I had last been here, the gate had been closed and attended by a pair of guardsmen. The guardsmen were there to keep overly drunk and problematic people out of the graveyard and to protect it from the kind of overland monsters that the place attracts. I’m not just talking about Necrophages either. I’m talking about the body stealing variety. It’s not just Doctors that use cadavars for research purposes.

I’m going to leave that there. I’ve already gone off on enough tangents. Suffice to say that whatever your imagination is getting to grips with at the moment, the truth is much worse and far more mundane.

The gates were closed for our private viewing but as we arrived, the guards were letting any number of people through the gates in order to pay their respects to this person or that person. Just so long as they were quiet and civilised.

As a note though, civilised doesn’t often mean sober. People often get drunk and want to go and talk to the dearly departed. I regularly do it when I’m at home.

Civilised is a polite way of saying that the guards turn away the homeless and send them off to one of several shelters that are around Beauclair that are there to serve this particular need.

Now though, the guards were still there but the gates were open as people were fed into the place. Not many of them yet. These were the connoisseurs of sword play. The people that attend the tournaments to see the duels fought there and commentate to themselves and place side wagers on the outcome. In the same way that there are armchair generals that argue about old battles and what such and such a general should have done on the field of blah de blah. There is also a large field of men, and women for that matter, who like to watch duels and comment that if they had been fighting that duel at that time and that place, then what they would have done would have been to…. I’m sure you get the picture.

Note that the lack of physical capability or talent is not an object to these kinds of people. Saying to them, “well why don’t you pick up a sword and get involved” will not get the outcome that you are looking for. They will say that they are there for the sport of the thing. To admire the craft and the tactics of the duellists, no matter the outcome or the cause that has led them there.

To be truthful, I can understand the fascination of the thing. I can. I never took part in it. But I have wasted some entertaining evenings arguing about historical events in a similar vein. Arguing what this historical figure should have done in the different circumstances and what I would have done in their place.

In case you are wondering. My favourite line of argument is what would have happened if Falka’s claim to the throne had been upheld by her father in the face of her new step mother’s insistence. Then the rebellion would not have taken place and the world would not have the same shape it does now.

But still.

So as I say, I can understand the people that enjoy that particular pursuit of the thing as a sport, even as I find it kind of distasteful. And before any of you start to jump up and down on me for saying that, I would point out that the thing I find distasteful is when a duel which will result in someone’s death is treated as a spectacle to be watched and applauded as a form of entertainment. That is what I don’t like. Watch to see history take place. Watch because you agree with one side or the other. But don’t watch because you want to see blood or because you think it’s something to be enjoyed.

In this, I prefer the Skelligan attitude towards duelling.

So we walked into the graveyard. The path was certain, well cobbled and well maintained. The cobbles themselves had the slightly rounded edges and corners that betrayed their age and how many sets of boots had walked over them while on either side, tombs, statues and gargoyles loomed over us. A leering gargoyle in black stone next to a virginal woman in white marble which sandwiched a large family crypt that would dwarf some village huts that I have seen, with a statue of some knight holding an improbably large sword aloft.

Trying to take the entire thing in is impossible. The clash of style, substance and taste is overwhelming. As a result, it becomes far easier to take in one point at a time. Concentrate on one tomb or monument and allow the rest to fall into some kind of background blur that lies beyond your vision.

But I wasn’t here to see the tombs. I was here to accompany and escort my friend to the place of honour. I knew from past experience that there was a large, round area at the bottom of a small hollow that would be the most likely area for the duel to take place and we headed towards that. It was certainly the direction that the other people were heading.

I briefly glanced over at Kerrass, he was frowning in thought as he walked. People were realising that we were there now and were making way for us. Some called out our names, some threw blessings and wishes of good fortune. Some threw insults and hopes for our gruesome and messy demise. Kerrass ignored both and I followed his lead.

As we reached the bottom of the graveyard, sure enough, I found that there was an area that was separated from the growing number of people that were gathering. It wasn’t very large, a kind of oval shape, twenty feet across at its narrowest point and thirty feet long at its longest. There were guards stationed to prevent people coming in to that area which started to shout for the crowds to break apart to allow us entry.

Emma, Laurelen, Mark and Ariadne were already there.

Mark was dressed in an austere, thick, monk’s habit and cowl with a symbol of the eternal flame around his neck. He looked cold, austere and forbidding as we approached. Emma had also chosen to emulate a cold and remote style of dress. She was dressed as a formal lady of the Northern courts dressed for winter. Fully clothed, dress tightly laced with head-dress and scarf tied into a wimple. Although she wasn’t a nun, the same kind of feeling was given off of being cold and remote.

I never understood those people that have romantic longings about nuns. I always find them rather forbidding and frightening to look at.

Laurelen was dressed as she ever was, her increasingly long and golden hair was tied back although she won’t thank me for pointing out that the damp in the air was making her hair a bit frizzy. She was dressed in her long, flowing green dress and although she didn’t need to do so for the cold… Being magical in nature does come with some benefits… She too wore a scarf but without the headdress the Emma boasted.

Ariadne was dressed in her traveling gear. In a long, flowing light cream dress, absolutely spotless with a fur lined cloak that was wrapped around her shoulders with the hood up. Her dark hair hung in a long braid over her shoulder. She has recently figured out that I like to see her neck exposed for reasons known only to my own brain and has started to adopt that particular hairstyle that was neither one for the village folk, nor a noblewoman’s wimple and head scarf. Nor was it loose the way that other Sorceresses and magical women wear their own hair. But rather a mixture of the lot. She was clutching Kerrass’ potion box in her arms.

Mark met us first with a hand held out. Kerrass took it with Mark wishing him a quiet “good luck,” from my brother and a nod from Kerrass.

“I will be here when it’s over.” Mark told me as he wrapped me in a hug. “One way or another. I will hope that I will pray over the right man and I will certainly be praying for Kerrass’ victory.”

I muttered something in gratitude. I was very afraid that I was at my breaking point and was concerned that sympathy and kindness might tip me over the edge into tears and tantrums.

Emma met us next with a hug for both of us. She didn’t say anything but her presence here said an awful lot that Kerrass might not possibly have realised. She does not enjoy these kinds of things and says so often and loudly to anyone that will listen. She thinks that the best way that she can show this is by not turning up to them to show how beneath her she thinks they are. She likes tournaments and things when combat is a sport rather than done to the death, but duels over honour are foolish to her.

I don’t entirely disagree. Except in the case of Robart de Radford. Regular readers will know who I’m talking about. That fucker is mine and if he is reading this then he should know that I am coming for him.

Laurelen was a bit more insistent and whispered something fiercely into Kerrass’ ear when he passed. He nodded in response but I didn’t hear what she said. I got a hug and a whispered “We’re with you Freddie.” Like with Mark, I muttered something about gratitude and moved on.

Ariadne would not let either of us get away with that. Kerrass got a hug and a few questions about how he was feeling. He asked how she knew which box was his potion box and she gave him a withering look that made him smile a little.

“When it is all over.” She told him. “Laurelen and I will be there to see to the wounds. That is why I have the box.”

He nodded. “That is if we are not dead outright.”

“There is dead and then there is dead.” She said. “Admittedly, if he has taken your head off, there is little that we can do about that, but for anything else?” She shrugged. “It all depends on how fast we would be allowed to get to you. Which is why Freddie and the other second should agree that the matter is closed as quickly as possible.”

She gave me a significant look. I know an instruction when I see one.

She turned back to the Witcher and looked at him for a long moment. “Thank you Witcher.” She said. “After Freddie, no-one has done more for me than you. And without you, I do believe that Freddie would have just run to the hills. So thank you for making him get to know me and learn to love me.”

He nodded and moved down into the duelling area.

Ariadne didn’t hug me. Instead she just looked at me, gazing into my eyes flatly and steadily. “I know how tired you are.” Her voice sounded in my mind. “I know how weary in body, heart, mind and soul. So know this. You only need to be strong for a little while longer. You only need to hold on for a little while longer and then you can let go. One way or another, I will be there to catch you. Emma, Mark and Laurelen too. And if everything falls apart, I shall take you away from this place to another where no-one has ever heard of the name Jack and I will put you in a small log cabin in the woods and I will hold you until the stars grow cold. Failing that, I shall take you home and simply love you. Just a little while longer Freddie. I promise.”

“I love you.” I said aloud.

“I love you too.” She answered.

And then I turned and followed Kerrass.

Lord Palmerin de Launfal was there, pacing backwards and forwards in the middle of the open area. He was in his old Golden breastplate and he came over to greet us.

“Kerrass.” He said offering his hand which Kerrass took. “In the past,” Palmerin spoke as he took my hand as well. “Duels of this nature would be presided over by a member of the Knights Errant to ensure fair play.”

“That’s not what happened…” I began.

“You are thinking of the matter between Gregoire and Morgan?”

I nodded.

“Yes, that was a special case. But the Knight Commander fulfils the requirements so…” He shrugged. “That was about accusations of treason and other such matters. This is a matter of honour and as such, it is far beneath that. This is two gentlemen fighting over a woman. Very romantic but needlessly stupid.”

He sniffed and we lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Kerrass stood in thought for a long moment before he visibly shook himself and moved over to a flat grave upon which he placed his sword while he removed his jacket.

“I thought you were withdrawn from duty.” I commented to Palmerin.

“I am. But I heard about this and decided that I needed to get back in the saddle somehow.” He scratched his head. “I hate Alain as much as the next married man. He was not the first, or the only young man that my wife dishonoured me with, but he was one of the most boastful about it. I knew what was going on then and decided not to pursue the matter. Not least because I would have lost and then Natanis would have yelled at me.”

“How is Natanis?”

“She is off somewhere. She is struggling with the fact that I am grieving my wife’s death. She doesn’t understand why I’m so upset by it all. Truth be told, I don’t understand it either but there you go. She does this occasionally, going off for a day or three and then she’ll come back.”

He sighed.

“She knows I miss her and will be drawn to that at least.”

Kerrass drew his sword and was warming himself up. Nothing too strenuous, just some small movements designed to loosen muscles and prepare them for the coming exertions. Palmerin and I watched for a while.

“This is foolish you know.” Palmerin said. “Alain is the best that I’ve ever seen, and that includes Geralt. Geralt would win in a fight because he has more experience than Alain, but Alain has more speed, talent and is comparable with strength.”

“I know.” I told him.

“I mean, I think I know what you are all up to, but this is the wrong…”

“I know that too. But Kerrass won’t step aside. You’re welcome to try because he wouldn’t listen to me or anyone else that’s tried. I think he needs this to happen.”

“He needs to die?”

“Maybe.” I admitted.

I sensed, rather than saw Palmerin watching me.

“I am so sorry Lord Frederick.” He said.

“So am I.” I looked at the sky.

“He’s late.” I commented.

“He would be, a common ploy designed to put your man off his balance.”

I nodded. “I should be with…”

“Go, I will call you over when they arrive.”

I approached Kerrass and started to help him warm up. I had my spear of course and we just ran some of the more basic, simple drills. Little things. Nothing strenuous but it was getting cold now. Not as bitter as it has sometimes been in the past, but cold enough to feel the need to keep warm.

We were not waiting that long. But certainly longer than was entirely necessary. Did it frustrate Kerrass? Maybe a little but if it did, he certainly betrayed nothing of his thinking on the matter. He was just calm and working through the forms of his blade.

Lord D’alambourd arrived first and Palmerin called me over.

D’alambourd smiled apologetically to the two of us. And although he spoke formally, there was no doubt from his expression as to what he was really thinking.

“Gentlemen.” He addressed the two of us and Kerrass who was ignoring him. “The Gentleman has sent me on ahead with his apologies for his tardiness. He has had certain matters that he has been forced to take care of.”

I grunted and I thought I saw just the shadow of a knowing sympathy in the other man’s eyes.

“So I am here,” he went on. “To get some of the formalities out of the way. Our terms are that this can all be called off if the wretch is willing to apologise publicly for the insult that the gentleman was subjected to. The wretch will then ride to an out of the way place where he will await the opening of the passes where he will leave Toussaint never to return.”

“Excellent” I said. “When can we expect the wretches apology?”

D’Alambourd’s eyes glinted in humour although Lord Palmerin’s face remained stony. A couple of those people listening laughed at my small jest.”

“I do not think that my Gentleman will be willing to apologise in this matter.” D’Alambourd said. “Will yours?”

“No.” I said.

“Then My Gentleman is approaching with a sword of similar length to your man’s. Although there may be some variance in either direction. Is that acceptable.”

“It is.” I said. “Bare chested?”

“A shirt against the elements only.” D’Alambourd agreed. “None of the Witcher’s potions during the battle although if your man is rendered injured rather than killed, then potions may be administered should my man allow him to keep his life.”

I nodded. “Same for magical healing I suppose.” I said.

“Yes, for both combatants. If not killed outright, or the life being spared, then magical healing can be administered accordingly. However, Witcher signs must not be used on the opponent.”

I nodded.

“Shall we check your man’s weapon then?” D’alambourd asked.

We approached Kerrass who held out his blade for our inspection. Obviously, it was free from the coloured sheen of weapon oils.

Kerrass resheathed his sword and stood easily.

“No potions.” I said.

He snorted.

“And you’re not allowed to use signs on him.”

“On him?” He wondered.

I nodded and he grunted.

A murmur started slowly in the crowd as heads turned to see.

Alain had arrived. He took his sweet ass time about it too. Flame but I hated that man then. I know that we’re not supposed to hate. I know that there’s all kinds of things about being kind and tolerant and understanding. But right then, I would have happily traded places with Kerrass, even though it would clearly result in my death.

He strode to the fighting area with a swagger and a big ass grin on his face. His long sword was tucked under his arm. He wore a pair of leather trousers with good boots on with a buckle across the top that looked as though it had been polished to a mirror intensity. He wore a woollen shirt and was wrapped in a fur lined oil skin that must have cost him an absolute fortune. Real oilskin is mucky, misshapen and smells bad for ages until it’s been through several good rain soakings. Whereas this thing looked tailored to his form.

He laughed as he came, greeting friends and enemies alike with shaken hands and big smiles. He looked like the handsome champion of the people, coming to defeat a no good wretch of a person. He looked like a hero coming into his glory. Handsome, pretty even. Charming, clever and caring. And it has been a long time since I have quite wanted to smack someone’s skull to that extent.

He walked over to the other side of the area. Palmerin approached him and I could almost hear what he was being told. Palmerin was admonishing the other man for being discourteous to his opponent and to the Ducal representative for being late. Alain looked properly contrite and nodded, he gave some kind of excuse although there was no way to tell what it was. Palmerin beckoned me over and I walked with D’Alambourd over.

“Gods I hate that man.” D’Alambourd muttered. “I know I’m supposed to support my friend but dear Prophets I hope that your man takes his sword and… Hello Alain. You’re looking well.”

Alain grinned as we approached. “Ah Dally. You know how it is. A good day, a nice piece of violence against a wretch and then a good meal, a nice bottle of wine and a warm woman. Life is good. Lord Frederick?”

He offered his hand towards me and not really having an excuse to slap it away or kick him in the balls, I took it and shook it firmly. “Lord Moineau.” I said.

“For the record and before these witnesses.” Alain raised his voice so that the surrounding people could hear. “You should know Lord Frederick that I hold no ill will towards you or your family. Indeed, I would have hoped that the two of us could be friends in the long run although I admit that that is unlikely and probably wishful thinking on my part. But still. I want it known that this quarrel ends here today for me, one way or another and you have my most profound respect.”

I managed to keep myself from sighing. The game was being played. Even now, when I had hoped to be able to set politics aside, I was in the middle of it. My opponent was an enemy. He knew and I knew it. He expected to win but he knew that if he continued to bully me then people would think that he was being crass and uncouth.

Which he would be.

He knew that I wouldn’t let this go, because I wouldn’t, and so he knew that he had to pretend to be the bigger man. I just wanted to be done with this now. I just wanted to build a fort out of pillows and blankets and crawl in for the next month.

“Likewise Lord Moineau.” I said. “This is the end of the matter and I am grateful to you for expressing those sentiments.”

He nodded with a slight smirk. Although I am self-aware enough to know that the smirk was probably in my imagination.

“Has the other weapon been inspected Dally?” He asked.

“It has.” D’Alambourd bowed.

“Excellent.” Alain drew his own blade with a flourish. I rather thought it was a bit shorter than Kerrass’ own blade but not by a lot. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. The kind of thing where people might say “It’s not a fancy sword but some master put part of his soul into that blade.” To a collector, this blade would have been worth a fortune.

I looked for a blemish really hard. I really wanted to find something. Fuck, I would have settled for there being a spot of rust on it which I could claim to be the presence of some kind of oil or something in the steel that would render the entire thing unfair.

But there was nothing. It was just a well forged lump of steel, honed and sharpened to a razor’s edge.

In the end I was forced to simply nod and move away.

“Very well then Gentlemen.” Palmerin spoke. “Formally, I must ask if there is any way that this combat might be avoided. Is either party willing to apologise?”

Kerrass shook his head, he was bouncing gently, keeping himself limber and warmed up. Bleeding off the little bit of overwhelming energy that builds up in anticipation for a fight.

“Hah.” Alain mocked. “I am the one insulted. It is I who expects an apology.”

Palmerin sighed.

“Then formally. No poisons or oils. No magic to be used on the other gentleman. No magic at all from the crowd until after the fight is over. No medical skills or alchemical skills to be used in the healing until after the fight is over.”

Both Kerrass and Alain were nodding along as Palmerin spoke.

“The fight will continue until both seconds agree that one of the fighters is unable to continue. Or until one of the fighters asks for mercy and, or, yields at which time it should be said audibly enough that both of the gentlemen can hear it, or by the universal signal of casting aside your blade and raising your hands high in the air.”

Again, both men nodded at that.

“Then you should both know that I expect an honourable fight. If at any person I decide that one of the two combatants is not acting in good faith then I will declare a victor accordingly. If you cannot win honourably then you don’t deserve to win at all. I remind you both that the contest is due to be fought with the blade. Therefore there will be no flinging of insults or other insulting gestures in an effort to goad the other man into action. Fight with your blades gentlemen, not with your words.”

“Sounds of exertion, pain and…” D’Alambourd wondered.

“Such things are natural and will be allowed according to what happens.” Palmerin said before turning to the crowd. “That also applies to the watchers as well. Noises will not be tolerated one way or another. Do not cheer your opponent on, do not hurl abuse at the other man. Certainly do not throw things or make sudden movements in order to distract either combatant. I cannot stop you all from watching the coming display. But I can have you removed from the area if I feel that you are doing your best to interfere with the matter. I will not stand for it.”

The crowd were more excited than chastened and I felt myself grimace.

“I will allow one rest per combatant. To be called by the combatant only and the rest will last no longer than two minutes by my sand glass. Any Questions?”

We all shook our heads.

“Very well Gentlemen, places please?”

Kerrass moved to one end of the temporary arena and Alain moved to the other. With a gesture of his head, D’Alambourd beckoned me over to stand next to Palmerin.

“Salute and begin.” Palmerin called.

Alain answered crisply. Sword raised to the vertical, Hilt before his mouth as he turned first to Palmerin, D’Alambourd and I before turning back to Kerrass before sweeping the sword down to one side.

The air whistled as the sword moved.

Kerrass was still collecting himself. He frowned as he held his sword in his left hand, blade down, and lifted his right hand to cover his heart before bowing once to Palmerin, D’alambourd and I before turning to Alain and copying the gesture again.

Alain smiled after Kerrass straightened and brought his sword round, swinging in a wide circle until the pommel slapped into the hands. His body sliding into the traditional “Mid stance” that is used with the Long sword. Right hand at the top of the hilt beneath the cross guard. Left near the pommel. Right foot forward, Left behind and at an angle to act as a spring to launch the fighter forward. Point facing towards the opponents face. The movement was crisp, quick, and the sound of the weapon meeting the hand made a satisfying Clapping noise.

Kerrass watched for a moment or two before he flipped his sword round in his grip and then attained the same stance as a mirror image of Alain. But he did so slowly, It wasn’t an insult, he wasn’t mocking the other man. He just took his time getting there, making sure that every gesture was the same, controlled and slow.

He wanted it to be right.

“Begin gentlemen.”

And nothing happened. The two combatants just stood there, swords pointed towards each other and utterly unmoving. Alain had been wearing a smile when he had first settled into his stance, but as he stood there, unmoving, for longer and longer, the smile slowly drained from his face until his expression became a mask. Still and without movement.

I looked over at Kerrass and he was the same. He had already had his mask up when he settled into his stance. But likewise, he was expressionless. Unmoving and seemingly without motion.

I turned back to look at Alain. His eyes had taken on a kind of vague, unfocused look. As though he was looking at a point just in front of Kerrass, but also at another point that was behind Kerrass at the same time.

I looked back at Kerrass. His expression hadn’t changed.

And then we waited.

It was strange. I have seen Kerrass fight a couple of duels now, as well as single combats. In the fight against William the Ram, he already knew what to do and how the fight was going to go. Against Lord Fuckface Dorme in the halls of Angral, there was such a disparity of skill that it was over in moments. And that was the model for most of the fights that I had seen Kerrass take part in. That was when there weren’t Alchemical or magical factors involved. Blade against blade, it nearly always went the same way. People would depend on armour or some other factor to carry the day without realising that those factors had already been countered. In Skellige, the combatants advance towards each other as though they are eager to get on with things and in tournament duels, there are other factors going on as well including rules and score keeping

But in all of those cases. One combatant had moved towards the other, there had been an exchange of blows and then…

Kerrass versus the other Witchers in the various training exercises that I had seen. Kerrass versus Ciri was a sight to behold. But also Kerrass versus Eskel and Kerrass versus Letho were educational experiences that I will never forget.

But this was the first time that I had ever seen a duel begin with nothing happening.

They became like two statues, neither moving as the winter wind carried a feeling of dampness through the air, whistling and billowing between gravestones and mausoleums.

It became difficult to keep my mind on the matter. I found my thoughts drifting away to how Syanna and the rest were getting on and whether or not this all might be over soon. I thought of my coming wedding day and all of the things that Ariadne was insisting on. The normally villager traditions of ducking for shoes, herding pigs and the capping ceremony.

In turn that led me to thoughts of my wedding night. Normally the kind of thought process that would lead me towards a decent night’s sleep. But in the here and now, it suddenly occurred to me that the results of the day's work might mean that Kerrass would not be able to stand next to me on my wedding day after all.

Which brought me back to looking at the two duellists again.

Neither man had moved. Not so much as an inch. I couldn’t even tell if either man was breathing.

My mind started to drift again. There is only so much you can do to keep your mind occupied when you are watching two immobile people. I found myself thinking of the last time that I was here. The time where I had been toyed with by Jack. I remembered falling over at some point and Jack moving towards me before placing the point of his blade on my chest and slowly pushing forwards.

I probably rubbed my scar from that event. Apparently I do that a lot when I talk, or think, about Jack.

I tried to remember where I was when that had happened and looked around for the headstone that I had slumped against.

There it was, just beyond where Alain was standing. There was a man and a woman leaning on it at the moment. They had brought a blanket to watch two men trying to kill each other and had a bottle of wine in a whicker basket. They were sitting there, legs stretched out in front of them and he had his arm, and therefore cloak, wrapped around the woman to keep her warm. It was a sweet scene, a nice, pleasant scene. Even a romantic one but there was no getting away from the fact that they were doing so at a time where two men were about to try to kill each other.

And one, or both, would succeed. I would later find that it is not uncommon in these kinds of matters of honour for both men to be killed, or to bleed out from small wounds that they had not noticed or thought that they were particularly important or dangerous when they had first occurred.